Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/708609.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Gen, F/M, M/M, F/F
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter, Hermione_Granger/Ron_Weasley, Lucius_Malfoy/
      Narcissa_Malfoy, Sirius_Black/Remus_Lupin, Colin_Creevey/Theodore_Nott,
      Pansy_Parkinson/Original_Female_Character, Ginny_Weasley/Blaise_Zabini,
      Neville_Longbottom/Luna_Lovegood
  Character:
      Draco_Malfoy, Harry_Potter, Hermione_Granger, Lucius_Malfoy, Narcissa
      Malfoy, Ron_Weasley, Sirius_Black, Colin_Creevey, Remus_Lupin, Theodore
      Nott, Pansy_Parkinson, Original_Female_Character_of_Color_-_Character,
      Original_Female_Character, Ginny_Weasley, Blaise_Zabini, Gregory_Goyle,
      Neville_Longbottom, Luna_Lovegood, Lily_Malfoy-Potter, Rose_Weasley, Fred
      Weasley_II, Victoire_Weasley, Fleur_Delacour, Bill_Weasley, Charlie
      Weasley, Angelina_Johnson, George_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Pregnancy, Family, Dysfunctional_Family, parenting, Adoption, Teen
      Pregnancy, Unplanned_Pregnancy, Cheating, Marriage, Married_Couple,
      Married_Life, Married_Sex, not_mpreg_lmao
  Series:
      Part 2 of My_Big_Fat_Pureblood_Wedding
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-04 Completed: 2013-09-13 Chapters: 34/34 Words: 129616
****** Labor of Love ******
by QueenyMidas
Summary
     After their beautiful wedding, Draco supposes he has to hold up his
     end of the bargain on the topic of ‘offspring’. After years of
     convincing from Harry and years of pressure from Lucius, it looks as
     if the Malfoy-Potter family will be welcoming a bundle of joy. On top
     of that, their friends seem to be going through struggles of their
     own. Their dysfunctional family seems to be being tested once again,
     leaving many to wonder if it can weather the storm. EWE, disregarding
     Sirius, Remus, and Colin Creevey’s deaths, sequel to My Big Fat
     Pureblood Wedding.
Notes
     I couldn’t stay away for long. Here it is, the sequel to My Big Fat
     Pureblood Wedding. This title’s a pun, too, since someone will be
     going into labor soon (don’t give me that look, it’s not mpreg).
     While I’d recommend reading my wedding fic first, I’m going to try
     and make this sequel stand on its own. For those of you continuing on
     with this anyway without having read the first, let me explain some
     things: Olivia and Maggie are OCs of mine (don’t give me that look
     again, they’re three-dimensional characters, this isn’t omegle), with
     Olivia having been adopted by Remus and Sirius, and Maggie dating
     Pansy Parkinson since they work at St. Mungo’s together. Draco’s a
     Healer, Harry is Head Auror, and they were very happily married on
     August 13th 2006. The day is now June 20th, 2007. Hope you enjoy it!
***** Change of Season *****
Chapter 1: Change of Season
   Remus watched proudly as the last graduate took to the stage erected in the
Great Hall. It was Jeremiah Yin, a Hufflepuff that always had the short end of
the alphabet, and Hogwarts diplomas were no exception.
   There had always been a smidgen of guilt on Remus’ part for having Sirius
change his last name from ‘Black’ to ‘Lupin’ considering it put them in the
middle of lines rather than the front, but the animagus was tickled pink at the
change. After all, it probably led to Walburga having a seizure in hell or
wherever completely awful and prejudiced people went after they died.
   The Headmistress gave Jeremiah a handshake and breathed a sigh of relief.
That was the last of them. Another successful class. No drop-outs, no (massive)
scandals, no new wars, Slytherins and Gryffindors had begun to end their
squabbling, and McGonagall hadn’t so much as heard a rumor of parent complaints
this year. These young minds were out of her hands now, and hopefully on their
way to success. Hopefully.
   “Professor Lupin,” she said as she stepped off the stage to stand next to
Remus and glow in their mutual pride. “I have no doubt that this crop will be
able to defend themselves against every dark art thanks to you.”
   Remus beamed. “I would hope so.” Whatever darkness his and Sirius’ godson
hadn’t destroyed, of course. Harry was the most talented student to grace
Remus’ office and private lessons, but he didn’t like to play favorites. At
least not too obviously, anyway.
   “I think you have another student to attend to,” Minerva pointed out,
motioning to the Ravenclaw at the end of the Great Hall with her one lonely
suitcase. Remus would be sure to send her back to her room with a second
suitcase of his own to make sure she had everything. After all, he wouldn’t
want Olivia to miss anything when she stayed at Grimmauld Place.
   “Olivia,” he greeted as he approached her, trying a smile he hoped looked
fatherly rather than desperate.
   The brunette shifted in her worn black flats. They would have to buy her new
shoes, too. “Sorry that I’m early,” Olivia piped up. “I just wanted to make
sure we wouldn’t miss the train.”
   “The Hogwarts Express comes in an hour.”
   “I know.”
   She was a timely young lady, at least. Remus was careful to use the phrase
‘young lady’ since she would be entering third year in the fall. “Walk with
me?” Remus asked of her.
   “Sure,” she said a little nervously, dragging her wheeled suitcase behind
her as they escaped the cheering and celebration in the Great Hall. There
wasn’t a feeling quite like the feeling of knowing you never had to go to
school again, sit in one more potions class, or endure one more essay.
   “That will be you in five years,” Remus tried, strolling alongside her down
the hallway. Didn’t that usually cheer kids up?
   Olivia nodded and stared at the floor tiles as if they were the ones talking
to her. “Yeah.”
   Something was wrong. Olivia was a talkative thing; a Ravenclaw, at that.
   While Remus tried to figure out something to say, the obvious hit him right
in the face. Of course she wasn’t comfortable. Her werewolf teacher and his
batty cursebreaking husband had taken an interest in what, becoming her
fathers? “If you don’t want this,” he started hoarsely before Olivia stopped
her strides.
   “I do,” she cut him off. “I really do, Professor. Or Remus. Or whatever I’m
supposed to call you.”
   “Whatever you’re comfortable with,” he insisted. The last thing Remus wanted
was to make a student feel like they were being forced into his home, or worse,
his family.
   “Remus,” she tried slowly before giggling at the informality of it. “That’s
fine.”
   “If you want to back out of this and stay here this summer, I won’t be
angry. I wouldn’t ever want you to be somewhere that you didn’t want to be,”
Remus explained quickly. “I would never take it out on you—“
   “I know.” Professor Lupin—Remus, she supposed—was a good man. Less creepy
than Professor Slughorn, too. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
   Remus could have collapsed with relief, but luckily he remained standing
upright. “Then what is it?” He could fix almost anything in her life but
himself.
   Her little hand let the suitcase stand on its own. Olivia took a deep
breath, trying to remember what she and Alex talked about before. The
Gryffindor boy who happened to be her best friend always had some good advice.
Something about honesty, and something about bravery. Typical Gryffindor stuff.
   “What if,” she started. “You don’t like the way I use a lot of hot water in
the shower? What if I hurt Sirius during a full moon? What if I hate the food
you make, but I’m just too polite to say so and one day I snap? What if you
realize you don’t want me there?”
   “Olivia,” Remus said, no longer needing to drop to his knee to get to her
eye-level. She really was growing fast. It made her scars stretch, and Remus
knew how self-conscious that could make someone. “You can use all the hot water
you like. And don’t you even begin to worry about what the wolf does. You’re
separate, and you have to start telling yourself that. Also, I will be sure to
try and fulfill every food request you have. Even takeout every night.” That
was actually what he and Sirius had most of the time, so… “And if you ever get
angry, I’ll try and understand why so that we can fix it. We want you there.”
   “You do?” Olivia asked just to be sure. There was no such thing as being too
sure.
   “Of course we do. How could we not?”
   She shrugged. After a lifetime of never having someone who wanted her
unconditionally, it was strange to think someone really could. Quietly, she
missed the parents she had no real memories of.
   “Professor Lupin!” another voice shouted down the hall. Remus turned from
his almost-legal-child-type-thing to see what graduated student was bothering
to chase him down. It turned out that this student wasn’t graduating at all.
   Tiffany Sato was a fifth year, or was a fifth year. Next year Remus would be
seeing her for the sixth time around, and hoped that she could keep up with her
homework schedule this time. “Miss Sato, what can I do for you?”
   “I just had to ask,” she panted, clearly out of breath from running. “You
and the Malfoy-Potters.” Tiffany could barely gain the air to get a full
sentence out. How long had she been running?
   “Yes?” Remus asked with a defensive edge.
   “You saw the latest Daily Prophet, right?” Tiffany asked before wrestling
the hair tie off of her wrist and stringing her blonde hair up in a ponytail.
   Remus knew exactly what article she was referring to. While there was
usually one or two passages about the wizarding world’s most hated and
simultaneously most loved power couple, they had made the front page that
gossip rag just a few days ago. “Yes, I did. Where is this going?”
   “I just want to know. Most of the stuff in there is total shit, usually. Oh,
sorry, should I not say ‘shit’ in front of a teacher? Anyway, I need to know
something.” Tiffany took a moment to collect herself and straighten her green
tie. “Is it true?”
   “Is what true?” Remus didn’t exactly give out family secrets at the drop of
a hat.
   “That they’re looking to adopt,” she sputtered out, not once looking at
Olivia. Tiffany was on a mission.
   Crossing his arms, Remus gave her a stern look. “Just because Draco and
Harry are public figures doesn’t mean that you have to know all of their
private details.”
   Using the deception skills that had got her into the house of the snake,
Tiffany spun a lie. “It’s just that some kids were gossiping, you know? Fourth
years. I didn’t want to listen to lies, so I came to ask you since you’re in
their family. Are Draco and Harry searching for a baby to adopt?”
   If Remus were to tell the truth, it would be that wherever the two went,
people were all but throwing their children at them. Their fans would give
anything to have their child raised by the great, the powerful, the newspaper-
dubbed ‘Drarry’. Instead, Remus gave a half-truth.
   “Draco and Harry are planning to start a family, yes. Only about a fourth of
the rubbish in that paper is true,” Remus murmured carefully.
   Remus hadn’t thought that would bring relief to Tiffany’s erratic breathing
and face scrunched with worry, but it did. “Oh,” she said with a small smile.
“Thanks for, er, letting me know.”
   “Goodbye,” Olivia cut in, giving her a winning smile. This was a life-
affirming she was having with her sort-of-guardian, dammit. No celebrity-crazed
girl would interrupt her for too long.
   Without so much as a goodbye from the older girl, all they saw was a flash
of blonde hair darting off towards the Great Hall.
   Some people really didn’t have any decency. Remus wasn’t the sort to
romanticize the past, saying ‘kids these days!’ or anything old and bitter of
the sort, because he could see a young Bellatrix Black doing the same thing.
Any true Marauder would have thrown in a ‘thank you’.
   Maybe the world was divided like that: into people who had some courtesy and
people who didn’t.
   “So,” Remus recovered.
   “So,” Olivia replied with a shy smile.
   “Looks like we now have—“ Remus looked at his watch. “Forty-five minutes
until the train comes. Why don’t you tell me what food you do like?”
   Remus was always doing stuff like that, Olivia had noticed. Stuff that made
people feel reassured and warm. “Well,” she said slowly before grabbing her bag
again so that they could walk some more. “I do have a soft spot for chocolate.”
   “Oh, we are going to get along splendidly.”
***** Hunters in Plaid *****
Chapter Notes
     And finally, the boys. I love established and domestic relationships,
     man. They’re the best. Thanks to everyone for supporting this! Also,
     yes, for those of you who haven’t read the prequel to this: Theodore
     Nott and Colin Creevey are in my holy trinity of ships. Drarry,
     Wolfstar, and Tholin. It’s a bit like a religion, so just play along
     until you love it as much as I do.
Chapter 2: Hunters in Plaid
   “Where,” Draco began, taking inventory of the granite counters covered with
cooking utensils. “Is our pasta strainer?”
   From down the hall, Harry had to adjust to a house where they had to
actually shout to hear each other rather than the echo of a flat. “I think it’s
with the linens!”
   Taking a deep breath, Draco repeated his mantra.Moving is not going to
stress me out. Moving is not going to stress me out. Moving is not going to
stress me out even though I am moving with someone who can’t organize to save
their life.“And why is that?” Draco asked in a voice that tried at calm but
sounded shrill as ever.
   “You stuffed the kitchen boxes full,” Harry shrugged, moving some specially-
selected earth-tone chairs into the dining room adjacent from the kitchen.
   “Harry James Malfoy-Potter, you are a wizard.”
   “And?”
   “I would hope you know how to use a shrinking charm,” he sighed, walking
over to the box that would later be carted upstairs to their bedroom so that
they could cover the new mattress. And there it was, the pasta strainer amongst
the Egyptian cotton. “Why did I marry you, again?”
   With a lazy grin, Harry came up behind him to rest his head on Draco’s
shoulder. “Lots of reasons,” Harry said casually. “For starters, I’m your
soulmate.”
   “My what?” Draco turned around to face him, arching a brow.
   “Your soulmate,” Harry clarified before walking back to the dining room to
unwrap the elaborate centerpiece that Draco had secured in bubble-wrap only
nights ago.
   Draco followed him with his eyes, trying to get inside that head of his.
“You’re going to tell me that we’re soulmates and keep unpacking the fucking
décor?” he asked, amused.
   “I figured you already knew.”
   “Well,” Draco huffed, crossing his arms. “Maybe I like reminders. Tell me
properly this time.”
   Harry placed the half-unwrapped glass on the table and looked to his
husband. “Draco, you’re the only one in the world for me,” he said
dramatically, mocking the request. “You make my heart gushy and my cock hard.”
   “Twit,” Draco accused blamelessly.
   “Oh, come on,” Harry chided as he continued the adventure of unloading the
fine china that Draco’s parents had given to them. Maybe if he dropped one,
they wouldn’t have to use it anymore. “I’m wearing your underwear right now,
and I’ll let you take it off later. Isn’t that proof enough?”
   Draco shrugged, giving Harry an I-Totally-Don’t-Care-Except-That-I-Do look.
“I suppose,” he said airily, going back to placing pots and pans in their new
cabinet homes.
   Harry unloaded the last Malfoy-family plate. “I looked at cribs with you
yesterday,” he said a little softer this time.
   “Yes, because your brain has been on the topic of children since we were
engaged.”
   “No,” Harry objected before walking back to the kitchen so he could buy
himself some time to get the wording right. The habit of saying half-baked
ideas in front of Draco was never one with many rewards. “It’s because you’re
my family, and you know that. I just want to expand our family, and I know
somewhere deep down you do too.”
   Draco smiled a little, but he wouldn’t let Harry see it. After all, just
because they were married didn’t mean that the Gryffindor didn’t have to work
for Draco’s approval any longer. “Very deep down,” he nodded.
   “But this is what you want?” Harry asked nervously. That was a question he’d
asked too many times.
   “Of course,” Draco sighed, dropping the act and pulling Harry in for a quick
kiss. “This is what I want. You and a sweet little roly-poly filled with snot.”
   Harry gave his side a pinch. “Hey, not just any roly-poly. Our kid will be
fantastic, just like their daddy.”
   “Or their papa, I suppose,” he smirked, kissing those pink lips again. It
was nice having Harry to himself like this. Both Draco and the baby would have
to learn a few lessons in sharing their favorite papa.
   “Maybe they’ll cure the common cold,” Harry fantasized. “Or stop global
warming.”
   Draco picked right up on that train of thought. “They’ll win beauty pageants
without even having to enter them, and will graciously accept the crown.”
   “They could ride horses!”
   “Or dragons.”
   “Or discover new species,” Harry continued.
   “And speak twenty different languages, just because they can.” Draco had
only learned so many because of his father’s strict parenting style.
   “And they’ll be kind,” he clarified with a smile. “Because we’ll teach them
to be.”
   “Even in the face of paparazzi?” Draco asked, having held Harry back from
punching a few photographers on Draco’s behalf. Something about Gryffindors and
defending their chivalry, or honor, or whatever.
   Harry had, unfortunately, stewed over that idea for a while. “I don’t want
them to grow up with cameras all around them,” he muttered. “It’s going to give
them a warped sense of reality when they should be having fun and being a kid.
Maybe they could handle it when they’re older, but not a second before.”
   “So we just lock them in here and never let them see the sunlight? They’ll
be paler than my father.”
   “No,” Harry objected weakly. “We’d just… We’d make sure that we were never
followed home and that they kept out of our faces when they did find us.” Harry
had known what the burden of a famous last name had done to Draco, and had
promised himself that his child would never suffer that fate.
   Draco didn’t want to burst his bubble, but that was hardly realistic. “All
we have to do is keep an open dialogue about it. We can’t shelter them from the
fact that their fathers are famous and famously gay.”
   “If anyone so much as teases them for that, I swear—“
   “Easy there, lion cub,” Draco said with an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
“We could hex them together.”
   “Good.”
   Before they heard the doorbell ring, they heard the commotion outside of
their front door. It was strange, not having to take an elevator to get to your
living space.
   “They’re here,” Draco whispered with a joking tone of ominousness.
   With a playful swat, Harry went to open their door and let their friends in
to help them unpack and fill their pantry with food. Lucius had mumbled
something about wanting to see how ‘structurally sound’ the house was, too.
   So Harry let them inside in waves of laughter and ‘oh, this is beautiful!’s
and ‘congratulations!’s. Even little Rose gurgled at her ‘Uncle’ Harry that was
probably baby-speak for her approval of the house.
   It seemed strange, having Weasleys and Malfoys under the same roof and not
having a single insult being hurled. Sure, there were some snide remarks and
snips, but nothing on the grand scale of what it had been when Harry and Draco
were children.
   “Sweetheart,” Molly said cheerfully, bringing Harry in for a crushing hug.
“It’s so wonderful. Arthur’s bringing in the food, since we can’t have you
starving in such a lovely home.”
   “Don’t worry,” Draco chimed in. “I kept him fed and watered.”
   Giving him a pinch for referring to him as a house plant, Harry managed to
drift into the living-room with Draco.
   “I’ll redo the pipes,” Sirius decided for them, having been on another home-
renovation kick in order to get things ready and perfect for Olivia. “It’s not
a particularly old house, but the last thing I want to hear is my niece
bitching about cold, rusty water.”
   Draco grinned. “So considerate.” He wished Sirius would do the repairs with
magic, but once Sirius Lupin had an idea, it was damn near impossible to change
his mind.
   “Someone has to be,” he replied dramatically to get a laugh out of the room.
Humor was his forte, after all.
   The only one who wasn’t all smiles and pats on the back was Lucius. However,
Lucius Malfoy was rarely even semi-smiles and brushes on the back. When Draco
noticed his glower, a sigh escaped him. “Father, you’re going to bore a hole in
the wall if you stare at it any longer.”
   “Is it so wrong for me to want my son to have a good home?” Lucius asked
innocently. “I would never want you and Harry to waste away your gallons when
your children may need them some day.”
   Draco made a distressed sound.
   “Oh, come now,” Narcissa said, getting in between the two men. “Can’t we
talk about this later?”
   Fred Jr. gripped onto his mother’s skirt and widened his eyes. “Mum, is
Uncle Draco pregnant?” he asked excitedly, hoping for a new cousin since he’d
been so delighted with the previous ones.
   “No,” Angelina laughed, patting his head.
   Unfortunately, George cut in to explain why. “You see, Freddie, if either of
them were going to get pregnant, it’d probably be Harry—“
   “Hey!”
   “Sorry, mate. Just telling the truth,” he said with his signature grin.
   Angelina gave her husband a look. “Quit confusing him,” she muttered before
dropping down to his height. “Uncle Draco and Uncle Harry are going to be
adopting a baby, since two men can’t have one on their own.”
   That only confused Fred more, in all honesty. “But they got married, and
when you get married, you get pregnant with babies. I don’t get it.”
   “A little help?” Arthur called from the front door, arms full of trays of
food and a trail of levitating dishes behind him. Eager to escape what was
about to become the birds and the bees talk with Fred Junior and a distressed
Angelina, Harry rushed to help him.
   “Thanks,” he said when he smelled just how good it was. Nothing was quite
like Molly’s home cooking. “You really didn’t have to make so much.”
   “Nonsense! Molly and I were experimenting with muggle cooking devices. Even
Charlie pitched in!”
   Surrounded by his seemingly never-ending family members, Charlie and his
faux dragonhide clothing looked slightly out of place. “Dad nearly hit the
ceiling when the bagels popped out of the toaster,” Charlie informed his
varying degrees of relatives. Wait. Bill, Ron, Mum, Dad, Fleur, Angelina,
George, Victoire, Fred Jr… “Where’s Ginny?”
   Draco tried to recall where he’d seen the woman last. “Being famous and
signing brooms, probably.” Her Quidditch career had really taken flight (pun
intended) when she signed with the English National team.
   “She said her and Blaise were being interviewed by the Prophet,” Hermione
remembered, though she had thought Ginny would at least be around in the same
time slot as her family. “Last thing any of us need is more misinformation from
that rag.”
   “Amen to that,” Sirius replied as if he were actually religious.
   Harry held back a grin. There was no doubt that the whole Slytherin gang
would show up in a few hours, all of them with ridiculous excuses and
sunglasses on in spite of the fact that they were inside. Their significant
others would be doubtlessly dragged along for the ride, just like Harry was
when Theo or Greg had some big event. Merlin help them all when Pansy threw a
party.
   “We can tell Ginny how proud of her we are later,” Molly said with a knowing
smile. Her daughter’s face in papers for being talented and in a star-studded
relationship was much better than the rumors that had haunted her after Harry
broke up with her. “Now, we eat.” There would be more than enough leftovers.
   Oh, if only Remus had been there. Sirius would have suggested they
christened the house with a bottle of champagne and taken in the disturbed look
on his face. But alas, he was on a train with their daughter-type-thing.
   The family gathered around the table that Harry had just barely put together
in time to begin their feast of toasted splendor.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Laughing, Colin tried to wrestle his shirt on. It was difficult with the
other man trying to drag him back to bed, but someone needed to be the punctual
one in the relationship.
   “We’re already late,” Theo reasoned, pawing at Colin’s pale skin. “Come on,
just one more kiss.”
   Colin rolled his eyes. “That is such a lie. You’re a horndog.” Finally, the
shirt pushed down over his golden locks.
   “I promise,” the Slytherin tried.
   “Swear on a stack of potions books?”
   “I swear.”
   With a sigh, a fully-clothed Colin Creevey wriggled his way back into the
bed next to Theo. “Fine,” he murmured before reeling him in by his raven hair
for a quick peck.
   Theo arched an eyebrow. “You call that a kiss? I happen to know you can do
much, muchbetter.”
   “Don’t tempt me,” Colin laughed before yanking him back in to crush their
lips together, tilting his head so that their noses brushed.
   The kiss softened once Theo slung a leg around his Gryffindor, anchoring him
there for a few seconds longer.
   Colin had never expected the son of a Death Eater and a loner Potioneer to
be the cuddly sort, but maybe he should have. It was one of the many pleasant
surprises about being with Theo.
   “We should go,” Theo realized without moving a muscle.
   “Oh, so now you see that you should probably be there for your best mate’s
house warming party,” Colin laughed breathily between kisses. If they had any
real time to stay in bed, he would have drawn the white sheets up around them.
   “See,” he replied. “I can understand anything with time.”
   With a pulse of regret, Colin pulled away to fetch his boyfriend some
clothes. “You better haul your arse into these pants,” he said, tossing a
randomly-selected outfit at the bed. “I don’t want to miss whatever fit Lucius
decides to throw.”
   “He’s not so bad,” Theo shrugged as he buttoned up the front of a shirt that
was definitely not his. It was sure a good thing that he could get away with
shit like that as a ponce. “Not as bad as he used to be to Harry. If anything,
they’re on the same side this time.”
   “Against Draco?” Colin asked skeptically before stepping into his shoes.
   “Not against. They’re both pretty pro-family.” There was the small issue of
adoption versus in vitro fertilization that would probably turn into a power
struggle, though. “I just can’t believe they finally convinced Draco that he’d
be a good father.”
   “He would be.”
   Theo zipped up his pants before checking his hair in a nearby wall mirror.
“That’s the thing,” Theo agreed. “Draco’s got a complex about it that I’m
surprised Harry could overcome.” Maybe that was why they were good for one
another.
   “Well, I’m looking forward to being an honorary uncle,” Colin announced.
   Grinning, Theo put on his own shoes and prepared to apparate. They’d attune
to Draco and Harry’s fireplace later, he supposed. “Is that code for ‘we’re
babysitting when Dennis has kids’?”
   Colin was glad he understood the nuance. “You better learn how to change a
diaper,” he teased just to see the horror flash over Theo’s face before their
side-by-side apparation.
   Hours into the party already, they arrived at about the same time as Pansy
and Maggie. The urge to grab a fistful of those ridiculous red curls would
always lurk in Theo for some strange reason. He just wanted to see if they were
real, was all.
   Real or not, Pansy Parkinson—The Girl Who Lived To Never Commit—liked them.
“Draco,” she gushed. “It’s so much bigger than that dingy old flat. You’ll have
to put some nicer flowers in the front, though.”
   “Don’t worry,” Neville cut in as he filled his plate with warm and gooey
pop-tarts. “I can get you two the best of everything. Luna and I are even
selling to the Ministry for their whole ‘green initiative’ laws. Finally good
to have a Minister who gives the environment the time of day.”
   “Ah,” Pansy nodded as if she had actually listened to a word out of his
mouth.
   “Kingsley’s the best we’ve seen in a long while.” Arthur raised his glass in
praise. Being a Ministry worker was never easy, but it was especially shameful
during the war. Things had gotten so out of hand.
   Lucius cocked an eyebrow. “But his financial plans? You can’t tell me that
giving handouts to the poor is going to get us out of debt.”
   “Hey,” Draco interrupted. “No political ideology at the table.”
   “So says the Master of the House,” Theo cut in after having taken a quick
look-around to check out what was so special about this place.
   Draco grinned from ear to ear. “I quite like that title.” Nothing in the
world quite beat being the Master.
   “Then what am I?” Harry asked them both, crossing his arms.
   “Patriarch?” offered Ginny from the other side of the dining table after
laughing at the look on Blaise’s face when he managed to get a bite of his
bagel down. Pureblood reactions to muggle food had to be the most amusing thing
Ginny had ever seen.
   “Lord,” Ron said with a joking regal swish of his hand.
   “Supervisor,” Maggie suggested. After all, someone needed to watch Draco.
   Victoire went through all the French she knew before deciding for all of
them. “Monsieur,” she declared as she threw her hands up in the air. It was the
sort of idea that also required physical exclamation.
   Draco would have gone with ‘Resident Sexpot’ but that worked just as well.
“She’s a smart one,” he told Fleur in a rare display that one might actually
refer to as Draco giving a compliment and being nice. In his mind, he was just
calling it like he saw it.
   Even Bill was caught off guard. “Yeah,” he answered with his wife. “Thanks.”
   “Are we finally all here?” Molly asked, trying to count the swarm of heads.
Thank Merlin that Harry and Draco finally had this much space.
   Sirius tried to count with her, but it only messed them both up. “Just
waiting on Moony and Liv, I think.”
   “Do we need to do role call?” Lucius asked dryly. Goyle and his little
Hufflepuff—was her last name Cabot? Rabbit?—had made the mistake of sharing
kisses next to an already-bothered Lucius Malfoy. “Because you’re going to have
to stop licking each other’s faces for that.”
   Narcissa hid her laugh.
   From Harry’s seat, he could see Remus’ reflection in the glass window. “I’ll
get it!” Harry called, rushing away from ever hearing Lucius say the word
‘licking’ out loud ever again.
   When the door swung open, Remus embraced Harry like a son. “Look at you,” he
marveled. “All grown up.”
   Harry hoped that he would be grown up by twenty-six, but the gesture wasn’t
lost on him. “This must be Olivia,” Harry said, bending over to outstretch his
hand for her to shake. “So glad you could make it.”
   Olivia had to keep her jaw off of the floor. That was Harry Potter. Well,
legally Harry Malfoy-Potter, but equally as famous and heroic! “Hullo,” she
tried a little weakly.
   “Hey, kiddo,” Sirius greeted her after giving Remus a quick kiss on the
lips. “Hungry?”
   “Yeah,” was all she could manage.
   There was Ron Weasley! And his wife, the one who had help free the house
elves! There was the Chief Editor of the Quibbler, and Ginny bloody Weasley!
She was so fantastic at Quidditch that one of Olivia’s dorm-mates back in
Hogwarts had a poster of her taped to the wall.
   It was a room full of celebrities, and Olivia wasn’t sure if her twelve
year-old frame could take it. These were the people she saw in papers and
magazines, the couples she idolized, and the war veterans that had saved them
all. Well, some of them were on the wrong side of the war at the time, but
still.
   “Hullo!” Fred Jr. greeted her, his hands covered in jam from trying to make
faces on his toast. Was he her cousin now? “My dad runs a joke shop and my mum
plays Quidditch.”
   “Uh,” she started once she saw that all the adults were busy joking and
talking amongst themselves. At least Sirius was giving her an encouraging look.
“That’s cool.”
   “He sells pygmy puffs, too. Lots of girls like them,” he offered before
George knelt down to wipe his hands off.
   “That’s my little salesman,” George beamed as he ruffled his hair. “But
you’re completely welcome to one for free.”
   Olivia gaped. “Free?”
   Before George could terrify her entirely by explaining that all products
that their ‘family’ wanted were free (except for Ron who paid double), there
was another knock at the door.
   Confused, Molly tried to take a second head count. “I thought everyone was
here…” she trailed off, trying to keep track of where her grandchildren were
running off to.
   “I’ll get it,” Draco offered his husband this time, strolling up to the door
without a clue in the world about what waited on the other side.
   “There he is! This is the house, this is it!”
   “Abomination!” screeched a woman in plaid, holding up a sign that read ‘Get
out of our neighborhud!’ so that Draco could at least take solace in her
misspelling.
   “Smile for the camera, Malfoy-Potter!”
   “Can I get a statement from you on the rumors that you and Harry are trying
to get pregnant through magic?”
   “What?” Draco sputtered out finally at the wave of reporters and
photographers outside his front door. “No! That’s impossible—“
   “Magic can do great things!” one woman shouted.
   The endless clamor of voices trying to scratch their way to Draco’s ears
ended abruptly, leaving him to wonder if the whole thing had been real. “What?”
   Lucius gave his son a look as he locked the door he had previously slammed
in everyone’s faces. “It’s not safe here,” he told him. “You’re staying at the
Manor tonight.”
   “What?”
   “Salazar, Draco, is that all you can say? The press knows where you live,
and you haven’t got wards up to keep them out,” Lucius growled, protectively
moving to shut all of the blinds and curtains.
   Dumbstruck, the small army of family members watched on with worry. Fleur
and Bill turned to each other to speak in hushed tones, Narcissa was as pale as
a ghost, and even stalwart Charlie seemed concerned.
   “I never thought in a thousand years that I would say this,” Molly dragged
out, always read to get a subtle jab in. “But Lucius is right.”
   Colin nodded. “You know how crazy they are. Before you know it they’ll be
throwing bricks in the window so that they can climb in and write juicy gossip
about your showerhead choices.”
   A distressed groan escaped Harry. “How did they even find out?” he asked,
looking around the room. Only the people in that room knew the address, and
suddenly so did the whole world. Fuck, this was a nightmare.
   “They can stay with us at Grimmauld Place,” Sirius cut in. He wouldn’t let
his godson be subjected to whatever madness Lucius had in store for him there.
   Lucius, as usual, ignored nearly everything that came out of his cousin-in-
law’s mouth. It wasn’t that he had any extreme dislike for the man, it was just
that Lucius always knew best. “We can figure that out at the Manor, Head
Auror,” he emphasized. He’d dealt with crazed fans and homicidal ‘avengers’ of
all sorts from that media circus. They were not about to hurt his family more
than they already had.
   Before Harry was so much as allowed to protest, the hinges on the front door
gave a chilling creak, a loud crunch, and a pop before the door collapsed
inside altogether.
***** Too Much Free Time *****
Chapter Notes
     Agh, I’m 17! What the hell? Growing up is ridiculous. I am now
     officially driving places, and I got cast in a music video. TW for
     slurs and talk of menstruation. Anyway, this one’s for eloyellow!
     You’ve left such touching reviews but I haven’t got a chance to reply
     since you’re a guest. You’re lovely.
Chapter 3: Too Much Free Time
   How Draco could have grown up in this kind of opulence was still foreign to
Harry. No wonder he had turned out to be such a spoilt little thing in school.
   A rosebud blossomed before him in the Malfoy Manor gardens, and shyly tucked
itself away when Harry moved on to the next one. In a sort of peaceful awe,
Harry was reminded of just how much he loved magic.
   “These are really beautiful,” he murmured, watching Narcissa clip a stray
vine with the point of her wand.
   His mother-in-law smiled politely. “Having the Ministry lock ex-Death Eaters
out of most jobs gives me the time to properly take care of the gardens. I
could never trust the help with it.” That, and Lucius’ mother would have cursed
her from beyond the grave if she let the precious Malfoy gardens go to waste.
Narcissa knew a thing or two about insane in-laws.
   Harry nodded before walking on in the maze of vibrant green hedges. Even
though spring had drawn to a close, they managed to maintain their full blooms.
   A rustling came from his right, and Harry had to remind himself that they
were no longer at war. When the rustling became thumping and quiet cursing,
Harry couldn’t hold back much longer. Harry’s Head Auror senses kicked in as he
sprinted around an azalea bush to find the source of the ruckus.
   “Get back!” Draco yelled down at the blur of white. “You horrid rats, I’ll
hex you twelve ways into next week!”
   When Harry saw his husband’s mortal combat with an albino peacock, he tucked
away his wand and laughed. Years ago, Harry would have probably murdered the
bird out of sheer fear and instinct. “Really?” he asked with relief.
   “Yes, really! Harry, make it heel!”
   “It’s a peacock.”
   Draco tried shooing the hungry animal with his feet. “Well, you’re the
bloody animal whisperer!” he insisted. That trial with Buckbeak wasn’t
forgotten at all. “Get it away from me! These robes are too expensive to have
bird saliva on them!”
   “Do birds even have saliva?” With a sigh, Harry summoned some seeds that he
hoped wouldn’t accidentally poison Lucius’ favorite pets or something. After
all, who knew what peacocks ate? “Here,” he said, tossing the seeds down at a
safe distance away from Draco.
   The creature rushed to its meal with an excited flourish of its tail.
“Monster,” Draco shuddered before skulking even farther away from the bird.
   “It can’t be more than a stone, Draco. You’re ridiculous,” he told him
fondly.
   Draco gave his side a pinch before wrapping an arm around Harry. “You
haven’t seen them bite. I’m pretty sure I still have beak-shaped scars on my
arms from when I was a child.”
   “Really?” Harry asked playfully, calling Draco on his bullshit by rolling
his right sleeve up too fast for Draco to stop him. “Because I haven’t seen a
scratch.”
   “They’re there,” Draco insisted anyway. Getting him to back down would
involve much more than ‘facts’ and ‘observations’.
   Harry pressed a kiss to Draco’s bare wrist. “Not from where I’m looking.”
   “You’ll have to look harder, then,” Draco murmured, curling his hand into
Harry’s hair so that his effortless kisses could slide down Draco’s arm.
   “Mm,” Harry agreed before the kisses found their way up Draco’s shoulder and
to his neck. “It would probably help if you didn’t have long sleeves on in the
summer.”
   “It’d be even better if I just didn’t have a shirt on,” Draco agreed before
reaching down to give Harry’s firm arse a squeeze.
   From behind them, Narcissa cleared her throat.                        
   “Yes, mother?” Draco huffed as if this had happened to him a million times
before.
   “Just reminding you that you’re outside,” Narcissa said airily. In one hand,
she perked a pink flower up with just a touch. “Where there are no walls,
ceilings, silencing charms…”
   “I would have all of that at home if father wasn’t making it a fortress of
solitude right now.”
   Narcissa made a ‘tsk’ noise with her tongue. “We’re protecting you, Draco.
You and Harry both, along with your eventual children.”
   “All it needed was wards,” Draco argued before finally pulling a shocked and
blushing Harry off of his neck. “Not a thousand locks, not magically reinforced
doors and windows, and certainly not a fifteen-foot Confundus barrier around
the damn place. What if the spell works on us?”
   “Your father is a powerful wizard.” Narcissa would never undersell her
husband’s skills. “I’m sure things will work perfectly.”
   “Sirius is helping, too,” Harry told Draco to help reassure him. Harry would
have been down there adding his own security measures of the Auror caliber if
he wasn’t wary of the press returning with their questions and accusations.
   Draco gave them both baleful looks. “Yes, yes, so sue me if I wanted to
spend a night in our house.” The ‘our’ had just sort of slipped out.
   “Tonight,” Narcissa told her son with a small smile. “Tonight you can. And
for now, you two can curb your… wants by helping me garden. The petunias need
special care this time of year.”
   Draco rolled his eyes and dragged Harry off to grab a watering can.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “So what’d he say?” Grace asked, leaning forward so that her legs swung over
the edge of the pastel pink bed. “Tiff. Hello?”
   It was hard to think about life-altering occurrences and events when
peroxide was seeping into your scalp. “I told you that I needed to do this
first! Aaron is coming over and my roots are showing like the motherfuckers
they are.”
   This was ridiculous. “Tiff!” Grace shouted again before barreling into the
bathroom with her wand drawn. “I will hex that dye right out of your hair
unless you give me a straight answer.”
   “Five. More. Minutes.”
   “You can talk while you’re dying it, dumbarse!” she retorted.
   “Hey,” Tiffany said, holding the applicator brush in her hand. “I do not
appreciate the name-calling right now.”
   That set Grace off more than ever. “Seriously?” she demanded. “I ask you one
favor out of the entire year, and you’re making me miserable about it! I should
have just talked to Professor Lupin myself.”
   “Someone was too scared and made her best friend do her dirty work.”
   “You’re going to lose the ‘best friend’ title if you don’t tell me what the
Professor said,” Grace snapped before taking the applicator brush and touching
up Tiffany’s roots herself. A little selfishly, Grace considered the Asian girl
to be dying her hair blonde so that she could look more like Grace. That alone
meant that Tiffany owed her an answer.
   She sighed. “Yeah, it’s true. But Grace, this is a terrible idea—“ she
blurted out, hoping that she had stalled enough to put Grace off of the idea
entirely.
   “I’ve only had one terrible idea in my life,” Grace snapped, falling back
into her classic alpha-female role before dropping the used applicator in the
trash. “And this isn’t it.”
   “Yes,” Tiff muttered sarcastically. “Stalking a couple of rich fags with too
much free time and dumping your fetus on their doorstep is a fantastic idea.”
   “Shut up. And you shouldn’t be using that word,” Grace muttered. She hated
that almost as much as she hated being called a mudblood. Slytherin sure was an
ironic house for her to end up in.
   Tiffany gave her a look. “There aren’t any gay people around here, so why
should I stop? Unless you’re secretly a lesbian, it doesn’t matter.”
   “It does matter. You can’t say that you’re an ally for gay people and then
walk around dropping that word. You can’t have it both ways.”
   “Can you drop your politically correct act for a second?” demanded Tiffany.
“I’m trying to tell you to forget the damn plan and tell your aunt and uncle;
I’m not trying to pick a fight with gay people.”
   “I am not telling anyone from my family. Now listen up, and listen well. It
is too fucking late for me to abort, and I’m not in the mood to go shopping for
a coat hanger, you hear me? My aunt and uncle would kick me out, and I don’t
want to live on the street. The only way this baby is coming out is if someone
massively rich pays for a late-term abortion potion, or if someone takes the
baby,” she seethed. Grace couldn’t take this anymore. “And since there’s a
couple looking for a baby and I don’t feel like puking my brains out for a year
thanks to hormonal insanity that the potion would bring: this is the idea.”
   “You’d rather push a living being out of your vagina than never have a
normal period again?” Tiffany asked skeptically, crossing her arms. She looked
rather ridiculous in her sea-foam green bathroom with tin foil and yellow gunk
in her hair, and Grace sort of wanted to slap that doubtful look right off of
her face.
   “That is so fucking easy for you to say,” she growled right back. “You don’t
have the period issues that I do.”
   “Oh, wah! I’m Grace Burbage and my flow is heavy!”
   Grace gave her a shove against the bathroom counter. “Fuck you! It’s a real
medical condition, and I can’t fuck it up any worse with potion hormone
treatment or I’ll be bleeding twenty-four seven!”
   “So you’d rather give birth?” Tiffany demanded.
   “Yes!” Grace shouted. “I won’t have to keep the baby, I can get the adoptive
parents to pay my medical bills, and my tits will get huge after it’s born.
It’s a win-win for everyone!” Aside from the fact that his was the second-worst
thing that had ever happened to her.
   After a deep, cleansing breath like Tiffany had learned in her mum’s yoga
class, she looked back to her friend. “Fine. That kind of makes sense. But… Why
them? You can find rich fa—gays. You can find rich gays anywhere. Ones that
aren’t so famous and unreachable.”
   “They’re not unreachable,” Grace reminded her. The break-in on Saturday had
only further convinced her that this was the right path. After all, she had an
address now. “And who knows what the other rich gays are doing? I mean, I’m
sure there are some nice families, but even straight ones can be awful
parents.”
   “And you think that just because you’ve read a couple glamorous stories
about the Boy Who Lived and his Death Eater lover that they’re suitable
parents?” Tiff questioned.
   This interview was getting tired. “That’s why I’ll talk to them first,”
Grace said as she shifted her weight. “But, yeah. If two blokes can still fancy
each other after a war enough to marry one another, I think that qualifies as a
‘loving parent’ characteristic.”
   “Tiffany!” Tiff’s mother shouted up from the living room where she had been
watching television. “There’s a young man here for you!”
   “I’ll be down in a second, mum!”
   While a nervous teenage boy sat down uncomfortably on her plastic-covered
sofa, Tiffany frantically rushed to the sink to get her hair back to a semi-
normal state of being. “Look, just owl me before you do anything.”
   “I don’t need your permission,” Grace hissed.
   “I know,” Tiffany softened. “It’s just… You know I’m being a bitch because I
love you, right? You and the blob of cells hanging out in your uterus. So, I
just want you to have a life after this. If you end up on one of those shows my
mum is always watching about teenage girls who keep the baby.”
   “I’ll be fine, Tiff.”
   As her friend nodded and added a final topping of eyeliner on in the mirror,
she was prepared to leave her bedroom in a whirlwind.
   “Wait,” Grace said quickly. When Tiffany turned around inquisitively, Grace
reached under for the little cavern behind the mirror and pulled out a couple
of bright-purple condoms. “Be safe.”
   Tiffany couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks,” she said as she took them.
“Wouldn’t want anyone to think Hogwarts is running a pregnancy pact.”
   Without even seeing Grace’s sad smile, Tiffany rushed out of the door to her
date.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “The lock code on the side door is one, zero, six, eight—“
   “I’ll reset it to Harry’s birthday,” Draco offered.
   “That’s too obvious,” his father chastised. “Someone could easily input that
into the system and get inside.” Lucius was surprised that Draco wasn’t willing
to think outside of the box when his entire life always seemed to be outside of
the box.
   Sirius gave his cousin-in-law a small shove. “Let the children do what they
want, Lucius,” he said in a voice of mock-concern that wasn’t in an entirely
mean spirit. “You’ll give yourself a hernia.”
   “I’ll show you a hernia,” Lucius grumbled without any intention of following
through on that threat.
   “How about,” Harry offered, more eager than ever to get them out of their
house so that the madness could finally be laid to rest. “We change it to
something we’ll both remember that isn’t a birthday. Hm? Problem solved.”
   Both Draco and Lucius gave him that Don’t-Patronize-Me look.
   Sirius, luckily, heard Harry’s message loud and clear. “I’ve got to get back
home,” he excused himself. “Wife and kid waiting. You know what I’m talking
about, Narcissa.”
   The Malfoy matriarch held back a laugh. If Sirius didn’t watch it, he would
become her favorite blood relative. “Then I think it’s time for us to go, too,”
she said as her arm wrapped around Lucius’.
   In silent protest, Lucius wrote down the alarm code on a nearby notepad with
a flourish of his jewel-encrusted quill. They would change it over his dead
body.
   “Goodnight,” Draco said cheerily as he assisted Harry in seeing everyone
out. “I’ll owl you in the morning!”
   “Sleep well!” Harry added.
   Impossible, Lucius thought. They were both impossible. “If you two get a
break-in because of a faulty code, I swear—“
   “I know, I know!” Draco said as he opened their front door so that his
parents could step out into the warm summer air. “You have nothing to worry
about, by the way. I am an adult.”
   “I doubt that, still,” Lucius grumbled before his wife embraced their son in
a tight hug. Only after she had crushed him half to death would the barrage of
motherly kisses for Draco came.
   Draco tried to wriggle away and get Harry to stop laughing like an idiot,
but Narcissa gripped him tight. “I’m so proud of you.”
   “I know, mother.”
   “This home is beautiful.”
   “I know, mother.”
   “And I love you,” she finished.
   “Love you too,” Draco mumbled before Sirius ruffled his hair and he had to
swat the man away before his cheeks heated up.
   Sirius, after gracefully embarrassing his ‘niece’, said his own
goodbyes—with flourishes—before running off into the night the way that
Marauders were apt to do.
   When the new and reinforced door was sealed for the night, Draco let out a
sigh of relief. Finally. In a silent admiration, he took a look around the
vaulted ceilings and wedding-cake-white walls. They’d have to fill those with
art. Lots and lots of bizarre moving scenes of naturalistic ecstasy that would
make them seem deep and complicated in front of their friends. Maybe they could
even commission Dean for some paintings, and get Colin to snap a few vaguely-
pretentious pictures.
   “This is the hallway,” Draco said carefully, slowly. His voice echoed off
the empty walls. “Where we will leave to go to work tomorrow.”
   Harry could feel the fantasy in his tone. “I could straighten your collar
and call you Jim Dear, if you like.”
   Draco laughed. “Hardly.”
   Curiously, Harry motioned to the dining room. “And what will this room be?”
   “The room where us and the Lupins will have hilarious, wonderful, and
tasteful dinner conversations over take-out Indian food.” The assurance Draco
said it with sounded to Harry like fact. “They’ll impart onto us the wisdom of
the ages, and tell us what the sixties were like.”
   “I’m sure they’ll appreciate your calling them old,” Harry snarked.
   He shrugged. “Good thing we’re never getting old.”
   “Never?”
   “Not ever. That’s why we won’t even need to save up for retirement,” Draco
pointed out.
   “Ah, right,” Harry murmured as if Draco had merely reminded him of an
inevitability that had been there all along.  Casually, he continued his walk
around the house. “And the parlor?”
   “That’s where we’ll take a thousand pictures trying to get the perfect
Christmas card to send to everyone. It’ll be family-friendly enough for my
parents and strange enough for your aunt and uncle to be extremely concerned.”
Draco wanted them in jail for what they’d done to Harry, but Draco wanted a lot
of things.
   The Victorian-red parlor looked like something out of a Tolstoy novel. Its
gilded accents had been more than a few galleons, but Draco had convinced Harry
with kisses and begging. Since Draco was rarely the type to beg, Harry had
caved almost immediately.
   “I like the way you think,” Harry said before passing through their dining
room to get to their kitchen. “And the living room can wait. I want to know
what this room is going to be.”
   Draco approached him with a devilish grin. “This,” he said, nonchalant as
ever. “This is the room where I lift you onto the counter on our first night in
this house before fucking you senseless on it.”
   “Oh, is that so?” Harry asked with a crack in his voice he hoped Draco
hadn’t heard.
   Rather than reply, Draco acted. He launched forward to grab Harry by his
hips and lift him up in a move that may or may not have been assisted by the
wand in his pocket for a little extra strength in the moment.
   After Harry’s back was on that ice-cold granite, Draco wasted no time
climbing on top of his so that he was straddling Harry’s lap. Beneath him, he
could feel Harry give that little squirm that settled them both into that
perfect place where they both fit together.
   The blue shirt slid easily off of Harry’s torso, with Draco only needing to
undo the top button since it was one of those stretchy jersey shirts he fancied
so much. Not that he would ever admit it out loud, though; they made Harry look
like a teenager. That was all well and wonderful in bed, but out of it?
   “There’s my Harry,” Draco murmured as he cradled Harry’s rib cage so that
his thumbs rested soundly over his nipples.
   “We’re going to have to eat on this counter, you know,” he laughed
breathlessly. Not that he actually wanted to switch locations in the slightest,
of course.
   Draco smirked before digging his thumbnails into those candy-pink nipples.
“Then it’s a good thing I know how much you like eating arse. Which you will be
doing later, in the bedroom that will be the place where we’ll shag many a
time.”
   Harry let out a low growl.  “So what’re you waiting for?”
   Never one to turn down a challenge, Draco started by yanking off his belt
and throwing it off the counter. The metal clasp hit the tiles with a clang.
Next came Harry’s muggle jeans, with Draco having to toss his shoes and socks
off first. “I hate these shoes,” he muttered about the clunky sneakers.
   “I know. I happen to like them.”
   “If you don’t watch it, I’ll burn them in the fireplace,” Draco warned
teasingly.
   Harry grinned as he undid the fastens on Draco’s trousers. “We have a real,
large, and functioning fireplace. Makes me think of Hogwarts.”
   “Maybe after this,” Draco breathed before cupping the growing bulge in
Harry’s trousers. “We can shag in front of it.”
   Harry rutted up into the gentle touches. “Every room,” he murmured.
   “Hm?” Draco kicked off his shoes.
   “I want to shag you in every single room of this house. Our house.”
   That made Draco smirk before he slid off his pants. Finally free, his cock
hung low before Draco could grasp it and start pumping. “You like the idea of
all of our unsuspecting friends being seated somewhere where we’ve fucked?”
   Harry’s eyes drifted up to the man before him. On his knees was where he
looked his best. Draco’s neck looked even longer that way, and the lines where
his collarbones were seemed heavenly from the angle Harry was at.
   Maybe it was a sign of going soft, looking at collarbones and finding them
beautiful.
   He’d been so distracted by what Draco would call ‘sappy’ thoughts, he felt a
finger press up against his arsehole. Surprised for a second, Harry clenched up
and wriggled away.
   “This all shocking and new to you?” Draco asked with a grin to try and mask
his concern as the other hand slathered his cock in lube.
   “Yes,” Harry said with an eyeroll. “I’ve never, ever had sex before. How do
two blokes even have sex? I’ll need charts and diagrams. Possibly
demonstrations.” He’d just been a little surprised, was all.
   Draco chuckled before successfully slipping the finger back in. This time,
Harry let out a low groan. “I usually don’t do virgins.”
   “Harsh,” Harry laughed.
   “They get too clingy. They want me to move in with them and get married,” he
joked before moving his finger in a ‘come hither’ motion to feel the stretch.
“Can’t take that kind of stuff.”
   “Ah, right. Draco Malfoy, the Forever Bachelor.”
   “Hey,” Draco murmured. “That’s Malfoy-Potter to you.”
   At that, Harry slung his legs over Draco’s shoulder so that he had a better
angle. His own neglected cock lay against his stomach, but rather than grabbing
at it, Harry wanted to make this last. “Mr. Malfoy-Potter, a thousand
apologies.”
   Draco pushed the second finger in with a shuddery breath. “Call me that
again.”
   “What?” Harry asked before grinning. “What was that, Mr. Malfoy-Potter?”
After that predatory look came over Draco’s face, he added to it by pushing
back onto the fingers.
   “Fuck,” he growled before shoving his third finger in urgently and spreading
them open wide. Draco had to have him right there and right away. The urge
doubled when he snuck a peek at Harry’s erection, a single vein running up the
side.
   In a rush, Draco shoved the head of his prick inside Harry. The Gryffindor
took it, like, well, a Gryffindor. Harry liked it fast anyway.
   “Harder,” he demanded immediately.
   “So bossy,” Draco chastised with a smile before his hands clasped Harry’s
ankles so that he could pull his legs up to go deeper with each thrust. His
hips worked double-time, pushing into Harry so that he could hit his prostate
dead-on.
   A strangled whine burst from Harry’s mouth before he gave in on the need to
touch himself. The sight made Draco quiver inside him before falling back into
the rhythm of his strokes. The heat rising in his stomach was a familiar and
well-loved burn.
   Harry’s other hand kept him anchored on the counter, his back arching
upwards. “Draco,” he gasped. He tried to line up his strokes with his thrusts.
   “Try the other name,” Draco encouraged with a breathy laugh.
   “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harry laughed right back. He loved how they
could do that; laugh during sex. After all, Draco’s penis was in his bum. It
was all very ridiculous and didn’t deserve as much seriousness as the world
seemed to give it.
   Draco stopped his thrusts, sweat dripping down his chest. “Say it.”
   Harry whimpered. “Don’t stop, please,” he begged as he quickened his strokes
to make up for the loss of Draco’s heat.
   “Say it.”
   Putting on a defiant face, Harry crumbled in seconds. “Fine! Shag me, Mr.
Malfoy-Potter!” What kind of roleplay even was this? Was Harry a secretary of
some sort? Or was he a mediwizard, or—
   “Fuck,” Draco roared, nails digging into Harry’s ankles. The countertop made
his knees ache, but it was so worth it.
   That cut off Harry’s train of thought before it had so much left the
station. “Yes,” he gasped. “That’s it, oh yes—“ Harry cut himself off when he
felt the first wave of his orgasm come over him.
   The second wave came with Draco came inside him so that his come dripped out
of the stretched-open hole. “Harry,” Draco shuddered.
   “Can I call you Draco again?” Harry laughed breathlessly.
   Draco laughed with him before letting Harry’s legs down onto the counter. “I
suppose,” he lamented before dipping down for a quick kiss. “Now, how about we
get to that fireplace you love so much?”
   “Anything you say, Mr. Malfoy-Potter.”
***** Third Flame From The Door *****
Chapter Summary
     Woo! This took 5ever for me to get onto paper, but I really like the
     way this is shaping up. Thanks again, guys! This one is for Marco,
     because he’s my little babby
Chapter Notes
     Woo! This took 5ever for me to get onto paper, but I really like the
     way this is shaping up. Thanks again, guys! This one is for Marco,
     because he’s my little babby.
Chapter 4: Third Flame From The Door
   The finishing touch on the Frappuccino of Draco’s dreams was a perfectly-
poured whipped cream pyramid. It would be the ‘cherry on top’ if Draco
particularly liked cherries. Coffee was much better.
   Harry’s plain mug with three sugars and milk to the untrained eye may have
looked rather plain and sad in comparison, but he couldn’t have been happier.
That was his warm and comfortable cup of morning coffee that got him up for
work, and it hadn’t failed him yet.
   “Husband of the year,” a drowsy Draco said with a grin. He was propped up on
the absurd amount of champagne-colored pillows that they’d transferred from
their old bedroom.
   After handing over Draco’s sugary delight Harry crawled back into bed with
him. “Any time, love.” He sipped from his mug and rested his head on Draco’s
shoulder. “Do you know when you’ll be home tonight?”
   “Not a blessed clue. Why?”
   “I dunno. I was thinking we could have our first dinner here alone,” Harry
shrugged. “Y’know, light some candles and make it fancy for you.”
   Draco’s whipped-cream-covered lips curved up. “I’ll try and get Maggie to
cover for me.”
   “Good.”
   “And the Head Auror will be dismissing himself as he pleases,” Draco
reminded him with pride. Not all of Lucius’ talk of marrying someone with a
high status in the world had gone to waste.
   “Yeah,” Harry laughed before running his thumbs nervously along his mug
handle. “And, um. Maybe this weekend we can start looking.”
   “Looking for…?”
   Harry took his head off of Draco’s shoulder and stared holes into the
sheets. “You know. Agencies that could connect us with an adoption. I’m not
really clear on how it all works, but we should start soon, you know? They
probably have tons of couples waiting for babies or toddlers.”
   Slowly, Draco let that sink in. “Oh, right. Looking. Soon.”
   “Draco…”
   “It feels strange, okay? Shopping for a baby. Are they going to have them
lined up in gender color-coded blankets?” he asked with an attempt at humor.
   Harry warmed up with a laugh. “Somehow, I doubt that. Maybe they’ll give us
pictures.”
   “All babies look the same. How are we supposed to know if it’s going to look
like us?”
   Shocked, Harry shifted so that his legs were crossed. “I didn’t realize,” he
murmured. “That it was important.”
   “Come on,” Draco sighed before wrapping an arm around the other man. “You
know I could care less about that, butsomeonedoes.”
   “I don’t really care what someone thinks.”
   “You know how hard it was to get father on our side for the wedding,” Draco
pressed on. “I don’t want this to be a step backwards. I’ll try and break the
news that we’re not jerking off into a turkey baster for a child with something
he’ll at least appreciate. Pureblood, white, and blonde to make sure that
father doesn’t slip some pernicious potion in our drinks.”
   “That,” Harry said quickly, pointing a finger at Draco. “That is racist, and
supremacist, and—“
   Draco let out an exhausted sigh.
   “What? Am I crazy for being angry at you not wanting a baby with a different
skin color? Would a muggleborn baby kill you, too?” Harry demanded. Sometimes,
Draco could seem so forward-thinking, and then he had to go say something
stupid like that.
   “It’s not me,” Draco insisted. “You know how my father is, and you know what
lengths he can go to! I’m not a racist; Blaise is black!”
   Harry narrowed his eyes. “That’s like people saying they can’t be homophobic
because they’re our friends.”
   “Well, have you heard any of them say anything homophobic lately?”
   “That’s not the point!” he shouted, actually feeling his blood heat up in
anger. “The point is that we’re getting whatever baby we can get, and if it’s a
muggleborn, or a different race, or anything different from us, then it’s still
our baby! That’s our kid.”
   Another frustrated noise escaped Draco. “You think I don’t know that? I’m
not stupid, I’m just trying to prevent another Malfoy meltdown.”
   “Well, I don’t agree with you,” Harry huffed before pushing his way back out
of the bed and to their half-unpacked closet. “And it’s stupidthat the baby
would have to be blonde.”
   Draco put down his Frappuccino and stood to challenge him. “I was only
telling you what would quiet his rage after he figures out that we’re not doing
in vitro. If you want him to go into catatonic shock, then please, go on with
your brave crusading. Everyone will surely be happier for it.”
   “What’s more important to you?” Harry demanded as he pulled on his black
Auror robes. “Your father’s approval—which by the way, you already have, and if
this changes it then it was never real in the first place—or for me to start a
family with you?”
   “What?” Draco scowled as he stalked his way up to Harry. “Are you really
making me choose between you and my father like I can only have one of you?
That’s not fair, Harry.”
   “What’s not fair is a baby being shunned from adoption because of something
they couldn’t even control. Nobody picks how they’re born and you should know
that.”
   Putting his head in his hands, Draco followed Harry’s steps—shaky with
angry—down the stairs. “Fine! You believe in this so much? Then you tell him!”
That probably meant certain death, but Draco was in enough of a snit to
consider it.
   “Fine!” Harry echoed. “I will!”
   “Good!”
   “Great!”
   Harry barreled through the dining room to snatch a leftover piece of toast
from the cupboards and made a mental note that a shopping trip was definitely
in order.
   “I’m not a racist,” Draco sighed from his spot by the head of the dining
room table. “And you know I don’t believe in any of that bullshit my parents
taught me. Not anymore.” When Harry still didn’t respond and crunched away at
his toast, Draco tried approaching him. “Don’t you know I got past that?”
   “Well, you were sounding like a real flashback,” Harry grumbled, mouth still
full of toast.
   Draco nodded. He usually loved it when Harry was right, mostly because it
involved a gratifying ending, but this time was bitter in his mouth.
   Crossing his arms, Harry swallowed the last bite of the toast. “Have
anything else to say to me?”
   “Want a blowjob?”
   “Draco.”
   “Fine!” Draco mumbled. “’M sorry. Though I’m sure a blowjob could have
articulated that.”
   Harry rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll be expecting one when we have that
dinner,” he warned him, still on-edge from the argument. “I love you.”
   “I love you too,” Draco said with a cautious smile. He really had fucked up
that morning, hadn’t he? Hopefully he wouldn’t fuck up in front of their kid
too much. One misplaced ‘mudblood’ and it would probably become their buzzword,
and Harry would seethe. “Now go save the wizarding world from the perils of
crime.”
   “After you cure the common cold,” Harry said wistfully before giving him a
goodbye kiss.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Strapped to the bed was their latest haul. This one was definitely a
teenager, and Pansy wondered where she knew him from when she recognized him.
Maybe he was a pureblood, but at the moment he was screaming about hyperacidity
and the theory of gravity. Apparently, even future scientists experimented with
drugs.
   “You think being high would make someone more interesting,” Maggie sighed
before sending the patient off with his furious parents trailing behind him.
   “Apparently,” Pansy snarked. “No amount of PCP, X, or GHB can make some
people even remotely bearable.”
   Maggie laughed and gave her girlfriend’s shoulder a little nudge. “D’you
think Pye is any more interesting when he lights up?” she asked with her teeth
looking positively sharp when she grinned.
   The mental image of the Head Healer of St. Mungo’s so much as drinking a
butterbeer was absurd in itself. “Hardly,” Pansy answered confidently.
   “Has he been to one your gatherings at your opium den?” Maggie teased. Even
so, she wouldn’t put having an actual opium den past the Party Queen of
Slytherin. Being with her had actually opened Maggie’s eyes to drugs she didn’t
know existed.
   “Of course,” Pansy joked. “Maybe one day you’ll be A-List enough to get an
invitation.”
   “Knowing you, the invitations would be done by a professional calligrapher.”
   She nodded with pride. “Of course I would. My opium den would be fabulously
designed and have the absolute most exclusive and pure-cut opium.”
   “I don’t think you can cut opium,” Maggie laughed.
   “I’ll find a way.”
   Maggie snickered before slinging an arm around her. “Oh, Princess. You’re a
real problem-solver. I admire that about you.”
   “You admire everything about me,” Pansy informed her with a regal tone.
Sometimes, that nickname really did make her gigantic ego swell even larger.
“There’s a lot to admire, so I don’t blame you.”
   “Monuments could be built to your modesty.”
   Pansy nodded happily before sneaking in a nip at Maggie’s neck. The fact
that workplace fraternization wasn’t even close to allowed made the whole thing
even sexier.
   “I am going to jump off the roof,” Draco announced from the opposite side of
the hospital lobby. His white robes were covered in a mysterious purple
substance that had both women laughing.
   Pansy was the first to poke fun. “Get into a fight with an eggplant?”
   “It would have been preferable,” he scowled before getting close enough to
them so that he no longer needed to shout his complaints for the world to hear.
“I just saved a woman from having jam for limbs for the rest of her life. She
wanted to stay as jam, too.”
   “I suppose everyone has their dreams,” Maggie joked. “You should have let
her gelatinous arse rot and get someone who really wants treatment in.”
   Draco almost agreed with her. The woman had been dragged in by her concerned
brother in the first place. “Still not the strangest thing I’ve seen to go down
with jam around here. Anyway, what are you two lovely ladies up to tonight?” he
asked with a fake schmooze as they made a slow walk towards the employee locker
rooms. Draco was looking forward to getting the hell out of there and tossing
the white robes in the laundry.
   With a glint in her eye, Pansy shrugged. “Not sure. What bar do you want to
scandalize tonight, Red?” That nickname wasn’t even close to Princess in
accuracy, only playing off of Maggie’s mess of vibrant curls, but Pansy was
determined to make it happen.
   “I’m going over to my mum’s tonight. I thought I told you this morning,”
Maggie said with a raised eyebrow.
   Pansy scrambled to make up an excuse. “I know, I was just… Wondering if we
could take her to a bar,” she lied. “You know, show her a good time.”
   Maggie could smell how fake that was from a mile away. Yet, instead of
calling Pansy out on it, Maggie decided she would torture her as long as
possible. “You want to meet my mum?” she asked innocently, with a hint of fake
naivety that went below Pansy’s radar.
   “Uh.” Pansy Parkinson did not meet mothers, or fathers, or siblings, or
household pets. Ever. At least she hadn’t thus far, considering she’d slept
with enough people to keep her occupied with sex rather than family gatherings.
   “Tonight it’ll just be her and me, so quit looking so freaked out. But since
you want to meet her, and she has wanted to meet you for a long while now, how
does next week sound?” Maggie pressed on.
   “Uh.”
   “Aw, meeting the mother,” Draco joined in with an amused look on his face.
“You two really are getting serious.”
   “I know,” Maggie gushed facetiously, putting on an expert poker face.
   The horror on Pansy’s face was delectable. “I better be your Best Man at the
wedding.”
   “No wedding!” Pansy shouted suddenly. “None. Zip. Nada. Zilch.”
   Draco and Maggie burst into a chorus of laughter. “I’m not on one knee just
yet,” Maggie reassured her, giving Pansy’s arm a comforting rub. “But, really.
How does next week look for you?”
   Still shaken, all Pansy could do was nod. “Yeah, er, I suppose I’ve got
nothing to do then.” Pansy had been hoping for a weekend of sex and general
debauchery and felt all of the pleasure she could have had fly away, too far
from her fingertips.
   “Wonderful,” Maggie said smugly. Oh, this would be good. Seeing her Irish-
Catholic mother take on the snooty-as-ever Pansy that Maggie—strangely
enough—fancied so much would be the event of Maggie’s year.
   “I have to—Ah, get changed,” Pansy sputtered out before giving Maggie one of
those ‘Don’t-Follow-Me’ looks.
   Pansy skittered off into the women’s locker room thankfully quickly. Draco
and Maggie were close to letting their laughter boil over. “Did you see the
look on her face? I think she just pissed herself.”
   “That can’t look good on her white cloak,” Maggie replied.
   Draco snickered. “You’re a wicked, wicked woman. You better warn your mother
ahead of time that your girlfriend is a basket case.”
   “Oh, I’ve already told her.” Maggie was the sort that told it like it was.
“Even told my dad.”
   It was unimaginable to Draco how Maggie could function with divorced
parents. He could barely deal with explaining his life decisions once, let
alone twice. “He jealous that his daughter is getting more than him?” Draco had
met the man once, and it was crystal clear why Maggie’s mum had filed the
divorce papers. Lazy and generally absent, that one was.
   “You’re a sicko.”
   “Am I?” Draco asked with a smile. “Then explain to me why I am baby shopping
with Harry this weekend.”
   “Because you need someone to pass on your name and hopefully, just maybe,
have the kid come out just as sick as you,” Maggie informed him.
   Draco had already considered the ‘bad influence’ aspect that his parenting
would most likely have. Depending on what one saw as ‘bad’, he guessed. “I am
already exposing them to the evils and sins of homosexuality.”
   “You’ll convert them, I’m sure of it,” Maggie teased. “But what if they come
out to you as straight?”
   With a grin, Draco pretended to mull it over. “Disown them. Or I could
become my father and try to micromanage their heterosexuality so it somehow
works out in my favor.”
   Maggie laughed. “Something tells me,” she said. “That regardless of sexual
orientation, your kid will be a deviant.”
   “Since the little bugger isn’t getting baptized, it’ll be in hell with Harry
and I when we go.”
   “I look forward to running into you there.”
   “We’ll meet on the second level, or the sixth, whichever we end up on.”
Would he be punished for being a heretic or a queer? It was Draco’s eternal
question.
   “Third flame from the door,” the medi-witch planned as she strolled away to
answer a call on a broken arm. It was maddening how many accidents went on when
the children came back from school.
   “I guess you could say that we’reflaming!” Draco called after her. That pun
was too good to pass up.
   Her curls shook as she walked away, and even though Draco couldn’t see, she
was rolling her eyes with a smile on her face.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was late, again! Not just by a few minutes this time,
either. Ronald Weasley, partner of the Head Auror, was two full hours late.
   There was a fiasco with Rose and the sitter, of course, resulting in Ron
having to call every one of his relatives until Charlie finally responded an
hour later. Then there was the issue of floo-ing Romania with a screaming child
in his arms. Charlie wasn’t the best with children, but he wasn’t the worst. At
least with him, Rosie would be constantly entertained.
   The girl had thrown a wild fit when confronted with the elderly woman that
Hermione had hired to watch their baby. All Ron could understand between the
garbled yells of her tantrum that the woman was ‘boe-ring!’ and ‘smellsy’.
   Nobody could throw a fit quite like Rose Weasley. Even Hermione couldn’t
endure hours upon hours of their daughter crying and screaming like the world
was coming to an end. As someone who had nearly witnessed the end of the world,
Hermione and Ron couldn’t help but resent that. Not enough to make them stop
loving her to pieces, but their nerves were fried. She was perhaps the fussiest
baby on earth growing into the most ill-tempered toddler. Hermione had checked
for every malady that could possibly afflict a baby, but Draco and about a
dozen other Healers had just concluded she was going through a phase.
   The fact that Hermione was pregnant all over again—once more by
accident—only served to complicate things.
   Draco had nearly died of laughter when he heard their birth control had
failed them twice. He’d even given Ron a congratulatory pat on the back and
told him that ‘now he knew why there were so many Weasleys in the world’.
   Considering Draco had helped deliver Rose, Ron looked past the fertility
jokes.
   Pushing past a disgruntled politician out of the way, Ron zipped into the
Auror’s department to be greeted by the rolling of eyes. “Sorry,” he gasped
out, thrown off by how empty the cluster of offices and meeting rooms was.
“Where…?”
   An intern delivering mail in the little wooden slots—the slot that Ron had
not checked in days and seemed to be overflowing at the moment—was kinder than
the stay Aurors. “Mr. Malfoy-Potter is in conference room six with the
Minister.” She reminded Ron of Hermione with her bushy hair.
   “Thanks,” Ron nodded before practically sprinting to the room. He couldn’t
be any later than he already was unless he wanted the damn Minister to suspend
his sorry arse. Kingsley wasn’t terribly strict, but the man had a fire about
him that made Ron think twice before ever getting in his way.
   “Wow,” an Auror with a long blonde ponytail muttered before showing her
partner the card she had drawn from Harry’s grab-bag of minor cases. “Murder of
a couple in ‘64.”
   It was the beginning of the month, which meant a ritual that Harry had
introduced in his first months of being Head Auror when the cases coming in had
mostly been broom accidents and minor domestics. He and Ron had gone into the
archives and come upon the thousands of cold cases that had been boxed and
stored after the trail went dead. It kept the department efficient, and had
intrigued a certain Kingsley Shacklebolt.
   After all, solving more crime was never a problem, and the rare and few that
were solved were big-profile cases. The statute of limitations on murder were
nonexistent, so it was mostly murders, a few rape cases, war crimes, and a
couple of grand larceny.
   “Mr. Weasley,” the Minister greeted warmly with only a hint of distaste for
his tardiness. “So glad you could join us today. You missed the entire brief on
the Anderson case, but I’m sure Harry can more than make up for that.”
   The dig didn’t go unnoticed, but Ron steeled his face. “Kid trouble,” he
explained, challenging any one of those hardened Aurors to tell him to leave
his crying daughter home alone. Out of everyone, they would know what it was
like to fear the world harming another innocent. They’d seen what Ron had seen.
“And I believe it’s our turn to draw.”
   With a smile, Harry handed him the bag. He would excuse Ron for anything
having to do with his goddaughter, that adorable little thing. She always
behaved for Uncle Harry.
   The velvety smooth bag shimmered in the office lights. Ron went with his
gut, shoving a hand down the bag and yanking out the first little card he felt.
“We’re solving this one,” he informed Harry. “I can feel it.”
   “What is it?” Harry asked, trying to peek across the table at the card.
   “You do the honors.”
   Harry accepted the card from him before turning it so the writing was right-
side-up. “Oh.” A shock went through his spine lightning striking the ground. He
knew that name.
   “Yes?” Kingsley asked before taking the card for himself. “Oh.”
   “You two keeping a secret from me?” Ron teased nervously before grabbing the
card for himself. On it was a case file number, a location to find the
materials involved, and a name. “Benjy Fenwick,” he read aloud. “Found murdered
in 1981.”
   All Kingsley had to do was give the room an icy look and the Aurors cleared
out the room, muttering what they suspected had shaken up their superiors.
   When the blonde Auror left, she shut the door behind her. The room was
silent for a moment, but Ron knew better to interrupt Kingsley’s train of
thought, so he focused on a knot on the dark wood in the wall. “He was in the
Order.”
   Ron’s eyes went wide. “What?”
   “The first Order,” Harry clarified. This was just his luck.
   “I remember the day,” Kingsley nodded. “It was one of the last deaths of the
first war. I woke up to Sirius Black shaking me like a madman and telling me
that I had to get up, because they had Benjy. That was what we thought at the
time, anyway. You see… There was only a hand at first. It had been mailed to
Hogwarts, so we thought it to be a kidnapping. Maybe we could orchestrate a
trade of prisoners, or something.”
   Harry remembered this story all too well. Mad-Eye Moody had told him it once
during a long day at Grimmauld Place.
   “Then we found the parchment. All it had was two numbers on it.” Kingsley
thought that this memory had almost left him, and there it was. Solemnly, he
continued on. “Remus was smart enough to figure out that they were latitude and
longitude, so we got a small squad to check it out. That was where we found the
rest of his arm.”
   Ron’s stomach felt like it was going to fall out of his feet. “Oh.” Now he
understood.
   “There was a note with the leg, too,” Kingsley went on. “Another riddle.
Remus solved that one—it was some sort of anagram—and it led us to a leg and a
more complex note. A few weeks later, Voldemort was gone, Sirius was in jail,
and Remus didn’t quite feel like solving any more riddles.”
   “Well,” Ron said with a shiver. “Don’t you think the Death Eater that killed
him is probably dead, too?”
   “Most likely,” Kingsley admitted before adjusting his royal blue robes.
Suddenly, he had the urge to lock himself in his office for a few hours or a
few days. “But it’s still unsolved, and we have a surplus of the bastards to
interrogate in custody.”
   Something about the tension in the Minister’s voice had Harry feeling
determined. It felt like a duty, to fill in the gaps of the Order member’s
lives. He hadn’t even known this Benjy, but he had seen pictures of him
standing with his parents, Sirius, Remus, Moody, Peter… “We’ll start right
away.”
   As much as it made his teeth clench and his stomach lurch, Ron nodded in
agreement. “And you’ll work overtime,” Kingsley told them both. “To make up for
some recent lateness.”
   Harry held back a groan. There went his dinner plans.
   “I’ll let you get to it. I have a meeting with the press at noon.”
   As fast as Kingsley had shown up to see Harry’s cold case solution-bag, he
was gone. Harry didn’t was a second. “The archives,” he said disjointedly.
“Let’s go.”
   Ron nodded before asking the obvious question. “Are you okay?”
   “What?”
   “With this, I mean.” Harry had taken the war like slugs took salt. It had
changed him.
   “Yeah,” Harry said defensively. He had a therapist, a husband, and a support
system. There was absolutely no way he was turning this down. “Now come on.”
   Ron nodded, following him without really believing him. They’d just have to
be careful, he supposed.
***** Perks *****
Chapter Notes
     SPRING BREAK, WOO! Exciting stuff. Thank again to all you lovely
     people reading this. Special shout-out to the person reading this fic
     in the United Arab Emirates, because I had no idea fanfiction.net’s
     servers even stretched that far. Kudos to you.
Chapter 5: Perks
   Self-employment was possibly the best decision that Theodore Nott had ever
made.
   He’d closed up the shop for the afternoon to join his also self-employed
boyfriend for a lunch date. While Theo’s career was in Potioneering—a service
that many wizards considered essential—poor Colin had chosen a career in the
arts. Sometimes he’d be working nonstop for weeks, and sometimes he’d be lying
around the flat and shoveling down cheesy snacks for a month.
   Aside from the orange stains on the couch, Theo didn’t really mind. He liked
living with him for many more reasons than the sex. Colin was easier to live
with than Draco had been in Hogwarts since Draco had actually managed to annoy
him from another bed away.
   Colin didn’t complain about every soul that annoyed him that day, or wake
Theo up at strange hours of the night because he needed to talk.
   It was safe to say that Theo’s taste in friends and in boyfriends was vastly
different; no matter how many times Draco accused him of having a thing for
blondes.
   He could see Colin’s blonde hair from the other side of the diner at their
usual table.
   “This seat taken?” Theo greeted him with a kiss.
   “Well,” Colin shrugged while trying to hide his smile. “I suppose it isn’t.
How was work?”
   Theo didn’t even need to pick up the menu to figure out what he was going to
order. “It was manageable. I got an order from a man planning his friend’s
bachelor party for male enhancement, if that explains it,” he laughed.
   Colin snickered. “Sounds adventurous.”
   When the waiter took their orders, he did a double take. The poor bloke
must’ve been new around there to not recognize Theo and Colin as regular
customers yet recognize them from The Daily Prophet exposés. “Your food will be
here soon, sir. Sirs,” he stumbled over his words before stumbling away to the
kitchen.
    “Ah, the adoring fans,” Theo snarked. Being known as the son of a murderous
psychopath had its perks.
   “Who can blame them? You look hot today.”
   “Just today?”
   Colin rolled his eyes fondly. “Every day.”
   The lull in actual conversation was strange. Usually, they could carry on
about anything for hours without getting bored. Now Theo found himself staring
at a salt-shaker and hoping for their food to arrive.
   When Theo noticed Colin squirming on his side of the booth, he knew
something was up. “So,” he tried. “How was your day?”
   Oh, Colin was the absolute worst at keeping things to himself. It only took
that question to crack him. “I talked to my father today,” he admitted as if it
were a secret he’d been harboring for years.
   That was hardly scandalous. “How is he?” Theo asked. Colin’s dad was a great
guy, and he’d been even better about Colin dating men, specifically Theo. It
was refreshing to see someone who just wanted their kid to be happy.
   “He’s… Ugh, I can’t even pretend this is normal. This is so weird, and
freaky, and gross,” Colin sighed. “You know how you met our ‘neighbor’ Helen at
Christmas?”
   Theo nodded. “She seemed nice.”
   “Did you notice anything strange about the way she was acting with my dad?”
   “No, why?” They had just seemed like good friends, exchanging gifts, eating
off of each other’s plates, talking about their deceased spouses, laughing in
the room where the mistletoe was hanging… Oh.
   “Well,” Colin continued without noticing the look of realization on Theo’s
face. “Dennis and I went over to his house for a late father’s day get-together
because Dennis has a real job and stuff. He told us that him and Helen, that
they’re—um, seeing each other? Oh, fuck, I am never going to get the mental
image of them shagging out of my head.”
   Theo laughed before taking Colin’s hand in his. “I’m sure it’ll go away
eventually.”
   “No way! This is sick, and wrong, and disgusting—“
   “Woah,” Theo stopped him. “That’s harsh. They’re probably happy together.”
   Colin shook his head in disbelief. Not once since his mother died had his
father shown any interest in a relationship or anything of that sort. That was
what soulmates did, right? Wait for each other? “I don’t like it.”
   A frown spread over Theo’s face. He’d always been able to relate to Colin on
issues with his family, but this one was strange and foreign concept. Marcus
Nott never had jumped back into the dating pool after spousal homicide got the
better of him.
   “And I feel like an arse for not liking it,” Colin admitted quietly.
   “You’re not an arse.”
   “Doesn’t stop me from feeling like one! You should have seen his face when I
said I had to leave for ‘work’. Even he knew that was a shitty lie.” Dennis had
taken the news disturbingly well for Colin’s taste, but maybe that was because
his little brother hadn’t known their mum for as long as he had. Dennis hadn’t
seen them together like they had been.
   Theo shrugged. “You probably just need time to adjust. I think he’ll
understand that.”
   “Yeah,” he murmured, suddenly wishing he hadn’t brought it up at all. Theo
was being far too understanding and making too much sense. Colin would have
rather wallowed in in his own distaste. No woman was wonderful enough for his
father except his mother.
   “What’s going on in there?” Theo asked, reaching across the table to ruffle
Colin’s hair. Keeping things in was unlike him.
   Leaning into his touch, Colin sighed. “I just wish that this wasn’t
happening. I know my dad deserves to be with someone he fancies and all, but…”
What he was thinking sounded dumb after a decade of dealing with it.
   “But you wish that your mum was still around.”
   Colin gave him a little smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “But I suppose I
have to accept the one parent I do have right now.”
   “I think you can try,” Theodore told him.
   “So long as they don’t hold hands in front of me or whatever.”
   “Merlin forbid,” he laughed at Colin. “I know how scandalizing that can be,
seeing phalangeal contact. I’ll try and shield your virgin eyes if it ever
happens in front of you.”
   Shooting Theo a baleful look, Colin graciously accepted his food from the
starstruck waiter before Theo shooed him away. “I would think that you of all
people know I’m no virgin.”
   “And I would think that you could handle a little physical contact,” Theo
sighed before digging into his ribs. With barbeque around his mouth in a way
that Colin found adorably classless for a pureblood, Theo amended his
statement. “Nothing’s even happened yet. He had the decency to tell you, and
you can see how it actually goes next time we’re all together. You may even
wind up figuring out why your dad fancies her so much.”
   Colin shook his head like a little kid refusing to eat his vegetables. “No.”
   “Just try.”
   “No.”
   Theo narrowed his eyes and brought out the big guns. “For me?”
   “Ugh,” Colin groaned. That got him every time. “Only for lots of sex.”
   “Whatever gets them shagging out your mind,” he teased.
   Burying his head in his hands, Colin let out a distressed noise. “No. No
thoughts of them shagging, ever! We are the only two people in the world who
shag, ever.”
   “Then how do you account for all the babies in the world?” Theo asked, now
amused with this new theory that was probably half joke and half serious
traumatization from thinking about his dad in bed.
   “They spawned from the earth,” Colin decided with a smile, knowing how silly
he sounded. “You plant kids like you do seeds, and then all you have to do is
water them.”
   “That would make Draco and Harry’s quest for a baby easier.”
   It was honestly the way the world should have worked, in Colin’s most humble
opinion. “Exactly. Maybe you could come up for a potion for that.”
   “Sadly,” Theo grinned, glad for the change of topic. “Even I’m not that
good.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “’Another scream from the vault. ‘Another scream from the vault!” Harry read
aloud, stopping short of screaming the words out for the whole world to hear.
   Ron frowned at his shouts. “I’m not sure reading it louder will help you
understand what the hell the berk was talking about,” he grumbled. The first
two clues were much more straightforward than this one. Maybe the Death Eater
had descended into insanity as he made each clue. Ron hoped the man or woman
who did this was tortured, especially mentally.
   “What could it be, though?” he asked from his desk. Harry’s office had
expanded in size with his promotion, but it was still used purely for lounging
around with Ron.
   “Some kind of vault. Maybe a Gringotts one?” Ron offered.
   “But there’s not even a clue to what number, or who it belongs to.”
   “Maybe that’s what the ‘scream’ bit is about.” The ‘scream’ bit could have
also been the ramblings of a crazed killer, but if they were treating this like
it was a clue, then Ron figured he may as well consider all the options.
   Harry wished it were that simple. After another minute of pensieve thinking
and pointless scribbling with his quill, Harry started to think outside of the
box. “Maybe the letters in ‘scream’ have numbers to them. Maybe the ‘another’
does, too. You know, the thing where ‘A’ is ‘one’ and ‘Z’ is ‘twenty-six’.”
   “Let me see.”
