Unlikely Beginnings

“Harry, you’re pregnant! I knew it!” Hermione gushed happily, her eyes bright with happy tears. She was happy for Harry, and it was obvious to her who the father was. She had come to accept the idea of Malfoy and Harry together. The more she had thought about it over the weeks they had been gone, the more she’d come to understand how well they fit together. Mainly, how much they might need each other; what they may be able to give each other.

Ron, on the other hand, didn’t completely share her views. He had accepted his friend’s relationship, yes, but that didn’t mean he agreed with it. There was too much animosity built between the Weasleys and Malfoys for him to ever think Malfoy was anything less than a dirty, rotten, Muggle-hating, frilly-haired scum sucker. And he would make quite sure any and everyone could quote him on that.

Oh… bugger, Ron conceded, knowing that no one in the room would agree with him. So he simply sighed, gave Harry a wan smile, and sneered at Malfoy, taking a moment to actually just look at the blond, judging him. A few lines in his forehead eased, but only a bit. Maybe Malfoy wasn’t so bad, but he’d have to see about that.

Without another word, Ron turned and left the room, knowing that people needed time, and he needed time himself to cool off. He was extremely happy to have his friend back and alive, but everything he’d just found out (Harry and Malfoy having a baby, no less) was way too much for him at the moment, and he really didn’t feel like getting into any fights or arguments. Especially as delicate as Harry was now: pregnant. Merlin… he was having a baby… Malfoy’s baby! Ron shook his head to himself, crossed the threshold and was out of sight.

Harry frowned at Ron's sudden departure, looking at Hermione questioningly. She sighed, her smile waning just a little bit, and she lowered her eyes just a fraction to toy with a loose string on his blanket. "He'll come around eventually, Harry," she said softly to his fretful expression, her attempt at a bright smile faltering. “Just give him time.” She leaned forward, placing a kiss on Harry’s cheek.

Hermione straightened and looked at Malfoy, who scowled at her, still giving him a bright smile. He hesitated, giving her a blank look at the beam before lifting the corner of his mouth to smile back, though it looked more like a grimace than a true smile. She giggled inwardly at his poor attempt (but at least he’d made an effort), turning to go after Ron.

Harry was upset that Ron walked off, but he knew his friend. He was just rankled by the news Harry was not only shagging Malfoy (who had been a pain in their arses for the last six years), but had also gotten pregnant with Malfoy’s child. If it had been Ron who this weird situation had happened to instead of him, he’d have been confused and not a little angry, too.

“All right, now!” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed suddenly, brashly breaking the silence, startling Harry. “Out! Shoo! I’ve got patients who need private attention!” She waved her hands towards the visitors, herding Blaise and Neville out (Blaise glaring at the mediwitch while Neville looked a little scared) along with Dumbledore and McGonagall. Pomfrey didn’t even bother trying to make Draco leave when he gave her a look that said, “I know Dark hexes that would make Grindelwald flinch. Don’t tempt me."

She moved to where a pensive Lupin was seated, but as she came in sight, he said firmly and flatly without looking up at her, “I’m staying.” The mediwitch frowned at this, but let it slide. She didn’t have the time to argue, certainly not with werewolves, Death Eaters and menacing fathers-to-be.

Remus squeezed Severus’ hand in comfort as he began having odd convulsions. Severus was awake and grunted as his body shook a little, giving Lupin a sidelong glance as his hand tightened ever so slightly around his. He wasn’t sure why Lupin was staying, by his side no less, but he privately appreciated the company; though it’d be a cold day in Hell before he let the werewolf know that.

Harry, who’d been watching the exchange between his professors with mild interest, winced in sympathy for the man who just helped save his and his child’s life. His ‘family’s’ life? Was Draco a part of his family now? He wasn’t sure; he didn’t know how he really felt about Draco, even after getting to know him and carrying his child. It was all just so…bizarre. Harry broke from his preoccupied thoughts as he felt Draco move to sit beside him on his bed, slipping an arm around Harry’s waist to hold them both up on the bed. Harry swallowed, offering the blond a feeble grin.

Definitely bizarre.

@>*~

Lupin kept watch over Snape, thanking heaven that it was a Saturday, so he wouldn’t have to leave Severus to go teach classes. He leaned forward, pulling up the sleeve of Severus’ robes, keeping back--just barely--a curse as he saw the Dark Mark there almost bubbling and burning the skin around it red.

Seemed the Dark Lord was punishing Snape via the mark, and it was working, as Severus grunted out in pain once again. Remus, sympathy scrawled across his face, looked up as Pomfrey briskly came back over to them, carrying a bottle of some type of red liquid.

Harry and Draco, who were across from Snape, continued watching their professors with rapt attention. When Pomfrey had stopped next to Snape, Lupin saw the red liquid, which looked like blood and most likely was, as she smeared some onto the Dark Mark (which felt cold and made Snape scowl at the mediwitch). Whatever it was supposed to do, it seemed to be working as it stopped the Dark Mark’s bubbling and Snape looked to be breathing better. Lupin sighed, relieved.

As soon as Madam Pomfrey walked off again, Remus pulled out his wand and pointed it at the Mark, muttering a spell that the two boys watching couldn’t hear. Some of the red blisters began to fade, easing innocently back into his pale skin, only to flare up again right away, making Snape cry out in pain, uncaring of all who had heard him.

