FIC: Second First Chances

[mpreg_fest_mod]

Title: Second First Chances
Author/Artist: megyal
Prompt: PROMPT #113
Word Count: ~ 16000
Rating: NC-17/Mature
Contains (Highlight to view): **Life-threatening illness of a child. Scenes of a child being very sick.**
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Epilogue compliant?: Next-gen kids are mentioned, but not Harry+Ginny's.
Who is pregnant?: **Harry.**
Notes: The mods are saints, I tell you. Saints. I don't have enough words to explain how thankful I am for their understanding nature. Thank you to my betas: N, T and B, who are also saints and I will fight anyone who says otherwise. Their help has made this story much better. I hope the prompter likes this! I had a blast writing it, even though I probably didn't fit in as much angst and drama as they might have wanted. My apologies, kurla88!
Summary: There are only two good facts about Harry and Draco's disastrous marriage: it had been relatively short, and they had managed to produce a very lovely child. However, if they don't work together, they just might lose him.



Children make you want to start life over.
-Muhammad Ali

+

The Daily Prophet
October 16, 2019
POTTER-MALFOY UNION NOW MAGICALLY DISSOLVED
Child custody now under revision
-Jonah Cetus, Staff Reporter

After nearly eight years of bonded misery, the Chosen One and the reformed Death Eater have finally completed the charms required to break their marriage bonds, ten months after Draco Malfoy filed termination proceedings in the Civil Court of the Wizengamot.

Among other points, the civil divorce proceedings had indicated that both Potter and Malfoy vacate their marriage abode and divide the assets acquired during their union. The couple had already been separated for three years before Malfoy filed for civil divorce, despite the fact that their magical bond had remained in effect.

Both parties are currently in discussion with regards to custody over their only son, Oscar Orion Black (b. May 17, 2013). This present dialogue brings to mind the last extensive issue in 2016, over the legal appellations of their son. In that particular ruling, Wizengamot High Judge Purlin determined that neither family would bestow their name on the Potter-Malfoy heir. The judge also ruled that the child would have Harry Potter's choice of first name, and Draco Malfoy's choice for the second name.

+

February, 2021

Harry heard the roaring rush of the Floo, and the heavy footfalls of his son on the wooden floor. He smiled down at the shimmering floor-plan on his drafting-board as the door to his office burst open and a small pair of arms squeezed him from behind.

"Hello," Harry said, setting down his quill and turning around in the enthusiastic embrace. "How was--" He broke off, staring at down his son's head. Instead of the wild, sandy-blond curls, Oscar's head was shorn almost clean.

"What happened here?" Harry motioned to Oscar's head, eyebrows raised. Oscar, his sharp chin pressed just below Harry's sternum, wrinkled his nose before releasing Harry and stepping back.

"Papa said it was getting out of control!" Oscar ran his hand over the bristly strands, his wide mouth set into an uncertain grin. "He said you'd hate it this way, though."

Harry had had enough practice at not grinding his teeth. Instead, he offered a slight smile and said, very mildly, "I wonder if that's why he had it cut all off, then?"

Oscar's expression gained an air of worry. His gaze searched Harry's face, eyebrows tilting towards each other. "Do you hate it?"

"Of course not," Harry replied without pause. "It'll grow back, won't it?" It'll grow back, he told himself, firmly. This was just another of Draco's attempts to piss Harry off, as usual. Harry would not give Draco the benefit of knowing he still had the ability to make Harry feel like steam was coming out of his ears.

"Yeah, it will!" Oscar's grin was very bright. Except for the shade and shape of his eyes, he was all Draco: same narrow face and sharp chin, tall for his age and narrow all over. At least, on him, the whole effect seemed warm and sweet.

"What did you do this week?" Harry asked him, snapping out a quick charm to freeze the design proposals on his desk. "Had to study Potions, as usual?"

Oscar made a face. "Yeah, it was Potions every day. That's the worst part of the week with Papa. But I got to fly!"

Harry smiled down at him. He put one hand in the middle of that narrow back, guiding his son towards the large living area on this level. "Yeah? When?"

"Oh, after I spoke to Grandpapa a bit." Oscar wrinkled his brow even as Harry went still. "Wednesday? I think?"

"You… saw Lucius," Harry said, very flatly. Oscar looked up at his face, obviously alarmed.

"You weren't s'posed to know," Oscar murmured and cast his gaze towards the floor. Harry could only imagine how his own expression appeared. "Daddy, don't yell at Papa too much? Please?"

"And he told you not to tell me, did he?" Harry swallowed hard. "Go on down to the kitchen, have a spot of something before bed."

Oscar blinked up at him. "But, Daddy, I'm not hungry--"

"Just go, Oz," Harry said, trying hard not to snap. Oscar's little mouth tightened, just as Draco's would. He spun on one heel and stomped towards the stairs. Harry watched him go, and then pulled his wand out of his pocket, casting a bubble around the room; just in case he had to shout.

He stalked over to the Floo, still tinged green from Oscar's arrival. He grabbed one of the large cushions which lay strewn on the floor and knelt on it, reaching for the small urn of powder.

"Procurator General's office," he called after he tossed his handful of powder in the flames. The Floo connected instantly, for as infuriating as Harry found him, he remained accessible for Oscar's sake.

"Malfoy, here." Draco's voice came through the flames, smooth like polished mahogany. Harry was very glad he couldn't see his pointy, smug face.

"Oscar's home," he said. "Just came in."

"Good." Draco paused in that dramatic fashion of his, cultivated in the great halls of the Wizengamot. "And how do you like his hair?"

"Doesn't matter if I like it or not," Harry told him. "In any case, it'll grow back soon."

Draco sniffed. "He looked like a ruffian with his hair long. No son of mine should be so unkempt."

"He's never looked unkempt and you know it," Harry said and then shook his head, because Draco had that particular talent of dragging them into another inconsequential argument; if he didn't focus, they'd be on this for long minutes, meandering down alleys of barbed accusations. "Look, he told me that he visited with Lucius this week."

A long pause coiled out of the flames, and Harry could feel Draco preparing his counter-argument. When they'd been clashing in court over Oscar, Draco performed brilliantly, passionately, and Harry had despised him for it. It hadn't been fair, he'd thought at the time. Draco had trained tirelessly to do his job in the Wizarding courts and that worked in his favour, obviously, since he now attained one of the highest positions in their judicial system. If it hadn't been for Cho's endlessly diligent work, her attention to every last detail, Harry wasn't sure how it would have worked it out.

"Did he?" Draco finally murmured. "Is that a problem?"'

"You damn well know it's a problem," Harry hissed, fingers curling into fists. "First of all, you've started him out on keeping things from me, and I don't appreciate that. I really don't, and I'll thank you not to continue on that tack. Secondly, I don't want him to speak with Lucius. At all."

"Are you telling me," Draco said in a coolly musing manner, "that you are forbidding any interaction between Orion and his only surviving grandfather? Blood-related, that is," he finished easily, effectively negating Harry's impending and adamant defence of Arthur and Molly.

Harry gritted his teeth. "Yes," he said. "You want the official clause? Here it is: Oscar Black is not to have any interaction with Lucius Malfoy."

"He is Orion Malfoy in my house, direct descendant of Lucius Malfoy. There is no reason to prevent my father from seeing him," Draco said with all that hateful, hateful tranquillity. "Besides, no such clause currently exists in our childcare arrangement."

"Then I'll just have to put it in." Harry hated the snarl in his own voice, the way Draco could bring out the absolute worst in him. "I do not want my son talking with Lucius. I swear, Draco--"

"You won't win that one, Harry, I promise you won't," Draco told him, tone cutting. "My father deserves to meet with Orion."

"I don't give a fuck what Lucius deserves or not!" Harry yelled, and right, good thing he'd cast that bubble. "If I say he's not to speak with Oscar, he won't!"

Draco exhaled, so heavily that the flames on Harry's side bowed and fluttered. "You're being utterly unreasonable as usual, you know that? For you it's your way or nothing, and it's--"

Harry slashed the air with one hand, and the flames died as if someone had tossed a bucket of water over it. He dismissed the privacy charm, pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead and just sat there, trying to pull himself back together. Most of their calls had taken on a civil, cool aspect, but there was always that one exchange which made Harry contemplate homicide.

Or 'Draco'-cide, at least. Unfortunately, Draco was an excellent parent to Oscar. Granted, he'd been distressingly absent when Oscar had been a baby: always at work, hardly speaking to Harry the rare times he came home. This had been only one of the myriad of reasons why Harry had simply walked out of their house with Oscar in his arms and most of the baby's belongings shrunken down in his robe's-pocket. All of a sudden, Harry had felt that Draco had become very attentive to the status of their son.

There'd been other aspects, of course; small things that added up to big things, things which bloomed giant-sized out of nowhere. Harry had been a few months pregnant at the time of their rash bonding, which had been bolstered by an actual civil ceremony, with paper-work and everything. It had been pretty much downhill from there. Their arguments, always epic, grew more and more drastic; a pregnant Harry was a ferocious Harry, apparently. Oscar's birth a few months later didn't smooth matters over. By the time Oscar was two years old, just before Harry had left Draco, they hardly spoke to one another. They chose to occupy separate spaces in the home. The tension had grown thick enough to form jagged cracks in the surface of their drifting lives.

He spent a few weeks with Ron and Hermione, grateful for their help and support, and then moved into his own place, taking on all the extra-dimensional spatial construction by himself. It was what he did for a living, anyway. It was either throw himself into the task of creating space where none was supposed to exist or spend time brooding over his failed marriage and impending battles with Draco. Oscar, though, had always been a quiet, lovely baby, and his presence had made up the best moments of Harry's greyest days.

"Daddy?" Oscar called from the doorway and Harry took a deep breath and turned around with a smile. Oscar regarded him solemnly. "There's a glass of milk for you. It's down in the kitchen. With some biscuits, the chocolate ones you like," his son added in a very formal manner, the sides of his mouth pleated. Harry sighed and opened his arms; his son stampeded towards his embrace, nearly knocking Harry over.