   Ron grabbed a piece of paper and Harry handed him his quill. After several
tense minutes of scratching away at the paper, he was finally done. “’Scream’
is nineteen, three, five, one, and thirteen. That’s already too many numbers
for a vault. Maybe if we added them…?”
   After some counting on his fingers, Harry figured it out. “Then that’s
forty-one. Too low to be bigger than a fist,” Harry sighed.
   “Maybe we’ll find his fist,” Ron offered in a burst of dark humor.
   “You’re awful,” Harry decided, covering his smile. “And I would think the
goblins would have noticed the smell.”
   “Fine. Then bugger the vaults idea. The ‘scream’ bit comes first, so that
has to mean something.”
   Harry kicked his legs up onto the desk. The motion reminded him of what he
had done to Draco the night before; another intrusion of Draco into every
aspect of his life. Maybe Draco would soon fill every corner of his brain, and
then Harry could live his days blissfully unaware of his diminished capacity.
“Scream,” he said again in spite of the fact that it also brought back memories
of the night before. “Where do people go to scream?”
   “You think the bastard hid something in an amusement park?” Ron asked in
disbelief.
   “No,” Harry admitted. “It has nothing to do with vaults.”
   The small orb to the side of Harry’s desk went from a calm, clear mist to a
sea of red. “Someone needs backup.” That had also been one of Harry’s additions
to the Auror department, per Draco’s request. He liked his husband in one
piece.
   On instinct, Ron and Harry grabbed the device. A flurry of lights and
pressure spun around them. Ron always joked that the teleportation made him
feel like he was being born all over again.
   “Auror Department!” Harry yelled as the world came back into focus. His wand
was already outstretched and at the ready to attack. “Drop your wands!”
   It took Harry a few seconds to actually figure out where they were, but
everything lined up when he smelt the air. They were by the sea, and another
Auror was face-down in the sand. Ron rushed to make sure he still had a
pulse—and thank Merlin, he did—while Harry’s presence seemed to intimidate the
criminal enough to get them to freeze on the spot.
   Being famous for murder did have its advantages. The two kids—they were
teenagers, admittedly, but Harry could care less—dropped their wands
immediately at the sight of their hero.
   “I’m sorry!” the ginger one yelled out immediately. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry!
Look, we can explain!”
   Harry had magic cuffs around both of their wrists in seconds. What the hell
had happened here? “You can explain it back at the station.”
   The dark-haired one was hardly as cooperative. The first thing the dumbarse
did was try and make a run for it. Harry dragged him back to their spot on the
beach with ease, out of the corner of his eye seeing Ron help up the rookie
Auror that had been unlucky enough to encounter the youth of the wizarding
world.
   “Stay here,” Harry snapped at him. They’d interrupted his case study and
knocked down a trainee, doubtlessly with magic. “On top of some charges for
assault on an officer of the law, somebody here has clearly gone against the
Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery.”
   “We didn’t mean to hurt him,” the ginger spoke again. His voice was crackly
and pitchy like it was changing right in front of everyone.
   Harry squinted at him. “Then what exactly were you trying to do, ask him out
for coffee?”
   “He got in the way.”
   When the dark-haired boy spoke, his voice was much more mature. It was
richer; fuller. “In the way of what?” Harry demanded. He usually never
conducted interviews in the middle of the coastline, but this seemed to be a
lovely exception.
   The ginger cut back in. “Teenager stuff. You know how that is, right?”
   Ron and Harry laughed. “I dunno, mate, do we know how that is?” Harry asked
him.
   “Probably not,” Ron grinned before grabbing ahold of the other boy for a
side-along apparation. “We were a bit busy back then.”
   “You’re still busy now,” the rookie Auror tried, hoping his humor would save
how tremendously he had fucked up his job. Who let a student disarm them?
   When his joke was met with silence, the man backed down again.
   “Let’s do the rest of this at the Ministry, hm? That way we can call their
parents,” Ron suggested purely to get the perpetrators close to pissing their
pants. Hell had no fury like Molly Weasley scorned, and there were many Molly
Weasleys in the world.
   The ginger’s eyes went so wide his freckles stretched.
   Catching each other’s eyes before they all apparated back, Ron and Harry
were secretly grateful for the end to their puzzle solving for the day. They
weren’t Remus, or Hermione, or even Draco, and as the hours trickled by without
a single lead, they began to wonder if they should involve the intelligent
people in their lives.
   Sure, sure, that was sharing confidential information with a citizen, but
Harry had learned a few things about there being a means to an end in some
situations. Harry wanted this to end more than anything.
   So they brought the delinquents in, separated their interview rooms, and
grilled them with an inspired passion that was most definitely unnecessary for
a misdemeanor. They were good at that, Ron and Harry. Certainly better at it
than solving riddles.
   But even when all was said and done, and the boys were booked and charged,
that note would still be sitting on Harry’s desk. That note would rot there
like Benjy most likely had in whatever vault his body parts were being kept in.
   At three-thirty, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter would sit down in the Head
Auror’s office and try again anyway. They’d both agreed that bringing it up to
Remus was a last resort, and they weren’t that desperate.
   Not yet, anyway.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “This is expensive,” Olivia breathed. She’d discovered a discarded receipt
for the furniture in her room.
   It honestly should not have been that much of a shock. The curtains alone
were one of the most divine things Olivia has ever laid eyes on. Clusters of
dark flowers danced over the lavender fabric whenever the wind blew, and they
were the softest thing she’d ever felt. It was more like a cloud than fabric.
   The rest of the bedroom was just as beautiful. Remus and Sirius had gone
wild looking through catalogues and stores to find every tastefully-placed
accent, and had charmed the drawers in her desk to hold much more than they let
on.
   Even Draco had declared it to be ‘marvelous’ upon seeing it.
   Sirius frowned before taking the receipt off of the lavender bed. “I thought
I’d gotten rid of this. Sorry.”
   “It’s expensive,” she repeated, eyes wide with shock.
   “If you think that’s bad, then you should just see how much the closet
renovation cost,” Remus teased. His husband had a proclivity towards going
overboard.
   Olivia blinked. “Closet renovation?” She had barely even started unpacking
her clothes, and most of them fit perfectly into the drawers that were
provided. Why would she need an additional closet?
   “Nothing is to too good for you,” Sirius declared with a flourish before
twisting the crystal doorknob of her closet open.
   If Pansy Parkinson were there, she would have died and gone to heaven.
   Empty drawers lined the sides while the feature pieces were three gigantic
mirrors, angled so that whoever stood in the center of them could see every
side of themself. On top of the drawers were spacious bars to hang clothing
that stretched long and came complete with soft hangers that Sirius may or may
not have bought at a sex shop. They were nice hangers, okay?
   Adorning the inside of the door was a contraption that looked like it could
hold a hundred shoes. Ring holders, necklace holders, bracelet holders and more
covered the porcelain space beneath the hangers, and there was even a rack for
earrings. Olivia only owned one pair of earrings.
   “What,” she said slowly, not even bothering to finish her sentence or make
it sound like a question. Just ‘what’.
   “I was going to tell you later,” Remus said, giving his husband a look
before stringing an arm around his shoulders. “But we want to take you shopping
so you can fill it.”
   Olivia could have cried. She read every fashion magazine she could get her
hands on, designed outfits in her head, and had been doomed so long to wear a
Hogwarts uniform and charity clothes during the summer.
   When Sirius and Remus saw her reaction, they carefully walked over to her.
“Liv?” Sirius asked cautiously only to have her launch herself at the both of
them for a massive hug.
   “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I’ll be good, and
I’ll get good grades, and I’ll never do drugs, and I’ll clean up around the
house, and—“
   “You don’t have to do any of that,” Sirius told her before Remus gave him a
little shove. “Okay, yes, the good grades would be favorable, but you don’t
have to work for this or anything.” Another shove hit Sirius’ arm. “Andfine,
you can’t do drugs; not on your own, anyway. We’ll just do them when Remus
isn’t around.”
   Remus rolled his eyes. The cloud of smoke that was his and Sirius’ fifth
year had not been forgotten.
   “But I owe you,” Olivia continued before backing away. It was funny to think
about, but they both smelled nice when he hugged them. Not in a perfume sort of
way, but it was still nice.
   Sirius shook his head. “No, you don’t.”
   “Olivia,” Remus told her. “Money is never an issue, and we don’t want you to
worry about that.” He’d warned Sirius about the opulence of all this, and there
they were. “You don’t have to feel indebted to us because we want to do this
for you.”
   Olivia shook her head right back at them. “I’ll get a job. I’ll bag
groceries or something.”
   “That’s not necessary—“
   “I’m going to,” she decided before realizing her hands had curled into
fists. There was something so unnerving about taking all of this beautiful new
life without having earned any of it. “You said I could do whatever I wanted
while I stayed here.”
   Well, she had them there. Remus and Sirius had thought that she’d take that
as being able to read their books and eat their food, but it was true of this,
too. “Yes,” Remus tried. “But I’m telling you that you don’t have to.”
   She nodded before walking to close her closet door. “I know, but I want to.”
   “Sweetheart, you’re thirteen—“
   “Can you call me down when dinner’s ready?” she asked. Olivia would show
them how grateful she was; she had to. This was more than she ever deserved.
   Confused, Remus nodded.
   “Call us if you need anything,” Sirius added.
   “Thanks.” See, they even understood when she needed space! It was almost too
much. Olivia wondered if that was an excuse to terminate an adoption: the
parents were too good at being parents, and the fear of screwing it up might
drive her mad.
   The door closed behind them, and Remus gave Sirius one of his signature
looks.
   “What?” he asked as they thudded back down to the kitchen.
   “I knew it was too much.”
   “I don’t need an ‘I Told You So’, Moony,” Sirius sighed. “And you are such a
hypocrite for saying that she can’t do drugs.”
   Remus’ jaw nearly hit the floor. “Sirius! Do you even hear yourself right
now? And you’re changing the subject!”
   “I remember vividly how randy a certain werewolf got whenever he toked up.”
   “That’s because a certain werewolf was young and stupid,” Remus muttered,
remembering how James had been the one to introduce them to the wonderful world
of smoking Gillyweed. The very first trip they’d ever had as Marauders ended in
a group snuggle, which was incredibly heterosexual of them.
   “Don’t you think everyone has a right to be young and stupid? So long as she
does it in Hogwarts or at home, we can at least make sure she’s safe,” Sirius
went on. “You can’t make her mistakes for her.”
   “But I don’t want her to have any ‘mistakes’ that involve drugs!”
   Sirius rested his hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Do you know what I think you
need?” he asked mischievously before curling his hand upwards to cup Remus’
jaw.
   “Better taste in men?”
   “Nope. I think you need a reminder of how wild you really are,” Sirius told
him. “You think that we’ve got a child in the home and now you’re tamed? Tsk,
tsk. I remember the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head when I made
you come while you were high.”
   That was true. Very, very true. “We are not teenagers anymore, Padfoot,”
Remus pointed out. “Where do middle-aged men even acquire weed?”
   Sirius laughed, mostly because he had no idea. “We can figure it out! You’re
a genius and I’m an ex-con. I’m surprised we’re not already hooked up with a
dealer.”
   “Nutter,” Remus said fondly before giving him a quick kiss.
   “You’ll see,” Sirius said as he kissed Remus again, harder this time. “I
will find some and you will be delighted. Orgasmic, even.”
   All Remus could really do was kiss him back. “It sounds as if you’ve made up
your mind.”
   “I have!” Another argument, expertly avoided by Sirius Lupin. He would have
requested a standing ovation if there was anyone watching them.
   That dream lasted all of five seconds. “And we can smoke it while Olivia’s
being harassed by some customer at the grocery store she’s apparently going to
be working at.”
   With a groan, Sirius walked to the stove to finish their meals.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Maybe it was sentimental, but Harry liked to think that he and Draco fit
flawlessly when they sucked each other off at the same time. His long torso
finally evened out with Draco’s long legs.
   The only unfortunate part about the position was that he couldn’t really get
a word of approval out to Draco. He would have to remain content with moaning
around Draco’s fat cock and hoping some of those moans sounded like Draco’s
name.
   Gently, they rocked their hips in sync. It was to a beat only they could
hear, and as always, Draco was an excellent musician.
   His nails dug into Harry’s hips, but he barely put up any resistance to the
way Harry fucked his mouth. Draco sucked and lapped eagerly with an unrivaled
oral fixation. Harry whimpered around Draco’s prick when he felt his go that
deeply into Draco’s throat.
   “Mbfpw,” Harry tried.
   Draco bared his teeth against Harry’s sensitive flesh to get another rise
out of him. The noise he made was sharp and shocked, causing his throat to
almost slam shut around Draco.
   “Fuocfk youf,” Harry mumbled, moving back to suck the tip and tease Draco
for better articulation.
   In response, Draco gave Harry’s arse a spank. The jolt sent signals straight
to his cock and immediately whipped him back into submission, taking the rest
of Draco’s shaft in his mouth.
   That was when things got interesting.
   Draco’s thrusts got faster and faster, pushing so deep that Harry felt
himself gag. It was strange how much he wanted it, even though choking on cock
probably was not a normal person’s idea of a romantic evening.
   Harry bobbed his head to meet him, sputtering as his own hips pushed
forward. There was drool all around his lips and mouth in a crude display of
just how brutal Draco could be.
   The slap of skin punctuated each movement and filled Harry’s ears. He knew
exactly when Draco was close to coming. It was the tension in his thighs, the
frantic breathing, and the groans that Harry felt vibrate against his prick.
  Their release hit at the same time, each moaning around the other. Harry
swallowed every drop just as Draco did before slowly pulling off of each other
with a wet ‘pop’.
   “You,” Harry panted, finally able to breathe through his mouth again. “Love
you.”
   Draco laughed breathily. “I love you too.” And he was finally able to say it
liberally.
   With that, Harry returned to his upright position to kiss that grin right
off of Draco’s face. Smug, sexy bastard.
   “Dream of me,” Draco teased.
   “How dare you wish nightmares on me.”
   Draco pinched his side. “Prat.”
   “Double-prat,” Harry countered sleepily. It was the last thing he would
smile about before falling asleep.
***** Business *****
Chapter Notes
     This is for Reneh, because I said so. She may have divorced me but
     she’s still pretty cool.
Chapter 6: Business
   “No,” Grace whispered when she realized what was happening. “No, no, no!”
her voice climbed.
   In the back of her mind she’d known that such a famous couple would have
plenty of protection around their home—especially after the nightmare they’d
endured at the hands of the press—but she hadn’t expected it to be like this.
   Whoever had done Draco and Harry’s security work had sealed the place
tighter than Buckingham Palace. Grace couldn’t even walk within the neighbor’s
yards without feeling herself get disoriented and all turned around.
   Maybe that was a good thing, though. Nobody could ever rob her child’s
house.
   At the moment, however, it was frustrating and nauseating. Grace had already
thrown up once that morning, and she didn’t fancy doing it again.
   Carefully, she drew her wand. With her eyes shut, Grace could do something
that Professor Lupin liked to call ‘sort of incredible’ after having taught it
to her in a private lesson. Grace’s aunt had swooned when she heard her niece
was among the top percentile of her year at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and
she’d demanded that Grace hone her skills.
   At least Grace actually liked DADA, unlike her aunt’s pushing for her to
play piano because of her ‘long, shapely fingers’. Those had been cruel hours
glued to a piano bench.
   Anyway, she could feel herself digress as the Confundus charms pushed deeper
in her mind. Back to breaking into her baby’s hopeful adoptive parent’s house.
   Grace shut her eyes tight. It was almost like feeling around for a light
switch in the dark, and it had taken months to master.
   Like this, Grace could feel around for weak spots in the protective spheres
surrounding the house. Slowly, she made her way towards the right of the house.
There was something on the East side! Or was it the West? No, it was definitely
the East.
   That could have also been the heat coming from the stove, to think of it.
Wait, the stove? Yes! There was a weak spot near the stove. Or the stove was
just hot.
   If only Grace could get in the door, if she could be there, they’d know that
they’d have to choose her.
   That was what she told herself, anyway. Grace didn’t believe in fate or any
of that shit, mostly because it just wasn’t scientifically sound. She’d been
brought up in muggle schools until Hogwarts, and her aunt had always stressed
the importance of listening in science class. That was the foundation of the
world that held all of their magic, of course.
   Grace’s mother had been killed at a young age, so even without her aunt’s
prompting, she probably would have remained godless.
   Wait—was that it? Was that the weak spot? Yes! She’d done it, she’d found
it, she’d fallen to the ground, she’d heard an alarm sound. Her vision went
dark, but she couldn’t remember closing her eyes.
   “For fuck’s sake. Draco, your father’s security system snared a kid.”
   “Is that the paper girl?”
   “No, I don’t think so. What’s your name? Shit, Draco, her eyes aren’t
moving.”
   “Get her inside and we’ll wait for her to wake up. If she doesn’t, well,
then you’re going to have to get my father out of Azkaban for a second time.”
   “This isn’t funny. You’re sick.”
   “Bah. You love me.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   The first thing Grace regained was her sense of smell.
   Something was cooking, something meaty and spicy. It was strong enough to
make her sinuses clear from all the pollen she’d breathed in outside.
   It took far too long for her eyes to come into focus with the world around
her. For a confusing moment, all she could see was a blurry mess of colors and
blobs. If she’d have been able to access her voice, Grace may have yelled.
   In the distance, there were voices. “You can’t baby them, Lucius!” a man
yelled. “Look at what it does!”
   “I am not babying them,” who Grace supposed was Lucius Malfoy replied. She
shivered. It hadn’t been a total failure at all, and Tiffany would owe her a
galleon. Never bet against a determined Slytherin. “I’m trying to get them to
properly protect themselves!”
   “Would the both of you—“ Was that Harry Potter? Well, Malfoy-Potter now.
   “I know you want to speed up the arrival of your heirs, but this is just
ridiculous. They’ll adopt whenever they’re ready and they don’t need your help
with it. You managed to raise a kid without your parents sticking their nose in
everything.”
   “Sirius,” Professor Lupin sighed.
   “Adopting?” a woman asked, clearly shocked.
   Someone huffed from the other room. “Yes, we are adopting.”
   Yes! Grace sat up on the sofa, knowing that this was her chance.
   “Why in the world would you do that?” Lucius demanded. “Draco, we’ve talked
about this. You know the fortune needs and heir, and the Manor needs a
caretaker.”
   “Just because the child won’t have your genes doesn’t mean they can’t be a
suitable heir,” Harry snarled before Draco could even speak.
   Carefully, Grace walked towards the source of the shouting. It was just
around a corner and in the kitchen, where she was finally able to peek in on
the chaos.
   Within were three sets of couples, all of them looking annoyed with one
another for a variety of reasons. The grand and embellished Malfoys were in the
usual style of snotty pureblood robes. Precious gems around Narcissa’s neck,
and a large emerald at the top what looked like Lucius’ new cane. They had a
ring on every finger, and were the picture of wealth.
   Across from them was a couple with just as much money, but not even close to
as much arrogance. Professor Lupin was dressed in a striped button-down, his
pale brown robe draped over one of the kitchen chairs. Opposite from him was
the always-eccentric Sirius, with a formal vest and pocket watch on for
absolutely no reason whatsoever other than his own fancies. His curly, dark
hair fell down to his shoulders and his hands were folded in a defensive
stance.
   In the middle of their relatives and in-laws were Draco and Harry. They
looked slightly different in person, and Harry looked even shorter. It made her
smile.
   “You can’t control them like this—“ Sirius began.
   “Oh, would you quit acting out your strange fantasy of defying your parents
through us? I happen to be looking out for Draco’s best interest.”
   “Lucius,” Narcissa hissed. Talk of Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion was
strictly forbidden.
   “Do you know what this isn’t about?” Remus cut in finally out of a fierce
protectiveness. “Anyone but you. There’s a student of mine in the living room
because you knocked her out with your spells! There’s protection and then
there’s malicious intent.”
   “Moony—“
   “Sirius, shut up. I’m defending your honor.”
   “Moony.” Sirius gave his husband a nudge and pointed to the girl in the
doorway.
   Draco jumped on the opportunity. “Are you hurt?” he asked quickly. “I’m a
Healer. Are you dizzy? Are you faint?”
   Draco’s father came seconds after. “We can give you the money to make this
go away,” he said, determined. “There’s no need to sue, or notify papers—“
   “Would you two get off of her?” Narcissa demanded, ending the barrage of
noise. “Honestly.” She forced the Malfoy men back and went to look Grace in the
eyes. “We’re so incredibly sorry about this.”
   “Who is she again?” Sirius whispered Remus, brow furrowing. It was tough to
remember all of Remus’ students that they weren’t adopting.
   “Grace Burbage. Sixth year.”
   At once, the Malfoy’s heads snapped around. It left Harry looking confused
and lost. “Burbage?” Lucius whispered, though he didn’t want to hear
confirmation at all. This was a nightmare. The girl would sue, and then she
would kill them all.
   Draco swallowed back his fear. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” he asked
carefully. Draco couldn’t afford to think back to that night in the Manor. Not
after he’d come so far.
   "Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic.
The dwindling of the pure-bloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable
circumstance... She would have us all mate with Muggles..."Tom Riddle’s voice
echoed in his mind.
   “I’m not going to sue,” Grace said slowly, breaking her silence. She had no
idea what the family she was prepared to give her unwanted offspring in had to
do with her mother’s death. “But, yes. I think I’ll go to the hospital.”
   To Grace, this was her chance. She would go to hospital and make her pitch;
she could even hold suing against them. It was an underhanded move, but these
were desperate times.
   But that was if all else failed. Grace would hold that card close to her
chest and play it only if necessary. For now, the plan was still to get them to
willingly take the fetus.
   “Hospital,” Lucius nodded, nudging his son.
   “Right,” Draco replied. Harry cast him a look wondering what was going on,
but he got no response.
   "Severus, please. We're friends."She’d begged. Merlin, she’d begged.
   Carefully, Draco nodded. “Terribly sorry, yes. Come to the fireplace with me
and I’ll get you to St. Mungo’s, free of charge.”
   Harry wouldn’t let this go without an explanation. He grabbed on to Draco’s
arm before his husband could wriggle out of the door. “Draco, what’s going on?”
   “Taking her to St. Mungo’s. Stay with my parents.” Draco wrapped his hand
around Grace’s wrist before yanking her back into the living room.
   Before Harry could as much as protest, they were gone. He was left
dumbfounded in his kitchen, surrounded by relatives that only ever got along
when the subject of children was a thousand miles away.
   There had been rare, beautiful moments of peace between the Lupins and the
Malfoys. It seemed that was coming to an end.
   When they left, Narcissa let out a breath she’d been holding. For a moment
there, she could have sworn she was drowning.
   “Narcissa,” Remus said carefully. He knew what this was about; he just
didn’t know when or where it had happened. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
   She looked to her cousin-in-law and nodded blankly before Remus could guide
her and her shell-shocked husband to the dining room table.
   Harry followed alongside Sirius, who’d gotten the picture as soon as he’d
head her last name. “Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?” Harry
asked, looking around the room for any guidance whatsoever.
   Remus and Sirius exchanged looks. They knew how to plan wordlessly and
communicate solely with head nods from all the sneaking around they’d done in
Hogwarts. “Harry,” Sirius said gently. “Did you ever take Muggle Studies at
Hogwarts?”
   “No,” he shook his head.
   “Take a walk with me.” Sirius phrased it like a question, but Harry really
had no choice. His arm slung around Harry’s shoulders and guided him towards
the door, away from the wreckage that was Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.
   Confused, Harry followed his godfather in search of answers.
   When the door closed behind them, Remus took his seat at the dinner table.
He’d have to be home in an hour to check up on Olivia, but he figured some time
alone in the house would be good.
   “When was it?” he asked softly. Remus’ worst fears had been realized when
he’d seen the look on Draco’s face. It was clear that the poor boy had been
there.
   “July,” Narcissa murmured. She wasn’t sure what day. “Thank Salazar the girl
didn’t know anything about it.” Her mother had died on their bloody dining room
table, and she had no idea that the Malfoys were involved.
   Lucius had gone silent. He didn’t like to remember that July.
   “What happened?”
   “Remus,” Narcissa sighed. “That’s not necessary.”
   He shook his head. “Maybe not for you, no, but I have too many dead friends
without a burial place.” Regulus, Caradoc, Alastor, Benjy, Charity, and more.
There were never proper funerals because their bodies had been taken from The
Order, drowned, and sliced up.
   “She was captured in the school by Wormtail,” Lucius said clinically, cold.
“He brought her to the Manor, and Voldemort killed her. There’s no body because
he fed her to his snake. Does that satisfyyou, Lupin?”
   “No.” Remus stood to excuse himself. The whole thing made him sick, and he
hadn’t thought about Wormtail in a long time. Maybe Remus would take his
Padfoot’s offer of a blunt up right then and there.
   Lucius kept his eyes on the table, accepting his wife’s hand only for a
moment.
  It had actually happened on the table that Lucius’ mother had given them for
their wedding. He’d felt guilty when he burnt it, but only for a moment.
   Every time he looked at it he heard the same thing.
   "'Avada Kedavra. Nagini, dinner."
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Why Grace had requested a blood test was beyond Draco. It would take a day
to process with the work load he had, and she hadn’t even bled when she fell.
   Draco did it anyway to avoid any sort of lawsuit he could have incurred
through her.
   “Thank you,” she said, trying to sit up straight the way that the pureblood
girls in her class did.
   “Any time.” Draco really meant that, too. “We’re changing that security
system, too.”
   Grace shrugged. “If I was a burglar, it would have worked perfectly.”
   While Lucius would appreciate that sentiment, Draco did not. As he washed
his hands again—it was the worst part about being a Healer, always washing,
washing,washing—Draco tried to think of what to say to the girl. She was a
teenager. Too young for Draco to give her the saucy details of his evening and
too old to be asked what her favorite color was.
   It was a conundrum, and Draco had no idea how Remus dealt with that. Then
again, Draco could remember a few curse words and dirty jokes being dropped by
Professor Lupin. That had probably grown with age, and even more with the
seventh years.
   “So,” Draco tried. “What brought you to the neighborhood?”
   The girl’s eyes darted away. Explaining herself this early on would make her
sound crazy. Then again, all of this would make her sound crazy. “I’d rather
not say it right now,” she decided slowly, playing the role of the innocent
girl to maybe garner some sympathy. Playing the ‘orphan’ card was her
specialty, too. “It’s kind of complicated.”
   Draco shrugged. At least she was honest. It would’ve been funnier to see her
lie about selling Girl Scout cookies or whatever, but honesty was always
appreciated. “Boy troubles?” he teased. That was what teen girls liked, right?
Except the lesbians. Shit, he should’ve put ‘or girl’ in there. Draco was such
a bad gay.
   “Pretty much,” Grace sighed.
   Oh, marvelous. Draco had gotten it right. “He probably doesn’t deserve you,”
he shrugged. That was what Draco had told Pansy after every bad break up she
went through.
   “Actually,” she told him. “He was the one who dumped me.”
   “What? That’s absolutely absurd. Were you going to go egg his house?” Draco
had only seen that in muggle movies Harry showed him, but it looked like a
practical revenge tactic.
   Grace shook her head.
   “Were you going to hex him?”
   “Um, well, the thing is: I was by your house because of a boy problem. The
boy himself is no longer relevant.” She had to think of a way to get Harry and
Draco in a room together. Then maybe she could convince them. At least they
were looking into adoption.
   Draco cocked an eyebrow, trying to figure out what she was saying. “Then
what is relevant?”
   “I’d rather tell you… Over drinks. And food.”
   Was this bitch seriously trying to squeeze a meal out of Draco? She had
heard Lucius’ ramblings and she knew how rich they were… Ugh, this was the last
thing he needed. “I actually had dinner plans with Harry tonight, sorry,” he
brushed her off. “It’s taco night.”
   “I love tacos!” Grace responded, her innocent act faltering as her true
colors shone through. “Was that what was cooking earlier? It smelled
delicious.”
   Draco narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”
   “What do you mean?”
   “You show up at our house,” Draco said slowly as he pieced it all together.
“You have some sort of boyfriend issues, and then you pass out because of our
security system. You realize I’m not stupid enough to think that’s normal,
right?”
   Alright, the sweet ignorance was over. “I have a business proposition,” she
said as she shifted back into her normal Slytherin self.
   “I’m not interested in time shares in the Virgin Islands.”
   “I’m aware.”
   “Then what are you offering?” he demanded. What kind of sixteen year-old
even ran a business?
   Grace crossed her ankles. “My Aunt always told me that it’s best to break
bread before going to the Break Room.”
   “Tacos are not bread,” Draco claimed as a valid excuse to deny anything she
had to say.
   “The tortilla part is technically a grain.”
   “Fuck grains. I’m going home, got it?”
   She stood up quickly and followed him as he left. “Wait!”
   “What? You’re getting what you wanted,” Draco growled as he continued his
brisk walk to the fireplace entrances. “I’ll hear you out on my way back.”
   “But now you’re mad!” Grace argued, visibly upset.
   “I’d like to think the anger is justified, yes.”
   “But you won’t listen to me now,” she despaired. “And I think you’d be
really, really interested in this.”
   Draco turned on his heels and narrowed his eyes. “Give me one good reason
why I should listen to you after all of this that isn’t some vague sales
pitch.”
   “Because I have blonde hair, grey eyes, and my ex was a brunette with green
eyes.”
   Suddenly, it clicked.
   “I haven’t drunk a sip of alcohol at all,” she continued. “I have no STDs,
and you’ll see that in the blood test. I’ve been staying at my friend’s house
and nobody knows. I went to a free clinic and they said that it looks all clear
and on-track.”
   The people rushing around the hospital were just wisps of color around them.
“I have no idea who you are,” he said quietly, tense all over. “And I don’t
really care. Give your number to one of the medi-witches, but you arenot coming
back home with me tonight.”
   “Why not?” Grace asked, distraught. Things had been going downhill, but she
felt she could turn it around like she always did.
   “Because I said so. I don’t owe you anything, you know. Now I also have to
go back to my house and deal with my father who had no idea Harry and I were
even adopting, douse that fire, and any other ones that may have started while
I was gone.”
   Grace swallowed her nerves. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to inconvenience
you.”
   Of course, Draco was the sort to never think apologies were quite enough.
“Well, you did. This isn’t Hogwarts and I’m not your fairy godmother,” he
snapped. He knew that they were searching for a child, not a mother, but still.
Draco couldn’t let every pregnant teenager into his home for a bloody
interview. “You are going to fill out a form.”
   “I can do that.”
   “You are going to go see a Healer here for a physical and mental checkup,”
Draco continued. “We will put your name in the selection, and we will
assess—out of the many offers that we will receive—each and every aspect of
this.”
   Oh, his father was going to murder him.
   “Then, and only then will I consider speaking to you again. Do I make myself
clear?” he asked. It had been a stressful enough day already. “You don’t come
near us, you don’t faint on our lawn, and you don’t eat our tacos.”
   “I won’t let you down,” Grace blurted out. The fire in Draco’s eyes made her
skin crawl with nervousness, and gave her a serious case of verbal vomit.
   Luckily, Draco disappeared into the fireplace before she could say anything
too incriminating.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “No!” Draco yelled the second he entered his home and saw everyone sitting
in the parlor, clearly mid-argument. His beautiful, tastefully-decorated parlor
being desecrated by the insanity of his family. Draco could have wept. “Nope.
I’m going to bed.”
   Harry gave him an exasperated look. “Draco.” After his walk with Sirius, he
would have happily joined him, but the prospect of being left alone with their
family for a second longer had Harry considering apparation.
   “Can’t we talk about this tomorrow? Or maybe never?”
   “It’s all your godfather-in-laws can seem to talk about at all,” Lucius
muttered, casting the Lupins a look.
   Sirius shot him a look right back. “That’s because you’re micromanaging.
It’s unhealthy. You know what you need? A spa day. Maybe you’ve just never
learned how to unclench.”
   “Oh, and you have?”
   A lecherous grin spread on Sirius’ face. “I dunno,” he said, turning to
Remus. “Have I?”
   The room let out a collective groan.
   “That aside,” Remus continued as the corners of his mouth were tugged up
into a smile. “I don’t think there should be a ‘we’ in talking about Draco and
Harry’s child. We’ll support them in whatever they do.”
   Sirius nodded in agreement. “And we have to get back home to our child-
thing. I would suggest you both do the same.”
   Narcissa, exhausted from the arguing and from seeing that girl, agreed.
“Lucius, darling—“
   “This is what you want?” The Malfoy patriarch ignored the rest of the room,
his eyes locking dead with Draco’s.
   “Er.” Sure it was, right? Oh, Harry was going to kick his arse for taking
such a long pause. “It is.”
   “You want a child that has no blood relation to you with the knowledge that
it will be harder for you as a same-sex couple to adopt?”
   Since when had Lucius been studying up on queer adoption politics? “There
are contracts we can have made,” Harry started before Lucius made a hand motion
to silence him. This was about what his Draco wanted, and nothing more.
   “I want a family with Harry,” Draco said with a little more determination.
“And I agree with him when he says that there are too many children that go
without homes and food to bring another into this world and ignore the masses.”
   “So this is a moraldecision,” Lucius sighed, exasperated.
   Behind the heated discussion, Remus and Sirius gave their goodbye hugs and
kisses to Harry and Draco.
   Draco steeled his breathing. “It’s the decision we’re making. Don’t fight me
on this, father. Please. Once we take care of all the legal work—and you can
bring the family lawyers in, if you want—then the child will be ours and you
know that they’ll inherit the Manor.”
   A long, tense moment of eye-contact lingered between Lucius and his son.
   The ‘please’ may have done him in, but Lucius wasn’t going to show it right
away. Not in front of all of these people; his pride was too delicate for that.
   Even Remus and Sirius paused at the door for a moment to hear the end of the
silence that gripped the room, and poor Narcissa felt as on-edge as ever.
   “Then the family lawyers will help,” Lucius said finally. “And I want to
review the candidates.” After all, Draco was so spoiled because Lucius, in the
end, had a problem with telling him ‘no’.
   Harry and Draco let out a collective sigh of relief. That couldn’t be too
awful, could it? Draco would inform his husband of their first offer that he
had received from a desperate, sneaky teenager. While he could objectively
admire her tactics, that hadn’t been enjoyable.
   “Thank you,” Draco nodded before wrapping his arm around Harry, who was
clearly annoyed and feeling left out.
   They’d talk in bed that night.
   Ushering their remaining family out of the door, they would do just that.
***** Qualifications *****
Chapter Notes
     Research on this fic is hilarious. I never knew that 220 million
     pregnancies occur each year! Madness. Anyway, thanks for reading, you
     lovely darlings. I appreciate all the favorites and reviews.
Chapter 7: Qualifications
   Draco almost spit out the piece of syrup-coated pancake in his mouth.
“You’re actually considering the offer?”
   “I know, I can’t believe it either,” Harry muttered before finishing his
second cup of coffee. Draco had kept him up all night with details and rants
about the nerve of that girl. It would be one hell of a long day, too. “But she
sort of had a point.”
   “You’re mental.”
   “She sounds desperate and scared. Sure, she went about things the wrong way,
but she did get you to listen,” he pointed out.
   Shaking his head, Draco put down his own sugar-filled coffee. “Whatever.”
   “Draco, come on. It took you long enough to actually tell me everything.”
Harry was still not at all happy with the insanity that had happened the day
before. He hated having to sit around like some idiot, waiting for his husband
to fill him in.
   Draco gave him a look. “Excuse me if I didn’t gush about the murders I
witnessed,” he sighed. Draco was too tired to fight with Harry right now.
   “Right,” Harry murmured when he saw the evident exhaustion in Draco’s eyes.
“But it’s not a half-bad plan, you have to admit that.” He got up from the
other side of the kitchen island and walked to Draco before draping his arms
around his shoulders.
   Without thinking, Draco leaned into his touch. “I know. I just wish we could
skip it, you know? Get to the bit where we’ve got a roly-poly.” Waking up to a
happy, gurgling little baby that was all their own wasn’t such an awful thought
to Draco anymore.
   “Mm,” Harry murmured into his neck. “Then I think I have another plan that
you’ll like.” Pulling back, Harry decided a shoulder-rub was in order.
   A grateful sigh escaped Draco. Sometimes, Harry knew just what he needed.
“And what’s that?”
   “Things have been tense lately, much like your shoulders. I want to take you
out. I want to wine and dine you and then,” even though it was inadvisable and
would have Harry losing his mind, he wanted Draco to be happy more than
anything. “Then we can go shopping for nursery furniture. You pick it all, and
I’ll carry it.”
   “Harry,” Draco said as he spun around in his chair, gripping his cheek. “I
love you so much.”
   “And I love you.” Harry bent down to give Draco’s nose a kiss, but Draco
tilted his head up to catch it on his lips. “Tomorrow is all about me and you,
okay?”
   “Sounds perfect. However, I may need something to tide me over until then,”
Draco murmured, standing up so his chest was pressed to Harry’s. His hand
rested over Harry’s beating heart and rubbed in small, soothing circles.
   Harry grinned and gave him another kiss. “Horndog. You’ll make us both
late.”
   “Oh, come now. You know I could get you off in a minute if I really wanted
to.”
   “What?” Harry asked, raising a brow. “Is that a bet?”
   Draco’s interest was piqued. “Depends. What does the winner get?”
   “Something different from the usual—“ a night to act out one of their
darkest fantasies, of course, “—the loser has to collect the applicants’ papers
from the Ministry.”
   His eyes narrowed. “And they say I’m the Slytherin,” Draco laughed. “You
realize that they’ll swarm whoever goes there, right?”
   “Then you better hurry up,” Harry suggested before reaching back to put a
minute into the microwave. “Ready?”
   Draco didn’t even reply. He dropped to his knees and yanked down Harry’s
black trousers and pants to get to him. Shocked, all Harry had to do was press
the ‘enter’ button before the microwave roared to life.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Waking up to a bird staring at you would be unnerving for most people. Those
people, unfortunately, were not Narcissa Malfoy.
   Every husband had his vices.
   Some hit, some drank, some yelled, and some cheated. Lucius had his
peacocks, and Narcissa counted herself lucky for it every day. “Lucius,” she
murmured, shifting in their bed. “Wake up, dear. Another one’s gotten inside.”
   Lucius let out a groan. “I was sleeping.”
   “As was I, darling.”
   He sat up; the mane of golden hair that usually was gelled and combed to
perfection was frizzed out and tangled. It almost made Narcissa laugh. “It’s
just one,” he sighed before sinking back into the emerald comforters and
pillows.
   “What if it…” Narcissa tried to think of how to word it. “He empties his
bowels?”
   “That’s what the house elf is for,” Lucius murmured and laughed bitterly to
himself.
   While the idea of elven slavery didn’t quite sit right with Narcissa, it had
been there her whole life. Elves had cooked for her since she was born, and
she’d only started making popcorn and toast at Remus and Sirius’ instructions.
   She reached for the bell at the bedside table and rang it.
   A shuffle of tiny feet rushed up a faraway staircase, so Narcissa sunk back
into the bed with her husband. “Do you have plans for the day?”
   “I’ll give Draco a few days to amass adoption papers,” Lucius grumbled
unhappily. He’d be sure to look over them with a fine-tooth comb. They would be
the spitting image of the Malfoy family: that he was sure of. If Potter wanted
someone else’s kids, then he wasn’t getting any look-alikes out of the deal. “I
suppose I’ll just balance the checkbook.”
   She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder, waiting for their breakfast.
   Finally, a barely-clothed elf stumbled into their room. “Gerda is very
sorry, the peacocks… The peacocks do not like Gerda. Not one bit.”
   That made Lucius laugh sickly, too. It made Narcissa wince.
   He turned to her. “What do you want for breakfast, dear?”
   “French toast,” she replied with an easy smile. Narcissa didn’t like
chastising her husband in front of the help, but something felt wrong that
morning.
   Maybe she’d been having too much tea time with Remus and Sirius, but
Narcissa felt sort of… sorry for the little thing as she hurried away. Even
though she was hideous in every aspect, the Malfoy matriarch could still find
some pity for her.
   This time Lucius sat up, he was on the move. If Narcissa had to say
something, now would be the time.
   “Sweetheart,” she tried carefully.
   Lucius sighed. He knew what this was about; or so he thought. “I know that
we’re supporting Draco’s actions, but I believe I’m entitled to privately
disapproving.”
   “That wasn’t what I—“
   “Maybe if they have a second child they’ll want it to be theirs.”
   “Lucius,” Narcissa sighed. “First of all, we are not picking favorite
grandchildren like we did pick a favorite child.”
   “That’s because we have only one child,” Lucius reminded her without knowing
how deep her infertility insecurities went.
   Draco had been a veritable miracle. She’d been told by Healer after Healer
that she wouldn’t bear any children ever since she was thirteen and was first
inspected with her mother at her side, making sure the family line would
continue. After hours of poking and prodding with gloves and cold metal rods,
they gave her the bad news.
   That was why when the most popular boy in school—Lucius fuckingMalfoy—who
had been in the year above her went on a cordial date with her and had taken
her back to the Manor unbeknownst to their parents and told her in the exact
words of ‘condoms aren’t big enough for me, doll’, she let him go without.
   The pregnancy had brought them together and it was the pregnancy that
Healers told her she would never have.
   Lucius went white as a sheet when she told him the happy news two months
into their courting. After all, premarital sex was not at all on the list of
what Abraxas had planned for his son.
   To keep both of their honor intact, Lucius bought the engagement ring later
that day. The Black and Malfoy families were to be united (definitely not for
the first time, but Narcissa didn’t really like to think of her one and only as
a distant cousin), and both were over the moon in spite of the nervous and
jittery couple.
   After Draco turned two, Lucius had told her to get on fertility potions. He
wanted more heirs, but most of all, Abraxas wanted more heirs. Maybe the old
man could sense what a gigantic fag his grandson would turn out to be, but he
was never fond of Narcissa’s miracle baby.
   Draco was an adorable baby, too.
   Banishing all thoughts of Abraxas and the way he had looked down at Narcissa
as the years past and no more children came, she pushed on past the memories.
   “Yes, that’s true. Secondly, that wasn’t even what I wanted to speak with
you about.”
   “Then what is it?” Lucius donned his fluffy bathrobe and tied it tightly
around his waist. Bugger the heat, he looked amazing in the damn thing.
   Narcissa tucked her nightgown in around her. “It’s Gerda.”
   “I could punish her for her lateness, yes.” It had taken her awhile to get
up three flights of stairs.
   “No! That’s not it. Did she seem sort of sad to you this morning?” she
asked.
   Lucius gave her a look. “House elves don’t have feelings. Everyone knows
that except for the crazy liberals who convince the creatures who were bred to
work that they should be ‘free’.”
   “I find some of those studies incredibly intriguing. I doubt that many
wizards would make up observations on house elves’ feelings.”
   “Did you get enough sleep?” Lucius teased her lightly. This was nonsense
that would hopefully be drowned by a cup of coffee.
   “I slept fine,” Narcissa informed him.
   “Then what’s brought this on? Don’t tell me the Lupins have been braiding
your hair and making you friendship bracelets.”
   “No,” she argued, though Sirius had definitely played with her hair before
in a gay cousin sort of way. “I can have thoughts on my own, and this is one of
them. Gerda is a living being, and if I’m suddenly mad for being upset about
her servitude then that’s just too bad for you.”
   “That’s the point, though,” Lucius mumbled before putting his comfy slippers
on. “It’s ‘sudden’. I’ve barely been awake for fifteen minutes, Narcissa.”
   She let out a huff of frustration. “Then when will you discuss this? Do you
need a few hours?”
   “What’s there to discuss? You know neither of us can cook nor clean, and
managing all five floors of the Manor takes hired help.”
   “Gerda isn’t hired,” she reminded him. “We purchased her like a house pet.”
   That made Lucius laugh again. What had gotten into his wife’s head that
morning? “That’s because she is. Her and the peacocks.”
   “Lucius.”
   “What?” he asked, amused. “Would you like to mop the basement? You’re
welcome to, you know, but you don’t strike me as the mopping sort, dear.”
   Oh, she could strike him right at that moment. “That’s what new cleaning
spells are for. I could buy a book of them, I’m sure.” As a last resort, she
could even ask Molly Weasley how all of that nonsense worked. That, and Harry
and Draco could teach her a thing or two. They shared housework like a proper
couple.
   Lucius turned away from her and rolled his eyes. When drawn into an
argument, Narcissa could be vicious. “Let’s not talk about this now.” He wanted
to go back to the part where she had snuggled closer to him in their bed. It
was nice knowing his wife still cared for him after all the years and Death
Eater scandals.
   Before Narcissa could argue, Gerda returned with a delicious and syrup-
soaked pile of French toast that made Narcissa’s stomach growl loudly. It was
shameful how her stomach could betray her beliefs like that.
   With a smug smile, Lucius snatched up the tray and dismissed the knobby-
kneed creature. Once Narcissa ate, then she would feel back to normal.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   After three more fruitless hours of problem-solving with Ron, Harry was
beginning to doubt they could ever decipher the clue. No wonder the case had
gone cold.
   This time around, Ron went even further with suggestions of turning to Remus
for help. Harry would hear none of it.
   “Let’s just break for lunch,” he mumbled into his hands. “I have some
paperwork I need to take care of, anyway.” Harry damned himself once again for
making that stupid bet that morning.
    “Draco! Fuck, Draco—“
    Harry should have known not to bet against Draco’s tongue, after all. He
was at its mercy every day of his life.
   Sex this far into a marriage was rumored to have died out. Harry was
overjoyed when he found that that wasn’t the case. Harry had been even more
hopelessly in lust with Draco after their honeymoon that had quickly gone from
a week long to a whole month, and Draco was still in lust with him.
   Draco’s body was a familiar plane, one that Harry never got tired of
traveling. He’d cover it in kisses and bites, always keeping his hands on
Draco. Alabaster skin, icy-blonde hair, and chiseled muscles. It was something
straight out of Harry’s wet dreams.
   One kiss could have Harry hanging by a thread. They’d mastered each other’s
bodies over and over again with no sign of boredom, and knew just what to do.
Where to touch, how hard, how fast, how much the other could take…
   It still made Harry’s stomach flutter. If he closed his eyes, he could feel
Draco standing right there next to him. Harry could smell him clinging to his
Auror robes, knowing full well how Draco liked to parade around in them without
any pants on.
   “See you later,” Ron called after him as Harry headed for the Ministry
elevator. Thankfully, the one he got was empty. It took him all the way down to
the floor that held the child services section.
   A burst of giggles signaled the opening of the elevator doors.
   A woman with a braid led a gaggle of children around her, trying to corral
them into control. Harry didn’t quite know who they were or what they were
doing there, but they certainly caught sight of him.
   “Harry Malfoy-Potter,” a little girl whispered, pointing a chubby finger at
him.
   The kids around her gasped, and Harry gave them an eager wave. That set them
free of the Celebrity Barrier that Harry seemed to have, and the braided woman
had to chase after them.
   “Sorry,” she apologized quickly as she picked up a boy who had latched on to
Harry’s leg.
   “It’s fine,” Harry assured her before dropping to one knee. The kids were so
amazed that they grabbed at his glasses, trying to get any piece of the star
that they could. It made Harry laugh, and he put his hands out as if he were
blind. “Where are my glasses?”
   The children laughed and the boy who had a grip on them hid them behind his
back.
   “I can’t see without my glasses,” Harry lied before bumping his hand into
the boy who had them captive.
   “Hey!” the boy laughed, switching his glasses from one hand to the other.
   Harry patted another girl’s head. “Do you have my glasses?” he asked.
   “He does, he does!” she laughed, the kids around her laughing and pointing
to the boy.
   “Where?” Harry asked, overshooting his reach and latching onto another boy
while their attendant laughed and hid her smile with her hand.
   “They’re here,” the original boy finally said before his little fingers
gripped the lenses and messily pushed them onto Harry’s face.
   Tiny fingerprints had smudged the glasses, but Harry didn’t mind. “Why,
thank you. You kids have a good day, hm?”
   “Yeah!” they all yelled before returning to the grateful-looking woman who
led the pitter-patter of feet away to a door on the opposite side of the lobby.
   Smiling, Harry proceeded to the main desk. Ever since Kinglsey’s reforms on
childcare put orphans and adoptions under the care of the Ministry—a reform
Harry wished had been around when he was a baby—after a scandal with the
leading adoption agency’s children being kidnapped from muggle mothers in
Russia, things had been running smoothly.
   Now, wizarding children would never fall victim to a broken, muggle, and
country-based system.
   “Hello,” he greeted the shocked man at the counter. “I have a pickup for—“
Harry pulled the legal paper that Draco had put in his pocket after he’d sucked
him senseless. “—Case three hundred ninety-four.”
   The receptionist hurriedly began shifting through papers, knocking a nearby
soft drink over in the process. The poor thing was jittery in the face of fame.
“Sure thing, yes,” he hurried before yanking up a small file. “The applicants
were sent through Doctor Hart. Her office is just down the hallway and to the
right, where she’s weeded out the applicants. There was a bit of an, er,
information spill.”
   Harry looked nervously over his shoulder. “How many minutes do I have?”
   “Not many.”
   Rolling his eyes, Harry didn’t even bother guessing who let the news slip.
Either Skeeter or some other prying journalist had broken in, one of the
downsides to a centralized adoption agency where the Malfoy-Potter papers were
kept between the Smiths and the Joneses.
   Harry made his way down the hall, hoping to go unnoticed. His mission was
successful, but he knew the swarm was coming soon. If files had been leaked,
then there was no doubt an appointment time was close behind.
   “Mr. Malfoy-Potter,” the doctor greeted, outstretching her hand.
   “Nice to meet you,” Harry said before shaking her hand briefly. “Look, I
hate to be rude, but there’ll be a crowd in your lobby soon and the last thing
I want is to cause you trouble. So, if we could just grab the papers of the
women you’d approved so my husband and I could look over them, that’d be
great.”
   Dr. Hart smiled thinly. “Please, sit down.”
   With a reluctant sigh, Harry took a seat. “Is there something wrong?”
   “Not wrong, Mr. Malfoy-Potter.” She nudged her glasses up her nose; covering
up what Draco would call ‘an unfortunate unibrow situation’. “I just think I
have an obligation to tell you just how many applicants we have on this case
specifically. I know there has been a leak in security, and I apologize. This
department is still in a trial period, and it can’t be helped. But, because of
your notoriety…”
   “How many?” Harry sighed, crossing his arms.
   “Six thousand,” Dr. Hart told him in a matter-of-fact voice that reminded
him of Hermione in first year.
   Harry gaped. “Uh, what?”
   “After ruling out women with STDs, STIs, drugs in their system, and history
of violent crimes, four thousand remain.”
   That was absolutely ridiculous. She had to be kidding.
   “I can’t send you home with four thousand files,” the doctor went on. “So, I
need some more parameters to narrow down the search by.”
   “Like what?” Harry asked. The original ones seemed like pretty good
parameters.
   “Oh, blood status, hair color, eye color, IQ, social class, weight, height,
religion, and race.”
   Harry’s eyes widened. “Uh, no. No, I need to discuss this with my husband.”
   “Are there any qualifiers?” the woman asked. “Any at all until we can
schedule a joint meeting?”
   “I guess, um.” Harry put his hand behind his head. “It just feels wrong to
talk about. I just want a healthy kid.”
   “So, no history of mental illness in the woman’s family along with heart
disease, cancer, or diabetes? Wonderful.” With a wave of her cherry wood wand,
a group of files were whisked back into her silver cabinets. “Now you’ve got
two thousand. Do you want a smart child?”
   Harry frowned. He really didn’t feel like bringing up the nature versus
nurture argument with a woman he barely knew. “Just because the mother has a
high IQ doesn’t mean the child will.”
   “It’s not just the mother. We look at the father’s profiles, as well. Some
of these women have sperm donors from the national bank, and the men who donate
are the cream of the crop.” Ew. “High IQs, tall, thin, and pureblood.”
   “I’m not looking for something like that,” Harry mumbled angrily. This was
ridiculous.
   “You prefer the traditional method of conception, then. That’s… Unexpected.
Anyway, we’ll take the sperm donors off of the list.” Another stack of files
flew off. “One thousand six hundred.”
   That number was terrifying. It was all the possible lives that Draco and
Harry could raise, all the children that needed homes. “Wait. I thought all of
these kids were, y’know, unplanned. Why were there even sperm donors?”
   “As you know, it is a… Lucrative position to be in. Donated eggs are sold
for two thousand galleons, and for the actual fertilization and undergoing of
childbirth, the price climbs. It’s a way that many women can make extra money,
just as sperm can be donated for twenty sickles, once a month.”
   “I don’t want anyone who does this for a living,” Harry frowned.
   “Then I’ll get rid of the women that have given the department or satellite
agencies more than one child,” she said with another swish and flick of her
wand. “One thousand three hundred. Have you and your husband even discussed
what sort of child you want to have?”
   “Yes,” he answered defensively. “We have.”
   “And the Malfoy family has no preference as to looks?”
   The woman’s intrusions were getting under Harry’s skin. This may have been
her job, but it made Harry feel slightly violated. Sure, he shared all of his
secrets with a therapist on a weekly basis, but she was much more polite about
the whole thing. “They do, but I’m not sure if I agree. Ruling out a child
based on race and blood purity is archaic.”
   “Mr. Malfoy-Potter, you will be deciding on one child right now?” she
sighed, pushing her glasses back up to her unibrow. Harry could feel a hint of
Draco’s judgment pouring into him. The line where Draco ended and Harry began
had always been clear, but their humors had blended together indistinguishably.
   “Yes.”
   “Then in the end, you will have one child. One child that is not from
someone who does this for a living, but a woman who cannot care for her child.
A woman who wants her child to have a better life.”
   Harry glowered. “Yes.”
   “Then in the end, five thousand nine hundred ninety-nine children aren’t
yours, whichever way you slice it,” Dr. Hart murmured. “I’ve seen couples
disagree on matter like this quite a bit. I’m no purist, but fighting for equal
opportunity doesn’t have much of a place in a business like this.”
   “I don’t need to listen to this,” he grumbled before standing to leave.
People like Dr. Hart made Harry crazy with their ‘you’re too sensitive’
argument and doubtful glances. They made him feel like he was the irrational
one, even though it was the other way around. “I need to talk things over with
Draco.”
   The doctor’s irritation was audible. “I have a muggle phone you can use.”
   There was really only a one-third chance that Draco would know how to
properly operate the muggle phone in their home, but Harry had a feeling that
it’d be getter to get this over with so that they could hand-pick the woman on
their own.
   “Fine.” Harry grabbed the phone off of her desk, receiver and all. He dialed
their new home phone number, holding his breath for Draco to pick it up the
right way. Harry had gone through too many conversations with Draco talking
into the speaker and listening to the mouthpiece.
   “Who the hell is this?”
   “Draco,” he breathed.
   “Harry, darling! Can you believe this thing? It’s got a different ring from
the other phone. I don’t like it,” Draco said, resting his hip on the wall.
“Have you gotten the papers?”
   “That’s the thing,” Harry muttered. He wanted some privacy, and his doctor
was clearly unaware of such a need.
   Draco arched an eyebrow that Harry couldn’t see, but sort of felt. “What’s
wrong?”
   “Um, we have one thousand three hundred applicants.”
   “That’s to be expected,” he shrugged. “Tell them to narrow down the search
by our qualifications.”
   “’Our’ qualifications?” Harry asked with a hint of a huff.
   From the other end of the line, Draco felt a little like ramming his head
into a wall. “Please, Harry. Let’s not be difficult about this. We just have to
satisfy my father for now, and then… Then, you pick all the qualifications or
lack thereof for the next one.”
   “Next one?” Harry’s jaw dropped. He’d known Draco had wanted more than one
in theory, but this was an actual agreement. Plus, nothing would get back at
Lucius like forcing him to love a grandchild that was a muggleborn. It was
almost a sick sort of pleasure that Harry got out of it. “Promise me.”
   “I promise.”
   “Swear on your life?”
   “I’ll swear on yours. Now, please, bring back some baby mamas.”
   “Will do,” Harry laughed before hanging up. The next one, he repeated in his
mind as ‘white’, ‘blonde or brunette’, ‘grey or green eyes’, ‘tall’, ‘thin’,
‘high IQ’ , and ‘no muggleborns’ left his mouth. The next one, the next one,
the next one.
   This was the only time Harry would compromise his beliefs with their
children. He promised himself that.
   Harry had compromised a lot when he joined the Malfoy family, but this was
the last time. The rest of this process would be just him and Draco. Harry
could care less if Lucius was pounding down their door. The fifty files in his
hand held their future together and Draco and Harry would make it like they
always did. Together.
***** Wild Child *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey, everyone! Welcome to Harry Potter, The Boy Who Snapped. I feel
     like a part of him has grown up, but another part of him is just as
     foaming-at-the-mouth revolutionary as ever. TW for homophobia and
     slurs.
Chapter 8: Wild Child
 “You did what?”
   “Hermione,” Harry sighed. “You have no idea what it’s like to have the
pressure of keeping the Malfoy legacy. I could give a shit about it, but Draco
cares. By making Lucius happy, I make Draco’s life infinitely easier.”
   She narrowed her eyes and pierced a piece of chicken tikka masala with her
fork. At this point, Hermione knew her glare was enough to make Harry feel
guilty about how fast he’d given in.
   “I know it was wrong! Hermione, we fought in a war against a madman who
wanted the world to be pureblood. You know me and you know that I hate that.”
   Once again, Hermione stewed in her anger. Never in her life had she thought
that she’d have to argue blood politics with Harry. It was absolutely absurd.
   “Hermione. He said the next one could be anything I wanted, but this just
has to get Lucius on our side!” Harry argued.
   “So your children are pawns for daddy’s approval?” Hermione spoke finally,
voice biting and cold as she could manage it. It was a good thing Ron was out
grocery shopping, or he would be the one screaming with fire and rage.
   “No, they’re not! They’re the kids we want, and so sue me if I want Draco to
be happy! You don’t know what he goes through with his dad because, well, your
in-laws are Weasleys. They love Rosie and they’ll love the new baby no matter
what happens.”
   “The added pressure of the adoption is rough,” Hermione admitted bitterly.
“But that doesn’t excuse what you did.”
   Harry felt like collapsing face-first into the Indian food she had ordered
for them. This supposed to be a relaxing get-together for Harry to vent his
frustrations, not be attacked for them. “Lucius despised me up until a month
into Draco and my engagement. I feel about what I did, Hermione. I’m probably
going to feel about this for a long time.”
   “As you should. I never thought that the Malfoys could change you.”
   “They haven’t changed me!” Harry argued. After all, Hermione and Ron had
hardly been enthusiastic about the relationship that launched a thousand
reporters. “I still believe in equality, for fuck’s sake! I’m not choosing the
face of a new generation, I’m picking a baby to raise!” What the doctor had
said about the five thousand nine-hundred ninety-nine other babies was sort of
true.
   Hermione ate her food in a rather aggressive manner when she was angry. She
plunged the naan into the masala sauce with a roaring strength and ripped a
piece off of it with her mouth. “And what makes a pureblood baby worth more
than one that isn’t?”
   “I didn’t ask for pureblood,” Harry pointed out. “I just specified that the
child had to have some wizarding blood. Anything at all that could convince
Lucius.”
   “So you may adopt a half-blood?” Hermione asked skeptically.
   “Hermione, I’m a half-blood.”
   She didn’t seem satisfied with that. “That’s not the point.”
   “What is, then?” he questioned a little desperately. All Harry wanted was
for this to be over with. Planning for children was far more stressful than
planning for a wedding. This was a future, functioning member of society that
they were responsible for.
   “The point is that you’re letting Lucius run your lives,” she huffed. “And
he’s a bigot.”
   “Yes, he is.”
   Finally, something they could agree on. “Then why are you letting him do
this?” Hermione demanded. The man still kept a house elf, for fuck’s sake.
   “Because that’s the last say he’ll have in this again,” Harry told her.
Draco and he had argued about it for hours after the files were laid out in
front of them. “Lucius won’t see any of the fifty candidates. Ever. The woman
we choose could be one sixteenth wizard, for all I care. We gave Lucius his nod
of respect, and now he’ll have to deal with the lack of further involvement.”
   “And you won’t let him pressure you again? Sure, I believe that.”
   Harry had given her no real reason to believe that, and he knew it. “You’ll
see. I promise.”
   With a roll of her eyes, Hermione fell back into silence. She’d been
discriminated against her whole life, and now Harry was letting her oppressors
influence him.
   “Hermione,” he tried again. “You’re not seeing how hard this is for me.”
   She honestly didn’t care, either. There was a line between right and wrong
that Harry had crossed, and he’d betrayed his own morals as much as he had
betrayed hers.
   Finally, Harry stood and opened himself up for Hermione to see. “I can’t get
pregnant, and neither can Draco. You’re coming from a standpoint of someone who
can have kids, and I’m sorry, but you really are seeing my side at all. I’m
going to have to cart around the adoption papers with me my whole life to prove
that I’m the child’s parent, I’ll have to tell them why they can’t do projects
on their biological family tree in school, and I’ll have to tell them why they
have two dads instead of a mom and a dad. Kids will make fun of them, Hermione.
I’m not fooling myself with this!”
   Her lips twitched downward. That was true, but Hermione didn’t see how it
was relevant.
   “While Lucius is wrong about the issue of blood purity, he has a point that
the children should look like us. Even muggle gay couples do that. It doesn’t
mean a baby of a different race or a different eye color is less deserving, but
we get so much shit from people already.”
   “I know that, Harry.”
   “So, excuse me if I can’t take this anymore!” Harry’s voice climbed. “I’ve
had reporters on my back since I was a kid. They follow me around, they place
cameras in my office, and they break into my house! But they’re not the worst.
They’re not even the start of the worst. Ordinary people—even muggles—see Draco
and I and I can feel their glares. I know they hate me without even knowing me.
   “I get every name in the fucking book, too. I know you’ve had to deal with
that about being a muggleborn, so please, try to understand,” he begged. “I’m a
faggot and they want me dead. Even wizards who know that I killed Tom Riddle
tell me I’m ‘setting a bad example’, or whatever! They fight against my
marriage, my very right to adopt, and more!”
   “I know!” Hermione stopped him. She got the picture; it was tough to be gay.
“But what does that have to do with you giving in to Lucius?”
   Harry sat back down, a little unsure of why he’d stood in the first place.
“It has to do with the fact that Draco and I are put through enough in our
daily lives. He gets harassed at the hospital, and I get called a ‘fairy’ by
people I am arresting. I can’t put Draco through the ringer on this issue, too.
Sometimes, when you see those signs that the church people hold, even though
you know everything they’re saying is wrong and narrow-minded, it gets to you.
They become a blob.
   “A blob of people in the world who are indistinguishable from other tolerant
human beings. I have to call hotels ahead of time and say ‘yes, we’re two men
and yes, we’ll have one bed’, and worry about whether or not they’ll let us go
at all. People stare when we walk arm-in-arm. Waiters in restaurants have seen
us holding hands and asked us to leave. When Draco came out to his father, they
didn’t even speak for months. I feel guilty, okay? I feel guilty that I’m the
one causing him problems,” he finished. Harry loved Draco too much to forgive
himself for the trouble Draco had gone through.
   That was a lot to take in. “You aren’t the cause of bigots,” Hermione told
him slowly. “If Draco wasn’t with you, he’d still be gay, and his father would
still be on his back.”
   “Then why can’t I just make things easier?” he pleaded. “I’ll raise that
baby to respect people of any gender, race, blood status, or sexual
orientation. I’m picking my battles, Hermione. I can’t be responsible for one
more struggle Draco has to go through.”
   “Harry, that sounds a lot like giving up,” she said gently. “And you need to
stop blaming yourself for the bad in the world.”
   Sure he could. That’s what Harry had done for years. Finally, Harry shared
the last scrap of his worries. “I don’t want to be responsible for Lucius not
liking his grandchild. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m already worried about
the second child. What if Lucius prefers the one that looks like Draco and I?”
   “Then that’s his problem.”
   “And my kids’ problem. I grew up without grandparents, and it wasn’t that
fun,” he shrugged. “Can you imagine what would happen if they did like the kid,
though? Grandma and Grandpa bringing them expensive toys, showering them in
praise, and more. Lucius would finally get off of Draco’s back about heirs, and
the whole family would get along better.”
   Hermione took Harry’s hand. “I know you love him. I’m just worried, okay? It
feels like you’re compromising your values and it worries me.”
   “I still have the same values,” Harry sighed as he squeezed her hand. “I’m
not an entirely different person.”
   “That’s true,” she nodded.
   “Plus, if I screw things up horribly, then at least they’ll have a couple of
great godparents to take care of them.” Harry and Draco had argued about that,
too. But who the hell else would Draco want? Pansy Parkinson? It may or may not
have been another clause in Harry agreeing to go with the fifty look-a-like
candidates.
   Hermione immediately perked up. It hardly made up for Harry’s actions, but
she heard what he was saying. That, and he still sounded like the Harry she
knew and loved. Sure, he wasn’t as unyielding in the social crusade for
equality that would hopefully one day change Lucius’ mind, but he was still
there beside her in the fight.
   It was a compromise for love, and it was sort of noble in its own right.
Sort of.
   “Ron and I would be honored,” she told him as the smile returned to her
face. “They can come over any time.”
   It was then that Harry realized something sort of wonderful. Hermione, Ron,
and Harry would be raising children together. Their kids would go to Hogwarts
together, and maybe even room together. They’d spend holidays together, and
Halloweens, and birthdays, and everything. “I can’t wait.”
   Hermione’s eyes went wide, and her hand flew down to her swollen stomach.
“Apparently, neither can he.”
   “He’s kicking?” Harry asked excitedly, putting a hand over Hermione’s
billowy blouse. Under the surface he could feel the baby stir. “Have you two
decided on a name yet?”
   “Hugo,” Hermione told him proudly. “Hugo Arthur Weasley.”
   “Brilliant. That’s brilliant,” he breathed.
   Hermione smiled a little more tensely. “And only two months until the beauty
of childbirth,” she reminded him. The last time hadn’t given her any reason to
be overjoyed. “And then, never again.”
   Harry raised an eyebrow. “Really? This is your last one?”
  “For sure. If Ron wants to push any out, he is welcome to try,” she laughed.
“Plus, my family has a detestable history of cysts.”
   “Who knows?” Harry shrugged. “Maybe you’ll be in the same adoption boat as
me one day. With less judgment and more understanding in-laws, of course.”
   “It does sound tough.”
   “It is.”
   Hermione squeezed his hand again before returning to her food. After all,
there were no cravings like pregnancy cravings. “Maybe,” she said after
swallowing down her food, making that sly grin that Ron made whenever he was
joking. “A one sixteenth pureblood grandchild that still managed to resemble
the Malfoy Order could even change Lucius’ old ways, and force him to love it.”
   “We can dream, Hermione. We can dream.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Olivia was owling in her third job application of the day when she heard the
knock at the door. Was she supposed to answer that? She didn’t quite know the
etiquette of how to function in Remus and Sirius’ home yet.
   They told her ‘do whatever you want’, and most likely meant it, but she was
still wary. Olivia cleaned up after her every move, just in case. She’d even
pretended to like Sirius’ goopy casserole that his own husband had turned down.
   “I’ll get it!” Remus called from the other room.
   When he strolled by Olivia he shot her a smile, and she gave him one in
return. He was too good to her.
   The door opened to reveal a stout woman in pink. Only when Olivia squinted
her eyes could she see that it was Molly Weasley. “Molly!” Remus greeted her
warmly, bringing her in for a hug. “Sirius is out shopping.” He’d ranted about
starting a ‘victory garden’ for about an hour before running off to buy seeds,
more specifically flower seeds, which was not a part of a traditional ‘victory
garden’ in the slightest. Leave it to Sirius Lupin to break tradition.
   “I just dropped by to return the bowl we used for last night’s jelly,” Molly
told him with a little wave of her hand, strolling over to the kitchen where
Olivia was seated. “Oh, hello, sweetheart. How are you warming up to Grimmauld
Place?”
   “Really well, thanks,” Olivia returned, rolling down the sleeves on the new
shirt her ‘fathers’ (what werethey?) had bought her without knowing her
reasoning behind it was to cover up her scars. Remus was great about that, too.
   Molly smiled brightly. “That’s wonderful, dear.” Slowly, something came over
her face. It wasn’t quite doubt, or disgust, or anything that Olivia could
recognize, but it was something. “Remus.”
   “Yes?” he asked absentmindedly as he toyed with the charmed magnets on the
refrigerator that changed words every so often to form new sentences. This
time, it had changed to ‘silly yodeling in your hills’. If Sirius were there,
he would have made some sort of innuendo.
   “I need to ask you something,” she said, hinting at the need for an adults-
only talk.
   “Ask away,” Remus shrugged, too distracted with ‘in France, I ate a kazoo’
on his refrigerator.
   Molly shifted uncomfortably, trying her best not to look at Olivia. “I need
to ask you something about your—ah—your shampoo.”
   Remus turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “What? My…? I can’t even remember
what brand I use.”
   Yes! That was the perfect response. “Then let’s go see! I think Bill needs
to switch, is all, because of some white things I saw in his hair. What’s the
word for that again? Dandruff! That’s what it was. So, shall we look?”
   Without waiting for Remus to respond, she ran up the stairs and out of
Olivia’s sight before crooking her finger for Remus to follow.
   Confused, he did just that.
  “Molly,” he started once they reached the closest bathroom. “What’s going
on?”
   She closed the door to lock them both inside.
   “Molly, I’m flattered, but we’re both married and I’m gay—“
   “Oh, hush,” Molly snapped before putting a silencing charm on the room. “I’m
not here to seduce you, Romulus.” That nickname really did get old, sometimes.
“I need to talk to you about something.”
   “About what?” Remus asked as he felt even more in the dark than he
originally had.
   “About Olivia.”
   “What about her?”
   Molly wrung her hands in front of her, trying to think of a way to phrase
this. “Well, young women undergo lots of changes at her age. Hormones rage,
hair begins to grow…”
   The fact that Molly had probably given all of her children this exact talk
in this exact voice disturbed Remus more than he could properly articulate. “I
know how puberty works, Molly. I’m still trying to forget it, and it sticks
with me.”
   “But there are things that women go through in puberty that the all-boys-
club of the Marauders probably didn’t go through. Well, James probably watched
it carefully, but—“
   “What are you talking about?”
   “She needs a bra, Remus,” Molly finally pushed out of her. It was good to
get that off of her chest. Metaphorically. “At age twelve, women start
developing breast buds.”
   Remus put his head in his hands. “I…” He didn’t want to think about Olivia
changing from a human to a werewolf, let alone from a girl to a woman. “I know
that.” Also, he hadn’t wanted to think about his adoptive child’s breasts.
   “So you need to get her a training bra. I just thought I’d tell you, since
you’d never gone through it yourself.”
   “Oh. Well. Isn’t that a joy.”
   “Remus!” she laughed, swatting his arms. “I would think an educated man like
yourself wouldn’t be concerned by women’s issues.”
   “I’m not!” Remus defended. He’d been there for Lily when she went skinny-
dipping and the Slytherins stole her bathing suit, and he’d even been outside
the room where she gave birth to Harry. At the thought of that, he shuddered a
little. He’d been a feminist since the beginning! He’d watched young women
mature school year after school year, and chastised every boy in class who made
a disrespectful comment, sandwich joke, or remark about periods! “I know that
women go through changes in their pre-teens and that eventually I’ll have to
respect her as a woman, but…”
   “But you didn’t think it would happen so soon? Oh, Remus. Womanhood is never
on a schedule.”
   He frowned. “I’m aware.” Sirius would probably laugh himself to death when
he heard this, the crazy berk. “And I’ll buy her some, thank you for pointing
that out. The simple fact of the matter is that I have no idea what to do now
or where to purchase them.”
   “You’ve never been to a department store?” she asked him skeptically.
   “Well, not to the women’s section!”
   Molly laughed her high-pitched little giggle. “They have women in the bra
department that can measure and fit her. All you have to do is take her there
and buy them.”
   “Fine,” he sighed. From outside of the bathroom, he heard Sirius trod in
what had to be a million shaking seed bags.
   “Liv-a-licious! Get Remus, we’re going to make the best goddamn victory
garden that anyone has ever seen. It’ll probably be the gayest, too.”
   “Sure,” Olivia laughed, getting up to search for wherever Molly had dragged
Remus off to.
   He beat her down the stairs, giving her another warm and comforting smile.
Maybe if he tried enough of those, then Olivia would give up the notion of
working for her keep like a tenant.
   “Molly!” Sirius greeted her happily when he saw her come down the stairs
behind Remus. “We are going to sow the earth like in ancient times. Care to
join us?”
   “I’ve got to be going,” she told him politely before giving his a kiss on
the cheek and waving goodbye to her niece-ish-sort-thing. “Goodbye!”
   And just like that, Molly Weasley was gone as soon as she had arrived. Remus
would spend the rest of his night covered in topsoil and fertilizer, which felt
like the wrong place to bring up a family talk about undergarments. Tomorrow,
he decided before watering their beautiful, ridiculous final product of
flowers, tomato plants, potato plants, and zucchini. True to Sirius’ style,
none of them were in season.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Draco laughed and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I’ve picked a theme
for the nursery.”
   “There had to be a theme?”
   “Hush,” he silenced him by pressing a finger to Harry’s lips. The other
hand, of course, was busy spooning ice cream out of a tub. “You have to listen
to my vision because it came to me on my way home from work.”
   Harry smiled and kissed his sugary lips before getting himself a spoonful of
the ice cream. “I’m all ears.”
   “I was walking home and I saw a poster hanging up for the London Zoo’s new
tiger habitat or whatever. That’s what really got me thinking, and then
everything fell into place.” He paused to put another spoonful of vanilla
delight into his mouth. “The crib will be a light wood, with green leaf
detailing along the sides, and a mobile of different animals.”
   “That’s cute. It’ll be our wild child room,” Harry laughed.
   “The walls will be a mural of the jungle that we can hire Dean to paint,”
Draco envisioned. “There will be a blue sky ceiling with clouds and birds, too.
Then we can magick the paintings so they move like they’re in a real jungle. It
not only gets us out of worn gender roles for the baby, but I quite like the
idea of teaching the kid to talk with books about animals. Not real animals,
ever, just books.”
   “Aw,” he said before giving Draco a little shove. “But what if the kid wants
a pet?”
   “Then they can play with Padfoot.” Sirius knew better than to throw up on
the soft emerald carpet that would be installed in the nursery. “And they’ll
have lots of pictures, and the muggle television to stare at animals.”
   Harry rolled his eyes fondly. “You just wait. I’ll convince them to enroll
in Care of Magical Creatures and this whole place will be crawling with newts,
cats, and pygmy puffs.”
   “Never. If anything, the kid gets a dragon,” Draco huffed. They were really
the only animal he could stand, and you could ride them, too. Nothing like that
giant chicken that had assaulted him in third year and Draco was even named
after a dragon.
   “I’ll ask Charlie about it,” Harry grinned. “I’m sure he’d think that a
fire-breathing leviathan is the perfect play-toy for our toddler.”
   “Anyway, back to interior design.” Draco knew that one day his child and his
Harry would come begging for a puppy to train and love, and he wanted that day
to be as far away as possible. Mostly because it wouldn’t take much for him to
cave. “We’ll go on that shopping trip you promised me looking for matching
sets. I’ve looked through some catalogues and found the absolute most adorable
bureau with monkeys and cheetahs climbing all over it that have a hamper and
rocking chair as a part of the deal.”
   The thought of Draco holding their baby in a rocking chair made Harry’s
stomach flip. “Their first Halloween could be them in an animal costume. Molly
would be more than happy to sew one.”
   “That’s actually really cute,” Draco laughed since he definitely wasn’t the
type of bloke to say ‘cute’ in every other sentence.
   “And we could be zookeepers.”
   “Sexyzookeepers.”
   Harry gave him a shove. “Draco!”
   “What? The kid’s not going to remember their dads in boy shorts when they’re
less than a year old. All we’ll have to do is hide the photos with our sex
toys,” he shrugged. If marriage hadn’t dampened their love life, there was no
way in hell that Draco was going to let a child stop him. They’d just lock
their doors and put up a silencing charm.
   “You’re mad,” Harry said fondly before kissing him again, the ice cream from
his lips smearing on Draco’s cheek. “But I love the nursery idea. The only
trouble will be assembling it.”
   Draco cupped his cheek before smearing his own ice cream on Harry. “Oh,
Harry. That’s what we have the Weasleys for.”
   Laughing, Harry peppered his face with kisses and curled a hand into Draco’s
hair. Between the laps and smacks of lips, Draco felt a beautiful and
surrounding silence. That would be long gone when a crying creature without the
ability to communicate would fill their halls with shrieks.
   It seemed sort of worth it, though. Harry had a bit of pep in his step ever
since Draco had agreed to do this with him, and Draco had even begun to like it
himself. Not that he would admit it too ecstatically, though.
   They still had fifty women to sort through, after all. A thought that Draco,
the gigantic gay he was, had never faced before.
   Rather than worrying about that or thinking about anything disturbingly
heterosexual, Draco leaned into Harry’s sweet kisses.
***** Birds of a Feather *****
Chapter Notes
     I’m having so much fun and my Google search history is littered with
     peafowl sex questions! Thanks for your reviews and comments, you lot
     are lovely.
Chapter 9: Birds of a Feather
  “No, no, no, that goes in here!”
   “Draco, I think I know what hole to put it in.”
   “Clearly you don’t. And you have to twist it, by the way.”
   “I am twisting it.”
   “I don’t think you are, Harry. Try harder.”
   “I am going hard!”
   “Oh, please. I know you can go much harder.”
   “You know what, Draco, it’s difficult to screw this thing in as is, I don’t
need you complaining—“
   “I’m not complaining, I’m just making sure you do the job right!”
   “—and hovering over me!”
   “Correction: I am under you.”
   “You know what? You can take this and shove it up your—“
   “Yes!” Draco shouted when the last bar on the crib finally popped into
place, completing what had been an hour’s worth of baby-bed-related insanity.
“Finally.”
   Harry watched his husband collapse onto the plush green carpet they’d
installed with a content sigh. “Happy?” Harry asked, amused by Draco’s antics.
   “Happy.”
   Once the crib was up against the wall, Harry felt free to lie down next to
his husband. They looked up at the blue ceiling, soon-to-be a sky when Dean
came over the next night. “You’re going to be a daddy.”
   Draco rolled over to face Harry. “And so are you,” he murmured, wondering
why a sick bubble of glee rose in him when Harry called him that. “Are you
ready for tonight?”
   “Of course I’m ready. At this point, I should have a bloody degree in
breaking distressing news to Malfoys,” Harry grinned. After all, he had married
into this and didn’t intend on divorcing out of it. ‘Forever’ meant a lot to
him. “Are you ready?”
   “Maybe,” Draco whined before leaning his head on Harry’s chest. His cotton
shirt was soft, and as gross as it was, the strenuous assembling had gotten
Harry a little musky, and Draco liked it.
   “What if I shag you afterwards?”
   “Then I would be much more likely to get through it,” he nodded seriously.
   Harry snickered and kissed the top of Draco’s wispy blonde head. “Then I’ll
simply have to.”
   “And if I asked you to shag me now?”
   Harry’s lips curled up into a grin, a slow heat consuming his body. “Then
I’ll simply have to.” He moved to settle in between Draco’s thighs, pulling the
shirt right off of his head.
   With nothing else to do but lie on his back, spread his legs, and let
himself be fucked until orgasm, Draco let out a happy mewl. The noise struck
deep inside Harry, making him even more frantic to rip Draco’s trousers and
pants off at once.
   After what Harry and Draco couldn’t believe they’d actually done in their
future child’s nursery—the sin! The mess! The sexual shenanigans!—they dressed
themselves and left. Apparently, Draco needed a thorough shagging before and
after anything that provoked even mild anxiety.
   When they arrived at the grand fireplace of the ancient Manor, they had
magicked the smell of sex off of themselves for the time being. It would come
around to linger near them later, like it always did. However, when they
stepped into the emerald halls, their host and hostess were nowhere to be
found.
   “They’re probably in the dining room,” Draco told Harry before taking his
hand to lead him there in spite of the fact that Harry could now navigate the
Manor blindfolded if he wanted to. Still, it wasn’t like Lucius and Narcissa
not to greet them at the door and shower their boys in hugs, kisses, and
probing questions about the state of their marriage and future fetus.
   They reached the dining room in record time based on Draco’s nerves alone.
“Maybe they thought we were coming later?” Harry tried. When Harry was upset it
could be disastrous, but Draco being anxious was on an apocalyptic level.
   He released Harry’s hand. “I’m going to check upstairs. This isn’t like
them, and the bloody elf isn’t even around.”
   Harry rushed after Draco past portraits, statues, and finally up the grand
staircase. “Draco! Maybe they’re outside, it’s nice out tonight—“
   That was when he heard the crash.
   Draco and Harry sprinted towards the source of the din with hearts beating
fast. Draco saw it was coming from a guest room and burst in the door without a
second thought. That was exactly the sort of thing he hated to see Harry do.
“Mum?”
   Thankfully, no robbers, murderers, rapists, or extremists had found their
way in. The scene that unfolded in front of Draco was much more light-hearted.
   “Fuck! You got me worried for nothing!” Draco yelled, frustrated.
   “Watch your mouth,” Lucius tried before the panicking peahen jumped right
back up onto the neatly-made bed. Nobody had used that guest room in years. In
fact, the Lestranges were the last ones
   “Sorry, sweetheart,” Narcissa said as she tried to get her nimble fingers
around the hen, who had already pecked Gerda enough times for her to cower in
the corner of the room. “It’s just that your father thought it would be a good
idea to—“
   “It is a good idea.” Narcissa threw her bothered husband a look before he
finally got a grip on the peahen’s stomach and lifted up. “There. You know, my
great-great grandfather used to hunt fowl. It’s a shame that it’s not as
popular today,” Lucius bragged in the snooty way that only a Malfoy could.
“Anyway, I’ve searched far and wide for a perfect hen for the peacocks.”
   Draco made a face and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He had no clue what
that insane whitish bird was, since it definitely didn’t resemble one of the
peacocks he’d gotten to know. That species was all about a woman’s choice of
who was the best-looking man, after all. She didn’t have to dress up or
anything. “You want them to multiply?” Draco asked skeptically.
   “They’re bred from the finest birds, so there’s no reason they shouldn’t
pass on their genes,” Lucius told him curtly. It felt like an analogy that
Draco didn’t want to delve into. “When your child inherits the Manor, they’ll
be the ones that can sell them at the highest price. It’s an investment in the
future.”
   Harry found an ally in Narcissa, their eyes locking and exchanging wary
looks. A daughter of Black and a son of Potter, united by madmen.
   “Father,” Draco said carefully. “Let’s eat before discussing future
generations, hm?”
   “Yeah,” Harry supported, trying to show that he was there for Draco in this
insanity.
   Lucius kept the peahen under his arm when he walked back down the grand
staircase, the rest of the family trailing behind him. “Have you brought the
candidates? We’ll pull up dental records as well; I still have a few allies in
the Ministry. That way, you won’t have to waste money on dental work. Also, we
can rule out those with poor eyesight—“
   “Father, Harry has glasses. Youhave glasses.”