Remus sighed, putting his wand away. He gently placed his hand onto Snape’s forehead, smoothing the hair away, trying to soothe him. Severus immediately slitted his eyes open, looking at Remus, glaring, even though a bit of thankfulness showed through also. After a moment, Severus closed his eyes once more and grimaced in obvious pain. He kept trying to calm his breathing, biting his lips so hard they bled, or maybe to think of something else, but neither was working very well. He was resigned to have quite a fitful rest tonight.

The two boys saw Lupin whisper something to Snape, too low for either of them to hear, before getting up from his seat and making his way out of the hospital. He glanced at Harry and Draco briefly, a sad look on his face, as he walked past them.

Remus knew he was a dark creature, even if he wasn’t out slaying people left and right. Because he was a dark creature, it wasn’t really helping for him to be so close to Severus while trying to fight another dark aspect of dark magic, but he had done all he could, which wasn’t much. He sighed; he felt useless. Utterly useless.

Lips pursed and mood considerably darkened, he made his way as quickly as he could through the school to his office. He needed to look for a way to take the Mark off, because until the Dark Lord got bored with hurting Severus--which could be a very long time—odds were, he wouldn’t stop. So he needed to fix it; hopefully one of his books held the answer.

Draco needed to speak to Lupin, but hadn’t wanted to interrupt his professors. So when Lupin had gotten up to walk out, Draco, having watched Lupin slouch toward the exit with a pensive, if defeated, expression, decided it was now or never. He had a feeling his professor might head to his office, so Draco had stalled for time. “Harry, I’ll be right back. I need to speak to Lupin,” he said to the curious boy sitting beside him. “I should be back fairly soon.”

“Okay,” Harry replied, leaning back against the bed and closing his eyes, as he felt a bit tired. Draco placed a brief kiss to his lips before getting off the bed and making his way out of the hospital wing, after Lupin.

@>*~

Draco stood in front of Lupin’s office, peeking in as the door stood open and he heard Lupin muttering to himself as he looked through many different books. His professor’s desk was literally strewn with books, some on the verge of toppling off the desk and onto the floor.

Draco took a steeling breath and rapped his knuckles on the open door, startling Remus, who nearly dropped a particularly thick tome before he said, “Enter.” The blond walked inside the office, face masked with a sneer at the sight of the mess Lupin called an office, and stood before the professor’s desk. Remus frowned a moment at Draco’s expression; it was one that meant the visit was not going to go over well. “Mr. Malfoy,” he cautiously greeted, wariness lacing his tone. “To what do I owe this visit?”

The blond took a moment before replying, “What happens to Harry now?”

Lupin’s brow creased. “What do you mean?” Remus asked, raising an eyebrow at the blond boy across from him. He immediately imagined the worst: was there something wrong with Harry?

Draco wasn’t sure how to begin, looking at the floor, feeling Lupin staring at him. He felt mildly disconcerted with the werewolf staring at him; it gave him chills, even though he knew his professor wouldn’t harm him, at least not at school. He still didn’t know if Lupin was going to try and keep him away from Harry and his child, but he’d be damned if he was going to just sit back and let it happen. “I meant about having the baby,” Draco elaborated.

“Oh,” Remus began, sighing inwardly in relief. “Well, Harry will stay here until he gives birth, which is going to be about half as painful as you imagined what Professor Snape may be feeling,” he said, pulling his chair out and taking a seat, bones popping audibly, gesturing for Draco to do the same in the chair across from his desk. “He isn’t female and there are no spells--that I know of anyway--that can make him one. He may have to give birth from the same area the baby entered, so to speak.”

Draco frowned at this, but nodded in understanding nonetheless. The picture his mind brought up at this made him swallow thickly and clench that area tightly in sympathy for what Harry would be going through. “So, what will happen with my family?”

Lupin sighed and rubbed at his graying temples. “I don’t know what to tell you, Draco. I know what presumably happened between you and your father, and you’ll have to tell myself or Dumbledore about that in detail in the near future after Harry is back on his feet.” Lupin calmly held up a hand to forestall Draco's incoming contest about... something. “No, not to make sure you’re telling the truth. We know where your loyalties lie, Draco, rest assured. Harry will be there to support you emotionally because whether you would admit it or not, it does pain you to know you may never have your father again.” Lupin gave him a knowing look.

Draco remained silent through all this, pensive, speechless. His betrayal to his family still had not hit him fully yet; Lupin confirming it only made the ache all the more worse. And then he looked up as Lupin continued speaking. “We’ve talked to your mother, and things are transpiring.” Draco frowned, creasing his forehead at the mention of his mother. “We won’t know for sure until we hear back from her, but she’s well, and worried about you. She knows you are fine, as we’d sent an owl to her shortly after you arrived. As for Harry’s future, after the baby: that is up to him, and you.”

Draco had remained quiet throughout Lupin's explanation. The baby. Did he want the baby? He wanted Harry, yes, he knew that; maybe not every single moment of his life, Merlin forbid, but he knew he wanted him a little, at least, if they were going to be sharing the duties of parenthood. But he just wasn't sure if he was ready for everything that had suddenly dropped in his lap. He was going to be a father, and very soon (and a young, teen-aged one, at that); his relationship with Harry, for lack of a better term, had gone from rivals to sexual partners to...what? Friends? Lovers? A couple? Even he still wasn't sure. He'd just have to take it one day at a time, as he had been doing when this situation had first started.