"Are you still angry with me?" Oscar asked in a very small voice, his voice muffled in the cloth of Harry's shirt. Harry stroked his head, tenderly.

"No," he finally said. "I wasn't even that angry, really." He took Oscar by the shoulders and held him away a bit, looking into eyes that were as bright as his own. "I don't want you keeping things from me, Oz. I don't like that, you understand? Do you promise not to do that? And I promise not to do that to you, either."

Oscar nodded, slowly. His eyes gleamed in a watery fashion, despite Harry's gentle tone.

"Oh, sweetheart," Harry said and gathered his son close once more. Oscar didn't burst into tears but he sniffled, wiping his nose on the material of Harry's shirt before extricating himself from Harry's tight hug. His face remained downcast.

"I promise, Daddy." Oscar's small voice wafted up, quite steadily. "It's just that… I like Grandpapa. He's funny."

Harry sighed and thought a little bit, trying to control his knee-jerk negative reaction at the thought of Lucius Malfoy anywhere near his son. Lucius had served his sentence with exemplary behaviour and he seemed to be keeping a very low profile, even with Draco's meteoric rise to Procurator General.

With as straight a face as possible, he repeated, "You like Grandpapa," without sounding strangled on the last word.

Oscar looked up, nodding as his gaze searched Harry's face. Whatever he found there was apparently not foreboding, for his face brightened with that sweet smile of his. "His stories are almost better than Tante Cissa's!"

Harry smiled in return, amused at both at Oscar's exuberance and Narcissa's continued insistence on being referred to as aunt. "Well. As long as you're fine with it then… I'm fine with it."

"And you're not angry with Papa anymore?" Oscar gazed at him pleadingly and Harry sighed.

"I…" Harry struggled to keep his many parenting promises. He had sworn that he would be as open to Oscar as possible, but it was so hard sometimes. "I am, right now. But I'll get over it."

Oscar seemed doubtful but he nodded slowly. "Okay, Daddy."

"Okay," Harry said and tried not to let that little thought of Draco's won this round float up too high in his mind. "You said something about chocolate biscuits?" was all he asked and obligingly let out faux groans of complaint as Oscar grasped his hand and hauled him down to the kitchen.

+

"Oz?" Harry padded down across the messy living area to Oscar's room, knocking on the door briskly. A drawing of a Manticore scowled from a sturdy bit of card pinned to the dark wooden surface, done by Hugo Weasley in his 'creature phase'. It was a very good drawing, and Oscar had been so delighted to receive it from his older 'cousin'. No response came from within Oscar's room and so Harry opened the door, sticking his head in.

Oscar's room was in its usual state: a few items of clothing thrown over the back of the single chair, a half-finished puzzle on the floor between the desk and the bed. Atop the desk lay a map, folded in a manner which displayed some of the intricate landscape. The map was part of a game called the Telkhines Chronicles and Oscar had dropped many a large hint about it all of last year. He had gotten it for Christmas, mostly due to his good grades, and he had promised to be responsible. It had an adventure theme and Oscar's avatar was a young troll called the Grey Moon Warrior. Harry played with him quite a few times (as the Sand Master) and admittedly, it was quite engaging. When it was activated, translucent images moved over the map, the characters engaging in all sorts of exciting trouble which would appeal to a little boy. It had the ability to link to other players who owned the game, but Harry had disabled that particular charm for now. Draco supplied quite a few upgrades to the game, and Oscar dragged it around with him everywhere.

"Oz," he called out and the lump curled under the light duvet shifted. Oscar sat up, blinking at Harry. "You played your game all night?"

"No," Oscar said, sleepily. His cheeks and eyes seemed very red. "I turned it off when you said."

Harry frowned a little, striding over to Oscar's bedside and putting the back of his hand against his forehead. "You're a bit warm. You're all right?"

Oscar wriggled a little in the bed, obviously wanting to flop back against his pillows and go back to sleep. "I dunno," he answered, listlessly.

"You feel up to going to school?" Despite Draco's disapproval, Harry chose to send Oscar to Abhaydatta Integrated Primary, an institution with a mixed Muggle and Wizarding curriculum. Draco had wanted to pay for private tutors, but Harry had remained firm; he wanted Oscar to be aware and informed of his Muggle heritage, of the Muggle world in general, and…well, not depend on magic for every solution. As marvellous as magic was, Harry had grown to think that maybe Muggles had quite a few things right, after all. Muggles were grand at trying to figure out the mysteries of things, or at least giving it a determined try. He sometimes wondered if the War would have turned out any better had the Ministry of Magic had just asked the Muggles for help.

In addition, he hadn't wanted Oscar to grow up completely immersed in the posh Malfoy lifestyle, with all its unnecessary privilege and expectations. He would have enough of that as the son of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, in any case.

Preposterous, he could almost hear Draco's disdainful sniff and returned his attention to his drowsy little boy.

"You could stay with Grandma Molly, if you like," he suggested and stifled a laugh when an expression of comical dismay crossed Oscar's face.

"She'll just fuss over me all day!" Oscar flung back the duvet, revealing outrageously ornate silken pyjamas with a fancy motif he'd gotten from Narcissa last year.

"But you'll get food out of the deal," Harry pointed out as Oscar swung his long legs over the side of the bed. "She'll smother you with tarts. Those apple ones you like, maybe?"

Oscar paused, clearly weighing the benefits of Molly's delicious fare with her penchant for exclamatory hovering. She spoiled all her 'grands' quite rotten, much to the dismay of their parents. As the apparent last of the grands, Oscar was subjected to even more coddling than the norm.

"We're doing music stuff today, so no to Grandma," Oscar concluded firmly and slipped out of bed. He squinted at Harry's amused expression. "I'll see her this weekend anyway, right?"

"That you will," Harry confirmed. Oscar switched weeks with each parent, Sunday morning to Sunday evening as specified in the parenting agreement. On Harry's weeks they visited the Burrow quite often. "Right, get your clothes on."

Oscar trotted down to the kitchen a few minutes later, dressed in dark-grey trousers, a white shirt and a hooded navy sweatshirt cardigan with the Abhaydatta logo on the left. Harry smoothed down the twisted collar of his shirt as Oscar munched on some toast and cereal. He finished only half his juice, despite Harry's urging, and slyly pilfered a few sips of Harry's coffee.

"Can we Floo today?" Oscar asked as they prepared to leave the house. "I don't feel like walking."

Harry took a look at his wan face and nodded. Usually, Harry walked him to school, a leisurely trek of about twenty minutes, the both of them rambling about random things. Harry treasured these walks to school with Oscar; he got to hear his weird little thoughts, and laugh at the stories he liked to make up about the people hurrying past.

They went back upstairs to the Floo and Harry stuck out his elbow as he collected Floo-powder from the urn on the mantle, enough to transport them both at the same time. Oscar grabbed the crook of his arm and held on tightly.

"Abhaydatta Integrated," he enunciated clearly, hustling into the flames as they flashed cool green. Oscar's grip loosened as soon as they stepped out into the welcome lobby, on the admin quadrant. In the glass-walled office nearest to the Floor, the Head Teacher's secretary glanced up from the documents on his desk and smiled as Oscar waggled his fingers in a quick wave. Harry really liked the layout of Abhaydatta. It was a circular shaped plan, the spaces arranged around a large, internal courtyard. The inner walls of the classrooms were actually tall accordion doors, designed to fold back and reveal the neat expanse of the courtyard on a warm day. The windows on the outer walls were set high, but they were quite large, letting in a great deal of natural light.

"You're alright from here?" Harry asked and Oscar gave him a quick smile of assent. "All right. Pick you up later, yeah?"

"Okay." Oscar walked off towards the Year 3 classes, glancing over his shoulder once, as if reassuring his father. Harry stood there, watching as he entered his classroom and was quickly swallowed up by a group of friends. Harry hesitated; he felt as if he should stay all day here, but there was no good reason for it. Besides, Oscar didn't like that. He made his way back to the Floo, nodded at the secretary and called out the name of his own office, Tesseract Spatial. The name was a nod to one of the simpler hyperspace concepts which dealt with the creation of wizardspace, and at least Hermione had been relieved that he hadn't gone with something as obvious as Lion or Phoenix, despite Ron's insistence that those were perfectly acceptable names.

As he emerged from the Floo into Tesseract's relatively small offices, he was immediately inundated by shouts from the designers on the main floor. There were only two of them, but they could be quite loud.

"Harry!" Ankita bellowed at him, her dark gaze snapping as she rotated a proposal hovering over her workstation with a flutter of her fingers. She was about the same height as a Gringotts' goblin and feared by all of the Tesseract construction workforce. "Lady Gerham rang here at least four hundred times about the changes in the cost for the ballroom and I'm tired of telling her that if she made the changes, then the prices would change as well! It's only common sense, isn't it?"

"Harry!" Paul groaned from his own station, clutching his precision-quill so hard that it bent. The single stripe of hair in the middle of his shorn head was dyed blond, contrasting nicely with his dark skin. He was very tall and very skinny, and constantly dressed in numerous layers as if preparing for an expedition to the Arctic. "I think I messed up the Schläfli calculations for the Headmasters' Complex and the site supervisor is breathing down my neck, please don’t fire me, Harry--"

"Oh my god, shut up!" Harry shouted with a grin, heading towards his office at the end of the long, narrow room. It was only a few steps up from the main floor, the glass door standing open as always. "Paul, I am not going to fire you. I checked the calculations, they're all right. Don't let Gina change your mind."

"Want me to talk to her?" Ankita said with a dangerously wide smile, now twirling a thick curl of her black hair around one finger. "I can talk to her for you."

"Thanks, but we kind of need Gina in one piece," Harry replied, drily. "And if Lady Gerham calls again, I'll talk to her, yeah?"

