Chapter Text
Harry was both correct and incorrect. When the first baby came, nothing went wrong.
Medically, anyway.
But everything that wasn’t medical? That all went wrong.
Draco was upstairs in the shower when Harry felt the first twinge, four days before their scheduled appointment. When Draco heard Harry’s shocked cry, quiet though it was in the en suite, he fell out of the shower, ending up tangled in the shower curtain with a welt on his forehead. In his rush to get ready as Harry shouted at him from downstairs, Draco ended up wearing two different shoes (both left feet), plus he forgot his pants. On account of the two left feet, he nearly fell down the stairs (so, almost a medical problem) on his way to the drawing room.
When he got downstairs, he pulled Harry into his arms, gave him a tender kiss … and then went through the Floo without him. When he came back through the Floo, red-faced, Harry pulled him into a second, fiercer kiss.
“Keep it together, you freak,” Harry whispered.
Then Harry forgot his bag of supplies, and made Draco go back for it while he checked in.
When Draco arrived at St Mungo’s for the third time, Harry had been whisked to the maternity ward (Draco told them in a snotty voice that they should change the name). Perhaps in response to his snottiness, the witch at reception asked him for proof of relation to the patient.
“He’s my boyfriend,” Draco said.
“Can you prove that?”
“Have you ever looked at the bloody Prophet? We’ve been on the cover at least five times in as many months,” Draco snapped.
“Did he sign paperwork allowing you to join him?” she asked in a bored voice without looking up.
“Well, I don’t know,” Draco said, exasperated. “I wasn’t here. You were just the one presumably giving him the paperwork to fill in. So, you tell me. Did he sign the paperwork?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose private information about a patient.”
“There are three patients, two of whom are my children,” Draco said in a deceptively calm voice. “And if you do not let me in to be with them—much less my boyfriend who is currently holding my children hostage in his person—I swear to Merlin, I will not stop until I—”
“Draco!” came a shriek from somewhere down the corridor. Everyone in the queue jumped. “Draco, where the fuck are you?”
Draco turned to the welcome witch, who was dabbing at her ear like it might be bleeding. “Is that approval enough for you?” Draco snapped, then strode down the corridor without waiting for her reply.
Not two minutes later, Draco was being tasked with sending Patronuses to Hermione and Ron, who wasn’t on shift at the moment but who had promised Harry that he would attend the births. (He also sent Patronuses to Molly, Pansy, and, with only a bit of hesitation, his parents.) Beyond that, all Draco could do was pace next to the hospital cot, then realise with a snarl of frustration that he was doing exactly what Healer O’Toole had said he would. He’d pause, place both hands on Harry’s cheeks and give him a tender kiss. Seconds later, he would run a hand through his hair and, with a little groan, resume his pacing.
* * *
After about ten minutes, Ron swept in, hair sticking up all over the place and robes askew, but otherwise looking alert. Harry was sitting on the hospital bed, jiggling his knee; Draco was pacing again.
“Where’s O’Toole,” Draco snapped. Harry held out a hand, hoping to help Draco relax. Ron rolled his eyes and drew his wand. “She’ll be along. Back off, Draco, give me room to work here.”
Draco took a small step back and continued to lurk as Ron took Harry’s vitals, then handed him a glass of water.
“Water? That’s what you’re going to offer? Water?”
“Would you like some?” Ron asked. “Or perhaps a calming draught?”
“I am perfectly calm!” Draco snapped.
“Draco,” Harry said, sounding perfectly calm. “Draco, come here.”
Draco sat on the hospital bed. Harry put an arm round his shoulders. Behind him, Ron cast a diagnostic on Draco. He gave Harry a little thumbs up, then rolled his eyes again. Harry grinned.
Harry fussed a bit about being made to lie down, but eventually, Ron and Draco convinced him to get into the hospital cot to await Healer O’Toole’s arrival. Draco perched himself on the edge of the bed, plucking at Harry’s clothing. Harry was proud of keeping a handle on his fraying patience, because it took everything he had not to snap at Draco. Draco didn’t look like he cared. Harry smiled despite his annoyance.
