lomonaaeren

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Chapter Twenty—Fulfilled Promises

“Harry? Harry, are you there?”

Harry strode quickly into his Floo room, frowning. Hermione almost never Flooed without warning; in fact, sometimes she would owl him to ask if she could Floo. And he hadn’t heard her sound like this in years, harassed and with an edge to her voice that said she was worried and trying not to show it.

“I’m here, Hermione.” Harry bent down in front of the fireplace. “Are you all right? Ron? The kids?”

“I need to tell you something, and I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.” Hermione leaned back on her knees on her side of the fire and looked so tired that Harry stared at her again in alarm. “Not even Molly and Arthur.”

“All right,” Harry said slowly. If they had been taking care of Jamie, he would have thought it was something about his son, but Jamie and Sapphire were in Jamie’s bedroom at the end of the corridor getting ready to go to Draco’s. “What is it?’

“Ginny had her baby a week ago.”

Harry stared at her. “What?” That would have been right after the last time he’d seen her. “I thought the baby wasn’t due for a month or so.”

“Yes, it wasn’t.” Hermione licked her lips. “She went into labor, and the Healers thought it best to bring the baby out now rather than try to subdue the contractions. They can do that, there’s a potion, but…but they decided not to risk it. Anyway, Ginny and the baby are both all right. Physically.”

“Something is wrong. Come on, Hermione, please tell me.” Harry shook his head when she looked at him. “You had some reason for Flooing me, and I—I don’t love her anymore, not the way I did, but I still care about her. She’s still Ron’s sister.” No matter how much she tried to opt out of being Jamie’s mum.

“You know that kids don’t usually have accidental magic until they’re a few years old?”

“Of course.”

“Magical babies who are born premature are different. It’s fairly normal for them to have bouts of magic in the first few days. Summoning their toys or their bottles, if they’re drinking from them. Or a blanket. Or warming themselves up if they’re cold.”

“All right…”

“Ginny’s baby—he’s called Alex—manifested his premature magic in a different way.” Hermione swallowed. “He spoke Parseltongue.”

Harry sagged back against air, and had to scramble to catch himself. “I suppose that—that’s possible because it’s a magical language,” he whispered. “Not something you can just learn or—have to learn like English.”

“Right.” Hermione’s face twisted. “Ginny—I’ve never seen someone so afraid. She started screaming, and the mediwitches had to take the baby out of the room. They gave Ginny a Calming Draught strong enough to knock her out, finally. But she refuses to look at him or nurse him, so right now Molly’s taking care of him. And Ginny keeps talking about how you must have corrupted her son somehow.”

Harry snorted bitterly. “And it doesn’t come about because she was possessed by Tom Riddle, of course.”

As he spoke, Harry reflected that he ought to have known, ought to have suspected, before this. Ginny had been marked by Voldemort, just not physically in the way that everyone else had, with a scar or a Dark Mark. It obviously wasn’t necessary for both parents to be Parselmouths to have a child who was, since Scorpius’s mother hadn’t been one. And just because she could blame Harry for Jamie didn’t mean it was impossible for Ginny to have a child who had the language himself. Hell, she could probably understand and use it. She’d just never tried, or managed to pretend she couldn’t.

She’s locked inside that trauma. You know that. This isn’t about what she really believes or whether she’s a good or bad person. She’s traumatized.

Yes, she was. But for the first time since the breakup of their marriage, Harry felt ready to acknowledge that at a certain point, it didn’t matter. He didn’t have to scream about Ginny in front of Jamie or tell him his mum was a bad person. He also didn’t have to passively go along with her accusations or act as though her idea of stepping back from addressing her trauma was a good one.

“Harry?”

Harry blinked and focused on Hermione, who was looking worriedly at him, as if she thought he would storm out the door and go find Ginny and yell at her. He shook his head. “Thanks for telling me, Hermione.”

“And?”

“Thanks for telling me,” Harry repeated firmly. “As far as I’m concerned, this doesn’t have anything to do with me unless Ginny or someone else asks the Parselmouth school for help.” He couldn’t see Ginny doing that, not in a million years, but he wouldn’t say that aloud. “I’m not the father of her baby. Her accusations are just ridiculous, and there are going to be fewer people who believe them now. I hope she gets the help she needs, but I can’t provide that help.”

Hermione nodded and reached up to rub some tears and weariness away from the corner of her eyes. “All right. I—I thought you would be upset because there are people who could believe what she’s saying and try to hurt you because of it.”

“I’ll handle that if it happens. Draco will help me.”

Hermione peered at him. “Does Malfoy have something to do with the reason that Rita Skeeter’s been arrested as an illegal Animagus?”

Harry smiled at her.

Hermione smiled back, finally. “All right. I hope that everything is fine for you, Harry. Now I really need to go get some sleep. I was with Ginny and Seamus all night, but Ron’s going to take over now.”