"Good, 'cause I was gonna curse her the next time," Ankita grumbled and glared at the proposal in front of her. "Harry, I hate this plan so much."

"You love that plan," Harry told her as he went around his own desk and sorted through the neat stacks of parchments, scrolls, blueprints and invoices. The accountant came in a few days a week and used another station set in the furthest corner, away from Paul and Ankita's distracting presence. "That plan is how you get paid. You want to marry that plan."

"Nooooo," Ankita protested and apparently threw something at Paul as he giggled at her predicament, because Harry heard a loud clatter and Paul's responding complaints. For the rest of the morning, Harry dealt with designs, clients and Gina's insistence that Paul's wizardspace calculations couldn't possibly be right. All the while, a low worry sat at the horizon of his mind like a line of storm clouds. He tried to shake it off, but it wouldn't go away.

A little before lunch-time, an owl flew in, dropping off a message from Ron.

Lunch at Jade Bell? Hermione's got a rant built up.

Harry smiled; Hermione was a Cursebreaker for Gringott’s and for some reason had been paired with Parkinson. She built up rants on a weekly basis, releasing them all in a rush during a lunch session or two. Ron and Harry had learned to just roll with it. Besides, Parkinson had stopped baiting Hermione with Draco's opinions of their failed relationship, for which Harry was grateful.

He sent back a message confirming his attendance to the lunch-rant and sent it off. About ten minutes after the owl exited through the open window at the opposite end of his office, a large orb popped into the air right over his desk. It was a ball of spiky light, mostly ice-blue with lightning-snaps of grey.

Harry felt as if someone had grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. This orb was the emergency alert system from Abhaydatta, used to transmit information to parents.

"Mr. Potter," a voice emanated from the centre of the orb. It seemed very flat, like a pre-recorded message. "Your son is at St Mungo's. Please hurry."

He barely restrained himself from Apparating to the hospital right on the spot, and ran to his door. "Ankita," he said, voice tight, but she was already at the bottom step, staring up at him with a furrow between her eyebrows.

"We heard, Harry," she said and Paul stepped up behind her, his gloved hands wringing in worry. "We'll hold down the fort. And I won't even curse Lady Gerham, promise."

"I'll make sure Gina does what I say," Paul said, obviously striving for firm and failing miserably. Still, Harry really appreciated the effort.

"Thank you," he said and took a very deep breath. Then, he turned on his heel and focused on St Mungo's.

Focused on his son.

+

"Mr. Potter!" The mediwitch of Abhaydatta, Valerie Phillips, hurried in his direction as soon as he appeared in the hospital's lobby and skidded to a halt in front of him. In another time, Harry would have been a little amused at the way her arms flailed, but now he could hardly focus.

"Valerie," he croaked. "Where's Oz? Is he okay?"

Valerie, who liked to wear her hair in tall piles of thick braids atop her head, gave Harry a helpless look. "It was… we just let out for lunch," she said. "And he seemed fine, Mr. Potter, just a bit quiet, until…." She exhaled, sharply and shook her head. "He's stable now, but they're just keeping him for a little, under observation and such."

"Okay," Harry said, even though he burned to go see him. "Okay."

He opened his mouth to say something else, but a soft crack interrupted the air behind him. He turned to see Draco's tall form resolving from translucent smokiness, his dark robes whipping around his ankles from the force of Apparition. His grey gaze fixed on Harry as he stepped forward, long blond fringe swept away from his eyes. Harry stared back at him, blinking rapidly.

"Harry," he said, softly and Harry swallowed hard, trying to sort through the confounding sense of relief which flooded him. Here was Oscar's other parent; they were going to take care of him. It was probably the one thing they really agreed on. When it came to parent-teacher meetings, parties, medical visits, they were always there, together.

"I just got here," Harry said and nodded at Valerie. "You remember Mrs Phillips."

"Of course." Draco extended his gloved hand and shook with Valerie. "What's happened to Orion?"

To her credit, Valerie did not seem fazed by Oscar's many names. "He collapsed in the courtyard at the start of lunch," she said. Harry bit his lip, hard. "He seemed to be having some sort of seizure that I couldn't neutralise so we took him here. Immediately," she stressed and Draco nodded, expression impassive.

"I'm sure you did," he said. "How soon can we see him?"

"Oh, right. Just let me get the monitor of his ward," Valerie offered and hurried off. Draco and Harry glanced at each other, and followed her. They all met with Mediwizard Armstrong who monitored the paediatric section. After rapid introductions, Valerie returned to Abhaydatta and Armstrong led them to a quiet room.

Oscar lay curled on a large bed, fast asleep, a thin sheet tucked up to under his armpits. His sweatshirt had been folded over a chair located at the head of the bed, shoes and socks tucked underneath. Harry noted the steady beat of the monitoring charms as he walked over to touch Oscar's warm cheek.

Oscar sighed, but didn't wake up. Harry sat on the edge of the bed and Draco leaned over Oscar, hand lightly resting on the closest narrow shoulder.

"Orion?" Draco murmured. Oscar shifted in response, his eyelashes fluttered and then went still again. "Why won't he waken?" Draco glowered at the poor mediwizard, who had retrieved the thin folder which had been fastened to the footboard.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy," Armstrong responded, stammering slightly. He was a burly man with a mess of brown curly hair, the fringe of which lay sweat-damp against his wide brow; he seemed quite discomfited under the combined weight of their attention, but managed to square broad shoulders. "Specialist-Healer Nassif will be with you in a moment. We've had to put your son in a suspended sleep, but he's quite stable for now."

"What do you mean, for now?" Harry might have snapped out the words a bit more sharply than necessary, for Mediwizard Armstrong swallowed, hard.

"It appears to be a blood-curse," he replied, very quietly. Harry's heart felt as if it flinched in his chest. "That's why Healer Nassif put him in such a deep state, until she could locate a counter-spell."

"What," Draco whispered, and sat down in the chair heavily. "What."

He didn't move his hand from Oscar's shoulder. Harry put his own hand on Oscar's bony ankle underneath the sheet. We're here, he thought at his son, very hard. We're here, you're going to be okay.

"I'll go find the Healer," Armstrong said in an extremely gentle tone. "She said she'd be back by now, but she might have been called to another patient. The alert charms are active, so we'll be in if… if anything," he finished. "Please excuse me."

The door closed on their quiet montage, the three of them pulled into the same orbit for the first time in many months. Harry concentrated on the rhythmic beeping of the charms around them, and Oscar's warm leg under his fingers.

"I suppose you're thinking that it's some old Malfoy curse," Draco said suddenly, stroking Oscar's short hair. Harry bit his lip.

"The thought had crossed my mind," he admitted and watched as Draco's mouth twisted. "But you checked all your family scrolls and such. And you had done all those protective rituals for Beltaine before he was born."

"So I did." Draco turned his head, his face carefully blank as he considered Harry. Between them, Oscar continued to sleep.

"Maybe it's something from me," Harry murmured. "From Voldemort or…I don't even know."

"I don't think so," Draco said, his long fingers still spanning the delicate curve of Oscar's head. Harry looked at them, at their startling resemblance; at Draco's fingers moving slowly, lovingly, on their son's head.

The door opened and a woman dressed in dark-blue robes and a hijab with an intricate blue-and-white pattern walked in, followed by Armstrong.

"Here is Healer Nassif," Mediwizard Armstrong said. Harry stared at her; if Armstrong hadn't said she was the Healer, he would had assumed that she was an intern. She seemed impossibly young. She bobbed her head in a quick greeting, a small smile curving her lips as she hefted a massive tome in her thin arms.

"Hello, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy." Healer Nassif glanced from one to another, her brown eyes assessing.

"Have you found the counter-curse, Healer?" Draco asked as he rose to his full, imposing height, voice ringing like a deep bell. This was the voice of the Procurator General, and Nassif blinked rapidly before her gaze slid to land on Armstrong. The mediwizard seemed to squirm without actually moving.

"I apologise for the misinformation," Nassif finally said in soft tones. "Oscar Orion presented with symptoms comparable to that of a curse, but our tests could detect any external source. It is his magic that seems to be the source of the malady."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What?"

The Healer jerked her chin at the book she carried, but did not open it. "I've found something which very closely matches your son's condition. It is called Cassum's Disease."

Shaking his head in confusion, Harry had to ask, "Where would he pick up something like that?"

"It is a genetic disorder," Nassif answered. "Very rare, and usually caused by a gene passed down from both parents. You both seem to have a common ancestor, yes?"

Harry nodded; they were indeed distantly related, a fact which had seemed both irritating and amusing when they'd found out.

"You both probably have the trait for Cassum's. I will test for it to be sure, but I am quite positive," Nassif continued and her expression brightened. In that moment, she reminded Harry of Hermione. "It tends to occur in magically powerful individuals, probably as a selective advantage against—"

"Healer Nassif," Harry cut in; his eyebrows felt as if they were almost touching. "Please. We just want to know how Oscar can get better."

The brightness in Nassif's face dimmed considerably and Harry's skin crawled. "Mr. Potter, I think I must explain further. It is like…hmm." She bent her head, thinking for a moment. "Yes, this may help. It is like a gland, you see? Magical people have a sort of gland which gives us the ability to do what we do."

Harry exchanged a dubious glance with Draco. "Okay," he said, slowly, not quite following.

Nassif nodded at their slumbering son. "In Oscar Orion, this gland is now overactive. It is flooding his system with unwanted magic. His body is cursing itself."

Draco pressed a fist to his mouth and Harry watched as he became impossibly ashen. For his part, Harry felt as if he had been turned to stone.

"There is no counter-curse for something like this," Nassif said and Harry bent his head. The world seemed so heavy, all of a sudden. "But… there is a procedure that may lead to a cure."