Ron finished discussing something with the mediwitch, who bustled out of the room, and came to sit on the chair near the cot. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Harry felt Draco tense beside him. Harry watched, curious. He knew Ron well enough to know there was nothing wrong—this was not the body language of Ron when something was wrong. But he was nervous about something.
After Ron’s third sigh, accompanied by Draco’s third worried glance, Harry sighed, too. “Ron, you’re freaking Draco out. What is it?”
“I’m not freaking out,” Draco said, but he still looked a bit twitchy.
Ron sighed again. “You remember when you asked me to look into that stuff a few months back? When you wanted to…”
“To get pregnant again, yeah.” Harry looked at Draco. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up, that’s the only reason I didn’t tell you. Ron, did you find something? It’s a little late, don’t you think?”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can’t help get you pregnant again, but I found something else out. About the wishing magic.”
Harry narrowed his eyes as Ron turned to Draco. “You felt left out. Because Harry got pregnant without you.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “Draco, you never said—”
“Shut up, Weasley, why would you say that?” Draco snapped.
Ron rolled his eyes again. He really had a terrible bedside manner for a healer, Harry thought. Harry plucked at Draco’s sleeve.
“Draco, why would you feel left out? You’ve been with me every step of the way! From the moment I told you, you—”
“But I wasn’t actually part of it!” Draco burst out. “I was just a … a hanger on. Like one of those people following you around for attention. You didn’t need me. You didn’t need me at all. You got pregnant without me—twice!—and I couldn’t even—“
“Can I just—”
Harry ignored Ron. “Well for one thing, I did need your genetic material, so just because it was your sodding spit instead of semen doesn’t mean you didn’t contribute.”
“Actually, I—”
“Shut up, Ron,” Harry said. “And for another thing, I’m the one who trapped you in this relationship by holding the Malfoy heir hostage! I fucked it all up by being fucking insane and wishing for you to put babies inside me before we’d even started dating. And I’m sorry, Draco, you deserve better than that.”
“No, see, the thing is—”
“Just a minute, Ronald,” Draco interrupted, before sliding off the cot and turning to cradle Harry’s face in his hands. “You’re perfect. I wanted you from the beginning. I’ve wanted you for ages. Not just because of the babies. I want the babies, yes, all three of them. I want them desperately.”
“So, if I could just—”
“Shut up, Ron,” Harry and Draco both snapped. Ron flung his arms in the air and sat back down.
“Darling,” Draco said. “I don’t know if I’m enough for you. I don’t know how I possibly could be. But I’m going to try to be. Forever, if you’ll let me. Not because of the babies. Because you’re you. And I don’t know how to make you believe that except to tell you, over and over, every day until I die. I want you for you. And I want to have babies with you, so this is really rather convenient,” he added, looking down at Harry’s belly. “But I’d want you without the babies.”
Harry could feel his lip trembling. “Draco, you are enough. You were always enough.” He paused, frowning. “Well, maybe not when you were an annoying little toerag, but recently!”
Draco gave him a wry look. “Not the most romantic declaration I might have imagined.”
Harry laughed. “I love you so much I wished for two babies. That should make up for the lack of romance. I just don’t want you to feel trapped with me. Your father—” Harry broke off.
Draco froze. “What the fuck did my father do?”
“He just said … he said something reasonable.”
“That really doesn’t sound like him,” Draco said, and behind him, Ron snorted.
Harry waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t even remember. It was the shower, first, and then a few comments at teas. It was all about duty, and loyalty, and … I just don’t want you shackling yourself to me. The babies, yes, you’re shackled, that’s done. But you don’t have to—“
“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” Draco said. He was smiling. He looked tired, and scared, and exasperated, but over all that, he was grinning like a fool. “I’m not allowing you in my Father’s presence unattended ever again. I never imagined he’d be able to get his claws into you. Never imagined you’d pay enough attention to anything he said for it to even be a risk.”
Harry frowned. Draco rolled his eyes. “He was manipulating you, darling. He was trying to get you to feel guilty and sacrifice yourself so that you’d leave me.”