   “And isn’t it a hassle?” he asked smoothly, reminding himself that his own
glasses were brought on by old age and Harry’s by his blind father. The week
James had lost his glasses was the week that nobody at Hogwarts was safe from
being walked into or grabbed for. Sirius had to call out commands to make sure
James didn’t fall out of the Quidditch pitch, but it didn’t stop the animagus
from yelling out the wrong orders to screw with him at every turn and make him
crash into his poor girlfriend.
   Self-consciously, Harry adjusted his glasses. “No, it’s just fine.”
   Draco happened to like Harry’s glasses. It made his green eyes even more
brilliant. He gave Harry a reassuring look when they reached the dining room
just to remind him.
   “Gerda. Food,” Lucius demanded, not seeing the terror in her big brown eyes
when she looked at the feisty peahen.
   The bird was finally set free out of a sliding glass door, being released
into the wild to sort things out with her new harem of men. If Pansy were
there, she would have been proud. “What are you naming her?” Harry tried,
watching her waddle away to go investigate her boys.
   “Creatrix. ‘Trix’ for short,” Narcissa announced proudly. Finally, she had
another woman in the house.
   ‘Trix’ joined her fellow peafowl in what Harry could only describe as a mosh
pit of feathers. “It’s mating season,” Lucius informed everyone seriously,
frowning when Harry and Draco erupted into laughter.
   “You bought a hen for them to gangbang?” Draco asked, still laughing. In his
head, Draco imagined the pearly white beauties draped in silks and smelling of
pungent spices, rubbing their necks together in a hazy, smoky and steaming room
with some kind of heavy music setting a beat to their debauchery.
   “Draco!”
   “What? It’s true!” he continued, snickering. “You sent the poor thing out
there to get deflowered, or defeathered, or whatever!”
   Harry elbowed Draco’s shoulder and pointed out of one of the stained-glass
windows. “Look! I think she’s enjoying herself. At least your peacocks value
consent, I suppose.” Beyond the window, one of the peacocks had spread his
ivory tail feathers to impress his new girlfriend, and she had taken a shine to
him. What happened after that, well. Harry could have lived his whole life
without seeing two peafowls mate.
   Narcissa giggled and hid her face in her hand. “Maybe we should have built
them a lean-to, or some sort of shelter…”
   “Whole new meaning to ‘getting a room’,” Harry smirked.
   “Can we avert our eyes?” Lucius sighed, wanting to get back to the matter at
hand. They’d make sure the resulting eggs found a nest another day, and staring
at the birds made Lucius feel like a voyeur. “We still have matters to discuss
on the candidates you weeded out. Where are the files?”
   “Back at our house,” Draco told him calmly.
   “And why are they not here?”
   “Because we gave you some of your way, and now you’re giving us some of our
way.” He placed the embroidered napkin before him on his lap. “You wanted a
child that looked like us, and while it isn’t actually even your child to begin
with, we accommodated you. We have it narrowed down to fifty candidates.”
   Lucius gritted his teeth. “You’re not even going to let your mother and I
see them?”
   “You can meet the woman we select,” Harry offered. He pitied the girl in
advance.
   “And what good will that do anyone?” Lucius asked, shoulders up in a
defensive stance that he didn’t even know he did when he was threatened.
   Harry looked to Draco to explain that one. “It will do you the good of
meeting the woman having our child,” Draco said simply. “Because that’s our
decision.”
   “Yes,” Narcissa said carefully. “But you have to understand that we’re only
trying to help.”
   “I do. We just don’t need it.”
   “Because you’re the parenting expert,” his father said sarcastically.
   Draco gave him a small, tense smile. “No, but I know healthcare. I know
legal issues. I know adoption. I also know you mean well, father, so please
don’t take this as an insult.” That was like telling Lucius not to breathe,
utterly useless. “Trust my judgment.”
   “I do,” Lucius grumbled and tried to believe it. “But what if you make a
mistake that could have been avoided by my intervention? That will stick with
you for however long the child is with you. This is why in-vitro fertilization
would have been much easier, simpler, safer—“
   “But we trust your judgment,” Narcissa added quickly.
   Everyone in the room was anxious for about a thousand different reasons.
Lucius because he feared for his son’s family, Narcissa because she feared for
Lucius’ sanity, Draco because he knew that Harry’s values had been trampled
over in this process, and Harry because everyone else around him was losing
their heads. “So, you’re okay with this?” Harry asked quietly.
   “Harry, when have you ever cared about my being okay with something?” Lucius
asked, cutting the bullshit. Draco’s marriage to the Gryffindor had allowed
Lucius to see Harry as a nonthreatening entity, allowing him to both assimilate
Harry into the family and lower his boundaries
   Harry shrugged. “Well, you did say at the wedding that I could—“
   “No. You are not allowed to bring that up after going against every plan I
had for this child.” Lucius had been drunk out of his mind after seeing his
baby boy being married off! He may have let something slip about Harry being
able to call him ‘dad’ now, but he wasn’t in his right mind at the time.
   “Really?” Harry asked, pretending to be disappointed. “And here I was
thinking you spoke from the heart that night.”
   “That was when I thought we were on the same page, you deviant. We were the
ones who wanted you and Draco to have children,” he pointed out. “And then you
had to go to get on your moral high horse like you always do.” A Potter had
ended the line of Malfoys in the world. A Potter.
   Draco, disturbed by the earlier royal ‘we’ being used to refer to his
husband and his father, scrunched his face up. “Those were years of pressuring
that I would not like to remember, hm?”
   “It wasn’t pressuring,” Harry said airily. “It was constant reminder of my
needs in this relationship.” Lucius gave Harry a glare. “And your
father’s—er—needs.”
   If Draco rolled his eyes any harder, they would get stuck in the back of his
head. “I can’t hear another word about anybody’s needs.”
   “Oh, Draco,” Narcissa said as she took his hand from across the table. “You
just wait until the baby comes. Then you’ll know what it’s like to be entirely
at the whim of someone else’s needs.”
   Well, if Draco wasn’t worried enough already for that night, his mother’s
comment did him in.
   He was a bloodyindividual. Even in his relationship he had a clear sense of
self-sufficiency, and the only time Draco would consider anything close to
subservient to Harry was when they were in bed on special occasions, or when
Harry was sick.
   Draco dealt with sick people all day, too. Sick people, his father, his
mother, his friends, and his husband had divided his attention almost beyond
repair. How a child would change that was starting to scare Draco. In the
distance, he could hear his family laughing over some sort of joke he’d missed,
but it was a thousand miles away.
   His life wasn’t about him anymore. It was about Harry, the baby, the job,
and the family. Where was all the ‘Draco time’? He’d had years’ worth of ‘Draco
time’ when he was clubbing with Pansy and Theo. It was all bright lights, fast
nights, and even quicker sex.
   There were rarely times where Draco missed the one-night stands with men who
snored, kicked in their sleep, and had awful breath, but there were times that
he missed the selfishness of it all. It was tough to be a narcissist when one
was surrounded by people so deserving of attention. At least Harry fed into
Draco’s inflated sense of self.
   He was better than a ‘good man’; Harry was a great man. He made Draco laugh
until milk came out of his nose and smile so hard that his face hurt. Trading a
little ‘Draco time’ for that was surely a fair exchange, right?
   As Narcissa went on about pacifiers and bibs, Draco sure hoped so. The whole
wavering between ‘wanting to be a father’ and ‘wanting to run away and join the
circus’ act was getting old, and fast.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Pansy couldn’t sleep. It was too hot outside and much too noisy.
   Maggie’s flat was in the meat-packing district, which was absolutely a
ridiculous place to live. There were thousands of muggle trucks zipping by
during the day, and women walking the street at night. To be fair, Pansy had
seen one man in a pair of gold shorts. Equal opportunity.
   She lifted the cold bottle to her lip and drank in the butterbeer. When
cold, that stuff could be brilliant. Considering Pansy had already done
everything she could to get cold—cracked open a window, cast a spell, stripped
down to her birthday suit—it was just the measure needed to get her there.
   Beside Pansy, sleeping like a goddamn log, was her girlfriend. A mess of
fiery red hair strewn across the blue pillows; one that Pansy sort of adored.
   Pansy wasn’t about to lie and say she looked peaceful sleeping, though.
Maggie’s mouth was open and drool was creeping out of the side, and her foot
kept kicking Pansy’s ankle. Whatever dream she was having, Pansy could really
just guess. Maggie never remembered her dreams.
   It was nice, though. It was nice waking up to her hand down Pansy’s panties
and her breath on Pansy’s neck without a word about some inane dream or flight
of fancy. Maggie was down-to-earth like that, and Pansy wondered if she even
dreamed at all.
   Pansy could never escape her dreams.
   Sometimes she’d wake up in a panic, knowing she had to wash that cat with
the light-pink soap before time ran out. Details of the dreams would haunt her
throughout the day, a case of déjà vu playing out whenever she saw a flight of
stairs that looked similar to the one she fell down the night before in her
mind.
   Finishing off the bottle, Pansy put it down on the windowsill. She would
have to sleep eventually, or face being exhausted at work.
   Just before she decided to crawl back onto the mattress where her snoring
Scotswoman was waiting, she heard a familiar tapping.
   Pansy saw the owl trying to get into Maggie’s kitchen window, so Pansy stuck
her hand out of the bedroom one and snapped to get the things attention. It was
onyx black, which could only mean one person. What the hell could Theo want at
this hour?
   After the disgruntled bird flew away without so much as a conjured
treat—Pansy really didn’t have time for shenanigans like that—she tore open the
letter.
   Queen Bitch of the Sahara,
   My flat. Tomorrow. Noon. Bring alcohol, everyone will be there. It’s
important.
   -Theo
   She knew, of course, who ‘everyone’ was. It defined the Slytherin crowd, the
sons and daughters of Death Eaters and their supporters. That, and Greg
sometimes liked to bring his Hufflepuff girlfriend along. Abbott never really
got the ‘fuck off’ memo.
   Draco knew better than to bring Harry, Blaise knew better than to bring
Ginny, Theo knew better than to bring Colin, but Pansy could bring Maggie
whenever she pleased. Since she hadn’t gone to Hogwarts, Pansy had her fun with
trying to sort her every action into a Hogwarts house. When she dragged
patients out of burning buildings she was a Gryffindor, when she cheated at
poker she was a Slytherin, when she got every fact right on that stupid muggle
‘Jeopardy’ show before the contestants did, she was a Ravenclaw. Her Hufflepuff
moments were rare, but even they existed when she talked about her family.
   Her family was half of the reason that Pansy couldn’t sleep. The next day,
she would be meeting Maggie’s mum. An incredibly official and meaningful step
in a relationship that Pansy had never, ever done before.
   When Theo had gone to meet Colin’s dad for the first time, it had taken
every Slytherin they knew to calm him down. ‘What if he hates me?’ ‘What if I
accidentally curse in front of him?’ ‘What if he figures out that my father
killed hundreds of muggles over his lifetime?’ ‘What if he doesn’t like the way
I dress?’ ‘What if he thinks Colin could do better?’.
   Draco had actually had to smack him to calm the poor man down. Pansy sort of
wished he were there with her to do her the same favor.
   Pansy Parkinson did not lie to herself. She was a brutal, ambitious, lazy,
vicious, and scandalized woman. She knew how other people saw her.
   The bitch that wanted to hand over Harry Potter, the whore who’d slept with
half of wizarding London…
   “Fuck ‘em,” she muttered to herself. It was easy to say that about people
who yelled things at her in the street or patients who tried to pinch her arse
whenever she treated them, but this was Maggie’s mother. She’d gone through
labor to push a baby out, spent thousands on raising said baby, gone through an
awful divorce and a battle to keep said baby, and now said baby was a grown
woman with questionable taste in other women.
   “Fuck me,” Maggie offered. Shit, Pansy hadn’t even noticed she’d stopped
snoring.
   “You’re insatiable.”
   “And you’re an insomniac. Who the hell is owling you at this hour?”
   Pansy tossed her the letter. “Theodore is in some sort of crisis. We should
probably swing by his flat before we get to your mum’s house.”
   “Hm,” Maggie said as she read, sitting up and letting the covers fall to
expose her chest. “Yeah, that’s fine. Did the owl wake you?”
   She shook her head.
   “Come back to bed, Pans.”
   Letting out a hiss of air, Pansy decided that was probably for the best. She
tossed the bottle in the garbage and sprawled herself out on top of the
mattress, one hand occupying Maggie’s waist.
   “Isn’t that better?” Maggie kissed her cheek.
   “Yeah,” Pansy murmured with a little smile, though she was unsure as ever.
   “Exactly. Sleep tight, Princess.”
***** Doing Right *****
Chapter Notes
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Chapter 10: Doing Right
  The offending token sat on Theo’s coffee table, surrounded by the shocked
faces of his friends.
   “Fuck.”
   “When did you get this?”
   “Where did you get it?” Draco asked, enraptured.
   “You’re missing the point!” Theo yelled and stopped his frantic pacing. He
was going to tear his hear out strand by strand; these Slytherins weren’t
helping. “The point,” he explained slowly, voice rising in pitch. He sounded a
bit like a prepubescent boy all over again, trying to ask Zacharias Smith to
the Yule Ball. “Is that I bought it.”
   Blaise stood to give his friend a sad clap on the back. “Looks like you’re
joining the dark side, mate.”
   “Wait,” Pansy interrupted, taking a moment to look at Maggie. “This is the
first time that all of us are in a relationship. Every single one of us.”
   “It’s been that way for a while,” Greg muttered, though that was ignored as
most of his grumblings were.
   “You’re still missing the goddamn fucking point!” Theo reminded them. As
Theo became more frustrated, his vocabulary became much more colorful.
“Useless, all of you!”
   That last little crack in Theo’s voice made Draco break eye-contact with
that heavenly diamond. “Theo, this ring is beautiful. I really mean it, okay?
This is beautiful.”
   “I know,” Theo said miserably. “I shouldn’t have bought it.”
   “What? Get a grip, you big poof. Colin is going to love it and you know
that,” Draco told him quickly, standing up to take the ring in his hand. Next
to Draco’s silver wedding ring with a glowing ammolite chunk, the gold of
Colin’s band looked even more brilliant. It looked like string, like the metal
was molten enough to bend and curve to Draco’s touch. “Tell me what you were
thinking when you bought it.”
   Theo pushed back his jet-black hair. “Um. Something along the lines of: ‘If
this jeweler tells The Prophet, I’ll knock his crooked teeth out’.”
   “I mean when you first saw the ring,” Draco sighed. It had been love at
first sight with Harry and his wedding rings in a dark Knockturn Alley shop
full of curiosities and rarities of all sorts. Just because Draco’s ceremony
was done didn’t mean he was done with his wedding-planning- obsession.
   In a sort of masochistic way, Draco had enjoyed the whole process. It was
the ultimate power-trip, and it had given him an excuse to misbehave on account
of ‘wedding stress’. Groomzillas always got what they wanted, too.
   “I thought about this boat,” Theo muttered, staring at the floor. It felt
stupid to admit out loud. “I rented it years ago when I went on vacation by
myself before buying it for good. Do you remember it?” Draco nodded. “Well, one
night in Boca I decided I was going to learn how to drive the thing without
magic. I didn’t take lessons or anything; I just went out into the water and
tried to figure it out.”
   “Does this story have a point?” Pansy whispered to her girlfriend before
getting an elbow in her side. Maggie wanted to hear why Theodore—the boy who
turned his nose up at public pools—had any interest whatsoever in the ocean.
   “And for a while, I sort of figured it out. I could only go at like three
miles per hour, but it didn’t matter. After an hour of pulling at every lever
and pushing every button, I finally got it. I know this has nothing to do with
rings, but you know how I am with water.”
   How Theo ‘was with water’ was always a wonderful source for jokes. The man
was like a cat, for fuck’s sake. He wouldn’t go near the stuff other than
showers, drinking, and potions. He wasn’t even too fond of baths.
   “Did you sink?” Greg inquired, genuinely curious. The fact that Theo was
there in the flesh as proof that he hadn’t drowned to death wasn’t the first
thing on the other man’s mind.
   “No. It was just—the sun was setting, which already makes this sound like a
shitty postcard that you see poor Americans selling in drug stores, so I tried
to go towards it just to be a cliché. It was like I was chasing the sun or
something,” he shrugged. “And right when I was on the edge of it, like all I
had to do was push a little more and it would be mine. Then, well. I ran out of
gas.”
   Maggie snorted out a laugh. She was beginning to see Pansy’s earlier
complaining in a more justified light.
   “So then you saw the ring,” Draco continued, the only one of his friends who
was hanging on every word. That was his best friend, his brother. They’d been
through hell, high water, and awkward family reunions together.
   “So then I saw the ring.”
   “And?”
   “I dunno. I caught the sun.”
   Draco’s mouth curled into a lopsided grin. “Marry him, you big idiot.”
   “No.” Theo snatched the ring from Draco’s hands. “Now’s not a particularly
opportune time.”
   Blaise and Pansy exchanged looks. When had the sexcapades turned into cold
wedding feet? Draco being married off was one thing considering him and Harry
had been attached at the hip for three years, but this fling between the
Potioneer and the Photographer hadn’t even aged to a year. What Slytherins
needed most was time to adjust, Greg supposed.
   “And it has barely been a year,” Pansy added. She was against this, and she
was sticking by her guns. Well, metaphorically, of course. Pansy Parkinson had
never seen a gun in her life.
   Blaise joined in. “And that sort of commitment is forever. As in, you know,
forever. Are you willing to wake up to puns and camera flashes every morning?
And I know sex stuff is something you and Draco talk about while braiding each
other’s hair and giggling in your sleeping bags, but are you going to only fuck
one bloke your whole life?”
   “I don’t know!” Theo yelled, stuffing the ring back into the box and into
his pocket. “I just… I bought it! Mindlessly.”
   “You don’t have to propose tomorrow,” Draco told him, shooting Pansy and
Blaise an icy look. He knew from personal experience how snippy and doubtful
they could be, even though they had Theo’s best interests at heart. Very, very
deep in the cockles of their hearts, somewhere behind a black hole that
contained memories of second year.
   “But keep it. The ring is beautiful, Theo. When the moment’s right, and that
doesn’t have to be for fucking years if you want, then show him.”
   “Have you two even talked about marriage?” Pansy asked. “I don’t mean to
ruin your True Love Parade, Draco, but you and Harry had at least spoken about
marriage.”
   “Once or twice,” Draco lied. There had been extensive talks, debates,
fights, and make-ups. “If you see a future with someone, then marriage isn’t
that big of a step.”
   “’Isn’t that big of a step’? I can’t fucking believe this! You—Draco, you
goddamn hypocrite. You threw a binder full of color swatches at a florist! You
dragged Harry tothirty different countries while ring shopping, and called a
waiter a ‘senseless plebian’ when he folded a napkin the wrong way. Don’t tell
me marriage isn’t a big deal, you twat!”
   Draco rolled his eyes as if it were obvious. “Weddings are a big deal.
Marriage? It’s relatively similar to the relationship that came before. All we
do differently is file our taxes together and manage our joint account,” he
told him.
   “Go fuck yourself,” Theo tried weakly. “Every last one of you.”
   “What did you want from us?” Blaise asked with a laugh. Theo knew his
friends, and it was his own fault if he forgot how useless they were at life
guidance.
   Theo shrugged and sat down on his coffee table. “I don’t know, something
radical and out of left field that would change my perspective on life? And if
I wanted someone to encourage me I’d just have called Draco. You lot are here
to make me stop this.”
   “You expect too much,” Maggie told him plainly.
   “I’m aware.”
    “So, you want it to stop,” Pansy latched onto. “Then that’s it. Chuck the
ring in the closet and don’t propose, and give it two or twenty years.”
   “I don’t really want it to stop,” Theo clarified, since he was officially
unclear on everything. “I mean, I bought it for a reason.”
   “So you wanted us to make your decision for you?” Greg asked in a rare
moment of wisdom. In his humble opinion, that was a terrible idea.
   Oh. That sounded about right, yeah. “No,” Theo lied. “I just… Uh. I wanted
to let you know. All of you.”
   “Now we know,” Blaise sighed. “Anything else anyone wants to share?”
   “I fucked Maggie in the shower this morning.”
   “My father is driving me insane and compared my adoption life to peafowl
genes.”
   “Hannah used the word ‘ostentatious’ this morning and I had to get a
dictionary just to figure out what she meant.”
   “That,” Blaise said slowly, voice full of regret. “Was a rhetorical
question.”
   Theo let out a groan of defeat, slumping on his coffee table. “This doesn’t
leave me any less lost, you prats.”
   “You’ll figure it out,” Draco assured him, patting the poor man’s shoulder.
“You two love each other and all of that, and you’re committed to that. And if
it doesn’t work out, there’s always divorce.”
   That didn’t really seem to help, either.
   Theo was torn. He’d done a stupid, impulsive thing, and was left to face the
reality of it. Honestly, he felt like he’d been dreaming when he bought the
ring. All Theo had to do was put a sack of gold coins on the table and the ring
was his, to do whatever he wanted with. He could tie it to a kite and let the
thing sail into the clouds and land in an inner city kid’s TV antennae and that
kid could pawn it off for thousands. He could throw it into the ocean like that
muggle movie he’d watched about the ship and the iceberg.
   Maybe he could slip it in some girl’s drink at a restaurant when she was on
a date with some boy and watch him have a conniption.
   Or, maybe, he could just throw it at Colin the second he walked in the door
and break down crying in a fit of disoriented emotion. How sexy would that be?
Nothing turned a man on like emotional volatility and daddy issues.
   Oh, fuck, was that even a part of it?
   With one last defeated sigh, Theo tuned back into the conversation. It had
moved on to being about Pansy’s problems, as it always did.
   She was going on about how she’d cycled through ‘at least eight’ outfits
that morning before picking one that was appropriate enough to be a meet-the-
parents outfit and fabulous enough to be perfectly Pansy.
   Theo, who could care less, would forget the entire conversation an hour
later. All he would know was that there was a ring box in his pocket and he was
no closer to an answer than he had been when he saw the damn thing behind
glass.
   He wondered if it would look any better on Colin’s left hand.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   The meeting had gone too well. Suspiciously well. Pansy didn’t trust how
well it had gone.
   “She liked you,” Maggie told her plainly. “Quit being so dramatic about it.”
   “I am not being dramatic!”
   “She says as she yells and flails about.”
   Pansy narrowed her eyes before stepping onto the stoop of her flat. It
wasn’t as grand as she would have liked it to be, but so was the price of
moving out of the bedroom she’d had since girlhood. After all the drinking and
parties they put up with, her parents were glad to see her go. “Shut up.”
   “Princess,” Maggie sighed. “My mum wouldn’t lie about liking you. Believe
me, I get my honesty from her.” She also got her wild hair from her mother, but
Pansy ignored the old ‘that’s what you’ll be getting in twenty years’ saying
nagging at the back of her skull.
   Her weight shifted from one foot to the other. “Yeah, yeah.” Pansy did her
best to look anywhere but into Maggie’s eyes. They were too honest for her
liking.
   She felt a soft hand rest on her cheek. “Hey.”
   “Hey,” Pansy responded with a tense smile.
   “What’s got you so worked up? You liked the pasta, she liked you… Did you
not like her?”
   Pansy snapped to attention. “What? No! She was, er, lovely! As lovely as I
expected and everything. Maggie, it’s not a problem with her.”
   “Then what is it?” She wasn’t going to drop her girlfriend off and leave her
to drink herself into a stupor over a meeting with Maggie’s mum. She wasn’t
even half as fiery as Maggie was. That came from her father.
   She took a deep breath. How was one supposed to explain this? “It’s—um. I
dunno. It was nice. Seeing where you grew up and stuff. I kept imagining you
walking around there as a kid, when your hair was probably twice as big as you.
I could see you getting milk from the fridge and cookies from the cookie jar.”
   “And the thought of me as a little girl turned you off?” Maggie asked,
skeptical.
   “It made me—“ See you as a person, want to move in with you so I could hold
onto all night like you deserve, make me want to kiss you and think about boats
and rings.“—It was just strange, okay? You know I’ve never done this bit of the
relationship. It’s new.”
   “I’m your first,” she realized, beaming. “I’m taking Pansy Parkinson’s
relationship virginity.”
   “Don’t sound so goddamn smug about it. I’m giving it to you.”
   Maggie smirked, her freckles moving with her expression across her pale
cheeks. “I’m glad I’ve got consent, then.”
   “Fuck off.” Pansy crossed her arms.
   The little smirk on Maggie’s face didn’t even falter. “If you want me to,
sure.”
   “I really do,” she decided, huffing. This was getting too close for comfort.
“But give me a kiss first, because you’re the worst.”
   Ah, Pansy logic. Some of the best and worst thinking in the world right
there.
   Maggie dipped forward and gave their lips a messy, wonderful union. “Sleep
well,” she told Pansy. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”
   “Yeah,” Pansy said, still in disbelief that she had shaken Maggie’s mother’s
hand.
   Maggie had come out of that woman’s vagina. How insane was that? That woman
had given her daughter the gift of life, and somehow, the gift of magic through
birth. Not even the premiere researchers in the wizarding world could explain
muggleborns and what made them different from other babies.
   Pansy’s metamorphosis into accepting muggleborns came from that purely
scientific standpoint. Sure, she’d been against the idea of making flower
chains with muggle populous of the world for most of her life, but she wasn’t
doing anything of the sort. Apparently, acceptance didn’t mean going horribly
out of your way to not be a dick.
   Anyway, Maggie’s mother’s vagina aside, Pansy still couldn’t shake the
feeling that someone else was wrong. Maybe it had to do with Maggie’s vagina.
   “Owl me nude pictures later,” Pansy decided before waiting for an answer and
running up to her flat. Yes, that was it. Nude pictures, a bottle of wine, and
a terrible book could fix every problem in her life thus far, so she hoped it
wouldn’t disappoint her this time.
   Looking up at Pansy’s window, Maggie shook her head. That woman was insane
in at least twelve different ways. Psychiatrists should be studying her.
   The craziest part was that when she got home, she would whip her old camera
out of the bottom of her closet.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “Oh, that’s just immoral.”
   “Really? Are you really judging me on this?” Grace asked, securing her hair
in a tight bun complete with bobby pins and muggle hairspray. When her stomach
contents were volatile as ever, she had to keep them out of her hair. Tiffany
wasn’t the best hair-holder, either.
   What Tiffany was best at was judgment. It was a talent that would make her a
promising career in the food critic or movie review business. “It’s the straw
that broke the ultra-wrong camel’s back. You know it’s like illegal to lie on
job applications, right?”
   “Good thing I didn’t apply for any jobs.”
   “Grace,” Tiff sighed. “You’re lying to your baby daddies.”
   “I’m lying on a Ministry application,” Grace clarified. “And don’t call them
that. It sounds weird.”
   “Would you prefer ‘infant sires’?” she asked with narrowed eyes. Grace saw
Tiffany pin her hair back behind her ears on the bed, either to mimic what
Grace had done with her own hair or to mirror the woman in the magazine they
were looking at.
   Tiffany was a sucker for muggle gossip rags in spite of her wizarding
upbringing.
   She was a royal-watcher, a celebrity-stalker, and in her worst moments,
downright obsessed with Kate Middleton’s childhood. Tiffany Sato had read every
article that there was to read on ‘Waity Kaity’ and her quest for a ring.
   “They’re going to know you’re not a pureblood,” Tiffany continued. “You
already showed up at their bloody house and told them your name. Professor
Lupin taught during your mum’s time at Hogwarts. There’s no way they’ll be okay
with that.”
   “I also lied on other bits,” Grace bragged, flipping the magazine page. “I
said I was five-ten when I’m only five-six, and I greatly underestimated my
weight.”
   Tiffany rolled her eyes. “You’re a nutter.”
   “A nutter who will be moving out of your house soon enough. I think they’re
going to pick me.”
   “How?” she asked her friend, sort of grateful for the idea of being left
alone in her own house to silence rather than pregnancy talk. Those cravings
for ribs and bread dough (no, not cooked, just the dough) at strange hours of
the night were really getting to her.
   “Because,” Grace said as if it were obvious. “I also lied and said I was
good at archery, and that I had a distant relation to the old monarchies of
Norway. I figured Lucius could appreciate that. Plus, I lied about how I’m 1/
8th Latina.”
   “And what happens when they find out about these lies?”
   She shrugged. “By then it’ll be too late. I’ll have charmed them with my
personality and my fetus.”
   “Okay, now I really know you’ve gone off the deep end,” Tiffany laughed
before flipping to a page on the summer’s hottest make-up tips.
   Grace shook her head. She’d seen enough hospital dramas to understand how
this went. “They’ll hear its heartbeat, Tiff. They’ll get an ultra-sound and
say ‘that’s our baby’, and I will look at them and tell them ‘that’s your
baby’. Soon I can figure out if it’s a boy or a girl, and then they’ll be
picking out names. It’ll be their Jasper ortheir Gina.”
   “You’re fuckin’ evil,” Tiff laughed. Even as a snake herself she wouldn’t go
so far. “Your fertilized egg as bait? That’s evil.”
   “It’s what the best is for this kid. You know how your dad works all the
time?” Grace pointed out, as if Tiffany needed reminding. “It’s because he
thinks that’s what’s best for you. He makes money to make you happy, and it’s
all a means-to-an-end process.”
   “I guess you’re right.”
   “Just like daddy-dearest probably made Draco and Harry compromise on what
kind of adoptive mother they’ll be having,” Grace went on. “All I have to do is
fake it, and bam. The kid has a great life with two dads who love it
unconditionally and shower it in presents every Christmas and birthday.”
   Somewhere in a far-away manse, Lucius Malfoy thought he was doing right for
his child. So did Molly Weasley when she cooked veritable banquets when Ron
visited, and so did Sirius when he told Olivia to put down the quill, to stop
applying for jobs for the hundredth time, and gave her a kind smile when she
finally gave in and let him teach her how to work the muggle telly.
   Wasn’t that what everyone wanted? It had been what James and Lily wanted
when they had Harry, and what Lucius and Narcissa had wanted, too.
   Their apprehensions, hopes, and dreams went on to their next generation. Now
it was Draco and Harry who wanted to do right by their kids. Grace wanted to do
right, too.
   The more she went over it in her head, the more sense it made. Grace could
close her eyes and see a little kid running around that house with their
siblings, and how Draco would read them a bedtime story as Harry tucked them
in.
   By mistake, Grace had made a person.
   A person who would grow to have memories, favorite smells, and hated rivals.
Right now they were just an unconscious blob, but the second they came
screaming into the world, Grace would create a life.
   She felt responsible for it. Not in the way that she’d drop out of school
and give her life up for the damn thing, but in the way that she wanted it to
have a decent life. With Draco and Harry, it was crystal clear that their
standards of living would be more than ‘decent’.
   The kid would never speak to their birth parents, never see their mummy, or
hear about their family history. That was for the better, in Grace’s opinion.
   Had her mother been around, maybe things would have been different. Maybe
Grace would have never gotten pregnant from some half-drunk Hufflepuff with
crooked teeth. Maybe she would have had the sense to get an abortion so that
her birth canal wouldn’t be ripped to shreds by a human head coming out of it.
   The thought alone of giving birth made her sick. Hopefully, Draco and Harry
could give her epidurals and a C-Section. She could deal with scars much more
easily than push-push-pushing a child out.
   “Then, Grace Burbage,” Tiffany decided after some thought (though her moral
compass never really did lean to a true North). “You be the best fake you can
be. Draco and Harry will know who you are, but the rest of that family will
have no idea. Trust me. I’ve read up on Lucius and Draco’s relationship quite a
bit.”
   “From what? The Prophet?”
   “Duh.”
   “That rag is garbage,” Grace reminded her.
   “Some of it’s true! Did you know that Narcissa is rumored to have donated
money to a charity for house elf rights? There’s enough secrets in that family
that you might be able to slip by.”
   “That’s the plan,” Grace nodded before flipping the magazine shut.
***** Compromise, Comfort, and Other ‘C’ Words *****
Chapter Notes
     I am in one of those moods for manic writing. I love it. Also, time
     to play Spot The Doctor Who References! Thanks for the reviews and
     comments!
Chapter 11: Compromise, Comfort, and Other ‘C’ Words
  “They’re all starting to look the same,” Harry mumbled by the twenty-seventh
folder. Did every blonde woman in Britain suddenly morph into one person? Harry
could pick out his blondie in a crowd, but these people were a massive blur to
him. “What’s this one’s name?”
   “Janice Goldman,” Draco told him with just about the same amount of
exhaustion. Thus far they’d only been able rule out five women on distance and
three on responsibility issues. The reasons that they wouldn’t pick certain
mothers would deteriorate over time into more petty reasons for the sake of
getting the damn thing over with. “We really need to start ruling more women
out.”
   “But we haven’t even met them, and that hardly seems fair.”
   “Look, she’s seventh months pregnant,” Draco pointed out. “Didn’t we say we
wanted five or less months?”
   Harry half-heartedly tossed the file into the trashcan they’d place next to
the bed. “None of this seems fair, actually. I know that we’ll have to
eventually only pick one, but privately judging these women as somehow not good
enough to have our kid.”
   “It’s not like that, Harry. We just have to pick the best candidate. Okay,
now here’s Rachel Priestly. She’s twenty-six, married her high school
sweetheart, but he died a few days after they found out she was pregnant. Now
she’s giving up the kid because she can’t raise it on her own,” Draco went on.
   That must have been a nightmare for her. Harry wouldn’t know what to do if
suddenly Draco wasn’t there by his side one morning. It was his worst fear, and
those less and less frequent nightmares of Harry’s featured it as his demise.
   And if he and Draco were having a child? Oh, that would ruin Harry. He could
hardly blame Rachel for wanting to give up the baby. “That’s horrible,” he
murmured.
   “Yeah,” he nodded solemnly in agreement. “I can’t find anything wrong with
her right now, either.”
   “Not even the distance?”
   “She lives in London and works as a tailor,” Draco read. “Great bill of
health, parents deceased…”
   “I think she’s a keeper for the second round,” Harry said, liking the sound
of that.
   Draco put the file on the pile of women that made it past the preliminary
sweep.
   “And here is…” Harry said, picking up the next unread file. “Penny Crosby.
Shit, she’sfourteen.”
   A frown spread over Draco’s face. “Then she’s probably too young for her
hips to have fully developed. That’s a lot of health problems during delivery
that we don’t need.” As much as the idea of vaginal birth disgusted Draco
Malfoy-Potter, a cesarean section sounded even worse.
   While Harry couldn’t help but agree, he was still flabbergasted. “Fourteen,
though! I didn’t even realize how gay I was until fifth year, and I certainly
had never shagged anyone before leaving Hogwarts,” Harry said. “That’s insane!
Where do people even go to shag at Hogwarts?”
   “Room of Requirement, empty dorms, abandoned classrooms, prefect’s
bathroom…”
   “Ew.” Harry made a face. Recalling Draco’s promiscuous past was not one of
his treasured hobbies. “What if you got caught, though?”
   “It depends on who caught you. Students laughed and ran, McGonagall gave a
stern talk and a warning the first time and a trip to the office the second
time, Dumbledore gave you the sex talk—which was emotionally scarring enough to
make sure he never found you again—and Snape just sort of looked at me
disappointedly.”
   “Wait, so he wasn’t disappointed twenty-four seven?” Harry asked with a mock
astonishment.
   Draco rolled his eyes. “There were rare moments of semi-contentedness.”
   Somehow, Harry doubted that. The man claimed to have loved his mother, but
the whole thing smack of obsession. If Severus had really loved Lily, then how
could he have treated her son with such disdain? It had been an uphill battle
with him every step of the way from grades to war, and the excuse that Harry
‘looked like his father’ was a weak one.
   James may have been a jerk as a child, but Severus had been one as an adult.
When Harry thought of the things he called Hermione, Draco’s prodding as a
child against her paled in comparison. A teacher was supposed to build their
students up, not tear them down because they were smart and inquisitive. Even
though Remus couldn’t brew to save his life, Harry wished he had taught
potions. Maybe he would have actually learned something, then. “Yeah, sounds
like a ball.”
   Draco prickled at the mention of his godfather. Severus hadn’t been nice, or
honest, or caring, or fair… Wait, where was he going with this? Ah, yes,
Severus was still the man who saved Draco’s life in the prefect’s bathroom
after Harry did something rather regrettable. “Anyway,” Draco muttered, pushing
away the awful memory of the man he’d married. “She’s too young, and goes to a
school in France anyway. Maybe there’s a sex room there.”
   Harry laughed. “Seems very French of them, yeah.”
   “You know, the ten-year reunion is coming up soon at Hogwarts,” Draco
drawled, resting a hand on Harry’s bicep. Mm, had that gotten bigger lately?
Summer always did do wonders for Harry’s figure. “I could give you a little
private tour.”
   Harry grinned slowly. “Oh? Well, it’d have to be of all the places I didn’t
get to go at our stay there.”
   “Have you ever seen the dungeons that arch off of the Slytherin commonroom?”
Draco asked lightly, his lips brushing up against the shell of Harry’s ear.
“They’ve got the windows that let the light from the lake in, and candles down
the halls…”
   “Draco Malfoy-Potter, are you trying to take me into the sex dungeon of your
youth?”
   “I know,” Draco nodded. “I’m a masterful romantic who knows how fond you are
of chains and stone floors. You’re a very lucky man.”
   “I am.” Harry turned in to trail kisses up his neck and rested on the soft
blonde hairs near his temple. Slowly, his hand curled around Draco’s thigh,
rubbing the silky fabric of his pyjamas.
   “Mm, Harry?”
   “Yes?”
    “Be a love and pass me the next file.”
   “Tease,” he huffed before tossing the manila envelope onto Draco’s lap and
stealing a quick kiss. Harry opened the file so that it rested on both of their
laps, and seconds later he wished he hadn’t opened it at all.
   Draco grimaced. “Well.”
   “Interesting.”
   “Predictable.”
   “What?” Harry asked, furrowing his brow. “Just because she harassed you at
work doesn’t mean that she could get past your, er, filtration process.” It
still made his stomach feel uneasy to think about. Hermione’s words stuck in
his head.
   Draco inspected the box where she checked ‘pureblood’, and there was no way
she had ‘supportive parents’ like the form indicated. “She lied.” A laugh
bubbled up. “That crazy… That…” Draco was about to use a word he only used on
the most special and rare of occasions. If he used it too often, like ‘fuck’ or
‘shit’, it would be too common.
   This word was reserved. It held a weight to it, and a certain regality in
Draco’s opinion.
   “That cunt.”
   “At least she’s not fourteen.”
   “It’s very means to an end,” Draco admitted sadly. “She’s more Slytherin
than I knew.”
  “This isn’t Slytherin, it’s just fucking ridiculous! She’s some crazed
fangirl, Draco. I don’t think we should trust—“ Harry cut himself off.
   Desperate times called for desperate measures, right? That was certainly
what Grace had resorted to, and Harry knew how tempting it was to sink down to
that, too. She’d opened an alleyway for the both of them, that scoundrel.
   Draco stared at his husband, confused. “Yes? Use your words.”
   “I don’t know. Maybe we’re being too quick to judge her.”
   “Harry, you once hexed a girl for peeping on us when we stayed in that hotel
in France,” Draco drawled with an easy grin.
   Harry went red. “I thought she was an intruder!” he defended. “And that was
different!”
   “Much different than a girl passing out in front of our house to get in?” he
asked.
   “Yes! This was for the good of an unborn child and the peeping girl… Well,
she was just horny!” Harry reminded him. “You’ve done absolutely insane things
in the pursuit of arousal.”
   “To my consenting husband, yes. That little display of libido was entirely
uncalled for,” he huffed, putting Grace’s file down.
   Harry made a face. It really, really had been. He’d sat through Ron’s vivid
descriptions of his and Hermione’s, er, ginger-making, but that was Harry’s
limit. Plus, he could get revenge on Ron by taking him up on his offer to have
more bloke-talk to describe his and Draco’s non-child-producing rolls in the
sheets.
   “Okay,” Harry admitted. “Then let’s forget about that. We should focus on
Grace.” Lovely, muggleborn Grace.
   Draco gave him a look. “You’re a nutter. I’m not going to accommodate a
psychopath in our home. We’ve just unpacked the dragon eggs!”
   It had been the last thing to unpack. Harry had been so happy that the move
was over that he launched a cardboard box out of the window and onto their
verdant-green backyard. That sad little box on the grass had given Draco the
inspiration to start searching for a water display to set up there. A bench
could go next to the water and some poinsettias from the Malfoy gardens…
   “I’m not a nutter,” Harry muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Will you take my
input seriously on this?”
   “What? I always do.” The last thing Draco wanted was to pick a fight, so he
moved that wandering hand of his up around Harry’s shoulder. “Talk to me.” To
encourage Harry, Draco gave him a little kiss on the shoulder. This was their
child.
   Harry took a deep breath. “I don’t feel right. I don’t feel right about the
way we ruled women out of the search. I know it was to make peace with your
father—“ Draco could have seen this coming from a mile away. “—but I can’t stop
thinking about the feeling in my stomach when we did it. I don’t blame you, I
don’t, but I felt wrong.”
   “And you think a lost and confused sixteen year-old is going to help with
that?” he asked carefully, skeptically. The little crack in Harry’s voice when
he said ‘wrong’ had him feeling guilty, but not guilty enough to indulge this.
He’d need reasoning and logic behind Harry’s decision.
   “No, it’s not that simple. I mean, if we’re giving Rachel Priestly a chance,
we need to give Grace Burbage that same chance. I think that’s the only way
that I could feel right,” Harry said.
   “Harry, I thought we discussed this.”
   “We did,” he sighed. “I’m entitled to change my mind, you know. This feels
wrong.”
   The decision rested on a single question, then. “Are you not happy?”
   Harry rested his head on Draco’s shoulder and pursed his lips. They’d vowed
to keep each other happy along with compromise on issues, but this felt too
wrong. He cared for Draco, his mental wellbeing, and sometimes even his family,
but it was true.
   “We could go back to the agency,” Draco sighed exhaustedly. If Grace Burbage
was the only solution to Harry’s moral dilemma, then Draco would create another
one. “Pull the rest of the files…”
   Harry lit up. “You would really do that?”
   Draco frowned and refused to answer. Lucius was going to throw an absolute
fit, and it had been hard enough to go through fifty files. “Not all of the
rest of them.”
   “I love you,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. “I love
you, I love you, I love you.”
   “Quit being so eager,” he muttered. “We’re not going to take away all of the
restrictions. This time, we’ll narrow it down by distance, age, parental
support…”
   “You know, that means Grace and her lies still get through to the second
round.”
   Draco shook his head. “There are lots of muggleborn girls you have to choose
from now. Poor ones, illiterate ones, even disabled ones!”
   “Draco,” Harry said slowly, shaking his head. “Never say that again. That
was bad. Like, very bad.” After taking a second to question his life decisions,
Harry continued. “I’ll tell Lucius on my own. I don’t want you getting hurt for
this.”
   “Good.”
   “Just one catch.”
   “I hate you,” Draco decided. This was supposed to be a relaxing evening of
sorting and snuggling. Harry and his stupid fucking moral compass had ruined it
all, and ruined any future brunches with Narcissa and Lucius.
   Harry snickered and kissed his cheek. “No, you don’t.”
   “I want a divorce.”
   “No, you don’t,” Harry reminded him happily.
   “What’s the catch, you horrid twat?”
   “Don’t count Grace out just yet, okay?” Harry asked. This wasn’t a deal
breaker or anything, but with the opening of her file had come the opening of
hundreds more. Something in Harry felt grateful for her lies because of that.
   Draco closed his eyes and brought his hand up to the bridge of his nose.
“This is giving me a headache.”
   Harry kissed his aching temples. “Please,” he said, pushing on.
   “You’re coming shopping for a water piece with me, you’re making dinner
tonight, and then you’re giving me a foot rub,” Draco told him.
   “Done, done, and done,” Harry said without hesitation.
   Draco laughed darkly. “You think I’m done already? That’s adorable. You’re
also wearing panties to work tomorrow, coming home and letting me spank you,
reading me a passage from the book I’m reading right now, and… Hm. What else
should I have you do?”
   “Anything you want,” he murmured against Draco’s skin. It was true. Anything
Draco wanted was his and Harry would give him the world.
   “Anything you want…?” Draco prompted him to finish the sentence.
   “Sir.”
   Oh, there it was. That beautiful sigh of submission, the way Harry pushed up
against Draco, so vulnerable and open…
   From the first night that Harry had let ‘master’ slip out of his mouth in
bed, it’d been a whirlwind of lust and lunacy. Draco’s eyes had gone wild and
wide, with a look that Harry could strangely see resembling a kid on Christmas
getting all he asked for.
   It wasn’t really proper etiquette to break out the ‘I would love to dominate
you in bed’ talk on a date, Draco had supposed. Sure, he’d had boyfriends and
one-night stands that had submitted to him before, but that was because they
were the ones who brought it up. With Harry, he kept his claws deep into his
secret desires and didn’t even like admitting to himself that he had one.
   It had always been there, of course. His dreams were haunted by dark figures
in even darker cloaks all his life, but something crept into those dreams at
sixteen.
   It had started out simple. He’d dream of men on top of him, holding him down
and being rough. Then, the men stopped holding Harry down and tied him down
with chains and ropes. They’d only let him out if he was a good boy, which
involved answering a lot of questions.
   Most of the time when Harry woke up, he couldn’t even remember those
questions. They weren’t important.
   After them, the world of dreams became a slippery slope greased in
lubricant. The pain came.
   The hits, the slaps, the kicks, the nails in Harry’s back. Though they were
all imagined, Harry felt them as clearly as he would feel Draco’s later that
night. His stomach would flip at the thought of being tossed over a man’s knee
and having his panties yanked down so a big, strong hand could discipline him.
   Soon after the dreams progressed to full-blown fetish-filled fantasies. The
humiliation came into play with his hair being yanked and slurs being thrown at
him with every turn. Harry had thought he was sick, for wanting someone to call
him names that he would punch them for if it were somewhere outside of his bed.
   The need for subservience overwhelmed his shame and guilt, though. Harry was
in charge of keeping citizens safe at age twenty, and a world safe at age
eleven. He’d led an army at seventeen, and people had died. People he loved.
   When he looked back on it now, it all made sense that he’d want to be
submissive. Serving Draco cleared his mind in a way that Harry could rarely do
on his own. He could have one purpose with no complications or responsibilities
other than to obey.
   Commands were clear. They were simple, concise, and direct. They never had a
hidden meaning. Maybe that was what made Draco the perfect match.
   Draco’s cutting glare, his strong grip, and his even stronger sense of
imperious power over all—the sort that was instilled in his childhood, too—made
him severe enough to keep Harry in line. He knew Harry’s limits and pushed them
regularly.
   Maybe the really strange part was what they did afterwards, though.
   After the spanking, bruises, whipping, torture, humiliation, slaps, and the
fight Harry had to put up just to come during sex with Draco’s permission, they
were both at peace.
   Still somewhere between subspace and reality, Harry needed reassurance. For
lack of a better word, what he really needed were cuddles. He needed Draco to
hold him and rub his sore bruises and kiss his face. Draco filled those needs
and more, of course.
   “Such a good boy,” he’d whisper into Harry’s hair. “You’ve done so well. I
love you; do you know that?”
   And Harry would nod and smile and kiss his master’s throat and arch into his
every touch. He was happy, and when they woke the next morning, they would move
seamlessly back into being Draco and Harry once more.
   Harry would wake up first and Draco would soon follow, and maybe try to
sneak in a round two before work.
   “Want to meet up for lunch?” Draco would ask casually, fastening his shirt-
buttons.
   When Harry would get up to dress himself, Draco would give him that look
again. “Right,” Harry would say, going into the compartment of their bureau
they told nobody about and fishing out a pair of silken purple panties.
   “I want the green ones on you.”
   “Yes, Sir.”
   When they were both dressed, their jovial conversation would continue. “Want
to check out the new exhibit at the History of Magic Museum?”
   “Is this your way of tricking me into another double-date with the
Weasleys?”
   “Yes. Yes it is.”
   And Draco would nod and smile and kiss his Harry’s cheek before walking out
the door to work and watching Harry, covered in last night’s bruises and sores,
walk a with a strange limp that Draco knew was from his underwear not fitting
quite right.
  Sometimes, how fond he was of that kinky fuck was a little ridiculous.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   On the other side of London, two men who had quite literally done all of
what Draco and Harry were doing and ten thousand other things were facing a new
and vaguely sex-related situation.
   “So,” Sirius said, putting a reassuring hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “Tell me
what you’re thinking.”
   “Erm.” What the hell was she supposed to say?
   From the other side of the budding young woman, Remus shook his head. “I’m
sorry, Olivia.”
   “For what?” she asked, confused.
   “For being… I don’t know, very me about this. You know what? Let’s just go.
Let’s just run into the store and divide and conquer and get hundreds of bras.
We could get an army of bras, if you want.”
   Sirius burst into a laugh. “Oh, Moony. What would the army of bras even be
at war with?”
   The fact that Sirius Lupin was amused enough by this to try and apply logic
to this ridiculous situation indicated the backwards nature of it. “You’re
missing the point,” Remus decided, not wanting to answer with ‘our adoptive
daughter’s breasts, of course’! “I’ve been going about this wrong.”
   Flushed with embarrassment, Olivia gave him a reassuring nod. “You’re doing
just fine.”
   “See? That’s it! We’ve gone and made this awkward. It shouldn’t be, you
know? I don’t want you to feel embarrassed or like you can’t talk about this
stuff with us. We have to be open,” Remus decided.
   “And how do we do that?” Olivia asked, still disoriented by the racks on the
inside of the store that she knew contained undergarments.
   A slow smile spread over Sirius’ face. “Like this.”
   He made a gallant stride into the store with his hands placed firmly on his
hips. It made Olivia giggle, and her and Remus followed behind in what may have
actually started to be turning into a good idea. A good, improvised, Marauder
idea. Their specialty.
   “Excuse me!” Sirius shouted, alerting the whole store of muggles to his
presence—if his flamboyant suit hadn’t done that already, of course. “We are
looking to purchase bras!”
   Olivia’s body was racked by laughter. She gave Sirius a little smack,
giggling all the way.
   “Come on,” he prompted. It was natural, and a step in life that should be
celebrated, Sirius decided. James and Sirius had thrown separate parties when
they lost their virginity, and somewhere deep in Sirius he knew Lily had a bra
party. He just knew it. “Say it!”
   With a bit of hysterical laughter from Remus in the background, Olivia
nodded. “I am in need of a brassiere! Is that even what the full word is? I
read that in a book once.”
   A clearly disturbed shop attendant came to them. “The woman’s section is in
the back,” she said, trying to corral them away from the entrance and checkout
lines chock-full of muggles.
   “To the bras!” Remus shouted, consumed by the insanity of it all.
   Olivia grabbed his hand and Sirius’ before following the attendant. The poor
woman really had no idea what she was dealing with. Twelve years of prison for
Sirius and misery for Remus really had made them rather shameless in their
public dealings.
   Looking over her shoulder occasionally to check that they were there, the
woman in the pink shirt finally got them to a maze of shelves and clothes
racks. “And who are you two to her, exactly?” the woman asked the couple.
   The three Lupins exchanged a look. “Well,” Olivia tried.
   “It’s rather complicated,” Sirius said smoothly. “We’re a wolf pack,
actually...” he trailed off to look at her name tag. “Tanya.”
   “Sirius!” Remus hissed, but the harshness wasn’t even there. He was laughing
too hard to give a shit.
   “We are,” Olivia decided. She’d never felt this alive before, oddly enough.
Manic excitement shot up through her veins and out of her fingertips. So giddy
with happiness and tickled by the humor of it, Olivia felt like she could do
anything. “So, you should probably measure me.”
   “Alright then,” Tanya said, clearly suffering in her attempts to take the
absurdity in stride. There had been strange customer stories before, but
nothing quite like this. A part of her sort of wanted to roll with it and part
of her wanted to shove the uncomfortable situation on one of her fellow
coworkers. The life of shopkeeps was often complicated like that; being
ordinary one day and then meeting someone who allowed you to be extraordinary,
even for a moment. At least that was what Mickey told her Rose was doing. “The
dressing room is this way.”
   As Tanya led the wolf-pup to a paisley-pink-trimmed room with a curtain for
privacy, Remus and Sirius waited for Olivia to turn and look over her shoulder
and look at them.
   When she did, they gave her some absolutely classic parental waving and hand
motions with smiles wide enough to crack their faces in half.
   Olivia laughed to herself before facing forward again and walking on.
   Oddly enough, it had made Olivia feel much less awkward and embarrassed
about the whole thing. Remus and Sirius had made her feel comfortable in a
situation that two men could rarely accommodate with comfort. This wasn’t
horrible or even cringe-worthy.
   Most importantly, she supposed, it wasn’t a lonely venture with some social
worker like it had been for all the other girls before her. It wasn’t a
condescending look from an old woman with sharp nails and a measuring tape in
the back room of a Good Will and her smoky voice saying, “Welcome to womanhood,
sweetheart”.
   “I’m proud,” Sirius decided before taking Remus’ arm in his. “We’re ace at
this.”
   “We really are.”
   “You know what I can’t wait for?”
   Her first school dance? Her first date? Her graduation? Her first day at
work? Her wedding?
   “What?” Remus asked to humor him.
   “Shopping for pads and tampons. That’s going to be even better.”
   With a laugh, Remus nodded in agreement. It would be a regular family
adventure.
***** The Smile *****
Chapter Notes
     I’ve wanted to write a chapter on the people in Azkaban since
     forever. Also, Ron and Harry’s bromance keeps me alive and well. Hope
     you guys enjoy!
Chapter 12: The Smile
   It dawned upon Theo that he had never been inside a cathedral before.
Sundays in the Nott family hadn’t included a trip to commune with higher
powers.
   The stained-glass windows let in a flood of light that swept across the
floor. People were seated in the pews, but every time Theo looked to see their
faces, they turned their head away. Not even the religious figures could face
Theo from the paintings hung above the lines of candles. It made Theo uneasy.
“Hello?” he tried. All he got back was the echo of his voice off of the vaulted
and gilded walls.
   The aisle in the middle seemed to glitter golden, too.
   His eyes followed the little tiles in their swirling patterns to the end of
the aisle, where the back of a very familiar head caught his eye.
   “Colin,” he called out, walking down the aisle towards him. What in the hell
was he wearing?
   Colin’s small frame held up a long, white flowing fabric. From certain
angles it looked like a dress, from others it just looked like regular robes.
   When Theo got close enough to touch his shoulder, his hand missed. It was
like his boyfriend was more air than person. “Colin?”
   The figure turned on their heels to make eye contact with Theo. Nearly
jumping out of his skin, Theo quickly realized that it wasn’t Colin at all. It
was Helen, the perfectly nice neighbor from Christmas. “Fuck!” he shouted,
lurching back. She was hardly the evil stepmother that Colin’s wild imagination
made her out to be, but it was a shock when one’s twenty-something boyfriend
turned into an aged woman.
   “Theodore,” she said sweetly like she had the first time they met. “I’ve
heard a lot about you.”
   “Uh.”
   “I’m going to be your new mother-in-law. You can call me ‘mum’, if you
want.”
   “Uh.” Theo took a step back only to realize he was barefoot, and the
shimmering tiles were ice-cold. “No, thanks, I’m good without.”
   The golden tiles swirled like snakes up his legs, anchoring him there.
“Stay,” Helen requested, putting her hand out to him.
   Theo shook his head before wrenching his feet out of the chains that had
curled up around him. “I’ve got to do some other shit,” he said rather
eloquently. “As in, not here and not with you.”
   Out of the corner of her mouth sprouted a river of black pus that slowly
dripped down her chin. “You have to stay,” she demanded in a voice that didn’t
even sound like her own.
   “No!” Theo yelled, but the rest of the tiles flew up from the ground to
cover his mouth. Where they had been ripped up, little dirt squares with
crawling worms remained. He tried to shout again, but even his eyes were
covered.
   His heart raced. Theo had to get out of there, he had to run and never come
back—
   “Waffles?”
   “Agh,” Theo let out, flipping onto his back so that his breathing could even
out. “Fuck.” Sweat crept down his neck as the image of Helen faded away. At
least their fluffy white sheets were cool enough to keep him from overheating.
   “Want waffles for breakfast, hon?”
   “Yeah,” he said quietly, slowly coming to.
   Colin sighed and gave him a kiss on the shoulder. “Another nightmare about
that McCain bloke being elected president of the states?” he asked teasingly.
   “That is a very legitimate concern,” Theo laughed before rolling over once
again to face Colin in the sheets. Foreign politics has never really been his
forte, but something about the United States and its current direction was
getting on his last nerve. “He reminds me of Pansy’s grandfather. Old,
confused, and still the best the Republican Party has to offer.” The whole
party reminded him of Thatcher, too. He’d studied up on her to spite his father
and wound up hating her to spite himself, he supposed.
   “You’re ridiculous.” Colin kissed his jawline before hopping out of the bed.
Morning people confused and disturbed and confused Theo, and there he was,
thinking about marrying one. “Now I’m making waffles.”
   With a nod, Theo sat up and waited for his breakfast. It was a refreshing
change to watch someone else brewing a treat.
   Yet, on the other side of the room in a case where Theo kept his spare
contacts was the heavy golden ring that he hadn’t done a blessed thing with.
Colin didn’t know it was there, and Theo wondered if it should stay that way.
   The recent night terrors involving commitment, ceremonies, and vows had
Theo’s head spinning.
   It brought up all of his worst memories of his father and deceased mother to
go hand-in-hand with the previous year’s celebration. Draco’s wedding had been
the very thing that had brought Colin and he together, while his own parent’s
wedding had been a quick and morbid ordeal. Even in her wedding photo with a
painted-on smile, he could tell that his mother wasn’t happy.
   Draco and Harry had looked happy, though. So did Colin.
   They’d danced together for every fast and slow song that they could catch.
Theo had been surprised at how well he moved with the music even after stuffing
his face with delicacies from Latin America, India, China, and Poland alike.
   If Theo somehow did work up the courage or the stupidity to ask Colin to
marry him, they wouldn’t have such an expansive banquet. It’d be a course of
soup, salad, meat, and cake each. He didn’t have the same flair for the
expensive that Draco had, but he did appreciate a decent meal.
   A slippery slope of weddings thoughts had Theo’s mind careening out of his
control.
   At his wedding, there would be strands of paper lanterns. The reception
would be outdoors, so that everything white could contrast off of the dark
night sky. They’d count the stars together; Theo just knew it.
   There would be Calla Lilies and white roses, and Theo would put one in his
husband’s soft blonde hair. Maybe they could even wear crowns of flowers. They
deserved to have a day of complete attention and regality, no?
   And they’d ride away in a chariot, drawn by horses. Draco would piss his
pants when he saw the damned creatures, and that was entirely worth it on its
own.
   That, and he wanted a chocolate fountain. Not some wimpy small one, but a
legitimate garden fountain filled with chocolate.
   “You coming?” Colin hollered from the kitchen. “These are going to be
perfectly crispy, I can just feel it.”
   “Yeah, I’m coming.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Harry looked down at the hastily scribbled clue one last time, as if that
was going to help him find the rest of Benjy Fenwick’s body. Unsurprisingly, it
was no use. He’d not been able to extract a single truth from the paper.
   Aside from a few domestics and petty thefts, Ron and Harry hadn’t seen any
other action than the damned case the whole week. It was driving Ron up the
wall, and he’d even confided in Hermione about the hint. As clever as his wife
was, she was busy with work and pregnancy so her best advice wound up being ‘Go
to Remus’.
   They, of course, would go to Remus over Harry’s dead body.
   From the second Ron had brought it up, he’d been stonewalled (no pun
intended) by Harry’s objections.
   ‘Remus has been through too much already’, ‘He wouldn’t want to remember
this time’…
   “He’s busy with Olivia, too,” Harry finally said out loud. After the blow-
out argument that he and Ron had gotten into, Harry felt obligated to break the
silence that had descended over his office.
   Still seething, Ron let out a slow, shuddery breath. “She’s a Ravenclaw. If
Olivia’s left alone for a few minutes, I don’t think the world will bloody end.
Sirius could watch her, too. That’s sort of the benefit of two parents.”
   Harry sighed. “Fine, that was a stupid reason.”
   “All of these are stupid reasons.”
   “Would you want to go through the war again?” Harry snapped. That was what
it felt like every time a new article about the whereabouts of muggle bodies
that had been hidden for decades were discovered. Remus had been through both
of the wizarding wars and nearly lost everything because of them. “What if
someone came to you asking about Mad-Eye?”
   Ron gritted his teeth. “Then I would help them,” he said, looking to Harry.
“I would want to help them find his body so that there could be a proper
funeral and a proper goodbye.”
   “I don’t want to cause Remus any more pain.” That night was a full moon,
too.
   After a deep breath, Ron’s expression softened. That was his brother sitting
there at the Head Auror desk, sad and out of options. “Harry, I know this is
hard, but it’s also our job.”
   “You’re right,” Harry grumbled after a moment, sinking back into his chair.
The whole fight had been for naught, and it had even left Harry with a
headache. “I’m sorry.”
   “Don’t be. Your heart’s in the right place, yeah?” Ron told him. “And we
don’t have to talk to him today or tomorrow. The last thing I’d want is to
bother him while he’s already literally torn himself to pieces.”
   Harry nodded even though he didn’t want any of it at all. He never wanted to
see that old, weathered look on Remus’ face again, the one he’d worn through
all the battles and tribulations.
   He’d gotten to know a happier Remus, one with a husband, a job he loved, and
a family. Remus told hilarious jokes, was ever-so-subtly mischievous, and
always knew what to say to comfort Harry. How could Harry possibly know what to
say back to him?
   “Sorry,” Harry said again lamely. “You’re right. This is our job and I’m
letting my emotions get in the way of it.”
   “Hey, I said not to worry about it, okay?”
   “Yeah.”
   “Harry,” Ron said carefully. “Are you doing alright? I mean, is everything
going well with your therapist and—“
   A sharp nod cut Ron off. “Yeah, it is. I’m not having the nightmares
anymore, and I’ve been a lot less paranoid.” Harry hated when people asked
about his therapy. It made him feel even more ashamed for having to have it in
the first place. “I just didn’t sleep that well last night.”
   “Draco keep you up by tying you down?”
   Oh, Ron. His attempts at connecting were so misguided, but Harry appreciated
them. It wasn’t every day that you got a best friend who was willing to accept
you and your strange love life. “We don’t always do that, you know.”
   “So,” Ron said with a grin, leaning forward. “It was just old-fashioned
shagging, hm?”
   Harry shook his head.
   A determined look came over Ron’s face. “Then what was it? Er, just like, a
blowjob, or—?”
   “Ron!”
   “What?” he asked defensively, as they both tried to hide their ridiculous
smiles. “I don’t know what you count as sex. Like, sex-sex.”
   “As opposed to not sex-sex?”
   Ron gave him a look. “You know what I mean!” he said as if it were obvious.
Oh, the heteronormativity of it all.
   Harry shook his head again. “I really, really do not.”
   “Okay,” his partner sighed. “So, then I guess I have to ask: what counts as
sex? Because I mean it’s pretty easy to know that with a guy and a girl what
that is, but what is it for two blokes? Is it just the bum stuff?”
   Slowly, Harry turned his head to show Ron just how far his right eyebrow had
flown up. “No, it’s different for everyone.”
   “But if you just wank each other off, is that sex or is it mutual
masturbation or—?”
   Harry looked to his Auror partner like he had six heads. “Why do you even
want to know? Don’t tell me I’m going to have to break it to Hermione that her
husband has some homosexual leanings.”
   “I do not! ‘M just curious! You know, for your sake!”
   “Oh,” Harry put a hand over his heart. “What a caring and wonderful friend
you are.”
   “Damn right I am,” Ron muttered.
   “So, as your friend, I am telling you that you do not want to know.”
   Ron shook his head with a stubborn force. “Come on, Harry. It doesn’t gross
me out or whatever, so why can’t we just talk about it like a couple of normal
men with urges and such?”
   “You have Neville and George for that,” Harry pointed out.
   “Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. “They’re not my best mate and you are, you
secretive prick. You need somebody to talk about this stuff with. The job has
fallen to me. Now, tell me what constitutes sex between two blokes; more
specifically, between you and him.” ‘Him’ was better than ‘that prat Malfoy’,
and Ron really had come a long way in terms of acceptance.
   “I just define it as when one of us—usually both of us—you know, come.”
   “Oh. Oh, okay.” At least Ron was trying to understand. “Can I ask you
something else?”
   “Don’t.”
   “What does it—“ Ron tried to figure out the right wording for this. “—what
does it taste like? I mean, I’ll never get to know, so it’s probably important
that you tell me.”
   Harry’s eyes were saucers. “Ron. Think about what you’re asking.”
   Suddenly, he pulled another strange face. “You’re right. I really don’t want
to think about Draco’s come. I’ll just ask Hermione, then.”
   Oh, that would take years to scrub out of Harry’s memory. “That’s what I
thought! Moving on…”
   “Yes, moving on, we’ll go to Grimmauld Place this weekend and hopefully this
will be done before we even know it,” Ron nodded, eager for a change of
subject.
   Harry knew it was for the best in the end. At least, that was what he hoped
was the best. “That gives us four days, then.”
   “Four days for what? Patrolling?” he asked. Sure, there was the sense of
importance when two Aurors walked the streets to see the public, but not all of
their followers were particularly kind or adoring
   He shook his head. “For interrogation.” Kingsley had been right about the
number potential witnesses already in custody at Azkaban.
   Once someone got Draco talking about how Azkaban used to be run, it was hard
to get him to stop. He would rant and rave about the blatant disregard for
human rights the prison had. After a short stay there, Draco could see his own
father fray at the edges. Dementors were a form of psychological torture, Draco
said, and that fell under the ‘cruel and unusual punishment’ label.
   Harry couldn’t help but agree.
   Sirius had been the victim of an unfair justice system and then a victim of
an even worse prison system, and Harry saw what that had done to him. The
memory of him entering the Shrieking Shack with wild eyes, untamed hair, and
rotten teeth still shook Harry to the core.
   The dementors caused everything from psychotic breaks to severe depression
in the most mild of cases of prisoners being around them for so long, which was
exactly why Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt had outlawed their use.
   As he gathered his things and led Ron to the fireplace, Harry took
confidence in the fact that the Death Eaters he had sent there were mentally
sound enough to answer some questions. They had a lot of explaining to do.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Whispers floated from cell to cell. The boy hero, returned to spite them?
   Walden Macnair grabbed the scrap of cloth he’d saved to pass messages back
and forth. For the promise of money, he knew which guards could pass notes for
the promise of money or secrets.
   The charcoal he’d pried from the wall was set to good use, scratching out a
message.Is it true?
   He’d pass it along during lunch, when the prisoners were allowed to eat
together in silence. It was yet another feature of the ‘new and improved’
Azkaban, along with a yard to get exercise in. When the Minister saw that
prisoners had gone into muscular atrophy from lack of movement, the reforms
came at lightning speed.
   Exercise, better meals, no dementors… The list went on. It had made Azkaban
slightly more bearable for the former servants of the Dark Lord, but the fact
that they were stuck on the island until their dead bodies were hauled off to
unmarked graves was omnipresent.
   Nobody would mourn them, and nobody would probably get passed the ‘Death
Eater’ bit in their obituaries before giving an approving whoop or shout.
   Maybe, Macnair thought. I’ll die before Lucius and Narcissa do.
  They were the only chance of anyone showing up at his grave, and they were a
slim chance. For that, he hated them.
   He hated that since their son was fucking The Chosen One that they had
gotten out of jail. Sure, their relationship technically started three years
after Harry defended the Malfoy family in court, but those two pillowbiters
probably had the hots for each other for much longer and much earlier than
that.
   That was the reason Draco had betrayed them, wasn’t it?
   The Potters seemed to have a way of inspiring unwavering loyalty. Severus
had gone against the most powerful wizard in the world for a Potter, and now
Draco was married to one. If Severus were alive, he would have probably killed
himself out of the pure irony of it all.
   Oh, Macnair could see it so clearly.
   That little blondie gussied up in some designer robes, hands on his hips.
‘Just because Lily Potter never loved you doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t love me’!
   Snape would most likely become enraged and hex the little twink. It was a
fun thought to have while Macnair was all alone in his cell, not having killed
or seen anything wriggle in pain for years. He sorely missed it.
   “Up,” the guard said, the harsh outline of his face looking even more severe
in the low lights of Azkaban. “Lunch.”
   Was it that time already? How long had he been staring at his note?
   Macnair scraped himself up off of the cold floor and stretched out his
hands. Seven years later and serving a life sentence, he’d gotten used to the
ins and outs of being handcuffed wherever he went.
   The metal closed around his wrists, which would stop him from casting any
wandless spells if he even could still cast spells. The lack of practice had
left Macnair to feel the magic within him run stagnant. Out of practice and out
of luck, he doubted if he really could cast any spells anymore.
   After a tangled mess of halls that Macnair had never bothered to memorize,
the mess hall with the Muffliato charm in place came into view.
   The prisoners were let in alphabetical order as they were stored in their
cells.
   Jugson and Goyle were already seated at their own table, secluded from the
rest of the prisoners. Death Eaters got a rather… Special treatment at Azkaban.
The other inmates, just like the rest of the word, completely despised them.
   The newly-appointed guards had to keep the Death Eaters from running away
while they also had to keep them alive, unbeaten, and unviolated.
   Rabastan Lestrange gave Macnair the usual nod of acknowledgement. A world of
silence got to Rabastan most of all. He was a talkative little fuck in his cell
just to get his hours of free speech in.
   After the guard noticed one of the circles of neo-Death Eaters at another
table trying to sign something out, he bounded over to put an end to it.
   Those kids were a ridiculous bunch. They worshipped the ground that the
original Death Eaters walked on, but could barely hold their own in a prison
yard fight. Macnair thought they were just a bunch of chickenshit kids who
didn’t understand what it meant to be on the losing side of a war.
   When the man who always came after Macnair sat beside him, he passed the
note under the table. It was a risky move, but the man grabbed it and shoved
the note inside his Ministry-issued shoes.
   The rest of their small table filled with every Death Eater from the Carrows
to Yaxley.
   A gruff-looking woman spat at their table as she made her way to her usual
table. This woman, who Macnair had begun to cruelly call ‘Cinderfella’, spat at
them every day. Sometimes, he thought about how much saliva she must have lost
due to that. Gallons over the years, probably.
   The silence was more tense than usual.
   Under the table, the man who Macnair had passed the note, carefully unfolded
it.
   Is it true?
   The man passed it to Mulciber Jr., who had been seething from the minute he
walked in. Mulciber was never a joyous man, but this was different. His jaw was
clamped tight enough to break his skull.
   With dark, solemn eyes, he looked up and nodded. If Alecto could have
audibly gasped, it would have echoed off of the short and thick prison walls.
She grabbed her plastic fork and went to work carving out a message in her
bread.
   Meanwhile, Mulciber made the universal sign they’d all come to know to mean
‘Potter’. The one who’d locked them up, who’d ruined their plans for a pure
future. It didn’t matter which Death Eaters recanted their previous belief
systems in jail, because they were still in the same damned boat.
   Mulciber traced a lightning bolt on his forehead and was met with shock and
disdain by his peers for the news he was delivering.
   Finally, Alecto looked over both shoulders and passed her bread under the
table. The tattoo on her left wrist had become an ugly, faded scar. She hated
to look at it, especially when everyone was staring at her. Sure, they had the
same skin issue, but she was self-conscious. Her and her brother used to run an
entire school, and power had been everything to her.
    When Mulciber received her note, he realized this would be a difficult one
to answer with hand signs alone.
   What did he want?
  Alecto passed over her slice of bologna for Mulciber to write on. Without
wasting a second, he wrote down a single word and slid it around the table so
everyone could see.
   Fenwick.
   Confused, Alecto looked to her brother, then to Umbridge. Even they didn’t
seem to know who that was, and Dolores always knew about outside news before
anyone else. She’d been the one who’d passed around the note of Harry Potter
and Draco Malfoy’s wedding. Rowle had been so angry he’d gone on a hunger
strike.
   Obviously, the strike had no effect on the real world and was not even
picked up on by the press. After the third day, he gave in and ate his creamed
corn.
   Selwyn and Crabbe even looked at a loss. The fact that they were the oldest
Death Eaters really did not help, either.
   In truth, there was one man at that table who knew exactly what ickle Harry
Potter must’ve been rooting around for. It was awfully hard to accept death
when a body was mutilated and left in pieces, he supposed.
   One by one, they all turned to him and for the first time since his
imprisonment, Marcus Nott smiled.
***** The Worst *****
Chapter Notes
     This is for Supreet’s dad, because she asked for this and she
     listened to me make at least 50 Mean Girls references when talking
     about the table of Death Eaters at Azkaban. Some of my shining
     moments: “That is the fugliest prison tat I’ve ever seen.” “YOU CAN’T
     SIT HERE” and “Of course I couldn’t invite a mudblood to my cell,
     there would be purebloods there in their prison jumpers!” I’m a loser
     and a white girl.
Chapter 13: The Worst
   Could panic attacks stem from boredom?
   If so, Harry Potter was in the throes of one. “No. I can’t do this anymore.
I can’t read! The words are blurring together, Draco. I think I’m going blind.”
   “You already are blind,” Draco laughed, stealing Harry’s glasses. “And
you’re the one that wanted this, you know.”
   A mangled whine escaped Harry. It had been his idea to expand the pool of
women to choose from, and Lucius was ready to kill him for it. If he pleased
one Malfoy, he’d forsake another, so he picked Draco to please. That didn’t
mean he was all sunshine and rainbows, though.
   “Now I actually cannot read,” Harry told him, relieved. If it took smashing
his glasses to bits, he would do anything to get out of this.
   At first it had been fun. They’d narrowed down the mother’s age and location
to wind up with a thousand applicants, so they got to comb through all the
pregnant women of London. Some of the testimonials as to why there were giving
up their child were funny, some sad, and some both. But five-hundred women
later, Harry’s head was spinning.
   They’d taken the day off from work together just to do this, and they had
dove in from the moment they woke up. Harry would only suffer one day of this
hell.
   “Want to take a lunch break?” Draco sighed, resting his chin on Harry’s
shoulder.
   Without even answering, Harry sprung off of the couch and to the kitchen.
Draco simply rolled his eyes fondly and followed.
   “Ice cream,” Draco decided. “We’re eating ice cream now.”
   “I am not even going to try and argue with that.” Harry grabbed two bowls
and spoons from the cabinets while Draco grabbed the cookie dough ice cream
from the fridge.
   When they returned to the couch with their meal—because they were grown
adults who could eat whatever they wanted any time they wanted—Draco grabbed
another file. “So,” he said, spooning the cold treat into his mouth. “What do
you think of Camila Rosa?”
   “I think nothing of her; I cannot see her.”
   Draco sighed and removed Harry’s glasses. Carefully, he turned to face his
husband and guide the metal over Harry’s ears. Salazar, he loved those glasses.
“And now?”
   Harry looked down at the file and forced his head to stop swimming. “Erm.
She’s pretty, and she’s on prenatal vitamins.”
   “And?”
   “’And’ what? I don’t even know what we’re looking for anymore,” Harry
sighed.
   With a sigh, Draco knew just what to do. He tossed the file into the reject
pile for no real reason, and put his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Let me rub
your back.”
   Harry’s eyes fluttered shut immediately and he angled himself so that Draco
could get right to the tension below his neck. “Mm.”
   “That good?” Draco asked, even though he knew he was bloody brilliant at
this. He swore he could find the tight spots in seconds.
   A content noise escaped Harry. “The best.”
   “Oh? I’m flattered.”
   Draco’s thumb dug in circles along the side of Harry’s spine and moved
slowly downward. The circles made the fabric of his shirt bunch up under
Draco’s hands, but neither of them really minded. They had found a moment of
peace in a storm of women and their babies.
   As much as Draco and Harry appreciated and respected the opposite sex, it
was nice to be one another.
   “Love you,” Harry reminded him.
   With a little laugh, Draco ran his hands down Harry’s arms. “I love you
too.” Their hands tangled together in a mess of fingers and warmth. Draco
wondered what cuddling with Harry and the baby would be like. The more Draco
thought about it, the more he fell in love with the idea of a tiny person
wriggling around in his arms.
   As if Harry could read his mind, he launched into a much less stressful
topic. “Enough about the biological mother. Let’s talk names.”
   “Do you have any in mind?”
   “Hm,” Harry went deep into the vaults of his memory. “I was thinking about
naming them after my parents, or different people who lost their lives in the
war.”
   Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
   “What? You don’t want that?”
   “No, I mean,” he tried. “It’s just a bit strange, you know?”
   “How so?” Harry asked. He’d always wanted a little James and a little Lily.
   “Well, to start off with, your parents were married and in love. It’s rather
Walburga and Orion to name siblings after them,” Draco murmured.
   Harry turned around and gave him an incredulous look. “Draco!”
   “Well, the kids won’t be technically related! We don’t need to encourage
them any more than they already are!”
   “That’s disgusting,” Harry laughed, shaking his head. “And the first rule of
the house. No dating your siblings.” It would be far too emotionally scarring
to watch, and Harry sort of figured it ruined the family dynamic. “What names
did you have in mind?”
   Draco shrugged. His father would want them to name the kids after
constellations, so that was out of the question entirely. “If it was a boy? Hm…
I like Evan, Maxwell, Parker, Chase, and Augustus.”
   It took Harry a second to process that. “So you want a bunch of polo-
wearing, snobby literature-obsessed jocks?”
   “They’re unique names with popular connotations,” Draco sighed.
   “They’re rich kid names.”
   “They’re going to be rich children, yeah!” he grinned, amused by Harry’s
need for humble names. “Would you prefer ‘Pauper’ or ‘John’?”
   Harry shook his head. “Something in the middle. A name that is interesting
and singular enough to be unique, but nothing pretentious. Maybe… Aiden, or
Matthew.”
   “I like Aiden.”
   That made Harry smile. “Yeah.” He could see little Aiden Malfoy-Potter
running around in the back yard, chasing a sprite or a butterfly. Then, Draco
would pick him up and rest his little legs on the side of his hip and ruffle
his dark, curly hair. It made Harry feel slightly hypocritical to imagine their
children would look like them, too. “I mean, do you love it?”
   “What?”
   “The name.”
   Draco nodded. “Yeah,” he said again, a smile flickering over his face. “We
could have a little Aiden.”
   It made Harry happy enough to turn around completely and rest their chests
together. Still smiling like an idiot, he pinned a wisp of blonde hair behind
Draco’s ear. There was a sort of glow about Draco that afternoon, and it made
Harry want to kiss him.
   So, he did.
   Harry’s breath tickled Draco’s cheek before his lips came down to give him a
kiss. There was fine stubble there from where Draco hadn’t shaved that morning,
which only encouraged Harry to kiss every inch of his face.
   Draco let his eyes flutter shut so that Harry could kiss them, too. “You’re
beautiful,” Harry said against his skin.
   “Tell me more,” Draco snickered before finally letting their lips meet in
the middle. It was sweet enough to make Harry forget about his short and
ultimately futile trip to Azkaban. They’d only been able to interview two Death
Eaters, who had screamed slurs at him the entire time.
   More than willing to feed into Draco’s narcissism, Harry slid his hands up
Draco’s shirt to paw at his sides. “Take everything off, then. I need to see
what I’m complimenting.”
   Reaching over his head, Draco tugged his shirt off. It was graceless and
messy since Harry had him practically pinned to the couch, but every inch of
skin revealed more than made up for that.
   Harry kissed his sternum while he slid Draco out of his sweatpants. He
really did love mutual fake sick days. “You’re not even wearing pants,” Harry
laughed. That sexy bastard. He’d known that they would shag all along.
   “More for you to compliment,” Draco shrugged. “Now let me hear it.”
   “You’re so full of it,” Harry laughed before kissing away any protests.
“I’ll start at the top, though. Your hair…”
   “Is like spun gold? Like platinum silk?”
   Harry stuck his hand right in Draco’s hair and ruffled it up. “I love it
when it’s wild. I know you try and tame it, but nothing’s better than your sex
hair,” he began with a kiss to the crown of Draco’s head.
   “Which leads us down to your eyes.” Harry said all of this while pressed up
against Draco’s temple. “And those long, lovely lashes that surround them. Have
you ever seen your own eyes when you smile? Not just like a ‘that was funny’
smile or a polite smile, I mean a huge, real smile. They look like diamonds.”
   That, unironically enough, made Draco smile a huge, real smile.
   Harry gave Draco’s nose a little bop. “And I love your nose, no matter how
much you tell me it’s too big. I like the little bump in the middle, and I
think it really suits you.”
   “Now you’re just lying,” said Draco.
   “I would never,” Harry said, acting incredibly offended. “Here, let’s go
with something you already believe: Your lips are divine. After we snog they’re
red and puffy, and they never fail to look delicious. Not ever.”
   Draco most definitely agreed with that. When Harry kissed him again, he made
a point of dragging his lower lip across Harry’s teeth.
   As Harry sank down to murmur tender praises to Draco’s neck, Draco thought
for the hundredth time that year alone that he had to be the happiest man
alive. Draco also thought that was sort of owed to him, after the war that
nearly tore his family apart, a tumultuous coming out, press scrutiny, and
being caught in between his father and his husband on just about every issue.
   “And your shoulders,” Harry continued, pressing his palms flat against them.
“They were made to wear robes and cloaks.”
   “I’ve often been called ‘princely’,” Draco nodded before getting a nip from
Harry on the collarbone.
   A laugh from Harry created a warm burst of air against Draco’s chest. “Of
course, your highness.” It was interesting, how nicknames for Draco were always
regal. Prince, Sir, his highness, and of course: The Best Shag in the Whole
World.
   Harry’s, on the other hand, were always animalistic. He was pet, lion cub,
tiger, and everything under the sun to do with horndogs.
   After a brief yet wonderful moment that Harry spent worshipping the dip of
Draco’s stomach, the compliments came in rapid fire.
   “Your arse is fucking brilliant.” Harry reached under him to grasp it in his
hands. The mounds were firm, especially when Draco ground down to give Harry
the full experience. “Your legs are long enough to throw over my shoulders,
too.”
   To prove it, Draco linked his ankles around Harry’s neck.
   “’M gonna shag you now,” Harry decided a little breathlessly.
   He reached behind the couch cushion to grab the bottle of lubricant they’d
stuck there from the last time they’d shagged in the living room. Soon, their
new home would become like their old flat: littered with stray sex toys, lost
and half-empty bottles of massage oil, and enough lubricant to coat all of
London in a goopy mess of flavors and sensations.
   Draco nodded and gripped at Harry’s now-hard prick. “Let me,” he said.
   Curious, Harry handed him the bottle. Draco’s hand squeezed around the
bottle to get a dollop out onto his free hand before moving that one back down
to Harry’s cock.
   “Don’t you want to…?” Harry asked, smearing some lube on his own
fingers—Merlin, that sensation was needed after hours of numbing boredom—so he
could slip one inside Draco.
   “Don’t bother,” Draco growled. “You—You gorgeous bastard.”
   Harry chuckled. “Someone’s got a soft spot for being pampered.”
   “Someone else needs to shut up and stick his cock in me.”
   Another laugh escaped Harry before it abruptly changed to a moan, Draco
having taken it upon himself to yank Harry closer and guide the head of his
member past his taut rings of unstretched muscles.
   “Fuck,” Draco gasped, biting his lower lip in a swirl of pleasure and pain
that made his cheeks flush.