He raised his head and stared over the professor's shoulder, furrow still etched in his brow, and stood up from his chair, unable to look at Lupin with everything running through his head at the moment. "Thank you, professor," he quietly said, walking out of the cluttered office, leaving a frowning Remus behind, and made his way through the school and back to the hospital wing. Back to Harry.

@>*~

Draco took his time walking back to the hospital wing, hands in his pockets as he strolled down the corridor, getting closer and closer to the double doors. He was lost in his thoughts, feeling a little melancholy over what had transpired between him and his father. Hoping he had done the right thing when he had chosen Harry over his own father.

The blond froze in his step when a sudden yell pierced the silence, coming from the hospital. Draco’s eyes widened to a near painful size at this, and he ran as fast as his legs would carry him, panicking the entire way, hoping nothing bad was going on. Draco threw open the doors and hoofed it to Harry's bed, chest stabbed by stitches from the burst of breath his lungs provided, skidding to a halt before it. Harry, who was flushed, sweaty, and red in the face, gripped the sheets as if he was afraid he’d float away.

“What the hell’s going on?” Draco bellowed to anyone who would listen, standing by the side of Harry’s bed, looking down helplessly at his very sweaty-looking lover. Harry groaned as a wave of pain hit him, radiating from his lower back to his front. It felt like a sledgehammer was being pummeled against his stomach.

Madam Pomfrey tsked at Draco’s demanding roars. Honestly, how was she supposed to work with people making a scene? “Mr. Malfoy, please refrain from shouting,” she coolly said as she walked swiftly to Harry’s side (the one not occupied by Draco). “Mr. Potter is in labor,” she continued, waving her wand over Harry in intricate patterns. “Here, Potter, drink this; your body wasn’t designed like a female’s to deliver a baby,” she said to Harry, who took the cup of liquid with shaking hands, bringing it to his lips. It helped with the pain a little bit, as his muscles relaxed, and the pain and shaking ebbed some.

Pomfrey waved her wand over Harry’s stomach, muttering a few words neither boy could hear very well but was pointless anyway, since neither of them were paying attention. Harry audibly gasped as he suddenly felt as though a hose had been shoved up his arse and turned on high speed, making him writhe and squirm as much as his pregnant belly would allow. He was being cleaned out, he realized, probably for the baby. At any rate, he didn’t think he’d need to use the toilet that way for a long time to come. It was then Harry idly wondered, peculiarly and absentmindedly, if he’d suddenly start farting bubbles.

Draco watched as Pomfrey waved her wand for a third time, making Harry frown and wiggle against his bed a bit. “What’s wrong?” he quickly asked the dark-haired boy, threading his fingers through Harry’s damp hair, breathing deeply also at his near panicking.

“I feel like my arsehole is dragging on the bed,” Harry complained, eyeing Pomfrey critically like she slapped him with a two by four.

Draco frowned and looked at Pomfrey questioningly. She sighed heavily, a bored look overshadowing her face. “Mr. Potter, I did no such thing. It is a spell to help make the lower intestine, rectum, and anus as flexible as a rubber band. If I had not done so, you and your child would die, trying to squeeze it out of your lower regions,” she explained, studiously ignoring their shocked faces.

“The curse only allows for a wizard to become pregnant,” she continued, “not be able to birth a child. All a wizard is born with is an extremely flexible tube connecting to the rectum and a pseudo-uterus, which is, in turn, connected to the tube. This is why this spell was invented, to allow a wizard to give birth safely,” she finished, putting her wand away for the time being.

Harry was going to say something to this, but was cut off by another wave of pain. Granted, it hadn’t been as painful as before he’d taken the pain potion, but he still felt like someone was stabbing him repeatedly right above his groin with a sharp, pointy object. Draco fretted a bit at Harry’s groan, carding fingers leaving Harry’s inky black locks to muss his own, gripping them, frantic, before he looked at Pomfrey contemptuously. “Can’t you give him something stronger for the pain?”

“I could,” the mediwitch casually replied, “but I’m not sure how long Potter, here, will be in labor, so it could do harm to the child,” she sternly explained, turning to move down the walkway to gather some key items she knew she’d need soon.

Harry relaxed, slumping gratefully into his pillows for a short reprieve, catching his breath as the pain faded for a moment. He had a little time per contraction to sigh while waiting for the next one to come. It almost made him want to sob. This felt almost as bad, or worse, than the Cruciatus Curse. In fact, he’d prefer being tortured to insanity with the Cruciatus than these intense bouts of pain hitting him Merlin knew when. After another contraction hit him, making him gasp out in agony, Harry froze as he felt the sheets under his arse suddenly become sopping wet. It had been the oddest sensation, almost like he had just pissed out of his arse, or had a really bad case of the runs. “Er,” he inarticulately said, wriggling a bit uncomfortably.

“What?” Draco none-too-gently asked, trying not to freak out at every little thing, though his resolve was wearing thin since this was normal--kind of--and Harry wasn’t dying or anything.

Before Harry could say anything, Pomfrey suddenly appeared, whipping aside the sheet covering Harry’s legs, eliciting a startled and annoyed, “oi!” from Harry as she closely examined him. He had removed his trousers and underwear earlier when he’d first felt the pain. He’d had no choice really, as Pomfrey had banished them to the ether, much to Harry’s chagrin.

“Your water broke, that’s good. I was afraid I might have to do it for you, and that would have been quite difficult,” she said, tone one of mild relief, clearing away the mess under him with a flick of her wand. “I’ll come back when your contractions are constant. There’s really no measuring dilation in these situations,” she informed as she bustled off once again.