"Tell us." Draco actually stepped forward, arms reaching out as if to clutch the slender Healer and shake the answer out of her. Mediwizard Armstrong actually shifted forward as well. He was actually taller than Draco and broader, but Harry had the idea that if Armstrong touched either one of them right now, they would be of a mind to simply hurl him aside, desperate for the information from Nassif.

"Please," Draco whispered, his gaze fixed on Nassif. "I… we will do anything."

"I know, Mr. Malfoy." Nassif's eyes shone as she tilted up her chin to look directly in his face. "It sounds so simple, really: your son's magic may be taught to act differently before his body deteriorates completely."

"How?" Harry and Draco asked at the same time, both their voices echoing in the small room.

"A transfusion," Nassif answered, "of a person with a matching magical signature may reset that of your son's."

Harry slowly held up both hands, palms up, fingers slightly curled. Everyone turned to stare at him; Nassif and Armstrong both sported quizzical air. Draco's eyes were wide and his whole being seemed intent on Harry.

"You can take every last drop of my magic and give it to him," Harry said. If Nassif had required his blood, he would have gladly given it as well. "I'm ready."

"As am I," Draco followed up instantly, even though his gaze remained fixed on Harry. When Nassif's small, rough hands grasped his wrists, Harry actually flinched. He hadn't noticed her approach, not at all.

"Then, please: get some rest," she said and turned his hands so that the palms touched each other as if in prayer. "Your magic must remain strong and stable, to send to your son. We will take care of him for now."

+

Harry sat at the dining table in the middle of the Burrow, allowing the light and conversation to simply wash over him. He was exhausted and desperate, and couldn't seem to focus on the heap of food in front of him.

"You need to eat," Ginny said in her brusque way, setting down a glass of juice to the left of his plate. "If you collapse, then who'll take care of our Oz?"

"Draco, I guess," Harry answered, his voice hollow. The loud discussions paused a little, and in the kitchen, Molly banged around a few pots. Harry sighed and reached out for his fork, digging into the meat and potatoes. Hermione and Ron bracketed him on both sides, just like when they were at school.

His and Draco's magic, though quite close to Oscar's, did not have enough of a match to help reset that rogue flow. All those transfusions had done were to diminish the effects a little, enough that Nassif could bring him up out of that comatose state. He was awake now but constantly groggy. His seizures had actually been one of the few outward symptoms of his magic gnawing relentlessly at his body. Oscar now had to swallow potions regularly, to diminish the occurrence of the convulsions.

Harry ate his meal with very little enjoyment, delicious as it was. All he could think was that Oscar couldn't manage this sort of dinner right now. Ginny was right, of course. He had to stay healthy for Oz's sake. He glanced around the table at the gathering of Weasleys. Directly across from him, Hugo sat with a very long face which aptly matched Harry's current emotional state. On Hugo's left forearm, Harry knew there was a very tiny mark, like a small burn in the skin. He had one, too, as did everyone else in the Burrow right now. Each Weasley had been down to St. Mungo's, to check if their magic was a match for Oscar's. Even Teddy and Charlie had Floo'ed in from Romania to do the tests.

Yesterday, Harry had spotted Lucius Malfoy sitting in the small room across the hall from Oscar's, staring straight ahead as Healer Nassif used her wand to uncoil a shimmering droplet of his magic to test against Oscar's. Nassif ensured that the sample withdrawn would not be enough to use against the potential donor, but still? A pureblood willingly allowing another to just take their magic was a staggering occurrence.

As soon as Nassif had completed the procedure, Lucius got to his feet with some effort, like a man far older than his years. He rolled down the sleeve of his robe and stepped out of the room, pausing when he noticed Harry standing beside Oscar's door. Harry was surprised at the obvious evidence of worry in Lucius's face; a ladder of deep lines marched up his brow.

Harry nodded slowly at him, and just as slowly, Lucius returned the acknowledgement before continuing, robes swishing quietly down the hallway.

"Thank you," Harry croaked now, and only Hugo heard him. The boy's head snapped up.

"What did you say, Uncle Harry?" Hugo asked.

"I said," Harry tried again, a bit more loudly this time. "Thank you."

The others stopped talking and simply watched him.

"All of you. For giving your magic. I—" appreciate it, was how he meant to finish, but his throat felt tight and tears pricked at his eyes. Oh, Oscar, he thought, his heart breaking. Oz, my darling. Please don't leave us.

"Harry," Hermione said from his left and her arm slid behind his neck, hugging him close. Harry hadn't realised he had been sobbing until his face pressed against her shoulder, and he could feel the tears soaking in the material of her blouse. Someone else, Ron more likely, was rubbing his back in awkward but comforting circles. He could hear another person crying as well; sounded like Hugo.

When he finally lifted his head, breathing hard, the dining room was mostly emptied, except for himself, Ron and Hermione.

"Oh, fuck," he said, scrubbing at his face. "I've spoilt dinner, haven't I?" He didn't want to look up and see the pity in his friends' eyes, nor for them to see the dark envy in his face, the emotion that had almost stopped him from coming to dinner today: why his son? He only had the one, everyone else had two or three, why Oscar? He felt impotent anger blaze up in him, and he hated that his magic was not enough.

"No, you haven't," Ron said, simply. He reached out and squeezed Harry's shoulder. "I wish I could tell you that it's going to be okay."

They can't find a match, Harry thought and felt the tears threaten again. I'm going to lose him.

Hermione's grip was like an iron manacle around Harry's neck. "It's going to be okay," she said, quietly and firmly. The tears, no matter how Harry tried to hold them back, trickled down his scruff-covered cheeks. He wondered if Draco cried like this, for he always seemed so composed when they met in the hospital.

"It's going to be okay," Hermione repeated, but Harry couldn't quite make himself believe her.

Harry left the Burrow relatively early, stopping at Tesseract for a few moments. Paul and Ankita seemed confident, but it had only been a few weeks since Oscar's collapse. He went home, meaning to change his clothes and take a nap before heading off to St Mungo's, but he stood in his kitchen for a long, thoughtless moment, just staring at Oscar's favourite green mug, out of which he liked to drink soup.

He Apparated to the hospital without the change and without the nap; he wanted to spend as much time with Oscar. He ran a hand through his hair and hoped that his face didn't seem too tear-streaked, plastered on a smile and entered the room.

Oscar sat up in bed, the map from the Telkhines Chronicles open on his map. Draco sat in the chair beside the bed, his usual post; a set of cards were fanned out in his hands. The blue projection of the game cast an eerie light over Oscar's gaunt face and sunken eyes but the smile that broke over his features was the most beautiful thing in the world to Harry.

"Daddy!" Oscar said in bare whisper. "Papa is horrible at this game."

"I am certainly not," Draco said, scowling at his cards. "I think these weren't shuffled properly. I keep getting things I really don't need."

"He's playing as the Sand Master," Oscar told Harry as he sat down at the foot of the bed. "He's messing up your score."

"And it was a good score, too," Harry said, squinting as playfully as he dared at Draco. "Try and get a Wind Chime, those are really good."

"All I have are a few Sun Dogs and a canteen with no water." Draco sighed and set down the cards, deftly tapping them into a neat stack. "I demand a rematch."

Oscar giggled and then his eyes opened wide as a small convulsion ripped through his slender frame. Draco slipped a hand behind his neck, bracing him gently. Harry quickly closed up the game and gathered the cards, set everything on the desk, which was now filled with folded notes of well-wishes and potted plants (each with a soothing scent, bless Nev's thoughtful heart), and then turned to see Oscar's head lolling to one side, eyes half-closed.

"He's just falling asleep," Draco said, apparently picking up on the flash of alarm which lit up every nerve-ending in Harry's skin, resulting in a rash of gooseflesh. Harry nodded, jerkily. Oscar's uncontrollable magic seemed to strip him of most of his energy, and the seizures devoured the rest. Draco arranged Oscar carefully so that he lay on his side, and they both sat there, watching him breathe.

"Mr Potter?" Healer Nassif called from the door. "Mr Malfoy? Can I speak with you both for a few minutes?"

Reluctantly, they followed her to the same small room in which Lucius had been giving his sample. Nassif had apparently commandeered it as her own. She sat down neatly on one of the four chairs and folded her hands in her lap. They sat across from her, so close to each other that Harry could feel the warmth of Draco's body seeping into his side.

"We have not found any acceptable match in your families or friends," Nassif said. Her voice was extremely steady, and her shoulders were set into a rigid line. "At this point, we can only send your son to be cared for at home, where he will be in familiar, comfortable surroundings. He has, in this state, about eighteen months left to live. Maybe two years, and they will be hard years."

Magic has failed us, Harry thought and he curled his fingers into fists so tightly that his arms began to shake. Draco's closest hand moved and his fingers brushed Harry's knuckles lightly. At the touch, Harry felt himself relax in tiny increments.

In a murmur so low that Harry could hardly hear her, Nassif said, "There is one last option. I do not know if it will be…acceptable to you."

"It already is," Draco said. His voice was rough, as if he had been shouting for days. "Just tell us."

Harry nodded, not trusting in his own voice.

"The perfect match for your son would be a sibling." Healer Nassif glanced from one to the other, the overhead light casting shadows into the neat layers of her hijab. "A person who would have the same parents to create a similar mix of magic, and I would be able to block any trait of Cassum's from developing in the foetus." She took a deep breath. "This would be the greatest chance for his survival and recovery."

They were both quiet and still for so long that Nassif finally began to lose her composure. She leaned forward, her eyes wide. "Sirs?"

"Give us a moment," Draco said, and even though Harry wasn't looking at him, he thought he could detect the hint of a reassuring smile in his voice. "I have no objections at all, but I need to discuss this with Harry."

"Of course." Healer Nassif quickly rose and went out, closing the door behind her. Harry heard Oscar's door open as she entered the room to do her checks.

"You make it seem as if I'm not all for it too," Harry said, flatly. "We can get started right now, if you like."