Harry paused for a moment, then looked furious. “What a bloody—”
“Yes, darling, shocking revelation though it is that my father is an unmitigated tosser, can we not make today about that? You haven’t trapped me.”
“He really hasn’t,” Ron said, “because—” Draco kicked him, and Ron shut up again.
“I want to be with you. Like I said. Forever, if you’ll let me.” Draco leaned in to kiss him, then pulled away, brushing the hair out of Harry’s eyes. “Move in with me?”
“What?”
“Or, well, rather, may I move in with you? To Grimmauld Place?”
“Is this really the time?” Ron asked.
“Shut up, Ron,” Harry said, voice a bit breathy now. His eyes didn’t leave Draco’s face.
“Of course it’s the time,” Draco snapped over his shoulder. He turned back to Harry, hands still on his cheeks. “Well, it’s past time, really. I want to live with you. And, for that matter, I don’t want my domicile to be different from that of my children for one minute.”
Harry glanced over Draco’s shoulder. Domicile? Ron mouthed, his sarcasm clear.
Harry grinned. “Yeah, Draco. We should share a domicile. Honestly, I kind of thought you moved in around the time you started sleeping in my bed every night.”
“That was because you needed to shag approximately ten times a day.”
“Gross.”
“Shut up, Ron,” Harry and Draco said, and smiled at one another.
“So I can?”
Harry nodded, feeling something loosen inside him. “Do we need to do something to make it official? Do I need to tell the house it’s your domicile?”
Draco smirked. “The house already knows, darling. The instant you accepted.”
“Come here—oh, feel that? He’s ready.”
Draco dropped a kiss on Harry’s belly with a little coo, then captured Harry’s lips in a second, deeper kiss until Ron cleared his throat ostentatiously behind them.
“If you’re quite finished,” Ron said, “Can I tell you the part about how actually Harry didn’t trap you, and actually you did help, because actually, you wished for the pregnancies too?”
Harry and Draco snapped their heads to look at him.
“What?”
“As I was trying to tell you, I did some research. When Harry wanted to make sure Healer O’Toole wasn’t missing anything. And in the process, I started learning more about the wishing magic. It’s called grav—”
“Graviditatis cupientis, yes, we know, obviously,” Draco said in a dismissive tone. Harry wrinkled his nose at the Latin. Sure, all right. Of course they both knew that. Obviously.
Ron glared. “Well, as you know, it’s rare. It’s extremely rare. So rare that even the head healer of obstetrics at St Mungo’s hadn’t done extensive study into it. So we both found it rather fascinating when I found an old book about it.”
At that moment, Harry winced. “I think this baby is getting ready to make a break for it,” he said, and Draco placed a hand on Harry’s stomach.
“Can you get on with it, Ronald? What is the point?” Draco asked.
“The point is, both parents have to be participating in the wishing for any pregnancy to take.”
Draco turned back to Ron. Harry, who had been rubbing his belly, stopped and looked over, too.
“Wait, what do you mean?” Harry asked. “I thought it was my wish.”
“The wish of the gestating parent is vital, yes,” Ron said. “That’s what everyone always focused on, because everyone treated wishing pregnancies as some way of trapping someone. Like Malfoy senior and the whole ‘stolen heir’ bit.” Harry made a face. “But both parents have to be wishing—at the same time, in fact—in order for the magic to complete the ritual. It also depends on all those other things Healer O’Toole talked about, of course. That’s why not just anybody can get pregnant from wishing.”
Ron folded his arms and looked down at Harry. “But you didn’t trap Draco into anything. He played just as much of a role in these pregnancies as you did.” He turned to Draco. “And you. Well, even if you hadn’t been involved in the wishing, you were still participating, but you knocked Harry up just as much as he knocked himself up. Both times. So both of you—” He straightened and put his hands on his hips. “Stop being such fucking idiots and get over yourselves.”
Unfortunately for Ron, it was at that moment that Healer O’Toole walked in. She frowned.