Draco paced from the bed to the curtain and back, several times while Pomfrey had examined Harry. He was frantic, running his hands through his now messy hair, worried for Harry.

Meanwhile, Severus lay in the bed across the ward, groaning and grimacing at his own pain. He’d listened in on what was happening with Potter, to try and keep his mind off the pain, more than to be nosy. He couldn’t see anything past the thick curtains that had been drawn around Potter’s bed, nor did he honestly want to. He closed his eyes, feeling tired, even though it was too hard to sleep with the pain spiking in his forearm constantly, reminding.

Harry’s sudden yell of pain jarred Snape out of his internal musings, causing him to raise his head up a bit from the soft stack of pillows under his head. Snape hoped the boy spewed out the little rugrat soon, if only so he could get some rest from the Mark gnawing at his arm. And he was mildly curious to see what they were having, and whom it’d take after. Of course, he’d never admit it to anyone while he lived.

Harry grabbed at the sheets so hard, so violently, he pulled them up from the bed, nearly tearing them into pieces. Draco, in some semblance of help, wet a washcloth he’d picked up from the side table, wrung it out, and wiped the sweat off of Harry’s face. He ignored the irritated glare he received for his efforts.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Harry panted, weak from exhaustion, biting back another cry of pain, biting his lips so hard he’d broken skin, as his contractions began getting closer and closer to each other. They’d been about three or so minutes apart, letting him rest in between each one, but now they were only a few seconds apart, or at least that’s what it felt like to Harry.

“This is all your bloody fault!” Harry grunted, glaring and taking a weak swing at the blond boy patting the beads of sweat from his head.

“I know,” Draco replied, soothingly.

“Don’t give me that ‘I know’ crap!” the enraged wizard spat. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be playing Quidditch, or watching Hermione and Ron arguing, but oh, no, Mister shag-Harry-every-five-minutes, getting me pregnant!” he yelled, barely hearing Snape trying to hold back the snickers that were desperately trying to escape. “Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me this could happen?” He grunted, fingers clutching at nearly torn sheets and heels digging into the mattress. “Everyone knows I was raised by Muggles; some information would have been helpful!”

“But no one thought the Golden Boy would turn out to be a poof,” Snape muttered tetchily, though Harry didn’t hear him, which was doubtlessly a good thing.

Pomfrey suddenly pulled back the curtains—-what the hell was she, a ghost, popping in whenever she was needed--wheeling in a small medical trolley with shiny, silver things and some strange type of basinet on it. Draco’s eyes were drawn to it, glued, really, the reality slamming into him like the contractions hitting Harry when he was startled by, “It’s time, Potter,” Pomfrey said breathlessly, cheerfully, making Draco wonder why. Harry certainly didn’t seem all that cheerful. Scowling and surly, perhaps. “Malfoy, I’ll need you to help Potter onto his knees; have him face the wall.”

“Okay,” Draco said, nodding at once, moving quickly to do as he was told.

Harry was dubious though, his eyes slanting suspiciously towards the matron. “Why do I need to be on my knees?”

Pomfrey kept herself from rolling her eyes in exasperation. Even seconds from giving birth, the boy was infuriating. “I need to have access to your bottom, won’t I, since I can’t reach it if it’s spread out on the sheet.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked owlishly and rolled awkwardly to his knees with Draco’s help, pausing a moment as a sharp wave of pain slammed into him, taking his breath away and making him cry out in anguish. “Let’s hurry this up; I don’t think I can take any more of this,” came his breathless plea.

“All right, Potter, on your next contraction, I need you to push,” Pomfrey said sternly, sitting on the bed near Harry’s exposed arse.

“How?”

“Like you’re sitting on the toilet,” she distractedly replied, waving her wand over Harry.

Harry held onto the bars of the bed’s headboard, clenching his stomach muscles and pushing with all his might as he felt the pain flow over him again, locking his body in that position for as long as his exhaustion would let him. He stopped to take a deep, heaving breath before pushing again, whining slightly as he felt the baby begin to move through his body. It bloody hurt! His insides felt like they were trying to accommodate a giant Quaffle or three of Draco’s fists. He had to stop a moment in his pushing to take some panting breaths, breaths that made his chest hurt. He felt as if he were running a marathon; he was sore and tired of pushing. His arms were shaking with the effort to keep hold of the headboard.

“Come on, Potter. I can see the crown of the head. Your little one will be here soon,” Pomfrey encouraged, taking a cloth from the trolley and wiping some of the blood and mucous that began to ooze out as he was busily pushing.

In the meantime, Draco was rubbing Harry’s back, trying not to look anywhere but at the back of Harry’s head, when he heard Pomfrey exclaim, “Ah! There we go. Keep pushing, Potter, the head’s almost out.”

The blond couldn’t help himself and chanced a look below; his mouth fell open in awe at seeing a little forehead sticking halfway out of Harry’s body. He’d helped make that forehead. He watched, transfixed, as Harry continued to push the little person out of his body. Draco watched as the entire forehead was visible, than two closed, sunken eyes came into view, followed by a very tiny nose (where Pomfrey used some worrisome contraption to suction mucous and fluid out of it), and finally a tiny mouth and chin.

Draco held back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks—-with some difficulty--at finally getting to meet his child, someone he’d made, or at least a small part, anyway. He whispered encouragements that only Harry, who was panting and gripping the bars of the headboard for dear life, could hear. Almost cheering him on to keep pushing; telling him that their baby would be here soon.