   Without needing any further instructions, Harry eased the rest of himself
into that sweet hole with a commanding push. It would be unfair if he didn’t
rough Draco up like Draco roughed him up.
   And that was what relationships are about: fairness and sex.
   Impatiently, Draco shoved his hips up so that he could get some of the
latter.
   Harry’s hands found their purchase in creating that sex hair of Draco’s he
loved so much with they sunk to grasp the roots and meet his thrust. “Draco,”
he groaned. He would take this slow on purpose, draw out every second of that
beautiful look on Draco’s face.
   His eyes were screwed tight, his nose bunched up in the way it usually did
right before he came. “Harder, faster,” he begged. Anything to have Harry hit
that spot again and again, forcing him to choke out each sob of joy.
   Harry’s tight yet slow pumps continued. “But you look so pretty like this,”
he objected, craning down to watch his length slide in and out of Draco.
   Between moans and growls of frustration, Draco found some time to speak.
“You mean,” he panted. “I’m not pretty all the time? I ought to spank you for
that one.”
   “Go right on ahead,” Harry grunted. His whole body went from warm and loose
to a tantalizing quiver when Draco clenched around him. “I’m going to guess
that’s another request for harder?”
   “And faster,” Draco answered excitedly, spreading his legs wider for Harry.
   Harry’s pace did a total one-eighty. He barreled into Draco and dug his
nails into his back so that each pump of his hips pushed his cock deeper and
deeper.
   “Yes,” Draco gasped out, riding on the high and thrusting right back.
   Their bodies collided in a crescendo of heat, and Harry had to shut his eyes
just to release some of the tension. The tightness in his shoulders was always
the worst right before he came.
   Opening his eyes long enough to look into Draco’s grey ones, pupils wide
with mischief and excitement, Harry did just that.
   The sense of tranquility was corporeal in a way that Harry could feel it in
his bones. They seemed to uncoil and hiss as he lay on top of Draco, a sticky
mess of their come in between them.
   Draco smiled down at Harry. His love, his pet, his lion cub—he was happy.
   For the sake of continuity, Draco shut his eyes and tried to imagine the
moment if they were both parents. Their baby would be asleep in the other room,
and they may even cry out for them.
   He could see Harry bolting up in spite of his current state of borderline
muscle paralysis and grabbing a towel, a blanket, a jacket, anything to get
himself clean before running up the stairs to the nursery.
   Harry would hold their baby tight to his chest.
   The thought of how small the kid would look in comparison to his big, strong
Auror. Sure, Harry was short, but he still seemed larger than life sometimes.
   “Mm,” Harry mumbled under him. He’d never intended it to come out as a word,
so he was happy with the results.
   “Darling,” Draco said affectionately, without having intended to finish the
sentence.
   Harry responded with another happy noise. The eloquent conversation really
was wearing on his state of mind.
   The only solution seemed to be sleep, which Harry willingly gave into. Draco
didn’t mind, of course, since a nap would at least shake up their selection
process.
   He’d give Harry an hour to rest before jarring him awake to look at more
files.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   He panted wildly. They’d done it. They’d really done it.
   It was four in the morning, there were three trash cans being used for the
discarded files, plates with half-eaten cookies and crackers strewn across the
room, empty wine glasses, and general debris everywhere. None of that mattered,
though, because they were done.
   “Fifty,” Draco declared proudly.
   “Fifty,” Harry echoed exhaustedly.
   Draco kissed his cheek. “Now we just call and schedule meetings. The worst
is behind us.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Harry was going to fall asleep on the floor of Azkaban, he really was.
“Who’s next?” he asked Ron. The question gave him a serious sense of déjà vu
from the previous evening.
   The next words to leave Ron’s mouth were hateful ones. “Dolores Umbridge.”
   “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
   “Do you want to sit this one out?” Ron asked carefully. Harry was the
walking dead in terms of helpfulness that day. He was just so… Tired. “Did
Draco keep you up again?”
   “Yes,” he muttered miserably.
   “Was it that bad?” Ron asked. Harry usually bragged about his wonderful love
life.
   A little laugh left Harry. “No, it wasn’t sex. We were picking out pregnant
women we could adopt from.”
   Well, that was much less sensual. “Oh,” he said. “Still. You look beat, and
I could honestly handle this one.” His wife had been the one to leave Umbridge
at the mercy of the centaurs, so the old Headmistress already had reason not to
mess with the Weasley-Granger family.
   “No, no, you got Selwyn.” For many reasons, Harry preferred to stay away
from him. “I’ll interview her and get it over with.”
   Ron nodded, knowing better than to argue with Harry when he was feeling
stubborn. “Let’s just get in and get out, yeah?”
   “Yeah.”
   Harry descended into the Azkaban interrogation cell with a purpose. “Dolores
Umbridge,” he said curtly as if she hadn’t forced him to write his rule-
breaking habits hard enough to draw blood. A faint scar still lingered there,
but the words were blurred. I must not tell lies. “How’s your stay here been?”
Okay, that one he couldn’t hold back because he was punchy.
   Her usually primly trussed hair was below her shoulders in length without a
single curl to be found. Oh, sweet, sweet justice. “Potter,” she said, taken
aback. Apparently, jail had robbed her of her quick wits. However, she made up
for it in a few sad seconds. “I’ve been doing splendidly. Tell me, I may be on
a leash by the Ministry, but what is it like to be on Draco Malfoy’s leash?”
   “It’s Malfoy-Potter now, actually.”
   That made her pureblood cheeks turn rosy red with anger. “You—“ Umbridge
started, all of the insults and slurs she wanted to throw at him getting
clogged up at her pursed lips. Those lips would never order another student or
teacher around again. “You immature, vile, loathsome—“
   “Enough about me,” Harry cut her off. “I want to hear about you.”
   “I know why you’re here,” she snarled. Her eyes looked different without
mascara and a pound of eyeshadow; they looked sallower. “It’s about one of your
Dumbledore’s Army friends.”
   Harry put down the last picture taken of Benjy Fenwick on the table. He was
sitting at a table and looking down at a piece of paper, scribbling
intermittently, and looking back up. Apparently, Dorcas Meadowes had been
trying to get him to smile after a night of reading through cyphered Death Note
papers to no avail.
   Kingsley said he’d remembered that night as a particularly gloomy one.
   “He was in the first order. Do you know his name?” Harry asked patiently. He
knew he had to play mind-games to get through to the madwoman.
   Umbridge caught on quickly, a mischievous smile overtaking her flat, pale
face. “I think it was… Bryan? Bryan Freidman?”
   “Try again.”
   “Brendon Finlay.”
   “That’s sort of closer.”
   “Balon Fennec?”
   “I’m pretty sure that is a breed of fox.”
   “Byron Fellatio?”
   Harry narrowed his eyes. “Benjamin Fenwick.”
   “Ah!” The bags under Umbridge’s eyes lit up with wonder. “That’s the one.
Pity,” she said, using her plain and chipped nails to bring the photo closer to
her. “He was a real charmer back in school. I always thought Regulus had an
ickle crush on him.”
   “What?”
   Dolores Umbridge looked at him as if he were some sort of alien. “Don’t you
know? Queer runs in the Black family. It’s undoubtedly Sirius’ fault, too.
Probably got too close to him one night under the blankets, made Regulus
pretend he liked it—“
   “Stop it,” Harry snapped, losing his momentary cool.
   “Oh, you are a naïve one.Incest also ran in the Black family,” she chirped.
Umbridge hadn’t had a stimulating conversation like this in years.
   “Shut up. You don’t know anything about Sirius, or Regulus, or even Remus
for that matter,” he barreled on. “And this isn’t about them.”
   There was a reason Harry never talked about Regulus with Sirius. His
godfather was plagued with guilt for the way his brother died. In Sirius’ mind,
he had let Regulus stay in that abusive house, so he was responsible for his
becoming a Death Eater.
   Remus always tried to talk him down from that, but it rarely worked.
Avoiding the subject of brothers altogether seemed like the only thing that
would do.
   “What? I make one innocent joke and you’re already done with me?” she asked,
disappointed. If Dolores were any younger, she would have tried a pout.
   It was hardly innocent, but Harry knew better than to scream at her for it.
Harry would just work it out later in therapy. Maybe that would be the title of
his biography: Later, In Therapy.
   “So you knew Benjy Fenwick?” Harry asked.
   “Three years below me. Why, has something terrible happened to him?” Dolores
asked with a mock-concern.
   Harry pressed on. “We’re looking for his body. Pieces of it, specifically.”
   “Someone cut him up?” She made a ‘tsk tsk’ noise with her tongue and teeth.
   “Yes. Have any idea who that ‘someone’ is?”
   “What can you give me in return?” Umbridge demanded. “You can’t get
something for nothing.”
   “I’m not a lawyer, and unless you’ve forgotten, your stay here is not
negotiable.” The Ministry had been sure to lock them up for good this time.
   “That doesn’t mean you can’t make my stay a little… Comfier.”
   Harry shook his head and turned to the two-way mirror that Ron was peering
in on from outside the cold, grey interrogation room. “She’s got nothing, Ron.
Bring in the next one.” A little negative prodding wasn’t an illegal
interrogation tactic, after all.
   “You’re bluffing,” Umbridge called out.
   To show her that he was serious, Harry moved towards the door. “Goodbye,
Dolores.”
   “Wait!”
   Hook, line, and sinker. Harry thought she would be tougher to crack, really.
Prison seemed to have dulled her senses. “What?” he asked, annoyed.
   “I’ll tell you who knows something about the body if you give me one thing
in exchange,” she said. “One, simple thing.”
   “What?” Harry asked again. Pretending to be bothered by her really wasn’t
that hard.
   “I heard,” Dolores murmured carefully. The woman was proud at best and vain
at worst. “That there’s a portrait of me in the dungeons of Hogwarts that the
students… Deface. I want it taken down.”
   “It’s as good as done if you point me in the right direction.” Harry figured
it was minor enough, and they could always find another portrait of another war
criminal.
   Shifting in her chair, Umbridge considered telling Harry to keep quiet about
her to the other prisoners. They were already the desolates of the desolates.
“If you’re looking for answers, Marcus Nott has them.”
   “Nott?” Had he heard right? Like, Theodore Nott? Like, the foulmouthed
Potioneer that had fucked at least half of the male population of the world
until a muggleborn shacked up with him?
   “Nott.”
   Harry swallowed down his shock, trying to keep his brave face. “Well. Your
portrait will be down by morning.”
   Oddly enough, Umbridge knew he wasn’t lying.
***** Heirs *****
Chapter Notes
     I have AP tests this week. I am no longer alive inside. All I know is
     US history. All I know is Reaganomics suck. Thanks for dealing with
     my longer bouts between chapters, everyone.
Chapter 14: Heirs
   Telephones were slowly making more and more sense to Draco Malfoy-Potter
with each call he made. There were clear numbers and buttons and things to do
that almost made muggles seem like the smart ones.
   “Hello?” the girl on the other end of the line answered. Being muggleborn
had made her adept with a cellphone.
   “Hello, is this Jordan Vora?”
   She ducked into her room, ignoring the suspicious stare from her mother.
Sheesh, one accidental pregnancy and the woman didn’t even trust her anymore.
“Yes, it is. Who’s asking?”
   “Well,” Draco said with a little laugh. Two girls before her had been so
shocked that they accidentally hung up on him when he told them the truth, and
all of them had quite literally squealed with delight. Even Burbage.
   Draco would never understand why Harry was so set on giving her a chance.
She was rude, loud, and immature. Then again, that was probably what had gotten
her pregnant in the first place. “This may come as a shock, but I’m Draco
Malfoy-Potter.”
   Jordan laughed. “Oh, come off it, Shaun. When can I see you again?” That
Shaun was always a joker. Jordan vaguely remembered a joke of his getting her
into bed with him. She loved funny blokes.
   “This isn’t Shaun,” Draco said slowly.
   “No,” Jordan replied, a little shake coming to her hands. “This is my
boyfriend pulling a prank on me.”
   “This is Draco Malfoy-Potter.”
   “What?”
   Draco grinned. “I’ve received your application for an adoptive couple and
I’d like to meet with you. Is Thursday at 2:00pm alright?” It would have to be,
since girls were already scheduled for Thursday at 1:00pm and 3:00pm.
   “Oh my—Yes. Yes—Mum! Mum I’m on the phone!—I can do that,” she sputtered
out.
   “We’ve reserved a meeting room at The Halkin, and you can bring your mother
or any family you like. My husband and I just wish to speak with you, and we
are speaking with many young women like yourself.”
   Jordan grabbed her wand to scribble down the hotel name on a nearby piece of
paper. She would have to find someone to cover her shift at the store. Merlin,
when they heard about this, they wouldn’t even believe her! “Thank you,” she
said, feeling like her life had been saved by some deus ex machina. Now she and
Shaun wouldn’t have to quit their jobs for a baby, and maybe she could move out
of her mum’s place! “I don’t even know how to thank you. This is wonderful.”
   Shit. The poor thing sounded on the verge of tears. “We haven’t made our
decision yet as to who we’re selecting,” Draco clarified, not wanting to get
her hopes up. “Just tell the clerk that you’re there for the Seaside Meeting
Room and then we’ll talk, okay?”
   “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you—“
   “We’ll talk,” Draco said again. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
   Jordan didn’t seem to understand his intonation. “Thank you!” she shouted
again before hanging up. She had to call Shaun to celebrate.
   “Ugh,” Draco muttered once he heard the other end of the line go dead.
“Please tell me that was the last one.” Going in alphabetical order had been
actual torture.
   “Last one,” Theo confirmed from his bed. He was sprawled out and twisting
the accursed ring in his fingers, as he was apt to do of late. “All your baby
mamas are accounted for, and I think you’ve properly learned how to dial a
number.”
   Draco looked down at Theo’s bulky home phone. “Dial?” he asked, confused.
   “It’s a muggle expression. You have a phone at home, you know.” Draco
suddenly appearing after they were both done with work wasn’t a rare
occurrence, but he hadn’t even dragged along his better half. They were
supposed to be dealing with the baby stuff together, right?
   “I don’t have a Theo at home,” Draco reminded him. “And the one I keep here
is amidst a crisis.”
   “You have a Harry at home, and he’s usually not amidst crisis, so I’d
imagine that’s preferable. Where is that cheeky little bugger?” Theo asked,
neatly skirting around his own problem.
   Draco shrugged. “Saving the world, I suppose.”
   “Any shocking cases of intrigue? I was hoping for a happy-ending massage
parlor bust this week.” His addiction to drama was insatiable, and he had his
suspicions about the ‘Healing Touch’ spa near Colin’s studio.
   “I wish! How interesting would that be?” Draco laughed. “But it’s just some
cold case from the first war. Remus and Sirius were apparently friends of the
victim, too.”
   Theo frowned. That sounded heavy and hardly as scandalous as sex
trafficking. “Oh. Is he alright with that?”
   “Yeah,” he answered quickly. Well, they hadn’t really talked about it…
“Harry’s doing a lot better than he was before the wedding. He’s calmer, and he
hasn’t had a panic attack since.” It hadn’t occurred to Draco that Harry being
assigned to a war case could backpedal on their progress.
   “Good.”
   “You’ve just listened to me call women for—how long now?—an hour. I can’t
believe I’m saying this: Enough about me. Talk at me,” Draco requested. Being a
friend was tough work.
   Before Theo could open his mouth to attempt articulating his current state
of confusion with marriage, weddings, rings, and other things, an owl was heard
scratching at Theo’s window. “Oh, fuck.”
   Theodore stomped over to the window, and it was right when he had something
on the tip of his tongue! It had better be Colin with some kind of dirty talk
or sexy surprise. Really, it would be one of the only things that could cheer
him up.
   “It’s for you,” Theo sighed when he saw the handwriting.
   “From who?”
   Theo tossed him the sealed envelope and shooed the tawny owl away. “Your
wife.”
   “Ah,” Draco nodded, ripping open the paper to see what was written inside.
When he had absorbed every word into his skin with a silent awe, Draco had to
read them over again.
   Watching Draco’s facial expression vigilantly was a talent of Theo’s.
“What’s wrong now?” he asked when he saw Draco’s face fall.
   “Nothing. It’s—um, I’ve got to go, okay?” He stood. “Everything’s fine,
don’t look so goddamn concerned.”
   “Yes, heaven help me for thinking you flitting off into the night to be
concerning. At least tell me what’s going on.”
   “Hermione,” Draco lied quickly. Er, what exactly would constitute Harry
writing a letter and Hermione needing assistance? If anything, Draco probably
needed assistance from her. “Her baby!” Ah, yes, that was it. “Not the one
she’s pregnant with. The other one. Rose.”
   Theo wasn’t buying it. “You’re a shit liar.”
   “Look, you’ll know soon enough, okay? I just—I have to go talk to Harry.”
This would kill Theo. Draco just knew it.
   Further confusing the other Slytherin, Draco took him by the shoulders and
did the unthinkable. He gave him a firm, tight hug. Just sort of standing
there, Theo looked down at his friend’s downy blonde hair. It sort of scared
him. “Draco.”
   “Shut up,” Draco muttered against his shoulder before getting on his tip-
toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be back later, okay?”
   “Er.”
   Holding back another hug and kiss and every other little scrap of affection
that Theo and he had been deprived of as children and that Harry had taught him
meant that you cared, Draco stepped back. “I’ll be back.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   When Harry heard the familiar crack of apparation, he turned around. Also
gracing the Malfoy-Potter kitchen was Ron Weasley—who was busy digging into
Draco’s bowl of fresh fruits—who appreciated Harry’s effort, but wished they
weren’t doing this.
   “Draco,” Harry said as he embraced Draco and kissed his cheek. “You got the
letter?”
   “You can’t do it. Harry, it’s fucking cruel and unnecessary and Remus can
help you with the clues,” he started right off of the bat. “I know that’s also
cruel, but it doesn’t even begin to compare.”
   Harry frowned. The distress in Draco’s voice was obvious, and Harry knew it
was for good reason.
   He’d tried every tactic he’d learned at the Auror Academy and then some on
Marcus Nott. Negative prodding, positive prodding, bartering, intimidation,
controlled fear, throwing Ron in there to do whatever it was that he did, and
Harry had to stop himself short of torture.
   “I watched when they chopped up Order runt,” he said proudly. Sure, Marcus
might have thrown in a few of his own hexes during the torture, but admitting
that certainly wasn’t going to do his lifetime sentence any good. That, and
Potter looked on the verge of hexing him, too.
   Harry thought a killing curse would have been the cause of death, and the
mutilation a sick game. He’d never thought that Benjy could have been alive,
awake, during—
   “I can tell you everywhere he’s buried.”
   “Then do it,” Harry demanded.
   “I will.” The pause that came afterwards was a nail-biter. “Once you bring
me my heir.”
   Obviously, Harry had told him ‘no way in hell’ before continuing on with the
interrogation, but Nott Sr. remained silent.
   Not a single question was answered after that. He fucking stonewalled Harry
Malfoy-Potter. It felt like a stupid kind of irony.
   “I know,” Harry said softly against his shoulder. “I’m not going to.”
   Draco released the tense breath he’d kept caged in. “Thank you.”
   “Then we have to go to Remus,” Ron said sourly, knowing Harry wouldn’t fancy
that alternative much more.
   “He can handle whatever this is,” Draco said, agreeing with Ronald in a rare
display of camaraderie. “I mean, the man turns into a wolf once a month.” Oddly
enough, Draco had developed a sort of respect for that. Remus may have been a
bookworm, but he was no weakling.
   Harry nodded in spite of himself. “I’m not saying that Remus can’t handle
it.” The wish he had of Remus never having to handle it seemed to crumble in
front of him.
   “I’ll break it to Theo that his father wanted to see him, but if you breathe
a word of the fact that he’s refusing to talk without him there, I will hurt
the both of you,” Draco threatened the two officers of the law. “I know where
you live.”
   “I’ll… Keep that in mind.” Ron stepped away from his third-wheel position
and towards the door. “Hermione needs me at home,” he said, waving a goodbye to
them. “Or, rather, Rose does.” It was his turn to read the bedtime story.
   “Goodnight,” Draco said cordially before closing the front door behind the
ginger before Harry could get in a goodbye of his own.
   “I have to go back to Theo’s,” he continued as he grabbed a coat out of the
hall closet. Only England could have summer nights that felt like winter
mornings.
   “Wait,” Harry said quietly, slowly.
   Draco was practically halfway out the door when he realized Harry had
spoken. “What?”
   “Remus is smart. Remus is brilliant, really. I’m sure he can figure out the
next clues, but, um, they get harder as things progress. There may be a point
where he can’t figure them out.”
   Draco shook his head before closing the door once more to walk towards
Harry. “I can’t do that to Theo. This is it. This is officially the line where
your job ends and your personal life begins.”
   “I’d rather it be me in there with him,” Harry muttered. “Than some other
Auror. If I pass on the case, it’ll go right to someone else.”
   “No. You’re Head Auror,” Draco said with a quiet desperation. “You can make
this go away. It was probably Marcus who killed the man from the Order, and
there’s your perpetrator. Case solved.”
   Harry reached out to his husband. “You and I both know it’s not like that,
Draco,” he told him gently before cupping Draco’s angular chin. “You can be
behind the double-mirror if it even ever comes to that. I’m just saying this
now because you also know how difficult these cases can be. They don’t always
turn out the way we want them to.”
   “You get hexed quite a bit,” Draco whispered. “So I suppose that’s true.”
   Seeing Draco’s spirits lighten, Harry used his other arm to anchor Draco
close to him. “I won’t bring Theo in unless we’re entirely out of options. You
have my word.”
   “I know.” He leaned in for a brief brush of their lips. “I’ll be back soon,
okay?”
   “I’ll wait up for you.”
   Just for that, Draco kissed him again.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   The chill of the previous night had turned into one hell of a thunderstorm.
It pattered on the rooftop and streamed down the sides of Ginny and Blaise’s
favorite diner.
   To amuse herself, Ginny looked at the water drops racing down the side of
the window as she sipped her tea. The one on the right made a dashing start for
victory, but it was the dark horse from the left that beat him out. It sort of
reminded her of a Quidditch move.
   Of course, most things reminded her of Quidditch.
   Blaise, on the other hand, was often reminded of his old life of bar-hopping
and general promiscuity rather than the one he was currently living with a
steady job and a steady woman.
   He saw the top riding up on the waitress from across the room, and when he
looked down to his plate of eggs and bacon, he could have sworn they swirled to
look like genitalia.
   None of that was Ginny’s fault, of course. Ginny was lovely. Ginny was fit.
Ginny was kind, funny, smart, and had a cute little family. Ginny Weasley, in
conclusion, had to be the perfect picture of a girlfriend. Blaise had been
entranced by that at Draco and Harry’s stupid monogamous wedding.
   “Training until night again?” he asked, attempting conversation. Their
relationship took work, sure, but that didn’t mean he was entirely
disillusioned and unhappy.
   “Not in this weather, nah. Last time we tried that, Cooke nearly got
electrocuted,” Ginny reminded him. “So, I’ll actually be at the flat with
nothing to do.” Ginny wasn’t blind to their recent distance, either.
   Blaise smiled wide. “Good. I’ve forgotten what you’ve looked like out of a
uniform.”
   “Then you’ll just have to help me out of it.”
   Before he could scream out a ‘Yes! Finally!’, the waitress with the shirt
malfunction dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet (hot off the presses) in
between them, as the diner liked to pride themselves on. Keeping people full of
food and information, they said, ignoring the fact that The Prophet wasn’t too
keen on facts.
   “’Baby Makes Three’,” Ginny read aloud as she turned to see the flash of
photos and headlines dancing across the page. “’The latest on the Malfoy-Potter
adoption’.”
   “Draco and Harry are always getting the first page. It’s hardly fair, you
know.”
   Ginny laughed as she skimmed the made-up details of Draco’s ‘motherly
instincts’. Oh, how the Prophet loved gender roles. “You’re jealous of them,”
she decided. “Just because we’ve only been on the cover twice doesn’t mean this
is a competition.”
   Blaise’s smile turned into a mischievous grin. “Then let’s make it a
competition. We should make a sex-tape to one-up them. Any ideas on what we’ll
call it?”
   “Save a Quidditch Player, Ride a Broomstick,” Ginny joked right back. “Oh,
Merlin, look at this. They didn’t even spell ‘offspring’ right. It’s missing an
‘f’.”
   “That makes them Of Spring,” Blaise nodded solemnly, leaning back so that
the returning waitress could bend over to refill his coffee mug. He knew he
shouldn’t have looked, but there it was. Glorious cleavage in his face.
   “Blaise,” she hissed when the woman was called over to another table. It was
stressful enough to wonder what he was doing out of her sight, let alone in it.
   “What?” he asked. Blaise always did put in a noble effort to play it off as
an accidental glance.
   “Don’t screw with me. You were staring right at her tits.” Ginny also always
dismissed that bullshit effort right away.
   Blaise let out a defeated groan. “I’m only human, Gin. A red-blooded,
heterosexual man. Just because I see a nice pair of tits doesn’t mean I want to
leave you.”
   She bristled at that. “I know,” Ginny retorted. “But it’s inconsiderate,
okay? And rude. I hate when men ogle me in public.” It really made her skin
crawl since she was just trying to play a damn sport.
   “Then I’ll just deck all of those men.”
   “You’re one of ‘those men’ for her, y’know.”
   “I know,” he sighed. “I get it, I get it. I’ll try not to do it again.”
   That was what he said every time. “Try harder,” Ginny decided. Maybe that
was the only thing that could tame his wandering eye.
   Hoping to put his girlfriend back in a more jovial mood, Blaise made an
attempt at—admittedly crass— humor. “I think that all those gay exes of yours
threw off your perspective.”
   “What?” The joke landed flat. “Look, why don’t you just eat.” Blaise got
stupid in the mornings before he was fed.
   “It was a joke,” Blaise tried to explain when he saw that icy stare take
over her usually warm eyes.
   Ginny shook her head and stabbed her scrambled eggs with her fork. She knew
it intimidated her boyfriend, and that was honestly always a good thing. “It
wasn’t funny,” Ginny muttered. She’d thought Dean was her first love, and Harry
the man that she would marry. It stung sometimes, really.
   “Sorry,” Blaise grumbled right back.
   “They did, you know.”
   “What?”
   “They stared at men who walked by,” Ginny blurted out in a strange burst of
truth. “They weren’t as obvious as you, of course, but they still did. Men are
gross. I honestly have no idea why I haven’t taken after Charlie and abandoned
the opposite sex forever.” Curse her lack of attraction to women.
   She’d even tried to date a woman, once. Farrah had been a bubbly girl with
soft hair and an easy smile, and Ginny’s only lesbian experience. It had come
after a particularly bitter night running into Harry at a club with Draco
draped around him, and there had been some serious drinking involved, but it
still happened.
   “I’m sorry,” Blaise grumbled again. She really did know how to make him feel
like shit when he did the same to her. In its own sick way, Blaise figured it
was fair.
   A sad loo came over Ginny’s face when she realized Blaise had actually been
listening to her the whole time. It wasn’t that that was rare, it just usually
took two times to get it into his skull. “Let’s just eat, alright?”
   “Yeah,” Blaise agreed eagerly. She never got mad with him for staring at
chicken breasts. Then again, chicken breasts didn’t turn him on. “And
afterwards, we can go to that cupcake place you like so much.”
   “Mm. You’re going to get me to abandon my training diet, I swear,” she
sighed happily.
   “I am pretty sweet, yeah.”
   The pun was weak, but she gave him a laugh anyway. Somewhere in the back of
Ginny’s mind she knew that this wasn’t ideal, but it was unique to her all the
same.
   Blaise was a sleaze, but he could also be understanding and supportive. When
Ginny really needed him, he was there. In other words, he wasn’t decidedly The
One (as of yet), but there was no reason to upset a caring relationship with a
sweet man.
   “Sure,” she said, shaking her head once again. This time, she smiled.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   A world away in Romania at his much less-glamorous day job was another child
of Weasley clan.
   Charlie was attempting a removal of the, well, refuse from all of the dragon
habitats. It was a dirty task that he had unfortunately lost a bet to do.
   A coworker had challenged him to a drinking challenge at one of the local
pubs. She was Romanian and spoke the language much better than he could, and
had a long black ponytail. That, and she completely drank him under the table.
It was slightly embarrassing.
   So, now he was left with Anna’s duties for the day.
   Charlie waved his wand so that a clothespin appeared for him to close around
his nostrils. Dragons were beautiful and majestic from afar, but the spot of
the reserve that they used as their toilet… Not so much.
   Pitchfork in hand, Charlie was just above to dive in when he heard someone
calling his name.
   “Charlie! You’ve got someone to see you,” Jared said, oblivious of the fame
of the man who walked in a dignified stride behind him.
   If it was his mother pressuring him to cut his hair again, he would snap.
That woman was a loving one, but she no longer had any control over his life or
his follicles. If he so please, Charlie would be Rapunzel.
   Turning around, it was immediately obvious that his mother would not be in
attendance.
   “Lucius,” Charlie stated, shocked.
   “Yes, yes,” Lucius said as if to wave away all of the explanation of how he
had gotten there or why he had come. “I need to speak with you about a spell.”
   It took Charlie a second to process that. “After I’m done with this, yeah.”
   Looking over Charlie’s shoulder, Lucius saw the most terrifying, wretched
thing in the entire world. It made him feel ashamed for naming his only son
after the beasts that made such a mess.
   “It’s not so bad,” Charlie shrugged, answering the question that Lucius had
never asked. “We only have to do it once a month.”
   “Take a break, then. This is of the utmost importance.”
   “I’m not the spell-writer, you know,” Charlie went on. “That’s Hermione.”
   Lucius knew that, and clenched his teeth to keep from making his distaste
obvious. “I know. But it’s true that you’ve also engineered some spells of your
own.”
   “For dragon-keeping, yeah.”
   Above their heads, a blue leviathan sailed across the sky. It left a shadow
over them for a moment so that Lucius could get a better look at one of the
eldest Weasleys. He was tall, stocky, and handsome in a sort of girlish way. If
it wasn’t for that bright orange hair, Lucius would have thought him a handsome
man. “For eggs,” Lucius clarified. “You see, I have quite the investment made
in the peafowl that I keep at Malfoy Manor. So, for their continued existence,
I must know which eggs are fertile and which eggs can be disposed of.”
   “Oh,” Charlie said, remembering his spell to determine if dragon’s eggs were
empty or not. It had come in handy when picking out Draco and Harry’s wedding
presents. “I can teach it to you, if you want.”
   “That was precisely what I came here to do, yes.”
   Charlie dropped the pitchfork and motioned for Lucius to follow him away
from Jared and the general stench of the area. “Peafowl, hm? What makes you
like them so much?”
    “They are my patronus,” Lucius informed him, surprised by the familiarity
of his tone. This Weasley seemed to have a bit more grace than the others. “As
I imagine a dragon is yours.”
   “Bingo.”
   “What-o?”
   “It’s a muggle expression,” Charlie laughed. “Anyway, here’s some recently
laid eggs.”
   The broodmother of all of the Yupanqui dragons on the island was always
getting busy with her male consorts, so they were often fertile enough to raise
a whole new generation of dragons. They left their eggs strewn about like they
would have in their original home of South America, before they were pushed out
of their land by poachers. Yupanqui were a careless and trusting race to their
fault.
   “Now, raise your wand hand and repeat after me..."
***** Mother's Day *****
Chapter Notes
     Hope you all had a fabulous mother’s day! The holiday sort of
     inspired me for this chapter. Thanks again for reading!
Chapter 15: Mother’s Day
   Once again, Hermione Weasley née Granger found herself on a patient’s slab
at St. Mungo’s.
   She’d never been terribly prone to sickness as a child, a teen, a young
woman, or at really any other point in her life before she became a mother.
Apparently, becoming a parent to another child was trying to wreck her body.
   Hermione really wished Ron could have carried this one.
   “Hello,” Draco said in a sing-song voice as he entered the room with his
usual charts and papers. His white robes trailed behind him to remind Hermione
of how clinical the whole process could be. “How’s the gestation going?”
   She snorted out a laugh. Draco’s specific vernacular was amusing as ever,
even though he looked particularly tired that day. “Normally, I suppose.”
   “So, ribcage pain, itchy skin, and fatigue?”
   “Of course,” she grumbled.
   “Motherhood is magic.”
   “Shut the hell up.”
   Draco laughed. “What? It’s still fun to see you angry with me,” he grinned.
“Now, are you going to be applying for maternity leave soon?”
   “No, I’ll be working from home,” Hermione informed him.
   “So you’ll be defending people’s human rights from your couch?”
   “Don’t look so concerned,” she said with a playful roll of her eyes. “I’ll
get plenty of naps and drink gallons of water a day. I wouldn’t want to upset
my Healer; he’s a real stickler for pregnancies. I pity the woman that will
soon be carrying his bundle of joy.”
   Draco sat down in his arm-chair across from his patient and let out a
disgusted and frustrated noise rather than responding with words. He didn’t
want to think about that woman at all.
   “I wanted to tell you, you know,” Hermione continued as if she hadn’t heard
him. “That I’m proud of you for taking the restrictions off of your adoption
requirements.”
   Draco let out another belabored groan.
   “I mean, it’s what you should have done in the first place to be a decent
human being…”
   “Hermione,” he whined.
   “I’m simply letting you know you made the right decision,” Hermione said in
a matter-of-fact voice, crossing her arms over her bulging pregnancy bump. “I
was worrying your father had gotten to Harry and you.”
   Draco rolled his eyes and pushed on. “We’re here to discuss your baby,
correct?”
   “Yes, yes. Everything is going like last time except for a bit more ankle
pain,” Hermione brushed off.
   “No Braxton-Hicks contractions?”
   “Not yet.” The thought of going through that again was a dull agony. “I
would tell you if something was different, so why don’t you tell me what’s
going on with you?”
   He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not my therapist.”
   “Exactly, you prick. You’re my friend and the husband of my best friend. I
want to know how your search is going,” Hermione pressed on.
   “We’re conducting interviews this afternoon,” Draco sighed. “We’re meeting
with all the different candidates today for about ten minutes so we can rule
some of them out based on some simple questions and seeing if they’re in this
for the fame or if they’re unprepared for adoption or this process.”
   Hermione gave him a look, curious with how they were going about all of
this. “And what exactly constitutes as ‘not ready’ for adoption?” she asked.
Whatever it was, Hermione hoped they could spot it.
   “There’s a large possibility that the woman may want to keep the baby after
birth. We’re looking for a closed adoption situation, and if they aren’t
comfortable with that, then we can’t proceed.” The woman would also have to
survive a meeting with the Malfoy family lawyers.
   “That’s true.” Hermione could never imagine after going through labor for
Rose for hours and hours, and months and months of anticipating her little
girl, having to then give her away. It was her baby, and as much as Hermione
had prepared herself for a family life with Ron, she’d never loved anything in
the world so much as when she looked at that red, crying blob.
   It had actually been rather unnerving. Hermione knew that happened to new
mothers with the rushes of endorphins and hormones and whatnot in order to keep
the human race reproducing and caring for their young, but she hadn’t expected
it so strong.
   “You’ll at least owl Ron and I with how it goes?” she requested. “The legal
system from my coffee table is hardly exciting, and I could use the
entertainment.” At least she’d be able to watch Rose full-time.
   “Yes, yes.”
   Hermione smiled warmly. “Good. Now, quit looking so miserable. You’re going
to meet the mother of your child soon,” she advised, sounding far too much like
Narcissa in that moment.
   “I’m not miserable! I’m just also going to meet forty-nine other girls who
aren’t the mother of my child. What if they’re annoying and won’t leave? What
if they cry, Hermione? I can’t deal with people who cry.” That was sort of a
lie, because he could deal with Harry when he cried, but that was the only
exception.
   “Harry is much better with people than you are,” Hermione nodded with a
smile.
   Draco rolled his eyes fondly. “You’re the worst, do you know that? That’s
hardly the proper way to speak to the godfather of your precious daughter.
Also, who is the lucky couple for this one going to be?”
   “We’re not sure. Ron was thinking about Neville and Luna, but I’m leaning
more towards George and Angelina.” Luna was a sweet girl, she really was, but
if her son came home blabbering about Nargles one day, Hermione might snap.
“They’re just wonderful with Fred Jr.”
   “Oh, Merlin,” Draco realized, terrified enough to pick up on one of Harry’s
favorite expressions. “I’m having kids before Loony does!”
   “Draco!”
   “What? You called her that back in school, too!”
   “Well,” she bristled. “We’re not kids anymore, we’re having kids. Also, Luna
and Neville were just married. I doubt they’d want to jump on having kids so
fast.”
   Draco snickered. “They really don’t have you and Ron’s fertility, I suppose.
Also, when are we scheduling the surgery to get you fixed?”
   Fire burned in her eyes. “I am not an animal, Draco,” she growled.
   “Well, then what term do you prefer?” he asked, exasperated.
   “Tubal litigation.” Hermione leaned back and closed her eyes to try and
visualize her calendar. “Since the baby is due in September, I’ll give myself a
month. What days are you free for surgery in December?”
   Draco, on the other hand, was much less organized in his thoughts. He
swiveled his chair back to the desk and flipped through a physically organized
schedule. “Hm,” he murmured, flipping to the winter months of the year. “The
fifth sound good to you?”
   “Sounds perfect.”
   “Well,” Draco said as he penned in the date. “In the meantime, let’s see
that fetus.” Grabbing his wand, Draco made his way over to his patient to
summon an ultrasound machine. “Do you and Ron want a picture this time, too?”
   “Of course,” Hermione said as she adjusted her paper hospital gown. “Our
Aurors will be delighted to see.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   A couple of hours later in their five-star wizarding hotel, a certain Auror
was feeling far from delighted. “This is the fifth woman who’s late,” Harry
sighed, looking down at the file for Nina Adams whose ten-minute appointment
was halfway done without any sign of her.
   For the sake of efficiency, they decided to rule out anyone who was late.
Both halves of the couple appreciated tact, and their baby’s future mother had
to take the situation seriously to be seriously considered.
   “Either that, or the third woman who just isn’t coming,” Draco told him,
feeling rather certain of that. “Want to let the next one in early?”
   Harry shook his head. “May as well wait out the eight minutes,” he shrugged.
   “And what are we going to do for eight minutes?”
   “You’re creative; you’ll think of something.”
   “Are you trying to get in my pants?” Draco asked, turning in his swivel
chair to face Harry’s. The board room really did seem like the perfect place
for a little office fantasy. “Because I don’t know if you’ve worked hard enough
for it yet.”
   “That,” Harry said, slinking off of his chair to sit on Draco’s lap, his
legs hanging from either side of the chair. “Can be fixed.”
   His elbows rested on Draco’s strong shoulders. He prolonged the moments
before the kiss so that he could capture that anticipation in Draco’s eyes.
   When their lips finally did meet, Harry was determined to make Draco moan.
It was a singular, unremitting goal that Harry immediately clung to, much like
his teeth clung to Draco’s lower lip.
   Draco’s tongue darted out to meet Harry’s rough tugs, letting out a throaty
noise when Harry’s teeth nipped at it.
   “Have I worked hard enough yet?” Harry teased as his hand wandered. He
brushed over Draco’s beautiful chest, along the side so he could give Draco’s
arse a quick pinch, and down to Draco’s knee before ghosting up to rest on his
groin.
   “Hardly,” Draco teased right back. The swivel chair gave him some room to
lean and unzip his trousers, giving Harry a daring look.
   Harry pushed the fabric of his pants down low enough so he could also get
Draco’s pants down. His cock wasn’t hard yet, but Harry could certainly fix
that.
   He didn’t even bother taking his own pants off, just unzipped them and
pulled his prick free of the fabric before taking both of their lengths in his
hand. His hand moved up their shafts slowly, drawing a shudder out of the both
of them.
   The strokes were steady and heavy. “Fuck,” Draco groaned, an obscene smile
lighting up his face. “That’s it, clench your hand tighter.”
   Harry’s arm pumped even slower just for that little order. The foreskin of
Draco’s cock bunched up under Harry’s hand perfectly, twisting as he came back
up to the heads of their cocks.
   “Harry,” he whined, using his own hand to rub across both of their tips.
   With a breathy laugh, the brunette gave Draco a quick kiss. The man really
was learned in the ways of Harry’s body, and he knew that pushing down hard on
his glans made Harry’s toes curl under. “Draco!” he cried out, nails digging
into the fabric of his robes. “What if—what if someone walks in while I’m—?”
   “I’ll just have to make you come faster, then.”
   Another ecstatic gasp escaped Harry’s lips when Draco’s pressure turned red-
hot, swirling tight circles around the head of Harry’s cock. “Draco!”
   Harry clung to Draco for dear life with each pump of their hands. His robes
were coated in sweat and his hair was most likely an absolute nest, but he
could not have cared less. This was his orgasm, goddammit.
   Closing his eyes, Harry let his hips cant upwards so that he could get the
best of Draco’s warm skin on his and the pressure of his thumb making torturous
laps around Harry’s prickhead.
    Draco and Harry both came at once, splattering their come all over the
fronts of their robes.
   “Draco,” Harry said breathlessly, that smile never leaving his face. “You
just made a hotel meet-up with fifty women sexual.”
   “You know, most straight men would see that as a sexual thing in the first
place,” Draco laughed as he shook some of the white liquid off of his hand and
onto the floor. It was the sort of thing men who had servants clean up after
them their whole life was conditioned to do, and he realized that he’d have to
use a cleaning spell a few seconds later.
   As the spell scrubbed the stains out of their shirts and robes, Harry rolled
his eyes. “What do you even know about heterosexuality?”
   “Actually, I have not a single clue. We’ll have to ask one of these pregnant
teenagers how that works. They’re apparently ace enough at it to procreate.”
   “I don’t even think straight people have sex,” Harry whispered as if it were
some grand conspiracy theory. “I think they just link pinkies or something to
get pregnant.”
   Draco laughed, pressing their foreheads together. “Oh? And how do you know
that?”
   “Have you ever seen a straight couple having sex? I mean, I’ve walked in on
some rather… Personal things between Ron and Hermione, butthankfully, there was
no insertion involved,” Harry grinned, biting back a laugh.
   “Unfortunately, I have seen straight sex.” He shuddered at the thought. “It
was terrifying and I will never forgive Pansy for it.”
   “Who was it with?” It was a sort of morbid interest, Harry knew, but the
chronicles of what were originally just Draco’s friends’ lives and their sex
lives had to be the juiciest gossip around.
   “Some Ravenclaw back in school. I think it was that creepy bloke Ginny went
out with,” Draco mumbled, pushing the memory away. “I screamed, and then his
prick had the decency to go soft inside of her.”
   That was officially too much information. Harry patted Draco’s shoulder and
gave him a look that translated directly to a: ‘Why would you tell someone
that?’ before climbing off of Draco’s lap and into his own swivel chair.
   When the next young candidate knocked on the door, both men had miraculously
managed to shove their members back in their pants for decency’s sake.
   “Hello,” Harry said warmly, wanting to skip right over the starstruck bit.
“Rachel Priestly?”
   Thankfully, rather than screech and jump up and down, the woman nodded; her
clearly freshly-curled locks bouncing with her head movement. “It’s so good to
meet you,” she said, outstretching her palms so that Draco and Harry could both
shake hands with her.
   Draco gave his husband a look. He’d liked the sound of this one, and she’d
been the first to be able to handle herself in front of them. “So,” he turned
to her. “How’s the pregnancy coming along?”
   “I’ve finally gotten over my morning sickness, and the Healers I’ve been
seeing have told me everything is just fine.”
   “Wonderful,” Draco said. If this woman worked out, then everybody would win.
She fit the original genetic profile for Lucius’ taste, and as for Harry’s,
what reason had she given them not to like her? “We’d just like to go over some
preliminary details of the adoption forms to make sure you’re looking for the
same thing that we are.”
   Her green eyes snapped to attention. “Of course, of course.”
   Harry shuffled through the heap of papers in front of him. “Well, you should
know right off the bat that we’re considering a closed adoption.”
   “I’m sorry,” Rachel interjected in such a polite and effortless way that
Draco was reminded of his mother a bit. “But I’m not familiar with any of this.
As I’m sure you’ve read in my file, I wasn’t planning on choosing the route of
adoption.”
   “We’re sorry,” Harry said sincerely. He hoped with all of his heart that he
would never have to feel the pain that Rachel did when her husband died. If
Harry was lucky, he and Draco would both die in their sleep after a night of
old-people snuggling so that one wouldn’t have to miss the other, or bury the
other. “For your loss, I mean. You’re so strong to get through this.”
   Draco threw in a nod of agreement.
   “It’s what’s best for the baby. If you don’t mind me mentioning, you two are
very well off. I have a flower shop that needs marketing before we so much as
sell a single red rose.”
   “It’s brave of you to think for the child,” Harry told her in the utmost
adoration. Even he was finding a favorite in her.
   “Plus,” Rachel shrugged. “I’ll get to hop over and visit whenever you’re not
too busy. I can’t wait for the first birthday party.”
   And there it was, the kiss of death.
   “Well,” Draco said carefully, eyes darting to Harry for some back-up. “You
see, we were looking into a closed adoption to avoid any confusion the child
would have about who their parents are.”
   “And that would mean that you would have no contact with the child,” Harry
followed up. “We could send you pictures or progress reports, but we would be
the only parental figures in their life.”
   Rachel was stunned silent for a moment.
   “Oh. I didn’t know that was what it meant,” she stammered.
   This human being growing inside of her might have her husband’s eyes, or his
laugh, or his croft of dark hair. How could she give up the only living piece
of him in exchange for progress reports?
   “Is this not something you’re interested in?” Draco asked as he tried a
comforting look on his face that probably just made him look tense.
   If that woman worried at her lower lip any longer, it might fall off.
“There’s no way you would consider letting me see the baby?” Rachel asked. When
she cried, she could feel it a mile away. The telltale symptoms of a swollen
throat and shaky hands were there, but the official tears hadn’t come yet. “I
want the baby to know about their father. Someone has to carry on his legacy.”
His life had been too short to carry it on himself.
   Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach that this couldn’t end well. “I
don’t think that’s what we want, sorry.”
   “Maybe,” Draco said as he tried to salvage the one promising interview of
the day. “You could visit and pretend to be a family friend, or an aunt or
uncle.”
   Rachel, eyes now watering and heart now wrapped in what had to be a thousand
jungle vines, shook her head.
   Harry stood to maneuver around the table before Draco could properly
restrain him. “Rachel,” Harry said gently, putting an arm around her shoulder.
   That was all it took.
   Milliseconds later she was a bawling mess, sobbing into Harry’s newly-
cleaned shirtfront. “Rachel,” he tried. “It’s going to be okay, you’ll find a
couple willing to have an open adoption. It’s going to be okay.”
   From his swivel chair, Draco watched in abject horror as his husband tried
to soothe this complete stranger. “Yeah,” he added on to reinforce whatever
Harry was going on about. “I have no doubt that you’ll find someone.”
   As she withdrew her face from the crook of Harry Malfoy-Potter’s shoulder,
Rachel realized what a fool she had been, thinking she could go through with
this. “I’m sorry,” she said again, terribly embarrassed.
   Harry saved the bloody world when he was seventeen, and she barely had it
together at twenty-two. Rachel had hidden in Bulgaria with her parents during
the war’s duration. The whole thing was a sort of dreary blur, except for when
the radio announcement came. Harry Potter has killed Lord Voldemort! We’ve won,
we’ve won!
  “You don’t have to be sorry,” Harry murmured. “This is an emotional process.”
At least he figured it was. “Do you want me to walk you back to the lobby?”
   “No. No, please. You’ve been kind enough already. Thank you for this, even
if it got neither of us anywhere,” Rachel battled through the tears and wiped
them away with her rough jacket sleeve. “I’ve made enough of an idiot of
myself.”
   “We don’t think you’re an idiot,” Draco said as if it were obvious.
   Strangely enough, having the lover of a hero and a world-class Healer
confirming that she wasn’t an idiot made Rachel feel a bit more settled. “Then
you really must be as kind as they say.”
   “’They’? I think The Prophet called me a ‘Raging Disruption’ yesterday.”
   “No,” she laughed, never having read that paper after the war. “I mean,
people you’ve met. Even if it’s for a second or two. Before I came here, I
asked around. Shop owners, friends, family, and more had seen you or met you at
one point or another. I don’t know if you remember her, but my sister, she made
a domestic call to the Auror department.” Rachel turned to Harry. “You arrived
on the scene and you hexed the living shit out of that bastard who had her
under his spell. Literally. He gave her a love potion. Then, you checked up on
her every weekend to make sure she was doing alright.”
   “I remember that case,” Draco marveled. “You came home ranting about consent
and misogyny that night.”
   “Is there a night where I don’t rant about consent and misogyny?”
   Draco pretended to try and think of one to get a laugh out of Rachel.
   “Thank you,” she said again. It felt a bit like a break-up. We just don’t
want the same things.
   When she exchanged a few more goodbyes, Rachel was out of the door for good.
   Draco and Harry both would never know what happened to her, or what she
ultimately did with that baby, but they wished her well all the same.
   “Fuck,” Harry muttered as he walked back to his swivel chair.
   Draco couldn’t help but agree.
   The next couple of women were luckily less dramatic, ranging from an uptown
girl in khakis to a Syrian-born woman who had to use her wand as a translator.
   Some were ruled out, and some were kept in the pool, but none quite stood
out.
   In all honesty, Draco was holding out his hope for Rachel coming back to the
hotel and telling them she’d changed her mind. That hope died when he saw the
final candidate walk through the door.
   “Well, well, well.”
   Grace pretended Draco’s little jab at her didn’t even happen. “So good to
see you two again. That’s a decadent robe, Draco, you really are a winter.”
   “A what?”
   “Hush,” Draco said to his husband. He could explain color palettes later. “I
want to get this over with quickly.”
   Harry had adjusted the questions over time with each slightly failed
interview, and he’d gotten a routine pretty well-memorized. “You are aware that
this is a closed adoption?”
   “Yes,” Grace answered happily, her ankles crossed under her swivel chair.
That pregnancy of hers made crossing her legs at the thighs much more
difficult. “You can tell the thing I died in a fire-related accident or a drug
overdose for all I care.”
   “That won’t be necessary,” Draco cut in. “If they want to seek you out when
they’re eighteen, we’ll contact you first to make sure you even want to be
found.”
   “Perfect,” she chirped. At least she hadn’t committed a major faux pas like
she had almost every other time Draco and Harry were involved. Well, she hadn’t
committed one yet.
   “And you’d be comfortable with us paying the medical bills and monitoring
you closely?”
   “Of course. If you wanted, I could even get a flat closer to you or
something,” she offered, knowing how hospitable Gryffindors were at heart. They
could never let the possible mother of their child sleep in destitution, right?
   “That wouldn’t be necessary,” Harry shrugged, making the mistake of not
checking with Draco first. “You could always stay—“
   “Somewhere. We’d find a place for you somewhere,” Draco finished. “Now,
about prenatal regiments…”
   Refusing to meet the eyes of the young girl who’s t-shirt didn’t quite fit
because of the growth around her girth, Draco went on.
   She gave a wonderful response to every wonderfully-crafted question, much to
his distaste. He could see how Grace bloody Burbage was growing on his husband.
   The worst part was, Draco knew it was for good reason. No matter how rude,
obnoxious, or self-obsessed she was… She was what they were looking for in a
legal contract.
   She’d made it to round two based on that, but on no raving review from
Draco.
***** Werewolf Style *****
Chapter Notes
     AP tests are over. I am a FREE WOMAN. Drarry is the only thing that
     got me through these past few weeks. Those crazy boys sure do light
     up my heart. Anyway, here they are again! Thanks so much for reading
     this.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter 16: Werewolf Style
   Remus had said he would come down to the station around lunchtime, and Harry
didn’t want to press him for a specific time. He was already asking enough of
the man.
   When Harry had originally popped over to Grimmauld Place, he’d been met with
a dirt-coated Sirius at the door. With a wild grin on his face, his godfather
waved him inside.
   “Harry, you have to see this.”
   Knowing Sirius was always up to something worth hearing about, Harry wanted
to finally witness it rather than hear a swarthy tale from Remus at a family
dinner. Sometimes, Harry wished he could spend more time with the two men. The
urge to know what his own brief toddler-hood had been grew with time, but the
catalyst was when Lucius gave him the resurrection stone before he walked down
the aisle.
   Harry kept the story of the three brothers in mind every time he looked at
his nightstand drawer. If he let himself see his parents every day—in their
spectral form, entirely untouchable and unearthly—Harry knew it wouldn’t be
healthy.
   Harry would want them there all the time, then. He’d realize just how
starved he was for parenting and cling to them even harder than he had already
begun to cling to Remus, Sirius, Molly, Arthur, Lucius, and Narcissa as
parental figures in their own rights.
   The stone had only been used twice after Harry and Draco’s wedding: once
when Draco got particularly curious about meeting his in-laws, and once after a
particularly bad encounter with the press.
   Anyway, Harry had followed Sirius down the brightly-lit corridor to the
backyard they’d built to see what could really only be described as a massive
hole in the ground next to a neat and orderly garden. Remus’ handiwork was
evident in the rows of carrots and potato plants alongside blossoming begonias.
   Sirius pointed to the hole proudly. “I dug that! Well, as Padfoot, but I
kept telling everyone we didn’t need a contractor!”
   “Sure proved us wrong,” Olivia laughed from a lawn chair, ankles crossed and
her nose in a book.
  Remus had emerged from his study moments later to laugh at the development in
his renovations. If Walburga had seen the mess Sirius had made, she would have
fainted, which would have made everyone else involved incredibly happy.
   Harry had pulled him aside to murmur about the Fenwick case, and he’d seen
the eyes that were often so full of laughter darken, like they had when Harry
had met him in third year.
   “Ron,” Harry said, needing something to distract him from the sinking
feeling in his stomach. “How’s Rosie doing?”
   When Ron Weasley got started talking about one of his beautiful, perfect
children, it was hard to stop him. “She’s great, absolutely great, crawling and
everything. She’s a fast one, too! Always blabbing n about ‘mama’ and ‘dada’, I
think she’s going to be a real genius like her mum.”
   “Aw.” That was cute.
   “And once her little brother comes around, we’ll have two geniuses.”
   Harry grinned. “You know, most of the women we’re looking at have a due date
around Hermione’s,” he said, hushed and excited. “Our little geniuses could be
going to Hogwarts in the same year.”
   That was the sort of news that Ron was looking for about this adoption.
“They’ll be in Gryffindor like we were,” he decided. “Except this time, they
won’t fear for their lives or go to war. Nothing can hurt them now that
Hogwarts is finally safe.”
   “Yeah,” Harry smiled. Rose, the new Weasley, and Draco and Harry’s child.
The new Golden Trio.
   The knock on the door jarred Harry from his daydreams. “Come in,” Ron called
before exchanging a look with Harry. Ron really hoped that this wouldn’t go too
terribly not only for Remus’ sake, but for Harry’s. His best mate tended to
blame himself for all the wrong in the world, and Remus Lupin had experience a
world of wrong in his lifetime.
   “Oh,” Harry said, shocked. The figure in the door wasn’t his lycanthrope
godfather in the slightest.
   It was a thin, pale boy that seemed sort of familiar. Only when Ron stood up
to stare down the young man did he remember where he and Harry had seen them
last. “You,” Ron said, confused. “We arrested you.”
   The crop of jet-black hair on his head swished when he nodded. It was even
more unruly than it had been on the beach, flopping in front of his eyes. “You
did,” he muttered.
   “Who let you in here?” Harry asked, getting to his feet. Not just anyone
could barge into the Head Auror’s office. Quickly, he rang for the intern that
watched the door by pressing the button under his desk.
   “I didn’t hurt anybody,” the young boy defended, taking a step back. “I only
came here to apologize.”
   “To apologize?” Ron laughed, drawing his wand. That was a new one, but it
still smacked of a complete lie.
   “Yes,” the boy said. “I wasn’t the one who hexed your Auror friend, and I
felt bad that it happened. The hex was meant for me, was all.”
   “Well, congratulations. You’ve apologized and you can leave now,” Ron
snarked.
   Harry furrowed his brow and lowered his own wand. “Your friend got charged,
then?”
   “Yeah, his mum nearly ripped him a new one. He won’t be released from a
juvie center until Hogwarts starts back up again, but I tried to run. I gave
you a hard time. I’m sorry,” he muttered, lacking any of the articulation that
age would give him. What was it with teens and mumbling?
   “Well… You’re forgiven? It wasn’t that serious, you really don’t need to be
so upset.”
   He shook his mop head of hair again. “No, I’ve got to man up to some stuff,
and this is just the first on my list.”
   From behind the young man, the guest that Ron and Harry had actually been
expecting appeared. “Sean?” Remus asked, confused as to why one of his students
was looking bashfully at the ground of the Auror department. “What are you
doing here?”
   “I was just—“
   “Young man,” the intern who Harry had called huffed. “I’m going to need to
escort you from the building.”
   The office had never been filled with such a strange diversity of people.
The intern pulled the boy out of the room by his elbow before Remus could even
get an answer to his question.
   “You know him?” Ron asked, snorting out a laugh before shutting out the
madness by closing the door behind the intern.
   “He’s one of my students.” Certainly not the brightest, or the best, or the
most responsible… “He’ll be graduating next year, and I’ve been tutoring him
over the summer.”
   Harry, feeling rather disoriented by the run-in, sat back down on the black
leather couch Draco had insisted he’d put in his workplace for quickie shagging
reasons. “Strange kid,” Harry decided, sweeping away the incident for the sake
of focus. “Now, Remus.”
   The lycanthrope took a seat next to Harry and rested his arm around his
shoulders. They would get this over with quickly and hopefully painlessly.
“What did the note say?”
   Ron handed him the slip of paper from the desk.
   “’Another scream from the vault’,” Remus read aloud. No wonder Harry and Ron
couldn’t crack it; it made no discernible sense. “I assume you’ve already
looked into the Nott bank vaults.”
   “Theo emptied them out, actually. He kept half for himself and gave half of
it away.” The half he kept was more than enough to keep him rich for the better
part of a thousand years, too. “So if anything was there, I think Theo would
have noticed a body part a few years ago.”
   “Vault…” Remus murmured. “Vault. Why does that sound so familiar?”
   “We were hoping you could tell us that,” Harry said gently.
   “It sounds familiar. It was something Sirius used to talk about in school, I
can remember him at lunch saying something to me about it,” Remus remembered as
he tried his hardest to wrack his brain. He plunged deep into memories of shaky
hands around Sirius’ waist, laughing nervously when Sirius snuck a kiss in
against his jaw after a full moon to assure him nobody had been hurt, and that
everything was alright.
   Something clicked. “It couldn’t be.”
   “Couldn’t be what?” Ron asked. Finally, some sort of lead.
   “The Shrieking Shack. When I transformed there, Wormtail always brought a
spare set of clothes and hid them in what used to be an old safe in the home.
One time, Sirius accidentally left something in there. I think it was a watch.
He called it the ‘Vault’ so that we could complain about it in public without
letting the whole world know that I was the reason for the howling in the
Shack.”
   Harry was on the edge of his seat by the time he finished. “Let’s go, then.”
   They were one step closer to closing the case, which was certainly enough
progress for Harry.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Somehow, this reminded Draco of that muggle television show he and Harry had
watched that winter. There were twenty-or-so models, and they were all
competing for some representation and money. What was it called?
   “Britain’s Next Top Model,” he remembered out loud as he put the files and
photos of perspective mothers back into their designated place on the kitchen
counter.
   “Hm?” Pansy asked absentmindedly as she rummaged through Draco’s
refrigerator for a tub of ice cream.
   “Nothing,” Draco assured her as if she were actually listening.
   Blaise stood on his tip-toes to peek over Pansy’s shoulder. “Is there any
mint chocolate-chip?”
   “Mint is disgusting,” she scolded as she pulled out a tub of strawberry.
“It’s like an evergreen assault on your mouth.”
   “Agreed,” Draco nodded. He hated when Harry forgot to get a different flavor
of toothpaste or charm his toothpaste to something less horrific. Snogging
Draco was a privilege and a pleasure, and his approval was important.
   “You two are disgusting,” Blaise decided before sulking over to the parlor
so that he wouldn’t have to suffer through a bowl of that fruity nonsense. “And
I am shocked that I am still friends with you.”
   Pansy rolled her eyes. “I’ll bring you a shot of vodka sans ice cream,
then.”
   “It’s the least you could do,” he nodded, keeping his teasing grin planted
on his face.
   When the Slytherins all made their way back to the parlor to join Blaise, he
had moved on from moping in the sake of alcohol. Their little get-together had
been inspired by the prospect of drinking, anyway.
   Greg, Maggie, and Theo all had things to do, but that didn’t stop their
friends from getting foxed in the middle of the afternoon like the socialites
they used to be.
   “Bottoms up,” Draco said before dipping his spoon in the alcohol-filled and
freezing delight to send it down his throat. It was an unnaturally hot summer
day in London, and the chill in his throat was more than welcome.
   Blaise swallowed his own drink in seconds while Pansy downed her own ice
cream mix.
   “Ah. It’s a familiar feeling, inebriation in the afternoon,” she reminisced.
   “Late afternoon,” Draco stressed.
   “Let’s play a game.”
   Blaise rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, you want to play truth or dare?” It
was well-known that Pansy was an expert at the game and its number one fan. In
her opinion, if games didn’t leave other people vulnerable or humiliated, there
was no real point to them at all.
   Debauchery, food, drink, and comedy. They were the only things Pansy saw as
beautiful aside from her own face in a mirror—and Maggie’s, of course.
   “I’ll ask our host first,” Pansy giggled. “Draco?”
   “I’m not drunk enough for a dare yet.”
   “Fine, truth. If you were to create the perfect porno, as in, perfect
actors, perfect set, perfect plot, perfect orgasms and everything, how would it
go?” she prompted.
   Draco laughed and scooped some more ice cream into his mouth. “Hm. It’d have
to be incredibly specific.”
   Pansy nodded eagerly. “Go on, then.”
   “Okay, so two blokes have been dating for a while now. One is the absolute
definition of a teenage twink: thin, pale, hairless—“
   “That sounds like a naked mole-rat,” Blaise laughed as he refilled his
glass.
   Pansy snickered with him. “Asexy naked mole-rat. Anyway, continue.”
   “And the other bloke is fit. Not muscular like every other fucking porn has,
but fit like he runs track and plays Quidditch. Often. He’s defined, but he’s
not a meathead. They’re both really into each other and see a future with one
another, even though I’d like the age gap to be at least twelve years.”
   “Woah, what?”
   “Calm down, Blaise. Just because you’re six months older than me doesn’t
mean I’m coming after you.”
   “I just didn’t know you were into older men,” Blaise said. “That’s the
definition of daddy issues, you know. And you married a man a monthyounger than
you.”
   “I’m married, I’m not dead,” Draco scoffed. Harry was beautiful and young
and gorgeous and absolutely perfect in every way that Draco could name, but
sometimes, a dark and aged gentleman across a bar earned a proper checking-out
from Draco. “And believe me, the last thing I’m thinking about when I’m horny
is my father.”
   That at least got a laugh out of Blaise and Pansy. “Touché,” the other man
said. “Then I’m just going to assume it’s residual attraction to Sirius and
Remus.”
   “That—“ Pansy howled with laughter. “Is so wrong that it’s almost right!”
   “Sirius is my aunt-cousin-thing! I know the Malfoys and the Blacks alike
have a history of interfamilial marriages, but come on,” Draco scolded
playfully. Sure, his ‘auntie’ was hot, but Draco had his limits and boundaries.
“Anyway, so these two blokes are getting home from a date or whatever and
they’re at the twink’s flat and—“
   “You’re technically not related to Remus by blood,” Blaise pointed out.
   “He’s hot,” Pansy announced as if the whole room needed to know what was on
her mind.
   Draco gave them both weary looks. “You’re insane, the both of you.”
   “Oh, come on! You remember third year. He was scraggily and listened to
jazz.”
   “He’s still scraggy and listens to jazz,” Blaise nodded sagely. “So by that
logic, he is still definitely hot.”
   “This is not about you two having repressed sexual fantasies for your
Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; this is about my porno!” Draco sighed.
“Now if we can move on and let Harry’s fairy godmothers be, that would be much
less emotionally scarring for all of us.”
   Pansy looked into her empty bowl and decided that wasn’t acceptable, so she
marched back to the kitchen for some more food. “I’m still stuck on that fact
that Remus is hot.”
   “So the guys are making out because they’re hot, not my uncle, and they rip
each other’s clothes off as they stumble to the bedroom—“
   “—Two handsome older men like that, Remus and Sirius,” Pansy marveled.
“Their sex must be fantastic and—“
   “—as a frisky joke, the fit bloke, let’s call him Ben, gives the twink a
little spank—“
   “—wonder if Olivia has ever overheard any of that. Would it be terribly rude
to ask her? Or should I wait until she starts getting into liking freaky stuff
like two men—“
   “—and then they absolutely just go wild. They don’t even talk about it, but
Ben summons some restraints and ties the other bloke up on his stomach—“
   “—definitely walked in on them at one point. I can see it in McGonagall’s
eyes. Whenever she looks at Remus and Sirius, I can just feel her thought
process, you know? I can just feel that she’s seen their cocks—“
   The shouting battle of rants between Draco and Pansy escalated on both sides
in a manner that quite frankly impressed Blaise Zabini. It spanned over an hour
and over several, several drinks.
   “And Ben is just shagging his brains out, I mean really fucking him hard
while they’re both screaming while the twink is just yelling out ‘master’—!”
   “—What position do you Remus and Sirius do it in the most?”
   Blaise had to answer that. “Doggy style.”
   Even Draco couldn’t hold back a horrible laugh at that. “Blaise!”
   “No, no, no,” Blaise slurred drunkenly over his previous statement.
“Werewolf style.”
   Pansy found that pun so delightful that she actually shrieked. “Blaise!” she
yelled out, leaning up against her friend until her laughter subsided.
“That—that is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard! Holy shit. Holy shit!”
   “Get out of my house,” Draco told them both without any intention of
following through on his demand.
   When it seems the front door had answered Draco’s plea, even he was a little
startled.
   “Harry!” Draco greeted him, leaping to his feet so he could hug him in a
drunken display of affection. “You’re home and you smell nice. I’ve decided we
need to purchase a film studio because I am a genius with porn.”
   “What?”
   “Don’t look at me like that, it won’t be oursex tape I’m producing. We’re
going to have children, and children grow into teens that view and read porn,
and I want there to be a zero percent possibility of them seeing us having
sex,” he clarified.
   Well, that was sort of comforting, Harry figured. “You’re drunk,” he said
fondly. “And you have the morning shift tomorrow.” What a dumbarse. A lovable,
foxed dumbarse.
   “Right,” Draco mumbled, suddenly feeling sleepy. “I’m going to go to bed
then, darling. Sweetheart. Harry-pie.”
   “Harry!” Blaise yelled, eyes wild. “Want to hear a joke about Remus and
Sirius?”
   “No,” Draco laughed as he hushed Blaise. There were certain things that had
to stay between Slytherins. “He does not want to hear that, and he is taking me
to bed.”
   “Like Ben took the twink to bed? Or are you Ben in this situation?” Pansy
asked, head pleasantly swimming in a sea of ethanol.
   Before Harry could ask what being the ‘Ben’ in a relationship meant, Draco
gave him a sloppy line of kisses on the jaw. “Non-sexual bed,” Draco clarified.
“I am being tucked in!”
   “Right this way, then,” Harry laughed, taking his lover by the arm and
chuckling. “You had a fun play-date, I assume?”
   He laughed right back as Harry guided Draco’s heavy feet up the stairs. “Oh,
Salazar. Don’t use that term so early in the years of children. Years, Harry.
Years of play-dates with the Weasleys and the Lupins and the Longbottoms and
the Creeveys and the Browns…”
   Draco went on listing last names as Harry went through the process of
getting him down to only his underwear and kissing him goodnight.
   Downstairs, Pansy’s game wasn’t over yet. “Your turn.”
   “Truth,” Blaise said to keep safe from any risqué dares. The last thing he
needed was getting naked in the Potter-Malfoy home like Pansy would most likely
make him do.
   “If you,” Pansy murmured slowly, leaning in as every word came to her.
“Could cheat on Ginny, and know you wouldn’t get caught—“
   “Like, one-hundred percent sure?”
   “You knew it. Like, it was virtually impossible for her to know, would you
do it?” she asked.
   “Wouldn’t you?”
   Pansy laughed and rolled her eyes. “This is not about me, Zabini. This is
about you and the Golden Girl.” Plus, Pansy had all she needed, strangely
enough.
    With a drunken smile, Blaise nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I’d never want to,
y’know, hurt her and stuff, but if I could without her ever knowing…”
   “You dog,” Pansy giggled, voice in that gossipy tone she took on whenever
scandal entered Pansy’s line of vision. “Who with?”
   “That wasn’t the question,” he retorted happily. “Because it’s your turn
now.”
   Pansy didn’t even hesitate. “Dare.”
   “I dare you to tell me if you’d cheat on Maggie if you knew you could get
away with it.”
   “What a waste of a dare,” Pansy snorted. She’d been hoping to get dared to
dance, or cut all of her hair off. The sort of thing she wouldn’t do whilst
sober and would immediately regret in the morning. “I would not.”
   “Never?”
   “I like Maggie. If I didn’t like Maggie, I wouldn’t be with her.” It was
simple, honestly. “If I ever saw someone that I wanted to cheat with badly
enough, I would leave her. That’s at least respectful, I suppose.”
   “And you don’t even miss blokes?” Blaise asked after a moment.
   Pansy kicked her chartreuse heels up on the coffee table. “What would you
know about blokes?” she teased. “You’ve only seen your own cock.”
   “Yes.” That was true, except for the one time Vince flashed him in the
locker-room. “And I’ve been told it does pretty fantastic things to a woman,”
he grinned before gulping down a nearby bottle of firewhiskey.
   “Oh, don’t flatter yourself.”
   “You do almost every day, Parkinson.”
   With a burst of laughter, Pansy figured that was true, but she really didn’t
care. “Yeah, but if you think repeatedly shoving a prick into a girl’s twat is
the best way to make her come without any other assistance, I pity the sex
you’re having. I don’t miss blokes because Maggie is better than most blokes,
and if I ever want to get fucked, we have quite a collection of toys.”
   “Oh.”
   “Exactly,” she smirked, rather pleased with herself and her lesbian sex.
   A moment of silence lingered in the air between them. It felt stale, and far
too long for Pansy, but she was interrupted by Blaise’s question.
   “Is it bad? That I would want to cheat on Ginny?”
   “Yeah, I guess,” she shrugged. It wasn’t as if she was a deity of morality,
but that was crossing a line.
   Blaise put his head in his hands, feeling the onset of a headache. “I
wouldn’t want to upset her. I really, really fancy her. She’s great, and I
don’t want to lose that. But…”
   “You want to fuck other people.”
   “I want to fuck other people. I don’t think I was built for monogamy, Pansy.
She could sleep with other people, too. We could have one of those open
relationship things! Yeah, it’d be fair, and we could even try threesomes.
Salazar, I love threesomes. And swingers parties. And orgies.”
   Descending the stairs, Harry laughed. “All I heard was ‘orgies’,” he
informed them before walking around to collect the empty bottle and glasses.
“You two good enough to floo home?”
   “Yeah,” Pansy and Blaise answered quickly, standing on their wobbly feet to
pad their way over to the fireplace.
   “Goodnight, then,” Harry said, feeling strange about why they had been so
prickly in responding to him.
   Pansy gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Take care of my Dray-Dray,” she
told him with such a serious tone and a drunken intonation that Harry
immediately laughed away any doubt as to their sincerity.
   “I’m sure he’d appreciate you calling him that.”
   Blaise was the first to floo away, but Pansy wasn’t far behind. She gave
Harry a last tiny wave before disappearing from the home entirely.
   Harry hadn’t had a clue what conversation had gone on in his parlor, which
was greatly in Blaise’s favor. Harry would deck the fucker who cheated on his
friend.
   Dropping the final bottles in the garbage, Harry climbed back up the stairs
to his warm, welcoming bed already occupied by his snoring husband.
   
Chapter End Notes
     I don't think you understand how hard I laugh whenever I make a dumb
     werewolf style joke about wolfstar
     I fucking cackle.
***** Unexpected *****
Chapter Notes
     Oh. My. Drarry. Bridezillas’ Marriage Boot Camp is on my television
     at this very second. This is the show that started it all! When I
     looked into the eyes of an entitled bride with too much money and too
     many anxiety problems, I saw Draco Malfoy screaming at a waiter.
     Bridezillas gives me hope for the human race, man. Look at how far
     we’ve come as a species. God bless us everyone one.
     TW for descriptions of torture
Chapter 17: Unexpected
   It was hard to focus on complete and utter idiots with medical problems when
Draco’s husband had told him that they’d found a fucking femur bone in the
shrieking shack.
   Pillow talk about Harry’s job could be fun sometimes. He’d tell Draco
swarthy tales of arrests, convictions, and patrols. Drunken broom-riding
arrests were funny, bad breakups ending up in the hands of Aurors were funny,
and animal control cases were funny. Femur bones? Not even slightly funny.
There was no irony, no grace, and no humor (Draco considered making a joke
about humor bones, but it seemed in poor taste).
   Benjy Fenwick’s femur bone was in a cupboard in the Shrieking Shack, and had
been for thirty years.
   It had been sitting there when Remus returned to the shack in 1985 to rip up
an old floorboard that had pictures of him and Sirius together and burn them in
the fireplace in the shack.
   It had been there nearly ten years later in 1994 when Remus and Sirius had
reunited in the shack only to attempt group murder in front of their godson and
his two hapless friends.
   It had been rotting and decaying down to the bone the whole time, and nobody
noticed. Nobody wanted to look there, not even Remus. The last thing he needed
was the smell of Sirius’ clothes, or to find the notebook of drawings that
James had kept down there. Most of the drawings were of Lily’s hair from
various angles, and it would have only made Remus cry.
   Harry only knew that because of the way his hazel eyes got glassy when they
found the notebook. It was under an old band shirt of Sirius’, and a pair of
Peter’s socks which were promptly tossed to the side.
   The older man had apparated a way so fast with the notebook in hand that he
didn’t even get a chance to look at the scribbled hint that Nott Sr. had left
next to the bone.
   Draco had no idea what to say after Harry told him all of that. What were
you supposed to say to something like that? There was no hand-guide for this
just like there had been no hand-guide for overcoming the trauma the rest of
the war had left behind it.
   That night, Draco decided he would make pasta. He’d make meatballs and get a
loaf of Italian bread from the store to go with it.
   After mentally categorizing what spices he would use in the tomato sauce and
how much, Draco figured he needed to get around to some of the witches and
wizards waiting in the clinic for a Healer to bother with their complaints of
‘mysterious arm aches’ and ‘purple toes and gums’.
   At least that was what the last two had been.
   “How did you…?” Draco asked, looking at the magic scanner feeling a mixture
of disturbed and distressed.
   The little boy on his table shrugged, and his mother rolled her eyes. “The
babysitter left him alone my husband’s office while she went to answer an owl
from her boyfriend, and… Well, when she came back, Robert had already swallowed
it.”
   “I can see that.”
   The scanner showed the tiny silver elephant figurine resting in the boy’s
stomach. “It kinda feels like it’s taking a bath in my tummy,” little Robert
said.
   “My husband got it as a gift from his last business trip from India,”
explained the mother.
   “I can get it out,” Draco assured her before pressing on to satisfy his own
curiosity. “Robert, why did you think it was a good idea to swallow something
that wasn’t food?”
   He shrugged. “It looked shiny.” Draco, for a brief moment, prayed to a god
he didn’t believe in for his own child to never be that stupid. “I like shiny
things. You should have seen mommy’s face when I swallowed her sickle.”
   Draco’s eyes widened. “This isn’t the first time this has happened?” That
was a whole new level of stupid.
   “No,” she sighed, embarrassed by her son’s behavior. “We keep telling him
how unhealthy it is, and we can usually get the objects out ourselves, but the
problem today is that the elephant has quite a pointy tail, as you can see. I
didn’t want anything that wasn’t supposed to get pricked get pricked.”
   “Robert,” Draco said gently as he wheeled over a medical supply table to get
a protective mask over his face. This was going to smell foul. “I need you to
relax so I can get the elephant out. You say he’s swimming, but I think he’s
drowning. Then when he’s safe we can talk about why you ate him, okay?”
   Wriggling into a comfy spot on the patient slab, the little boy nodded.
   Careful as ever, Draco lifted his wand and remembered his training. The
incantation left his lips without a flaw as the tip of his wand lit up green as
a tendril of magic energy reached out for Robert’s stomach.
   The metal elephant was on the table in a matter of seconds, dropping to it
with a loud clang.
   Draco was glad for whatever resistance his small blue face mask offered him,
because there was also about a teaspoon of stomach acid that came with it. At
least it hadn’t been a tablespoon.
   “Ellie!” the boy cried and reached for the figurine before Draco could swat
his hand away.
   “Not now. We’ll have to clean it, and you’ll need to have a talk with one of
our best pediatricians.”
   His mother looked concerned at that. “I’m not sure if our insurance—“
   “Don’t worry about it,” Draco assured them. Something within him was willing
to work around the limitations of galleons for a boy who seemed destined to
choke on a golf club. “I can get this little guy an appointment.”
   Oh, if Lucius saw him now his shrewd heart would break. Not only was his son
a Gryffindor-loving queer, but his fist around the family fortune wasn’t half
as tight as Lucius’.
   That was an admittedly good thing, because Lucius was wound tightly in just
about every aspect of his life. Money, tradition, and family were the top
three, but peafowl breeding was probably rather high on the list, too.
   Those damn things had been going at it like rabbits at the Manor.
    As Draco shipped off the boy and his mother to another Healer who could
specialize in whatever sort of psychological help a boy who guzzled down
everything from tin to aluminum. Maybe he thought it would make him shiny.
   A little stripper glitter could solve that problem. In fact, it could solve
many global conflicts in Draco’s humble opinion. Maybe countries wouldn’t be
upset enough to bomb each other if the UN held strip club meetings.
   Contemplating his new solution for world peace, Draco went back out into the
clinic waiting room.
   The people there had nearly doubled. What the hell was in the air that day?
   “Next,” Draco called half-heartedly, not one bit too happy to see his next
patient bound towards him with an enthusiasm that should only be reserved for
fantastic food and fantastic sex.
   “Can I get your autograph?” she asked excitedly before Draco calmly walked
back into the clinic room, slammed the door shut, and apparated away for a
little ‘union break’.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Remus had agreed to meet with the Auror squad later that night, since this
clue was even more ridiculous than the rest. It was detailed, and long, and
made Harry’s stomach churn to read.
   Hello, Half-breed,
   Harry would have to hold Sirius back from running back to Azkaban just to
deck the bastard.Nobodycalled his Moony a half-breed.
   I’ve been informed that you’re the one digging up parts of your dear friend.
Lucky for you, I’ve got enough parts to go around for an eternity. You wouldn’t
believe how he screamed.
   He yelled out your name at some point, too. Yours and your ickle blood-
traitor boyfriend’s, like you two would swoop in and save him. It really was a
shame that Regulus and that bastard are related.
   Well, were related. Your brother-in-law, as I imagine you’ve deduced, is no
longer. Both sons of Black are a disappointment to their family, and soon
they’ll both be dead. Maybe I’ll cut him up and give you hints for where to
find him; maybe then you’d wise up and move faster with these hints. I’m very
generous in giving you clues, and I always had to hear at school how bloody
brilliant you were.
   Anyway, I always could wind up cutting you up and leaving the pieces for
Black to pick up, so that’s why I’m speaking directly to you. You haven’t got
much longer to live, Lupin. I wanted to let you know that you’re not half as
smart as McGonagall likes to think you are before I kill you.
   You Order runts always die too proudly for my taste.
   If you want the tail of the piggy I slaughtered, then you have to look at
where the last happy day all of you spent together was. It’s buried by the
lake.
  Harry wanted to tear off the top part so that Remus could never read it.
Harry wanted to kill Marcus Nott. Harry wanted a lot of things.
   Tom Riddle had always disgusted him for obvious reasons, but there was logic
to behind why Riddle did what he did. He was born while his mother was under
the effects of a love potion. He was a product of rape, and at least a thousand
defects had to come from the potion. Sometimes, on better days, Harry felt
sorry for him.
   The kind of person Harry would never feel sorry for were sadists. Bellatrix,
Nott Sr., Crouch, the lot of them were monsters.
   They enjoyed hurting people, and not in the way that Draco enjoyed hurting
Harry in bed. That was consensual and mutually beneficially. People often
mistook that sort of sadism for the levels that people like Rabastan Lestrange
felt. They blamed BDSM for triggering violence, when Harry always thought of it
as romantic.
   And just like that, Harry’s thoughts were back on Draco.
   Draco’s hands, Draco’s lips, that trunk of sex toys they’d yet to unpack in
the new house…
   When Harry thought of Draco, he didn’t want to kill anybody anymore. Not
even Marcus Nott. Being with Draco was like having someone yank him out of the
water he was drowning in, falling deeper with each road bump and tragedy he
encountered in his life. Draco always pulled him up.
   All Harry wanted to do was go home and see him after a day of paperwork
about Benjy Fenwick, a person, who had been reduced to a bone. But he couldn’t
go home while he was on patrol.
   At least that was what a break to clear your mind was in Auror Speak. It
really was silly that the Ministry paid for Aurors to walk around London
aimlessly just to remind everyone that the law was omnipresent.
   It reminded Harry of some muggle movie he once watched where the government
put chips in people’s heads to make sure they didn’t break the law. Madness.
   At least he had actually cleared his mind rather than stewed over the
letter.
   Also, Remus and Sirius hadn’t died. Ha! What a spite to Nott that must have
turned out to be, considering he was stuck in a cell for the rest of his
miserable life. That was hardly a life at all.
   Yet another spite against Nott was his son. Theo had grown up to be the
opposite of him, and wouldn’t even pass on the Nott name when he married. It
would die with him, and it would make Marcus furious.
   For that, Harry let himself smile. Theo was the gayest.
   While silently celebrating and appreciating his friend’s sexuality, Harry
almost forgot to watch where he was going.
   He walked right into a man staring at a window display of robes.
   “Oh, sorry, I—“ the other man said nervously, only seeing the Auror
insignia. If he was caught like this, then he knew it would be hell all over
again.
   Dudley Dursley wasn’t even supposed to know about wizards, let alone be
prowling around wizarding parts of town.
   “Harry?”
   “Dudley?”
   “Holy shit,” he laughed nervously at his cousin. “I thought they were going
to kick me out of here again. I had no idea you were one of the wizard police.”
   “I’m actually Head Auror.” Okay, maybe it was bragging, but Dudley had been
a little shit to him in childhood and some showing off of Harry’s success felt
warranted.
   Dudley nodded. “Cool. That’s, uh, cool. How’ve you been?”
   “What are you doing here?” Harry asked, knowing it was rude the second he
said it. The wonderful part was that he didn’t care about being rude to a
Dursley.
   “Um.” Dudley looked around nervously. “Look, I just don’t want to get caught
in another magic place and have them try to erase my memory, okay? I’ll explain
somewhere else.”
   Though the whole thing struck him as bizarre, but Harry needed answers as to
what the hell ‘Big D’ was doing even thinking about magic after Auntie Petunia
had made him detest it so much as a child.