“I’m starting to think you might have an idea with that whole ‘public shaming’ thing, Mr Potter,” she said as she strode over. Draco smirked at Ron as he flushed. “That’s not how we give new parents medical news, is it, Healer Weasley?”
Ron sighed. “No, I suppose not. Not even when they’re being idiots?”
“Not even then, I’m afraid,” Healer O’Toole said.
“Well now, let’s see here,” she added, glancing over the chart Ron handed her. “Your vitals are good, dear. Any pain?”
“Just discomfort. Almost itching.”
“Good, good, that’s normal. Well, a few days earlier than we expected, but nothing to be concerned about. I’m just going to run some of the more advanced diagnostics on you before we get started. Should only take a few minutes. An hour or so and baby number one will be out in the world!”
Draco slid into an awkward crouch to put his arm around Harry’s neck while Healer O’Toole began casting a complex diagnostic spell over Harry’s stomach.
“So,” Draco murmured. “I helped.”
“You helped,” Harry agreed. “But I already knew that.”
“And you want me? Really? You want me to move in?”
“You can’t take it back now. You have to share my domicile!” Harry grinned.
Draco snickered. “I won’t take it back. I wouldn’t.” He stroked his hand down Harry’s cheek.
“I never felt trapped,” Draco whispered. “Not for one second.”
Harry smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by Healer O’Toole.
“Salazar’s scrotum, what on earth?”
Draco whipped his head round to peer at the diagnostic, not that he knew what it said. Ron had stepped up too, wand drawn as though there might be some sort of threat he needed to defend Harry from.
“What is it?” Harry asked, voice quiet.
“Well, I don’t know quite how to say this…”
“Quickly, please,” Draco said, sounding very worried.
“No, no, there’s nothing wrong, it’s just … I appear to have made an error.” She frowned, murmured a few words under her breath to Ron, then pointed at something on the diagnostic. “See there, Healer Weasley?”
“Oh for the love of—” Ron turned an exasperated look on Harry and Draco. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” O’Toole said. “Your first try didn’t go so well, as I recall. May as well give it another go.”
Harry could feel Draco’s hand tightening in his. He felt a fluttering of hope in his chest. Ron grinned, and Harry knew.
“You’re bloody impossible, you know that, mate? You’re pregnant. Again.”
Harry felt Draco’s hand squeeze tighter. He didn’t have to look up to know that Draco’s eyes were shining and his smile was dazzling. But he looked up anyway, because why wouldn’t he want to see that.
“You did it,” Draco breathed. “The Boy Who’s Impossible.”
“We did it, Papa,” Harry said. “Because you’re exceptional.” Ron made a disgusted noise as Draco laughed and leaned down to kiss him once more.
One Year Later
“Why did we decide to outnumber ourselves?” Harry called from the babies’ bedroom. “Why on earth did we think this was a good idea?”
“You started it,” Draco said, wandering in with Anthea in his arms. Harry turned away from Scorpius to admire the picture Draco made. His hair was mussed; he had spit-up on one shoulder (and would surely throw a fit about it when he realised); his other shoulder had a towel flung over it to protect from more. He was paler than usual, had dark circles under his eyes, and his lip showed signs of him chewing nervously on it when up late with Anthea, who had been fussing something terrible the last few days.
Harry didn’t think he’d ever looked more stunning.
Anthea was gurgling happily in his arms, her golden curls a bit darker than Draco’s hair, but her eyes the same silver.
“I believe Ron confirmed that we both played an equal role,” Harry said, putting one hand on his hip. “And you’re the one who decided that I’d ‘challenged’ you to have three. So you can’t use that ‘it’s all your fault’ excuse on me.”
Draco let out a ponderous sigh. “Small price to pay for feeling like I contributed.”
“Well, Anthea is all your fault, surely,” Harry said, leaning over to kiss her cheek before turning back to Scorpius.
“All because of me, I think you mean. And she’s perfect—you’re welcome.”
Harry grinned and nodded. She was perfect. They all were.
“Where’s Altair?” he asked.
“In the kitchen with his mémère. We have a few minutes of quiet before the chaos descends.”
“Your mum spoils him, you know.”