"We're agreeing to have another child together to save Oscar's life," Draco said, turning towards him with a scowl. "You don't see anything wrong with that?"

"I thought you had no objections," Harry said, raising his eyebrows. Draco made a sound of sheer exasperation.

"No objections does not mean I can't have misgivings, Harry." Draco stared directly into his eyes. "It's like we're making spare parts. And considering your penchant for putting everything out there, this child will grow up knowing that's all we had them for."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Harry glared at him, absolutely incredulous. "You are unbelievable."

That had been such a huge point of contention between them when they'd been together: Draco's declaration that Harry's fame was like a huge spotlight into their private lives. The fact that Harry had agreed to give Luna one interview every two years, just to keep the newshounds off his back, was just another strike against him.

Draco visibly softened. "That was…badly worded." He swallowed and Harry folded his arms. He considered Draco's wan expression for a long beat.

"No child of mine is going to grow up feeling like a spare part, ever," Harry told him, carefully sharpening every word before it emerged. Draco turned away his head, but nodded. "You know that, Draco. And I'm sure no Malfoy would allow their child to feel that way, either."

Draco sighed, gaze fixed on the floor. "Right. Fine. I suppose you'll be carrying again?"

Perplexed, Harry just looked at him. "We both know I'm a better fit for it, magically and physically. Besides, don't you remember how easy it was to get me up the duff?"

It wasn't much of a joke, but Draco actually laughed. It was a rough, rusty sound, but it seemed quite genuine. "I was a bit jealous of you when you had Oscar, I must admit. It seemed as if you'd always have something with him that I would never have."

"Yes, well," Harry murmured, unsure of what else to say. He had actually never thought about it like that before, but he supposed it was true. Besides, they hadn't been on particularly good terms when he had been pregnant with Oscar. Draco might have felt very estranged to all of it.

"We'll have to re-do the childcare agreements," Draco pointed out.

Harry nodded. "And, when you do…stick something in about your father getting to see them." He could feel the sudden pressure of Draco's surprise on the side of his face, like a hesitant caress.

"I--" Draco sighed. "All right. I'll make sure of that."

+

March 2021

"Paul," Gina drawled in her nasal way, narrowing her wide brown eyes at Paul. They stood in the large living area which served as the core for the second level of Harry's house; from this living area, doors opened into three suites: Oscar's, Harry's and a guest room. Harry's home-office was also at this level. The entire structure was a split-level, and one could walk out of a door beside Harry's office into a nice, enclosed garden. There was another garden just off the combined kitchen-dining area downstairs, near the gated entry, but that one was mostly for vegetables….when Harry managed to get them to grow, that is.

Now, Harry shook his head at the stand-off occurring in the middle of the upstairs living room, and he wasn’t about to get in the middle of it. He sat at his desk, facing the living area, and tried to concentrate on an annoyingly thick contract.

"Gina, it can be done," Paul muttered, shoulders hunched as he stared back at the construction supervisor. "I calculated all the supports for the expansion, it will all fit."

"You want me to put another suite up in here? And another office?" Gina rolled her eyes and shook her head; her long black braid shifted from side to side as she moved. "I mean, it could work, but only if you got the spatial expansion just so—"

"I got it," Paul said, his tone still soft, but firming by the moment. "I checked them six times, Gina. You can make it happen."

"Of course I can, just give me a week." Gina wrinkled her nose, and adjusted the bright construction vest which was layered with many protective charms. "Harry, you checked his calculations?"

"I'm sure he got them right," Harry replied. This was Paul's time to shine; he really needed to, for he would run Tesseract with Ankita. Harry had decided to spend more time at home with Oscar, going into work once a week or so. "Gina, he's a great designer, he knows his stuff."

Gina snorted in disbelief, dismissive as always; but Paul's quiet, "Thanks, Harry," was well worth it.

"What's going on?" Oscar's voice called from his bedroom door and Harry hustled out of his office, giving him a big smile. Healer Nassif had sent him home last week with many vials of rejuvenating potions, and one very powerful charm to be cast every morning and evening, all in order stave off the persistent onslaught of Cassum's. Harry had cast the charm this morning, and it had pained him to see Oscar flinch, complaining about the ache in his joints.

"Hey," Harry strode over to him, watching him carefully. Oscar leaned against the doorframe, his chest moving in quick breaths. "I'm adding on some more rooms."

"We're off, Harry," Gina called as she and Paul headed for the Floo. "Bye, Oz!"

"Bye," Oscar responded but he remained focused on Harry. "Why do we need more rooms?"

"Let's sit, I'll tell you." Harry headed towards the brown sofa in the corner. Oscar followed him with determined but laboured steps; Harry had to prevent himself from reaching out and scooping him up, but that would only make Oscar angry; his normal easygoing nature had seemed to develop quite a few fissures, and he would sometimes express his frustration and pain in a sort of quick, frantic rage.

When they'd finally settled into the comfortable cushions, Harry turned to him. "I need more rooms for your Papa. He's going to be staying here as well, and he'll be working at home too." Harry smiled, and it felt very wan. "We'll all be in each other's pockets, won't we?"

Oscar turned a solemn gaze on him. "It's because I'm dying, right?"

Harry held onto his smile, but it was a grim struggle. "It's because he wants to help take care of you while you're sick." He swallowed hard in an attempt to maintain an even tone. "There's another reason, too."

"Oh. What?" Oscar kept staring at him in a curious fashion and Harry tried hard not to make a face.

"Okay." He settled back against the back of the sofa, crossing his legs and laced his fingers around the uppermost knee. "So, Rashidah told you that you needed someone with magic close to yours to help you?"

"Yeah." Oscar smiled a little. He liked Healer Nassif a lot, and she seemed to be fond of him as well. "But she said that there's nobody right now that has magic that matches mine."

Harry nodded. "Not right now. Your Papa and I…" he trailed off, trying to put his words together. "We're going to…we want to try and have a little brother or sister for you, so that they can help you. With your magic." Harry imagined wiping at his brow with the back of one hand. That was far more difficult than he had imagined it would be!

Oscar stared at him for a long time.

"Oz?" Harry asked, worriedly. Oscar blinked quickly.

"You and Papa are going to live together?" Oscar asked in a whisper. "Like you're married?"

"Er," Harry said, a little confused. Didn't Oscar remember that he and Draco had once been married? Well, Oscar had been so young when they had separated. Harry couldn't expect him to connect the concept of marriage to his parents. "Well, yes. In a way."

"That's great!" Oscar seemed to vibrate with excitement. "And a sister!"

"Or a brother," Harry said, exhaling in relief. "So you're okay with that?"

Oscar gave him a look which children seemed to perfect when they thought their parents were being silly. "Yeah."

"It's just that I want you to be a great big brother," Harry went on, still watching Oscar's narrow face. "Would you be able to do that?"

"That's easy, I can do that." Oscar pursed his lips and then seemed to withdraw into himself. His shoulders slumped. "And…you'll have the baby, if anything happens to me. She'll take care of you. That's good, too."

Harry didn't trust himself to speak at that moment. He reached out and gathered Oscar in his arms, even though Oscar's narrow frame went rigid and remained so for a few moments before relaxing against Harry's chest. Harry held him the way he did when Oz was a baby, as he fed.

"We're not having a baby to replace you, Oz. Okay?" Harry waited for Oscar to nod before he went on. "We love you so much, and we're trying to help you get better."

"It might not work," Oscar said with flat pragmatism. Harry leaned so that his cheek pressed against the side of Oscar's head. "Like all those other times." He sniffled. "Even Hugo's didn't work," and his voice wobbled on that last word. Harry closed his eyes.

"We're going to try," he promised, and they sat there together, quietly.

Oscar finally spoke up. "Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"How will you and Papa make a baby?"

"Right," Harry said, because he was very ready for this one, thanks so very much. Hermione had given him a book with an entire chapter on this very question. "What do you think?"

Oscar sat up, looking into Harry's face with a knowing smile. He launched into a very complicated tale which involved a swan, odd ingredients and a very large cauldron. Harry gazed down at him, grinning at this explanation of How Babies Are Made, and every beat of his heart was I love you, I love you.

+

A loud thump sounded on the wall on Harry's home-office, on the side which shared a wall with Oscar's room. He got up from his desk, abandoning a reply to a missive from Ankita. He stepped out into the living area and paused when he saw Draco stepping out of Oscar's room with a small book in his hand.

"Give me back my book!" Oscar screamed from inside the room, rage tearing his voice into shreds. "I hate you, Papa! I hate you!"

Something else slammed inside the room and Harry started forward. Draco shook his head slightly and Harry stopped, pressing his lips together.

"Oscar," Draco said, very calmly. "You need some rest."

"No!" Now, it sounded as if Oscar was kicking the wooden surface of the footboard, albeit very weakly. "Daddy hurt me with that stupid charm, and now you're taking away my book!"

A painful throb took up residence in Harry's left temple and he rubbed at it with the fingers of his left hand, eyes closed briefly.

"We're sorry he hurt you," Draco said, and Harry had no idea how he managed to sound so composed. "We're only trying to help. I'll check on you in a while."

"I don't want to see you!" Oscar cried and his voice broke into sobs. "Papa, it hurts."

Immediately, Draco dropped the book and went back inside. Harry crossed the living area and knelt to retrieve the discarded book. As he straightened up, he peered inside Oscar's room. Draco sat on the bed, one arm wrapped around their son's shoulders. Draco murmured to him, too low for Harry to hear and Oscar's teary scowl gradually diminished.

"And yes, those are quite nice," Draco said, a bit louder this time. "Go to sleep, and I'll make sure to tell Daddy."

"Okay." Oscar slipped down under the covers and Draco rose, smoothing them over the curve of his back. The alert charms were always active, and they took the form of four tiny blue gems hovering next to the headboard. Harry and Draco both had one linked to their consciousness; another was connected to Healer Nassif, while the fourth served as an alert to St Mungo's. Draco glanced up at the gems, checking constantly the way Harry did as well; he exited the room, dimming the lights.