   He led Dudley out of the small collection of wizarding shops to a nearby
muggle restaurant chain. It was all bright colors and screaming kids playing on
some whirring and buzzing machines in the west wing of the restaurant, and
exhausted-looking parents on the east side that seemed grateful for the break.
   “Suzy loves this place,” Dudley remarked as he grabbed a seat, seemingly
familiar with the setting.
   “Suzy?” Was that a girlfriend or something?
   Dudley whipped out his wallet to reveal a parade of pictures. It was the
first time Harry had really gotten to look at his cousin in a long, long time.
   He’d lost a great deal of the baby fat that haunted him and replaced it all
with muscle. His body reflected his hobby of wrestling, which he enjoyed
comparing to fight club in order to escape the boredom of his day job of
accounting.
   In the pictures, he was next to a woman with rosy cheeks and a wide smile.
There was a wedding photo, a photo of a baby in her arms at the hospital, and a
collection of pictures of the little girl as she grew. In the last one, she
looked about three.
   “She’s beautiful,” Harry said quietly, feeling a pang in his heart when he
realized Dudley had kids before him.
   “Trying to hit on my wife, Potter?” Dudley teased with a sniveling smile
that strangely enough had no malice to it like it used to.
   “Oh, obviously. You know how crazy I am about women.”
   Dudley nodded. “So you’re still…?”
   “Gay? What?” he laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be? That’s not the sort of thing
that changes with age, you know. It’s a bit of a permanent fix.”
   “Sorry!” he apologized quickly, putting his hands up defensively.
   Oh, Harry could smell this spiel from a mile away. Straight men had been
saying the exact same thing to him for years, and Ron had actually been the
only one to spare him this talk.
   “I just, uh, wanted to make sure. I don’t think it’s a choice! It’s totally
not! I support, like, gay rights and stuff, you know? My wife, Theresa, she has
these two lesbian friends from work. Their wedding was really nice, and that
should be legalized everywhere, you know? It’s only right—“
   “Dudley.”
   It really was a wonder to Harry why the man who’d picked on him so much as a
kid was so concerned with offending him. In reality, it was because Dudley had
picked on Harry so much. It was simple and overwhelming guilt. “Sorry,” the
burly man laughed.
   “Don’t be,” Harry shrugged. That was what he was trying to say when he
stopped him.
   “Do you, er, have a boyfriend?”
   What the hell was this, twenty questions? “I have a husband, yeah.”
   “Oh! Congratulations, mate,” Dudley said nervously. Oh, if Draco were here,
the hate that would be radiating off of his body.
   He was just the slow, bumbling sort that Draco despised, and he had at one
point bullied Harry Potter. That was his job and his job only.
   “Tell me what you’re doing on this side of town.”
   “It’s Suzy,” Dudley murmured, realizing that he had annoyed his cousin
enough with his presence. “She, uh. A couple weeks ago, she made the house
flood with cookies. And I mean flood. Cookies in the closets, cookies in the
bathrooms, cookies falling out of the windows…” The crumbs would never be out
of the house.
   On the list of things Harry had been expecting to hear that afternoon, that
certainly was not one of them. “Your daughter’s a witch,” he said aloud,
feeling astonished.
   From a nearby table, a couple looked at them like they were crazy. Harry
often forgot that witch could be used as an insult because he knew so many
brilliant and caring witches. “Yeah,” Dudley said as he lowered his voice. “And
I tried to contact you, but the people in your building said you had moved.”
   “Yeah,” Harry nodded. “My husband and I just bought a new house.”
   “Ah, so we’re in the same mortgage boat, huh? Tied to that home for life, am
I right?”
   Harry shook his head. “Not exactly.” It would have probably been terribly
inappropriate for him to mention the wealth he had both inherited and married
into. “But what do you need from me?”
   “Well,” Dudley snarked as if it were obvious. “I have absolutely no idea
what the hell I’m supposed to do to get her to stop.”
   “She can’t stop being a witch,” Harry cut in.
   “No, not like that! Agh, everything I’m saying is coming out wrong. She can
be a witch, I’m not my mother, but I would prefer not having to wake up to
flying pillows and dancing plates,” he explained quickly.
   Harry let out a little laugh. Maybe he was being too harsh on Dudders, who
as of yet hadn’t seemed to want to hurt him. “I can get you in contact with a
specialist on baby magic. It’s not illegal yet because she has no idea what
she’s doing, but when she can properly talk and walk, she’ll have needed to
learn how to control it. Then when she’s eleven, she’ll go to Hogwarts.”
   That was a monumental idea. A Dursley at Hogwarts.
   “Oh,” Dudley said, shifting uncomfortably. “What it like there? I should
have asked when we were younger.”
   “Don’t worry about it. My years in Hogwarts were some of the best of my
life, and all of the teachers there—“ now that Snape was gone “—are absolutely
kind and wonderful, and it’s a great school. For free.”
   That last part seemed to grab Dudley’s attention. He’d almost forgotten
about that.
   “So, I’ll just give you the address,” Harry said, whipping a quill and a
piece of paper out of his pocket.
   “Woah, woah, woah. How did you fit that in your pocket?”
   Harry grinned. “You’re going to have to get used to things that don’t make
sense, Dursley,” he teased. “Magic can do amazing things.” When he finished
writing the address, he handed Dudley the paper. For some reason, he hesitated.
   “Harry?” he asked slowly, carefully.
   “That’s my name, yes.”
   “Since you wizards don’t use phones or anything, what’s your address? Not
that you have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just… I want to know where to
send Christmas cards to, you know?”
   That was also something Harry never thought he’d hear. “Oh. Here,” Harry
said, taking the paper so he could flip it over and write his own address down.
“I’ve got to get back to work soon, but you can owl—well, you can mail me,
alright?”
   “Yeah,” Dudley agreed eagerly. He only knew one person who understood what
his beloved and slightly spoiled daughter would be going through in the
following years. It scared him. “I’ll do that, then.”
   Harry nodded and made a move to stand.
   “Hey, wait!” Dudley said, feeling massively pathetic. “When do you have to
go back to work? Maybe we could grab a meal somewhere that doesn’t have a clown
at the door. I mean, if you want to—“
   “Not right now, sorry. I have a case that I’m working on that really needs
my attention.”
   Dudley nodded, understanding. Just because he had a day off didn’t mean the
rest of the world stopped turning, a lesson that he’d had to learn the hard way
from being spoiled when he was a kid, too. “Do you have kids? You and this
bloke?” he asked anyway. “Sorry for holding you up, but I feel like I haven’t
seen you in a lifetime.”
   “We’re actually adopting soon,” Harry answered with a little smile as he sat
back down for a moment. He was Head Auror, after all, and if he was a smidgen
late then everyone else could go fuck themselves for all he cared.
   “That’s great stuff, yeah. What’s his name? Your husband, I mean.”
   “Draco,” Harry said with a little laugh. Muggles never could quite grasp the
Latin roots that made Draco’s name sound so wildly pretentious. “He was born
under the constellation ‘Draconis’, so.”
   Dudley pretended not to be confused. “Oh, that sounds cool. Real cool. How
long have you been married?”
   “A year, but I’ve known him since we were children. We went to Hogwarts
together, actually,” Harry said, unable to pry himself from any conversation
that involved Draco Malfoy-Potter. “But we got together after the war.”
   Oh, right. There was a wizarding war that Dudley had almost forgotten all
about. “Yeah, uh. Sorry about that war. Probably was pretty nasty stuff.”
   “It was.”
   “Did you two, like, fight together? Like wizards on the telly do?”
   “We were actually on opposite sides,” Harry laughed sickly. “Even though he
was never really on their side, he was just trying to keep safe. It’s sort of
too complicated to explain in such a short amount of time.”
   Dudley nodded. “Yeah, I get that,” he said as if he at all got that. “And
I’m keeping you from work.” There was the guilt again.
   “Yeah.” This time, Harry got up and left the clown-nose red seat behind for
good. “I guess I’ll wait for the letter then, hm?” He honestly wasn’t hoping
too hard for it, but it was still in the back of his mind. “Bye.”
   Just as Harry got to the door, he looked back and saw Dudley following him
like a lost puppy. “One last thing. I promise.”
   “What?”
   “How,” he asked, lowering his voice again, “do you know that our next kid
might not be… Or might be, you know.”
   “I don’t know. Even the best researchers can’t figure out why some kids are
magic and some are muggles. After all, that was what happened with your mother
and mine,” Harry said honestly.
   “Yeah. Sorry. Your mother and mine.”
***** Open *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry this one took so long! I have had the craziest last couple of
     weeks. I have an acting manager, finals are coming up, and I’ve been
     leveling two new characters on WoW.
Chapter 18: Open
   “We were idiots,” Sirius told his husband fondly as they flipped through the
notebook of Marauder scribbles and doodles. It was necessary for Sirius to keep
it together and smile during this, because Remus was most certainly not keeping
it together or smiling. One of them had to.
   Numbly, Remus nodded. “We still sort of are. Not quite to the caliber that
we used to be, but still rather big poncey idiots.”
   In messy red ink at the top of the page they were looking at, James had
written ‘BIG PONCEY IDIOTS’ after Sirius had scribbled some notes to Remus.
   Sirius quickly responded with a ‘YOU ARE A BIGGER PONCE THAN REMUS AND I
COULD EVER BE’ in his signature black ink. Peter had circled it with his pencil
for emphasis. He always used to side with Sirius in fake spats because he liked
to see James all flustered.
   The next page that they turned to was clearly an attempt made by Prongs to
prove his heterosexuality.
    In the corner, ‘Lily Evans’ was written three times with different
flourishes so he could see what the best sort of font was for his Lilyflower.
The second font was apparently best, because James then used it to write a poem
in her honor. It was raunchy, stupid, and so characteristically James.
   ‘Dearest Lily,
   Your breasts are like hill-ies—“
   Sirius had cut in to finish up the poem, which James had rather liked.
   ‘I’d like to make them come alive,
   With the SOOOOUND OF MUUUUUSIC’
   “When was I such a musical fanatic? When the hell did that movie even come
out?” Sirius asked with a laugh to try and get the conversation away from dead
James and dead Lily and dead Wormtail.
   Remus took the bait. “What I want to know is how Walburga let a muggle movie
past you into the house.”
   “I think she found it and smacked me. Then again, who can remember when I’ve
probably got brain damage from the smacking? Oh, look here.” Sirius pointed to
a drawing on the page.
   Underneath a sentence that most likely made sense in context (‘tonight the
teddy bears have their orgy!’) was a sketch of Miss Lily Evans herself. It was
clearly something James had drawn in class, since she looked rather unaware
that her boyfriend was focused on the detailing of her frilly skirt.
   She was sitting in the Charms classroom and laughing, and out of frame was
probably Marlene or Dorcas or Alice or anyone, really. Even though the
Marauders were about as cool as a sack of soggy chocolate frogs, Lily was still
popular as ever.
   Why wouldn’t she be?
   Lily was gorgeous. Lily was Head Girl of Gryffindor. Lily knew Arithmancy
better than anyone in her grade. Lily had wild tales of growing up muggle and
even wilder tales of what she was finally able to do when she found out she was
a witch. Lily got perfect grades and had an even better relationship with her
professors. Her pants were high-waisted and tight, her back was covered in
freckles, and she never even cared that it made boys insane.
   Frank Longbottom had a little crush on her red braids in second year,
Kingsley Shacklebolt was in love with her maxi-dresses and nimble fingers for
most of his fourth year, Severus Snape was in love with her confidence and
body, and once James Potter hit puberty, he added to her group of fanboys.
   Of course, he’d been a dumb teenage boy and went about it all wrong, but
Remus and Sirius had desperately tried to steer him in the right wooing
direction.
   That took some serious effort on their part to make sure James wasn’t in
love with her braids, her hands, her style, or her body, but he loved Lily
Evans for Lily Evans. He was the first. Her first.
   Remus turned the page. “Really?”
   “What?”
   “You couldn’t go more than fifteen minutes without drawing a penis?”
   “I was a preoccupied young man,” Sirius defended with a laugh in reference
to his crude doodle. “You liked that.”
   “I still like that,” Remus pointed out. “But you don’t carve phalluses into
everything you touch now, which is something I appreciate highly.” Even the
forever-young Sirius Black had matured. He was a Lupin now, anyway.
   He shrugged. “Maybe I do and you’ve just gotten used to it. Hey, you know
what we should do? We should go back to the Quidditch pitch and find where I—“
Then he remembered. The pitch had been burned down. “Um. We should go where I
made that carving of our names and carve it in the new pitch.”
   Remus smiled and looked down to the notebook again so he could turn the
page. “Yeah, we should.”
   When Remus looked up, he saw the door to their room slowly creaking open.
“Remus?” a little voice asked, unsure. “Sirius?”
   “In here, Liv,” Sirius called eagerly, lighting up immediately that his
daughter-thing and his soulmate-thing were in the same room at the same time.
Padfoot was an easily-pleased man.
   The bruise around her lip where the wolf had slammed its snout into a tree
was almost gone. “Hey,” Olivia said before crawling onto the bed with them,
tucking her knees in close to her chest. “What’s this?”
   “Just some things we had back when we were in school,” Remus shrugged off,
loath to show a thirteen year-old girl his friends’ erotic ramblings from their
teenage years. “Tell me the exhilarating tale of your afternoon.”
   “I’ve just been watching television,” Olivia laughed. She’d never been so
unproductive in her entire life and it was the most refreshing thing in the
world. “And writing to friends.”
   That caught Sirius’ attention. “Hm? Any that I’ve met? Moony, you really
should bring me to show-and-tell more often.” The class loved petting Padfoot!
   “Just Catherine, Rita, and Alex.”
   “Oh, I remember that one!” Sirius exclaimed with pride. It was proof he
wasn’t getting so old that he would lose his memory. “The Gryffindor, the one
that knocked out a Death Eater without knowing it. I like that one.” Well, he
was always fond of people who protected his husband, even if it was unknowing.
“How is that one?”
   “He’s good. Really good. They found him a couple of foster parents nearby
and they own an Italian restaurant,” she explained.
   Remus smiled. Alex was a good kid, and Italian food was a proper reward for
that. “We’ll have to go there sometime.”
   “Yes!” She couldn’t even stop the exclamation from escaping her. Alex was a
wonderful friend. Maybe her best friend. “I mean, if you want to.”
   “Sure we do.” Sirius saw it as an opportunity to bond over food, which was
his favorite kind of bonding. “How about tomorrow night, hm? Just give us an
address and we’re there.” He paused. “Sorry that there’s not too many kids on
this street. Or the next street over. Or the one after that. Hey, at least that
makes you the belle of the ball if we ever have a block party!”
   “I know how hard it was to be away from friends during the summer. My
parents lived in a rather small and old-fashioned town, and the only person
within ten years of my age was a youth pastor that had come to study there,”
Remus recalled, knowing how awfully he had missed the Marauders and one in
particular.
   “You know what we should do?” Sirius said, voice climbing in excitement.
“Even better than carving our names in places. We should throw you a wild
party, Olivia. We could invite all of your friends from school and make sure
you see each other before you’re all trapped in learning again. No offense,
Remus.”
   “None taken. You’re a terrible student.”
   “Now I’m offended!”
   Their bantering made Olivia chuckle. She wondered if she’d ever seen them
actually argue about something serious. “Like, a real party?” she asked. That
had only been possible in muggle movies where the parents were out of town and
accidentally left the liquor cabinet unlocked. Olivia didn’t even want to
drink.
   “Of course,” Remus told her. “With fantastic music and even better food.
Would you like that?”
   All of that holding back she’d been able to break through with the two men
suddenly swelled back up in her chest like a mushroom cloud. Who was she to
make them pay for a party? What if they broke something? What if something went
wrong?
   “I would like that,” Olivia said carefully in spite of herself.
   Then she could see Alex.
   Alexander. Alex. Lex.
   He had eyes like cups of coffee and they made her feel warm. Once she
realized she was thinking about the way his dimples shot up when he smiled,
Olivia knew she was in deeper than anything she had experienced before.
   Alex was kind to her, and his always built her up to walk taller. The
inklings of a possible first crush were becoming steady streams, and she could
do nothing about it. The whole thing made her feel scared enough to puke.
   “So, tomorrow night?” Olivia questioned quietly. Maybe—just possibly—she
wasn’t doomed. For no apparent reason, the clouds had parted and the sun was
shining through on her life that portended a strangely successful summer.
   Okay, that was immediately a mood swing from her first sense of dread, but
she was thirteen. Thirteen! Thirteen and liking a boy!
   It made her feel feverish.
   Maybe she could go to the restaurant with Remus and Sirius and see Alex
there and the world wouldn’t end. Maybe, she could have a party and invite him
and all her friends and nothing would break and she would have a great time.
   It was the first optimistic thought she’d had in years.
   “Tomorrow night,” Sirius affirmed. “Now, do you want tonight’s dinner? I
could heat up some Chinese food.”
   “Sounds great.”
   They evacuated the bed in a rush to fill their stomachs. Sirius would be
damned if he let a meal go by after starving for years in Azkaban. He’d
promised himself behind those bars that he would never think about how a
chicken wing would go to his thighs or how a cake could give him a little
belly. Happiness was more important than vanity.
   And when it came to fried rice and orange chicken, Sirius always had a
second serving.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   The confession had seemingly come out of thin air.
   “What?” Ginny demanded in a high pitch that almost sounded like a squeal.
   “Um,” Blaise tried again. His sweatpants suddenly felt oppressively hot.
Legs crossed on the couch and a pillow in his lap, he was in a rather
vulnerable position. “I said that I don’t think that I’m made for monogamy.”
   Ginny Weasley had never been so close to punching Blaise Zabini in her whole
life. “So you’ve been sleeping around on me?” she roared, the Gryffindor
lioness within her coming alive with her anger. “You lying bastard!”
   “I haven’t been,” Blaise defended quickly. He put his hands up as a sign of
submission.
   “What?”
   “I haven’t been! Salazar, Gin, I wouldn’t do that to you! That’s why I’m
talking to you now.”
   “To ask permission to cheat on me?” she snapped.
   “No! Please, I didn’t want to make you upset,” Blaise said as he rose. His
crotch was in a comfortable range for Ginny to hex on the couch, and Blaise
hadn’t fully explained himself.
   Her eyes cut through him like he was made of clay. “I don’t care what you
meant to do. I honestly don’t. I have no idea where you get off in telling me
that suddenly you think you can’t be in a relationship right after we watch a
goddamn movie together. ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ does not usually evoke feelings
of adultery!”
   “It’s not adultery! Salazar, I haven’t done anything! I wanted to talk to
you about this, because I’m not feeling so secure right now, and I give a fuck
about you. Would you prefer I never tell you and keep all of this a secret?”
   She almost wished she could say yes. “No.”
   “Then, please, can we talk about this?” he asked. Blaise had a terrible
feeling he sounded desperate, which was his least favorite state of being.
“This wasn’t exactly easy for me to admit.”
   The last thing Ginny wanted to hear about was Blaise’s struggle with being
constantly horny, but the twinge of sadness in his voice held her back from
screaming at him.
   “Well. What about this deserves talking about? What’s your best-case
scenario here?”
   “I don’t know.”
   “Then name a possible scenario. Any, Blaise. Any one where I am not entirely
miserable and cross with you,” Ginny suggested in a sarcastic whine.
   Blaise began his terrible habit of nervously pacing around their hardwood
floor. In bare feet, he could feel every little crack and indentation. They
really needed to get the damn place refurbished. “I think,” he tried. “One
could be where I explain that I don’t want other people romantically. You’re
more than enough for me, Gin. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
   “I’m aware.” Her arms crossed over her chest, but something about that out-
of-character admission on Blaise’s behalf had piqued her interest.
   “You are all I need emotionally and all of that gay bullshit,” Blaise went
on before Ginny cut him off.
   “Really, Blaise? You’re gonna call it ‘gay’?”
   “Hey, Draco is gay and he’s one of my best friends.”
   Ginny rolled her eyes. “Then don’t you think he doesn’t use race in an
offensive way because of you?”
   “Oh, I don’t know!”
   “So you want to be in a relationship with me,” she tried to clarify. “But
you want to fuck other people.”
   “You know, fucking doesn’t constitute a relationship. I could probably not
even name half of the girls I’ve slept with in my life.”
   This time, her eyes rolled so far back into her head she could have sworn
they did a backflip. “That really reassures me, Blaise. Thanks so much for
that. Definitely needed it right now.”
   “Okay, so maybe I’m not getting my point across too well,” he sighed.
   “Maybe?” Ginny laughed, leaning back onto the wall where the television was
mounted. It was absurd to laugh, but her whole life had been rather absurd from
the moment she was born into a family of nothing but boys and a doting mother.
   Then she dated some stupid boys, some gay boys, and some ridiculous boys,
and then a war happened. Ginny had the distinct feeling that normal people did
not endure that, and probably only dated one or two bad matches in their life
and only thought of war as an idea in textbooks and philosophical discussions.
   There were probably kids out there who were in favor of wars between
countries and groups because their parents were. They’d never get on the
battlefield themselves, but they would stick their noses up in the air in
history class when their opinion was asked for and say: ‘Sometimes, war is
necessary’.
   Ginny wondered if that was what made Blaise so uneasy. They’d almost died
one day, and maybe he was afraid it would happen again while he hadn’t
experienced everything out there.
   Whatever his reasoning, it confused the hell out of Ginny.
   “You realize how crazy you sound, right?”
   “Yeah,” Blaise laughed right back. “I do. But would it be so awful? I mean,
you could be there. And you could sleep with other guys!”
   Ginny could hardly believe what she was hearing. “And you wouldn’t be
jealous?”
   “Not if you come back home to me in the end, no. I mean, you’re a woman,
right? Okay, duh, you’re a woman, but that’s not what I mean. You have complex
needs just like I do. Do you really want to get married and only sleep with one
man your entire life?”
   “That’s what most people do, yeah,” she reminded him. Not that she hadn’t
thought about men on opposite Quidditch teams in post-game showers. She was
only human, right? “And don’t you dare say ‘we’re not most people’ with some
charming smile and some bullshit wit.”
   Ginny had caught him there. “Fine. But don’t fifty percent of marriages end
in divorce or something?” he tried.
   “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
   “Maybe it’s monogamy. I mean, people like Draco and Harry can do it. They
can be stupid and crazy about each other forever so sickly and so completely,
but I don’t think everyone can do that. It doesn’t mean that I love you less,
it just means that I’m not them.”
   A shiver ran through Ginny’s frame. Had he just…? “You love me. You love me
and you tell me just minutes after you tell me you’d like to fuck some
strangers?” she asked quietly, calmly. The whole thing was so absurd that she
didn’t quite know how to react, so she just didn’t. Ginny was calm and placid.
   “Oh. Shit.”
   Blaise really hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. How could he be such
a dumbarse? He’d wanted to tell for weeks and this was the moment he picked?
   “You have terrible timing.”
   “I know.”
   “You’re also a bit of an idiot.”
   “I know.”
   Twisting a lock of bright orange hair, Ginny let a moment of silence pass
between them. “So when you say sleeping with other people, can I be in the room
when that happens?”
   Never in her life had Ginny seen her boyfriend look more like an attentive
puppy who had just been told he was going on a walk. “Like, a threesome?” he
asked, absolutely thrilled. Blaise had the best girlfriend in the world. The
absolute and complete best.
   “No,” Ginny corrected, cutting his hopes in half before revealing what she
was really after. “There can definitely be more than three people involved.”
   And just like that, Blaise did a wildly sappy thing he would never admit to
after he did it. He wrapped his arms around his girl and squeezed her tight.
   When Ginny squeezed back, she felt like letting out one of those nervous
laughs again, but it wasn’t out of nerves. In a weird way, it was out of
relief. Blaise’s eyes had wandered, but he’d never been with anyone else while
they were together. Ginny believed that; she really did.
   If it didn’t work or she got too jealous, Ginny knew she could always call
it off. She loved that lug of a man right back, but if they didn’t want the
same things… She had been there and done that with too many men.
   “It’ll be an adventure,” Ginny decided in order to make the best of her odd
situation. Maybe she’d wind up enjoying it too. “Yeah, an adventure.”
   “How Gryffindor of you.”
   “Shut up.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   The store had entirely overwhelmed Harry where it had invigorated his
husband. Draco had grabbed a shopping cart faster than Harry could ask to pause
for a moment and consider their options, so it seemed that they were really
doing this.
   “Where do we even start?” Harry asked, unsure. The neon-bright walls of the
veritable toy palace off of Diagon Alley made his head hurt, but they all
seemed to be color-coordinated with a type of toy.
   Draco offered Harry his arm as a group of screeching children in face-paint
scampered around them and over to the stuffed animal section. “We’re going to
need teething rings, strollers, gym sets, and lots of plushies.” Imperiously,
Draco grabbed a scanner gun from the counter so they could begin registering
items for the baby shower.
   Hermione and Pansy had managed to agree on one thing in their lives, and
that one thing was a party to welcome the Malfoy-Potter baby. Hermione would be
make cookies and Pansy would design the invitations.
   “How many toys does a baby even need?”
   “Lots! They need to have things that stimulate their cognitive abilities and
make them feel calm enough and tired enough to not to cry all night and wake us
up. The goal,” Draco said, activating the scanner gun so he could swipe over a
bright ordnance walker with charmed dancing zebras on it. “Is to keep them as
spoiled as possible.”
   “As the cousin of a spoiled brat,” Harry laughed. “I wonder how good of an
idea that is.”
   “You married a spoiled brat, too, so clearly you don’t hate it that much.
Plus, when we have more than one kid we’ll never prefer one to the other. We’ll
spoil them equally.”
   Harry knew he would be on board with that. When he saw his little baby
gurgle in his arms and reach up for Papa, there would be no holding back on
Harry’s lavish and unending attention. “I guess you’re right.”
   “I’m always right,” Draco teased before following the route the pack of
children had gone and walking towards the aisles of stuffed and smiling
friends.
   One immediately caught Harry’s eye. “This one looks just like the one you
have in your old room!” he said, grabbing onto a soft green dragon.
   Oh, how Draco wished Harry had forgotten about Maurice, the stuffie of his
youth. Narcissa had to sew one of the eyes back on after it fell off and Draco
cried for at least an hour. It was a well-loved toy, was all.
   “So scan it,” he laughed as if he wasn’t at all reminiscing about his own
days snuggling up next to a stuffed dragon in bed. He had Harry in his bed now,
who was much more responsive. “We could get them a snake, too, to make sure
they get into the best Hogwarts house.”
   “Not sure how a snake would help them into Gryffindor.”
   Draco rolled his eyes and scanned over a pink seahorse plushie that sang a
lullaby whenever it was activated by a spell.
   “Is this too soon?” Harry asked when he saw. “We don’t even know if the baby
is a boy or a girl, or who its bloody mother will be.”
   “Nonsense. We can register any colors of toys we want. I won’t have my child
held back the way I was with blue,” Draco retorted. “And what if the kid is
transgender? Then they’re going to have a rather easy time coming out to us.”
   Harry hadn’t even thought about that. “What if the kid is gay?”
   “We disown them, obviously. I can’t have homosexual sins in our household.”
   “Draco!” he laughed.
   “I would prefer the kid to be gay,” Draco shrugged as he transitioned out of
joking. He scanned a unicorn plushie for good measure in hopes of inducing a
little queerer in their already queer household. “Then I don’t have to worry
about becoming a grandfather and I can recommend all the best bars.”
   “Lucius would probably perish in frustration.”
   “Maybe it was what the Malfoy line was destined to be,” he laughed. “Full of
homophobes until transitioning right to exclusively gay heirs.”
   Draco passed the scanner gun to Harry so that he could grab a stuffed puppy
that resembled Sirius at the end of the aisle to scan. “Well, I am all for
being the overbearing parents of the Hogwarts Gay-Straight Alliance. We could
bake brownies and bring them to each meeting while breathing down everyone’s
necks.”
   “Aw. Our baby will never, ever be embarrassed by us.”
   “Not even when we scream at their Quidditch games?”
   “Not even when we scream at their Wizarding chess games,” Draco nodded.
   As they traversed the teething rings aisle and Draco took over, Harry had a
moment to think. “If the kid is gay, or bi, or trans, or anything other than
binary and straight, the press will think we did something to them.”
   “Fuck the press. It’s a one-in-ten chance based on pure statistics. Those
super-religious families who have like fifteen kids are guaranteed a queer
one.”
   “Yeah,” Harry nodded. “I’m not saying we would hide it from the press. I
just… I dunno. I don’t want The Prophet spreading lies about our baby and us.”
   Draco stopped perusing the plastic toys and turned to Harry, gently wrapping
his arms around the other man’s shoulders. “Hey. They’re going to spread lies
no matter what the baby likes, does, or hates. I thought you were okay with
getting into this while we were still being watched by the public.”
   “We’ll never not be watched by the public, I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t have
to want to hex them.”
   “Does the Head Auror get to do that?” Draco asked before nudging his
forehead against Harry’s cheek.
   “Mhm.”
   “Good.”
   Harry tilted his head to the side so he could sneak a kiss in against
Draco’s temple. From behind them, the pack of kids giggled.
   Draco laughed and looked over to them and their horrified parents. “Think
they’re Prophet photographers in disguise?” he asked Harry in a hushed,
conspiratory tone.
   “Oh, definitely,” his husband nodded.
   Scanner gun in one hand and Harry’s hand in the other, Draco laughed at
their audience and led his fellow future-father away.
***** Sick *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey! I have four real days of school left. I think I’m going to cry.
     SUMMER IS SO CLOSE I CAN TASTE IT AAAAGHHH! I’m gonna write so much
     fic this summer. TW for dumb cishets.
Chapter 19: Sick
   Well, that had gone spectacularly worse than expected. Who knew her aunt and
uncle were capable of that much rage? It was like they waited all of Grace’s
life to let their anger it blow up in her face at seventeen.
   They’d never been particularly skilled in disciplining her from the day she
was put in their care. Grace took full advantage of that—because what was the
point in having dead parents if you couldn’t use them to get what you want?—and
could have gotten away with murder as a little girl.
   Apparently, she couldn’t get away with making life as a grown woman.
   “Watch it, bitch,” a burly man said when she bumped into him. He had a pack
of men around him, and seemed to be the alpha male.
   Grace gritted her teeth. “Sorry,” she growled just to get them off of her
back.
   “Hey, Nathan, she’s kinda hot.”
   “Hey,” Grace said as she turned around to face them, her own frustration
exploding like he aunt and uncles’ had. “Nathan, I’m kinda seventeen. That
means I’m a legal child, you fucking paedophiles!”
   Even for Grace, this was extreme. She hated leering men and whistling
construction workers and often flipped them the bird, but that night especially
was not the night to fuck with her. She’d been kicked out of her house with a
backpack of clothes and her best friend was on a useless vacation to the
Bahamas. She didn’t have much to lose.
   The gaggle of men gawked in silent awe. They looked like they were in their
forties (maybe with children of their own) and were clearly horrified.
   Satisfied with herself for the first time in months, Grace spun on her heels
and proceeded down the sidewalk. Maybe it was the fear of the men retaliating
and running after her or maybe it was the shop lights in the distance of the
alley, but she started running.
   This time she was wary not to run into any other patrons of the night.
Grace’s heels were only an inch high, so she was able to sprint without falling
flat on her face. Actually, with the baby bump, it’d be flat on her uterus. Ew.
   When she couldn’t stand to run anymore, Grace was entirely out of breath.
She leaned over and rested her hands on her knees to pant like a goddamn dog.
Pregnancy was hell.
   Grace didn’t know why, but it reminded her that she had literally nowhere to
go. Tiff was gone, her other friends didn’t even know about the pregnancy, and
there were no extended family members in the area. She was alone.
   Alone, alone, alone minus the baby gestating in her.
   In order to distract herself from that horribly looming fact, she walked on.
   Grace walked past robe boutiques and restaurants that blended together into
one stream of neon signs until she found her way back to the main street of
Diagon Alley and picked a damn store to walk into already. Then, she could use
the bathroom and clean herself up before she went around searching for women’s’
shelters or something.
   A charmed glass wind-chime signaled her arrival in the potions shop, and
from the back room, a man shouted: “Be there in a second!”
   The shopkeeper could drown in his potion for all Grace cared. “Um, excuse
me?”
   “One second!”
   “Do you have a bathroom?”
   “Oh. Next to the rack of strength potions there’s a door, and the ladies’
room is on the right,” Theo explained as he turned the golden ring over and
over again in his hands. Maybe if he dropped it in the fire-breathing potion he
was making, then perhaps he could forget entirely about his wanting to marry
his boyfriend.
   Slipping the ring back in his pocket, Theo made his way back to the front of
the shop. He’d check on the potion in an hour like he usually did.
   After a few seemingly eternal minutes, the woman who asked for the
directions to the bathroom emerged once more.
   Theo narrowed his eyes. Where did he know her from? “Can I help you find
anything?” he asked, leaning over the counter to try and get a better look at
Grace. She was in sweatpants and a baggy green shirt as if somebody had dragged
her out of bed.
   Being the gossip addict that she was, Grace hadn’t missed a beat in figuring
out that this was the potion shop owned by the Nott heir. “Actually,” Grace
said carefully, tucking her uncombed hair behind her ears. It didn’t really
work since palms were clammy and she still hadn’t quite caught her breath yet.
“There is something I was looking for.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Ron shuddered. “How many times can I say this is fucked up before it gets
redundant?”
   “As many as you want,” Harry murmured as he peered down into the trench they
had gotten to digging. With Remus and Sirius at their sides, they’d found the
location of Sirius’ end of the school year and end of the school existence
bash.
   He’d picked a sandy bank by the edge of the lake and draped garland and
Christmas lights around the trees, Remus had brought snacks, James had gotten
the booze and gillyweed, and Peter had set up a watch to make sure nobody
figured out that all of Gryffindor House was partying it up near the edge of
the Forbidden Forest.
   After an unfortunate game of strip poker, everyone wound up being naked down
to their underwear and decided that skinny dipping was the next logical step to
be taken.
   It scared Sirius that Nott Sr. had somehow known that it was the last fond
memory they all shared before the war. It made him wonder if the creepy bastard
had been perched in a tree with a pair of binoculars watching them.
   Harry tossed another shovel full of dirt to the side. They had opted to
search near the trees themselves, since digging through sand was probably too
tedious for Marcus’ taste.
   A loud ‘clink’ came from whatever Ron’s shovel had struck. “Hey, I think
this is it!”
   Everyone involved was so eager to get the search over with that they all
lunged to brush the loose earth off of the metal box.
   Hand on his wand, Remus was the first to raise the box out of the hole
they’d dug on Hogwarts property. It felt wrong to defile such hallowed ground,
but it was necessary. That, and he’d plant a new bushel of flowers there so
nobody could tell he was snooping around.
   It was easier just to do things and apologize instead of asking for
permission.
   “Let’s just open it.”
   Sirius agreed with his husband wholeheartedly and broke the rusty hinges to
pry the damn thing open.
   Whatever bone or horrible atrocity Harry and Ron had been expecting, it
certainly didn’t manifest in front of them. “What… What the hell is that?” Ron
asked.
   “A shoe,” Harry said plainly. “It’s a shoe.”
   A red high tops converse shoe, to be exact.
   Sirius’ stomach churned. “Give me that,” he hissed, snatching up the
footwear so he could get a look inside.
   “Are they…?” Remus asked gently.
   “Yeah.”
   “What’s going on?” Ron pressed on. “What’s in the shoe?” Maybe it was just a
prettily-wrapped atrocity.
   When Sirius slammed the shoe back into the box, Harry stepped towards him.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Benjy, does it?” he murmured.
   The animagus promptly chucked the Chuck Taylors with ‘P.P.’ written on the
inner seam into the lake. The splash it made was not nearly as satisfying as it
should be. “Nothing to do with him.”
   “Hey!” Maybe Harry, Remus, and Sirius were speaking some sort of secret gay
body language, but Ron hadn’t a clue what was going on. “What was that for?”
   “Sirius went through a pirate phase,” Remus said as if that explained
everything perfectly.
   “It wasn’t a phase, Moony. I am still a pirate.”
   “And he went through a map-making phase.”
   “Also not a phase!”
   Remus tried to think of a time other than the making of the Marauders Map
where Padfoot exercised cartography and failed to find any memories. “Sure.
Anyway, in fourth year he sent us on a buried treasure hunt after having stolen
some of our favorite things,” he went on. “He kidnapped my Fitzgerald books,
James’ glasses, and Wormtail’s shoe. It was cruel that way, since he only had
one shoe to run around in.”
   “I should have buried him.”
   It seemed that just when things were going well (Olivia and their dinner
that night, getting more parts of their ‘missing’ friend) Peter came back into
the picture and fucked it up.
   Remus wished Peter had been an outlier. He wished Peter was just a tag-a-
long who they could have predicted betrayal from. There was no predicting
betrayal from your best friends.
   And that was what Peter had been, after all. A true Marauder for the first
sixteen years of his life.
   “Let’s keep digging,” Harry suggested grimly. “We need to get out of here in
time for you two to pick up Olivia for dinner.” He picked the shovel and
started to dig west of the original hole.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Draco wrapped up his shift with a satisfied smile.
   The Llewellyn Ward was full of exciting creature injuries that day that
Draco had gotten around to healing.
   Stings from giant scorpions, bites from charmed pythons, and even a burn
from a salamander all took up Draco’s sweet time without stressing him out too
much. That was the glory of patient patients. Screaming children, scared
spouses, and panicked injury victims only made things worse, and Draco was
grateful for the fact that he’d only dealt with civilized people that day.
   “Checking out?” Maggie asked with a small grin from her position at the
front desk.
   “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The redhead leaned over the desk to give
Draco a flick on the side of the head. “What was that for!”
   She shrugged. “That’s from Pansy. She made it very clear that you needed
one.”
   “For what?” Draco laughed. How had he wronged the Princess as of late?
   “Just because.” Maggie leaned in as if she had some big secret to tell.
“She’s worried sick that you won’t get drunk with her after you get a baby. You
know how Princess gets scared when her booze is brought into question.”
   “She was worried about the same thing when I got married. I hope she
realizes ‘having babies’ and ‘settling down’ are different things. I don’t
think I’m even capable of the latter. When the kids are old enough to floo with
us, we’re going on wild and exotic vacations with them. There will be at least
two nights a week when Harry and I go out with just one another, and Pansy will
have the pleasure of babysitting.”
   That made her girlfriend smile. “I’ll be sure to let her know. Also, you got
a few owls after you went to see that hag with the dragon burn.”
   Draco shivered, repulsed at the memory. The burn had been all over her
milky, wrinkly thighs. An oh, the sheer multitude of liver spots. Whatever she
had tried to do with the baby dragon, the animal was not up for it.
   “Thanks,” he said before heading off to the owlery.
   On his way into the employee locker room that connected him to the owl perch
where a woman neatly sorted the mail by Healer’s name, Draco was accosted once
more.
   “Healer Pye,” he nodded to his boss, hoping they’d merely wave and move on
with their separate lives.
   Pye had a stay-at-home wife and liked suede couches. Draco had an arse-
kicking husband and despised all things suede, velvet, and corduroy for their
disgustingly thick materials. The Pyes and the Malfoy-Potters lived on sides of
the track that would never cross in normal circumstances.
   “Healer Malfoy,” the pudgy man said in a strangely conversational tone.
“Have you read this morning’s Prophet?”
   “I don’t read The Prophet.”
   “Ah, of course. Most of their articles are about you,” Pye snarked, thinking
himself funny. He also thought himself handsome, charming, commanding, and
persuasive. None of those things were true.
   Draco didn’t even give him an obliging laugh like he usually did in hopes of
a promotion. “Most of their articles are wrong.” The last one Pansy had showed
him in jest said that he and Harry were looking to move to a Buddhist temple to
find inner peace and spiritual enlightenment. “Interested in my personal life?”
   “I’m interested in you taking time off from work to take care of the five
children you’re planning on fostering.”
   A tortured noise escaped Draco. “The Prophet doesn’t know their heads from
their arses, okay? Harry and I are adopting one child.” For now.
   “And who will watch this child? I don’t think the Head Auror can just up and
leave, but neither can you.” While their personalities often grated, Pye knew
he needed the other man. Malfoy-Potter was a brilliant Healer and was willing
to work hard for his own ambition. That, and Draco was often requested by high-
end patients because of his fame.
   “Well,” Draco muttered. He hadn’t really thought about that. “At two years
old they’ll be out of nappies, so I’ll put them in the hospital day-care.”
Yeah, that made sense, right? That way their baby could make friends.
   Augustus Pye frowned. “And the first two years? Look, Malfoy, this hospital
needs you, as much as I hate to say it.”
   “Ah, yes. It really does need me.” He basked in the praise.
   “You and your modesty. Keep that in mind when making your decision about the
first two years of the child’s life, yes?” Pye asked, bordering on patronizing.
   “Yes, yes. I understand, but I can’t make any promises right now,” Draco
said dismissively before trying to dash in escape once more.
   Unfortunately, Pye caught Draco by the collar. “I don’t mean to intrude, but
there is something I’ve been wondering.” Since in his mind, women were the sole
caretakers of children (oh, how his own children would have daddy issues), Pye
had been trying to rationalize two men adopting.
   “Fine,” Draco growled. “Intrude away.”
   “Since, uh, you’re clearly the woman in the relationship—“
   “Keep talking and I will hex you into next week, Pye.”
   “What?” he asked, shocked that Draco was offended. “Every couple has to have
a female influence and a male influence.”
   Draco’s face twisted in horror. “What? No! The whole point is that we’re
both men.”
   “But one of you has to be more feminine, and I figured you always had a
sense of flair.”
   Hey! Just because Draco was a drama queen it didn’t make him a woman! A
woman wasn’t even a bad thing to be, but Draco had always felt distinctly male.
“What?” he said in a half-snarl half-laugh due to his shock. “Thank Salazar you
don’t work in the psychoanalytics wing.”
   “That’s no way to speak to your superior,” Pye responded while managing to
look entirely flustered. Weren’t gay people supposed to be polite to normal
straights when they asked them questions about their sex lives? And didn’t gay
people have to pick a role? Top or bottom?
   “That’s no way to speak to people in general,” Draco pointed out.
   Ashamed, Pye hung his head down. Years of medical studies had not prepared
him for this.
   After letting the silence rot in between them until it had entirely
decomposed, Pye gave it a try. “So does that make Potter the woman?”
   Draco let out a tortured groan at the stupidity of it all.
   “I am going to change out of these robes, then I’m going to collect my mail,
and then I am going to go home,” he lined up for Pye’s microscopic brain to
comprehend. “And you will not ask me any more inane questions, and you will buy
a goddamn book and study up. Any questions?”
   Healer Pye opened his mouth to speak. “Wrong!” Draco snapped. “I just said
no questions.”
   Before Pye’s cracked lips could open again, Draco had disappeared into the
locker room like a ghost in his white robes.
   Those were quickly off of his shoulders once he locked the door behind
himself. All the other Healers would just have to live with it.
   “Everyone,” he grumbled to himself. “Is an imbicile.”
   A smooth cotton button-down replaced the white robes with a violet hue, also
known as Harry’s Favorite Color. The black trousers were slimming, too. At
least Draco looked fit when he was surrounded by idiots.
   Draco slammed his locker shut and tried his best to move on.
   It was unhealthy to cling to grudges, or so he had been told as a child by
some Hufflepuff Professor. That didn’t stop him from holding them in the
slightest, but it distracted him for the moment on his way to the owlery.
   Draco’s mailbox contained a few patients’ records, test results, and one
anxious Theodore Nott’s hastily scribbled letter.
   Your Majesty,
   Your baby mama is in my potions shop. Come deal with it.
   -Theo
  “What?”
   With a histrionic roll of his eyes, Draco apparated over.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Marcus hadn’t been kind with the clue in the box beneath the earth. Harry
almost wished they hadn’t found the damn thing so that Remus wouldn’t have to
torture himself in divining the meaning of:
   ‘I can’t believe you’re still looking. I would have given up by now. Anyway,
the next bit of him is among the begonias. They really do blossom when compost
is added to their soil.’
   Harry didn’t even know what begonias were supposed to look like, which was
the cruelest part of all. In his head they were like blackened Venus fly traps
by the situation surrounding them. Draco would probably know what they looked
like. Maybe he could even get Neville to tell him where the flowers grew
natively.
   The damn flowers had distracted Harry so much that he wasn’t even pleased
when they realized they’d found Benjy’s hipbone. It looked frail and would
definitely never be used to dance or run again.
   People did a lot of things with their hips, Harry realized.
   It was bizarre how Harry hadn’t truly valued his hips for all they were
worth his whole life. Where would Harry be without that heart-shaped clump of
marrow? Harry couldn’t jump or dodge hexes or make sweet love to his husband
without hips, and what sort of life was that?
   Benjy Fenwick probably would know if he wasn’t dead.
   Before Harry entered his beautiful home with its opulent rugs and
tastefully-selected throw pillows, Harry had to put that all behind him.
   He took a deep breath, centering himself on their white front door. Draco
was within, and with him, the peace that a happy marriage gave him. Safety,
sensitivity, and security.
   Even though the thoughts of skeletons missing pieces would probably haunt
him for the rest of the night, Harry opened the door and eased into his domain.
Unfortunately, his domain was in a state of disarray.
   “Draco, she has nowhere else to go,” Theo hissed. He’d seen his best mate be
callous before, but he’d usually been able to talk him down from his high
horse. “It’s down to her and some other girl, right?”
   Grace looked like she might jump for joy. “Really?”
   “You can’t fucking tell her that!” Draco responded, enraged.
   Harry cleared his throat to earn all the stairs in the room. “What is going
on?” he questioned in an even tone. It was shocking that he was taking the
sudden appearance of people in his house so well. Harry had planned on leftover
Chinese for Dinner. Harry had planned for a night curled around Draco’s body in
bed. Harry had not planned for other people.
   “Harry,” Draco said, rushing up to him only to drag him into the mess by the
arm. “She tracked down where Theo worked and coerced him to bring her here.”
   “I didn’t even know it was his shop when I entered!” Grace defended.
   “And I was not coerced.”
   “Wait, wait, wait,” Harry stopped their bickering. “Why are you here and
what do you want from us?”
   Grace was flabbergasted, and her usually loquacious nature receded. “Uh. My
aunt and uncle sort of kicked me out.”
   “’Sort of’ kicked you out?”
   “Okay, they really kicked me out because they raised me wrong, or whatever.
I am beyond help to them, and they were gracious enough to blame it on their
own shitty parenting,” Grace reclaimed her voice. “So I wanted to tell you that
my living situation has changed. I have no supportive family members.”
   Draco rolled his eyes. “And you had to come all the way here to tell us
that? What about the friend you were staying with?”
   “She left for holiday with her parents.”
   “With you pregnant and clearly emotionally disturbed?” he almost laughed.
   “With friend like her is it so hard to see why I’m emotionally disturbed?”
she tried at humor.
   Oh, Draco was a sucker for dark laughs. “Fair point. But why come to our
house?” Draco and Harry had been angry enough with her for the first time.
   It was almost as if Grace Burbage wanted them to hate her. All of her
actions seemed counterproductive to convincing the couple of adopting her
child, no matter how valiant her attempts. At least the experience showed her
that she had no future as a businesswoman or saleswoman.
   “I wanted to see it,” she admitted quietly after waiting to word it
perfectly. “The last time I was here I wasn’t entirely of my own volition. It’s
magnificent. The color scheme? It’s inspired. The way it plays off of the
earth-tone walls—“
   Usually, flattery got people everywhere with Draco. “We haven’t made a
decision yet, and you have to realize that this counts against you.”
   Harry felt motivated to add his own opinion to the clusterfuck of ideas that
had sprouted in their parlor. “Look, I get it,” he sighed. “You’re in a messed-
up place and things might not seem so clear right now. I’m sorry that your aunt
and uncle did that to you.”
   With a shrug of her shoulders, Grace laughed nervously. “Don’t be sorry. You
aren’t the one that knocked me up,” she murmured.
   “No, I’m not, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad,” Harry grumbled. “You
were dealt a shit hand and now you have to deal with it.”
   Grace nodded. “Do you know any women’s shelters I could go to? Or soup
kitchens? Maybe I could make friends with some meth addicts. I feel like I
would get along with them really well.”
   “You are not going into an addict clinic just for a bed,” Theo assured her.
It was a fierce and sudden protectiveness he felt.
   Maybe Draco was right; Theo did have a thing for blondes.
   “Then where am I supposed to stay?”
   Draco knew what Harry was going to say without even looking at him. “Don’t
you dare,” he warned Harry. “Theo, if you want to clear your conscience of this
then let her sleep over on your couch.”
   “But you have a guest bedroom,” Theo reminded him with an easy grin. Oh,
Draco was so close to explosion that he could almost taste it. “Actually, you
have three.”
   “Draco, it’s late. Just for tonight,” Harry suggested. Then they could find
a halfway home or something safe where her prenatal potions wouldn’t be stolen
out of her backpack and sold for coke money.
   “You’re going to reward,” Draco said slowly, each word with purpose. “This
little girl for manipulating her way here with a spot in our home?” Sure, it
sounded harsh out loud, but it was how he felt. Admittedly how he felt was
clouded by his resentment for this girl that had quite literally fainted into
his life and trapped his husband into loving her fetus.
   That was jumping to conclusions, though. Jordan was a viable candidate who
never bothered Draco or Harry, and she was just as pregnant as Grace.
   “She didn’t manipulate anyone,” Theo insisted.
   Draco highly doubted that. His father had taught him to only give trust
where it was earned.
   That was when Draco had a sick, wonderful idea. “You know who has more guest
bedrooms than us?” he asked casually. “The Manor. It’s much better suited for
guests with Gerda serving and acting as a guide.”
   Harry and Theo were stunned speechless that Draco would rather throw the
girl into the snake’s den than house her. Narcissa and Lucius beat out Harry
and Theo’s protectiveness combined.
   “Perfect! You’ll love mother, she always fawns over Pansy when she stays
over. I think she would have preferred a daughter,” Draco grinned, looking
plainly evil in his sharp clothes and clearly malicious aura. It radiated off
of him like people said pregnant women radiated beauty.
   Before Grace could properly accept (because honestly, she would have been
fine sleeping on their front porch) Draco whisked her away to the fireplace,
taking her off to meet the grandparents.
***** The Art Of War *****
Chapter Notes
     My finals are done. The world is my oyster.
Chapter 20: The Art of War
   The battle lines had been drawn.
   After several flanking orders and forward assaults, the enemy had been
driven into the corner of the second floor.
   While this particular enemy had been inflicted on the Malfoy family by one
of their own, but that didn’t mean their strategies would give the girl any
mercy. At least she’d had the sense to keep her mouth shut and her star-struck
gawking to a minimum.
   Still, Grace Burbage lost the war when she forgot one of the most important
concept of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War: Never retreat to a territory that only has
one way in or out. The enemy has then cornered you, and won.
   Grace’s meager territory was a luxurious guest bedroom with azure drapery
around the wide windows. Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband had once spent a
night in the room when visiting, and if Grace were to look under the bed, she
would have seen the former Black woman’s dusty hairbrush. After having left it
in the Manor, Bellatrix’s curls were out of control for the rest of her life
that ended so wonderfully shortly in the place she went to school.
   However, Grace did not look under the bed. She didn’t even look in the
adjacent bathroom to see the bottle of perfume Mrs. Goyle had given Narcissa
for her twenty-ninth birthday. It smelled like an old woman’s foot dunked into
a vat of citrus. Lemon, orange, lime, it didn’t matter. So much citrus.
   Listening to another principle of The Art of War, Grace did not march into
land she didn’t know the terrain of. Her outpost on the bed staring at the wall
would have to do.
   If she focused hard enough on the little dots in the wallpaper, she could
hear voices floating up from downstairs.
   “…we do not like this in the slightest!” an older man said. Grace figured it
was Lucius. “And your other candidate isn’t much better! Some drop-out who got
pregnant while drunk? How do you know she won’t drink with your child in her?”
   “Because,” Harry defended. Climbing off of the bed and pressing her ear to
the floor was the only way she could hear his growling. “Plenty of women who
drink in their daily lives stop when they’re pregnant. And what do you care?
We’re not adopting her.”
   “Could have fooled me with the girl you’re housing in our Manor!”
   If Harry had been less angry, he would have realized Lucius included him in
the ‘our’ bit.
   “It’s not too late to go back to the idea of in-vitro—“
   A belabored whine echoed in the Manor walls that Grace could only guess was
Draco. “No, no, no. Father, that’s out of the question and Harry is right. No
matter how dreadful the mother, all we want is the baby one of them is
carrying.”
   “Draco, not this one,” Narcissa insisted. Anyone but Burbage, even the
alcoholic. “Her mother…” The matriarch’s voice trailed off as Grace tried
harder and harder to hear her.
   “I know, mother. Believe me, I can’t forget that night.”
   “Then what if you look into your child’s eyes and see her mother, hm?”
Lucius demanded fiercely in his ever-protective spirit. Narcissa, Draco, Harry,
and their possible offspring were the only thing his shrunken heart could care
for.
   “I didn’t look into her mother’s eyes,” Draco answered quietly enough for
Grace to second-guess what she heard. What the hell were they talking about?
Voldemort had killed her mother, not the Malfoys. Even Nott had testified to
that.
   The silence that followed Draco’s statement worried Grace even more. All she
could hear was her own stomach churning. “The war is over,” Harry said. At
least the physical war, since the metaphorical one was apparently still going
on in the Manor.
   “Really? I had no idea.”
   “Lucius,” Narcissa scolded. Her husband hadn’t gotten much sleep the
previous evening, and he was a real grump after waking up on the wrong side of
the bed.
   “Harry most of all should know that memories stay.” Lucius waved away his
wife’s frustration with a limp swish of his hand.
   Harry narrowed his eyes—not that Grace could see—and immediately suspected
Lucius of bribing some St. Mungo’s official for his medical records in therapy.
Lucius was mentioned quite a few times as one of his worst stressors.
   How could someone as irritating as Lucius create something as perfect as
Draco? Ah, because children weren’t destined to follow in their parents’
footsteps. Harry considered saying that out loud in regards to Grace and Jordan
before Lucius spoke again.
   “I know I cannot change your minds; the two of you are so stubborn I can
hardly believe you coexist—“
   “Love,” Draco teased, putting on his sappiest voice just to freak his father
out.
   “—Yes, right, sure. But I cannot change your minds, only advise you. I
advise you not to go with either of these candidates for a multitude of
reasons, and you have to respect my experience factoring into my opinion when
making a final decision on where the Malfoy family line is going.”
   “Malfoy-Potter,” Narcissa corrected softly.
   Unlike Draco’s theatric moans whenever someone said something that bothered
him deeply, Lucius simply put on a stony face. Sure, in the years after the war
he’d gotten slightly better with expressing himself, but he was a man of old
money and old society.
   Men like that were supposed to be above emotions. “Are either of you even
listening?”
   “Yes, we are,” Harry lied smoothly. “We take all of this into account,
Lucius.”
   “Since that is so clearly true, my dearest son-in-law,” he managed through
gritted teeth so he could insult Harry whilst keeping his cool. “When are you
taking into account that there’s a pregnant woman upstairs who should not be
here?”
   “Father,” Draco muttered at his caustic tone.
   “Draco, her muggleborn mother was murdered on our dining room table. This is
not something I wanted brought up again, but now it’s here from your own
decisions so it’s yours to deal with. Get her out of this house, go to work,
and let me at least meet the other candidate.”
   Whatever shocked or offended looks the Malfoy-Potters downstairs had, none
quite matched the way Grace’s face had twisted in horror.
   Giving up her battle plans entirely, she grabbed her backpack off of the
floor and ran to the nearest fireplace.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Much like Harry, Remus didn’t have a blessed clue about the begonias.
Neither did Sirius, McGonagall, or the twelve other professors Auror Weasley
showed the note to. According to Sprout, the grounds didn’t even have begonias
in them and they were unlikely to grow in the Forbidden Forest.
   While Harry had presumably taken the day off to yell at some Malfoys, it
left Ron to stew alone on the case. It took him three full minutes to realize
he was scratching his head in confusion with the tip of his quill.
   With a trickle of black running down his face, Ron decided that 9:13 AM was
the perfect time for his lunch break.
   Leaving his office and the buzz of crime being solved behind, he screwed his
eyes shut and apparated to his front door. That way, he could surprise Hermione
and little Rosie.
   “Hermione?” he called out, lingering in the door frame.
   “Upstairs!”
   “Dada?”
   Ron grinned and shut their door behind him. “Be right there!”
   He sprinted up their spiral staircase to see Hermione playing with Rose on
the floor of her pastel blue room, painted with butterflies on the wall that
were charmed to move on their own and float towards whoever came in the room.
They rested by Rose’s crib when she slept.
   “Hey.” Ron gave his wife a kiss on the lips and his daughter a kiss on the
top of her ginger hair. “What’s going on?”
   Hermione motioned to the plastic sandwich in Rose’s grip with a piece of
felt lettuce and felt cheese stuck in there. “We’re having a picnic. Care to
join?” Rose’s stuffed bears, dogs, and dolphins were gathered around the
quilted picnic blanket Hermione had spread out over the floor.
   “Of course. I am on my lunch break,” announced Ron as he picked Rose up to
sit her down on his knee. She giggled, reaching up to grab at her father’s
black uniform with all its tassels and pins of honor. “Pour me some tea?”
   “What’s the magic word?” Hermione asked.
   “Please may I have some tea?”
   “Yes, you may.” She picked up the empty tea pot and poured the imaginary
liquid into Ron’s cup, careful to also top off the stuffed elephant’s cup.
   “Thank you,” Ron said cordially before lifting his pinky up and taking a sip
out of the flowery cup. Rose happily copied her father in adoration. After all,
he was secure enough in his manhood to show his daughter one hell of a feminine
good time.
   In years to come, Ron would show up to work with painted nails. Whenever he
was injured, sparkly rainbow Band-Aids would heal his wounds. If anyone sneered
or rolled their eyes, he’d hex their bullocks off.
   “How’s the case going?” Hermione asked. While her daughter was lovely for
watching telly with, she wasn’t the best at stimulating adult conversation.
   “Miserably,” Ron said cheerily. “We’re on a wild goose chase for some
flowers. Is it bad that I’m actually wishing for a high-profile case of regular
murder and deception from a crime of passion to get us off of this insanity?”
   “Yes, Ron. That’s probably bad.”
   He shrugged. “It’s just getting to Harry, y’know? That, and Draco is in a
regular snit about Nott’s father being involved. Then again, when isn’t Draco
in a snit?”
   “At least this is of substance,” she encouraged. Hermione’s goals for Draco
involved him being not only a better husband to Harry, but a better man.
“Theo’s kind; he always has been kind.” He’d been one of the few Slytherins to
lend her a hand in potions back in school without making fun of her appearance
or bloodline. “He hardly deserves this.”
   “The only person that deserves a father like Marcus Nott is Marcus Nott.”
   Hermione couldn’t help but second that. “Just when it feels like the war is
over, it really isn’t,” she whispered. She couldn’t tell if she was
disappointed or angry.
   The war still went on when strange old men gave her dirty looks on the
street and mouthed ‘mud’. The bastards couldn’t have gotten away with anything
more than that, or Hermione wouldn’t look like the crazy one when she called
them out.
   It still went on in certain private pureblood homes and in the haunted
memories of people like Harry who couldn’t seem to let the past remain in the
past. In short, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was a bitch.
   At least the glamour spells covered up Hermione’s scar. Harry had never even
tried to cover the one on his forehead.
   “Remus hasn’t figured out what the next hint means, so it looks as if we
don’t have much of a choice.”
   Hermione shook her head before realizing all of the dour talk had begun to
bother Rose. She was fussing around on Ron’s lap with a pout on her face, arms
reaching out for her mama.
   “Oh, come here, baby,” Hermione murmured as she held her daughter close.
   Ron couldn’t resist. “I’m right here,” he said in the sleaziest voice he
could manage. “Baby.”
   “Ugh, I cannot believe I am attracted to you.”
   “Neither can I, really. I’m just lucky that you’re still willing to shag
me.”
   “After a child, no less,” Hermione grumbled. The only good memory of that
whole night had been being able to hold Rose after they had cleaned her up.
   “After two children?” Ron asked hopefully. Pregnant sex was definitely not
on his list of kinks, especially after seven months. He loved Hermione and
found her to be the most beautiful woman on earth, but something about being
way too close to his unborn child freaked the Auror out.
   Hermione smiled as she rocked Rose back and forth. “Of course,” she assured
him before giving Ron a peck on the lips. “It’s truly a beautiful time when our
children have no idea we’re talking about sex in front of them.”
   “When they’re teenagers we can freak them out with it. Our sex is the only
reason they’re here,” Ron pointed out.
   Hermione rolled her eyes. “How would you feel if Molly and Arthur did that
to you?”
   “My parents never had sex, Hermione. Never. Pretty sure we’re all adopted,”
Ron told her seriously. “It’s a wonder we all look the same when I doubt my
parents have ever even considered having sex.”
   “You’re at war with the truth,” Hermione decided with a chuckle. She could
have sworn her baby agreed with her in her little mumbles and giggles.
   Ron plugged his ears with his fingers. “Not listening!”
   “Merlin, Ron. You’re the child in the room.”
   “La la la la la!”
   Hermione wasn’t sure if it was Ron’s off-key singing or general exhaustion,
but Rose got even fussier. Then, she smelled it. “Apparently,  I have to go
take care of our little stinker. How much time do you have left before you go
back?”
   Ron didn’t want to go back to death and decay when he had his family. “An
hour,” he lied. “Which is just enough time for me to make you lunch.”
   From the changing table, Hermione shot him a smile. When he disappeared to
make her meal the smile didn’t even fade. Ron was a shit liar, and it was
flattering to be considered preferable to decoding a madman’s thoughts from the
eighties.
   She did happen to miss him, too. As of late they’d either been too busy, too
tired, or too preoccupied with Rose to get any time for intimacy in.
   As she redressed their darling daughter, Hermione wanted to reward him for
that ever-so-typical patience. When she put Rose down in her crib, she promised
herself that this afternoon would be one of the most romantic of Ron’s life,
even if they only did have an hour until Kingsley came looking for him.
   When Kingsley showed up at the door forty-five minutes later, Hermione had
even made up a story as to why Ron had to come home. A pregnancy issue, she
said. Nobody ever asked for specifics about that except Healers.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “Open up,” Healer Malfoy-Potter called, banging on the guestroom door. He
didn’t blame Grace for not responding. If it were Draco with child in that
strange room, he would have locked the door against the world. “Have you at
least taken your prenatal potions?”
   Silence.
   “Draco, maybe we should give her a minute.”
   “If she doesn’t come downstairs in less than a minute, my father will come
up here.”
   Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have done
this in the first place,” he huffed. “I of all people know how intimidating
your parents can be, which if you don’t know, is massivelyintimidating.
Massively.”
   Harry tried knocking on the door.
   “Can I at least come in?” Harry asked softly. “I’m sorry about this, Grace.
I… I feel like we’re fucking this up.” It had been the first time Harry
admitted it.
   “What?” Draco asked.
   “We’re fucking this up because in what world is it okay to punish someone
for their parents—well, their not-parents—kicking them out?” Exhausted from
arguing with Lucius and Narcissa all morning, Harry really couldn’t take
another verbal showdown.
   He put his hands on Draco’s shoulders, looking the blonde dead in the eye.
   “I know you don’t like her.”
   Draco nodded.
   As if he were about to share some huge secret, Harry leaned in until his
eyelashes almost brushed against Draco’s cheek. “Guess what?” he whispered.
“Draco, I don’t know if you have observed this, but you don’t like anyone.”
   Not even Draco could hold back a laugh at that. “Shut up,” he said as he
tried to tense his mouth down from his smile.
   “It’s true, though. Draco, you hated the man you marriedfor seventeen
years.”
   “That’s because you were an annoying twat back then,” he defended. “But you
thankfully grew up. It’s not my fault you matured faster than some knocked-up
schoolgirl.”
   Harry took Draco’s hand in his, taking a moment to watch their fingers fall
into that familiar place. “There’s no point in making her miserable,” he
reminded him.
   Oh, Draco hated when Harry was right, but sometimes it just felt divine to
watch someone he disliked suffer.
   “Let’s go in there together and talk to her, okay?”
   Draco took a deep breath before resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.
“Okay.” He sort of had lost sight of what this was supposed to be about.
   “Grace,” Harry called back to the door. “We’re coming in now, alright? Do
you hear me?”
   Still, no response.
   Still, Harry didn’t blame her. She’d gotten an honest look at the
dysfunctions of their family and was most likely in need of a shock blanket and
a warm cup of tea.
   Hoping he could conjure one that didn’t taste terrible, Harry opened the
door and found… Well, nothing. “Hello?” he asked the empty room. Maybe Grace
had gone into the bathroom.
   Already a step ahead of him, Draco knocked on the bathroom door. “You better
have clothes on,” he muttered when he swung the door open without an answer.
   While Draco was grateful a naked woman wasn’t in there, he was disturbed
that nobody was in the bathroom at all.
   “Uh.”
   “Grace?” Harry asked again weakly.
   “Maybe she’s in the closet,” he remarked sarcastically. “I hope she said
‘hello’ to Slughorn for me.”
   Harry sniggered. “You really are never going to get over that theory, are
you?”
   “Sirius thinks the same thing! Two generations of general creepiness towards
male students has to point out something in Slug’s life.”
   “We’re also clearly fuckingthisup,” Harry said slowly. “Because we
apparently drove her away by not even speaking to her.”
   Immediately, Draco tensed up.
   “What is it?”
   Draco buried a hand in his own hair to tug at it. “Do you think…?”
   “Think what?” Harry questioned, entirely lost.
   “Mum!” Draco shouted suddenly. “Mum, get up here!”
   It only took a second for Narcissa to respond with “I’m coming, sweetheart!”
and Draco heard her crystal clear.
   “She heard,” he said numbly with a blank face.
   “Draco, I am so sick of not knowing what’s going on!” Harry hissed, gripping
his hip. “Tell me.”
   “She heard us talking. Grace heard us—“
   “—and your father—“
   “—and her mother—“
   Harry took off.
   He raced down the stairs and passed Narcissa in a fluster.
   “I’ve got the hospitals and shelters,” Draco called as he raced after Harry.
   “And I’ve got Hogwarts.”
   Narcissa couldn’t get even get a word out before they ran out of the front
door of the Manor. “What…?” she trailed off, looking around for someone to
relate her confusion and distress to. “Lucius, Lucius, come quick, something’s
wrong.”
***** Little Girl *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter is dedicated to Supreet, her vagina, and her beautiful
     romance with my dog.
Chapter 21: Little Girl
   “I’m not some rapist,” Draco said as he put his hand over his chest in
offense.
   He’d zipped through St. Mungo’s with no sign of Grace and gotten a patronus
message from Harry saying she wasn’t at Hogwarts. Draco was already desperate
when he entered the women’s soup kitchen.
   “Sir, there are women here who have been abused. My job is to not let that
happen again,” the matronly figure behind the desk stated simply. “I cannot
tell you what women are staying here, because even if you are innocent, leaking
that kind of information will assure it finds its way to those who would have
these women hurt once more. Husbands, fathers, boyfriends, pimps…”
   “I’m gay,” Draco offered her. The last shelter he’d been to was wizarding,
so they’d at least known that. Not being famous among muggles was truly
bothersome.
   “And you’ve never heard of a gay man abusing a woman? It happens.”
   “Well, I’ve never done it!”
   The woman made a ‘tsk, tsk’ noise to Draco. “How do I know you’re not lying
to me?”
   “I could—“
  “That was a rhetorical question,” she sighed. “Now if you’d kindly exit the
lobby—“
   “What if I give you the name of the girl I’m looking for? Look, she’s
seventeen, blonde, pregnant, might be using a fake name but here—“ Draco
grabbed a pen so he could scribble down ‘Grace Burbage’. “If she’s here, then
please just let her know that Draco stopped by.”
   It was a reasonable request, so the woman took it. “Fine,” she nodded
curtly, looking down at the slip of paper. The name was new to her, and the
only pregnant women she had were in their twenties.
   Draco gritted his teeth. “Thank you,” he said as courteously as he could
manage before returning to the streets of London on his quest for the prodigal
daughter. He hoped Harry would appreciate Draco’s bragging about being so nice
to strangers when they met after this shitstorm.
   And oh, how Draco was looking forward to that.
   All he wanted to do was crawl into the covers with Harry and go to sleep
with a sound mind and a full stomach. Draco, in a lonely throb, craved intimacy
more than anything when he crossed the street on his way to the next shelter.
   He wanted warmth, but not like the mucky hot weather he was enduring. Draco
wanted that skin-tingling closeness where he forgot whose feet were whose and
they were consumed by the moment.
   All Draco was currently consumed by was a need to rescue an adolescent after
his loudmouth father had revealed a rather nasty family secret. Draco was ready
to chew him out for that later just as much as Harry was.
   If it were any comfort, Harry was having just as miserable a time as Draco
in locating Grace. He’d enlisted the help of Ron and Hermione to scour the
Ministry buildings nearby, but there was still no sign of her.
   With the Golden Trio running about London, it would only make sense to get
the Lupins in on the fun.
   Draco turned a corner into a dead-end alleyway that was stacked tall with
bricks. Then, no muggle would have to see him send the patronus message. The
last thing Draco needed was a citation for magic use in front of the
unsuspecting public.
   “Come quickly,” Draco finished before whisking the ghostly dragon away.
Maybe Remus would know where kids hung out those days. It was strange that he
was the one most in-touch with pop culture since he was stuck in the seventies,
but he was around kids all day for work.
   Sheathing his wand in the inner pocket of the robe, Draco melted back into
the flow of the people that the downtown area seemed to have after lunchtime.
   A woman with a hot pink bag strutted by with a cellphone up to her ear,
blabbing about some business deal or another. Behind her, two teenagers walked
alongside one another and blushed when their hands accidentally brushed
together.
   Draco was sick of teenagers, but he turned down Fleet Avenue anyway. The
next homeless shelter was coed and mostly drug-addicts that left them with
nasty magical side effects. A man with purple ears shuffled past Draco, so he
figured he was going in the right direction.
   The only thing that made him turn around to face the park on the other side
of the road was a loud splashing noise.
   Draco looked up and scowled at whatever tomfoolery was going on
preemptively. He was not in the mood for bullshit. “What?” he muttered after a
moment of staring.
   He darted out across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a cab that
was forced to screech to a halt.
   “The fuck is wrong with you!”
   The cab driver was normally a kind, calm man. He had two grandchildren from
his only daughter whom he loved very dearly. He had their drawings hung up on
the fridge and read bedtime stories to them. In a moment of sheer and
unexpected rage, he leaned on the horn to make such an obnoxious noise that
Grace whirled around on her rock perch.
   She’d climbed her way to one of the jagged stones that the mayor of London
said would ‘add to the artistic appeal of the park’ and sat down to try and
skip stones. Grace had failed miserably at this, which only made her angrier.
   Quickly, Grace turned back into herself and screwed her eyes shut. Please
make him go away. Please, someone just make him go away. She chucked another
rock into the pool of water to try and reinforce her sentiment through body
language. The koi fish scattered, running for their lives from the killer
meteors falling from the heavens.
   “I think you’re supposed to skip them,” Draco offered after he hopped the
fence to get to her. He wished he could be relieved that she wasn’t dead in a
sewer, but that would have been incredibly premature.
   “I think you’re supposed to fuck off.”
   Draco pulled out the beginning of the speech he had prepared while he was
looking for her, seeing no other option. “I know this is strange.”
   “Strange?” she laughed slowly, shakily. “Go fuck yourself, ‘strange’. You
don’t get to be fucking quirky and clever when my mum is dead. I bet you think
you’re so fucking witty and eloquent. I bet your stupid husband tells you that
every day and you don’t even think about my mother.”
   Draco’s pride and ego were equally wounded. The sad part was, he knew he
probably deserved it. “That’s not true,” he said quietly.
   “Then what is?” Grace questioned, turning to face him. Her eyes had puffed
up from crying, but at the time she just looked angry with strands of hair
having escaped the tight hold of her ponytail.
   Grace’s perfect plan for the perfect family for her unfortunate fetus had
fallen to shambles, and for Grace to figure out that it was for the same reason
her childhood had fallen to shambles, it made her sick.
   “She was kidnapped, and the Manor was the headquarters of the Death Eaters.”
There was no point in lying to her, so he let it flow out. “Peter Pettigrew
tried to get information on Hogwarts security out of her.”
   Grace swallowed an angry shudder. She didn’t even have to ask if her mother
had given over the information or not. Of course Charity hadn’t betrayed her
tight-knit network of professors and students. They were her family as much as
Grace was.
   “When she didn’t hand it over…” Draco’s voice dropped to a whisper with each
word.
   “Stop being a wimp about this,” she snapped. “Just tell me how you watched
my mum die.”
   “I did. I did, Grace. Voldemort killed her and I’m sorry—“
   She dug her fingernails into Draco’s shoulder. If he was going to be close,
Draco would have to feel her wrath. “I don’t care what you are. You know, I
built you up to be so big in my head,” she said breathily. It felt sort of
marvelous, like she was an air sprite just flitting about each word with the
truth she’d uncovered. “But you’re not. I think I’ve figured it out, too.”
   “Figured what out?”
   “I imagined a million conversations in my head with you before I met you,
and then I tried to act like your best friend. Hell, I trusted you with my
unborn baby as if you were the most qualified men in the world; you and Harry
both.” The anger trickled out of her in a steady stream.
   “But you’re not. I mean, I’m probably even less qualified, but you’re hardly
perfect,” she laughed.
   Draco shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to defend himself, but he knew that
Grace had to say this without being interrupted.
   “The more I grow up, the more I realize nobody’s an adult. Nobody has any
idea what they’re doing, even the people who look like they’ve got it together.
You were a scared, stupid kid, and you let my mother die.”
   He nodded, gripping tight to his silence no matter how much he hated it.
   “And I’m a scared, stupid kid who got pregnant.”
   “You’re not stupid,” Draco finally butted in. “You were shocked today by
horrible news, and I wouldn’t blame you if you despised me forever. In fact, I
would encourage you to do that.”
   Grace shook her head. “Fuck you, I’m not finished talking.”
   “Sorry.”
   “Nobody has any idea what they’re doing,” she recapitulated, bringing her
points together. “But I know we can’t change what’s been done. I’ve been angry
my whole life, Draco Malfoy. I’ve felt it in my bones and sometimes I’d have to
run for miles and miles just to get it out. My whole body would go red when
simple things set me off.”
   Draco tried to reach out for her before realizing that was a terrible idea.
Losing a parent wasn’t simple.
   “I remember sharpening my pencils for hours in muggle school. There was a
sharpener outside of the classroom, and whenever some kid would talk about
their parents or make fun of my clothes, I would go outside and pretend I had
to sharpen my pencils. That’s why my hands were so cracked and clammy when I
was little, you know.”
   “I’m sorry about that, too.”
   “But there’s nothing more pointless than that,” Grace argued with a fiery
glow about her. “Why would I sharpen something down to a nub and then not use
it? I hated writing with those tiny pencils; it was impossible.”
   Slowly, he began to understand. “You did it so you could feel as if you were
doingsomethingfor yourself.”
   “But I wasn’t. I was just sharpening everything down to a stump that I
couldn’t use. You can’t add wood and lead back into a pencil,” she said
plainly.
   “And you’re prepared to forgive me—my family, really—for watching your
mother die just because we can’t change it?” Draco asked, so amazed that he
forgot to be sensitive about it. Grace seemed to find that refreshing.
   “No,” she said simply. “Today is salt in an old wound, and I’m not forgiving
your stuck-up, petulant father for that. All I’m doing is saying that I get it,
okay?”
   “What?”
   “I know that if some professor of mine that I didn’t really speak to was
being tortured in front of me and that if I spoke up I would be next, then I
would have done the same thing.” Grace wished she was brave like her Gryffindor
friends, but she wasn’t. Her and Draco were snakes through and through. “You
have to make a promise to me, Draco Malfoy.”
   “Anything,” he swore.
   “Promise me you won’t ever tell my baby about the way her grandmother died.
Don’t tell the baby anything about me, either. Don’t ever die young, and don’t
ever do stupid things that put you in harm’s way. I never want my baby to be as
angry as I was. Well, as I am.”
   Draco’s mouth tried to form words. “Grace, Harry and I need to talk about
this, this is sudden, and you’re not in the best place emotionally—“
   “Then call him,” Grace snapped. “Merlin, you’re an arsehole. My mother died
so you could live, do you not get that? You and Harry and everyone else. If
she’d given away Hogwarts’ defenses, the castle would have collapsed and I
would be dead, too. I would never be having this baby. Now swear to me you’ll
take care of her granddaughter.”
   Only then did Draco realize she was using female pronouns.
   “Granddaughter?” Was Grace seeing another Healer?
   “Granddaughter. Now swear to me.” She’d checked into a clinic to figure out
the gender after her flight from Malfoy Manor. It set her in the present rather
than the past.
   Draco shook his head. “No, I’ve not been so great to Harry lately. I need to
include him on this, okay? Let me just send the patronus message.”
   “So I built your relationship up, too?” Grace laughed. In interviews, they
always seemed so happy together.
   “Yes, Grace, even we have arguments. Trying to acquire a baby has led to
more than a few,” he said in a very matter-of-fact manner. “How in the world
did you think Harry and I were perfect?”
   She didn’t answer him. It was healthy, she supposed, for couples to argue.
There was something suspicious about people that were content in their
relationships one hundred percent of the time. They were probably hiding
something.
   When Harry rushed into the park to greet his husband with an arm around his
waist and a kiss on the cheek, Grace knew that there was no way in hell Harry
could hide something from Draco. The man was transparent and wore his heart
right on his face.
   She could see every twinge of emotion when Draco told him of Grace’s deal.
There was hope, surprise, excitement, and relief all at once. When Draco told
him the baby was a girl, Harry even had a little glimmer of water in the corner
of his eye.
   Harry had never accepted a deal so fast in his life.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   The orange lily was simply refusing to stay on Colin’s daisy chain. No
matter what way he twirled the stem around the other flower, it fell off.
   He sighed, looking down to his sleeping boyfriend. There would have to be
some way to get the flower in on the cluster of violets and roses already
positioned in Theo’s black hair. The Slytherin was a thankfully heavy sleeper,
so Colin had even been able to sneak in some little buttercup flowers in his
eyebrows.
   Theo looked like a woodland fairy, which amused Colin immensely enough to
keep him twisting flowers in his hair.
   Colin gave up on his lily for the moment to place the daisy flower crown
around Theo’s head. It made him look like the prince of the wild.
   “Mm?” Theo asked with closed eyes. Blindly, he reached out to grasp onto
Colin.
   The gardens they’d gone to on their date night were abundant and beautiful,
along with the food they’d brought to eat. If it wasn’t for how Theo looked
snoozing in the grass, Colin and his full belly would have fallen asleep beside
him.
   “Don’t move,” Colin told him gently and held him still so he could try once
more to get the tangerine flower behind his left ear. “You look like a woodland
nymph.”
   “I don’t think anyone has ever called me that before.”
   “I’m your first,” the Gryffindor informed him seriously.
   “Wish you had been.”
   Was that just the sleep talking, or…? “Really?” Colin asked.
   Oh, shit. Had Theo said that out loud? “Uh,” he tried to recover. “I mean,
the experience did help in the future. We have great sex now because I had a
clue as to what I was doing.”
   “Who was your first?” Colin plucked a nearby Pansy off of its stalk and
curled it around a croft of hair. “Just curious.”
   Theo gave him a tiny smile. He couldn’t see himself with all those flowers
in his hair, but apparently Colin had made it happen. “It was when I was on
vacation to the states. I went to California alone, since my father let me pick
where I wanted to go, and I knew he wanted somewhere in Europe.” The mention of
his father made the memory sour.
   “His name was Noah and he was a lifeguard.”
   “So you two did it on the beach?” Colin laughed. He knew from experience
that sandy sex had some tragic results.
   Theo shook his head. “He shared a house with some of his classmates. I think
he went to some muggle university that had the word ‘California’ in its name.
University of California? College of South California? Yeah, I have no idea.”
   “Muggles,” Colin teased. “So confusing.” Though it definitely was a slap to
Marcus’ face that Theo had been deflowered by a regular Joe. Or Noah, Colin
supposed.
   “Of course. I was fourteen and he was nineteen, and it was really sloppy.
What about you?” It wasn’t a hobby of Theo and Colin’s to rehash their past
experiences with people who were not the man lying next to them, but it was
still the truth. The reason Colin loved photography so much was because it
exposed the truth no matter what it looked like. The reason Colin loved Theo
was because he was always honest.
   “I was nineteen,” Colin laughed. “So you beat me there.”
   “As expected.”
   Colin gave him a shove before telling his own story. “I met this bloke at a
bar and we went out on a couple of dates. His name was Harvey, a real
unassuming guy to the untrained eye.”
   “But to yours?” Theo asked, curious.
   “I dunno. I feel like I just have an eye for who’s a freak in bed. The
second I met you should be proof enough of that.” Well, they had met in school,
but neither man counted that as their first meeting. They were both so
underdeveloped then, and never could imagine they would be falling for one
another.
   A flower-laced eyebrow on Theo’s forehead rose. “You were thinking about
shagging me in a wedding venue? That’s scandalous, you horny fuck.”
   “As if you weren’t staring at my arse the whole time,” Colin snorted.
   “It’s not my fault that you really filled out your jeans since I last saw
you! I swear, it was like you went in a cocoon and came out a regular Adonis.”
   He rolled his eyes and shoved Theo again. “I am no Adonis, you prick.”
   “I can’t believe you’re offended by compliments. Anyway, tell me why it
ended with Harvey,” he requested.
   Of course Theo wanted to know how it ended, Colin thought. It always seemed
to satisfy his boyfriend that Colin had never met anyone who fit just right
with him like Theo did. “He wound up getting a job in Cardiff and we lost
touch. Still was some great sex, though. Do you really wish I was your first?”
   “I think I’m just wishing that we stopped being idiots earlier in life so I
wouldn’t have to deal with all of those failed romances and drunken one-night
stands,” he shrugged. “You’re the only person I see myself with long-term out
of all of them.”
   Tenderly, Colin cupped Theo’s cheek. “Like, forever?” he asked breathlessly.
“Is a Slytherin voluntarily talking about commitment? Because honestly, who are
you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”
   “I’m right here.” Theo rolled his eyes.
   Rather than being snarky right back, Colin used his wand to fetch a high-
growing hibiscus. This one found a place in Theo’s shirt lapel right next to
his beating heart. “I would like that,” he said after a moment.
   “Forever?”
   “At the very least for the long-term.” Colin grabbed some more orange lilies
and twisted them in Theo’s hair. “I see a future with you. You’re honest,
funny, kind, smart, good in bed… I mean, what else are you supposed to look for
in a life partner?”
   Theo pulled him in for a long, sweet kiss. Almost every day he doubted his
own intelligence at one point or another, and he was always trying so hard to
be courteous and polite to those who had earned it. Colin certainly had.
   “Also a great snogger.”
   “Yeah, well I happen to enjoy snogging you,” Theo murmured and forced
himself to make eye contact with the human incarnation of a bouncy ball that
was lying on top of him. The ring in his pocket felt heavy with purpose, and
Theo wondered if now was the time to pull it out and put his life on the line.