“So does Molly, but he deserves a little spoiling. Not like I had. Somewhere between your childhood and mine, I think.” Draco wrapped an arm round Harry’s waist and leaned down to kiss Scorpius’ dark brown waves as Harry lifted him. Draco leant in again to kiss Harry.
Harry sagged into Draco’s embrace for a moment. “One year ago today. Can you believe it?”
“Three birthday parties in seven months we’re looking at. We didn’t really account for that part of things, did we?” Draco murmured.
“I was thinking the other day,” Harry said quietly, dropping his lips to kiss Anthea’s head again. “They’re all going to go to Hogwarts together.”
“Merlin, don’t get me started crying already, you monster,” Draco said, and his voice did sound a bit thick. “No regrets though, right?”
Harry hoisted Scorp higher on his hip. He drew his wand and did a cleaning charm on Draco’s shoulder, then reached a hand up to neaten his hair. “Not one single regret, Draco. Come on, let’s go celebrate Altair’s birthday.”
Molly and Arthur were arriving when Harry and Draco got downstairs; Molly had an enormous cake in her hands. Arthur immediately filled his own arms with an armful of Scorpius. Harry reached out to help steady the cake.
“Hello dears,” Molly said. “It’s chocolate with ganache; I hope that’s good?”
“Molly, I daresay you’ve never made a bad cake in your life,” Draco replied. “But I speak on behalf of the entire party when I say yes, chocolate is ideal.”
“And the fact that chocolate is your personal favourite?” Harry asked, taking Anthea from him.
“A coincidence, no doubt,” Draco said with a prim nod as he helped Molly adjust the cake on the large table they’d conjured in the drawing room. Harry rolled his eyes.
“Where’s the birthday boy?” Arthur asked, blowing a raspberry against Scorp’s cheek.
“Right here,” said Narcissa, sweeping into the room, Lucius a few steps behind her.
Altair looked mutinous in the little jacket and tie Draco had begged Harry to let him dress him up in. He was a perfect blend of his parents. His hair, much to Draco’s delight (and feigned dismay, though he made sure to never so much as joke about it when Altair was in earshot), was as untameable as Harry’s, curling and frizzing and sticking up every which way. Its colour, however, was the palest blond. His skin was darker than Draco’s, but lighter than Harry’s. He had Harry’s mouth, and Draco’s nose, and pale green eyes that were almost grey. It was uncanny, really. No one would ever doubt that he was their child.
At that moment, Narcissa gently pulled one of her earrings out of Altair’s grasp. He let out a shriek of frustration, and three lightbulbs burst.
When Ron and Hermione came tumbling through the Floo moments later with Rose and Hugo, everyone in the room was shrieking in delight (well, the children were just shrieking) at Altair’s first demonstration of accidental magic.
“On your first birthday,” Draco said, lifting Altair and kissing him all over his face. “Darling, you’re so exceptional. Just like your Daddy, aren’t you.”
“And his Papa,” Harry added. “You’re exceptional too.”
Harry and Draco kissed. Lucius and Ron both made identical disgusted noises, then looked at one another in shared horror. Draco smiled and kissed Harry again.
“Come now, Father,” he said, straightening and snatching Anthea back from Harry. “Keep up that attitude and one might think that you weren’t overjoyed that your son has found love and happiness with his boyfriend and the three grandchildren they brought into your life. Merlin alive, someone might think you were the type to try to manipulate his boyfriend into thinking he wasn’t good enough, and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
There was a frisson of tension in the room as everyone looked between Draco and Lucius. Draco’s posture was unreadable to anyone but Harry and Narcissa. Harry saw Narcissa’s eyes narrow the tiniest bit as they flicked towards her husband. Harry was impressed that Draco had restrained himself from saying something for a full year.
Lucius’ face was unreadable for one moment before he sighed and shook his head. “You’re correct, Draco; of course, I would never want anyone to think such a thing of me. I hope you both understand how … overjoyed we are to have you in our lives, Mr—Harry.”
“Likewise,” Harry said. “It’s a real thrill.”
Lucius snorted, but his lip twitched.