"Papa?" Oscar called out, voice wavering. "I don't hate you."

"I know, my dearest," Draco said and pulled the door; he didn't quite shut it, because Harry left on a lamp in the living room during the nights, and Oscar liked when that light shone into his room.

"What was that about?" Harry asked quietly as he followed Draco into the new office beside his. Draco shrugged but chose to reach for a few substantial binders on a shelf, instead of answering. He flipped through one and put it down just to pick up another, even though it seemed he hadn't focused on a single word. Like Harry, he had cut down most of his office work, but he still seemed to return to the house with quite a bit of it.

Stung, Harry glanced around the space which Paul had insisted on filling with dark wooden surfaces, the walls painted a blue so deep that the whole effect was one of concentrated gravity. Draco's desk had at least six tall stacks of parchment.

"Lots of legal stuff in here," he pointed out and Draco whirled on him with a sudden cool fury blazing in his eyes.

"Do not start with me, Harry," he snapped. "I am not in the mood to argue with you, not right now."

"I wasn't starting anything." Harry tossed the book onto Draco's desk, and folded his arms across his chest. "But it's just the same as it was before, isn't it? You were always so busy, you never had a moment to give us."

Draco sneered at him, but it was a weak ghost of its usual disparagement. "Did it ever occur to you that I was doing all of that for us?"

"I really wouldn't know," Harry answered, his words sharp because everything seemed to be hurting all at once. "You'd hardly say five words to me at a time. Besides, you didn't have to work, we both had enough—"

"It wasn't."

Harry raised his eyebrows at Draco's low tone and waited.

"It wasn't enough," Draco said, biting his way through each word, "because my name wasn't enough. For you, or for him." He jerked his head towards Oscar's room. "What’s the use of Malfoy money to the Wizarding Hero? Anything I had to give you would be all me." His lips pulled into a caricature of a smile. "Of course, I am privileged to have a head-start. I'm not about to forget that."

"Draco." Harry kept his voice as level as possible, "I told you it didn't matter to me."

"It mattered to me," Draco said and turned back to the jerky organization of his documents; it was a testament to his state of mind that he chose to do this by hand, and not use his wand. Harry glanced down at the book which Draco had taken from Oscar, which had apparently been the source of Oscar's meltdown. The Great Little Book of Great Baby Names, the cover declared in cheerful lettering.

"He says he likes the name Gelsey," Draco murmured, tapping a pile of parchment into a neat stack. "It's a flowery name."

"Oh," Harry said.

Draco glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "And he liked the name Aquila, too. Said he wanted an astronomical name for his sister."

"Oh," Harry said, and there was all that, wasn’t there? Just this week, as soon as the expansions to his house had been completed, he'd been to the Healer who had monitored his pregnancy with Oscar.

"You're only forty-one, Harry," Healer Robertson had said in his booming manner, plump cheeks shining as he gave Harry the all-clear. "That's quite young, you know!"

"Young enough for another baby?" Harry had asked, swinging his legs as he sat on the tall padded bench.

Healer Robertson had laughed, then winked. "Oh, young enough for anything."

Now, he wondered, what was the protocol for getting his ex-husband into bed with the express purpose of getting pregnant?

"Why did you ask me to marry you?" Harry asked instead, his eyes fixed on Draco's hands. Those long, pale fingers paused for a moment and then continued with their task.

"I was in love with you," Draco answered, very easily. "I couldn't think of being without you for a second longer. I thought it was the next logical step, for us to get married, what with a baby on the way and so on."

Harry nodded, slowly, letting his gaze drop to the floor between them.

"Why did you say yes?" Draco asked, and Harry should have known he would have followed up with that one. "You weren't in love with me. Why'd you say yes?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know. And you're right," he said, glancing up to find Draco's gaze locked on his face. He didn't shift his own gaze away; he owed Draco that, at the very least. "I wasn't in love with you. I liked you, though. Very much, and I liked being with you. I just thought it would be enough."

"It wasn't." Draco sounded drained. "We were so good together, though. Weren't we?" His expression didn't shift, but there seemed to be a change around his eyes, a hopeful lightening, as if he really needed to hear something good. "For at least six months, I would say."

Harry laughed in spite of that heavy air pressing down upon them. "Yeah, we were," he admitted, for it was true. Their whirlwind romance had been absolutely brilliant.

"I mean, we had the chemistry and everything," Draco said. "But that connection we had… it fooled us both, I suppose."

"Yeah," Harry said and swallowed hard. "Hey. Come make a baby with me."

Draco's laugh emerged from his lips quietly, like a series of soft sighs. It didn't sound much like a real laugh at all. He put down the papers and shrugged, even though now his gaze didn't quite meet Harry's. "I'm ready when you are," he said.

Harry released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Okay," he said, and inclined his head to the direction of his room. "Let's go."

+

The first time they had sex, Harry remembered it as a blurred exchange of kisses, lips smoothing over hot skin, hands everywhere. Now, in Harry's room, every move they made seemed sketched in deliberate, heavy lines. Draco stood one side of Harry's bed, unfastening the silver buttons at the top of his collar. Harry was on the other side, removing his shirt, trousers and underwear, leaving them on a pile on the floor to slide under the covers. They'd already taken the potions to boost fertility, which had seemed more air than liquid and had had a bittersweet taste.

Fully nude, Draco turned and pushed back the duvet on his side. Harry eyed the long lines of his body. They'd both gained weight, and it showed in the softening curves of their abdomens. As soon as Draco settled against the pillows, Harry turned onto his side and reached for him, stroking the silky skin of his penis.

After some long minutes of Harry's increasingly awkward caresses, Draco murmured, "I'm going to cock this whole thing up, aren’t I?" His expression seemed so impassive, at odds with the desperate tinge in his voice as he remained soft under Harry's fingers, the head of his cock hiding in its foreskin. Harry stilled and then moved his hand away; he was half-hard himself, and half-heartedly so.

"It's two of us in here," he pointed out. "So if something is going to be cocked up, then it's the both of us to blame. Although I'm hoping that you'll be doing more cocking than me."

Draco burst into low, strained laughter, but at least he turned his face towards Harry and that horribly blank look from a few moments ago. "Yes," he agreed, the sides of his mouth curling upwards. Harry had always liked this particular smile, hesitant yet sweet. He shifted forward, and pressed his lips right against that charming little curve. Draco's lips parted as soon as Harry licked at the seam of his lips, one hand resting lightly on Harry's shoulder. When Harry shifted closer, sighing as they deepened their kiss, Draco's hand shifted around to the back of his neck, thumb moving slowly across the lobe of Harry's ear.

Harry slid his fingers against his chin, his neck, touching the hard planes of his chest. He pulled back briefly, smiling at the small sound of complaint from Draco's throat. He felt his smile widen a bit more at the flush in those high cheeks, and the intent sheen in those pale eyes. Draco touched his mouth with the fingers of his other hand, a flutter of fingers, and Harry dipped close to kiss him again. This was… this was good. It was nicely familiar, because he had always enjoyed kissing Draco, always luxuriated in the flicker of his tongue and the taste of his mouth.

Draco murmured something against his lips when Harry clambered over him, straddling his hips. Harry drew back and asked, "What?" in a throaty tone he hadn't heard from himself in a long while, but Draco shook his head and went back to their kiss. He cupped Harry's face in both hands now, as if afraid he would rear back and bolt through the door. There was no chance of that, really, not with Harry's hands roaming his broad shoulders and strong arms.

Harry pressed down his hips, and oh, now they were both hard and beautifully hot against each other. A thrill scorched its way right to his groin as Draco moaned softly, kiss-swollen lips parted; that sensation seemed to seep from his prick in a singular wet pulse. Harry could hardly remember that one wordless spell they had learned to use whenever they were in a rush and couldn't be bothered with their fingers and tubes of gel. It came to him after some hazy mental meandering, and he muttered it. Even though he cast it, he still flinched at the cool, slick feeling inside him, that sensation of fullness which ached to be real.

Draco's hands slid down to his hips, not losing contact with Harry’s skin the entire way. He exerted a very slight upward pressure, coaxing Harry even more up on his knees, not that he needed that much coaxing. He reached between them and gripped Draco's cock, casting the spell again to cause slick to coat his palm, and he rubbed it up and down the veiny length, circling his thumb over the slit.

"It's been a while for me," Harry said as he sat back a little, pressing the thick head of Draco's prick against his wet hole. He braced one hand against the side of Draco's head. "Just so you know."

"I can relate," Draco said, watching him from half-lidded eyes as Harry sat back even more. He helpfully let his knees apart and didn't squirm about as Harry sank unto his cock, both of them breathing hard when Harry took him in fully. Draco's hands were a solid warmth on his hips; Harry thought he could feel a very fine tremble in those fingers resting against his skin.

"Wait, don't move," Harry said, even though Draco had remained quite still. He grinned when Draco just gave him a look. "Okay. Ready?"

"I suppose," Draco said, and there was that drawl he used whenever Harry had done everything possible to drive him crazy with need, and he still managed to hold onto his control with that blasted Malfoy grip. Harry huffed, moving up a bit too fast in challenge. He gasped at the tinge of pain, going still.

"Wait, take your time." Draco's tone was gently scolding. "You're so tight."

"Is that a complaint?" Harry tried again; a little better this time, especially when he leaned forward, nipping Draco's lips.

"It's an … observation."

The last word was more of a groan than anything else, and Harry pressed fully against him, recalling how wonderful it felt this way, sprawled over Draco, bodies moving in ever increasing rhythm. "Harry," Draco gritted out, his hand gripping the globes of Harry's arse. When he spread them wide like that, Harry felt the cool air against the join of their bodies.