Harry grunted, lowering his head, chin to chest, as he finally finished pushing the head out, thankful that Madam Pomfrey had used that stretching spell of hers to help things along. He still felt the stretch and slight burn of his anus accepting the baby’s head through it, but he doubted there’d be much tearing, at least he hoped there wouldn’t be.

He kept pushing, weary, the arms of his tiredness trying to pull him under, until he finally gave one last hard push and felt the baby slide right out, making him feel like his bones had the consistency of a cooked noodle as he shook a bit. Harry suddenly felt the cord still dangling from his body, warm and slick; it felt really, really odd having it just hanging there against him. He stayed where he was, though, deathly afraid he might kick his baby by accident or hurt it some other way.

Pomfrey quickly took the baby once it finally came out, cutting the cord with a pair of surgical scissors and snapping a clamp onto the end still attached to the little one on the bed. She suctioned out the nose and mouth a few dozen times, making sure she cleared the baby’s airway. Once she was done, she used the towels the baby was wriggling on to clean off, warm, and stimulate the little one into crying.

The baby’s first few attempts at crying sounded squeaky and wet, but once it had taken a few breaths, it let its unhappiness at being removed from its warm, wet haven known to everyone within hearing range with loud wailing and flailing its limbs about, balled little fists beating the air.

While Harry had been busy pushing, Draco stared in stunned shock as the baby finally emerged completely into the world. He counted ten little fingers (clenched into fists) and ten little toes. His eyes darted a look between the baby’s legs and found--a little wand! They had a boy… a boy! Draco frowned a moment at seeing the ashen grey of his son’s skin at first, but sighed in relief as the skin began to pick up some color after he had taken some much needed breaths to wail out his displeasure.

Draco couldn’t keep the tears from flowing freely this time. The Malfoy mask be damned, this was just too moving for even him to hide his feelings. Draco leaned towards Harry’s head, which was hanging down, eyes shut, as he caught his breath. “Harry, it’s a boy. We have a son!” he said with breathless excitement to his lover, who grunted in response, too tired to do much of anything else.

Harry suddenly squeaked, “Eep!” at the feel of something moist and squishy sliding out of his arse. It made him squirm at the feel, but he sighed as the cord was now gone. Pomfrey picked the little boy up from the bed and placed him gently into the basinet on the trolley a moment as she wagged her wand, cleaning up the mess from the bed and Harry. “Mr. Malfoy, please help Potter onto his back; gently now, he’ll be sore for a while.”

Draco nodded, doing as he was told posthaste. Harry moaned as he was placed onto his back, boneless with enervation, and then helped into a sitting position. He smiled wanly at Draco a moment; sweat plastering his hair to his face, before turning his head to see his son, who was fussing in the white basinet. Pomfrey gently picked up the baby, now swaddled in a yellow blanket, from the cot and laid him into Harry’s arms. Harry looked down at his son, brushing a thumb softly across his scar-less forehead, and smiled up at Draco. “He’s got dark hair like me.”

“Yes, I know,” Draco said quietly, not wanting to disturb the baby—their baby—holding a small hand between his forefinger and thumb, petting the soft hair on his son’s head. The baby quieted down some at the caressing touch.

“Congratulations, boys.” The mediwitch genuinely smiled, regarding the small family. “What will you name him?” Pomfrey asked curiously.

Draco looked taken aback, his brow creasing in alarm. He’d never actually thought about it with everything that had happened recently. “Er…I’m not sure,” he replied, looking down at Harry with an uncertain frown.

"I know," Harry piped in wearily, hoping Draco wouldn't mind and put up too much of a fight. The blond’s interest was definitely piqued. “His name is James Sirius Potter-Malfoy, or Jamie so as not to confuse people,” he answered, looking at Draco tentatively to be sure it was okay.

Draco gave him a look, but he decided to give Harry this, since he had just given him a son. “Got that?” Draco brusquely asked Madam Pomfrey as he turned to look at her.

She frowned at Draco’s tone, but nonetheless, made a mental note to add it to the official paperwork she’d need to submit to the New Births Department of the Ministry, so they would have a record of his birth.

At this time, Snape opened his eyes at the cry of the newborn baby. He listened closely, intently, to Pomfrey puttering around behind the curtain, eyes narrowed. He stayed in bed, waiting until Pomfrey left the two boys and their new son alone before he made his move. Once he saw her walk out, Snape sat up, hissing slightly at the flare of pain that hit him from his Dark Mark. Taking a deep breath, he stood, holding the footboard for balance as his vision swam a moment, than made his way slowly to the curtained-off area where Malfoy and Potter were safely ensconced.

Steeling himself (because he felt a wave of nausea run over him), he cleared his throat to announce his presence. “Ahem.”

“Professor Snape?” Severus heard Malfoy ask, questioning tone in his voice with a bit of surprise.

“Yes. May I enter?” he asked, because he wasn’t sure if Potter was decent and he really didn’t want to see one of his students naked. The last thing he needed now was more trouble, especially from Potter.

He heard the two boys whispering to one another before a brief, “Sure,” reached his ears. Severus then pulled aside the curtain, briefly surveying the two boys and newest addition in close proximity, before walking over to the side of the bed Malfoy wasn’t occupying. He felt awkward standing there in silence, but he wasn’t about to say anything really; he was still feeling quite unwell.

“How are you, Professor?” Surprisingly it was Potter who asked, shifting the small bundle in his arms, they were getting cramped a bit.