Any remaining tension broke when more people came tumbling through the Floo just as there was a sharp rap on the front door, and within minutes, the party was in full swing.
Five hours later, Draco and Harry were lying in a heap on the sofa. Draco held a sleeping Scorpius and Altair in each arm while Harry rocked a fussing Anthea. Molly was bustling around them; she’d insisted on cleaning up after the party, and then had taken it upon herself to do some additional cleaning, as well.
“We never should have let her have so much chocolate,” Harry said as Anthea let out a tired scream but refused to let her eyes fall shut.
“She loved it,” Draco said sleepily. “And I think you’ll recall that that is your fault.”
“I wasn’t even pregnant with her that night,” Harry muttered. “The timing’s all wrong.”
“You kept eating that ice cream for months, don’t pretend you didn’t.”
“It’s very good ice cream,” Harry muttered.
“Hmm, it’s Very Harry, anyway.” Harry kicked Draco, but gently, not enough to disturb the boys. Harry smirked to himself as he remembered Draco sitting up just as Molly started to cut the cake, saying, “Oh, I forgot. I bought ice cream!”
Harry had had a bad feeling, but he did love ice cream, and the children who were old enough to speak (plus Ron) were all chanting “Ice cream! Ice cream!” so he couldn’t very well complain.
Of course, then Draco appeared back in the drawing room with a tub of Very Harry … and a bottle of squirty cream.
“I hate you,” Harry murmured into his ear as Hermione demonstrated how the can worked to a fascinated Arthur.
“No you don’t,” Draco replied, dropping a kiss on his cheek.
Molly swept back into the room. “All right dear, dishes and laundry are done, and I put some soup in the fridge for you. Do you want me to give it a go with her?”
Harry looked down. “She’s finally starting to settle,” Harry said. “I think she’ll be asleep soon. Better not chance it.”
“All right, then, we’ll leave you be. You did a great job,” she said, kissing Harry’s forehead and stroking back his hair. He relaxed into her touch; he’d always been a little nervous that he wouldn’t have this, after he and Ginny broke up. She moved to the other side of the sofa and dropped a kiss onto Draco’s forehead, too; he stirred a bit from where he’d been dozing.
By the time Draco had blinked his eyes open, Molly and Arthur were gone, and everything was quiet again. Draco peered around.
“Time for bed?”
“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. “Can you get them?”
“I’ll manage,” Draco murmured. Harry watched as Draco fumbled around to stand without waking the boys, then headed quietly back upstairs, rocking Anthea as he did. He let Draco take the lead on bedtime—Draco whispered stories to them every night, just like he had done when they were in Harry’s belly—passing Anthea to him when he’d put the other two to bed.
They slumped side by side in the doorway for a few minutes, leaning into one another’s warmth. Draco flicked his wand once, and a soft glow emitted from the ceiling; twice, and the monitor charm set.
“Come on, darling, let’s go to bed,” Draco said, brushing his lips against Harry’s temple.
Harry let Draco take him by the hand and followed the next room over. They were both soft and sluggish, moving past one another to brush their teeth and wash their faces. Harry stood there for a few minutes in the bedroom, watching as Draco dropped his cufflinks in the little bowl on the chest of drawers, unbuttoned his shirt, tugged his vest over his head. When Draco started unfastening his belt, he spoke without looking over at Harry.
“See something you like, Potter?”
Harry grinned. “Yeah, I do.”
Draco kicked his trousers off and crawled onto the bed towards Harry clad in only his pants.
“You cannot possibly have the energy for this,” Draco said, sitting back on his heels as he pulled Harry’s shirt over his head and reached for his flies. “You really are insatiable, aren’t you?”
“Hmm, I hope so. I hope I can never get enough.”
Draco pulled Harry’s mouth down to his as he tugged down his pants and trousers. Harry kicked one leg to free it, then climbed up into Draco’s lap.
“Put a baby inside me tonight?” Harry asked with a little smirk.
Draco smiled, but then paused. “You just—not literally, right? Because I think three—”
Harry laughed and leaned down again. “Three’s just perfect, Draco.”