"Hmm?" Harry sat back, thighs burning as he rocked back and forth on Draco's prick. He tried to squeeze around the erection inside him, and Draco seemed torn between arousal and a fond sort of exasperation. Draco brought his knees up, feet planted flat so that he could get some leverage to push up, and so he did. Harry actually laughed as he bounced in Draco's lap.

Draco smiled back. There was something in that smile that stopped Harry; he went still, just staring at Draco's face as if noting a detail that had always been there.

"Harry?" Draco gazed up at him in concern. "What—"

"Take me from behind," Harry croaked out, because he suddenly couldn't bear to be facing him. He climbed off and yanked one of the pillows to rest under his hips as he lay down on it. After a moment's pause, Draco draped himself over Harry's back, prick sliding up into him smoothly.

Harry moaned, and shivered.

"Are you all right?" Draco murmured in his ear.

"Yes." Harry turned his head to give what he hoped was a reassuring kiss. "Aren't you supposed to be getting me pregnant?"

"I want--"

Draco cut himself off, and drew back to press his forehead to the back of Harry's neck. He quickly set up a pace which forced a choked sound out of Harry with every thrust. Harry found himself going fully up on his hands and knees, greedily taking as much of him as possible. He was so hard, cock jutting and Draco didn't touch him at all, at least not there; he kept one palm splayed over Harry's stomach, the other gripping one of Harry's, fingers laced tightly together. Harry jerked roughly at his own prick with his free hand, reaching desperately for that taunting release. It broke from him in sudden hot spurts, dripping onto the sheets, and Draco moaned as Harry tightened up around him.

His mouth was open against the curve of Harry's neck as he came a few moments after, hips grinding roughly against the curve of Harry's arse as his cock pulsed inside. Harry's arms trembled and he sank down, barely having enough presence of mind to avoid the damp spot of his own come. Draco was heavy and warm, the skin of his chest sweaty against Harry's back.

"Hot," Harry complained after a few moments and Draco slid off, limp prick slipping out of Harry.

In a moment, Harry told himself, he would get up and charm the sheets clean, but not yet. His body felt delightfully languid and he really should give it some time; getting pregnant was the important part, and that thought pushed him into a state of unwelcome awareness.

He felt a cool touch on his back. Draco, of course, trailing his fingers from the top of Harry's cleft, all along up the valley of his spine to his neck, and back down again. He liked doing that; Harry liked it when he did that, and he found himself relaxing once more.

"Draco," he murmured, drowsily.

"Hmm?"

"You said Oscar, earlier. Not Orion." Harry said. The tickling caress paused for only a moment.

"They're both his names, aren't they?" Draco said, and went back to and Harry felt a smile creep over his face, even as he fell asleep.

+

December 2021

Harry stretched out in the brown sofa, pillows a soft mountain against his back. He flipped through a set of reports from Ankita and Paul, making notes in the margins to remind himself for clarification. They were both doing really well, despite their differing design styles.

Tucked against his side, between his body and the back of the sofa, Oscar slept. The side of his face pressed against the curve of Harry's belly, and his mouth was half-open. Oscar had been chatting to the baby just a few moments ago, but exhaustion had overtaken him, wrestling him into submission. The monitoring gems twinkled near the plush arm of the sofa, hovering nearly right over Oscar's messy head.

Harry looked down at his too-thin face, and at the bony arm thrown across Harry's swollen midsection. He seemed to be withering away very quickly. The baby began to move and stretch, the very activity that Oscar had been pleading for just before he fell asleep, but he didn't wake up.

"You're completely wicked," Harry said quietly to his belly, even as Oscar drooled against his shirt. "You could have done all this when he was awake."

The baby was unrepentant; the baby continued to wriggle.

Harry leaned over in order to set the sheaf of paper and his quill on the carpet, and began the ponderous task of getting himself up out of the deep, soft sofa. Oscar clutched at him for a moment, but Harry gently freed himself. He levered himself to his feet with a fair amount of ease and grinned with tired triumph at the squat Christmas tree which decorated the corner of the living area. A few presents were already under the tree, including one from Oscar to his soon-arriving sibling.

After tucking an afghan over Oscar, Harry headed for the stairs and climbed down them very slowly and very carefully, holding onto the handrail the whole time. He had wanted to experiment with constructing an open-ended wizardspace, a kind of tunnel with one end at the top of the stairs and the other end at the foot, but Paul had made noises about a wormhole effect and Ankita had flatly reminded him that there was actually a point where wizardspace could become negative space. Finally, they'd simply told Draco what he had been contemplating and Draco had put his foot down.

Harry sniffed to himself as he stepped off the last tread and went past the pantry, heading into the kitchen proper. That tunnel would have been brilliant and he wouldn't have had to climb up and down the stairs on his questionable ankles.

At the stove, Draco quickly stirred something in a large pan. A Malfoy house-elf sat in the corner of the airy kitchen, wringing her hands together. Tinsie resembled Dobby greatly and rightly so: she was his older sister. That was probably the only reason Harry had grudgingly allowed Narcissa to send her over. That, and the fact that apparently she helped care for Oscar when he spent time at the Manor, and the little boy absolutely adored her.

"Mr Harry," Tinsie said, rising up from her stool. "Please to be telling Master Draco that I is to be doing all the cooking!"

"I'm almost finished." Draco's tone was very absent; most of his attention was bent on the recipe book hovering in front of his face. "But you helped. Didn't you, Tinsie?"

"Only cutting up the vegetables!"

Tinsie slumped back into her stool, folded her arms across her apron-covered chest and scowled. Harry gave her a commiserating smile and wandered over to stand close to Draco, glancing into the pan. Draco seemed to be attempting a sort of stir-fry, and it looked tasty. A few nights ago, he'd done up a wonderful curry. Harry had shamelessly devoured two servings.

"Taste this," Draco commanded, turning to Harry with a spoonful of meat and vegetables. Harry did as requested and nodded, eyebrows raised in appreciation.

"I was about to tell you to let Tinsie get a chance, but I might have to hold that thought," Harry said. Draco gave him an easy smile, and went back to stirring the food. Tinsie flounced from her corner and went upstairs. Harry watched her go with some amusement and then turned back to watch Draco fuss over a pot of steaming rice.

The cooking was nice; Oscar seemed to eat more when Draco cooked, and Draco approached it as if he was doing his Potions N.E.W.T.s all over again. Harry just stood there, gazing at him. The baby flexed imperiously, and Harry grunted, pressing a hand against his side. It had taken a bit longer to conceive than they'd thought, but this amazing kicking baby would be here in a less than a month, and then Oscar would get better. He would.

That was all Harry wished for; when Oscar had penned his letter to Santa two nights ago, he had asked for that, too.

Draco had turned to Harry when he let out that sound of aggrieved pain, pale eyebrows arched.

"All right there? Harry?"

Harry tilted his head down, indicating his large stomach under the worn material of his shirt. Draco looked down and his eyes went wide at the slow ripples apparent under the thin cloth.

"Driving me mad, this baby," Harry sighed. Draco snapped off the heat under the pots, and set down his cooking utensils. He turned, and rested his hands right on Harry's belly gently. His touch was very light, fingers warm. He did that often; he seemed to enjoy it and Harry found that didn't mind it at all.

"Was Oscar this active?" Draco asked, looking down with a little smile on his face. "Oh, feel that."

"I'm feeling it," Harry said, a little grumpily. "No, he was a bit quieter."

"Mmm." Draco's thumbs moved slowly. "This is absolutely amazing," he murmured and Harry looked up at his face, so close. They'd fallen into the habit of quick kisses, and it was all fantastically domestic; this was a far different life than when they'd been married. Now, he swayed close, tilting his face up expectantly. Draco's mouth barely brushed his when a buzzing sound filled Harry's ears.

They blinked at each other, and Harry could see anxiety flood into Draco's expression. That sound, which now seemed to vibrate in Harry's teeth, was the alert from those ever-present monitoring gems.

"Oscar," Draco murmured and stepped back. Harry felt a clenching pain deep in his stomach and his breath seemed to be stuck in the back of his throat. The pain, thankfully, didn't seem related to the baby.

"Go on," he said. "I'll use the stairs."

Draco nodded and stepped around, disappearing in a swirl of wispy light and colour. From the living area above, Harry heard the soft snapping of the air being displaced as he appeared up there. Harry hurried to the stairs and clomped up them as fast as he could manage. About halfway up, he felt the wards ripple inwards and knew that Healer Nassif had arrived. At the top step, panic rushing through him, his legs seemed to twist around each other and he stumbled. He pitched forward, centre of gravity compromised, and barely had time to wonder how he could turn so that he wouldn't land directly on his front; a few inches from the floor, he jerked to a stop, arms already spread in an attempt to break his fall. He could feel the soft tufts of the carpet brush against the bulge of his tummy when he took a deep, shaking breath.

Raising his head, he saw Draco down on one knee just a few feet away, his wand-arm flung out. His grey eyes were very wide. Draco's outstretched arm shook, ever so slightly and he inhaled in a very controlled manner, murmuring another spell on the exhale. Harry felt the secure cloak of Draco's magic pulling him up very gently, until he was set on his feet again.

"Thank you," he said, his heart thudding in his chest. Draco's shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes briefly as he nodded. Harry glanced over to where Healer Nassif bent over Oscar on the couch. Harry clenched his fists very tightly and walked over to where Draco still knelt on the floor, reaching down to help him up. Draco's hand gripped his as soon as he rose, and they both gazed helplessly at Oscar's shivering form. He appeared unconscious, and Harry thought very hard at him, telling him that he would be okay, that they were here for him.

Tinsie stood right beside Healer Nassif, her wrinkled arms held over Oscar's twitching body; her eyes were wide, and her mouth was pulled back in a grimace of concentration. Healer Nassif looked in their direction, her expression carefully blank.

"Her magic has a far better stability factor than ours," Nassif explained, nodding towards the little house-elf. "But she can't help for much longer." Her gaze dropped to Harry's large belly. "Mr. Potter… how far along are you?"