“Not very well, but that’s to be expected at the moment,” he lazily answered. “Yourself?”

“Sore and really tired, but glad it’s finally over,” Harry replied, shifting his son to his shoulder to stretch out his cramped arm. “Would you like to see our son?”

Snape blinked, taken aback by the question. Even though that was his main reason for walking over, he’d assumed Malfoy would ask. Nevertheless, Severus nodded once, and Harry switched Jamie to his arm closest to Severus. “Meet our son, James Potter-Malfoy.”

Severus frowned slightly at the name (hoping if and when he had to teach their child, he wouldn’t be as bad as his name sakes), but blanked his features into an impassive mask and leaned over to get a good look at the little boy. Jamie’s eyes were open, but unfocused. Snape could see they were blue, but he’d heard somewhere that all babies were born with blue eyes, so it’d be a few years before one would know what color they’d truly be.

He had a thick mop of dark hair, which fell over his ears a little. Severus could see a little of both fathers in the child’s face (a little of Malfoy’s pointed chin and Potter’s pouting lips), but again, it was still too early to tell for sure. Jamie squirmed in his father’s arms as he was being scrutinized, occasionally moving his head around at all the voices he heard. “He’s a very handsome young man,” Severus honestly said, earning a grin from Harry and a smirk from Draco.

“Thank you,” Harry said. Jamie took that moment to begin fussing, so Harry placed him over his shoulder and rubbed his son’s tiny back, murmuring softly to him. Jamie calmed down a bit then, and sleepily closed his eyes.

Snape chose then to take his leave, nodding curtly at both boys before turning and heading back to his own bed. He was still in pain and now his head was beginning to hurt also.

As soon as Snape had left, Harry turned his head to look at Draco. "So I've been thinking," he casually began, making Draco raise an eyebrow at him.

"So soon? Isn't that dangerous?" Draco idly teased, his right index finger caressing their son's tiny fist.

Harry ignored his light tone and continued, eyes leaving Draco to fall on their child, "Our son will need godparents."

Draco stared at him a moment, searching his eyes with a look. “Whom do you have in mind?” he asked, knowing the answer already, if his time with Harry had taught him anything.

“Ron and Hermione,” Harry replied with a lazy little sigh, closing his eyes a moment, wondering if Draco would go into a snit or not. “Unless you have someone else in mind?”

Draco’s forehead creased, the corners of his mouth falling into a frown as he thought it over for a minute. The only person he’d really considered a friend was Blaise, and trying to picture him raising their son scared him a little. “No, they’re fine. Even though I don’t particularly like either of them.” And Harry noticed he’d tried hard to keep the venom out of his voice and the sneer off his face. “I’m sure they would treat our son as if he were theirs,” he thoughtfully said, earning a deep, wet kiss from the brunet at this.

“Thank you, Draco,” Harry replied, smiling widely. “Coming from you, that was almost a compliment.”

Draco actually blushed a little. “Yes, well, don’t spread that around.”

@>*~

Hermione caught up with Ron just before the portrait of the Fat Lady. “Ron,” she called as she walked up to him, startling when he stopped.

“I know,” Ron started curtly as he turned to face his girlfriend, face scrunched in annoyance. “I’m being pigheaded. I don’t hate Harry, you know that. I’m not upset he’s with a bloke or that he got pregnant, it’s just who he chose.” He paused a moment to take a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. Hermione remained silent, knowing the redhead needed to get this off his chest.

“It’s strange, you know? The three of us, and Malfoy. I never pictured him in the equation,” he said, taking a seat on the stairs. Hermione sat down next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. “And did you see Harry? He was huge; I thought he and Malfoy had just gotten it together? He’ll have to tell us what happened while he was away. That’s another thing; how are we going to hang out and such if there’s a baby in the picture? I knew he’d want kids of his own some day, but we’re only seventeen, and still in school.” He sighed, quieting down as he thought things over.

Hermione took that as her cue to talk. “Ron, we can still do things together; we’ll just have more people with us when we do,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Come on,” she started, standing up and grabbing his hand. “We should go back and visit with Harry; he needs us, he’ll always need us. We’re his family, after all.” Ron looked up at her, face still frowning, but nodded. It was true: Harry was their friend, their best friend, and he needed their support now more than ever.

Merlin… why did Hermione always have to be right?

@>*~

Harry was smiling calmly, feeding Jamie from a bottle. He had inquired about the need for one when Pomfrey told him that due to the rapid rate the baby had grown, his body hadn’t had a chance to produce the hormones needed in greater quantity to feed his son from his own body. Harry wasn’t too disappointed at this since he really hadn’t been looking forward to having a set of breasts, or even the male equivalent. It was still a shock knowing he was capable of getting pregnant in the first place.

Jamie looked up at Harry as he lay there, little mouth sucking at the nipple of the bottle, tiny arms crossed over his chest, making contented little noises as he fed. Draco continued stroking his son’s dark head, running a finger softly every so often along his son’s smooth forehead. Jamie moved his eyes around as he ate, but soon they fell shut, little mouth opening as he went into a light doze. When Harry pulled the bottle from his mouth, Jamie would begin sucking again.

After the bottle was empty, Harry pulled it away, handing it to Draco to place on the nearby table. Jamie smacked his lips and fluttered his eyes drowsily. Harry knew he had to burp his son now, and he had some clue about how to go about it; the tele was a wonderful Muggle invention, after all, when he’d been able to actually watch it, of course.