   It was his life that he was gambling with, after all. Marriage would mean a
future, and a future might lead them down the path that Draco and Harry were
fumbling about with children. Except Theo wouldn’t go through all that doubty
bullshit Draco had with whether or not he’d be a good father.
   Theo would be a good father because he was not his own father. It was
simple.
   “I enjoy snogging you too,” Colin affirmed. He felt filled to the brim with
some kind of light, and it showed. Colin was happier than he could properly
say, so that light said it for him.
   “Even when I’ve got these poofy flowers in my hair?” Theo questioned
playfully, feeling himself recede into his shell. The moment had passed, and he
still hadn’t asked Colin to marry him. Maybe there’d never be the right moment,
he feared.
   Colin kissed his nose. “Roses and all.”
   “Even the violets?”
   “Even in the lilies.”
   “Even snogging me in the daisies?”
   Colin was quickly running out of flower names. What was the technical term
for ‘those clustered pink ones’? “Even the…” he trailed off, worrying at his
lower lip.
   “The only thing I didn’t sell from Nott Manor were the gardens,” Theo
recalled suddenly. “My mum used to grow potion ingredients there along with
flowers. She had everything. Daffodils, carnations, snapdragons, begonias—“
   “What?” Colin asked quickly, bolting upwards so the one rose he’d placed in
his own hair fell to the grass.
   Was Colin Creevey ever shit at hiding his feelings, or what? “Yes?” Theo
asked slowly, sitting up so he could rest his arms around the other man.
   “Your mother,” he said, flustered. “She planted those?”
   “Yeah, there was a whole patch right by the southern wall. They used to make
Blaise sneeze like hell whenever he visited. Why are you asking?”
   The clue had to be talking about those begonias, they just had to be.
   Colin had gotten all the details of Marcus’ case so he could properly relay
everything to the man he loved, but he hadn’t gotten around to telling him
about the new note.
   “Colin?”
    He shook his mop of blonde hair. “It’s, uh. It’s funny, because my mum used
to plant those too,” he lied. By the time Colin was six, his mother hadn’t even
been well enough to get out of bed.
   Theo accepted the lie, mostly because he wanted to. Whatever explanation was
really behind Colin’s behavior Theo just knew he wouldn’t like the sound of.
   The lie grew with every kiss Colin Creevey gave him to reassure Theodore
Nott that everything was going to be ‘okay, sweetheart’.
   Colin gripped to his boyfriend and the lie as tightly as he could. He would
point Harry and Ron in the right direction for the case afterwards. In that
moment, he was content with showering Theo in tulip petals and laughing when he
swatted them away.
***** In Strangers' Beds *****
Chapter Notes
     God, I love Theodore Nott. I feel like even though JK mentioned him a
     few times as a background character, I connect with him on a
     spiritual level. I could rant for hours about how I love him, but I
     think it’s time to check in with some other characters. Onwards!
     Also, DOMA is dead. Dead, dead, dead. I am so happy. Prop 8, you’re
     next.
     This chapter is for Sally. Yes, you, Sally. Are you really still
     reading this? Bless you.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter 22: In Strangers’ Bed
   “Alright,” Blaise said cheerfully, giving the girl laying between him and
Ginny a pat on the back. It felt a little like when Draco used to pat his back
after a winning Quidditch game. “That was fun. You should get home while there
are still cabs.”
   The woman arched a perfectly-trimmed eyebrow and propped herself up on her
elbows. “What?” she asked.
   “Or can you just use the floo?” Ginny gathered the girl’s frilly pink
undergarments from the foot of the bed and handed them over. It was regretful
that such a beautiful woman had to dress herself and cover up the breasts that
Ginny and Blaise had just been savoring together, but it was getting late.
   Blaise and Ginny had laid down some ground rules, after all.
   Nothing romantic with anyone else (including no sleepovers), no kissing
anyone else on the mouth, and no seeing someone else more than once. It was
just sex with other people, not full-blown relationships.
   They’d add rules as they journeyed on their adventure through the world of
sexual relations while being in Capital-L Love with one another.
   “Are you… Kicking me out?” the woman asked, flustered. “Whose flat is this?”
   Blaise motioned to Ginny. “The title’s technically in her name, but we live
here together.” Still naked himself, Blaise climbed out of their royal blue
sheets so he could grab a midnight snack.
   “Oh, babe,” Ginny requested, hand reaching out to her boyfriend. “Can you
grab a granola bar for me? One of the ones with the yogurt on the bottom?”
   “Sure. Does, er—“ Had Blaise seriously forgotten the woman’s name? It was
something with a ‘B’. Brandy? Britney? “Does our guest need any food for the
road?”
   Offended, Bianca roughly shoved her underwear back on. “No, I don’t want any
food,” she snarled.
   “I have to eat before I go to bed,” Ginny shared casually with a shrug.
Casual conversation, in her opinion, should at least be an option between three
people that just shagged. “Just can’t sleep well without it.”
   Bianca grabbed the top she’d worn to the bar off of the floor along with her
leggings. What was wrong with these people? “I’m going,” she announced. “And
no, I don’t want to use your floo.”
   “Goodnight, then,” Blaise said when he returned to the bedroom with a bag of
chips for himself and a health bar for Ginny.
   Confused, Bianca muttered a “Goodnight” and left their apartment so she
could apparate home. Bianca had promised the flat she shared with his sister
would be empty that night so her sister could get around to losing her
virginity to her goody-two-shoes boyfriend.
   It looked as if her sister would have to put that off for another night.
   Blaise plopped down on the space Bianca had left. “So, how was it for you?”
he asked as he handed her the midnight snack.
   “I haven’t been with a woman in ages,” Ginny murmured nostalgically as she
unwrapped the bar and took a bite. She didn’t even bother swallowing the food
in her mouth to say the next bit. “Completely fantashtic. She wash a real
looker.”
   “Not as hot as you, though.”
   She laughed and swatted his thigh. “Stop it.”
   “Stop what? It’s true.” Blaise reached out to curl a strand of her hair
around his fingertip. It was strange, having just slept with someone else but
being more attracted to Ginny than ever before. “You’ve got a body that lots of
women would kill for and kill to be with.”
   “Nothing says sweet-talk quite like murder,” Ginny grinned.
   “It’s true,” he repeated, leaving it at that.
   Ginny lay on her side so they could be face-to-face. “You’re very
superficial,” she said fondly. “I guess it’s easy for you to be because you’re
so pretty.”
   “Handsome, Gin. I’m not pretty, I’m handsome.”
   “Pretty.” Ginny gave his cheek a little pat and squeezed it. She’d never
been with a guy who gave her so many compliments on her appearance rather than
her personality traits, but then again, she had dated her fair share of gay
men. That thought brought up an idea Ginny had been cooking up.
   “How about next time we invite a bloke in?” she asked.
   The whites of Blaise’s eyes swelled. “What?” he responded in a squeak that
made him sound prepubescent.
   “Why not? If I’m already shagging other blokes, why not have you here to
make it even better?”
   “I’m not physically attracted to men,” Blaise pointed out. The reason they’d
been bringing women in was because Ginny was attracted to them as well. “I
mean, when two girls get it on, it’s hot—“
   “Same applies for people who are attracted to guys, you know. Some straight
and bi women get off on the idea of two blokes shagging,” Ginny interrupted
eagerly. All that lesbian porn Blaise watched with women who had nails far too
long to actually render them anything other than straight outside of their
little video must have been going to Blaise’s head.
   Blaise still looked flabbergasted. “Is that—I mean, is that why you were
with Potter and Thomas?”
   “What? No!”
   “So you’re saying you’d want to see me and some other man…? Salazar, Gin. I
never realized how kinky you were.”
   She rolled her eyes. “That’s hardly kinky. You don’t even know the half of
it,” she said airily. It was just the right amount of mystery that she had been
going for. “Have you ever even thought about other blokes?”
   “I honestly can say I haven’t. Aside from some ill-advised games of Spin The
Bottle back in school, I have never felt myself leaning in Draco’s direction.”
   “What?” That had piqued Ginny’s interest. “You’ve kissed boys?” Somehow,
that made him even more desirable. Ginny tried not to think about how streak of
dating men who’d dated men and let this be a pleasant surprise.
   Blaise scrunched up his nose. “I don’t like to share it,” he admitted.
“Enough people in school thought I was gay for hanging around Draco and Theo so
much.”
   “People also thought Theo and Draco were together. The moral of that is that
people are wildly stupid.”
   “Them both,” Blaise shared, recalling the nights when Pansy hollered and
whooped with excitement no matter which of her friends were selected to snog
one another. “Crabbe, Goyle, and one time when I was hanging out with Draco in
a gay bar a drunken go-go boy planted one on me.” Draco had laughed so hard
that his butterbeer almost came out of that huge, angular nose of his.
   “I wished Gryffindor House had played more sexy games. It would have
resolved the tension between Ron and Hermione by fifth year,” she mused before
arching herself into Blaise’s bare chest. He’d finished his chips, leaving his
hands free to hold her.
   “Hey, what happened in that castle stays in that castle,” Blaise laughed.
   “So you’ll think about it?”
   “Think about what?”
   “A threesome with another man,” she reminded him gently. For a horrifying
moment, she sounded like her mother trying to coax her father into eating
whole-grain breakfast cereal.
   Blaise rolled his head to the side.
   “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
   “Ugh, stop,” he groaned. “I’ll do it, but you completely owe me.”
   Ginny grinned from ear to ear and wrapped her arm around her man. “I think
I’ll find a way to make it worth your while.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Exhausted, Olivia collapsed onto the trimmed grass. It didn’t feel like the
wildgrass at Hogwarts that tickled her made her think there were invisible bugs
crawling on her skin. This was just prickly.
   That didn’t seem to matter to Alex, though. He was the first one to lie down
and watch the clouds roll by after their game of tag had tired him out. It had
really been more like Olivia tagging him and Alex giving up, but that was
beside the point.
   Alex had gotten a new haircut thanks to his foster parents, and it only made
Olivia want to chase after him more.
   “I think that one looks like a parrot,” he said, nudging her arm and
pointing up at a milky cloud.
   “Why a parrot?” she laughed. “Sure, it looks like a bird, but what
specifically makes it a parrot?”
   Alex shrugged. “Just a feeling.”
   Merlin, Olivia loved that. ‘Just a feeling’. How cool was that? “Then what
breed is the one that looks like a cat?”
   “It’s a hairless cat. See how regally it’s sitting? It’s also on the thin
side. What do you think about that one that looks a little like a dinosaur?”
   “That’s not a dinosaur.” The cloud puffs were hardly ferocious enough. “It
looks like a dog. Like Sirius’ animagus form, all shaggy and messy.”
   Alex smiled. Even though he was a Gryffindor, he didn’t want to be too bold
in asking how she was getting along with Sirius and Remus. “Yeah, Professor
Lupin has got a pretty cool husband. I can’t wait until I can turn into an
animal. I hope my animagus form is something awesome like a horse. So, um,
you’re doing well?”
   Olivia let out a little laugh. “Yeah, ‘course I’m doing well. Are you?”
   “Yeah,” he answered honestly. “Joanne and Andrew are really good cooks, and
they got me a new broom. Are you going out for Ravenclaw’s Quidditch team next
year?”
   “Nope. I think I want to spend more time working on classes. Do you know how
hard it is to get a job without any skills? It’s like, ridiculous,” she told
him seriously since it made her feel grown-up and mature. Her week-long search
had been depressing as a twelve year-old who had no bills to pay or children to
support.
   “I wouldn’t worry about jobs. You’re smart, Liv. Smart people always get
jobs.” The only person whose intelligence Alex was worried about was his own.
   “Just because I’m smart doesn’t mean I’ll get a job. I have to be smart at
specific things.”
   Alex rolled onto his side, his glasses dropping down his nose. “You’re smart
at reading,” he listed on his fingers. “You’re smart at writing, you’re smart
at spells, and you’re smart at talking to adults.”
   “I worry,” she shrugged.
   “You don’t have to worry with Remus and Sirius as your parents. They’re
filthy rich.”
   Olivia gave him a look. “I don’t want to live off of them forever, though. I
want to have my own career,” she decided. It had been a thought of hers for a
long while, but only then could she articulate it. “So it doesn’t matter how
rich they are.”
   Should Olivia have said ‘we’ instead of ‘they’? Also, was it supposed to
feel that odd that Remus and Sirius were considered her parents now?
   A silence passed between the two pre-teens as they looked up into the
blistering June sky.
   “It’s weird, innit?” Alex said carefully. He hoped he wasn’t the only one
who felt it with his foster parents. While there was no real frame of reference
for him since he had no memories of his parents, he was sure there was
something strange about two people deciding to become your parents.
   It was sudden.
   “It’s definitely weird,” she nodded. “But it’s nice.”
   “Agreed.”
   “Grimmauld Place is so strange.”
   “Is it really haunted?” Alex was enthralled by the idea of spiritual
happenings ever since Nearly-Headless Nick had scared Professor Slughorn for
him. “Do you hear Walburga Black cursing her sons? Or do the ghosts of the
ancestors wail at night?”
   “Nope. I mean it’s strange in that there is no trace of the Black family. No
books about them, no portraits… The place is completely and one-hundred percent
Sirius and Remus. Nothing like the stories about the war said,” she told him
quietly. “I guess they really made it their home.”
   “Yeah.”
   “And Sirius is nothing like his parents, which you probably already know,”
she assured him. Olivia hoped that Sirius knew that. It had to be an anxiety
the man had at some point, and now all she wanted was to tell him that it
wasn’t true.
   That reminded Olivia that she had no idea what Remus’ parents were like.
Maybe she’d ask him sometime soon.
   Before that, she would try and chat through things in their adventures in
orphaning. “I think what’s so strange about Grimmauld Place is that even though
it’s huge, it feels small. It feels cozy even though it’s four levels.”
   “So it’s like a home?” Alex wanted to know.
   Olivia twisted her face up. “Uh, yeah, I guess.” She still didn’t know.
   “Liv!” Sirius called from the door of the restaurant. “Want to get going,
sweetheart?”
   Next to him, Joanne appeared. “And Alex, what have I told you about going
into the fresh-cut grass with a white shirt on?” she asked cautiously. Having a
child had begun to wear on her sanity, which probably meant she and her husband
were doing it right.
   “Yeah,” Olivia shouted back before turning to Alex conspiratorially. “So
you’ll convince them to let you come to the party, right?” She really wanted to
see him again.
   Obliviously, Alex nodded. “Totally. Looking forward to it.”
   If this was what having a home and being a regular kid really felt like,
Olivia couldn’t believe she had lived without it. It was practically integral,
and no downsides had been observed. Well, not yet, anyway.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   A quiet groan escaped Harry’s lips. It floated across the room, stopping
short from echoing across the house because of the silencing spell Draco had
placed around their room.
   Grace wouldn’t be hearing their shagging; not over Draco’s dead body. That,
and the baby would probably grow up to know the moans from their daddies’ room
was not the noises of delight from eating a moist chocolate cake.
   “Draco,” Harry murmured as he carded his hands through his damp hair as the
other man kissed his neck.
   They’d done something together that they hadn’t done in a long time. They
went on a jog. Half of the reason was because Grace needed to settle into the
guest room and they wanted to leave her be after the emotionally draining
afternoon, and the other half was that Draco felt like he was getting something
done when he ran.
   The run had been far from silent, too.
   Harry was finally happy with Draco including him on decisions, which meant
he was up for having a real conversation about what was going on.
   It could best be summed up as: Draco felt guilty and uncomfortable, but he
wished he didn’t.
   Being the wonderful husband he was, Harry suggested a shower to clear their
minds. Since Draco was drenched in sweat from running, he had agreed.
   “Draco,” Harry said again, this time arching up into his touch. “Mm, as much
as I would enjoy a round two…”
   “I was honestly shooting for a round three. You are so gorgeous,” Draco told
him before closing his fist around Harry’s cock. He gently pumped up and down,
wanting to feel the other man harden in his hand.
   Harry was giving Draco just what he wanted, too. Betrayed by his own penis.
“Draco,” he insisted. “We never got a chance to finish talking about the deal
with Grace.”
   With a sigh, Draco looked up to Harry’s eyes. They were wider without his
glasses, more innocent-looking. “Never mention her name in bed again. Ever,”
Draco ordered him before his other hand moved to stroke Harry’s taint.
   “The girl is own our house, Draco. All the handjobs in the world can’t
change that. She’s going to be having our kid, our daughter.”
   “And what do you want me to talk with you about?” he huffed and finally
withdrew his hands. “I already told you that I feel like shit about her mum. I
also already told you that I’ll get over it. I have to.”
   “Yes, that’s definitely a healthy attitude to have about this.”
   Draco rolled his eyes. That was definitely the therapy talking. “I don’t
care if it’s healthy or not.” He threw his hands up and pulled away from his
husband. “I’ve gotten over a hundred things before this, so it’s only logical
to assume I will get over the idea of not standing up for Professor Burbage. I
mean, Grace is giving us her baby, so she’s clearly moved on in some way.”
   Harry curled his fingers back into Draco’s hair. “Maybe you don’t need to
‘get over it’. Maybe you have to let yourself have an emotion for a few days.”
   “Wrong!” Draco yelled. The louder he was, the more correct he was.
   “You’re insane.”
   “Don’t care. Now, you know what you can do to help me out?” That seemed what
Harry was so eager to do.
   He was exasperated. “Yes, I do! Tell me.”
   Draco grabbed Harry’s jaw and planted a kiss on his lips. Harry probably
should have expected it, but he was too often too naïve. But if that really was
what Draco needed from him…
   Harry let out little sigh and pulled away from Draco. “You’re lucky you’re a
sex god,” he mumbled.
   “I know,” Draco said with a devilish grin before kissing his way down
Harry’s body. He still smelled of Draco’s vanilla body wash, warm and inviting.
“And I’m lucky to have you, I suppose.”
   “You suppose?” Harry laughed as he settled back into the mattress, tilting
his head to the side so he could get a better view of Draco dragging his tongue
down his chest.
   Draco bit down on Harry’s nipple, dragging a groan out of him when he pulled
up with his teeth. “I admittedly used the sex god title to trick you into
marriage.”
   “You tricked me into marriage?” Harry chuckled before another tweak of his
sensitive skin sent a shudder through him. “Mm, I thought I was the one who had
to wear you down with years of shagging and home-cooked meals before you bought
a ring.”
   “Was that how it was? I honestly can’t remember,” Draco lied.
   “I don’t even remember who you are.”
   “What are you doing in my house?”
   Draco was smiling, which was a massive improvement. “I usually don’t
question gorgeous men in my bed,” Harry decided, going along with their joke.
“What’s your name, stud?”
   The perfect answer came to mind. “My name is Harry Malfoy-Potter,” he told
Harry. “I’ve got big green eyes and an even bigger cock.”
   “Oh? Tell me more.” Harry gently ran his nails up Draco’s back to get a
shiver out of him.
   “I’m a Gryffindor,” Draco said between kisses along Harry’s stomach. He
liked how soft the skin was and how Harry wasn’t some burly gym-rat. He also
liked how Harry had allowed him to lose himself in their world rather than deal
with the real one. “I like treacle tarts, saving the world, and sucking men
off.”
   Harry snorted. “Then get to it.” After all, if Draco was pretending to be
Harry, then it would only make sense for Harry to pretend to be Draco.
Arrogant, sly, and undeniably charismatic.
   “Prat.” Draco’s hands moved back down to Harry’s groin to tug at his
hardening prick. Without any real sting to his insults, Draco shifted down to
kiss the tuft of hair above Harry’s crotch until he reached the base of his
cock.
   A wave of desire hit Harry when Draco took the tip into his mouth. Draco’s
head bobbed, taking more and more in each time as Harry’s hands found their way
back into his blonde hair.  “Draco,” he moaned, eyes fluttering shut.
   Draco hollowed out his cheeks and sucked hard. His nails dug into Harry’s
hips, sure to leave bruises.
   “Draco.”
   Harry was far too close to orgasm for Draco’s comfort. He wanted to draw
this out, so he let his hard cock fall from his mouth. Harry whimpered as the
sensation that had made his toes curl under left him.
   “Don’t fret, love,” Draco cooed, rubbing Harry’s cockhead between his thumb
and forefinger to keep him achingly hard. “You know I always make you come in
the end.”
   An impatient whine escaped Harry as he writhed in the sheets.
   Draco laughed and wordlessly summoned the bottle of lubricant from their
bookshelf, behind a copy of some muggle book Remus and Sirius had given them
for one Christmas or another.
   Finally, Draco could play Harry like an instrument to the best of his
abilities. That’s what Draco really loved. Whether he was himself in the
fantasy or a strict and forceful Master, the goal was always Harry’s pleasure.
   A lot of people seemed to get that wrong about sexual dominants. Draco,
madly enough, was not a selfish man in bed.
   He parted Harry’s legs and flattened his tongue against Harry’s arsehole
just so he could hear Harry call out his name again.
   The first two fingers went in easy as always with Draco keeping them shallow
enough to just barely brush against Harry’s prostate. In frustration, Harry
tried to push downward.
   His arse got a pinch from Draco’s free hand. “Stay still,” he commanded.
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
   Draco had never disappointed before, so Harry did what he was told in spite
of his throbbing need.
   The Slytherin pushed a third finger in, giving in to thrust them into Harry
a few times before spreading them wide open. The burn shocked Harry at first,
but he hardly disliked it. In fact, when Draco used that space to add in his
fourth finger, Harry actually arched into it.
   Harry was like putty in Draco’s hands. Or around Draco’s hands, if he was
being technical.
   Slowly, he moved his lubricated fingers in and out, his own arousal stirring
when he saw the way Harry’s body relaxed around him and accepted the intrusion
intuitively. That body belonged to Draco, and he knew it then more than ever.
   “Fuck, do you realize how gorgeous you are when you’re eager to fuck me?
That greedy hole takes everything I give it.” Draco wanted to claim what was
his.
   He spread his fingers out again, receiving a startled squeak from Harry who
thought a fifth one was going in. Draco quieted those fears with a kiss to his
lips. “I’m going to shag you,” Draco informed him with his signature smirk.
   “Yeah,” Harry agreed happily before conforming to Draco’s shape entirely. He
kept his hands planted on Draco’s arse as he lined up his cock, wanting to be
able to push Draco inside of him himself.
   Once Draco had gotten past the first ring of muscle, Harry did just that.
   He impaled himself onto Draco, hissing with delight when he was finally all
the way inside of him. Harry’s knees felt weak even though he was lying down.
   Then it was Draco’s turn to fall apart from the heat of it all. He moved in
and out of Harry, guided by Harry’s own hands into the friction. “Harry,” he
managed.
   “Fuck,” Harry grunted with each thrust, the slap of their skin echoing in
the silenced room. “I think I’m gonna—“
   “But I haven’t even touched your cock,” Draco grinned, swapping kisses with
the other man between words. In order to amend that previous statement, he
reached down in between them to find Harry leaking precome.
   Harry shamelessly rutted into his hand, his own hands still groping Draco’s
arse. Merlin, was he sculpted. “Now you have,” Harry grinned right back. He
stole another kiss so he could moan into Draco’s mouth, the heat in his stomach
rising with each thrust inside him and stroke of Draco’s hand.
   Harry let himself come undone in Draco’s arms, toes curling under once more.
   Draco stared down in awe at the strings of white covering Harry’s stomach
around his softening prick, still shoving into that open hole.
   He was met with no resistance, only a smile on Harry’s face and his
eyelashes shut in ecstasy.
   With purpose, Draco sheathed his length inside Harry one last time before
coming inside of him. “Harry,” he growled.
   That only seemed to please his husband more. Harry didn’t even clench up
like he sometimes did when Draco filled him up; he just let Draco have his way
with him.
   Draco’s way also happened to be Harry’s way, but that was beside the point.
   “I love you,” Harry said dreamily, reaching his hand up to cup Draco’s
cheek. “Kiss me.”
   Of course, Draco complied. He slid their lips together before running his
tongue along Harry’s teeth. Harry’s mouth didn’t offer any resistance either.
   “I love you too.” Draco Malfoy-Potter wanted to be with that man forever.
   Downstairs was a young woman who was also invested in their future as a
couple.
   Thankfully Harry’s silencing charm had prevented Grace from being
emotionally scarred further (or maybe just turned on, who knew with her?), but
that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking of them.
   She was in their kitchen, for fuck’s sake. Grace Burbage was in the Malfoy-
Potter kitchen snacking on pita chips because she felt fat. That was the curse
of baby weight at five months, after all.
   In four months, she knew she’d be in St. Mungo’s, giving that curse away.
Chapter End Notes
     I really feel like writing Teen Wolf fic but I hate American slang
     for male sex organs. My life is so rough.
***** Princess *****
Chapter Notes
     Teen Wolf has recently absorbed my brain. All thoughts are Sterek.
     Life is Sterek. I am so writing Sterek fic later. Still, I won’t
     ignore my favorite pairing: Drarry. I love these idiots.
Chapter 23: Princess
   “I don’t get it,” Draco announced as he straightened up the coat rack. It
had been a long day at work, but a rewarding one. “Haven’t you got enough
dramatics in your life?”
   From the couch, Grace watched her third soap opera marathon that day.
“Television is a valid art form,” she told him as the secret twin on the
television attempted a seduction of her boss.
   It had taken a week, but Harry and Draco had finally integrated Grace into
their home. Everyone involved knew it was temporary, but it was a place for her
to lay her head and rest up before the baby came.
   Draco was mostly just surprised that things were going so smoothly. He’d
been able to avoid press attention and persistent questions, and Grace hadn’t
done anything deplorable yet. Much better than expected.
   “It’s like reading a dramatic book,” Grace went on. “Just because it’s on a
screen doesn’t make it any less real.”
   “Yeah, but the shitty acting makes it much less believable.”
   “Touché.”
   Draco smirked to himself. “Get your shoes on,” he told her, having not taken
his own off yet.
   She raised an eyebrow, but figured she was in no position to deny him that.
Grace—one hand on her stomach—rose from the chamomile sofa. It was probably
predictable, but she loved the décor of Draco and Harry’s home sweet home.
“Where are we going?” Grace asked.
   “Shopping,” Draco said cheerfully. Weren’t teenagers were supposed to love
that? “You need new maternity clothes before you bust the seams on your current
ones.”
   Unlike Olivia, Grace had absolutely no problem taking other people’s hard-
earned sickles and knuts. “Fabulous.” Without any further ado, she slipped on
some comfy flip-flops and joined Draco by the door.
   Wow. Draco and Grace had been talking for more than sixty seconds and
nothing had gone terribly awry. Draco was feeling better about himself by the
minute.
   “So,” he said, leading her out of the house and locking the door behind
himself. Lucius’ spells had kept the press off of their front lawn much more
effectively than Draco cared to admit, but it was refreshing to step outside
without hundreds of cameras flashing and rude questions being thrown at him.
“Enjoying the neighborhood?”
   “You know damn well that I haven’t been outside of the house in days,” Grace
snarked without much harm intended. “It’s hot enough to fry an egg on the
sidewalk out here and I’m carrying some heavy cargo.”
   It was much more romantic to refer to the baby as ‘precious cargo’, but
Draco was always a stickler for semantics. “Yes, yes.” Anyone who looked at
Grace now could surely tell she was with child. Her frame was too thin to hide
the sudden bump in her belly.
   Thankfully for Grace’s swollen ankles, it wasn’t long before they arrived at
a petite shopping center. The pizza place there caught her attention before the
maternity clothes store, but that was probably due to the insatiable craving
for anchovy cheesesteak she had developed.
   Draco noticed the poor girl practically salivating at the thought. “We’ll
eat afterwards.”
   The bell on the glass door sounded when they walked into the boutique full
of mannequins with what looked like basketballs shoved up their skirts. How
attractive.
   “Just grab what you like,” Draco shrugged. “They’re all pretty stretchy, so
you don’t even need to try them on.” Nobody had ever taught him how to budget
or shop without emptying his week’s salary, which was a rare opportunity for
Grace to see.
   She’d never grown up around wealth. Sure, she wasn’t panhandling on the
street, but this was serious money. The kind that could control a government if
Draco and Harry wanted to.
   Maybe they do, Grace thought pleasantly to herself as she grabbed rack after
rack of skirts, shirts, dresses, robes, pants… With Harry as Head Auror, it’s
entirely possible that they’ve corrupted the sacred Ministry. Her kid would
never be in trouble with the law.
   Ironically enough, someone who had run into some hot water with both Aurors
and his parents walked by the maternity shop.
   Zeke’s hands were firmly in his pockets when he saw the maternity store and
looked away like the sight burned him. He was allergic to all things baby.
   When his mum tried to show him a picture of himself as a baby, Zeke had fled
to his room. When the telly advertised new inventions in baby bowls that
wouldn’t tip over, Zeke switched the channel to cartoons just to drown out the
idea of children.
   Unfortunately, the children’s cartoons were not an effective remedy.
   So the fucking clothing store was the straw that broke the camel’s fatherly
back. He crossed the street to the opposite side and tried to shake off his
crippling sense of failure and cowardice. That wasn’t an effective remedy
either.
   He’d been trying to get his life in the right course. Zeke had started
paying attention in class, working a summer job, helping out around the house…
He’d even apologized to some Aurors that he gave a tough time to. One of those
Aurors was Harry Potter, but that was beside the point to Zeke.
   Apparently not even a higher GPA could make his girlfriend un-pregnant.
   He stormed down the street and out of sight before Grace could turn around
to show Draco her armfuls of clothing. The window right behind Draco with
little yellow birds painted on it would have given Grace the perfect view of
her ex had he not run off.
   “It’ll never fit when I lose the weight,” she lamented. “But I want it all.”
   Draco led her to the counter to give the cashier his joint account number he
shared with Harry. Lucius had nearly perished from shock when he heard about
that one.
   “You can have it all,” Draco said wistfully. The amount of galleons that
Grace would do unspeakable things for was a trifle for Draco. He just didn’t
care about it, which was the epitome of his privilege.
   All Grace could imagine when he said that was Draco and a small, blonde girl
in a toy shop. Her child would be blonde she decided as if she had any control
of it, and would look nothing like Zeke, because it would be Grace’s girl. In
her mind she looked like Grace had as a child.
   As Draco paid, Grace let the scene fill her mind until it seeped out of her
ears.
   Draco and Harry would be holding one of her tiny hands each when she would
stumble on a play castle that made her eyes go wide. Harry and Draco wouldn’t
even have to talk before grabbing it off of the shelf. Draco would insist she
buy the expansion toys, with swords and bows and arrows and shields so she
could defend her palace.
   Grace’s girl would be a princess. Any princess she liked. A princess that
read books all day, one that fought off evil, one that combed her hair and
obsessed over clothes, any kind she wanted.
   “Thanks,” Grace remembered, since saying that to a man who had bought you an
entire new wardrobe was probably polite.
   Draco shrugged and handed her the bags to carry. Draco Malfoy-Potter never
carried bags when someone else could, even when they were his own. Harry
usually wound up being the brawn of their shopping trips while Draco stayed the
brain.
   “I could kill for some chicken wraps right now,” Draco told Grace as they
entered the little sandwich shop. “Anything in particular that you want? Any
cravings?”
   “Hm.” Grace focused on what she would have if she could have anything. “I
want a bread bowl. I want a bread bowl filled with potatoes and stock and
cilantro and pickles.”
   Smiling to himself, Draco put in the order.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Harry and Ron crept along the southern wall of Nott Manor as if the place
was actually occupied.
   They’d been to too many ‘abandoned’ houses to trust one to be entirely
empty. For all they knew Marcus could have been a fan of keeping swarms of
locusts or hordes of mutated rats. Harry wondered if Theo would have given them
any information on that, but knew he couldn’t ask.
   Not only would Draco banish him to the couch for at least a week, but Harry
would feel like a terrible person. Who was he to hurt Theo? Theo was a stand-up
citizen with a loving boyfriend. He hadn’t even been arrested for drunk and
disorderly conduct in public.
   Sure, Theo had a bit of an affinity for joints and bongs, but that wasn’t
awful in Harry’s eyes. It was subsequently better than any kind of hard drug.
   Much to Ron’s chagrin, they were going in blind.
   “C’mon,” he muttered to Harry once he had cleared the area around the
gardens. All they had to do was kick in a rusty door—yes, kick in, because they
were manly men—and they were inside.
   The gate fell, some of the metal bars breaking with the crash back to the
ground. The gardens had been thrown into a state of disrepair after eight years
of neglect. That was 2,922 days of rotting, infestation, rusting, and decay.
   “Looks like the plants have taken over.” Ron moved a thorny vine out of
their way before heading in. The garden reminded Harry of the third challenge
in the tri-wizard tournament, only less-trimmed. “Wouldn’t be surprised if
something tried to eat us.”
   Harry snorted and kicked past a dense brush of nettles. “When isn’t
something trying to eat us?”
   “Fair point.”
   For the rest of the problematic plant-matter, Ron and Harry whisked it away
with spells. They sliced their way through, braving the vast and tricky jungle
of an ancient purist family with an unfortunate history of incest.
   It was a time like this when Harry really wished Draco were next to him. He
wished that a lot for varied debaucherous reasons, but now he wished it for
more practical ones. “I looked up a few pictures of begonias, but that’s it,”
Harry said. Draco would know the flowers immediately. “I’m a pretty shit poof.”
   “You are. You haven’t even given me one sassy hair flip this entire time.
I’m beginning to think those stereotypes were all just cruel lies, Harry. Look
at how disillusioned you’ve made me.”
   “My sincerest apologies,” Harry said in the most feminine voice he could. It
was nice that Ron got how much Harry hated how people treated him differently
because of his sexuality. Like he was suddenly expected to be a dress-up doll
for girls and a non-threatening sidekick for guys. “So, how’s Rose and
Hermione?”
   Ron followed the path through the garden, thankful it wasn’t as confusing as
he thought it would be. “They’re perfect as usual. Hermione’s been craving
bananas for the past couple days, and if I see one more of those yellow
bastards I may scream, but otherwise everything is going smoothly. Rose is
excited for a baby brother or sister. We think.” Rose couldn’t really talk yet.
   “Cute,” Harry said adoringly. All of this talk of babies made his stomach
flutter. They were so tiny and pudgy. “George and Angelina excited to be
godparents?”
   “Yup. George has already convinced himself that he’ll be the uncle who buys
my kids firewhiskey when I’m not looking.” George had aspirations of being a
Sirius kind of godfather.
   Harry laughed. “Then he and I can team up to corrupt your kids
indefinitely.”
   Ron used his wand to snip away at the blood red flowers blocking their path.
They had some bugs on them that were about the size of Ron’s hand, and he
really didn’t want to fuck with them. “As I expected,” Ron chuckled. “Hey, are
these begonias?”
   The flower Ron was pointing at was actually a tulip. “Nope.”
   “That one?”
   “That’s a rose. You named your child after one, remember?”
   “We should have brought Neville,” Ron teased.
   Harry rolled his eyes. “We should have made you pay more attention in
Herbology.”
   “Is that a begonia?”
   “That’s a fucking daisy, Ron.”
   Amused with himself, Ron chuckled. “Alright, alright.”
   They walked in silence, Harry’s eyes flicking over every single piece of
shrubbery. This wasn’t the sort of work he imagined himself doing when he
signed up to be an Auror, but he’d take his victories in stride.
   “So Theo never came back to this place?” In all honesty, Ron was just bored
and needed conversation to keep him from falling asleep while walking. He
wasn’t built for this either.
   Harry knocked a vine out of his way. “He came back once to sell the
artifacts and has since been trying to sell the house. Nobody seems to want it,
and I can’t blame them. Apparently Nott Sr. has been hiding body parts in the
yard.”
   “You know what this place would be good for? It’s like that muggle superhero
thing Hermione showed me with the bat guy. How he turned one of his old
mansions into an orphanage.”
   Maybe Ron had been spending too much time around his wife, but that actually
sounded like a good idea. “Huh.” Harry would consider suggesting that to Theo
after this nasty business with the Manor was done. “It does look a little Bruce
Wayne-y, now that you mention it.”
   “Was that the bloke’s name?” Ron asked absentmindedly. “Muggles are so
great.”
   “There!” Harry pointed at the patch of begonias to the left.
   From his charmed pocket, Ron pulled a shovel out. The blasting spells could
destroy Benjy’s old bones, which was an insult to injury that they didn’t want
to witness or cause. “Let’s dig.”
   They set to work without the friendly joking and camaraderie they’d shared
before. Ron and Harry knew when to keep it serious.
   Their shovels hit the hard, untilled ground with difficulty, as expected.
Not even the rotting leaves could soften what winter had chilled so many times
without being tended to. Still, Harry and Ron dug.
   It took longer than usual. Ron had a terrible crick in his back when they
hit the rectangular container at the bottom of the hole.
   “Let’s get it and get out of here,” Ron muttered.
   Harry put on his black Auror gloves and reached down to scrape away the
remaining dirt. “Alright.” He unearthed the box only to find it was locked.
Well, that was a stupid precaution.
   He put the box down on the flowers so he could magick off the lock easily.
   “There,” Harry said, moving to open it.
   In a split second, he wished he hadn’t. The knockback jinx that had been
sealed in by the lock sent Harry flying into a hedge littered with thorns.
   Harry cried out in surprise, not out of pain. Please. He was Draco’s
submissive. It would take a lot more to get him upset. “What the fuck?” Harry
laughed, since that seemed like the only reasonable response to a box kicking
his arse.
   “Um.” Ron didn’t know quite what to say, laughing with Harry until he looked
back down into the box. “Um.”
   “Another note?” Harry asked as he untangled his Auror robes from the sharp
thorns. “Or…?”
   When Harry finally got over to look past the lid of the dinged metal box,
his heart caught in his throat.
   Harry had once read that there were three kinds of fear. The Gross-Out,
horror, and terror. Oddly enough, the ribcage with maggots crawling around what
few scraps of flesh were left was not a gross-out for Harry. He’d seen some
shit in his life.
   The bones fell under the category of terror. A vague, haunting sense that
everything around him had been stolen and replaced with identical copies. Just…
Slightly off. That’s how the ribcage got to him.
   It reminded him of mortality and the inevitable day that the Earth would be
consumed by its sun, destroying all evidence of Harry’s existence and the
existence of everyone he loved. That was admittedly a lot to get from a
formation of calcium and marrow, though.
   “What’s the next note say?” Harry asked when he noticed the piece of paper.
No way in hell was he reaching into the box that contained his current reminder
of the biological apocalypse his home planet would one day endure. Harry was
poetic like that.
   Ron didn’t want to stick his hand in there either, so he cast a perfect
Wingardium Leviosa and snatched the note out of the air.
   “’Did I surprise you? I’m sure the next location will. But hey, Lupin, why
don’t you take a break? You’ve only got two more parts of your friend to pick
up, if you’re even still alive right now. You know what? I hope you live,
Lupin. I hope you live to see everyone you love fall to the upcoming
revolution.’” Ron shifted uneasily before continuing. “’I hope you have to bury
your blood-traitor mutt and the Potter’s baby. The next piece is at a friend’s
house. Afraid I left it there and forgot it.’”
   “Ugh, fuck, that is so creepy,” Ron shuddered. It was the gross-out, horror,
and terror for Ron. The horror lay within the fact that Remus had so many
enemies. Remus was a good man! So was Theo! What the hell!
   It led Ron to the surprising conclusion that life wasn’t fair.
   Harry swallowed down his own fears. “Yeah. Let’s get it back to the
station.”
   “What are the other two missing parts? The skull, and…”
   “The spine.” Harry didn’t even know what kind of terror that would bring
about. A spine.
   Harry really was taking all of these body parts personally, but how couldn’t
he? They were a mirror image of what he had underneath his skin. What everyone
had. A little baby inside a stubborn teenage girl was trying its hardest to
grow bones like that.
   Thinking of the baby probably wasn’t wise when at work. Harry knew that
Benjy was some couple’s baby, someone’s son. He swore to himself that his
little girl would never face wars like he had. Not even horrors of the
aftermath of a war.
   “Hey,” Ron said quietly to his partner. “What are you thinking about?” When
Harry kept things in, it only made things worse for his mental health—which was
a deep concern of Ron’s. “Talk to me.”
   “It’s just sad, y’know? People don’t deserve to be treated like this.”
   In complete agreement, Ron finally braved picking the box up and slamming it
shut to take back to the Ministry. Unbeknownst to them, the knockback jinx
would still be in effect on the poor intern who would have to process the
evidence.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Maggie chuckled to herself and closed the letter from her mother. It had
come as snail mail, the true muggle way, and updated her on all of the
happenings of her home town. Justin had accidentally burnt his long and golden
hair again, and Annie had gotten that promotion she wanted to badly at the
bakery. Now she could make icing and get as big and fat as she wanted.
   “Everything smooth sailing in the land of the Scots?” Pansy asked teasingly
from her spot on Maggie’s bed.
   “When isn’t it?” Maggie closed the letter and wrestled her red curls back
into a ponytail. It was far too hot in her flat for her wild locks to be set
free. They always soaked up the sun, even when she had nothing else on.
   Pansy quite appreciated her current nakedness. They’d gotten off from work
together, ate dinner, and then gotten off together. It was Pansy’s definition
of a fabulous afternoon.
   “Fabulous,” she said out loud just to feel the word on her tongue.
   “What isn’t fabulous to you, Princess?”
   She answered without thinking. “My home town.”
   Now this was a rare opportunity. Pansy loved to discuss her teenage years
and young-adult life, but her childhood had been everything but off-limits in
conversation. “Oh?” Maggie jumped on it. “Tell me about it.”
   “I grew up in a castle,” Pansy shrugged. “It wasn’t really a town.”
   “Of course you did. You’re my Princess. How was life in the royal family?”
Maggie crawled back onto her bed, slinging an arm around Pansy’s exposed waist.
Her skin was impeccable from years of the most extreme spa treatments, and that
was sort of inspiring.
   “Not as fun as it is being your Princess,” she decided. It was the story of
every pureblood family. Cold father, crazy mother… Only Draco had escaped the
stereotype.
   Maggie nudged their noses together. “Hey, I realize this is a stupid
question I’m about to ask.”
   “You always ask stupid questions.”
   “Am I ever going to get to meet your parents? I mean, if they don’t perish
at the thought of their daughter courting a woman.” Maggie wasn’t even sure if
Pansy’s parents knew much about their relationship beyond what The Prophet
said.
   Pansy grimaced. “You don’t want to meet them. Mother drinks at all hours of
the day now and father has begun to lose his memory.”
   “Great!” she responded. “Then your mum will be too drunk to remember me and
your father will forget me in a day if things go terribly.”
   The brunette’s jaw dropped and she let out a laugh before giving Maggie’s
arm a smack. “You’re terrible! The king and queen would be shocked and
offended.”
   “I’m sure they were shocked enough when you grew up and didn’t turn out
awful.”
   “Wow, that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” Pansy joked,
still feigning offense herself.
   In a feat of strength, Maggie yanked Pansy back on top of her. “I know. I’m
your knight in shining armor.”
   “Cinderella, Cinderella, let down your long hair,” Pansy joked.
   “Wrong princesses. That was Rapunzel.”
   With a roll of her eyes, Pansy shoved Maggie back down onto the mattress.
“Shut up, Princess Charming.”
***** Rights *****
Chapter Notes
     I’ve been starting the chapters of a new multi-chapter fic that’s
     coming up soon ;). You guys will love it, and it’ll be an interesting
     change of pace from domestic Drarry that I love so dearly.
Chapter 24: Rights
   Ron and Harry lucked out on which house they checked first in regard to
Marcus’ ‘friend’. At first, Harry had been worried about that referring to
Malfoy Manor, but it was only slightly better in that it referred to the
Parkinson Mansion.
   A slew of house elves let Ron and Harry in, and they were able to duck out
of there with another body part in another box. Thankfully, the enslaved elves
seemed to know where all their masters’ dirty secrets were. Even the ones that
Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson had forgotten were there.
   Their luck ran out when they reopened the box (containing a fucking spine),
and just when they thought Nott Sr. was getting lazy, he got them good.
   “There’s no note,” Harry murmured, perplexed. Saying it out loud left a
hollow feeling in his stomach.
   The Ministry morgue had silver slabs and occupied by countless morticians,
forensics experts, and Aurors trying to get some answers on their cases. Harry
and Ron had gotten the slab all the way in the back because of their cold case
status, even though they really had heated things up.
   “Hm?” Ron asked, unable to stop watching the mortician trying to piece the
body together. It was like a train-wreck; he couldn’t look away.
   “There’s no hint as to where the next piece is. There’s nothing here.”
   Ron finally snapped his head around to look at his partner. “What? Then how
are we supposed to—?”
   Harry grimaced and cut him off. “I don’t know,” he muttered.
   “But we have someone behind bars who does know,” Ron pointed out.
   “Who refuses to speak to us until we emotionally scar his kid.”
   With a huff, Ron leaned across the table so Harry was forced to listen to
him. “We lose either way, Harry. We have to honor the case and get Theo in on
this because if this gets thrown back into the cold case archives, then
everyone involved will be dead by the time a new Auror is assigned.”
   “Ron,” Harry snapped to silence him. The other Aurors in the room and their
piles of evidence seemed to all stare accusingly at the two. The prying eyes
came with the Head Auror position.
   “Benjy was an Order member, Harry. With your parents and with mine. This is
about honoring the dead, and you know it.”
   Of course Harry knew it. He still blamed himself for the way Death Eaters
killed people protecting him in both wars. They’d made themselves human shields
just like James and Lily had to keep Harry safe.
   “Harry,” Ron said again when it looked as if his friend’s mind had left the
conversation entirely.
   “What about the people living? Theo’s living, and he has to remember
horrible things every day.” Harry frowned. “Dumbledore once told me not to pity
the dead, but to pity the living.”
   “Yeah, well, he also raised you like a lamb to the slaughter and lied and
avoided us at any occasion, then left us some cryptic gifts. I’m going to
venture to say that even though Albus had some wisdom and positive influence, I
don’t think we should trust that entirely,” Ron muttered bitterly.
   It really was irritating how much sense Ron was making, but somewhere still
in the caverns of his heart where he’d been influenced by Draco’s Slytherin
ways, he saw this as a net loss. Could a dead man really be hurt?
   Theo was actually rather capable of being hurt. He had skin on his bones and
free will and thought. Harry wasn’t so sure if Benjy would really care. The
afterlife still confused him—what did the resurrection stone really do?—and
hurting a living person felt worse than hurting a deceased person.
   Still, being an Auror was not about feelings and philosophy.
   With his teeth clenched, Harry nodded. “Let me just owl Draco first. He
should be there.”
   “Okay,” Ron nodded. He was relieved that Harry had come around without too
much prodding. Ron Weasley wasn’t a big fan of hurting people either.
   With a heavy heart, he watched Harry shuffle out of the room to send a
letter to his husband. In that moment, he decided that as Harry’s best friend,
he should have probably made more of an effort to get along with Draco’s best
friend.
   Ron and Theo were both sidekicks to the power couple and knew it. They could
probably have a lot to talk about, and near-identical complaints about Draco
and Harry. They could swap secrets and embarrassing memories, which Ron was
severely lacking in information on Draco.
   He’d take Theo out for drinks afterwards. Maybe they’d get drunk and stupid
enough to forget the day before.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Draco wasn’t even at the hospital by the time Harry’s letter arrived.
   “We can’t ‘just apparate in’, Healer Malfoy,” his boss snarled at him on the
other side of a London taxicab. “This process has a strict protocol.”
   Augustus Pye made Draco’s stomach churn along with the metal trap they had
been corner into. He hated cars, especially ones with drivers who smelt like
they hadn’t showered in weeks. “I think I may throw up.” The city whizzed
around them, muggles and concrete buildings flying past Draco’s eyes.
   “You’re a Healer, cast an anti-nausea spell.”
   Draco didn’t just to spite him. He hoped that if he threw up, it’d be all
over the Head Healer’s lap. “If the kid’s parent already knows about magic, I
don’t think a trip to St. Mungo’s is entirely out of the question,” he
grumbled.
   “Really? Because your ancestors fought for laws to keep muggles out of our
hospital.”
   “Really? Because I wasn’t even born then,” Draco snarked right back. Whose
side was this asshole even on? “You’re always telling me to not expect special
treatment because of my lineage. I imagine this would apply to negatives, too.”
  Pye snorted. “Your job assignment has nothing to do with your lineage. You’re
the only Healer on retainer with experience with heart murmurs. This child has
one on top of her magic, which is what our specialist found. You’re here to
treat her heart.”
   “I’ve been forced into a taxi to treat her heart?” he asked miserably.
   “You’ve been forced into a taxi because her father is a muggle and refuses
to leave the child alone with us.” It was the father’s right, but Pye really
wished it wasn’t. “So we’re killing three birds with one stone. I register the
girl with the Ministry, you run circulatory tests, and the specialist continues
his analysis of how to keep her little hiccups of magic to a minimum.”
   Draco didn’t care. “We’re in a car.”
   That finally drilled into Pye’s thick skull that it wasn’t really anything
except for the transportation that had Draco frazzled. “What did I say about
that nausea spell?”
   “We could have apparated into a nearby alleyway, or a pub, or a store, or
anything—“
   “Here we are,” the cabbie said before turning around expectantly for the
cash. Draco was close to digging some gold coins out of his pocket before he
realized that the man was a muggle.
   Healer Pye paid him in strange paper money before stepping out of the cab.
Draco grunted before evacuating the car like it was on fire.
   “Fucking weirdoes,” grumbled the cabbie. He drove off before realizing the
plump man had given him a hundred pounds instead of twenty.
   Wizards really couldn’t handle the idea of muggle money.
   “Third floor,” Pye said to Draco as they walked up to the glass doors and
windows of the building. It was sort of an architectural nightmare, but it was
at least easy to find. From reading the signs, Draco could tell that the first
two floors belonged to a magical chiropractor who specialized in misaligned
spines. Draco didn’t even want to think about spines for some reason. The idea
just grossed him out that day.
   Draco rushed up the stairs of the building, eager to get the hell out of
there.
   He excused himself to the bathroom once he got up there to avoid awkward
social interaction with muggles. It would most likely be some stammering nobody
who was utterly disturbed by the fact that wizards had existed among the human
race for years without his knowledge.
   As Draco finished up washing his hands, he could hear said nobody talking.
   “…cousin who was a wizard and an aunt who was a witch, but that’s it. I’ve
really got nobody else in the family like that.”
   Draco emerged from the specialist’s bathroom.  Her name was Doctor Mia
Moore, and she was busy getting a full family history.
   “Healer Malfoy,” Pye introduced gruffly, interrupting the little interview
and for the hundredth time forgetting Draco had changed his last name.
   The muggle man gave the Healer a nod and opened his mouth to introduce
himself before Pye spoke again.
   “The child is over here,” Pye motioned to the baby in its stroller as if
Draco was having trouble identifying the child in the room. “You’ll have to go
into the other room to perform the procedure.”
   “Woah,” the muggle said. “Why?”
   “Because you cannot technically witness magic until I fill out the proper
registration.”
   Draco could not properly articulate how little he cared about magic laws in
front of muggles, but he did it anyway. It beat being arrested, even if his
husband could bail him out in record time. “Fine.” Draco took the stroller and
ushered it into a private clinic room, giggling baby girl still inside.
   The heart murmur wasn’t as problematic as Pye had made it out to be in the
taxicab. It was a benign murmur that sounded a little bit like a wind blowing
into an open window. Her heart was just slightly mutant, was all.
   “You’re surrounded by alarmists,” Draco cooed happily at the child as his
wand waved over her chest. He knew he’d be the same way with his little girl.
   She’d been on his and Harry’s mind constantly. They were talking names,
middle names, preschools… It felt surreal.
   Draco covered all of his bases with the examination, his wand weaving an
image of her beating heart before him. When he was absolutely sure nothing was
wrong aside from the sound, Draco put down his wand and the image burst into
sparkly flecks, falling at the girl’s feet. Her pudgy little hands reached out
to grab them, smiling all the way.
   “Aw. You’re sort of bearable to be with.”
   It was only then that Draco realized he didn’t even know the patient’s name.
Rather than asking her while she was distracted with all of the shiny objects,
he wheeled her back into the main lobby where the other adults resided.
   The muggle man nearly tripped over himself in getting back to his daughter.
“What is it?” he asked Draco as if the Slytherin were about to inform him of
his daughter’s imminent death.
   “The murmur is what we would classify as ‘innocent’,” Draco told him
confidently. “It simply means her heart beats differently in a way that doesn’t
harm her circulation or musculature. She’s just fine.”
   “Thanks,” Dudley breathed, relieved.
   “Any time. Now, I never think I got her name or yours…?”
   The muggle man outstretched his hand. “She’s Suzy and I’m Dudley. Dudley
Dursley.”
   Draco froze. “What?”
   “Are you hard of hearing?” Dudley tried to speak up. “SORRY, I’M—“
   “I heard you,” Draco snapped. He ignored the chilly glare from his boss like
he usually did, eyes boring into Dudley’s skull. All of those stories Harry had
told him swirled around in his head. The time he told Draco about the way
Dudley had never let him alone for being gay in the summer after fourth year
was actually on their third date.
   “Uh.” Why did this guy seem so familiar? Dudley tried to look to Dr. Moore
for help.
   Draco took a step closer to him and tilted his head to the side. “You don’t
look too strong.”
   “What?”
   “I think I could easily wrestle you into a cupboard under some stairs and
lock the door,” Draco snarled with a sadistic grin. “Harry said you were on the
wrestling team, actually. Are you aware of how homoerotic that is? Pinning
another sweaty bloke down on a mat in tight, tight spandex while people watched
to prove your dominance? That’s so gay.”
   Dudley gaped at him. Oh, fuck. “So I’m going to guess that you’re Draco?”
   “So I’m going to guess that you’re a run-of-the-mill twat who killed animals
in his childhood? That’s one of the first signs of a serial killer, but I don’t
think you could hurt a fly.”
   “Oh my god, that was one time! I accidentally stepped on the hamster, no
matter what Harry says. I didn’t want it to die,” Dudley huffed.
   “I believe him over you,” Draco announced boisterously. “You murdered a
rodent.” He felt himself growing more and more sick with the other man by the
second.
   “Did not!”
   “Did too!”
   “What the hell is going on here?” Augustus Pye demanded. He still had half
of the registration papers to fill out.
   Draco shot him a malicious glare. “This man tortured my husband in his
childhood in every way imaginable!” He ignored the fact that Draco had tortured
Harry in every way imaginable at Hogwarts. Those were not his proudest moments.
“And now his child gets to be one of us. I didn’t think any magic could survive
in the Dursley line. Looks like the Evans family won out, though.”
   “I was a royal jerk—“ Dudley started, prepared to launch into an apology
that Harry hadn’t even really needed.
   “A completely self-centered and uncaring bastard, yes.”
   He took a deep breath and nodded at Draco. The other wizard and witch in the
room had given up on their bickering and begun to fill out the registration
themselves. Pye knew Draco’s dramatics and how cross he was when they were
interrupted, and at least they weren’t at the hospital where everyone could see
him disrespect his superior.
   “Yeah. ‘M sorry about that,” Dudley began again. “You’re right.”
   “Of course I’m right, I’m always right,” Draco snapped at him. The taxi ride
had jarred his emotional state and he would take it out on this bastard all he
wanted.
   Dudley gaped at him. Wow, Harry really must have loved the man. From what
Dudley was seeing, Draco seemed like he could go from courteous doctor to
raging banshee in mere seconds.
   Draco sighed in disgust. “Have you apologized to Harry about it?”
   “Yeah, actually. I saw him about a week ago, ran into him when I needed help
with Suzy.”
   “Oh.” Draco hadn’t known about that. Between Harry’s work and their upcoming
baby, they hadn’t had much time to discuss their days with one another. They
would usually lie in bed together and recount every detail of their most
bizarre experiences to one another, feet nudged together and hands roaming
along each other’s warmth.
   It was a stupid thought to have, but Draco wanted to curl back up in his bed
with Harry right then and there. He wanted to kiss away every line of abuse
that had been hurled at him as a child and tear down every bar that haunted his
windows.
   “I know what my parents did was wrong,” Dudley said quietly. “And I really
didn’t want this to be the way we met. I don’t know much about magic, and I
kind of need Harry’s help with this one. I was hoping we could get along.”
   Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s a bit too little and too late for my taste,” he
scoffed. “But you’re right about one thing: you need Harry. Whether or not
he’ll be there for you is the real question.”
   “This really isn’t how I wanted us to meet.”
   “So you’ve said.”
   “Our kids will be at Hogwarts at the same time,” Dudley offered, even though
they’d be two years apart. “They’re kinda cousins, right?”
   Draco didn’t even want to know what Harry had told him about the adoption.
That man was in for a stern talking-to when he got home. “Your kid will never
force my little girl to shun her magic like you did to Harry. And my daughter
will have way more Christmas presents.”
   Nobody else in the room knew what the Healer was referring to except for
Dudley. Pye and Moore had moved on to discussing details as to Suzy’s
enrollment in a wizarding school somewhere far away from the family feud.
   “Okay.” Dudley figured he’d give Draco that. How Harry’s spouse could be
angrier with Dudley than Harry himself, he didn’t know.
   Of course, Draco knew. It was because he happened to value his husband even
more than Harry himself did. Harry had only known a childhood of neglect and
abuse while Draco knew what a spoiled, high-lifestyle pampering was. Draco knew
his Harry deserved the very best and hadn’t gotten it until Draco came into the
picture after school.
   Harry got lavish gifts, extravagant vacations, surprise bouquets of flowers
and massage gift cards, and chocolate from around the world. Draco treated him
at every opportunity, just like he would treat their baby.
   Since the situation had been broken down for Dudley without too much
resistance, Draco considered himself the victor in the encounter. “Your kid is
fine,” he reminded Dudley gruffly. “So I’ll be on my way.”
   That actually grabbed Pye’s attention, but Draco had excused himself to the
private clinic room before his boss could be a prick to him in person.
“Malfoy,” he called out, visibly annoyed.
   “Tip the cabbie for me.” With a loud crack, he apparated into the middle of
Diagon Alley. There was no law against muggles hearing magic, after all.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   With a dozen roses in one hand and his fist clenched in the other, Draco was
probably sending a mixed message when he burst into his home.
   “Draco?” Harry called from the baby’s room.
   “When the hell did you see your cousin?”
   Oh, fuck. Harry stood from his place on the rocking chair to meet Draco
downstairs before the man entered the room with his flowers and anger all at
once. “I wanted to tell you, there was just no time and I sort of forgot—“
   Much to Harry’s surprise, Draco shoved the flowers in his face. “I’m not
that mad,” he sighed. “At you, anyway. I yelled at him and then I bought you
roses. Not because I’m sorry for yelling at your sorry excuse for a relative,
but to remind you that you’re better than him.”
   “Oh.” Harry accepted the flowers, smiling to himself. Draco was such a
nutter, and he wished he could have been there to see his wrath taken out on
Dudley. “When did you two run into each other?”
   “Work. His kid’s got magic and he hardly deserves that.” It had been torture
for Draco and Harry to add a little one to their household, and Dudley and his
wife most likely hadn’t even had to try too hard.
   Harry nodded and unconsciously tipped the roses towards his nose. “These are
lovely,” he told Draco. Draco’s little gifts always made him happy.
   That innocent, surprised smile of Harry’s face made Draco melt. “My sweet
boy.”
   Draco cupped his face and went in for a kiss against those pretty pink lips.
   “It makes me crazy that your aunt and uncle were so terrible to you,” Draco
murmured, pulling him close. It was a warm, possessive grip that Harry loved.
“Let me treat you tonight.”
   With an encouraging mewl, Harry nudged their hips together. This was going
much better than he could have imagined when he had fretted over introducing
his cousin to his husband. At least the next time (if there was a next time,
Harry wasn’t really sure he even wanted Dudley around no matter how sorry he
was) the boundaries would be clearer.
   “Tell me what you want me to do for you,” Draco requested. Comforting
through sex was his favorite method.
   Before Harry could open his mouth to detail a fantasy more appropriate for a
medieval dungeon, Grace popped in the door frame.
   “You’ve got some mac ‘n’ cheese in the fridge,” she stated, eyes a little
wild with hunger. “I’m going to make it. Want some?” She could really care less
if they were naked and moaning when she walked in. Grace was eating for two,
and the baby apparently needed some artificial cheese.
   “No,” Draco said, flustered. As someone who often forgot that he and Harry
weren’t the only people on earth, Draco had some trouble remembering they were
no longer truly alone in their own home.
   “Good. Because I’m gonna put it between two pieces of bread like a grilled-
cheese sandwich. Can I do that on the stove?”
   That sounded strangely good to Harry. “Yeah, go ahead,” he laughed. With his
arm around Draco’s waist, he felt safe enough. Grace wasn’t laughing at them or
belittling them for being together, so she was automatically on Harry’s list of
straight people that he approved of.
   “Thanks,” Grace nodded before scampering back off down the stairs. She’d
made herself at home in her room, but she knew how protective people got over
their precious kitchens. Her aunt was one of those people, but she didn’t want
to think about her aunt.
   Draco shook his head, smiling. “Boner-killer,” he said affectionately.
   “Watch it, or you might wind up sounding like you don’t hate her.”
   “You won’t snitch on me,” Draco declared confidently. He gave Harry’s arse a
hard squeeze. “You fancy me too much.”
   “But you fancy me too much to be mad atme for long,” Harry reminded him.
   With a roll of his eyes, Draco pinched his side. “Aside from your cousin,
any other secrets you’re hiding from me?”
   “I’m going to need an intense interrogation. Hot lamps, tied down to a
chair, most likely naked…”
   “Prat.” Draco swatted at him.
   “Actually,” Harry said, thinking of his tough day at work. “I imagine you
didn’t get my owl to the hospital, or you’d be angry with me for that, too.”
   Draco cocked his head to the side.
   “Well, for starters, we found Benjy Fenwick’s spine in the Parkinson
estate.”
   “Predictable,” Draco nodded even though it wasn’t at all. He’d always
thought Pansy’s ditzy parents were supporters in spirit than in flesh and bone.
There wasn’t even a question as for how the investigation into their war
activities would be refueled in light of new evidence. Draco would just have to
keep Pansy out of it.
   “And there was no note with it,” Harry continued, trying to avoid eye-
contact. He didn’t want to be the one to disappoint Draco, but it seemed he had
to be. “So we have no idea where the skull is.”
   Apparently, Draco was going to have to protect both of his best friends. “So
that only he knows where it is,” he muttered bitterly. Harry nodded. Draco let
a slow, hissing breath out to try and calm down. He wanted to kill the man that
would hurt his best friend like that, and knew it wasn’t Harry’s fault that
Theo was going to be called in. “And there’s no other way…?”
   “I’ve been trying to think of other ways, but if I don’t do it, Ron will.”
   “I don’t blame you,” Draco reminded him quietly, running his knuckles down
his arm.
   Harry shrugged. “I kind of do. What if there’s some overarching clue in all
the notes? What if all the locations have a center point or something? I tried
looking into all of it, but I got nothing.”
   “Don’t make yourself crazy over this. That’s playing right into Marcus’
hands.”
   “Yeah,” he muttered. “I guess.”
   “I’ll assemble a team,” Draco decided to make Harry feel better. “All of
Theo’s friends, Colin, my parents, everyone who supports him in one room. I get
that it’s your job to do this, and that you don’t always like that job.” It was
Draco’s equivalent of getting into a taxi cab.
   “That’s it for ‘secrets’, though,” Harry shrugged, desperate for a topic
change.
   “I think I’ll still have to interrogate you.”
   Harry brought him in for a kiss. “I think you’re right.”
***** Blackout *****
Chapter Notes
     This is probably the angstiest this fic will get. Woohoo! TW for
     blood, weed, and general whoop-ass.
Chapter 25: Blackout
   “Could you maybe for once in your miserable, pathetic life not completely
screw someone over?” Harry begged of the man in front of him and was met only
with silence.
   Marcus Nott hadn’t budged, and Harry had a half hour to accomplish his last-
ditch effort in breaking him before Theo showed up. The whole ‘family’ (it was
a loosely used term for their friends and relatives and all the people that
couldn’t seem to distance themselves from Draco and Harry Malfoy-Potter) would
be there in a half hour as a barrier for Theo.
   The man himself had agreed to talking to his father and had gone so far as
to hush his boyfriend when Colin started talking about how he would be there
for support. Theo was being eerily calm.
   Harry assumed it was a defense mechanism, like when he lit a joint a few
minutes later. Looking at Marcus, whose hair was slicked back even in prison,
he laughed about that to himself.
   The man could request to see his son, but he could never change him.
   “Theo is a better man than you,” Harry went on, this time with less
desperation. “And he’s so gay. Merlin’s beard, he’s gay. Gayer than me. Gayer
than Draco.”
   That clearly annoyed the older man, so Harry pressed on. Even if Nott Sr.
spoke in anger, it would still be speaking.
   “In May at London Pride, he went shirtless. The year before that, he
actually hitched a ride on a float and snogged one of the drag queens on it.
That was before he and Colin got together, of course. Theo’s a faithful man.”
   A hard, deep line of anger formed on the prisoner’s forehead. It was one of
the first signs that he hadn’t been comatose the entire interview.
   Harry grabbed the opportunity for all it was worth. He leaned across the
metal table that Marcus was chained to so he was close enough to intimidate.
   “I’m sure you’ve read about him and Colin in the papers. They’ve moved in
together, Colin’s cat gets along really well with his owner’s boyfriend. It’s a
cute little tabby,” Harry drawled. “There’s this coffee shop that lets you
bring your cat in so it can play with the other cats, and there are toys
everywhere… Theo and Colin sometimes go on dates there. They love that cat.”
   Anger, but still silence.
   “Are you really going to sit there and let me talk like this? Wow, this
place really has defeated you. I guess I could just start detailing all the
wild escapades he and Draco had when they were both single and you wouldn't
even mind."
   "But I bet you'd rather hear about how they settled down. Who really cares
how much they screwed around from age eighteen to twenty-six? Or who they
screwed around with? I certainly don't care. The past is the past, right?"
Draco was screwing around with Harry now. That was all that mattered.
   That little ramble had clearly cemented Marcus' hatred of Harry Malfoy-
Potter. He looked on the edge of snarling something out even though it most
certainly wouldn't be the location of the body parts of his murder victim.
   “Anyway, nowadays Theodore has his Colin. Colin’s a muggleborn, remember
that? Yeah, they donate to muggle charities all the time, and Colin’s studio
holds benefits for muggleborn rights associations. Oh, did you know that
Colin’s a photographer? Yeah, so not only is Theo dating a guy who likes men
and women, but he’s an artist.”
   The word ‘artist’ struck something in Marcus. He shifted in his chair and
swallowed down a lump of hatred.
   “Yeah, an artist,” Harry oozed out again like the two-syllables were
chocolate lava cakes in his mouth. “And I’m going to give you one guess as to
who his muse—“
   An unexpected knock on the door of the interrogation room shook Harry out of
what had turned into him just kind of torturing Marcus. Harry sighed and looked
at the two-way mirror to see himself reflected back. On the other side, a small
crowd could see in. Had everyone come early?
   Harry huffed before leaving the room, forgetting to say a fond farewell to
the man who he currently despised.
   Carefully and quietly, Harry shut the door behind himself like he’d been
trained to in the Auror Academy. The last thing everyone needed was a convict
on the loose.
   “Harry,” Lucius said, half as a greeting and half as a request. “Do the
lights in that room turn off?”
   “What?” Turning around to see him, Harry wasn’t half as scared of him as he
used to be when he and Draco were dating. Not fearing Lucius Abraxas Malfoy
would be his first mistake of the day. “Oh, hullo.”
   “Do the lights in that room turn off?” Lucius asked again.
   “’Yes, hello Harry. How are you doing, son-in-law of mine? You’re looking
delightful—‘”
   Just because Harry was coming off a high from making a Death Eater miserable
didn’t mean that Lucius would let him enjoy it. “Harry, listen and listen
well.”
   “Uh,” he paused. “Alright.”
   “If Draco wasn’t married to you, he’d be married to Theodore.”
   “What? That’s insane—“
   Lucius’ glare silenced him. “Believe me, I could have made it happen if you
weren’t so damned persistent in your affections. Their combined blood purity is
everything I wanted for Draco at the time and they were already friends. I
could have made it happen.” The Malfoy patriarch sounded a little bit like he
resented Harry for not giving him the chance to test his matchmaker skills.
   “Where in the hell are you going with this?”
   “I’m going,” Lucius clarified snootily. “To tell you that I have seen
Theodore grow up. He spent a great deal of time at the Manor as a child for
obvious reasons. He and Draco grew close, and he always got a mention in
letters back home from Hogwarts. I consider Theodore family.” They actually
were second cousins twice removed, but Lucius figured mentioning that after his
early marriage plans for Draco would be uncouth.
   “Yeah, well, Draco considers him family too. I already feel bad enough about
this,” Harry huffed. The last thing he needed was an ethics lecture from his
father-in-law who had housed Voldemort.
   In a rare moment of softness, Lucius put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m
not trying to agitate you further, Harry.” It was almost fatherly. “I know how
having that muggleborn in your home must be driving you mad.” And just like
that, the Lucius he knew and kind of loved was back.
   “She’s doing fine,” Harry sighed.
   “What a rave review. You sound over the moon, my apologies. I hope you never
accept my advice ever again because you clearly have so much more knowledge as
a twenty-something than I do now.”
   Harry didn’t even want to dignify that with a response. He knew where Draco
got the sarcasm gene from, at least.
   “Just let me in the interrogation room for five minutes,” Lucius said,
revealing what he wanted.
   For the second time that day, Harry’s conversation with a former dark wizard
was interrupted. This time, it was by one very, very exhausted Theodore Nott.
He looked like he hadn’t slept in years and like Colin was at him side to prop
him up rather than to be there for him emotionally. Colin didn’t look well-
rested either.
   “Hey,” Colin greeted Harry with that same chipper spirit, just a little
wilted. “How are you holding up? How’s Grace?”
   Oh, fuck. Why did Colin have to be so nice? “I’m fine, and she’s doing well.
I should be asking you that question,” he said without the ability to hide how
his voice was wracked with guilt.
   Theo picked up on it right away, so the shoulder that Lucius’ hand had
previously occupied was then replaced by Theo’s. “Harry. I love you dearly. You
married Draco, who is my brother. But if you give me one more pitying look I
will not hesitate to clock you right in the fucking jaw.”
   “Point taken.”
   “Theodore,” Lucius began, trying to talk some sense into the boy. “You’re
emotionally compromised right now.” He was just trying to be every needy boy’s
father that day.
   Theo wasn’t having any of it. He put his free hand on Lucius’ shoulder and
shook his head. “Lucius, let’s just get this over with.”
   With a sigh, Lucius backed down. His plan was still brewing in his mind, but
if it was against Theo’s wishes… Well, why upset him more? Lucius wasn’t as
heartless as the papers made him out to be.
   Behind Lucius, the rest of the family filed in. Every Weasley in existence
and their spouses and significant others along with Pansy Parkinson and that
spitfire girlfriend of hers had shown up as if it was a damn dinner party. The
only one not in attendance was Hermione, who not only didn’t need to see more
purists to stress her out, but was feeling faint with baby weight at home.
   Leading the crowd, Draco came to pat his friend on the back once he lowered
his vice-grips on Lucius and Harry. “Hey,” Draco said as if they were meeting
for tea.
   “Hey.”
   “You look like shit.”
   “And you look like a go-go boy going through an Oscar Wilde phase in a
muggle college.”
   “There’s my Theo.”
   “Go fuck yourself,” he told Draco fondly. That had put him in an infinitely
better mood (as banter with best friends should). “I’m going to go talk to my
father now.”
   Colin wasn’t entirely sure how that exchange had helped Theo, but it had.
“Love you,” he offered.
   “I love you too,” Theo said quietly, turning to press his forehead to
Colin’s. “I’m fine, okay? I know it sounds crazy, but I knew this would happen.
I just… I knew I’d see him again after the trial. I’m not giving him the power
to affect me, and I’m taking you out to dinner after this.”
   Auror Weasley stepped forward, figuring their pints of firewhiskey could be
swapped another day. They had all the days they wanted.
   “Okay,” Colin agreed as if there were any question in the first place. He
was proud of Theo for handling this so well.
   Without another word, the prodigal son entered the interview room. Ron
quickly turned on the microphone that would allow the audience huddled in the
prison hall to hear what was going on within. They all had front-row seats as
Theo moved to use the chair that Harry had previously used to bother Marcus.
   For what felt like one time too many, a hand was on his shoulder. When Harry
looked up, he was relieved to see it was Sirius. “Hey.”
   “Hey,” Sirius replied, Remus at his side. Olivia was at Alex’s house so she
wouldn’t have to be dragged into all of the mess that was the two wizarding
wars.
   Both of the elder men quickly greeted Lucius and Narcissa when she finally
worked up the nerve to enter the prison. She’d wanted Lucius to go in first,
just to make sure nobody could see their faces from the prisoner’s side of the
glass. Only when Lucius had spent fifteen minutes waving at Marcus from the
two-way mirror with no reaction had he sent his peacock patronus to Narcissa
with the message that they were in the clear.
   “Theodore,” Marcus greeted him solemnly, voice crackling over the bugged
room.
   “Where’s the skull?”
   Marcus made a tsk, tsk noise with his teeth. “No. You answer me first,
considering you never answered my letters.”
   “Because you’re a sociopath, yeah,” Theo nodded. He was feeling confident,
and no matter how many times his father had threatened him with violence or
actually used it against him, Theo had never seen him in handcuffs before.
   Those cuffs and the ones on his ankles made Theo feel safe. Protected, at
the least.
   “Now, now, let’s not name-call. That’s not what I came here to do.”
   “You didn’t even come here. You were walked here by guards because you’re in
prison.” Nott Sr. was acting like a villain in a fucking superhero movie as if
he had some grand plan. It was delusional and Theo didn’t really like superhero
movies.
   Marcus dropped the cool demeanor when he realized Theo wasn’t buying it.
“You are ruining your bloodline. Your whole family, your ancestors, your
history, you’re killing them all when you don’t take a wife.”
   “Don’t care.”
   “What the hell do you mean you don’t care?” his father snarled back. “This
isn’t about you. You’re a child in a greater scheme of wizarding purity. You
hold the blood of kings and conquerors in your veins, and it is your sworn duty
to pass it on.”
   “Nah,” Theo shrugged. “I think I’m going to do everything in my power to
make sure this name and this blood dies out.”
   Marcus’ breathing sped up. It had become clear to him that he had lost power
over what Theodore said and did and would never get it back. It scared him more
than he could say. “You—You listen to me or I won’t give you the information.”
   “That’s not part of the deal,” Theo murmured, trying to keep in mind the
point of this meeting in the first place. “I’m here, now quit fucking around.
Where is Benjy Fenwick’s skull?”
   “The last time I saw you I wasn’t permitted to speak. My trial was a farce—“
   “Why, because I kept you alive?”
   “Because I couldn’t freeze your assets for betraying the family!”
   Theo had seen that one coming, and spent the whole night preparing retorts.
“You literally killed a member of your family. My mother. Are you forgetting
that, or are you just mad after being locked up so long?”
   “She was dying anyway!”
   The shout struck Theo into silence. Knowing that this was the only moment
that he could regain power, Marcus pressed on.
   “The Dark Lord demanded I kill for him to prove my loyalty. Your mother was
ill, Theodore. She couldn’t serve me as a wife any longer.”
   “So that means,” Theo spoke up, hands shaking. “That out of all the people
in the world, you kill her?” He hadn’t known his mum was sick.
   “You weren’t meant to witness it. That was why I sent you to your room.”
   “Is this supposed to make me feel better or something? Because you’re doing
a pretty shit job at it,” the son remarked in a sad effort to keep his cool.
   “Haven’t I already told you that this isn’t about you? This is about
descendants. I see who you’ve become now, you selfish and unnatural boy. You’re
not the son I raised and you do not deserve your purity. The day you come to
your senses and return with a wife is the only day I tell you anything,” the
elder growled. He’d gotten his message across.
   From the other side of the glass, Remus and Sirius had to grip each other’s
hands tight to keep from launching themselves into the room and shoving a
bottle of Veritaserum down his throat. They’d come so far in burying their
friend, only to be stopped by homophobia. It was wrong on every level Remus
could think of.
   Calmly, Theo stood in the face of such blatant prejudice. It wasn’t as if he
had expected his father to have knitted him a sweater for inmates arts and
crafts day. After all, the knitting needles could serve as a great shank.
   “Well. I hope you die in your cell cold and alone, hoping that someday I’ll
come back,” Theo told his father cheerily. How else was one supposed to respond
to the person that murdered their mother? “Because I never will.”
   Just to be sure Theo got the last word, he walked out as fast as his long,
pureblood legs could carry him.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “Well, that was a disaster,” Ron said once he’d ushered the last of his
family out of the building. Blaise had taken Ginny out hand-in-hand, and only
George had lingered around to see if he could slip a prank product under the
door that would make Nott Sr. smell like a public toilet.
   The only people who remained were Draco, his parents, and the two Aurors.
Theo had gone off with his boyfriend to dinner as promised.
   “Pretty much,” Harry nodded. He’d taken a seat on the bench outside of the
interrogation room and Draco had taken to rubbing his back soothingly.
   “Not your fault,” Draco whispered in his ear as he smoothed his onyx hair.
“Let’s go home.”
   Harry was about to give in and abandon the interrogation entirely before
Lucius opened his mouth. “Harry, do the lights in the interrogation room turn
off?”
   “Yeah,” he snapped, patience having dried. “There’s a switch.”
   Lucius and his cane made their way from where he had rested against the
wall. When he found the strange muggle switch Harry was talking about, he
flipped it down.
   The room where Marcus was being held went completely dark. A quiet and
distant cry was heard from the room, but that was it since they turned the
microphone off.
   “Lucius,” Narcissa hissed. Whatever her husband was doing, she had clearly
argued with him before about it.
   Harry and Ron both stood, confused. “What’s going on here?” Ron asked, at
least ten thousand percent sure that Lucius had flipped sides to being a Death
Eater again. This was a shit time to do it and break his buddy out of jail,
too.
   “Five minutes,” Lucius told Harry, their eyes locking. Somewhere in his mess
of wedding memories, Harry remembered what Lucius had told him. Lucius
protected his family, no matter what. It was his only drive, his sole purpose.
   Harry knew what Lucius was going in to do for Theo, for his son’s best
friend, for Harry’s case, and for Remus and Sirius’ friend.
   “Five minutes.”
   “Harry, what are you doing?” Ron demanded.
   Harry handed Lucius a pen and paper from his pocket, not answering his Auror
partner. Whatever weird Malfoy family connection they had left Ron out in the
cold. Unbeknownst to Ron, Lucius and Harry had just agreed to break the law
together with their respective spouses watching on. Narcissa was concerned
while Draco seemed mildly amused by it all.
   When Ron saw Lucius enter, wide-eyed and confused, Narcissa stepped in to
explain.
   She grabbed Ron’s elbow and pulled him to the side. “This is what we liked
to refer to when Lucius worked in the Ministry as a ‘Temporary Blackout’. You
didn’t see anything, you didn’t hear anything. As far as you’re concerned the
next five minutes didn’t exist,” she said sweetly in a mothering tone she’d
mastered so well.
   When Ron heard faint yelling and crunches from the interrogation room, he
understood. “Oh, we are so losing our jobs over this.”
   “Pffft,” Draco laughed. “They can’t fire their best Aurors.” Especially if
everyone kept their mouths shut.
   The next couple of minutes were filled with an array of sounds that made Ron
cringe in sympathetic pain.
   Crashes, thumps, muffled screams, the sound of spells firing. Lucius never
said a word, but every metal clang, burst, and smash from the other room
sounded like footsteps from where Harry and Ron were standing. Those brick
walls sure were thick.
   Narcissa had taken to keeping guard, eyes peeled for any pesky prison
workers who could walk by and see them doing their dirty work. She kept her
family safe, too.
   Soon, the thumps died down.
   Silence consumed their every nervous breath. Harry felt the tips of his
fingers tingle. He hadn’t been in the right frame of mind when he let Lucius in
there, but there was no interrupting him without attracting attention. So, he
was left to stare at the linoleum floor.
   When Lucius emerged, not a hair was out of place. He still held himself tall
as only a rich man with nobility in his heritage could.
   Gingerly, he handed his son-in-law the paper back, an address neatly written
in Lucius’ handwriting. “Marcus is going to need a Healer,” he said airily
before holding his arm out for Narcissa to wrap hers around. Her blue velvet
gown went fittingly with Lucius’ crisp dressrobes and navy vest.
   “I’ll owl someone,” Draco suggested. After all, he knew plenty of Healers
that he wanted to make miserable by dumping this on. Augustus Pye was at the
top of his list.
   The prisoner just went wild after Theo left the room! He wouldn’t stop
thrashing, and hurt himself in the process. Pye, everyone here can corroborate
my story.
   “How did you…?” Ron asked before running to the light switch and flicking it
on. He wished he hadn’t.
   The window into the room was smeared with blood. The table had toppled over
and one of the chairs had snapped in two while the other remained firmly
embedded in the brick wall. A crumpled man was still chained to the table, too.
   “Merlin’s left nut.” At least Lucius was on their side for sure now.
   Draco said goodbye to his mother and father with their traditional hugs and
kisses. He even got to sneak one in on Lucius’ cheek. Nothing said ‘father and
son bonding’ quite like a father maiming someone who had caused his son and his
son’s friends trouble.
   Harry ran into the interrogation room to furiously cast some cleaning spells
while Draco made dinner plans for the following evening with Lucius and
Narcissa.
   Just as quickly as the blonde couple had appeared, they left with a regal
air about them and with Harry to clean up after them.
   “Bloody purebloods,” Ron muttered to himself even though he was one. “Never
going to understand them.” After all, Marcus Nott didn’t have a soul as far was
Ron was concerned. How had Lucius managed to draw blood from a stone?
   He watched the man and his wife strut away in utter confusion. “How…?”
   “You don’t want to know,” Draco told him gently. He knew how Death Eaters
had swapped spells during the war. Spells that slowed down time, spells that
tortured, spells that burned every cell in the human body one by one… Severus
and Marcus had actually come up with most of them.
   When the room was finally clean and the chairs put back in their proper
place, Harry stepped back out. “Well,” he said, paper in-hand and sanity far-
gone. Harry hadn’t been able to save Theo from being hurt, and he hadn’t even
been able to get information from his father. Lucius had done it. He’d really,
really done it from the look of the bruises that would blossom all over the
broken man on the floor. “We’ve got one last place to dig.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Remus and Sirius had three hours of sulking to kill.
   “I hate him,” Remus muttered as he collapsed onto their couch, not even
needing to specify who the ‘him’ in the situation was. Harry would tell them of
Lucius’ coerced interview the next day, and how they had found the last missing
piece of Benjy. Finally.
   Sirius immediately began unbuttoning all those pesky clothes Remus had on
until his scarred chest showed as he sat across from him on the couch. “Moony,”
he whimpered as he buried his face in Remus’ chest for comfort. “I hate
everyone but you.”
   “No, I’m pretty sure you hate me too.”
   “Never.” Sirius kissed his collarbone before entwining their bodies
entirely. Their muddy shoes were on and they were a veritable wreck, but they
stayed still. “Never.”