“All right. Sleep well, Hermione. I hope everything works out.”

Hermione nodded and shut down the fireplace. Harry stood there staring at the hearth for a long moment, and allowed himself to imagine what it might have been like if Ginny had accepted Parseltongue, accepted that she could understand it, and remained married to him.

It was hard to imagine, actually. Things had changed so much when she’d rejected Jamie that Harry not only couldn’t really conjure the images but didn’t want to conjure them. He’d chosen his son, and no matter how many mistakes he’d made in the last few years, like just hiding in the house, at least he hadn’t made the mistake of trying to hang onto his marriage.

And now, he had Draco. And Harry didn’t want to give him up.

“Daddy, Sapphire and I are ready!”

Harry turned around with a smile that he allowed to be genuine blooming across his face, and scooped up Jamie from the floor. Sapphire floated in his bag next to them, and Sela slithered in from the corridor. She’d been supervising Jamie and making sure he didn’t take too long to get ready.

“Everything all right?” Harry asked, as she slithered up his leg.

“They are fine. But too bouncy.” Sela curled up on his shoulder and added, “You do not smell as though your conversation with your friend was relaxing.”

“It wasn’t,” Harry acknowledged, turning his head a little so that his cheek just touched Sela’s scales, before he turned and blew bubbles against Jamie’s neck, making his son squirm and laugh. “But we can wait to discuss it, and it’s a situation that I can’t do anything about one way or the other.”

Sela gave a soft, skeptical hiss, but said nothing as Harry gathered Jamie close and flung Floo powder into the fire. “Malfoy Manor!”

*

“Creighton will behave.”

Draco held back a smile as he nodded to Greg. Greg was always anxious to reassure Draco how his son would behave when he visited, whether that was to play with Scorpius or just classes at the school. Creighton Goyle was actually the gentlest child Draco had ever met, but he suspected that, because the boy was big, like Greg, Greg wanted Draco to be sure that Creighton wouldn’t break vases and the like on purpose.

“I’m sure he’ll have a wonderful time,” Draco said, steering Creighton towards the section of the room where Scorpius and Pansy’s little cousin Mindy Parkinson were already arguing about Gobstones. They were both too young for a proper game, and mostly tossed them back and forth and made up games of their own. “Are you and Romilda going to Diagon Alley for that dinner you told me about, or Hogsmeade?”

Greg flushed. “Nah. Going to Paris. Celebratory dinner.” He hesitated, clearly struggling with something.

“Well,” Draco said, and smiled at him. “Then I hope you’ll tell me when you’re ready to share the news.” Privately, he suspected that Romilda was probably pregnant, but he wouldn’t force his friend to tell him before Greg was ready.

Yet another change in the way we used to be in school. Draco could do nothing to make up for Vince, for the way Vince had died, but he could treat Greg better than he had used to, and so he did.

“Yeah, Draco. Thanks.” Greg beamed at him and turned around to leave, his snake slithering behind him.

Draco looked up as the Floo whooshed and Harry stepped out, Jamie in his arms. He couldn’t help the smile stretching across his face and was kind of glad it hadn’t happened in front of Greg. He wasn’t the only one who could have some good news that he wanted to keep secret until the right time.

“Draco.”

Harry’s eyes flashed with a certain heat that made Edwina, coiled on the floor near Draco, hiss a little in disgust, and Harry’s Sela in amusement. James was already squirming to be put down, and Harry did that, visibly adjusting the spells so that Sapphire in his water bag would stay with the boy as he ran. Jamie piled over into the corner with Scorpius, Mindy, and Creighton, and they started arguing in Parseltongue with a smattering of English.

“Harry.”

Draco hoped that none of the children looked over then, and no one else came through the Floo. His eyes and smile would have revealed the truth, absolutely, to anyone but a fool who saw him looking at Harry.

Harry smiled and reached out to clasp his shoulder. For a moment, Draco’s whole being seemed to pivot and leaned on that touch.

Harry swallowed and took his hand back. “Did you want to take the kids out into the gardens first, or are we going to do something with them in here?”

Later, Draco, Draco reminded himself. Focus. If they didn’t exhaust the children this afternoon, there was every chance that they wouldn’t sleep through the night, and he and Harry wouldn’t be able to have the closeness Draco had been dreaming about.

“I think the garden should come first, while the weather’s still fine,” Draco said, and they set about herding the children out the door. Edwina announced that she was going to sleep in the sun, and Draco hissed back an absent answer. She didn’t like being around this many children when they weren’t sitting in class or playing a game or doing something else that meant they wouldn’t run around and trample on her.

Sela, though, seemed perfectly happy to come with them and entertain the children in the garden, including contorting her body into weird shapes that she claimed were runes and hissing a nonsense story to go along with it. Even Creighton, the last of the children to take any interest in the story, was laughing by the end.