Harry placed his son over his shoulder (Draco curiously watching what Harry was doing) and after rubbing a circle, began patting his back. He did this for a few minutes before a loud belch rang throughout the hospital wing; Harry couldn’t help but snicker.

“I see he’s taking after you already,” Draco quipped, grinning. Harry gave him a look and opened his mouth to retort when they heard footsteps coming towards them.

“Harry?” Hermione questioned softly, wanting to be sure she wouldn’t barge in on them.

Harry looked surprised, turning to Draco, who had taken his son from Harry to hold. Jamie was groggy and full, but didn’t seem to want to sleep yet. “Come on through, Hermione,” he called through the curtain.

Hermione pushed aside the curtains, walking over to Harry, not noticing the bundle in Draco’s arms yet; Ron following a few seconds later. “How are you?” Hermione asked, leaning over to hug her friend.

Harry had a hopeful look on his face at seeing Ron with her. Perhaps he was coming around sooner than expected. “I’m fine. Tired and sore though. Oh,” he said, finally indicating the bundle in Draco’s arms. “I have someone I want you two to meet.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked, frowning a little. She raised her eyebrow when Harry turned to Malfoy. What was he playing at; they already knew the blond. She gasped loudly though when Draco held out his arms, presenting Jamie. “Harry, you had the baby already?” she cried out, carefully taking the little boy into her arms. “Oh, he’s so adorable!” She couldn’t help but gush. She didn’t often squeal in girlish delight, but this was definitely an exception.

Ron looked pole-axed, but moved closer to his girlfriend to take a peek at their friend’s baby also. “Boy or girl?” he asked because it was usually hard to tell with the kid swathed in blankets.

Harry just beamed; beamed so brightly he could almost light up a room. “Boy. And his name’s James Sirius. We decided to combine our surnames. So he’s the first Potter-Malfoy,” Harry replied, grinning at Ron’s raised eyebrow at his announcement. He was just so happy. He had his two best friends, his new son, and Draco with him. Plus Snape had stopped by to see Jamie. He hadn’t felt this happy since Hagrid had told him he was a wizard.

Draco watched as Granger continued to coo over his son (who was making contented noises at the attention), while Weasley tickled his toes. Yes, he’d been right in assuming they’d treat his son like their own, even if he hoped he’d never need them to.

Harry cleared his throat after a few moments to get his two friends’ attention. “Since you two are here, I wanted to ask you something,” he began, both Ron and Hermione looking at him, waiting. Ron’s hand absently continued brushing at Jamie’s feet. “Draco and I were talking and I--we, were wondering if the two of you would do us the honor and become Jamie’s godparents?”

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, passing over Jamie to Ron (who stammered a moment), and flung herself on Harry, hugging the breath out of him. She ignored his, ‘Hermione, need air!’ letting him go and moved quickly to Draco, who she also hugged, getting huge, wide eyes from the blond at this and an awkward pat on her back from him as he gave Harry a look that said, ‘don’t look at me, she’s your friend,'

Ron wasn’t as overemotional; he walked over to Draco, passed over his son and shook Harry’s hand. “You know I will, mate.”

Harry smiled, barely keeping back a yawn. Ron and Hermione said their good-byes, knowing Harry needed sleep, and told him they’d see him again later. Harry waved and let the yawn out finally, closing his eyes as soon as his friends left. Draco got comfortable in his seat, cuddling his son, who had thought a nap sounded good and did just that. Draco looked down at him, and wondered what the future would bring. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about everything just yet, but he did know he had fallen in love with the little person in his arms.

@>*~

Snape woke up from his fitful sleep with the distinct feeling that someone was watching him very closely. He knew Potter and Malfoy were still behind the curtains on their side of the room, as he could hear their son cooing. Snape finally opened his eyes and looked around, scrutinizing, frowning when he spotted Lupin (who looked quite haggard) sitting in a chair beside him, an open thick and shabby book in his lap. Lupin seemed to sense his awakening and glanced up, smiling warmly at his furrowed brow.

“How are you feeling?” Remus asked quietly, running a hand through his own hair. He was bone tired after everything that happened the last few days.

Snape took a moment to assess his condition and found he wasn’t in as much pain as he had been yesterday. “I’m feeling slightly better,” he carefully answered, sitting up. Bemusement faintly lit his guarded face. “Why are you here again?”

Lupin leaned back and sighed, fingers falling to the pages of the book in his lap. “I’ve been going through all the books I have about getting rid of curses, tattoos, and some such to help you with the Dark Mark.” Snape’s brows had quickly risen in surprise before his face went blank again. Lupin smiled secretly, pleased to have caught such emotion from the normally detached man. “And despite what I originally thought, I, as a dark creature, am actually more beneficial to you, if I stay close. Almost like two negatives making a positive, as strange as it sounds.”

“I see,” Severus said, frowning. “What does Pomfrey think of this explanation?”

“She agrees,” Remus replied thoughtfully. “I’ve been here a few hours and though you’re obviously still in some pain, you were sleeping a little better than before I arrived.”

Severus frowned a bit at this. He took a moment to see how he really felt, aside from the odd sting in his arm now: surprisingly, he actually felt more like himself. Either the Dark Lord tired of torturing him, or Lupin’s presence had actually helped. He slowly swept the starchy infirmary sheets off him, swinging his legs—much heavier in his opinion from lack of use for several hours—over the side of the bed near Lupin, making Lupin jump up to help him. Remus fetched Snape’s boots and helped put them on him when Severus had bent down to pick them up from the floor. Severus glared; he wasn’t an invalid and could get his own damn boots. After Lupin helped him with them—what, was he five?—Snape stood up, losing his balance a moment before two strong arms encircled his waist, steadying him, holding him.