   A little sigh escaped Remus. He had no idea what he’d do without his
Padfoot, and no idea how he’d survived for twelve years without him. “I love
you too.”
   “We need to get this off of our minds. Benjy wouldn’t want it to kill us,”
he murmured against one of Remus’ scars.
   “Are you actually suggesting that we shag right now? Because if so, you have
to be the horniest—“
   “Not shag,” Sirius told Remus with his bark of a laugh. “Just follow through
on a little something we said we’d do again.” Sirius shoved a hand down into
his pocket before it closed around what he had been hiding at the prison all
along. Prisons didn’t scare Sirius anymore.
   When Sirius brought the rolled-up blunt of Gillyweed to Remus’ eyelevel, the
lycanthrope could have cried. “It’s beautiful. I forgot how beautiful these
are. Where did you even get this?”
   “Let’s just say our favorite Nott knows some people who know some people.”
Theo and Sirius were strikingly similar in their way of dealing with sadness:
drugs and sex. Sirius snuck a kiss in on Remus’ cheek, because this would
undoubtedly lead to shagging. “Now, would you like to do the honors?” he asked
cordially.
   He certainly didn’t have to ask Remus twice. Remus pressed the tip of his
wand up to light a small, simmering flame to get the smoke to puff up around
them.
   They passed it back and forth, taking in drag after drag. This was their
home—formerly a home of strict pureblood tradition, which made it even
better—and they would do as they pleased. Halfway in, it slipped their mind
that they would be picking up Olivia in a few hours and were probably supposed
to be sober for that.
   Once they’d put the illegal substance away, shagged twice, and were as high
as a pair of stupid, poofy kites, their muggle house phone would ring. Remus
would run to it and panic that they’d somehow been late to pick up Olivia, but
it wasn’t Alex’s parents. Sirius, in a paranoid burst of giggles, thought it
was the Ministry coming to lock them up.
   Who it really was happened to be Hermione Weasley, and it was coming from
St. Mungo’s.
***** Complacency *****
Chapter Notes
     Here it is! :D Thanks again for your fabulous reviews, etc, etc.
Chapter 26: Complacency
   A rushed call to Alex’s foster parents would have to do as Remus and Sirius’
excuse for dashing out without their Olivia.
   “Floo,” Sirius said after he put the phone upside-down on its receiver in
the kitchen. “We, uhm. The floo because we can’t apparate like this. Remember
James’ birthday party?”
   Remus burst into laughter at the memory, still stuck on trying to tie his
shoes on the couch they’d previously shagged on. The loops were too loopy. How
do you fit the loop in the other loop? “Lupin,” he said to himself. “Lup-in,
Lup-out. I should know this.”
   The gillyweed, as expected, had done its sworn duty. Remus was giggling over
some word play with his last name while Sirius had rapidly become enthralled
with looking at the floo powder close up in his hand. Was each little grain a
circle or a square?
   “I’ve done it!” Finally, Remus had tied his shoes. The knots were childishly
large and loose, but he’d done it. “I’m a genius. I should go to muggle
university.”
   “I’m so proud of you, baby. I love you so much, do you know that? I love you
like I love baths. Merlin, I love baths. Who was the first person to not jump
in a lake to bathe, but instead filled up a warm tub? I’d like to give that
person a medal. The Bath Medal.”
   Remus chuckled and stood slowly. Everything was in slow motion as it had
been when they were in school together and had escapades under the influence
that turned into all four Marauders laying on the floor talking about the
probability of farting a star into existence (it was just a ball of gas,
right?) and Sirius trying and failing to be subtle with the way he was touching
Remus.
   “Okay, come on,” Remus finally said when he made his way over to Sirius in
front of their fireplace, holding himself steady on Sirius’ shoulders. “We need
to... We need to not be stupid right now.” That only made him laugh harder,
though. “Okay? Not stupid.”
   “Sure, Mr. Uni-verrrr-sitty,” Sirius cooed. Remus was so cute when he tried
to focus after smoking gillyweed. He got those tiny little lines on his
forehead, the ones that made Sirius want to kiss him. However, if they started
kissing again, they’d probably never leave the house.
   “No, I’m being serious!”
   Sirius’ eyes went wide with wonder. “But I’m Sirius. Have you just been a
figment of my imagination all along, Moony?”
   “Yes, most likely. Now let’s go.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   When Hermione owled her husband, her best friend, and her old professors she
held in such high respect, she was expecting a small gathering of friends to
support her in a medical mishap that had shaken her.
   The only one who actually wound up being there on time was Draco, and that
was mostly because it was his job.
   “Where are our husbands?” Hermione inquired when Ron hadn’t even owled her
back. She was propped up on her St. Mungo’s bed with nothing to do but stare at
the wall and worry, which made time pass like molasses.
   Draco looked up from Hermione’s charts. “They’re on Auror business. I assure
you, premature contractions do not always equal premature labor. Ron will
probably have missed nothing.”
   “What do you mean, ‘Auror business’? Don’t tell me they’re still in the
interview room with that heathen. Theo and Colin are out to dinner together,
Ron and Harry shouldn’t beat a dead horse.”
   “You see, it’s funny that you would use that wording—“
   “Oi, Malfoy,” Maggie said from the door frame, her Mediwitch scrubs finally
having undergone a good wash after the flobberworm boils incident of the
previous week. “Hermione’s got visitors.”
   Draco let out a sigh of relief, believing them to be Harry and Ron. “Yes,
let them in.”
   Remus, arms full of a furry black dog, took the place where Maggie had been
standing. For a brief second, he looked like some sort of saint on one of those
cards that they gave out at those buildings with the crosses and the men in
dresses.
   A dreary, distant look in his eyes and small children clambering around his
heels took up most of the scene. The kids were admittedly trying to pet the
doggy (who had sprinted through the children’s ward in a wild chase of what he
thought was a squeaky toy and turned out to be a bald child’s comforting
plushie) who they had immediately fallen in love with at the sight of.
   The nurses, Medi-witches, and Healers had taken their dinner break (even the
workers that technically had a dinner break an hour ago), leaving the children
momentarily unsupervised.
   “Puppy! Puppy!”
   “Mister, what’s the dog’s name?”
   “Can we keep him?”
   Remus lowered his panting and slobbering husband to the floor so the crowd
could be sated.
   “Hermione,” he greeted her, trying his hardest to seem normal.
Unfortunately, when Remus tried to be normal, it looked like the most abnormal
thing on earth. “We got your letter.”
   From behind Remus, Padfoot barked happily at the small children pawing to
touch him. When he licked one little girl’s face, they all shrieked with
delight.
   Draco had been friends with Theo long enough to know what bloodshot eyes and
ditzy behavior meant, and he honestly couldn’t believe he was seeing it in
Remus. “Wow, Lupin. You’re connecting back to your hippie roots?”
   “Roots?” Maybe he was a tree. Maybe he’d been the Whomping Willow this whole
time.
   “Yes,” Draco laughed fondly. “Roots.”
   Hermione, on the other hand, had no idea what the hell had come over her
beloved professor. “Remus, what’s wrong?”
   Before Remus could give his typical ‘allergies’ excuse that had served him
so well in Hogwarts, a furious Healer tapped his shoulder. The tap could even
be categorized as a jab since the flustered old doctor seemed so angry.
   “Sir, there are absolutely no pets allowed in this facility. I’m going to
have to remove—“
   “Pets?” Remus asked with a tiny laugh that bubbled over on the side of
insanity. “No, no, he’s not my pet. I’m married to him. Right, Padfoot?”
   The Grim looked up lovingly at Remus before barking in agreement.
   “Uhm, sir…”
   “Alright, kids, listen to your Healer,” Remus sighed and ruffled the hair of
those ones who had hair. He turned to the old man as if they were sharing a
secret. “I’m a teacher, don’t worry. I understand kids. My husband and I are
also in the process of adopting, aren’t we love?”
   Sirius barked again before rolling over so his stomach was facing up.
   “No. No belly-rubs in public.”
   The grizzled old Healer couldn’t smell the weed on Remus after the cleaning
charm he’d cast, but he could sure see it in his eyes. “Have you ingested any
illicit substances, sir? If so, I am obligated to—“
   “Healer Lark? Oh, that won’t be necessary. Those are my aunts,” Draco
informed him fondly. When Lark saw that the crazy poof Malfoy was behind
whatever the hell was going on. “Just take the kids back to the ward.”
   “But the dog—“
   “He’s not a dog, he’s a batty old queen. Come on, Sirius. Shift back.”
   Sirius stood on his two feet once more, clothes still clinging to him
loosely. He was complicit and malleable when high, so he followed Draco’s order
before slinking over to the chair next to Hermione’s bed. “You’re no fun,
niece. I was going to play fetch with the kids.”
   The jaws of all the children had been glued to the floor for the past
moment. “Woah,” one whispered, shocked. “That… Is… So cool!”
   The disgruntled elder Healer had a hard time dragging them all back after
that, and in the night, they’d make schemes to try and become dogs themselves.
   “Draco,” Hermione hissed, fist clenched nervously around a handful of her
blankets. “What is going on?”
   “You owled them, right?”
   “Yes, but I think something’s… Wrong with them.”
   Sirius turned to Hermione kindly and twiddled his thumbs as if that would
somehow assure the expectant mother that he was still himself. “I was raised by
Pureblood parents, Hermione. Everything is wrong with me.”
   It was all far too merry an atmosphere for the announcement that Hermione
had gone into premature contractions after her whole family had watched one of
their own be needlessly tortured by a Death Eater, so she kept quiet for a
moment.
   Maybe it really was just as Draco had said, that she wasn’t going into
premature labor but just reacting to something. It made her feel silly and
small for even bringing it to a Healer’s attention. “Right,” she muttered with
a tiny smile at Sirius’ joke.
   Draco wasn’t as attuned to Hermione as he was to Harry, Theo, Pansy, Blaise…
Or, well, anyone else. The woman was an enigma, and when she shrunk back into
herself in the bed for a moment to think, he thought it was purely out of
confusion over the obviously uninhibited couple in front of them.
   “Malfoy,” Maggie’s voice piped up again. “More visitors.”
   An upset patient and unruly guests had already begun to fray at Draco’s
nerves. “If I’m not married to one of them I have no interest in letting them
in. Remus! Stop playing with the stethoscope.”
   “But—“
   “No touching medical equipment,” Draco warned them. “No loud noises, no
fetch with children.”
   “One of them is indeed your husband!” Maggie shouted back, leaving Ron to
rush into the room to his wife’s aid. Hermione had obviously been doing fine on
her own and always would be fine on her own, but Ron made that nagging feeling
of doubt that told her that her fears were petty go away.
   “Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Did you slip? Did someone break into the
house? Was anything stolen?”
   Ron’s concern made Hermione smile, her hand gently reaching out to stroke
his cheek. She explained what happened in hushed tones, keeping things between
husband and wife.
   Rose was at the sitter’s for the afternoon so Hermione could have an
afternoon to herself without any fits or fusses, heels kicked up on their
coffee table in the living room. Maybe it was the way she had been sitting or
the strawberry ice cream she had been snacking on, but suddenly it felt like
her baby was making an early arrival right there on the sofa.
   “What could cause something like this?” Ron asked Draco once he was assured
nothing dire was afoot. Ever since Hermione’s first pregnancy, Ron had made it
his personal mission to not be one of those husbands who blundered through the
process blindly as if the uterus was a grand mystery that took years of
training to fully understand.
   Harry gave his Auror partner a look that roughly translated to ‘I need a
second alone with Draco’.
   Ron, having stolen Sirius’ chair, gave Harry a look that roughly translated
to ‘fuck you’.
   “Stress, sexual activity, certain foods, any kind of infection she might
have, excessive amniotic fluid…” Draco listed off of the top of his head. “It’s
most likely just an anomaly. My tests didn’t show any existing diseases or
structural issues.”
   Ron breathed a sigh of relief, only then allowing Harry to drag Draco out of
the room.
   “Hey,” Harry said gently, vaguely unnerved by the white walls, robes, and
sheets surrounding him as they walked down the corridor with no actual
destination in mind. “Can we talk?”
   “In my office.”
   Harry nodded, lacing their fingers together so Draco could lead the way.
There was too much on Harry’s mind to reveal in the company of those who lived
outside the sphere of Draco and Harry. They were their own planet sometimes.
   Once Draco closed the door behind Harry after entering his luxurious
office—which he had decorated entirely on his own, by the way—he went back to
that planet with Harry.
   “Did you know,” Draco stated. “That I am really sick of that fact that the
only conversations we’ve been having lately are heavy, horrible ones like the
war is suddenly back upon us? So, if you could just tell me if you found the
damned thing or not—“
   “We found it,” Harry assured him. Under the ash and rubble of the Gaunt
house, they’d found it.
   “Okay, good. Could you also just skip the part where you tell me Theo will
be just fine? Hermione and her baby aren’t even in trouble and they exhaust me.
I don’t—I can’t talk about this anymore, okay? It’s exhausting. That suspicious
and definitely illegal thing my parents did? That’s exhausting.”
   Harry shrugged. “I mean, it worked.”
   “You devil,” Draco accused, giving him a playful shove. “I knew I could
corrupt that saintly moral code of yours.”
   “My morals are the same, and in case you haven’t noticed, nothing you push
me through can change that.” Harry briefly thought of the way he’d fought
against Draco’s eagerness to give in to the wishes of his parents concerning
the blood purity of their child. “I have never been opposed, not once in my
life, to breaking some rules.”
   Draco loved that about him. “The rules that you are supposed to uphold are
the Sacred and Untouchable Law,” he teased anyway.
   “Sometimes, laws are bullshit.”
   “I’ll tell The Prophet you said that.”
   “I’ll tell The Prophet your best friend got my godparents high.”
   A smile spread on Draco’s lips. “You give as good as you get, you know
that?” he asked.
   “I do,” Harry admitted as he sat down on the couch to the side of Draco’s
office. “So what do you want to talk about? Considering we are skipping many
parts of this conversation.”
   Harry was always willing to fit whatever shape Draco was in, even if it was
as pointy as his face. Harry would never get enough of that pointy face.
   “I would like to talk about something entirely shallow,” Draco decided as he
took his rightful place beside Harry on the couch.
   “Hmm. Shallow. I can do that.” Harry stretched his right arm around Draco’s
shoulders out of instinct. “I could talk about how beautiful you are.”
   “Go on.”
   “I could talk about how I would love to see you in a nurse’s uniform. These
long robes hardly fulfill anybody’s Healer fantasies,” he smirked.
   Draco kicked his legs up over Harry’s lap. “Yeah, because I save my hottest
outfits for at home with you.” Having Grace live with them put their house-wide
escapades on pause. “The second we’re finally alone and our baby is sound
asleep, I’ll dress up for you.”
   “Our baby,” Harry echoed, feeling that little burst of joy he got when he
talked about their daughter. “Our little girl.”
   “Our…” Draco scoured his mind for the names he’d listed. “Amelia.”
   “Really?”
   “Then we could call her ‘Amy’ for short. Amelia and-slash-or Amy Malfoy-
Potter. Oh, Merlin. Quit looking at me like that. I know you’re still gunning
for a dead person’s name.”
   “I’m not gunning, per se…” Harry murmured. “Just think about it.”
   Draco sighed and leaned up against Harry’s frame. This wasn’t as meaningless
as he’d been going for, but at least they’d gotten on a topic that didn’t
remind Draco of how totally fucked-up the last twenty-four hours had been. “Oh,
I’m thinking.”
   Harry cleared his throat. “Lily Malfoy-Potter,” he tried, making the name
sound as appealing as he could.
   “Something about it doesn’t really flow, is all.”
   “Then think of a middle name,” Harry offered. “Lily Amelia Malfoy-Potter.”
   At least that wasn’t a dead person’s name. “Hm. That sounds admittedly
better.”
   Harry leaned in close to kiss his neck. “So you’re not entirely opposed to
the idea of naming her after my mother?” he asked, nudging his nose against
Draco’s pale skin.
   “I could get used to it,” Draco admitted. “At least you’re not trying for
Narcissa Malfoy-Potter.”
   “Hm.”
   “Oh, Salazar, do not tell me you somehow like that better,” the Slytherin
said in abject horror.
   Harry shook his head, assuring Draco with another kiss that he wouldn’t
alternate between calling his mother-in-law and his child ‘Cissy’. “It sounds
pretty, is all. Though a middle name would probably mess it up.”
   “Maybe that could be her middle name,” Draco joked.
   “Wait—Think about it. Lily Narcissa Malfoy-Potter,” Harry insisted, sitting
on the edge of Draco’s couch.
   Oh, Draco really hated to admit it, but that sounded harmonious. He was
almost sure if he said it out loud himself that he would adore it. “Well.”
   “Do you like it?”
   “Well.”
   “You definitely like it,” Harry grinned, moving his other arm around Draco.
“You love it.”
   Draco tried to hide his smile. “Kind of. I mean, let’s not jump to any
conclusions,” he warned.
   “Lily Narcissa Malfoy-Potter. That’s going to sound fantastic when the hat
sorts her into Gryffindor,” Harry mused.
   Draco cocked an eyebrow, shifting in Harry’s arms so he could get a proper
and full view of the ‘bitch please’ face he was making. “Our little Lily
Narcissa Malfoy-Potter is not going to be some blindly courageous heroine. She
will be clever, manipulative, and a true leader.”
   “You want our daughter to be manipulative?”
   “Of course!” Draco proclaimed. “It’s going to get her far in life. Even if
she’s not attracted to men, they will be attracted to her because she will be
gorgeous. She can use them and get to the top in no time, and then prove her
superior skills. Teachers will give her high marks and she will be her own
boss.”
   Harry looked at Draco like he was the most adorable thing in the world.
“That’s a strange thing to wish for, darling.”
   “You’re strange, dearest.”
   “As are you, honeybee.”
   Draco was always ready for an ironic nickname-off. “Go fuck yourself,
muffin-face.”
   “But I’d love to fuck you, butterfly,” Harry countered.
   That was a new one. “’Butterfly’?”
   “Yeah,” he grinned at Draco. “You were a snotty kid, then you entered a
cocoon and burst out of it a compassionate and caring individual. Some might
even say ‘charming’.”
   “That’s a beautiful story, Harry, but I believe you mentioned something
earlier about fucking me…?”
   “Ah, yes. I most certainly did.”
   Before Harry could make the first move, Draco beat him to it.
   He rubbed the span between Harry’s legs through his black Auror robes. In
Draco’s white Healer robes, they made the perfect contrast between light and
dark. Draco closed the gap between them with a kiss that made Harry’s stomach
drop to his feet.
   After that, Harry was putty in Draco’s hands. Draco busied himself with
unbuttoning every last facet of that bothersome uniform Harry had on before
lifting his undershirt off over his head. Harry’s glasses got snagged in the
process, but Draco centered them again. “Want you to see this,” he told him
throatily.
   All Harry could do was nod, breath taken away by the scene unfolding before
him.
   Draco swirled his hips on top of Harry’s in a grinding motion that made the
words ‘lap dance’ come to mind. “I’m going to ride you,” Draco told him as he
shrugged off his own robes.
   Harry’s cock jumped at the thought. “Yes,” he groaned. Harry couldn’t seem
to undo his trousers fast enough, hands fumbling with the zippers and buttons.
   Draco laughed to himself before shooing Harry’s hands away and taking off
the black pants himself. “I’m your Healer,” Draco reminded him, rubbing the
bulge that was now only obscured by a pair of boxers. “I take care of
everything.”
   A pitiful groan escaped Harry’s mouth. Draco had only been rutting against
him, but he was already hard.
   “Mm, now that’s my good boy.” Draco got up on his knees for a moment to slip
off his trousers, revealing a pair of lacy pink panties. “Like these? I thought
about you when I put them on; got me so hard.”
   “Love those.”
   Draco lowered them in the back so his arse was showing, but kept the tight
fabric around his cock. He did the opposite for Harry, pulling his now fully
erect prick out of his boxers so he could wrap his fingers around him and
stroke.
   An appreciative hum sounded in Harry’s mouth. But as soon as the sensation
was there, it was gone again. “Draco!”
   “Yes?” he asked innocently.
   Harry tipped his head back and let out a frustrated groan.
   “Hey.” Draco tilted his head back up, fixing his glasses once more. “Look at
me.” Draco kept Harry’s eyes looking right at how his fat cock poked out from
behind the panty line by hooking two fingers in his mouth. “Now suck on them.”
   “Mm.” Harry’s tongue lapped at Draco’s fingers, head bobbing up and down on
them like he was sucking his cock. He knew where those fingers were going and
the thought alone drove him mad.
   Draco gently eased the fingers from Harry’s mouth, leaving a trail of saliva
he used his own lips to kiss away.
   His fingers moved down a familiar path, still lubricated when they came to
prod at Draco’s own hole. They went in as Draco let out a loud, erotic moan
that could definitely be heard from outside his office. “They’re not enough,”
Draco said almost immediately as his free hand used his wand to summon
lubricant that he spread over Harry’s aching cock. His fingers thrust in and
out of his arsehole, getting himself ready. “I need your big cock in me.” He
let every word drop from his lips like he was a bloody pornstar. Harry couldn’t
believe what a lucky man he was.
   “Fuck, Draco,” Harry panted out, his own hands flying to help Draco position
his hips.
   “Yes,” Draco urged as he nudged Harry’s foreskin up against his hole before
pushing it inside of him. “Ah—Yes.”
   Draco rolled his arse down, making slow, lazy circles as he took Harry
deeper inside him.
   The sight nearly did Harry in. Draco’s lithe, fair body sliding Harry’s
member in and out of himself like Harry was a mere fucktoy Draco was using to
get himself off with. It made him feel dirty and used.
   Harry whimpered and bucked his hips up. If he didn’t get enough friction,
Harry thought for sure he would lose his mind. “Draco, please…” His hand
reached out to stroke Draco’s cock through the lace fabric in order to gain his
favor.
   Thankfully, it worked. Draco slid down on him harder, practically bouncing
up and down on his cock at a quickening pace. “Harry,” he groaned. The slap of
their skin echoed in the office space.
   “Faster,” Harry said in what had to be a tiny sob. “Please!”
    Draco’s hand planted themselves on Harry’s chest, giving him leeway to push
his taut hole up Harry’s length even faster. His arse cheeks jolted up and down
in an uneven pattern with his thrusts, his arse smacking down on Harry’s legs
whenever he pulled up on his cock.
   “I want your come in me,” Draco demanded as he thumped up and down on
Harry’s weeping cock.
   Harry was never one to refuse a request so appetizing. He used his own
strength to slam into Draco a few more times before the orgasm took him by
surprise. Harry let out a shout, watching his own come dribble down out of
Draco’s hole as Draco continued to ride him.
   Still stroking at him furiously, Harry made Draco come only seconds later.
The white mess got all over his lace panties and Harry’s chest.
   Before Draco could pull out, pull Harry to his chest, and litter his face
with kisses, a rather inopportune knock pounded at his office door.
   Draco—with a sated Harry’s limp cock still inside of him—let out an annoyed
sigh. “What is it?”
   “Hermione!” the panicked voice that could only be Ron Weasley called out
from the other side of the door as he attempted to open it. Thankfully, Draco
had had the sense to lock it. “I think it’s happening, Draco! She’s having
contractions again, and fuck—I think her water just broke!”
   Harry and Draco’s eyes met, Draco’s full of horror and Harry’s full of
excitement.
   “We’ll be out in a minute!” Harry announced, giving Draco’s cheek a kiss
before maneuvering off the couch and pulling his robes on. “Don’t worry, Ron.
We’re gonna deliver this baby!”
***** Timing *****
Chapter Notes
     I am having an artistic crisis because I haven't had an acting job in
     so long. This chapter may reflect that and I take no responsibility
     for this chapter whatsoever. Also, I finished my summer LA work so I
     can do this guiltlessly now. Agh. July was a weird month and Remus
     Lupin’s Pottermore bio is the worst fanfiction I’ve ever read.
Chapter 27: Timing
   Harry prided himself on being a gay man who didn't faint at the mention of
anything feminine. Just because he was married to a man didn't mean he would
forget everything to do with a cisgender woman's biology.
   With that in mind and with clothes on his back once more, Harry entered
Hermione's delivery room with a renewed vigor. "Hermione!" he greeted eagerly
as he swung the door open.
   "What?" Hermione demanded, her knuckles turning white from how hard she was
grasping the sides of the hospital bed. "Harry, make yourself useful and owl
Arthur and Molly. Ron, get the fuck over here. Draco–!"
   Hermione was cut off by one of her own contractions. She gritted her teeth
and let the noise of pain seep out around her clenched jaw.
   When it stopped, she looked to Draco with wild eyes. "Get this thing out of
me before I hex your Healer bullocks to shreds.”
   If Harry were entirely socially unaware of the maddening effect pain had on
people, he would have piped up and told Hermione that he liked Draco’s bullocks
where they were and in one piece, thank you very much. Harry was, however,
intelligent. He kept his mouth shut and did as he was told.
   Harry was on cloud nine.
   Hermione was having a baby! The perfect mix of his two best friend’s genes!
It was the baby who would grow up alongside his own.
   Harry’s summoned quill shook his hands when he scribbled those letters. This
was the child he’d be babysitting with Draco for the rest of their lives.
They’d watch this kid have its own kid. The circle of life was unfolding before
him and it wasn’t even a Disney movie.
   And Hermione was a soldier about it.
   Harry could hear her giving out more orders from down the hall and admired
her for it. Women were the superior sex and he knew it. People who used ‘pussy’
as an insult clearly had not once attempted to birth a child through a cock and
Harry happened to look down on them for ever considering women weak.
   Lily Potter brought him into the world and Narcissa Malfoy brought his
husband into the world. Draco and Harry—while appreciating the irony—owed
everything to women. James would have probably flown in to a fit of anxiety if
he was the one that got pregnant, and Lucius would have probably just perished.
Didn’t matter how. The man would have perished.
   Ron would probably be the best with a child in him, but Harry was really
getting disturbed by his own male-pregnancy thoughts. “Never,” he shuddered
just to make sure he was on the same page with his subconscious.
   “Oh, Salazar,” Pansy muttered. She’d stumbled upon Harry in the hallway
talking to himself and immediately knew things couldn’t be normal. “What’s
going on?”
   “Hermione’s gone into labor.”
   Pansy grimaced. She wasn’t the biggest fan of the former Granger, but birth
was one thing she would only wish on her worst enemy. The stretching, the
tearing… “Gross.”
   “You’re a medi-witch,” Harry laughed. “Isn’t this supposed to be your
forte?”
   “No, it’s not birth that skeeves me out. It’s the thought of Hermione
specifically doing it. This is worse than the time I walked in on her showering
in the Prefect’s bathroom,” Pansy muttered. Okay, at the time, it had been sort
of hot, but now Hermione was a mother, married, and the hate sex would be much
less passionate since their rivalry had cooled down.
   “Ah.”
   “I think I’m just going to try and get your godfathers sober.”
   Harry cocked an eyebrow. “What?”
   “Have you seen them?” Pansy asked, her eyes narrowing yet keeping her
playful air about her. She could honestly care less what mayhem the two men
caused, she was just surprised Harry hadn’t noticed how baked they were.
   “Uhm, yes? For like three seconds?”
   Pansy reached into her scrubs for her wand. Harry would try and erase the
mental image of her storing it in her bra, but it might never go away. “Watch.”
Pansy summoned a silver whistle and held it up to her glossed lips before
blowing.
   “I can’t hear it,” Harry frowned.
   What the Auror could hear, however, was the scritch-scratch of nails on the
floor coming frenzied towards him.
   Sirius plopped down at Pansy’s feet, his husband having opted to walk after
The Grim. Sirius noticed Harry and began excitedly jumping on him until Harry
crouched down to rub behind his ears. “Hey there, Padfoot.”
   “We’re terrible examples,” Remus lamented as he walked towards them. “Look
at Draco. Look at the Malfoy boy. He’s in the other room facing genitalia of
the opposite sex so he can deliver a baby and we’re high and leaving our kid-
thing at someone else’s house.”
   Pansy shrugged. “Hey, she’s probably happy to be at her boyfriend’s.”
   Sirius changed back mid-lick on Harry’s face. “Boyfriend?” Sirius demanded.
“But she just got boobs!”
   “They’re not dating,” Remus said slowly, trying to make sure it was true.
   “Not yet,” Pansy shrugged. “But I’m sure she loves herself some Gryffindors.
When did you two start dating?”
   “Fifth year,” they said at once. Sirius actually at first tried to say
‘fourth year’, but found it easy to change the number mid-speech. He really had
terrible memory. Mem-o-reed. Mammaries.
   While Sirius was lost in thought over breasts—a truly rare sight—Remus tried
to fake understanding of the situation. “But, ah, she’s in second year. How
does that…? Are they really?”
   Harry grinned, now seeing what Pansy was talking about. “I can’t believe you
two,” he laughed. “I’m going to have to arrest you.”
   “And I’m going to have to threaten a twelve year-old boy,” Sirius nodded
solemnly.
   “What?”
   “I’m not going to be my mother and forbid them from seeing one another. He’s
an alright kid, they have adult supervision, and he’s tiny enough for me to
hit.”
   “Scare the shit out of him,” Remus told his Padfoot, who was still sitting
on the floor.
   Sirius looked up at him lovingly. “I will. I once shanked a man in prison
for bragging about breaking some girl’s heart.”
   “The worst part about that,” Remus said more to himself than to anyone else.
“Is that I really don’t know if you’re kidding or not.”
   From down the hall, Hermione let out another frustrated cry.
   “We should probably get back to a more pressing matter,” Harry murmured in
reference to The Brightest Witch of Their Age. The time between contractions
was decreasing by the minute and Hermione’s nails had already dug deep into
Ron’s hand from the squeezing.
   The group of queer lost souls and bizarrely-enough family members made their
way down to the room so they could be there for a girl who was not only
essential in winning a war against malevolent forces, but had always been there
for them.
   Harry’s previous pride on not being a gay man who was disturbed by the inner
machinations of the cisgender female was dashed, however.
   He walked into the room to see Draco positioned at the end of the bed,
positioned right in front of—Oh, Merlin. Oh fuck. How—? Why? Was that what
crowning was?
   Harry, eyes rolling back behind his glasses, fainted at the sight.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   That damned ring had never felt so heavy in Theo’s pocket before. It
threatened to burn a hole right through him and attempt an escape.
   Theo liked to imagine it growing legs, putting on a little top hat, and
dashing off to hide where all unused engagement rings go. He also liked to
think that there was an underground society of them, walking around until their
owners eventually plucked up the courage to pop the question to their
significant other.
   That, of course, was fucking mad.
   Theo actually felt himself go mad across from Colin, his knee involuntarily
bouncing up and down under the table cloth. He hadn’t even touched his lobster
dinner.
   “Theo?” Colin asked for the third time, this time reaching out to hold his
hand across the table.
   “Hm?”
   “Where are you right now?”
   “Underground secret society,” he answered without thinking. Luckily, Colin
didn’t ask for elaboration. “Sorry.”
   Colin shook his head. “Hey, it’s fine. You’ve had a rough day. Look, do you
even want to be here right now? We could go home, we could throw rocks at a
tree, I could help you with potions.”
   Why the hell did Colin have to be so sweet? It was really making Theo’s
angst over marriage and his parental situation feel less relevant, and he
wasn’t at all sure how he felt about that. “No, I’m fine here.”
   “Then can I distract you from this terrible day with some news that will
make you laugh at me?”
   “Yes, you can definitely do that.”
   Colin dug into his pocket. “Well, you know how I didn’t really want my
father to date Helen? You know how I perished at the idea of them being
intimate? Well.” He put the invitation in front of Theo’s plate. “Guess whose
wedding announcement this is.”
   “No fucking way.”
   “Yes fucking way.” Colin had picked up all that cursing from his boyfriend
and couldn’t seem to make it stop. “They’re getting married! My father! To
someone who is not my mother!”
   Theo tried to think of a way to put his thoughts into word that sounded
gentle. “Yes, Colin. Otherwise it’d be necrophilia.”
   Colin kicked him under the table.
   “What? It’s true! The man is happy with someone and doing much, much better
than certain other people’s fathers.”
   “That’s hardly fair,” Colin pointed out.
   Theo knew that, but a day with his estranged father had scrambled his brain.
“Still.”
   “But it doesn’t matter, I guess. My father wins. You win. Everyone wins.
He’s getting married,” Colin muttered in a child-like pout.
   “You win, too.”
   “How do I win?”
   “Do you really want to know?” Theo asked. “This involves the underground
secret society.”
   “Have I inherited the sewer throne?” Colin laughed. What was this nutter up
to?
   Theo nodded. “You have. The whole kingdom is yours. You’re the king of your
domain with legions upon legions of subjects who adore you. All you have to do
is take one family heirloom of the sewer people and you may ascend to the
throne.”
   This was getting elaborate for Theo’s sarcasm and joking. Colin raised an
eyebrow at all the rambling, but figured it was better than Theo sulking in
silence. “What heirloom is that?”
   It was maybe the dumbest lead-up to a proposal that Theo had ever imagined.
   Sewer-people? Really? Were they going to look their children in the eye and
say ‘and then Daddy went on a nervous, slightly tipsy, and post-emotional
disturbance rant about a secret society similar to the illuminati in hierarchy
before pulling out a ring’, and then tell their kids that that’s the shit true
love was made of?
   Apparently, they’d have to.
   Theo stood from his chair and could feel his knees shake when he dropped to
the ground next to Colin’s chair. “I have something to ask you.” His teeth felt
like they were going to fall out of his mouth.
   At first, Colin was delightfully oblivious. “What?”
   Patrons around the restaurant turned and stared at the bizarre scene
unfolding.
   “I love you.”
   “I know that, Theo,” Colin laughed, swatting his shoulder. “Come on, get up
off of the floor.”
   By then, the restaurant had practically frozen in awe of the two celebrities
making a rather pathetic attempt at becoming engaged.
   “No, there’s a reason I’m on the floor.”
   “And why in the hell is that?” He loved those khakis.
   “Just let me finish,” Theo sighed, his nerves still there but dulled
significantly by Colin’s naivety. “I think you’ll want to hear this.”
   Colin sighed and put down his fork. “Sure. Go ahead.”
   “Excuse me, sirs,” the waiter who had been busy in the kitchen for the past
fifteen minutes said as he approached their table. “May I help you?”
   “What? No, I’m in the middle of something.” This was a disaster and Theo
didn’t even care, he was going to finish the job.
   “Some dessert, maybe?”
   “No, I’m—“
   “Refill for your wine glasses?”
   “Can you stop?” Theo shouted, his shakes having turned into a ball of raw
energy that could be directed into any emotion, including anger. “I am trying
to fucking propose.”
   Flabbergasted and embarrassed at his own ignorance, the waiter retreated.
   “You’re…?” Colin realized, recognition lighting his eyes. “You don’t have
to, please don’t think you have to. It’s been a long day and I don’t want you
to do this just because my father—“
   “Colin, it’s not because of that. I… I bought this damn thing two months ago
and I have been a coward about just saying it.”
   “Two months ago?” The romanticism of it all made Colin’s Gryffindor heart
melt.
   “Can I just finish proposing?”
   Colin nodded and sat up straight. People around them were taking photos that
would sell to The Prophet for thousands, after all, and Colin knew what made a
good photo. “Yes. You may finish proposing.”
   “Thank you, dear.”
   Theo pulled out the golden ring for the full effect. Colin audibly gasped,
which was the best sound he had ever heard.
   “Colin Alexander Creevey. Famed photographer. Cat-lover. My sunshine,” Theo
announced loudly, with a smile right on his face. Maybe if everything went
horribly with his father, they could dress Colin up in drag and pretend he had
a wife before Colin ripped off the disguise and the couple cackled maniacally.
   “I love you. You’re the joy to my gloom, and the sun to my moon. I didn’t
expect to fall for someone as sweet, kind, and caring as you are. You make me
feel invincible, like I really could spend the rest of my life with you. I know
it’s been a year, but I think we’ve never gotten our timing right on
anything—hell, I waited for a Right Moment for two months and it never came. It
may never come, actually.”
   “Yeah,” Colin agreed with a bright smile before teasing Theo. “This moment
certainly isn’t it.”
   Theo gave his knee a push. “Yeah, well shut up. Make me the happiest man in
the whole world?”
   “Eh. Ask again.”
   “Will you marry me?”
   Colin’s next smile was all teeth before he crushed their lips together.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
   Their wizarding audience burst into applause, the flash of camera lights
filled the air, and Marcus Nott coughed up a little bit of blood in the prison
infirmary before waking up with cramped but distinct sense of dread.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Harry, on the other hand, awoke to his husband shaking his head at him.
   “And I thought you lions were supposed to be courageous,” Draco said. He’d
moved Harry to the couch outside the delivery room and forced Pansy to take
over once the baby started crying. The ‘Princess’ would have to deal with a
screeching, bloody infant when there was a problem with Draco’s husband.
   Harry groaned. “I am,” he argued weakly.
   “You bumped your head,” Draco told him without even bothering to refute that
ridiculous statement.
   “Is Hermione…?”
   “She, Ron, and Hugo are just fine.”
   “Good,” he breathed. “Good, that’s a relief. I just… Oh, Merlin, I didn’t
know that—“
   Draco snickered. “Need me to Obliviate you?”
   “There was so much blood,” Harry responded, eyes wide.
   “When was the last time you’ve even seen a vagina?” Draco laughed. “They are
often bloody.” Having a vagina made someone a regular warrior.
   Harry didn’t know how to respond to that. “I mean, never? Never in person.
Sometimes in porn.”
   “Ew. Are you viewing heterosexual shenanigans?”
   “Not on purpose. The ads just kind of pop up when I use the laptop.”
   Draco rolled his eyes. “Muggle inventions,” he sighed dramatically. “But
really? You’ve never seen a naked woman?”
   “You have?” Harry asked doubtfully. “This is not even an important
conversation, you know. A baby has been born that we should probably get around
to holding and telling the parents about how beautiful he is.”
   “You haven’t even seen Hugo. For all you know, he could be the ugliest git
in London.”
   “All babies are beautiful,” Harry told him as he sat up, still dazed.
“That’s a fact.”
   “You are so baby-crazy,” Draco sighed fondly before helping him stand. He
gave Harry’s cheek a kiss as he walked him down to Hermione’s room. If they
weren’t expecting a kid soon, Draco suspected Harry would be inclined to snatch
little Hugo right up.
   That was mostly because, well, that baby was not the ugliest git in London.
A little whisper of red hair topped his head off, and a chubby-soft face sealed
the deal for Draco. Hugo Arthur Weasley was adorable.
   “Harry,” an exhausted Hermione greeted. “Harry, are you okay?”
   “Yeah,” Harry said bashfully as the room of Weasleys—everyone from his ex-
girlfriend to his best friend—smiled at him as if Hermione had definitely told
them the story of how she managed to stay awake during the greatest pain a
person could experience and how passed out at the sight of it.
   Harry unglued himself from Draco when he saw the littlest Weasley though.
Rosie was playing with Hugo on Hermione’s lap, the faithful father holding his
son upright. “Oh, Hermione. Ron. He’s perfect.”
   “Isn’t he?” Molly cooed, clearly restraining herself from grabbing the
little baby up and kissing him all over once again. “Oh, gosh. Look at him and
his sister.” Tears sprung to her eyes and Arthur took her in for another hug so
she could happy-cry on his shoulder.
   Draco could only imagine his mother seeing her grand-baby. Little Lily.
“Hermione,” he said gently. “We’ll bring in Healer Baldwin to prep you for
surgery soon. She just needs to finish up with another patient.”
   That was one thing that didn’t make Molly weep with joy. She’d had as many
children as she could, why was Hermione stopping at two?
   However, Hermione only saw her as a little voice in her ear. “Thank you,
Draco. You probably have to feed and water my husband, though.”
   Ron didn’t even look up from his babies to refute that. “Hey, Rose, why
don’t you give your little brother a kiss? Yeah, right on the side of the head.
That’s your little brother, sweetie.” Harry quickly joined Ron in speaking to
the kids as if they could understand. “And this is your Uncle Harry.”
   “Hey there,” Harry greeted the hazel-eyed boy. “Yeah, I’m your Uncle Harry.
Welcome to the world, buddy. Ron and I are going to teach you how to ride a
broom.”
   Draco waited until the baby had stolen Harry’s glasses to gently remind
everyone that most of them hadn’t eaten in hours.
   “We can take Hugo to the nursery so we can do some more measurements and
make sure everything is fine,” Draco told them, handing Ron a Gryffindor red
blanket to wrap his son in. “Molly can of course watch Rose for the surgery,
and yes, I will feed the husbands.”
   Hermione, glowing with renewed motherly pride, never thought she would smile
that hard at Draco. He’d gone from her tormentor to her confidant in a matter
of years. Privately, Hermione couldn’t wait for Hugo and Lily play dates where
she could sip champagne (oh, she missed fancy drinks) and gossip with Draco.
   “Good.” Hermione gave each of her children a kiss on the forehead before Ron
outstretched the bundle of joy out to Draco, a man who had once been his enemy,
too.
   “It won’t take long,” Draco assured him as he took seven pounds and three
ounces of Weasley into his arms. It was almost scary how light Hugo was, like
Draco could make one careless move and break the smiling little boy.
   Hermione and Ron embraced for the first time in the past few hours. Hermione
was still wet with sweat and her hair resembled a bird’s next, and Ron was
looking frazzled and had some placenta on his shirt, but they thought it
divine.
   Draco wondered, as he walked the baby to the nursery and away from the
family hug that the delivery room had devolved into, if he should introduce
himself.
   “Good evening,” he greeted Hugo when he realized he was alone in the
corridor. “Congratulations on breathing for the first time.”
   Draco looked down to see Hugo nodding off.
   “Am I boring you?” he teased. “I’m your Uncle Draco.” He couldn’t believe he
was saying that out loud.
   Just a year ago the ‘U’ word wasn’t even in his vocabulary. After all, he
referred to Remus and Sirius as Aunts just to avoid it.
   “I’m going to be the one that gets you your first fake ID, encourages you to
experiment with men, and tells you stories about how I used to mess with your
father in school. You and Lily are going to be Slytherins, I just know it.”
   Draco reached the nursery, putting Hugo down in between one baby wrapped in
a pastel yellow blanket and another swaddled in white. St. Mungo’s never liked
the whole ‘forcing gender roles through pink and blue’ thing.
   In his clear baby incubator Hugo looked even smaller.
   Draco paused to watch his new ‘nephew’ for a moment to see the rise and fall
of Hugo’s tummy, wondering what it would be like to call one of those tiny
creatures his own.
***** Protect and Serve *****
Chapter Notes
     Hello, homeskillies.
Chapter 28: Protect and Serve
   “I remember my middle name again,” Remus told his husband in order to pile
up the achievements they’d been listing of things they were better at doing
while sober.
   “How could you ever forget your middle name? Your mum added it to
everything, Remus JohnLupin.”
   Remus rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Sirius Orion—“
   “Ugh.” A shudder ran through Sirius at the mention of his father. “Let’s
continue with the list. I’m much better at eating things when I’m high. Never-
ending munchies.”
   Remus put his arm around Sirius’ shoulders and leaned into him on the couch.
“I don’t know how to break this to you, Padfoot, but you always have had a
talent for stuffing your face with food.”
   “And cock.”
   “Of course.”
   “Sirius!” Olivia called from upstairs. “Remus? Hey, where are you guys?”
   “Down here!” Remus shouted back, really hoping she hadn’t heard Sirius’
innuendo. There was nothing more emotionally scarring to Remus—not even having
his soulmate in prison for twelve years and the betrayal of one of his closest
friends—than the time he had walked in on his parents in the kitchen.
   While memories of Lily and James sometimes faded, the exact image of his
mother bent over the kitchen table was as clear as if it happened yesterday.
Life wasn’t fair.
   Olivia ran down the stairs so fast she could have been gliding. Sirius had
once tried to slide down the bannister to some unfortunate results, but she was
young and lithe.
   “Hey,” she greeted chipperly when she finally caught sight of them.
   Sirius patted the couch seat next to him and Moony. “Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”
   Her clothes were surprisingly stylish that day rather than the comfy
sweatpants she preferred, and her hair had a bright blue clip in it. “Nothing,”
she said as casually as she could before the actual news burst out. “Can I hang
out with Alex today? We want to walk to the park and see the little concert
they have there in an hour. I think it’s for some kind of charity or other.
Definitely something with cancer.”
   “Well, we could never disappoint those cancer-something charities,” Sirius
teased with a light heart. He didn’t even have to look at Remus’ face to know
what the other man was thinking. Boy. Olivia. Concert. Alone.
   “So I can go?”
   Remus forced a nod. “Of course, sweetheart.”
   Her reaction was more exuberant than expected, which gave even more credence
to Pansy’s theory that she definitely had a crush on Alex.
   She gave Remus and Sirius each a kiss on the cheek, smiling ear to ear when
she was done. “I’m going to go paint my nails. Can you tell me when he gets to
the door?”
   “You said ‘yes’ before asking us? Wow, we really are starting to rub off on
you,” Sirius joked. “Sure thing, you can make your dramatic entrance once we
call for you.”
   “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Olivia repeated before disappearing up
the staircase as fast as she had appeared. She left two confused Marauders in
her wake without even knowing it.
   Remus looked up to make sure she’d gone into her room. “He tries to kiss her
and I’ll kill him.”
   “Aw, come on, Moony. I kissed you when we were twelve.”
   “And then you said it was just ‘practice for girls’ and avoided me for a
week,” Remus huffed.
   Sirius chuckled to himself. “Yeah, I was a bit of a confused mess then,” he
admitted before giving Remus a kiss that was most certainly not practice for
any girl or any other man for that matter. “But hey. I think I turned out fine
and I think you turned out fine. Don’t worry about it.”
   “Worrying is in my blood.”
   Lyall and Hope Lupin had left a trail of disinfectant and nervous glances
wherever they’d gone. Even before Remus was bitten they triple-checked to make
sure he had friends in elementary school that weren’t going to abuse him.
   His cuts were doused in rubbing alcohol and his colds were treated with
loving cuddles and chicken noodle soup with twelve boxes tissues surrounding
them.
   Their sense of fear for their little boy was only heightened after that
night he’d gone out with a jar to catch some fireflies like he’d read about in
a book. The full moon lit up the whole town for Remus not to trip or fall on
some treacherous pebbles, but there was a man far more treacherous than any
scraped knees in town that day. That night, Remus had gotten in his way.
   So, Remus in turn worried.
   He stressed over telling the Marauders his secret, he tore his hair out over
coming-out to his parents, and bitten his nails to nubs when he realized he was
in love with one of his best friends.
   “Our Olivia knows what she’s doing. If she doesn’t want to kiss him back,
she won’t. If she does want to kiss him, then she probably will. The girl is
resourceful and mature for her age.”
   Before Remus could bemoan that statement, there was a light knock on the
door. “Scare the shit out of him,” Remus repeated like he had at the hospital.
   “Duh, Moony. Of course I’m going to. Just because I trust Olivia doesn’t
mean I’m not going to harass every suitor she garners,” Sirius said as if it
were obvious. Scaring tweens was more fun than he liked to admit.
   Sirius took it upon himself as the scarier one (scars were creepy, but
tattoos were voluntary pain) to open the front door. “Alex,” he greeted
sweetly. “Come in, she’ll be right down.”
   When Olivia heard the door open from her room she nearly spilt the nail
polish on her soft carpeting. Merlin, she would have felt guilty about that.
“Coming!” she shouted to assure Alex she was running a little late and not
purposefully avoiding him.
   “Cool,” Alex called back up. He wasn’t sure why Professor Lupin’s husband
was staring at him with such crazy eyes, though. He looked down at his feet.
   Sirius rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal a tattoo of a blood rune in the
middle of a target on his left forearm. “Do you know where I got this, Alex?”
   “Uh.”
   It was really in a bathroom stall during one of the few times they were
allowed out of their cells in the cold, cramped darkness. The tattoo artist was
a man who only spoke Russian and Sirius was feeling adventurous that day,
handing his skin over to someone who could mark it permanently with a surprise
picture. “I got this in the old Azkaban yard after I strangled a guard.”
   “Uh.”
   “Do you know what it means?”
   Alex had once seen his foster-mom watching a documentary on what prison
tattoos meant. “That you were unjustly imprisoned?”
   Remus and Sirius exchanged looks before laughing. At least the kid thought
on his feet.
   “Sure. That, and the fact that nobody can mess with me, because I fight
back. This here is the mark of a warrior, the kind you don’t want to mess
with.” Sirius was so proud of his ability to make shit up as he went along.
   Before Alex could even swallow the lump that had formed in his stomach,
Sirius spoke again.
   “So now you know not to mess with me, just like everyone in prison did. Do
you understand what I’m saying, Alex? I’m saying that I may not have killed the
Potters but that doesn’t mean my hands are clean of blood.”
   Remus watched in a sort of silent admiration. Sirius actually had killed
people during the first war, but he was skating around the emotional trauma
quite nicely. “Darling,” Remus chimed in.
   “Yes, dearest?”
   “Why don’t you tell him the story of what you did to that mob boss your
first week there?” There was never any mob boss, but this was so much fun.
Alex’s eyes had dilated behind his thick-rim glasses and he looked utterly
terrified. Just what Remus wanted.
   Sirius’ eyes lit up with false recognition, ever-so glad that his Moony was
playing a part in his sick game. “Oh, you’re going to love this. It’s a real
crowd-pleaser; I tell this at parties all the time,” he lied. “So the power had
gone out, and I’d fashioned a weapon out of nothing but toothbrushes and paper
towel rolls—“
   Before Sirius could get around to describing how the ‘mob boss’ had ‘begged
for his pathetic excuse of a life’, he heard Olivia scaling the stairs once
more.
   “Olivia,” he cooed sweetly as he turned to give her a goodbye hug. “You two
have fun, and don’t be out past ten.”
   She was blissfully unaware of what had just transpired. All she knew was
that her nails were painted and the boy she liked was going out with her. “See
you both later!”
   Olivia grabbed Alex’s wrist, which had gone ghost-pale like the rest of his
body. Sirius had been hoping to make him cry a little, but he stopped just
short of that. Alex was a nice kid, after all.
   Remus came to his husband’s side as they waved goodbye from the doorway.
Alex would have to recover on the walk there.
   “That was beautiful, Padfoot,” Remus smirked before pressing a kiss to his
shoulder.
   “Aren’t I the greatest?”
   “Yes, you are.”
   Sirius closed the door once Olivia and Alex walked out of sight and turned
around in Remus’ arms to kiss him. “Want to know what my other tattoos mean?”
he said with a sleazy grin, since none but the moon on his back and the wolf on
his ankle meant anything at all.
   “Oh, educate me,” Remus laughed, smiling all the way as he dragged him back
to bed.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Colin didn’t even notice when the bartender wrote his name and number on the
napkin under Colin’s drink. He was a ray of bliss in the bar, knee bouncing
impatiently while he waited for his friend to arrive.
   His boyfriend—oh, wait, fiancée—had chosen to show up at Draco’s workplace
in the early morning hours to wake his best friend up with the news, but Colin
had chosen to be a bit more celebratory and less bothersome.
   Theo would never give up the opportunity to annoy Draco.
   That left Colin with the other half of the power-couple with a penchant for
attracting news crews to their front lawn. “Harry!” he called from the other
side of the bar when the Auror walked in, waving him excitedly over.
   Harry didn’t usually take his break with a vodka martini, but it was sort of
impossible to turn down Colin. He was just so eager and happy all the time. It
was unnatural.
   “Hey,” he said with a smile anyway. Being around Colin kind of lightened up
his afternoon. They greeted with a kiss on the cheek before Harry sat down on
the bar stool next to him. “What’s going on?”
   “Have you read the latest Prophet?”
   “Oh, fuck. No. Have they run another article about how Draco and I are
clearing out our ‘sex dungeon’ for the baby’s nursery?” It made no sense. Draco
and Harry could floo to Hogwarts whenever they wanted, and those dungeons were
much more authentic. Some rooms still had chains and broken furniture in them,
too.
   Colin laughed. “No, no. It’s not about you two and your scandalous sex life
this time. You have to guess what it’s about.”
   “Guess…?” Harry waved over the bartender for a drink. It seemed like he
would need it. “Hm. Is it about Hugo?” That little bundle of cute was on
Harry’s mind quite a lot.
   Ron had taken a week off of work so that he and Hermione could get the
babies all settled in, but that didn’t stop Harry from bragging about his new
‘nephew’ to every other Auror in his department that would listen. Harry wasn’t
even a father yet and he was bragging himself into a hole.
   “Nope.”
   “Did Pansy make another child cry?”
   “Probably, but The Prophet did not seem to find that interesting enough for
a front-page spread.”
   Harry sipped his drink. “Front page?”
   “Yup. You’ve got competition, Malfoy-Potter. I’ll give you a hint,” Colin
decided, putting his left hand on the bar counter. It wasn’t specifically a gay
bar or a straight bar, but the place still had some flashy neon lights around.
   Harry looked down expecting some sort of elaborate hand tattoo. Colin was
acting especially persnickety that day, after all. Who knew what he was up to.
   It took Colin wiggling his left ring finger for Harry to notice. “Woah.”
   “Isn’t it great?”
   “That’s one hell of a ring, too,” Harry said as he gingerly lifted Colin’s
hand up to get a better look. “When did he propose?”
   “Somewhere between dinner and dessert. He was terrible at it and wound up
yelling at a waiter halfway through, but I love him,” Colin laughed.
   Harry gave his friend a hug. “Congratulations,” he told Colin before patting
his back and pulling back. “I think you two are brilliant together.”
   “Yeah,” Colin agreed. “We are. I guess all of the domesticity in the air is
contagious, hm?  Who’d have ever thought we’d be settling down with real jobs
and real people.” Colin had only been able to dream about it as a kid. “We’re,
like, adults.”
   It was disorienting, yes. Music was changing to cater to younger tastes,
movies marketed to teens didn’t appeal to Harry much anymore, and there were
new trends he didn’t understand in the slightest. Whatever that book of faces
muggles always talked about did, Harry was sure it wouldn’t catch on.
   “You’re getting married. Merlin, I still can see you as the little kid who
kept trying to take my picture in second year. Who’s going to do your wedding
photography?”
   “Hm. Not sure who I trust with it,” Colin admitted. He’d have to find a
fellow artist willing to follow him around for a day. “But we’ll work out the
details later. It’s hardly going to be the grand event your wedding was; I’ve
always dreamt of a small wedding in the woods.”
   Well, at least Remus and Sirius could appreciate that.
   “The plan was originally the church in my home town, but I don’t think
they’d appreciate the charmed invitations.”
   “Or the homosexual sinning.”
   Colin smirked. “Or that.”
   “Do you at least have a date in mind?”
   “After my father’s. Ugh.”
   Harry rolled his eyes fondly before giving Colin another encouraging pat on
the back. “That’s a whole other conversation.” He hopped off the stool. “I’m
gonna head off to the bathroom real quick.”
   Colin nodded and turned back to his drink.
   As Harry gently floated through the day-crowd that frequented the wizarding
bars around the Ministry, he got some nods from bums that recognized him. Harry
would probably have to arrest them for riding their brooms home drunk later
that night.
   He gave them genial smiles anyway before finding his way to the men’s room.
   Thankfully, the man exiting the bathroom didn’t harass him for an autograph.
Harry was proud of going mostly undetected that day, and did his business
before washing his hands. That was when he heard it.
   Behind a closed stall door, a man moaned.
   Harry made a face. Sure, he and Draco had wild escapades in any available
location, but they never let themselves get caught. Draco was always telling
Harry that wasn’t ‘classy’.
   Even so, Harry’s curiosity got the better of him. He dried his hands off,
threw the towel away, and crouched down.
   There were two toilet-paper pads for where the woman’s knees rested on the
floor. Aw. At least the man had been a gentleman about asking her for head. It
was amusing to say the least.
   “Oh, yes—“
   Wait, why did that voice sound familiar?
   Harry quickly turned back to the mirror as if he’d been fixing his hair
instead of snooping when he heard the man zip up his jeans. Those Auror senses
of his were going to get Harry clocked one day, he just knew it.
   While he pretended to tame his feral hair in the mirror, he got a full view
of the woman exiting the stall. She was slim and blonde, which sort of reminded
Harry of Grace without the baby bump. Harry felt awful for thinking it, but if
Grace had just stuck to third base like the woman in the stall had, then she
wouldn’t be in so much trouble.
   “See you around,” she said airily before casting bedroom eyes at Harry, who
promptly looked away.
   The man that stepped out of the stall had a smug, satisfied grin on his
face. It took Harry a second, but he turned on his heels, cranked his arm back,
and punched the man right in the face.
   Blaise fell to the bathroom floor before he even knew what was going on.
“What the fuck?”
   “What the hell is wrong with you?” Harry demanded and grabbed his collar so
he could properly intimidate the man that was cheating on one of the kindest
people he had ever met.
   “Harry?”
   “Yeah, didn’t think you’d get caught, did you? I can’t believe you. You
know, Ginny saw a future with you, but this is what you’re doing behind her
back? You’re just…?” Harry couldn’t even finish the sentence.
   Scrambling for words, Blaise shook his head. “No, this isn’t what it looks
like!”
   “Right, so she was a Healer just checking a latent mole.”
   “No!” Blaise shouted as he crawled to a sitting position. Of course it had
to be Righteous and Holy Potter to find out about Ginny and his arrangement
like this. Harry probably counted holding hands as cheating in his world of
eternal love and devotion to all that is and would be Draco Malfoy.
   Draco was the same miserably committed way, too. Not even he would get
Blaise’s needs.
   “Then give me one good reason why I shouldn’t hex you senseless,” Harry
growled. His only thoughts showed up as angry red scribbles before him, feeling
himself fall into a familiar hypersensitivity that he’d worked so hard to shed
for his Auror work.
   Blaise could see it, too. “Ginny and I have an agreement.”
   Harry’s wand—when had he taken that out?—dug into Blaise’s neck. “I knew you
didn’t deserve her. She—She’s better than you could even dream of! She’s
patient and loyal.”
   “Did you not hear me? We have an agreement. She does the same thing with
whoever she wants. And you know what, if we want to talk about who was the
shittier boyfriend to Ginny, I think the closet case should at least get a
mention.”
   Blaise was certainly not doing himself any favors with that, but Harry
supposed it was true.
   “Shut up,” Harry snarled anyway. “This is about you and—how many other
women? Fuck, this is insane.”
   From the other side of the bathroom, Colin burst in. “Hey, Harry, you’ll
never guess who I found.” Beside him, Ginny Weasley.
   “What the…” Ginny trailed off before running to Blaise’s aid.
   Looking at a panting Harry, Colin’s left ring finger, and Blaise’s blackened
eye, Ginny let out a ragged sigh.
   Oh, they all would have some explaining to do.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “And they just—I don’t know—let each other cheat!” Harry told Draco, eyes
wide with shock and general disgust. “It’s completely mad.”
   Draco looked up at Harry over the edge of his book with an amused grin.
Grace had excused herself to the guest room after dinner which left Harry and
Draco to once more enjoy their fireplace—magicked to cool the room since it was
summer. Their parlor really was beautiful, and it made Harry sort of excited
for cold winters snuggled up next to Draco. Their daughter could sit on their
laps.
   “Why does it matter what Blaise and Ginny do?” Draco shrugged. He knew this
conversation would drag him out of his novel, but Draco at least wanted to
finish the chapter he was on.
   Harry huffed and crossed his legs on the couch. “Because. I want Ginny to be
happy.”
   “And she can’t be happy sleeping around? Let me introduce you to a friend of
mine, her name is Pansy Parkinson—“
   “Who now has a committed girlfriend,” Harry pointed out. Draco and Pansy
shared every intimate detail of their sex lives with one another, so Draco
couldn’t exactly argue to the contrary. She and Maggie were a party of two.
   Draco shrugged, trying desperately to finish the paragraph he was on before
Harry spoke again.
   “What, do you think they have a point or something?” he asked when Draco
remained silent.
   “No, no.” Draco put his book down with a huff before climbing out of the
armchair and next to Harry on the couch so he could rest a hand on his knee.
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
   “Then what are you saying?”
   He let out a hiss of air. “There’s no one way to have a strong relationship.
You and I are monogamous because the thought of someone else getting to have
you drives me up a wall. I want you for myself. Maybe that makes me selfish.”
   “It makes you a sweet and wonderful man,” Harry informed him, resting his
head on Draco’s shoulder. “And the thought of you with anyone else… I would
kill them. That’s why we got married, isn’t it? For love and only having each
other for the rest of forever and all that?”
   “We got married because I wanted to see you in dressrobes,” Draco teased.
   Harry rolled his eyes. “You probably wanted the gown and veil.”
   “I’m not going to deny that, no.”
   “And I’m not going to deny that Blaise and Ginny and their ‘open
relationship’ is foreign to me. I know they’re entitled to do whatever they
want and all that, but come on. Theo and Colin are getting married. I thought
we were all growing up,” Harry admitted.
   Oh, how Draco loved that strictly traditional attitude of Harry’s paralleled
with his kinks and sexual appetite. Draco gave him a quick peck and smiled to
himself about it. A boy who liked to get whipped couldn’t stand the idea of
seeing anyone but Draco ever again. That was something to reward him for.
   “What do you know about growing up?” Draco teased, caressing his upper arm.
“You still brush your teeth with bubblegum toothpaste.”
   “It just tastes better, okay?”
   Draco rolled his eyes fondly, confident that neither of them knew a single
thing about growing up. There wasn’t one way to do it, and they’d get to watch
their own children give it a shot one day.
***** The Forgotten *****
Chapter Notes
     Welcome To Night Vale is such a beautiful, wonderful show. I love it.
     Everyone go listen to it. Also! This chapter is for Nancy, Lori, and
     all the awesome new people I’ve met in the Draco/Harry facebook
     group. You guys get me.
Chapter 29: The Forgotten
   Did Grace feel pathetic? Yes. Did she look pathetic? Yes. Did she care what
she looked like? Thankfully, no. A giant stomach took care of that problem,
rendering her unattractive to even herself.
   She’d left a note for when Draco and Harry got back from work to find their
mother hen had flown the coop for a walk among the unwashed masses.
   Grace had a stainless steel spoon in her left hand and a plastic tub of cake
icing in the right hand. She needed a walk, goddammit. The house of Malfoy-
Potter was lavish with luxury, but she had to get out of there before cabin
fever got the best of her.
   To prevent that from happening, Harry and Draco had scheduled all sorts of
things for her to do.
   Birthing classes. Massages for pregnant women. More shopping sprees. She was
living the life of an heiress who’d been prematurely knocked up.
   That day, however, nothing had been on Grace’s itinerary. Not even a meal
out with the prospective parents. They were both busy celebrating with the
Weasleys even though the birth had been a week ago, and Grace could only
imagine what would happen when they got their own kid. She wasn’t really going
to stick around to find out, but she predicted centuries of celebration.
   A positive of having the two mysterious and wealthy older men out and about
was that she got some privacy. She never used to get that at her house.
   Even when she walked down the street scooping icing out of its container and
eating it like ice cream, she felt solitary. Nobody in this side of town knew
her. Nobody would judge her for her messy bun, bare face (she never used to
even leave the dorm without makeup), or her giant pretentious sunglasses. Hey,
they kept the sun out of her eyes.
   Grace licked the spoon clean of her latest scoop of chocolate icing.
   As far as the people in the neighborhood knew, she was a glamorous and young
trophy wife of some Russian mafia boss. None of them had to know she was a
teenager when her tits had gotten so big. That was always a plus.
   Grace looked down passed her chest to her jar of icing. It reminded her of
the cake she had baked back at the Malfoy-Potter house and had become so
horribly overwhelmed by.
   The offending cake was right on the counter cooling off from the oven when
the dreadful sense of disability hit Grace. Cakes didn’t usually send Grace
into a flurry of emotion and general panic, but this one seemed to be an
exception.
   Maybe it was that she realized she was going to have to ice the cake on her
own, without any assistance from a third party since Draco and Harry were
currently out of shouting distance.
   It made her head throb. She had to ice the cake all by herself. She was in a
house she didn’t really know with men she didn’t really know.
   Her green eyes locked on the cake as it stood there naked—taunting her.
   Grace’s stomach churned with an unshakable nausea that made her hands shake
when she looked up at the offending cake and the container of icing next to it.
She would have to open that container. She would have to get a knife. She would
have to ice the cake alone.
   Instead of doing that, she panicked.
   Grace grabbed the spoon she’d used for her breakfast cereal and ripped the
lid off of the icing in one swift motion. In an act of defiance against some
unnamed force she dunked the spoon into the icing, brought it back up, and
lapped up every last drop of it.
   Now she didn’t have to ice the cake alone, she could just eat the icing. It
had made much more sense at the time, she supposed.
   A startling thought hit her in the present. She was anadult. A grown woman
eating from a tub of icing in public.
   Nobody could stop her, and that was terrifying.
   Grace’s life was suddenly without consequence. She could eat whatever she
wanted, jump in front of a muggle car, drop everything and start screaming…
There were no professors or guardians around to stop her.
   The thought of screaming haunted her as she passed the maternity clothing
store Draco had taken her to earlier in the month. She could totally do it.
   She could absolutely just start screaming and nobody could tell her to stop.
Grace Burbage was a free woman with a free mouth. It struck her then and there
that she had to do it. She had to find some place where she could sit
comfortably and howl her brains out.
   With reckless abandon she navigated the streets. Because it was a Wednesday
afternoon the witches and wizards in the village were all at work.
   There was a little bench and water fountain nearby, definitely behind one of
these buildings… Her eyes searched in panic. Grace could feel the scream
growing in her throat already.
   The scream was close to bursting when she finally found that stone bench. It
had been warmed by the summer sun, but it thankfully wasn’t hot enough to keep
her from sitting down.
   Grace gingerly put the spoon and icing to the side, gripped the bench with
two puffy hands—wasn’t pregnancy a miracle?—and screwed her eyes shut.
   She opened her mouth in a horrendous scream.
   It was high-pitched, a wail that carried across the fountain and the nearby
shops. The first few seconds of it were gravelly in texture, but the rest came
out as smoothly as a river. She held it at that one excruciating note for only
Merlin knows how long.
   When her cracked lips finally came back together she didn’t regret her
decision. Sure, her throat hurt like hell and she still had a splitting
headache, but Grace didn’t regret screaming.
   She had avoided icing a cake alone only to scream alone it seemed. Nobody
was rushing over to see if a young and impressionable girl was being dragged
into a white van. It was almost as if no one had heard her.
   But Grace, as she usually did, miscalculated. The world may have been
without consequence in that moment, but someone had heard her scream.
   This young wizard-in-training dashed to the scene of the damsel in distress.
After all, he had promised to do right in the future! Here he was, saving an
innocent woman from some peril—
   “Grace?”
   She didn’t need to open her eyes to see who it was. In fact, Grace was dead
set on keeping them screwed shut.
   “Grace, is that…?”
   “If you don’t leave me alone,” Grace said shakily. “I will scream again.”
   Zeke didn’t really know how to respond to that. So, he just stood there in
the pinnacle of teenage futility. He was in no power to change the situation in
front of him and was attempting to be a ‘better man’ by respecting the requests
of women whose lives he had come deathly close to ruining for good. The end
result was him shutting his mouth.
   This was the first smart move he’d made in a while, even Grace had to see
that.
   “I’m not icing your fucking cake,” she said, eyes still closed.
   “What?” Zeke took that as his cue to speak. “Look, you have every right to
be mad at me. I was an asshole. I have a job now, I can try and support—“
   “No.”
   “I’m sorry I freaked out, I really am. Grace, like, you have to understand
how hard this is for me.”
   Grace let another scream out. This one was much shorter, but made Zeke
quiver in his skinny jeans all the same.
   “Uh.”
   “I am,” she said slowly once the fire in her lungs had died down. “The size
of a fucking whale. And you are telling me that you’re having, ‘like’, a hard
time?”
   Zeke opened his mouth to respond, but Grace cut him off before he could even
form a syllable.
   “I took care of things. It’s impossible for me to ice this dumb cake on my
own, so I’m leaving it to someone else. Well, multiple someone elses. Two. They
can ice it, because the thought of raising this thing alone is the stuff of
nightmares,” Grace blathered on. The headache, sugar rush, pregnancy, and
general emotional trauma all added up to one strong punch to her sanity.
   It was only then that Zeke realized she was talking about the baby, and not
an actual cake. Also, the empty can of icing next to her was kind of creeping
him out. Had she seriously eaten that right out of the packaging? “You don’t
have to raise it alone.”
   Finally, Grace opened her eyes. “You’re right. I don’t.”
   “I have some galleons saved up from my bar mitzvah—“
   “I’m not raising this kid with you, Zeke. I told you, I’ve taken care of it.
I have adoptive parents that are well off enough to raise it.”
   That was news to him. “You…? You found a couple?”
   “Yes.”
   “And you didn’t tell me?”
   “Yes.”
   “Don’t I have, like, father’s rights or something?” he stammered. “You know,
in court! You can’t just give away something that’s half mine.” He’d seen that
on muggle television before.
   Grace shot him a dirty glare. “Go fuck yourself, ‘half yours’. You made it
pretty clear when I told you about the positive test that you weren’t taking
responsibility. You disappeared. I’ve already made arrangements. Have you
talked with Her Highness about suing me? I bet she’d love an illegitimate
grandchild from a muggleborn milling around her home because I’m certainly not
watching it.”
   ‘Her Highness’ was code for Zeke’s mother whenever they argued about her.
Their arguments used to be simple and sort of stupid. ‘She doesn’t like me’,
‘she insulted my outfit’, ‘she gave me the evil eye all night’….
   “Shit. Fuck.” Zeke hadn’t even thought of that.
   “You don’t have the funds to pursue me in court.”
   “Well, neither do you,” he snipped just to get his last word in. Zeke was
always doing that in arguments, like it was a battle to win.
   “I don’t,” Grace admitted. “But this thing—“ she motioned to her stomach
“—has rich, rich daddies.”
   Zeke made yet another fatal error in the conversation that he’d been failing
at from the start. “’Daddies’? Like, two of them…?”
   “Oh my fucking god, Zeke. If you say something about gay parents I am going
to murder you and hide the body under the foundations of a Soho drag queen  bar
I know about—“
   “I was with you, Grace. Miss liberal lefty,” he reminded her. ‘Was’ happened
to be the operative word in that sentence, though. “I’m not homophobic. It just
shocked me, okay?”
   Grace huffed and crossed her arms. “How is it a shock that homosexuals want
to raise children just like everyone else?”
   “You’re twisting my words! Merlin fucking god, Grace. Gay people are great.
Gay people dress better than me and will always have better comebacks to
insults!” His voice climbed, and it was really a wonder nobody else had
stumbled upon them. They were a sight for sore eyes and a sound for sore ears.
   “Now you’re sticking to stereotypes!”
   “Will nothing please you, dammit?”
   “No!” she yelled. “Nothing will. You’re right. You’ve caught me. I’m too mad
at you to not nitpick. What a fucking surprise.”
   Zeke huffed. “I get that. That’s justified.” His sister had told him to say
that a lot so Grace knew she was appreciated and stuff. “You just… You should
have owled me or something. When you made a decision.”
   “Don’t tell me what to do,” she mumbled, resigned. Maybe it was a mood
swing, but that didn’t make her exhaustion any less real.
   “I’m not. You’d never listen,” he muttered. Zeke wondered if all couples
were supposed to fight like this; spewing hate at one another until they tired.
He wondered if the two blokes she’d promised their kid to did that. Those guys
were married, though. They probably made up afterwards and told each other they
loved each other. Grace and Zeke didn’t even love each other.
   “Can I at least have an address? I mean, to keep me updated. I want to be
there when the baby is born at least before we give it away.”
   “I am giving it away, and no. You can’t be anywhere near the hospital during
the birth. Draco and Harry—“
   Those were the magic words.
   The crew of paparazzi that had sat in waiting in the designated two-hundred
fifty feet away from the Malfoy-Potter home after weeks upon weeks of work
undoing Lucius’ meticulous spells—though they still couldn’t get anywhere near
the house without feeling the need to throw their guts up—leapt from the
shadows.
   The world had more consequences than Grace could have ever dreamed of.
   Her nightmare was a press field day.
   “When are you due?”
   “Do you think Draco and Harry will be good parents? Or will they ruin the
kid like they were ruined by the Lupins?”
   One of the photographers grabbed a snapshot of Zeke while the rest creating
a babbling, flashing circle of light around Grace. So many people had heard her
scream, more than she could have ever dreamed of.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Draco put down the knife once he had smoothed the last patch of bare
chocolate cake over with a new tub of icing from the store. The coating was
uniform and prim, just like his house elves used to do it. His written
correspondence with his mother had actually mentioned Gerda quite a bit lately.
   “Want a slice?” he asked Harry and Grace. If they didn’t, Draco hardly
minded shoveling chocolate cake in his face alone. Malfoys were experts at
filling emotional voids with everything from jewelry to cocoa.
   Harry, being a Malfoy-Potter, supposed he could give it a try. “Just a small
slice.”
   “I don’t ever want to think about cake again,” Grace responded.
   “So I’m going to take that as a firm ‘no’,” Draco snarked as he cut a piece
off for Harry and a chunk off for himself. He got them both plates and forks
before heading back into the dining room where the other two were currently
stewing in their own thoughts.
   Harry was undoubtedly filled with some soul-rending angst over someone close
to him that happened to be carrying someone he would grow to love and see as a
daughter had been harassed by paparazzi before she had the sense to run for
cover in a building.
   “Here, love.” Draco set down Harry’s plate.
   It never seemed to matter what mood he was in, that soothing voice of
Draco’s always managed to make him feel safe. “Thanks.”
   They were safe, weren’t they? They were behind closed doors and nobody was
asking probing questions. Well, nobody but Harry.
   “Are you sure you don’t want anything, Grace?”
   “I’m sure.”
   Harry picked apart his slice of cake with his fork. He watched the little
crumbs scatter before impaling them with the prongs and bringing them up to his
mouth. Watching his cake was the only way Harry could keep from making a
desperate attempt at conversation.
   Nothing Draco Malfoy-Potter did was desperate, though, so he was the first
to speak. “Are you sure Zeke is the father?”
   “Yes,” she grumbled. It was almost depressing that she had only been with
one guy before conceiving a living, breathing child.
   If Grace had paid attention in her birthing class she would know that
fetuses don’t breathe and actually take their first breath when they are born,
but there was no way in hell she was going to listen to that woman blather on
about bodily functions.
   “Then a DNA test won’t be necessary,” Draco sighed. The test would be
invasive and dangerous to the baby, too. “Don’t worry, I’ll have my father come
over with the lawyers tomorrow. We can work all of the legal documents out
there. As the one carrying the child, you can feasibly go right over Zeke’s
head once we prove him to be an unfit parent.” That wouldn’t be hard,
considering he was sixteen.
   Harry usually dreaded seeing the Malfoy family lawyers. “I’m sure they’ll
seal everything up air-tight to keep us from court. That’s not what I’m worried
about.”
   “What are you worried about?” Draco frowned.
   Instead of answering his husband, Harry turned to Grace. The next question
would sort of say it all anyway. “Do you still have feelings for him?”
   “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Grace responded quickly. “I
hate him. He’s an arse and a dick all at once and I dated him at one point.
That’s it.”
   “Grace… Is there any chance—“
   “No! Harry, if you think I want to be living in some group-home with a
screaming kid, then you are mistaken. I’m not going to work at McDonald’s to
pay for diapers.”
   Draco’s frown turned to a look of curiosity. What was a ‘McDonald’s’?
   “You’re sure?” Harry asked again.
   Grace was almost offended by the questioning before remembering she was in
no position to be offended by someone who had taken her into his home and life
for the next few months. “I’m sure,” she answered in a solemn, serious tone.
   “Of course she is,” Draco murmured. Harry’s protectiveness was a trait that
he often admired and found a bit sexy. In the moment, however, it was
redundant. “My father is coming tomorrow; this will all be resolved.”
   Harry put his hand on Draco’s knee under the table. “Okay.” When Lucius
visited, one problem was resolved and three more were ripped open, but he was
sure Draco didn’t need to hear that right then. Just because Draco looked
composed on the outside didn’t mean he wasn’t just as worried as Harry. Draco
was just better at hiding it.
   “So. Any more pressing secrets or shocking revelations? Are your aunt and
uncle going to show up at your bedside?” Draco went on, revealing a little bit
of that worry.
   “No. That was it, I think,” Grace said. Well, she hoped.
   “Alright. Harry,” Draco turned to his sweet, sweet boy with the emerald eyes
and the arms that held him every night. “Bed?”
   “Bed. Goodnight, Grace.”
   She took out her messy bun and let her hair fall down. “Goodnight.” When the
door to Draco and Harry’s room clicked shut, she let out a little puff of air.
   The worst part was that Grace hadn’t even been worried that she’d upset
Zeke, or broken some horrible news to the public… She had been scared that this
meant Draco and Harry would drop her from some other girl with a less dramatic
life.
   Even when she was spiraling out of control and screaming in public, Grace’s
heart was in the same place. She wanted her girl to have a life of ease,
sitting firmly in the lap of luxury. She would have the baby, hand it over, and
be done with it. Zeke, the public, lawyers, Lucius, and everyone else be
damned.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   The taller of the two sister lawyers reminded Grace of a crane. A proud,
angry crane. Even her bony finger pointing at the line where Grace was to sign
looked bird-like.
   Grace hadn’t decided what animal the other Bagley sister resembled.
   Lucius led in the family lawyers early that morning—which to an old man like
Lucius, meant six in the morning. Harry had answered his knock on the door in
slippers and Draco’s pyjamas, glasses askew on his face.
   It was no surprise that Lucius had responded to Draco’s owl post-haste. This
was a threat to his family, an offense Lucius held in the highest ignominy. It
was a threat to his entire line of heritage, name, and fortune too, but that
was beside the point.
   “Sign,” said the shorter of lawyer gruffly.
   Grace would sign whatever the hell she needed to get this kid out of her
realm of responsibility, even if the woman telling her to sign had smeared her
austere lipstick on her teeth when putting it on. Maybe her ponytail was pulled
too tight and it was starting to get to the poor woman. Materialism-wise, the
rich woman. Lucius compensated them well.
   “Alright, where else?” Grace asked. She was overplaying her eagerness for
Lucius’ benefit, and she supposed her own benefit, since Lucius was looking
slightly murderous that morning. He had been a Death Eater, after all. He’d
been there at her mother’s last hours.
   She didn’t want to think about that.
   The lawyers flipped through the forms. “Initial there, there, there, there,
and there. Then sign the bottom of this.”
   “Father,” Draco said to break the uncomfortably silence that came about
whenever Grace was busy signing. “Did you want anything to eat…?”
   “I had breakfast with your mother. I’d rather have this resolved,
considering what The Prophet has to say about it.”
   Shit, Draco hadn’t even hopped to the nearby market to get a copy. Half of
him wanted to ask what absurd lies they’d printed, but the other half knew his
father had a much more resigned and sensitive sense of humor about fame.
   Harry and Draco exchanged looks before Draco outstretched his arm to him.
   Harry immediately flocked to his side so he could feel a warm, encouraging
hand on the small of his back. He hadn’t slept well at all, so he rested his
cheek on Draco’s shoulder.
   They’d both had a hard time getting to sleep. Draco tried everything from
warm milk to back rubs on the both of them but nothing had soothed their mutual
anxiety. “Everything is stupid,” Harry grumbled into his husband’s skin.
   “Yes, yes it is.” Draco watched Grace get hounded into signing again, and
again, and again… “She’s due in five weeks. Five. That’s thirty-five days.”
   That helped Harry’s pout significantly. “Then we have our baby.”
   “Exactly.”
   “I’m going to put in the application for paternity leave to Kingsley today
at work.”
   Draco turned to look Harry in the eyes, slightly shocked. “Are you sure? We
could both work half-time, we could get a sitter…”
   “Nope.” Harry shook his head. “No nannies. Ever. If anything, we get Remus
and Sirius to babysit.”
   “So we can come back and find our daughter is marching on the Ministry
building in hemp clothes while she protests civil injustice?” Draco asked
playfully.
   “Yes. We’ll take her to London Pride every year, too. We’ll be those
obnoxious gay dads who lift their kids on their shoulders and walk the streets
laughing in the faces of the people who tried to legally stop us from
adopting.”
   Draco smirked. “Sounds perfect. You sure your department won’t fall apart
without the Head Auror?”
   “Ron’s going to watch over things,” Harry shrugged. “For however long I’m
out. I’ll still be doing paperwork for cases at home, of course.”
   ‘However long’ he was out…? “Well, how long are you planning to be out?”
   “And sign here, and here, and here… Flip the page over and sign on the line
as well,” one of the Bagley sisters commanded Grace on the other side of dining
room.
   “I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “Most of the preschools we’ve looked at say
they start accepting kids at two years old. Speaking of which, do you prefer
the Place for Kids or Building Blocks? I think Building Blocks has nicer
teachers.”
   Draco couldn’t believe Harry was being so calm about this.
   “We could visit this week, hm? Some of them have pre-registering
requirements like essays and things. I think we could just write ‘Malfoy-
Potter’ on the application and they’d accept us, though,” Harry chuckled.
   “You would really take two years off of work?”
   Harry frowned. “Well, yeah. For the baby, anything.”
   “I could help, you know,” Draco reminded him.
   “You love your job.”
   “So do you.”
   “Your hours are more concrete,” Harry countered. “I can’t be on-call and
leave the kid home alone. I like my job, sure, but I wouldn’t mind taking a
break.”
   “A break…?”
   “I’ve been digging up bones this past month, Draco. I had to investigate the
triple-homicide of a family yesterday,” Harry murmured as he saw Grace was
getting to the end of her law packet. “You help people, Draco. I think I just
pick up the pieces when it’s too late to help.”
   That was so wrong. Harry brought killers to justice, he repaired broken
families and helped people grieve their spouses, their sisters, their children.
Draco thought that was valuable, and was proud that his Harry did it.
   “Finished,” Grace announced triumphantly before putting down her quill.
“She’s all yours.”
   Lucius wasn’t at all pleased with Draco’s choice of a mother, but that was
admittedly reassuring. His granddaughter was all his. In writing.
   “Satisfactory,” Lucius said. He didn’t like sounding eager. “Now, let’s talk
names.”
   “We have one,” Draco told him quickly. If he didn’t cement that in Lucius’
brain quickly then the man would surely pull out the star charts to browse for
baby names.
   Lucius cocked an eyebrow. “Is it a deceased relative’s name?”
   Dammit. Harry wished he wasn’t so predictable. “I think you’ll like it,” he
told Lucius carefully.
   “I doubt that.”
   “Father.”
   “Yeah, come on, dad,” Harry teased. Lucius’ icy glare didn’t affect him like
I used to.
   Still, the glare held some power. Grace was caught in the middle of it, too.
She hadn’t even known they’d picked out a name.
   “I’m going to go up to my room now,” Grace interjected before leaving
whatever fight was soon to come behind. No need to stress out Fiona, or Bella,
or Cassidy, or whatever they were naming the damn thing. She couldn’t think of
anyone besides Nymphadora Tonks that had died in the second war that they would
spend time naming their daughter over.
   Grace wasn’t even alive for the first war, so she almost forgot entirely
about Lily Potter née Evans. She didn’t even know that once the baby was born,
Lily’s name would never be forgotten by a soul in the wizarding world ever
again.