"I'm due on the seventh of January," Harry croaked. Nassif bit her lower lip, and her gaze dropped to the ground. She had the air of someone attempting double-sided arithmantic equations in their head.

"We will have to take a chance," she finally said, fixing both of them with a direct stare. "Your baby should have developed enough magic to help, but…" She turned her head to consider Oscar, and the rigid lines in her face seemed to tighten even more. "His condition is so very grave. And your baby is still so very young."

Through the dark-red roaring in his ears, Harry heard Draco say, "Will… the procedure harm the baby at this stage?"

Healer Nassif visibly swallowed. The plan had been for Harry to give birth, and for another month to pass before attempting the magical transfusion. "I cannot say," she said and Draco's fingers tightened over his. Harry's free hand crept to cover his stomach. "It has never been attempted before, not like this."

I'm going to lose everything, Harry thought with such a sudden and clear desperation that it felt like a premonition. Oscar, this new and wondrous thing blooming with Draco, and the baby, whose gender he had not wanted to learn because he had thought it amusing to be surprised, and he'd had a running bet with Oscar; everything. The world spun around him, and the focal point was Draco's hand in his.

"Will Harry be adversely affected?" Draco asked and Harry looked at the side of his face in surprise. Draco's jaw was clenched and he looked as if he was in court, smartly dressed in his persona as the public prosecutor. Harry had once listened to one of his cases on the wireless; he had poked numerous holes into the arguments of the defence with ease. If only, Harry wished, he could talk away Oscar's illness. That would beat it to a pulp, without a doubt.

"Draco," he called, tone gentle. Draco didn't look at him. His grip was now so tight that Harry's fingers began to tingle.

"Draco," he repeated. Draco shook his head and closed his eyes. "Stay with me?"

He meant for when they would have to do the transfusion in the hospital; then again, he didn't quite know what he meant. He did recall when Draco had proposed marriage, the both of them wrapped up in each other, sheets tangled around their legs. Draco had said stay with me.

"Yes." Draco breathed out immediately. "I will."


+

June 2023

"Pack!"

The last of the scattered belongings launched themselves towards the open box, some of them diminishing in size as they crammed themselves inside. Harry twirled his wand, and the flaps of the box snapped shut. Another twirl, and the box shrunk down. Harry picked it up and placed it in his pocket with the others, He looked around the now empty space, and he couldn't help a wistful smile from twisting his lips. He had put this off for too long, but it couldn't be a little boy's room now. Not anymore.

He stepped back, right in the doorway and raised his arms like a conductor. It was indeed a symphony; he had to keep all the strands of calculations in his head in order to alter the current wizardspace configuration. He gently nudged a line of support systems in order to create a deep bay window and charmed the space smaller. The shelving system which had taken up an entire wall would remain and he changed the colour scheme from that deep olive which had been Oscar's favourite, to a mixture of purple and grey.

Satisfied with the layout, he quickly placed the new furniture and took a good long look around before stepping out into the living area. The house was so quiet. Too quiet. He decided that he would never get used to this sort of stillness. It pressed close, and took up far too much space.

He was just about to convince himself to head to his office and concentrate on some work, when green flames erupted in the Floo and Draco stepped through, bending in an awkward fashion and straightening as soon as he cleared the threshold. He had a bemused expression on his face, and his hair was standing on end, mostly due to the fact there was a one-year-old sitting on his shoulders, yanking heartily on the pale strands.

Behind them, Oscar stepped in, his face brightening as he spotted Harry. He slipped around his harried Papa, who was now trying to convince the little girl that eating his hair was not the most advisable choice at the moment, and made a beeline for Harry.

"Aunt Cissa wouldn't let us go!" Oscar complained with a smile. "She's sent tons of clothes for us, it's ridiculous."

Harry gave him a one-armed hug, looking down into his face. Oscar still seemed far too thin for Harry's liking, and ordinary childhood ailments like a cold seemed to be magnified in his still-compromised physiology; but the recent tests had indicated that while his levels of magic seemed low, they were also regenerating at a heartening rate, and there was not a single trace of Cassum's.

Draco swung the little girl from his shoulders into his arms, the dark-haired baby whose cleansing magic had helped reset that of her brother's. Aquila Gelsey, who by unanimous agreement shared the family name of Black with Oscar, was stubborn and plump, declared by Draco to be the very image of Harry, and very, very loud.

"Bahpah!" she yelled now, scowling as she twisted in Draco's grip.

"Aquila, for crying out loud," Draco said, trying to hang on, but she turned towards Oscar and stretched out her arms pleadingly, little hands clenching open and shut.

"Osser," she begged, and babbled to the effect that Papa's regime was unacceptable and Oscar's assistance was required in order to attain freedom.

Oscar went over to her immediately. He held open his arms, raising his eyebrows with a trace of Malfoyian haughtiness when Draco hesitated. With an aggrieved sigh Draco deposited her into his care. Aquila squealed and patted Oscar's cheeks with her fat palms, then hugged him around his neck tightly.

"Did you finish her room, Daddy?" Oscar asked, turning around and hefting his sister so that she sat more comfortably in the crook of his arms. Aquila pressed her forehead against his cheek, and they both gazed at him with eyes so like his own. "Is it nice?"

Harry nodded to Oscar's old room, now designed for his sister's use. "Go on, give it a look."

Oscar set Aquila on her feet, holding her hand so she wouldn’t dart off as she was wont to do. He led her with a smile, exclaiming in delight when they walked through the door. The room which had been created for Draco was now his, since Draco and Harry shared a suite.

"Mother did send a lot of clothes," Draco said, looking at him with a small smile; Harry thought he looked handsomely rumpled, dressed in a sturdy pair of trousers and a nice shirt with long sleeves. "Apparently she thinks we have the children roaming the yard naked."

Harry smiled back. "Molly keeps sending knitted hats. As Oz would say, it's ridiculous." He sobered a little and shuffled his feet. "Remember I have that interview with Luna. It's tomorrow, and Molly's over at Ginny's. So maybe Tinsie could watch Oz and Aquila at the Manor…or, oh, you could probably take them to your office—"

"Oh, no," Draco said, his smile growing wider. "The last time I took them in, no one got any work done. And I literally lost them at one point. Don't you remember my frantic Floo-call?"

"Yes, well," Harry said, his cheeks warming as he laughed. He also recalled yelling at Draco, something he hadn't done in quite a while…but he was trying, and learning. They both were. Besides, Oscar had taken care of his sister, having fed her by the time Draco had located them in the Ministry's cafeteria.

"I had planned on taking tomorrow off, but I don’t mind staying here when you're doing your interview," Draco said with deceptive ease. "Unless you'd rather be alone—"

"I'd love if you all were there," Harry rushed to say. He bit his lip so he wouldn't beam up at Draco like a right idiot, but he felt as if he couldn't help it. "If you want. You can…you'll stay?"

Draco's whole face was warm and open, his eyes shining. "We'll stay."

+

The Quibbler
August 13, 2023
THE STARS IN HIS LIFE: HARRY POTTER EXCLUSIVE REPORT
-Luna Lovegood
(Photos by Erica Dennyson. See spread, pages 54-55)

It is sometimes difficult to interview Harry Potter. He is not arrogant, nor does he seem particularly disinclined to answer most of my questions. However, Harry Potter is a man trying to maintain balance: with his fame, his career, his re-established connection with Procurator General Malfoy, and his children, one of whom had been seriously ill two years ago. To schedule this particular interview, for example, there had been quite a bit of back-and-forth for months.

"It's been kind of a mess," Harry laughs as we sit in the middle of his backyard under a rustic pergola just outside the kitchen. "A wonderful mess, I must say."

"How do you do it?" I ask, and he just smiles even more.

"I'm not even sure," he says. "But I think I'm just doing the best I can."

The best seems to be more than adequate. His construction company, Tesseract Spatial, has expanded into two locations: Changsa (Hunan Province, China), and Manaus (Amazonas State, Brazil). In addition to his design and production output, Harry Potter lives comfortably among constellations: Draco Malfoy, his ex-husband (a term they both still oddly use to refer to each other, despite their spouse-like interaction), is considered to be one of the most successful prosecutors in the Wizarding justice system; Oscar Orion Black, a quiet boy who seemed to have an encyclopaedic memory of all the newest virtual Wizarding games; and Aquila Gelsey Black, who attempted to bite this reporter on the kneecap and was thankfully distracted by her brother.

I ask Harry Potter about the rumours concerning his daughter's existence in relation to his son's illness; I ask him how he has managed to reconnect to a person with whom he had such a volatile relationship. Yet, even as I do so, I am convinced that he will choose not to answer this particular line of questioning.

Harry has a tendency to surprise people.

"My son had been very ill," he explains, the leaves of the creeping vines in the pergola casting shadows onto his face. "He nearly died. And what saved him was my daughter's magic. When she grows old enough, we want her to know that's she's precious to us… because of, and then also in spite of all that." He falls into a contemplative silence for a few moments before speaking up again: "Draco? Draco has always been a part of my life, one way or the other, hasn't he? We weren't right for each other, not then."

"And now?" I press. He laughs a little.

"We just had to grow into what we needed to be for each other, I think."

He answers my questions but, as the hour plods past, the words suddenly don't matter. I recall, when it comes to Harry Potter, words usually don't. He has always been a creature of action, and emotion. When he looks at his children, when he talks with them, even as he scolds them, the timbre of his voice resounds with hope and pride. Draco Malfoy passes by only once, greeting me gravely before collecting the children from the garden so that they can have lunch in the kitchen. I see Harry's smile as they speak together. It is bright, and calm. It is the smile of a man who has learned to live among stars.

+


fin

---

More A.N.: Harry and Draco's son in this is based on my brother as a child; he was a super-sweet kid and remains a super-sweet dude.




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