And so was Harry, his eyes lingering on the group in a way that made a new thought enter Draco’s head.

I wonder how Harry would feel about more children?

*

“You’ve seemed upset about something since you came over. Did you want to talk about it?”

Harry blinked and looked up from the last of his lasagna, which was really exquisite. Draco was sitting on the other side of the table from him and toying with his own fork, eyes fastened on Harry.

“Not upset, exactly,” Harry said. “But Hermione told me something surprising before I came over. But not surprising at the same time.” He took a sip of the wine Draco had served and sighed. “Hell.”

Draco laughed. The sound seemed to get into Harry’s stomach and do a better job of intoxicating him than the wine did. He looked down at his plate and swallowed another few bites, while Draco waited, his arm propped in a way that made Harry wonder if Mrs. Malfoy had never said anything about keeping one’s elbows off the table.

Or maybe Draco had decided that he was an adult now and didn’t care.

That thought made Harry smile. He put his fork down and said, “Hermione told me that Ginny’s baby was born—prematurely, because they didn’t expect him to be born for another month. His name is Alex, and premature babies often have bouts of early accidental magic.”

“Yes?”

Draco’s voice had gone flat and neutral. Harry eyed him for a minute. “You don’t have to listen, Draco, but I’d prefer it if you said that, instead of shutting down like this.”

Draco’s eyebrows snapped together, but then he sighed and shook his head. “Sorry, Harry. I simply think that I’ll never take any mention of your ex-wife well.”

“I don’t want to go back to her, you know.”

“I know. But she hurt you, and we already had that row about whether you’ll let me hurt her in revenge.”

Draco’s voice was getting petulant now. Harry rolled his eyes at him. “Do you want to know what Hermione told me or not?”

“You haven’t told me, but I think I can guess. The baby’s a Parselmouth, and he spoke it because of how early a premature baby’s accidental magic can manifest, and now Weasley is declaring that you’re the bane of her existence and must have corrupted her child in the womb, when anyone with a touch of sense would have known that her being possessed by an artifact of the Dark Lord would have had a high chance of giving her Parseltongue.”

Harry blinked and then closed his open mouth, because Draco probably didn’t want to see down his throat. “I—you made a good guess.”

“I always thought it was odd that Weasley blamed you entirely for your son’s Parseltongue when she was marked internally by him.” Draco shrugged. “I didn’t ask about it because I didn’t know if you’d thought about it, or if you wanted to talk about it at all. But yes, when you started to talk about her child being born early, it was clear to me what had happened.”

Harry let out a sharp breath. “I don’t want you to punish her, you know.”

“You made that abundantly clear.”

“But sometimes I like to think about you doing it.”

Draco blinked. Then he smiled a little. “The way you liked to think about me tormenting Bandler before I did it?”

Harry nodded, flushing. This felt more intimate than kissing Draco, or the conversations they’d had already about Harry’s past and what his relationship with Ginny had been like—the few times they’d touched on it at all. He might have swallowed the whole bottle of wine, from the warmth he felt climbing through him.

“Well.” Draco stood and walked around the table, but came to a halt halfway to Harry. “I think Scorpius and James are definitely going to sleep through the night, and Creighton was snoring before we even left the room. Mindy is a little trickier, but at least she won’t wake up for several hours. Are you…”

Harry took a deep breath and reached up to unwind Sela from around his neck. “Go elsewhere, snake,” he said, and tapped her lightly in the middle of her back so she would know he was joking.

Sela climbed down his arm to the side of the chair and dropped to the floor. “You overestimate the interest the mating habits of humans hold for me.”

“You weren’t making any motion to leave yourself.”

“You underestimate my interest in teasing you,” Sela replied, with a shake of her tail that was her own playful response, but she slithered out of the room and left him and Draco alone. Edwina had already departed.

Draco smiled at him, but remained standing where he was. Harry understood. He needed to see that Harry took this seriously, too, and wanted it too. Otherwise, it would be easy for him to believe it was all his own desire and that Harry would walk away again.

Harry had done his share of walking away for a lifetime. He didn’t intend to do any more of it.

He stood up and covered the distance between them in a few steps, then reached out and clasped the back of Draco’s neck to draw him close. Draco came willingly, but seemed confused when Harry pulled him against his shoulder, instead of kissing him.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered into his hair. “If you could know how much you’ve done for me, what you’ve made me feel about myself, and what you’ve done for Jamie—well, I hope you do know, because I don’t have the words for it.”

Draco raised his head, eyes bright with something more than gratitude or pride, and kissed him hard then. Harry leaned back on the table as they kissed, Draco’s mouth pressed so fervently against his that Harry’s lips almost went numb, Draco’s hands clutching at his shoulders like claws.

“Come to bed with me,” Draco whispered.

And Harry let his breath out, and chose what he knew had been coming for a while now, but wasn’t official until they both agreed.

“Yes.”