***** Adult Swim *****
Chapter Notes
     I go through these phases where I fall in love with Drarry all over
     again and WOW I REALLY LOVE DRARRY. TW for BDSM and a bit of
     consensual nonconsent. Also, I am writing the BDSM scene after having
     gotten my wisdom teeth forcibly removed from my jawbone, so I am not
     at all jealous of Harry right now, haha. I’ve always considered
     myself more of a Harry in the streets and a Draco in the sheets
     anyway.
Chapter 30: Adult Swim
   Draco Malfoy-Potter, the esteemed, the rich, the heir to a fortune most
would only ever dream about, was sitting on a plastic purple chair that barely
fit his arse. The fact that Harry had taken him in the shower the night
before—bending him over, pressing him up against the tile, pawing Draco’s arse
as he fucked him and whispered in his ear how delectable he felt—wasn’t helping
Draco’s ability to sit, either.
   “Sorry about that,” the woman who had seated the couple had one of her
assistants barge in during the little interview about a ‘situation with the
graham crackers’. That was the exact moment that Draco found himself glad his
kids would grow up and he wouldn’t be surrounded by screaming imps for the rest
of his life.
   “No problem,” Harry assured her. The twit was in love with the place.
   It was colorful, bright, filled with music and the laughter of children.
Harry was robbed of a childhood by cruel relatives and this place screamed
childhood glory.
   “Anyway,” the chipper woman went on. It was amazing that she kept her pin-
straight hair so neat around a bunch of kids who were prone to magic hiccups.
“We offer an incredibly comprehensive education program that integrates music
and art into conventional learning techniques.”
   Draco knew exactly what his father would say to that. ‘Hippie something
fairy something kids need structure, not unrealistic career goals’. Purely
because it would annoy Lucius and it seemed to make Harry glow, he went along
with it. “Of course.”
   “And it’s not simple finger-painting like other schools. We offer
comprehensive courses on clay and wooden sculptures, modern art, and avant-
garde theatre performance.”
   It was so ridiculously snooty and in every other situation where the term
‘avant-garde’ was used, Harry immediately rolled his eyes. But this… It was his
little girl. His daughter. His baby. “Sounds… Adventurous.”
   The woman shifted happily in her own small red seat that seemed to be
somehow comfortable for her. The great Boy Who Lived had complimented her
academy for young minds. How many other headmistresses could say that?
   “Of course, don’t just take my word for it,” she went on, ego having
swelled. “We have a council of parents that are always clued in on their
individual child’s progress along with the progress of the class. We are a very
tightly-knit community with ten children of each age.”
   “Ten overall?” Draco asked. He liked those numbers.
   “Yes. Ten two year-olds, ten three year-olds, and ten four year-olds. It’s a
class of thirty altogether before they get glowing recommendations for private
kindergartens.”
   “Wow.” Harry certainly hadn’t been expecting that. But if it really was the
best place… Well, they had the galleons to spare.
  The woman leaned forward in her chair with a vaguely smug smile. “I wouldn’t
worry if I were you two about our acceptance rate. On top of the fact that we
like to take diverse children from diverse family situations, we pay special
attention to the legacy of parents.”
   “Diversity…?” Maybe this was too snooty.
   “She’s talking about how gay we are,” Draco told Harry gently, one hand
resting on his knee not only because he did indeed want to feel Harry’s pulse
under his fingers, but also to prop himself up so all his weight wasn’t on his
sore, sore arse. “And I am completely comfortable with using that to our
advantage, along with our ‘legacy’.”
   Ah, right. The whole ‘killing Voldemort’ time of Harry’s youth.
   The headmistress recovered and gave them an understanding look after having
been shocked by Draco’s brand of frankness. “We would greatly appreciate the
child of the Head Auror and a distinguished Healer enrolling in two years. In
fact, you could say you’re practically already accepted. Not that we would say
that, since that would be unfair favoritism. Have you any idea when the birth
date will be?”
   “October 7th is our best guess,” Harry said, having shaken off whatever was
bothering him about the definitely unfair favoritism that would allow their
baby a better education. Or, at least, an avant-garde one.
   “So she’ll be a Libra. You two are lucky, that star sign indicates not only
intelligence but excellent communication skills. I bet she’ll be an early
talker,” the woman gushed.
   Hopefully, Harry thought. She’ll be just like Draco and never shut up.
   He just couldn’t imagine the two of them raising a shy kid. The poor thing
would be even more plagued by fame than they had been.
   “Would you like to observe a class? Ms. Lane is working with counting today.
There are various nuances that new students—since we start school in
August—have to get used to. There is often a little separation anxiety among
those students who haven’t left their parent’s side before,” she offered before
standing and leading them into the next room that had a theme of clouds,
balloons, birds, and all things high-in-the-sky on the walls. The pillows were
even shaped like clouds.
   Draco and Harry gratefully followed if only to leave the stone-hard chairs
behind.
   The headmistress had hoped for a silent entrance so the prospective parents
could observe from afar, but all of the little heads in the room turned from
the board to stare at the intrusion.
   “Hair-tie and Draco Mally-Pooter,” one kid with a particularly painful-
looking dental device in his mouth. Harry would have to ask Hermione if it was
even legal to force a child with baby teeth to wear that nonsense.
   Ms. Lane was clearly embarrassed by the mispronunciation, but Draco and
Harry could have honestly cared less. The little boy had corrective glasses on
the size of saucers, and he initiated the flood of children coming to Draco and
Harry’s feet.
   “You beat the bad guy!” pointed out a red-haired little lady with bejeweled
mary janes.
   A boy with pudgy hands hugged Draco’s leg. “I have two mommies. You’re two
daddies?”
   “I’m so sorry,” the headmistress began before Draco knelt down and scooped
up the wriggling boy. He was trying to get used to holding children, but they
always moved like they had a mind of their own.
   “It’s fine,” Draco said, glancing over to Harry. The Gryffindor reached up
to ruffle the boy’s hair out of instinct and that left Draco to imagine what a
great father Harry would be. “And yeah, little guy. Harry and I here are going
to be daddies.”
   The boy started snapping his fingers like he was at a poetry slam in the
seventies. Oh, Remus and Sirius would love this place. When Draco looked down,
all the other students were snapping along with him.
   “Clapping is too aggressive,” Ms. Lane told Harry and Draco to explain their
students’ oddly adult behavior.
   It was really only a matter of seconds before they lost their self-control
and burst into laughter.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Ron’s jaw dropped. “What the hell did you just say?” he demanded, face
frozen in shock.
   “It won’t be straight away,” Harry assured Ron. “I mean, we have until
October and I think Draco can get a week off of work to make sure you can
adjust to it.”
   Ron was flabbergasted. “Harry, do you realize how calm you sound right now?”
   Harry shrugged. “I am calm.” Ron was a clever and brave Auror who hadn’t
even let Voldemort stand in the way of good when Ron was a teenager. “I think
you’d be a good fit for the job.”
   “Do you even hear yourself? You—You are the one who does all the paper work
and puts on a suitable public face. You’re the bloody Boy Who Lived. You were
practically destined to be Head Auror, Harry,” he went on in a stammer.
   “I have more important things to take care of. I don’t think my ‘destiny’
can really be filling out reports on petty theft and appearing at Ministry
events to smile at cameras.”
   A huff of breath escaped Ron. “Then you’re really offering me the position?”
   “Really.”
   “For however long it takes to get Lily into pre-school.”
   “Yup. Maybe longer; we’ll see in time.”
   “Woah,” Ron stopped him there. “Are you…?”
   Harry knew exactly what Ron was trying to say. Their brotherhood was
undeniable and he could pick up on Ron’s every nuance as if they actually were
tied together by blood. Growing up with someone and sharing a room with them
for seven years did that to a person. Hell, he could still imitate Ron’s snore
perfectly.
   “Am I what?” Harry asked anyway. Feigning obliviousness was the only way he
could bring himself to answer Ron’s pressing question.
   Part of that was because he wasn’t sure how to answer it.
   The day Harry had been appointed Head Auror he’d had a panic attack. It was
Draco’s final straw before assigning Harry a therapist he trusted in the
hospital.
   And sure, that had helped immensely. Harry could cope with his anxiety much
better and he had a renewed sense of clarity. Part of that clarity had been
nagging at him the entire Nott Sr. case. It spoke loudly to him now:
   Take a break, Harry.
   “Are you quitting?” Ron asked quietly from Harry’s office chair.
   Harry hesitated in answering, which was probably a bad idea.
   “Are you feeling alright?”
   “Yeah,” Harry finally responded. “I am. I have Draco, a new house, and soon
a new baby.” Well, they had a new baby if the father stayed out of court.
Lucius would utilize his full arsenal and wallet to prove ‘Zeke’ an unfit
father, but Harry couldn’t help but worry that the courts would rather see a
child with its biological parent than with a gay couple.
   “I’m doing really, really well.” He laughed. “Okay, that sounded fucking
pathetic. I’m happy! I don’t know, I think there’s just more than this job out
there for me. I mean, I’ve instituted the changes I have always wanted to see,
and I know you’ll continue that legacy.”
   Ron ran a hand through his hair, messing it up pretty terribly. It really
was a good thing he wasn’t trying to impress anyone anymore. Hermione liked him
tangles and all and was in no position to judge after having slept off a
majority of the previous week. Giving birth was hard, but she’d be back to work
soon.
   “You don’t have to take off. We can recommend day-cares,” Ron offered.
   “I want to take off,” Harry decided. “After Lily is born Draco and I have
plans for a second child at least. Well, more like he promised me one in a
moment of duress and I intend to hold him to it no matter how much he bitches.
Maybe I can even sneak in a promise for a third kid if I get Draco drunk
sometime soon.”
   A snort escaped Ron. “You’re baby-crazy, Harry. Completely mental. Not even
Hermione is as thrilled as you and she went through all that pain to get the
babies out. You did manage to faint then, though…”
   “We’re not bringing that up!”
   “Sure we aren’t.”
   “Shut up,” Harry laughed. “Just because you’re Head Auror doesn’t mean you
can let it go to your head.”
   “Mental,” Ron nodded. “Definitely mental.” His eyes drifted down to the
place on his uniform where the Head Auror pin would rest soon enough. “Finding
a new partner is going to be a bitch.”
   “Just think of it as an adventure.”
   “I’m thinking of it as a bunch of awkward first dates until I find someone I
can mildly understand,” Ron grumbled. “I hate dating. I did it once in sixth
year and you know how well that went. I don’t want to have to shop around for a
best friend on the job.” Nobody could replace him outside of the job, of
course.
   Harry gave him a look of mock-sympathy. “I know, I know. You’ll miss me
horribly. But hey, after work you are entirely welcome to bring Rose and Hugo
over for a play-date so you can tell me all the inane things you’re forced to
investigate and the cold cases that are going nowhere.”
   “And you can keep me updated on your weird, weird sex life.”
   “We’re not bringing that up, either.”
   “Gays are so lucky,” Ron sighed. “You don’t have to worry about recovery
from pregnancy. You don’t even have to worry about pregnancy. You and Draco
could just shag all day, all night, every second…”
   Harry made a face.
   “Oh, quit looking at me like that! I’m not languishing over it like your
fans do. Believe me, if I had liked men back in school I would have at least
gotten in on some of the insanity Draco was a part of. You really missed out
with all of that brooding instead of handjobs business.”
   “You’re a nutter,” Harry told him fondly. “You wouldn’t last a day as a
homo.”
   “Oh?” Now Ron wanted to know why.
   Somewhere, Harry remembered some phrase from a bumper sticker or another…
“The few, the proud, the gays. You’d have to deal with bigots all day, and we
both know you’re the first to throw a punch or a hex. You’d also have to dress
much, much better.”
   Harry and Ron liked to joke about stereotypes, considering Harry couldn’t
dress himself to save his life. When he and Draco had started going out, he’d
allocated Draco to that job. He figured if the Slytherin could take his clothes
off he could put them on just as well.
   “What? What’s not gay about how I dress?” Ron asked, offended. He looked
down to his black Auror robes in disappointment. He’d thought the gay from
Harry would rub off on him at some point, since Harry had been too respectful
to actually rub off on him back in school.
   Ron wasn’t saying he’d have let him get very far, but the attention would
have been reassuring! Was he just not attractive to men?
   “You practically reek of heterosexuality, Ron. You just couldn’t pull it
off,” Harry let him down easy.
   “Dammit.”
   “Sorry to disappoint.”
   “Eh,” Ron sighed. “I guess the Head Auror could deal with it.”
   “So you’ll accept the position?” Harry’s eyes lit up behind his glasses.
   Ron nodded. “Yeah. On one condition.”
   He made a face, but listened all the same for Ron’s request. Handing in his
application for a leave to Kingsley would be hard enough and he hoped it
wouldn’t be that difficult with his bloody best mate.
   “I get to tell Hermione,” Ron said with a big smile.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   With their sex restricted to just one room in their spacious, beautiful,
ever-so-shagged-in home, Draco and Harry were forced to get creative.
   More so than their regular kinks, of course.
   This one made the hairs on Draco’s neck stand up when Harry told him about
it.
   “I found a use for the muggle internet you may like, Draco. You may even
love it. See, it starts out with giving me a minute-long sleeping potion…”
   After he heard what he got to do with Harry’s slumbering body, Draco warmed
up to the idea.
   He would use magic to tie intricate rope knots around the bed post before
Vanishing Harry’s clothes. Draco marveled quietly at the level of trust Harry
had with him, rendering himself entirely incapable of defending himself for a
full sixty seconds.
   Draco used that time to faithfully secure Harry to the bed on his back, legs
spread wide open. His mouth was full of a ball-gag and his arms were fastened
above his head. The rest of the ropes were really for show, but it made Harry
looks like he was trapped in a spider web with no escape.
   While Draco had never used spider imagery in bed before, he was more than
willing to make an exception.
   “Mm?” Harry groaned as he shifted awake. The ropes let him move about a
centimeter in every direction before the tugging became too much.
   Harry looked confused for a moment before remembering what he had asked for.
   Draco observed him as he paced the room, closing blinds and turning on
lights so the only thing allowing him to see Harry was the harsh florescent
bulbs. “Sleep well?” he smirked.
   Harry let out a little whine and tried to pull at the ropes as if he were
really considering making an escape. He liked the struggle, especially with the
knowledge that Draco would never be so merciful as to let him out of this
easily.
   If Harry really wanted it to end he’d snap his fingers and the ropes would
disappear, but he had no intention of doing that this early in the game.
   “Go ahead,” Draco offered. He’d stripped down to just his trousers. He’d
toured fucking preschools all day. Madness. He needed some adult fun. “Struggle
all you want. Nobody will hear you yell except for me.”
   With a grunt, Harry tried moving his wrists. The rope burned into his skin
as he yanked away from the bed post, making him twist in even more pain.
   Draco watched at the foot of the bed, mystified. Every time Harry seemed to
cringe away from one body part in pain, another would be affected by the ropes
wrapping tighter around him. Oh, Harry was a genius for this one.
   “I saw you dancing tonight and I couldn’t get enough.” Draco loved weaving
stories. “Shaking your whore arse around and flirting with every man with a
pulse. I took it upon myself to bring you here to show you what a real man is
like, and to show you what happens to boys who act naughtily.”
   Harry fell into the scene immediately. “Pluf,” he tried against the gag.
“Staph.”
   “I don’t think I will,” Draco grinned as he sifted through their treasure
chest of toys. The empty protests just added to the fantasy. “Hm, now what to
use…”
   Draco bypassed clamps, candles, paddles, crops, whips, and all of Harry’s
favorites for a heavy flogger they hadn’t used in a while. The tails were thick
and about a foot long, and there had to be at least twenty. Twenty points of
impact for Harry’s sweet, pale skin.
   He showed Harry what he had decided on just to see his green eyes widen with
anticipation. “Knew you’d love it.”
   Draco started with a light swish of the flogger on Harry’s chest. This time,
he decided, it would be a build to the pain. He’d make Harry work for it until
he was close to begging.
   “That hard enough for you?” he teased, the next swish of the tails coming at
only a slightly faster speed.
   Harry managed to shake his head in the bonds and whimper around his gag.
   Draco chuckled and ran his nails down the perked-up skin. “See? I knew you’d
love this. I could fucking smell the painslut on you. Now—“ he unfastened the
gag, “—that we understand you belong to me tonight, you’re going to have to
answer some questions.”
   “Yes, Sir,” Harry nodded eagerly, glad his Master had given him his voice
back.
   The flogger whipped against his skin, actually leaving a sting this time.
Harry’s face twisted in a long-awaited burst of pleasure when the pain finally
came.
   “How hard can you take it?” Draco purred. “Because you know how hard I can
give it to you.”
   “As hard as you can, Sir. Whatever pleases you,” Harry told him, his cock
hardening at the words leaving his lips.
   The next crack of the flogger tails was even harder, and Draco was sure to
bring it down across his nipples. “Good boy,” he murmured as he watched Harry
arch up into the blow. “I’m going to mark you all up.”
   Finally, Draco brought it down with that harsh force Harry loved so much.
   “Fuck,” Harry gasped as the sting lingered and thrummed across his skin.
   Draco flicked his wrist—it really was all in the wrist—back down again so
the leather tails landed on Harry’s stomach. “Whining already? We’ve barely
started, pet.”
   Harry gritted his teeth and balled up his fists for the next two splashes of
pain Draco brought down on him. Draco always delivered on promises to leave
Harry with marks that reminded him of exactly who he was bound to for life.
   ‘Bound’ being the key word.
   “Mm.” Draco stopped the sensational assault so he could stroke the reddened
skin. Harry’s shudders when he did made Draco’s stomach flip. “That was just me
getting warmed up, darling. You don’t even want to know what I’m going to do
your pretty, pretty thighs and that cock of yours I’m so fond of.”
   Harry, the crazy bastard, smiled. “Give it your worst,” he snarked.
   Draco’s nails immediately came down to pinch and twist his nipples. “You
little fuck. You won’t forget to address me properly again when I’m through
with you.”
   Harry hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten the ever-important ‘Sir’.
   All he was left to do was lay there and take it. Harry’s eyes screwed shut,
hissing through the pain before he grabbed the flogger once again.
   He snapped the tails right across the bottom of Harry’s foot. The nerve
endings made him jump, but the ropes held him down so he couldn’t get away,
forcing Harry to helplessly squirm against the sheets below him.
   That little blow was only to throw him off, though. When Harry least
expected, Draco cracked the flogger down like a whip against his erection.
“Sir!”
   Without even responding, Draco snapped it down again and again and again. He
fixated on every inch of Harry to make sure he was absolutely writhing. The
flogger reddened the head of Harry’s leaking cock, his shaft, his quivering
thighs…
   Harry cried out against each blow without fail, creating a rhythm that was
music to Draco’s ears. “That’s what you get,” he panted from the strain of
bringing his arm up and down so hard.
   “Yes, Sir,” he choked out.
   Oh, and it all only made Harry harder. “You are so fucking horny,” Draco
laughed breathlessly, utterly and completely amazed by the man beneath him. “I
could do anything to you, couldn’t I?”
   “Anything, Sir,” Harry nodded, half-relieved and half-disappointed that the
pain had stopped. “Anything at all for you. I’m your loyal little lion cub.” It
sounded ridiculous out loud, but Harry knew he was safe here, even when he was
being corny. Draco’s arms were a safe space even with all of the instruments of
torture he used on Harry.
   “That’s right.” Draco climbed into the web of ropes in a wave of tenderness
that seemed only natural. His nails still dug into the bruised skin around
Harry’s ribcage to keep the right balance of being the stern, reprimanding
Master and still being the one who cared about Harry more than anything.
“You’re my little lion cub. I’ve got you right on my ankle.” It was a wildly
ill-advised tattoo, but the sentiment was sweet all the same.
   Harry rested his bruised body for a moment. “You know, Sir, just because I’m
being a sap doesn’t mean I don’t want you to keep punishing me.”
   Draco gave Harry’s arse a squeeze. “I try at romance and you still want to
be slapped around,” he grinned before sitting up and positioning himself
between Harry’s legs so his hands rested on his thighs. “That’s my kind of
bloke. Now, ready for me to fuck you? Oh, wait, I don’t care.”
   Draco, one hand behind his back all while he’d spoken to Harry, had covered
his fingers in lubricant. He pushed three fingers into Harry so he wouldn’t
forget who was in charge, shoving past rings of tight muscles that certainly
hadn’t expected the intrusion.
   “Draco!”
   He laughed to himself at how Harry was powerless to so much as inch away.
Draco drove his fingers in deep towards Harry’s core, being sure to press up
hard against his prostate gland. The cocktail of pain and indulgence strangled
Harry’s cry.
   Draco took him faster than Harry could properly react to.
   He fucked him rough and hard, slamming his cock into him once he’d wriggled
his fingers out.
   Round two was even better that night, and round three left bruises Harry
would maintain for weeks. If this was what they needed after a day of pipsqueak
activities, Draco couldn’t wait for the sex to come after the baby.
   Well, after the baby leaned how to sleep through a night without bothering
her frisky fathers.
***** Leash *****
Chapter Notes
     Okay this is unrelated but how great would it have been if Voldemort
     never existed and Remus/Sirius had all these kids who went to
     Hogwarts and constantly got in trouble with Snape because they would
     refuse to stop sassing him?? It would be the greatest thing. Parent-
     teacher conferences would be infinitely more combative and sarcastic.
     Oh my god. It would be perfect. Anyway, Drarry!
Chapter 31: Leash
   The Bagley sisters had built a rather tough wall of legal documentation to
break down. At least, that was what the lawyer Zeke spoke to said.
   He trusted the anonymity of the small firm on the corner of Cauldron Street,
spilling his secret to someone he had neither seen nor heard of before. Zeke
couldn’t very well go to his family lawyers without his mother finding out, and
there was even a risk level with this.
   The stern older woman had noticed an uneasiness in her heir. That busy-bee
working spirit of his was out of character, and she refused to believe he was
owning up to household responsibilities without an intense amount of prodding
from her. When he wasn’t working at that convenience store in Wizarding London,
then he was holed up in his room. She had suspected him of sneaking out, but
whoever he was sneaking out to meet—unlike that bratty little girl from
Hogwarts—didn’t seem to make him too happy.
   No matter. The way Mrs. Bowen was raised assured her that relationships were
only supposed to be functional, not happy. It didn’t stop her from sending a
charmed memory-capturer (from that joke store owned by the Weasley… Which one
was he again? No matter. It was the closest to a war hero she would ever come
and she was perfectly fine with that) after her son to record where he spent
his hours at night, though.
    Calmly, she sat down in front of a pensieve and poured the liquid-gold
recording into the water. She’d secured her dark black hair up in a bun so it
wouldn’t get wet when she dipped down to immerse herself.
   Mrs. Bowen took a deep breath and held it before going in.
   “So, you have a nursery set up for the baby?” a queer-looking man with tiny
spectacles asked her son over a dark-wood desk.
   Zeke shook his mop of hair. Oh, dear, did he need a haircut…
   The lawyer pursed his lips. “What are you looking to get out of this
situation, then? Mr. Bowen, what is your ideal outcome?”
   “That I didn’t get my girlfriend pregnant in the first place,” Zeke mumbled.
He would never stop kicking himself for not buying more condoms.
   “Yes, well. You did.” The lawyer, a mister Frank Row from what it said on
the plaque behind him that assured all customers that he had indeed graduated
from law school, had to be joking.
   Mrs. Bowen watched on in frozen desperation for her son to start laughing,
to play this as some sort of sick teasing…
   “Mr. Bowen,” began Row with a pathetic attempt to catch and hold Zeke’s eye-
contact. “We are not a time-travelling firm. Even if we were, laws forbid such
companies of altering birth or death times. Now that we’re in the present, what
would you like?”
   Zeke frowned. The little cogs in his brain were moving, but there seemed to
be no words coming out. “Uh.”
   “The Malfoy-Potter family is interested in a closed adoption. They don’t
mind sending updates about Lily’s progress—“
   “Lily? They named my kid already?”
   With a sigh, Row reached for the copy of The Prophet he’d shoved in his
drawer earlier. “Right here,” he said as he unfolded page two. “’The
prospective parents have chosen a family name to pass on to their daughter, as
well as a family middle name. Narcissa and Lucius are surprisingly pleased with
the selection, says Rita Skeeter, who saw the couple and managed to get a brief
statement from them after they were told of their grandchild’s name at a local
diner by Draco and Harry themselves. For photos of them hugging from afar, turn
to page six’…”
   “And a middle name,” Zeke deadpanned. “They picked all the goddamn names
out.”
  Zeke’s mother couldn’t take another second of it. She ripped herself from the
pensieve only to earn an excruciating headache in the process. “Prophet!” she
roared. “I need to see The Prophet!”
   Her stubby house elf awoke from his nap in the foyer with a start. “Y-yes
Madam!”  If he was caught sleeping again, he knew he’d get the cane. His tiny
feet made like the wind in order to avoid such a fate and zipped to the front
door where the newspaper was deposited in no time.
   Madam met him halfway up the stairs. There were strands of hair that had
escaped her bun, and there was some kind of liquid dripping off the edges of
them. “Give me that,” she snarled as she snatched up the paper. “You imbicile!
This is today’s paper. I need the one from yesterday!”
   “Yes, Madam… Sorry, Madam…”
   After fishing it out of the trash, the elf passed the paper to his owner.
She was disgusted by the bits of chopped up tomato that had fallen on some of
the pages, but that was what happened to things that got tossed in the rubbish
bin…
   Sure enough, there was the page that Frank Row had pointed to in the memory.
   This all had to be some cruel prank, right? After all, she had purchased the
recorder at a prank store, maybe her son had found it. He was probably just
playing a trick on her to get her riled up. Yes, that had to be it.
   Yet the Pureblood talent of self-delusion would only last for a moment.
Reality was closing in on her faster than she was ever prepared for.
   All it took was one teenage boy who’d forgotten his muggle phone on his way
to work—hey, he figured. Why not turn around and go get it? I’m royally and
utterly screwed anyway!—to fumble with the door and push it open to push his
mother over the edge. That would teach Zeke never to underestimated just how
screwed he could be.
   “Hey mum, have you seen my—?”
   “You!” she exclaimed in a shrill tone as she stormed over to him. “You made
me a grandmother so young!” She wasn’t really that young, but if Zeke pointed
that out it would probably put him in even more hot water. “And you screwed
that mudblood girl I forbade you from seeing!”
   Zeke’s lips were horribly dry. He tried to lick them to make them feel
better as he thought of something to respond to that with. “Um… I don’t think
she would appreciate being called a mudblood, you know? That’s sort of wrong.”
   “And now she’s brainwashed you!”
   “What’s going on down there?” Zeke’s sister shouted from her room. All she
wanted was for school to start again so she could be back in her sparkly blue
dorms and far, far away from her mother.
   “I don’t care what the subject of your illegitimate affair would
appreciate,” Mrs. Bowen hissed. “She’s a classless, rude, obtuse,
inappropriate, mudblood slut!”
   ‘Slut’ echoed in the very boards that held the house together. It was like
she had rung a bell to signal it was slut’o’clock.
   The word brought Zeke back to a conversation he’d once had with Grace over
some butterbeer. She’d rambled on and on for what had to be an hour at the
least, being loud and oblivious to people staring at her blab. She’d talked
about how wrong it was to call people sluts, to shame them for something they
were biologically meant to do. Zeke could only remember key phrases like ‘true
feminism’, ‘bigotry’, and ‘misogyny’ but they would have to do.
   Zeke Bowen was standing up for—well, she wasn’t his girlfriend, she wasn’t
even really his friend—he was standing up for himself, then.
   “Don’t call her that,” Zeke said clearly and loudly like he was Grace back
in the Great Hall. “Don’t call her a ‘mudblood’, either.”
   “Don’t you talk back to me! To your room!”
   “No!”
   “Mum, what the hell?” Zeke’s sister demanded from the top of the staircase.
She’d put her headphones and books aside for this since it sort of seemed
important.
   Her mother whipped around to deal with her. “You! You get back to your room,
too! The both of you to your rooms!”
   “How is grounding me going to help us figure this shit out?” Zeke
practically begged.
   “And now you’re cursing, too!”
   “I got a girl pregnant!” Zeke reminded her a little desperately. “Time-outs
don’t really work on me anymore, mum!”
   She grabbed her son by the ear. If this had to be done the hard way, then
that was the way she’d do it. In spite of his protests, she guided him up the
stairs with a forceful tug before they finally reached his room. “And if you
sneak out again, you’ll never see the inside of this house again!” she roared
as she shoved him into his room.
   Mrs. Bowen used her ebony wand to lock all of the windows and doors in the
house simultaneously just to be sure. She would deal with her corralled kin
when she came back from a little chat with an old friend.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Draco finished his calligraphy on the baby shower invitations with a
dramatic flourish. “Perfect. Round up the owls, Harry.”
   Harry wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to ‘round up’ the winged crowd
that had perched in every available surface of their kitchen. None of them had
relieved themselves on Draco’s precious marble counters, but there was still
time for a bunch of owls to send Draco into a snit.
   “Harry?”
   “Give me the invitations,” he requested, outstretching his hand. “I think I
can attach them one-by-one.”
   A smile floated across Draco’s face. “Here.” Draco handed Harry the stack of
cards along with a kiss on the cheek.
   Draco could care less if he and Harry weren’t the ones pushing out the baby.
Draco Malfoy-Potter never passed up the opportunity to host a cocktail party.
Never. Such a thought made him pale with worry and would surely give him
wrinkles at a young age.
   “When you’re finished up with that, all we have to do is patiently wait a
week for our friends to fill up our gift registry and get drunk in front of
them when the time comes,” Draco grinned as he watched Harry wrangle in each
owl to tie a silken bow around each fragile ankle. It really was good to have
someone around who was willing to touch animals.
   Harry took a tawny owl by the wing so he could secure the flowery parchment
to it. “Ah, of course.” His parents had probably done the same thing, with
Remus and Sirius bringing the booze. Lily hadn’t had a drop, but of course
James drank enough for the both of them.
   Mutely, briefly, Harry wished his parents could be there with him. Grandma
and Grandpa to a brand new Lily, though they probably wouldn’t have named her
that if the original Lily wasn’t dead.
   Lily the Second, as if she’d heard her father’s thoughts, gave Grace a
particularly violent kick. “Ugh,” she grumbled from her place at the kitchen
table. While Draco wrote invitations, she finished up her summer work in
preparation for school. “Your kid hates me.”
   “She’s kicking again?” Harry sent the last snowy owl out of the kitchen
window before rushing over to her. Harry didn’t usually grope women’s stomachs
yet was making quite a few exceptions to that lately.
   Grace sighed and sat up in the high-back chair. At least her kid would grow
up in a touchy-feely home. “Yeah. Lively one, I guess.”
   Draco crossed around the table to join his husband in staring at a teenage
girl’s midriff. Grace experienced a special brand of awkward that she doubted
anyone before her had ever encountered.
   “Can we—?” Draco asked to be sure.
   “Yeah, yeah, feel away.”
   Harry and Draco flattened their palms on the baby bump, crouching down to
get closer. The first thing they felt was Grace’s heartbeat so they searched
underneath the surface.
   The tremors had begun as little tickles around the five month mark, but now
it felt as if someone was flicking Grace from inside her. That quick but
distinct twitch caught both Harry and Draco’s attention.
   “There she is,” Grace said flatly.
   Draco would have lingered if he had no idea what a social cue was.
“Alright.” He put his hand on Harry’s back and guided him back up to standing.
“Thank you,” he said cordially to the young woman.
   Grace smirked. “Any time,” she snarked as if this was all nothing.
   It was easier that way. “I’m going to head up to my room, I think. Watch
some telly. If I write any longer I’ll get a cramp like I’m taking the OWLs or
something.”
   “Mm, and it’s the NEWTs you have to worry about,” Harry mused. “Don’t worry,
they weren’t so bad. I was out of school for a year chasing down a mass-
murderer and not once did I crack open a text book, but hey, I returned for
some cram months and everything was alright.”
   “Yeah, Golden Boy, I’m sure I can make a repeat performance,” Grace grinned.
Harry was always saying encouraging things like that as if they would make a
difference.
   Draco smirked. “Watch it, Harry. She’s got your number. Do you still want to
come out with us tonight for dinner?”
   “Sure,” Grace nodded before tucking her hair behind her ears and making her
way up the stairs. The sound of the door shutting in the distance wasn’t as
strange as it was when she first moved in.
   Harry looked out the window to see the last of their delivery owls fly off
into sunlight. “Our baby is kicking,” he murmured happily to himself. “Maybe
she’ll play football.”
   “No child of mine is playing a muggle sport.”
   “You’re such an arse,” Harry laughed.
   Draco nodded understandingly. “Yes, yes I am. I can’t wait until Lily turns
out exactly like me so we can overpower you. It’s going to be such a great
father-daughter bonding experience.”
   “Hey, I’ll be the one watching her at home. I can turn her into a stand-up
Gryffindor girl whose main interest lies in saving dying, pus-filled, bloody
magical creatures,” Harry teased.
   In a flash, Draco whipped around. “How dare you,” he whispered in mock-
betrayal before cupping Harry’s cheeks and giving him a tender kiss. “I want a
divorce.”
   “As long as I get to keep the lube for all the other men I shag after you.”
   “I have changed my mind. I no longer want a divorce,” Draco laughed. “Lucky
you.”
   This time, Harry was the one to cradle Draco’s face to bring him in for a
kiss.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Gerda hadn’t seen another of her kind in what had to be years.
   The decline of pureblood culture left house elves with masters few and far
between, with others finding minimum-wage jobs in inns and restaurants and
beginning to form communities with the help of Ministry workers like a certain
Misses Hermione Weasley.
   Things certainly weren’t like the old days, when Dobby and several other
elves from the Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and Nott households were all pooled
together in one mansion’s kitchen while their owners dined in serenity.
   The number of elves they had for dinner parties was even more grandiose, as
every pureblood family with a purist reputation was invited, even those without
endless pockets. While the elves slaved in front of stoves and hurriedly
arranged dinner platters, Narcissa put on a short cocktail dress and her
highest heels.
   She was younger then, with less wrinkles and worry-lines haunting her face.
After all, who in the world had it better than her? She was glamorous, rich,
and blonde. She made other women’s husbands gawk and kept her own husband
faithful. That was more than Goyle’s wife could say, anyway. Cheating was a
popular activity for Goyle and Parkinson Sr., and it would have been for Nott
Sr. if he hadn’t, you know, murdered his wife.
   Anyway, a young Narcissa refused to dwell on such ugly things.
   She fixed Draco’s bowtie and kissed his forehead before dismissing him to go
play with his friends in his room while the adults had the real party
downstairs.
   Narcissa had never lived without someone serving her, she’d never lived
without that sense of entitlement. That was why when twenty years later her
husband suggested they get a new house elf to replace the one that Bellatrix
had killed, she had said ‘of course, dear’.
   Thus, Gerda was brought under the roof of Malfoy Manor. She was born a few
days after Dobby’s death, so when the Manor was returned to Lucius’ custody
after an extensive Ministry investigation Gerda was ripe for the picking.
   She was only kept in a cage for sale for a few weeks with fellow house elves
before being shoved into a life of service to humans.
   Now there was one of her kind right in front of Gerda’s large, misty eyes.
   “H-Hello.”
   “My mistress is wishing to speak with your master,” Waldy spoke up. His ears
were much bigger than hers, and looked more sensitive.
   Gerda wrung her hands nervously, looking over her shoulder and back into the
Manor. “Master is at the bank, managing his many investments. Mistress is at
home,” she answered.
   Waldy shook his head up and down so hard that Gerda heard a hollow rattling.
He didn’t say anything more before turning around and sprinting back to the
woman at the front gates of Malfoy Manor.
   “Mistress!” Gerda called, stamping her own way up the stairs to where a
graying but still very blonde Narcissa Malfoy. She’d kept her man at her side
far past her glory days of youth with hair-dye.
   Narcissa quit her reminiscing and put down the wine glass she’d been losing
herself in.
   “Gerda,” she said pleasantly. “Who’s at the door at this hour? I thought
Draco and Harry were taking Grace out to dinner tonight.”
   “Yes, Mistress, that’s probably also true. There is another elf! Another elf
here!”
   She grimaced. That certainly wasn’t the sort of guest she was expecting.
“Bring them out to the parlor,” she said anyway, taking her wand off of a
nearby table to be safe about it.
   Gerda took care of everything as she usually did. She sat the guest down in
the parlor, brought them tea, and waited patiently for Narcissa to arrive so
she could announce her Mistress’ presence. She put her spidery hands behind her
back and hummed while she waited.
   The other elf, Waldy, fell in love immediately.
   “Mistress Narcissa Malfoy née Black, first of her name,” Gerda announced.
Narcissa was also the last of the Blacks to survive the war who wasn’t gay, but
she kept that in her head. She and Sirius were the end of the Black empire
after years of reigning strong.
   Narcissa’s drop-waist gown gave her the illusion of floating across the
hardwood floors. Really she had just been too lazy to put shoes on, but it was
her house and figured she wouldn’t be bothered that day.
   “Ah,” Narcissa started. “Welcome. I recognize you from…?”
   “When you graduated Hogwarts I was in first year Slytherin,” Mrs. Bowen
informed her elder courteously.
   She remembered the first time she’d seen Narcissa Black, when she was Head
Girl. Her hair fell in ringlets around her face since her mother had tightly
curled them with her wand before sending her youngest daughter off to her last
year of school. Her eyeliner was impeccable and her robes expertly tailored.
   Every first year student who liked women was head over heels. Even though
Anne Bowen wasn’t of that persuasion, she could see why they loved her.
Narcissa was the quintessential pretty and dainty popular girl with a sharp wit
and a drive about her.
   Mrs. Bowen had idolized her, and now she was sitting in her parlor once
more. Anne and her husband had left the children at home to attend one or two
Malfoy banquets, but they were hardly guests of honor. Just purebloods.
   Her most vivid memory was of Narcissa curled up in the girl’s dorm after
hours reading a letter by the green fireplace. Her sister Bellatrix’s face was
in the fire smiling at every word Narcissa read aloud.
   “I look forward to seeing you this Christmas, Narcissa. As I recall, you
look beautiful with a wintery background. It will probably snow around the
Manor, and I’d love to show you the gardens blanketed in white. After you
graduate, I expect we’ll be spending a bit of time together.”
   “He wants to sleep with you,” Bella drawled. She had graduated with the
slimeball, after all. “Lucius told me the same thing before I was promised to
Rodolphus.”
   Narcissa giggled. “So, did you ever?”
   “No!”
   “Good.” Narcissa played with the fringe of her nightgown with a girlish
smile on her face. “Because I might.”
   “Ah.” Narcissa still didn’t remember the woman’s name, but she’d be damned
if someone realized she wasn’t on the social up-and-up.
   “Anne Bowen,” she clarified, reaching forward for a cup of tea.
   Narcissa nodded as if she’d known that all along. “It’s a pleasure. What
brings you to the Manor? I’m afraid my husband manages the sale of heirlooms if
you’re interested in any of the paintings we currently have up for auction.”
   “This isn’t about paintings. This is about your son.”
   Oh, Mrs. Bowen had fucked up big time. That was possibly the worst thing she
could have said out loud to mother who loved Draco enough to lie to a warlord.
“I’m afraid he’s at work,” she said with pursed lips. “You’ll have to come back
another day.”
   Anne realized her mistake about a second too late. “Narcissa—“
   “No. I’m afraid you’ll simply have to leave. I allowed you in for your
standing as a pureblood woman and you have, within a minute of first seeing me
again, reminded me of why my son has risen above bloodlines. Gerda, show them
the door.”
   “Narcissa—“
   “I don’t care to know what you’re here for. If you want an interview, a
photo, an autograph… I don’t care.”
   “It’s about the girl,” she finally managed. “Grace. See, I have a son… And
they were romantically involved.”
   “And he slept with her?” Narcissa demanded bluntly. She was a mother and a
wife, there was no need to be a shrinking violet.
   “Yes.”
   “So he’s the father?”
   “I believe so. Grace was always a looser woman than I preferred for my boy…”
   Narcissa’s eyes narrowed. “There is maybe nothing I care about less than
what you want for your son. Nothing. You’ll have to speak with my family’s
lawyers about this matter if your dimwit spawn thinks he can sink his claws
into my grandchild.”
   “No,” Mrs. Bowen protested with a little laugh. “Heavens, no. I want this
off of his name—off of our family name.”
   “Wonderful. It’s all in the Malfoy-Potter name now. Closed adoption is the
way this is playing out. Keep your kid in a leash and we should be just fine.”
***** Depressing *****
Chapter Notes
     I start school on the 26th! Oh me oh my. It’s got me wanting to write
     everyone’s favorite soulmates in a high school setting, so be
     prepared for a muggle AU after this fic wraps up (which will probably
     be soon). TW for mentions of drug use. Also, wow, 2007 was a weird
     year.
Chapter 32: Depressing
   Narcissa had always wanted a daughter.
   The hairbrush in her right hand was framed in pearls and adorned in
diamonds. It had been a wedding present from her mother-in-law at Narcissa’s
wedding that she had treasured as their approval of her marriage to their
Perfect and Infallible son Lucius.
   She ran the brush through Grace’s hair, the sharp bristles combing through
knots that had appeared after Narcissa had come to Draco and Harry’s door
unannounced just moments before. After a surprisingly enjoyable dinner with
Grace the two had gone to sleep and gone off to work in the morning like every
other normal day (aside from Harry announcing his departure at the end of the
day), leaving Grace to her own devices.
   Nobody except for Narcissa had known she would be there that day but Grace
had still opened the door when she knocked. It all seemed rather innocent, the
soon-to-be grandmother wanting to have a little girl time, but the second Grace
arrived back at the Manor she knew it was far from.
   “You’re glowing,” Narcissa said as she made eye contact with Grace in the
vanity mirror.
   “Er, thanks.”
   There was something ever so vaguely threatening about Narcissa grooming
Grace like a prized pet. “I know you’re wondering why I brought you here. Dear,
I truly am sorry for the trauma you’ve been in,” she said in that soothing
voice of hers. “But I’m afraid motherhood is full of trauma. It’s all going to
be over soon.”
   “Are you going to force me into labor or something?” Grace asked stiffly.
“Because really, I promise I’m not going to back out on giving you the kid and
it can definitely come on its own—“
   “No, no, that’s not what you’re here for. Don’t be ridiculous.”
   Grace nodded. She winced when Narcissa dragged the brush through a
particularly thick knot. “Ow.”
   “What I need,” Narcissa clarified. She picked her words with the utmost
caution. “Is for you to tie up one teensy loose end.” Narcissa put the brush
down on the vanity and began braiding her hair. She used to do it for her
sisters and her dorm mates all the time, and they all told her she should open
up a salon. She liked to fantasize about that sometimes, having a bustling
small business with loyal customers.
   “Which loose end would that be?” the younger woman asked. She looked at
Narcissa in the eye using the mirror in front of them. She didn’t really want
to look at her fat, bloated self anyway.
  “Your ex. The father of the baby. Oh, don’t look so terrified dear, you’ll
get wrinkles and have to use glamour potions in your old age. It’s a hassle.
Anyway, I spoke with his mother and she does not intend to try and take custody
away from Draco and Harry. Without her I doubt her lug of a son could pose any
threat to us, but to be safe we’re going to reaffirm the baby will be better
off without him. We’ll have him over for a little chat, his mother will detail
the school she’s sending her son to instead of Hogwarts so you will have a
stress-free last year, and then… Well. The last bit is a surprise on my part,
but I’m really not worried. I think.”
   If all didn’t go as planned, Remus and Sirius were only an owl away.
Narcissa would probably owl them if all went as planned, too. What she was
thinking of doing would make Lucius furious.
   First, she had to take care of the baby matters. Her son’s happiness always
came first.
   “Um.” Grace was officially lost. She went with the flow of insanity anyway
on the ‘Zeke attending another school’ bit. Not seeing his mug in class for an
entire year would be a relief. “Sure.”
   “Wonderful.”
   Narcissa entwined the three sections of hair with a renewed sense of
confidence. Three generations—Narcissa, Grace, Lily—of women were in one room
to bring peace around in the strangest, most fractured family any of them had
encountered. If Narcissa wasn’t so busy being a momma bear in defense of her
cub, she would have felt sorry for Zeke.
   “Let’s go.” Narcissa secured a Slytherin-green ribbon around the end of the
braid.
   “Let’s.”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   Harry was a free man. If he possessed Draco’s lack of a verbal filter, he
would have asked Sirius if he felt this way after he escaped from Azkaban.
   “Want to know something?” Sirius asked as he dug into the bowl of popcorn in
between them.
   “Sure,” said Harry. His fingers were all buttery, but Sirius could care
less. He invited Harry to completely trash the house, to pour butter all over
the floors and punch out the windows if it made him feel any better. Sirius
would clean it up with his family’s money.
   Remus was out tutoring students and Olivia was visiting with Alex, so Sirius
had invited his godson over to give him some long-overdue attention and love.
“I always knew you’d quit being an Auror someday.”
   “Oh, you knew?”
   “Of course I did,” Sirius announced proudly as a fight scene in one of those
muggle movies about short people and golden rings rose to a bloody crescendo.
“I know everything. It’s a science fact, Harry.” Sirius swallowed his mouthful
of popcorn. “I know more than anyone—excepting your wife, I guess—about you.
You did not want to be in the center of a war, Harry. You never did. It was all
you knew and I always thought the Auror department was a transition out of
that. For once, I actually held my tongue until it was over.”
   Harry sighed and rested his head on Sirius’ shoulder. “Thank you, then,” he
murmured. “I think it was something I needed to do. The Academy training was
rough, but now… I don’t know. It feels worth it, somehow.” He wasn’t making
much sense, but Harry never had to explain himself to Sirius. Sirius just took
things as they were.
   “Good.”
   “But now…”
   “Hey, no ‘now’ bullshit,” Sirius told him lovingly, petting his hair like
Harry was the dog in the room. “How the hell old am I? Actually, don’t answer
that. It’s fucking depressing. What I am trying to say is that I break curses
sometimes, other times I garden, other times I cause public distress. I do
things that I like, and I don’t worry about finding your nuclear family career
crap. People are always defining themselves with jobs and you’re so much better
than that, Harry. You’re better than them.”
   Harry snorted. “I’m happy I managed to turn out this humble with you
around.”
   “Doesn’t matter.” Sirius bumped their heads together. “You’re the best.” He
also thought the same of Remus, Olivia, and Harry’s parents, but the title of
‘the best’ still applied.
   “I’m not that great at gardening,” Harry mused aloud. “Hm. What am I good
at?”
   “You’d make a fantastic professor. I know fantastic professors when I see
them,” Sirius said, thinking of Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus. Wait—time to get
back to Harry. “And you were an ace seeker back in school.”
   With a shrug, Harry tried his best to be humble once more. “So was Draco;
doesn’t mean we should become Quidditch stars.”
   “That would be rather scandalous. How would you two ever get on in the
locker rooms without snogging?”
   “We wouldn’t,” Harry sighed contentedly.
   “Okay, different angle. What is your favorite part of every day? Or what has
been your favorite activity?” Sirius tried. He felt like Minerva when she tried
to give him counseling on what kind of career path to pursue. Poor McGonagall
sat in that chair for hours staring at Sirius, reading off a list of options
from ‘Healer’ to ‘Small Business Owner’ trying to make them sound appealing to
a smarmy, rebellious gayboy with a penchant for anger. Sirius had ‘Circus
Performer’ and ‘Rogue Pirate’ in mind, but apparently those ‘aren’t real jobs’.
   Harry made a face. “Being with Draco,” he admitted. “Maybe I could just
become a prostitute and have him pay me by the hour.”
   “Sounds like a fool-proof plan.”
   “Okay, but seriously,” Harry began again before realizing he’d said The
Word.
   “Yes, I am very Sirius-ly, thank you for noticing,” he boasted loudly and
proudly. Sirius never passed up an opportunity to crack a joke about his
ridiculous pureblood name.
   Harry just sort of groaned.
   “Let me have my fun,” Sirius whined.
   “When don’t I?”
   “That time I was high in the hospital and Draco made me stop playing with
the kids.”
   Harry took his head off of Sirius’ shoulder so he could give the older man a
playful shove. “You are a hippie. I never thought I’d say it, but Lucius was
right.”
   “Hey!” Sirius laughed, wrapping an arm around Harry to drag him back into a
fatherly sort of cuddling. After all, they’d both grown up without any of that
physical affection and intended to make up for that. “I was not the first one
to bring Mary Jane to Marauder nights out. That was James.”
   “What?”
   “He knew a guy who could get his hands on the stuff. James gave me a bag
every birthday and we passed it around,” Sirius recalled fondly.
   Harry stared at him, horrified. Someone should have told him this at some
point!
   Seeing how he’d shocked and terrified Harry’s innocent ears, Sirius patted
him on the back. “He quit when he finally got with Lily—she hated the smell—but
Remus and I had made quite a habit out of it all on our own.”
   “Was my mum the only sensible person around?”
   “Yes, actually.”
   “Merlin’s pants.”
   Sirius shrugged. “Girls develop faster than boys. Maybe when I’m sixty I’ll
have the maturity level Lily Potter had at twenty. That seems about right.”
   “Then thank Merlin I’m having a daughter,” Harry laughed. Sirius’ logic was
fanciful and made Harry smile.
   The mention of Lily the Second sent Sirius’ arms all the way around Harry so
he could give him a crushing hug. “Look at you. Baby having a baby! I love you,
Harry. I’m so damn proud of you and you know your parents are too.”
   “Thanks,” Harry said into Sirius’ shirt, relaxing considerably.
   Padfoot took a deep breath in before finally letting Harry out of the vice-
grip of love. It felt like yesterday that Harry was a squirming little baby in
his arms.
   “Oi, don’t kill him while we’re out,” James ordered with a mischievous
smile. “He better be just as cute as I left him when we get back.” For the
first time since his wedding, James had dressrobes on. Married people
apparently had to keep up a classy dating life, too.
   Lily in her little black dress looked considerably out of James’ league even
with all that gussying up, but she loved him all the same. “Bye-bye,” she cooed
at the little boy in Sirius’ arms before kissing his forehead, unmarked by any
scar. “If he gets too fussy don’t hesitate to owl us.”
   “You two need to go have fun,” Remus said. “Get the hell out of here.”
   “No fucking cursing in front of the goddamn baby,” James reminded them as he
and Lily headed out the door holding hands. “Daddy loves you, Harry!”
   When Sirius and Remus finally got the two out of their damned house (the one
before all of those safe places tucked in muggle corners so that nobody could
find them and their precious child), they were free to wander in the Potter
residence with its tiny heir.
   “He’s so adorable,” Sirius whispered, gently rocking him up and down in his
arms. “We’re the luckiest godfathers in the world.”
   Remus nudged their cheeks together so they could stare lovingly down at the
miniature human being their two best friends had made. “He has Lily’s eyes.”
   “Here.” Sirius offered Remus a turn at holding Harry, which scared Remus to
his core. What if he dropped the baby? What if the baby hated him?
   “Oh,” he let out, surprised when Harry made a joyful sort of gurgling noise
when he saw Remus’ face. It made him feel a bit like crying.
   “You’re going to be an amazing father when we have babies, Remus.”
  “And then you proceeded to throw up all over Moony’s favorite sweater,”
Sirius informed Harry.
   It had taken them at least three cycles in the washer to get the cable-knit
top back to wearable condition, but neither of them loved Harry any less for
it.
   “You’re going to be a great father, too.” Sirius was quieter, almost
pensieve when he said that. He and James were supposed to raise their children
together and tease one another about becoming grandparents and make each other
crazy. This was markedly more somber.
   “Thank you,” Harry murmured for a second time. “Thank you.”
   Sirius hugged him again before turning into Padfoot so he could jump all
over Harry to be pet. Sirius barked and licked his face. Sure, it was weird,
but Harry rubbed Padfoot behind the ears anyway. No family was perfect, but
this makeshift one with Sirius was phenomenal. Harry would get more baby
stories that he couldn’t remember out Sirius later.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “I’m angry that she didn’t tell me she’d decided on adoption!” Zeke argued.
   “So you’re going to go on a crusade for semantics?” Narcissa asked calmly as
the house elves scampered back to the kitchen. Grace was shoveling down the
cinnamon buns they made for her, and while it was beyond against her moral code
to accept the servitude of another race, she was really hungry and really
pregnant.
   “No,” Zeke huffed. “I just—I mean, she didn’t tell me!” His mother tried to
silence him with a hand on his shoulder. “Stop it!”
   The two lawyers beside Grace put a packet down in front of the arguing son
and parent. “Sign your parental rights away,” the taller one offered. “Or have
us take them away from you in a messy court battle.”
   The scared father-to-be was backed into a corner. “Fuck a court battle. Mum,
stop touching me! I’m going to say what I want to. And do you know what? I’m
not just mad that she lied to me.”
   “Then pray tell,” Grace snarked. “What else is my fault?”
   “It’s not your fault,” he quipped back before softening. “The kid isn’t, and
the way you are isn’t your fault.”
   Out of instinct, Narcissa put a protective hand over Grace’s. “What are you
trying to say?” the matriarch demanded.
   “I’m saying that I do care about her. Grace, I think you’re someone who
deserves to have a life. I don’t want to saddle you with a kid, okay? You’re
just so… You’re so angry,” he finally admitted with a  rush of air. “You’re a
wonderful girl, but you’re also the angriest girl I’ve ever met. That anger
isn’thealthy, okay? You were mad at the world for things you couldn’t change
even before this pregnancy.”
   “And having a kid would soften me up?” Grace scowled, entirely disgusted
with what she was hearing.
   “No! It’s not that! I promise it’s not that, okay? I think I’m not getting
my point across well.”
   “You aren’t,” Narcissa nodded sagely.
   Zeke paused to lean back in the opulent chair of Narcissa’s parlor. He chose
his next words carefully. “I think maybe part of that anger is that you lost
your mum so early.” Grace froze up, breath catching in her throat. “And I don’t
know how it could affect this kid to never know their biological parents. It’s
not because Draco and Harry are gay, it’s not because I want to have us both
stop our lives and be teen parents, and it’s definitely not because I ‘hate
you’. I don’t hate you, Grace. I want the best for this kid and this is me
stepping up.”
   “So you clearly have different ideas of what’s best for the baby—“ Narcissa
tried to mediate before Grace jumped in.
   “Fuck you, ‘I’m angry’. How could I not be angry?” she demanded. “One out of
every three women will be raped in her life. Hate crimes happen every day, and
politicians try and take the rights of the oppressed away. Open your eyes,
Zeke! Look all around you! Look at the poverty, look at the disease, and look
at the way people wage war on one another! People keep dying, and my mother and
father were just bricks in the wall.
   “I’m angry because people don’t understand how to be courteous and kind and
respectful in daily conversation. I’m angry when pompous assholes who think
they’re intellectuals play ‘devil’s advocate’ in arguments about human rights
just to fuck with people. I’m angry because only one out of every nine
producers of what’s on television is a woman! Britain is in Afghanistan,
America is in Iraq, North Korea is probably about to do something stupid, and
what the fuck is the UN doing? Nothing. Fucking nothing, just like the Rwandan
genocide.”
   “Shit, Grace. None of that even involves you. You’re not in the army or in
Rwanda.”
   Grace could care less. “It involvedpeople. If you close your eyes, you can
hear them all sometimes. You can see the men and women being trafficked into
the sex trade in Thailand, you can smell the gunpowder on the hands of the
shooter from Virginia Tech, and you can feel the heat around you like you’re in
one of those riots in Venezuela against their dictator. They’re people, Zeke.”
   “They’re people,” she pressed on before standing up. Her ankles were weak,
but she felt possessed. “And do you know what? That’s worth being angry over.
You want to blame it all on Voldemort murdering my parents? You’re leaving
everything else out! Don’t you dare tell me I’m fucked up because my Aunt and
Uncle raised me when the world around me was full of shit to begin with.”
   Narcissa had never been so inspired. This spitfire teenage girl reminded her
of the anger she sometimes felt, the rage that bubbled up when she read about
how people were still fighting to reverse the legalization of same-sex marriage
laws. They were trying to force her baby into a divorce from the man he loved
and will always love. They called her son—her pride and joy—unnatural and wrong
and unfit for this world.
   “I have to go get something,” Narcissa said quickly, tossing her original
plan of subtlety to the side in favor of making a statement. She got up from
the parlor and practically ran to the kitchen.
   Grace went on without her. “And if you think that growing up with your
biological parents in your life is always healthy, take a good fucking look at
your own situation. You think I turned out bad because I didn’t grow up with my
parents? Look at what happened when you grew up with yours.”
   Mrs. Bowen’s jaw promptly connected with the floor.
   “How—“ she stuttered. “How, how dare you! You—you foul child! How dare—“
   “Back!” Narcissa announced in an uncouth way that would make her pureblood
mother roll over in her grave. In one hand, she held a plate with two massive
biscuits on top. “Here, Anne. Have a biscuit.”
   The plate landed on the parlor table with a distinct thud. Grace sat down,
about ninety percent sure that Narcissa had poisoned the wheat-y treats. They
looked like Narcissa had baked them herself, misshapen and malformed and
definitely on the burnt side.
   Just as Narcissa had planned, Anne Bowen called for her house elf. “Waldy!”
she snapped as he rushed to her side, leaving a concerned Gerda in the parlor
door. “We’re leaving. This harpy can give the baby to whoever she wants. Zeke,
come along.”
   “Sorry—“ he tried before his mother grabbed him by the ear again.
   “Wait!” Narcissa still had some power over the younger woman, and intended
to use it for the greater good. “Don’t forget the biscuit. As a peace offering.
After all, once Zeke signs those papers, you’ll never have to see us again. I
don’t want any bad blood between our families.”
   A Malfoy offering Anne a chance at climbing up the social ladder was
irresistible. “Sign, then.” She pushed her son forward and snatched up the
biscuit. Upon closer inspection, it really was rather inedible. She handed it
to the house elf so it would be out of her sight.
   Zeke knew when he was beaten. He picked up the quill and looked to Grace.
“And you’re sure this is what you want for our kid?”
   “I’m sure it’s what I want for Lily Narcissa Malfoy-Potter, heiress to a
fortune you could only dream of and daughter to two men who deserve your
respect,” she answered, notably calmer.
   He nodded and looked around the room before putting quill to parchment.
   As the Bagley sisters swooped in to guide him through the initialing and
signing, Narcissa handed the other biscuit to Gerda. “Here, love.”
   Love? Since when did she call her slave ‘love’?
   “And I do so hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us. We were
wrong.”
   “Wrong…?” Gerda held the biscuit, fascinated. “Mistress?”
   “There.” The shorter lawyer grabbed the filled-out packet that relinquished
Zeke’s parental rights and sent it off to her office. Now nobody in the room
could reach it to change things.
   “Open it,” Narcissa encouraged.
   Waldy was actually the first to desecrate his biscuit. It was dry, cracked,
and made crumbs spill all over the floor when he pried the biscuit open. He
expected blueberries or maybe a cheese filling.
   Waldy the house elf got so much more than that.
   “A headband,” he whispered. “A headband cooked into a biscuit. That… Madam,
that is a choking hazard for the children.”
   Gerda tore open her biscuit only seconds after. “It is… It is also a
headband?”
   “No,” Narcissa said calmly, her bright grey eyes sparkling with mischief.
“It is clothing.”
   She’d never seen two elves run to each other so quickly to apparate away.
***** Lessons *****
Chapter Notes
     School has started for me. The end is nigh. At least I’m a senior
     now! To any college administrators who have found this fanfiction and
     are wary of accepting me into your lovely school… I could be in a
     street gang or a petty thief. That would be way worse than being a
     sexual freak.
     Anyway ack I know this chapter is short but I’m really losing steam
     on this fic. I think the next chapter is going to be a time skip to
     the birth (!!!!) and then a final time skip to a scene with Lily and
     her two brothers that Drarry is so totally having.
Chapter 33: Lessons
  “What if we took a shot for every time Harry got that look in his eyes?”
Pansy asked excitedly. The baby shower was an absolute hit, and all of their
friends had gotten past the hilarious and raunchy party games to the dessert of
three dozen gourmet-made cupcakes. They were chocolate icing, chocolate cake,
and filled with a surprise color of the rainbow on the inside.
   The look in his eyes Pansy was referring to had been the topic of
conversation in the Malfoy-Potter parlor, decked out in balloons, streamers,
and themed plate sets. “So sue me for being excited,” Harry laughed before
sipping out of his wine glass.
   “Oh, like I would put a lawsuit against someone under the watchful six eyes
of the Bagley sisters.”
   “Pansy, they do not have secret eyes,” Draco sighed. “That was just
something you made up when we were kids because they scared you.”
   “Have you ever seen either of them shirtless?” Pansy demanded.
   Harry’s face scrunched up. “Maybe Draco did, and that’s why he’s gay now.”
   “The both of you are mental,” Draco laughed and slung his arm around Harry.
They were sitting on his favorite couch in the parlor, the one that he had
almost hexed Harry for dropping on its side when they moved in. “I have not
seen them topless, but who has a third eye on their boobs anyway? The only
rational place to put a third eye is on the back of your neck, your ankle, or
your forehead.”
   Hermione snorted at the use of the word ‘rational’. Draco was amusing, if
anything. It was her first time drinking in nine months and she had arrived
with the intention of merrymaking and celebration of Harry and Draco’s baby.
The baby momma may have been upstairs taking a nap—claiming she was tired when
everyone arrived, dragging her tightly braided hair out of a green ribbon—but
Draco never missed a chance to party.
   “Tut, tut. So insensitive, Draco. Not everyone gets to choose the locations
of their hidden extra eyes,” Maggie teased, flicking his knee.
   “This is gruesome talk for a baby shower.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Quick,
Ronald, say something off-topic and senseless.”
   “Why am I the one you alwafys go tcho for shenshelessness?” Ron questioned
with a mouth full of cupcake.
   “Fair point. Greg?” Draco looked to him expectantly.
   Gregory Goyle was double-fisting a couple of cupcakes and resented the
intrusion on his current confectionary heaven. “I’m sending this one over to
Blaise.”
   “Ginny?” Blaise offered.
   Finally, Ginny Weasley accepted the responsibility of coming up with a new
topic of conversation. “How about we make fun of Draco and Harry some more?”
she suggested. Luckily, Theo picked right up on that.
   “There are so many angles I could pick to tease them about,” Theo said
dreamily into his glass of wine. “How spoiled rotten their daughter will be,
how they’re getting old, how their taste in music will probably pause and
they’ll never understand the fresh beats Lily listens to… Hm. I think I’m going
to go with: ‘your sex life will be miserable until she’s potty-trained and
doesn’t cry all night long.”
   “Draco changing diapers,” Colin sneered. “Now that’s a thought.”
   “That’s Harry’s job,” Draco declared.
   “No way. That’s all you, sweetheart.”
   “Darling,” Draco replied through clenched teeth for dramatic effect. “You’re
going to be the one watching our precious angel during the day, so I imagine
that responsibility will be all yours.”
   “Honey, don’t fuck with me. I’ll save that job until the second you come
home,” Harry grinned.
   Draco rolled his eyes. “Remus and Sirius have it right. We should get the
kids after they know how to manage their own bodily functions.”
   “Too late,” Ginny grinned. She always tried to sneak out of babysitting duty
for Ron and Hermione’s babies since she drew the line at changing nappies. “At
least what Blaise and I bought for you will help.”
   “None of you can beat what I got them,” Pansy declared proudly. She’d spent
way too much on it, as usual.
   “I accept your challenge,” Theo said with crossed arms. “Because you’re
going to be completely wowed by what we got them. You may cry, you may tear
your hair out in jealousy, but it is guaranteed you will feel inadequate in
comparison.”
   Draco sat back and drank in the sight of his friends clamoring for his
approval. It was a complete power trip, the sort that he loved. It wasn’t
Draco’s fault he measured how much people cared for him in the gifts he
received from people, it was how he was raised. “Then let’s compare them,” he
said imperiously, like a Roman king waving his hand at gladiators in the lion
pit to begin the fight.
   “Ours first,” Ron insisted. He wanted the bar set high since Molly had
helped pick this one out.
   Harry turned to the pile of gifts with a giddy grin. “This is just like
Christmas. Hermione, which one is yours?”
   “The one with the dancing unicorns,” she told the expectant couple with a
smile.
   “You can open this one,” Draco murmured into Harry’s shoulder when he saw
the childish shimmer in his eyes.
   Harry ripping apart gifts was a beautiful and singularly innocent sight. All
of those years he’d watched Dudders ravage the brightly-wrapped spoils of youth
had instilled not only a jealousy in him, but a reverence for the holiday. Only
those ‘worthy’ of gifts got to smile. Draco always made him feel worthy, always
made him feel wanted.
   Every year he’d wrap Harry’s presents in festive ribbons, adorn them with
golden trim, and put Harry on his lap when it came time to open them. Sure,
there were some sleazy jokes about whether he’d been ‘naughty’ or ‘nice’, but
for the most part Draco just kissed his face and held Harry tight.
   It made Christmas Harry’s favorite holiday all over again.
   “Hm.” Harry tore into the pastel green wrapping, accidently decapitating a
unicorn in the process. Oh well. “Oh!”
   “What is it?” Draco leaned over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the name.
   “It’s all the books we wanted,” Harry told his husband with a smile.
“Goodnight Moon, Velveteen Rabbit, Tales of Beetle the Bard…” Maybe one day
he’d tell little Lily what the Tale of the Three Brothers did for her papa in
the war, but that was a story he’d save for when she was old enough to
understand what a war was.
   “Every girl should have a library,” Hermione told them both with a glint in
her eye. Lily could be the brightest witch of her age, too.
   Draco started flipping through the fantastic drawings of fantasy worlds in
the books. The Rainbow Fish, Tango Makes Three, When Kathy Is Keith… Hermione
must have raided a gay parenting center. “Thank you,” he said genuinely. All he
could think of was Ron carrying a stack of picture books through a store while
Hermione piled more and more onto him.
   “Anything for our goddaughter,” Ron beamed. It must have been nice being so
simple; not leading a relationship but following a brilliant woman and all of
her brilliant decisions.
   Harry took a deep breath. Everyone around him was there for Draco and him.
“You guys are the greatest.”
   “Let’s open more,” Draco suggested. He would be as enamored as Harry once
they got all the gifts open. “Who’s next?”
   The room immediately filled with the clambering of voices, all eager to make
Draco and Harry the most well-prepared couple to ever receive a child.
   Upstairs, the carrier of their child was desperately trying to sleep.
   She’d undone her braid in her vanity mirror—well, it wasn’t really her
vanity, but there was one in her room—and her hair was a kinky and curly mess.
The three sections of the braid had been so tightly knit together that when
they were set free it was a regular jungle.
   It hadn’t occurred to Grace that while Narcissa was braiding her hair that
three generations of women were in that room. A grandmother, a mother, and a
daughter were there even though one couldn’t speak.
   The whole ordeal would have made Grace feel proud in the feminine
solidarity, but the baby wasn’t planned. Grace was giving her up after this and
would never see her again except in gossip columns and news about Draco and
Harry.
   She wanted to give the baby up, obviously. There was no way in hell she was
backing out. She just… Well, she never expected to feel a sense of belonging in
a line of heritage, a line of Malfoy women. It was nice.
   She flipped over in the bed (Merlin her stomach was big) to try and find a
comfortable sleeping position. If anything, she would enjoy the silken sheets
until she had to go.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “It tastes…” Lucius searched for the right word. He didn’t want to insult
his own cooking, but for once Lucius Malfoy had really cocked up miserably.
“Interesting.”
   The knowing look in Sirius’ eyes was starting to grate on Lucius, but he
knew better than to start a fight over eye contact with a madman. He’d save
their eventual fight for something more substantial.
   “You’ll get the hang of it,” Remus offered. The pasta Lucius had cooked was
terribly overdone and the sauce was burnt around the edges, but it was edible.
That was a start.
   “I wouldn’t have to get the hang of it if my wife hadn’t dismissedGerda,”
Lucius grumbled. Narcissa pointedly ignored him.
   Sirius gave Narcissa a hardy and friendly clap on the back. She wasn’t used
to that level of affectionate roughness and the shock in her eyes showed it.
“I’m proud of you, Cissy,” Sirius declared before giving her a kiss on the top
of her head. It was refreshing to have relatives he liked. “You did the right
thing and I believe I’ve converted you to my communist homosexual ways.”
   Narcissa bit back a smile.
   “Before you know it you’ll be listening to muggle music and living in a
commune.” At least Sirius hoped that was true. It would drive Lucius up the
wall. “Anyway, that’s pasta. Experience will make you better at it. Ready for
your next lesson?”
   Narrowing his eyes, Lucius looked to his cousin-in-law. “Isn’t your husband
supposed to be the professor here?”
   “Moony would have failed sixth year potions if it wasn’t for me. The poor
bastard can’t stir and chop for his life, which I find rather endearing and
annoying all at once,” Sirius gushed. Remus had taken his seat at the Malfoy
Manor kitchen table and was much more interested in watching the madness unfold
than being a part of it.
   “Aw,” Remus cooed. “You’re annoying, too.”
   Narcissa did something that almost never failed with her husband. She
stroked his ego. “Darling, you received exceptional marks in potions classes
and you’re still talented with a cauldron,” she said. “I think this isn’t so
different from potions, dear.”
   Lucius made a grumbling noise, grouchy as ever. This little cooking session
with the Lupins felt more like a forced and juvenile double-date between four
slightly unwilling parties.
   “On to your next lesson,” Sirius continued as if nothing had happened.
“Baking! You’re going to make a chocolate cake.” Remus visibly salivated.
Padfoot knew how to rev up a chocoholic and would use his skills when he
pleased. “This is much more like potions, so you two Slytherins will hopefully
get this without a setback.”
   The ‘setbacks’ from previous ventures involved Lucius actually setting a
steak on fire, but Sirius was sure that was the worst of it.
   “Alright. We need flour, eggs, cocoa, sugar, olive oil, some salt…”
   Narcissa cocked her head to the side. “Where do you get that from?”
   “…What.”
   “What?” she echoed. “I haven’t been in the pantry since… Well. After the war
we remodeled it, so I suppose I had to go in it then…”
   “That was seven years ago,” Remus reminded Narcissa.
   To be that rich was terrifying to him. Sure, Remus had grown up lower middle
class so he was never destitute, but this was extravagance that felt horribly
wrong. How could someone not go into their pantry for seven years? How could
they really believe themselves entitled to a small, helpless creature that
would go into their pantry instead?
   “I think I’m having Vietnam flashbacks,” Sirius said flatly, referring to
his childhood as a pointless war. “You two are so rich you probably think these
floors polish themselves.”
   Lucius let out a long, irritated hiss. He’d almost forgotten they would have
to do that on their own, too. He loved his wife, but menial labor was entirely
below him. “We’ll hire a maid for that,” he decided for the couple.
   Remus shook his head, not really sure what he’d expected the answer to be,
but still disappointed.
   Unlike his husband, Sirius expressed that emotion loudly. “Oh, come on!
Scrubbing builds character, Lucius,” Sirius insisted before conjuring a bucket
of soapy water and a brush. “How many floors does this place have? Six? And how
many rooms per floor? I bet you could do it with magic in a day without even
having to get on your precious knees and stare into the face of grime.” Sirius
spent a lot of his time on his knees, so he really didn’t mind doing the chore
without magic.
   “I think I remember some cleaning spells from Hogwarts,” Narcissa tried,
nudging Lucius to encourage him.
   Unfortunately, not all of the nudges in the world could bring Lucius to
lower his pride. “No.” He crossed his arms over his chest like a spoiled child.
  Before Sirius could berate his cousin-in-law for being a priss, Remus stepped
in.
   “Fine,” he shrugged. “You never have to learn cleaning spells with a maid.
With a Manor like this, though… You’re going to need more than one. A team
you’ll entrust with the care of every artifact, book, piece of jewelry,
furniture item, and personal detail you two ever mention in front of them. When
Harry and Draco come over you’d probably have to pay them extra to keep quiet
about the Golden Couple.”
   Sirius grinned. Oh, his Moony was one sneaky bastard.
   Lucius was immediately unsettled. “Well.” The twat he hired to find the
resurrection stone for Harry and Draco’s wedding had blabbed to the press in
spite of the heavy sum of gold Lucius gave him.
   “And what about when Lily comes over? You’ll just summon the maid whenever
Draco and Harry breeze by? You remember what having a baby was like, Narcissa,”
Remus murmured knowingly.
   Oh, Draco had been such a mess. Food was everywhere, he would track mud from
the gardens into the house, and Draco Malfoy had even gotten finger-paint in
his precious hair once. It took three washes to get the blue out.
   “They make a fair point,” Narcissa told her husband gently.
   Lucius let out a second hiss. This one was longer and marginally more
annoyed. He let it settle in the kitchen before turning to Sirius.
   Sirius was the kid in the year below him who was a bloodtraitor disgrace
back in school. His hair was never combed and his robes were constantly dirty,
with James or Remus or Peter constantly at his side. Lucius never thought he’d
be the one learning from the crazy son of Walburga, the one she had disowned,
but there they were.
   If Lucius could properly articulate his feelings then not only would most of
his problems be solved, but he would say something along the lines of ‘I’m glad
we’re family, you fucking freaks’. “Let’s just start with the cake,” was what
came out instead.
   “Sure thing.” Sirius hadn’t expected to tolerate the snobby, snuck-up
pureblood either.
   Taking a page from Moony’s book, he got the cocoa in the spirit that there
was no tension that couldn’t be eased with chocolate.
***** Tiebreaker *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey, kids! We are at the close here of this story, and I hope you
     liked it as much as you liked the first. Your reviews are the
     sweetest damned things.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter 34: Tiebreaker
   “It’s coming! Holy shit! I think—Draco! Harry! Somebody! Get over here! I
think my water just broke!”
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “This is it,” Lily told her brother with a predatory grin. The lights from
the floating candles shone down on the sorting ceremony.
   “There’s no way in hell Hunter is a Slytherin,” Aiden answered. “Me and Papa
are gonna win this one.”
   Under the sorting hat sat Hunter Matthew Malfoy-Potter, his eyes darting
around the room so he could avoid the stares.
   Being the children of famous war-veteran poofs came with its downsides
Hunter supposed as the bottom of his shoes tapped the floor where said poofs
had stood before him. Daddy and Papa. Draco and Harry.
   “You two are sick,” Hugo laughed back at Hunter’s sibling from a safe
viewing distance.
   “You come from a family with an even number of kids,” Aiden told Hugo
Weasley—three years his senior—as if Aiden knew it all. That was a typical
Gryffindor trait, though. “Rose and you got into different houses. It’s all
equal and shit. With Lily here being a Slytherin and me being in the best house
in the school we need a tiebreaker.”
   Lily rolled her eyes and bumped her hips against Aiden’s side. He laughed,
retaliating with a hip knock right back.
   In a sort of quiet admiration, Hugo watched them and reminisced about his
own sister. Rosie was off to University and Remus had retired as Defense
Against the Dark Arts teacher when Olivia went to University. University,
University, University. That’s all anybody could talk about.
   His mother gently pushed him towards an academic life while his father
aggressively pushed him to pursue his Quidditch skill. Hugo didn’t really like
either option, to be honest. He wished he could be like Lily and know what he
wanted to do for the rest of his life.
   As evidence by her stellar first evening self-made green empire waisted
dress, Miss Lily Malfoy-Potter had a passion for fashion. She learned how to
sew as a little girl and had gotten free tickets to every Fashion Week and
runway show in the world. Having the daughter of celebrity royalty at your
event was one way to guarantee a huge turnout, after all.
   People went crazy when she actually started making outfits, and they sold
for extravagant amounts of money. They praised her eye for drama and glamour
and her draping skills.
   Public adoration, great family, lots of galleons… Lily basically got
everything she wanted.
   Hugo supposed he could always bum a job off of her as her personal assistant
or something. He hoped he could, anyway. For some reason, he really wanted to
be around Lily.
   “I’m surprised your dads didn’t show up with a magic camera to capture the
moment,” Hugo said simply so he would get out of his own head.
   “They’re probably hanging in the rafters,” Eric half-joked and half-hoped,
watching the sorting hat whisper to itself. For his fourth year, Eric had dyed
his hair a shockingly bright purple.
  Eric Sinclair and Aiden were attached at the hip ever since they met in first
year. Born into a conservative family, Eric was a rebellious gay kid who never
had a chance until he met his new friend from wizarding school’s parents. Draco
and Harry had for all intents and purposes become his replacement parents.
   This was the first summer he’d spent with the Malfoy-Potter family,
returning to school with a renewed confidence.
   Aiden snickered. Eric was hilarious. Eric was so cool. Eric had such nice
hair.
   Not in gay way! No, his dads were the gay ones. He liked women. All sorts of
women. Lots of women who flirted with him across the tables in the Great Hall.
Aiden wasn’t gay. He so totally wasn’t gay because he was straight because his
parents were gay. Right?
   He shook his head and looked away from the way Eric’s fluorescent hair
looked resting against his pale skin, like a purple mist sweeping across him
and forever cloaking him.
   Eric would change it to a deep sea blue halfway through that year and Aiden
would drown in it.
   “Why is it taking so long?” he asked after a moment.
   Lily had seen this before. “It means the hat is having a hard time sorting
him. Poor thing.” Hunter was more sensitive than most.
   Only in books had Hunter read about embarrassment like this. The whole
room—first years, seventh years,professors—was fixated on him. “I don’t care
which house,” he said under his breath to the hat. “Just put me in one.”
   “Oh, but think of the possibilities,” the old leather hat marveled. “In
Slytherin you may find a path to greatness as your sister and your father did.
Or, you may take the route of your other father and your elder brother.
Heritage does matter in these decisions, but…”
   “But?” Hunter’s face was turning as red as Hugo Weasley’s hair. It was a
sharp contrast to his own dirty blonde hair.
   “But you’re not like them.”
   “I am so!” he defended immediately in a hushed tone.
   The hat laughed above him, ruffling his hair. “You are, but you’re not. You
have their curiosity and their inner strength, but you prefer a quieter life.”
   Next to the struggling boy on his chair, Minerva shifted on her feet with a
sense of patience. She’d been stuck between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor for a
solid five minutes when she was sorted and her hair was still red.
   “Who’s the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” Hugo asked when he
saw the woman sitting in her high-back chair.
   “Dunno. Some expert in breaking home protection wards from the Ministry,”
Aiden said. He’d picked up that much gossip on the train ride over. “Not sure
what her name is, though.”
   “Something with a ‘B’,” Eric recalled from his conversation with a third
year Christina Creevey. “Burning… Burden… Something.”
   “Ravenclaw!” the hat announced with his usual grand air about himself.
   “What?” Lily gasped. According to the Malfoy-Potter family, there were only
two houses in the old Scottish castle. Her brother’s response was just to open
his mouth in indignation.
   Hugo was wildly amused. “Serves you both right.”
   “The response to the owl back home should be framed,” Eric suggested. “That
way you can always capture the beauty of the moment where Ravenclaw changed the
course of history.”
   Aiden shook his head. “No. Unacceptable. Lily, owl our dads. They need to
adopt another kid to break the tie. I mean, the world has to know whether
Gryffindor or Slytherin is the better house in the end. This is serious science
stuff.”
   “Wow, that sounds so important,” she teased as she watched her littlest
brother be accepted into a flock of blue robes and smiling faces.
   “It is!” Aiden argued even though he knew it was entirely futile. Once Lily
made up her mind about something it was Mission Impossible trying to change it.
   The next witch, a dark-skinned girl with a long braid trailing down her
back, was quickly sorted into Slytherin and the ceremony continued without
further ado.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “Push!” Harry told Grace like he’d seen on telly.
   Propped up on about a small army of pillows, Grace squeezed his hand even
tighter in an attempt to disrupt his circulatory system. She really, really did
not want to take orders right now. “You push!” she countered, officially out of
witty or snappy things to say while giving birth.
   “You push!” she yelled again, head tipping back as she entered her fifth
hour of labor. “You do it!”
   “Uh.” Harry couldn’t really take that responsibility into his hands. “Okay,
okay. I’ll push.” He cast a helpless look to Draco on the other side of the
hospital bed. Alas, he was too busy actually delivering their bundle of joy to
be preoccupied with Harry’s concerns.
   “I mean it!” she growled. “I swear to fucking Merlin’s fucking balls I
fucking mean it.” Grace deteriorated as time went on in every sense of the
word, her sentences growing more profane and shorter still.
   “Okay! Okay, uh, I’m pushing!” Harry, The Boy Who Lived, told her.
   Grace let out a frustrated cry.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
   “It could be worse,” Lily reminded Aiden. “He could be in Hufflepuff.”
   The dark-haired boy snorted. “Yeah, that’s true. Daddy would have a
conniption.”
   “When isn’t daddy having a conniption?” she reminisced lovingly.
   “Good point.”
   “You and your boyfriend going to head up to Gryffindor tower?” she asked.
Lily figured she would at least talk with Hunter first, give him the big sister
kisses and the whole embarrassment spiel in front of his cool new friends.
   Aiden turned bright red. “He’s not my boyfriend!”
   “Sure.” Lily gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. She would have to pass
Hunter on his way up to the Ravenclaw commonroom anyway while she journeyed
down into the dungeons.
   Lily walked in her confident strut—like she was on the runway herself—past a
group of fifth year boys who were doing all they could to not leer. They knew
they’d get a smack-down if Lily saw them staring at her hemline again. Lily was
a force to be reckoned with when she caught the unworthy trying to undress her
with their eyes.
   After them came a group of Gryffindor girls in the year before her to whom
she politely waved even though she found them wildly annoying. They were the
sort who clung around to the highest branch on the social ladder at school
until they eventually wore them down and became a part of the in-crowd
themselves.
   They clearly underestimated Lily’s tolerance for annoyance. As the only
woman in the Malfoy-Potter house, she had to deal with quite a bit of annoyance
in her lifetime.
   The next person she passed was much more tentative in approaching her.
   In the spirit of a warm Hogwarts welcome, she gave the new professor who was
hanging around outside of the main entrance a smile. “Hullo.”
   “Hullo,” she replied, a little surprised Lily had spoken to her. “Seventh
year, right?”
   Lily lingered there for a moment. “Yup. You only get me for a year, and once
you see my test scores you will regret that fact immediately. The secret to my
passing has been my Uncle Remus giving me some much-needed tutoring.
   Grace smiled. “He tutored me when I was back in school. I’ll try and channel
his patience, hm?”
   “I don’t know,” Lily grinned. She liked it when teachers had a sense of
humor. “I think I’m going to fail any Defense class taught by someone I’m not
related to.”
   “You’ll pass,” Professor Burbage said with an enigmatic smile. “You’ll
definitely pass.”
   “Erm. Alright, good luck, then. See you around?”
   “See you.”
   Lily rejoined Angela in the hall for their last first night together at
Hogwarts, leaving Grace in the dust of her wave of general fabulosity. There
was never a question in Grace’s mind about telling Lily who her mother was—Lily
just didn’t need to know that.
   Though Grace had to say, she really was looking forward to parent-teacher
night. She’d have to tell Draco and Harry about how she was the one who whipped
the Malfoy-Potter girl into shape in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
   When Grace was done with her, Lily would be the next in the Potter line to
slay a Dark Lord before her nineteenth birthday.
Chapter End Notes
     Onto the high school AU!
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