Severus took a moment for the vertigo to pass, while Lupin made sure he was able to stand on his own. He may not have been in excruciating pain anymore, but fighting the Dark Lord’s retribution the day before had left him a bit drained. Once he got his bearings, he realized belatedly that Lupin was still holding him. They stared at each other, eyes locked, when Severus lifted his head a bit to look at him, wetting his lips without thinking.

Remus wasn’t sure why he did it, but he leaned forward, amber eyes falling to Snape’s pale, thin lips, and placed a light kiss onto the Potion master’s lips, getting a wide-eyed reaction when he pulled back to see Severus’ face.

So he was quite surprised when Severus grabbed the front of his robes in potion-stained fists, dragging him forward so hard their chests slammed together. And suddenly, his tongue was there, hot and hard, plunging again and again and again in his mouth. He moaned, opening his mouth, closing his eyes, and melting into the kiss, sighing contentedly as arousal lazily spread through him. Snape’s tongue was insistent, coaxing his own, prodding, stabbing, kneading his own into submission, into desperation. But he wanted to savor this, enjoy it, let it take his breath away: at least, before Snape came to his senses and pushed him away.

However, Snape had no such silly, frilly, starry-eyed notions in mind. He was horny, and damn it, this was the first person he’d kissed in eighteen years, and he had no intention of it being the romantic tripe Lupin was hoping for. He squeezed Lupin’s shabby cloak in his fists, not caring whether it would tear or not, and swirled his tongue almost violently against Lupin’s, uncaring of the saliva that slobbered down the other man’s chin. In fact, he was sure Remus was used to it by now, being a snarling, hissing, spitting werewolf. A werewolf that he certainly didn’t mind snogging. Snape sucked on his tongue, a promise of things to come—and hopefully he’d be part of those things—with ferocity, drinking in Lupin’s amorous groan while deepening the kiss, tongue sliding along, encouraging Lupin’s to duel. And then, he pulled his tongue back in his mouth and used teeth.

The Potions master almost smirked in dark glee as Lupin gasped, choking on his own tongue, before he finally felt that dark beast stir in Lupin, the werewolf, awaken. That bite seemed to rouse something in him: something incredibly desperate, something hungry. It was as if Snape was the tormenting moon, shining on him full blast, and he was vulnerable to his whims, his influence: his power. Snape’s tongue surged back in his mouth again, and Remus could have sworn he heard the wolf howling in the back of his mind.

Suddenly, his fingers were like claws, digging into Snape’s arms and his robes, hungry, because Snape was his food; thirsty, because Snape was his water. He could sense the wolf, far from sated and content, clawing its way to the forefront, frantic, fighting with its tongue, with Snape, and Snape, oh Severus, tasted of sweat and earth and yesterday’s potion—he could taste the fusion of chimera and dragon blood with a hint of rose oil and ginger just under his tongue—and he tasted of magic. Raw magic, clashing Dark and Light, and it tasted divine and perfect and so Snape that Remus grunted into Snape’s mouth, renewing the battle for dominance, the wolf in him not ready to give in just yet.

Snape wanted to tell himself this was all about the Dark Lord. That the kiss was nothing more than a ploy to feed off the Dark creature in Lupin to appease his Dark Mark ... but gods, he hadn’t been with anyone since that lumbering fiasco in seventh year with that freckled and screechy Slytherin wench, and this was far from it. He was loath to do this in public, right across from Potter and Malfoy no less, but Lupin tasted so good: musky and earthy and masculine and Dark, their tongues dueling, fighting, clashing, teeth clicking together and nipping, spit slopping from the corners of their mouths, Lupin valiantly fighting a battle he couldn’t win, and he could taste blood on their bruised lips. It wasn’t perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was good. Snape curled his fists tighter in Remus’ ratty robes and forced his dominance on the bloody wolf, and Lupin. He’d be damned if he let Lupin win this fight.

The coppery taste hitting his tongue set his senses afire; Lupin swore if Snape had looked at him then, the man would have witnessed dilated amber eyes—wolf eyes—ready to pounce and mark and claim at a moment’s notice. The taste of Severus’ sweet blood mingled with his own spurred him on, set his blood boiling, searing, and he moaned again, quiet, but still a moan, and his grip tightened. Their tongues were locked in a fierce dance, tangling around each other and he could feel Snape’s hot breath scorching his mouth, his hooked nose spitting hot air all over his face. Hands were tugging at his cloak one minute, and racing over his body the next, nails drawing goosebumps to the surface, making him leak through his trousers, his cock so hard it could cut stone as Remus pulled at him, wanting to be closer, to feel his warmth, feel him: feel Severus. He could feel the fabric of Snape’s cloak giving, yielding, nearly tearing beneath his fingers—and then nothing. All at once, it was over.

Disappointedly, Snape ripped himself away from him, letting the robes in his balled fists go lax before pulling away completely. If there was ever a documented case on the sound a werewolf made when its heart was crushed, Lupin was sure to be the lead expert on it. Still, he stood there, unnaturally cold, more distant from Snape than he would have liked to have been, far from the warmth Severus offered, and waited.

Snape, on the other hand, stared at Lupin as if it were all his fault. Which, if he were being practical about this, it was. Unfortunately, the odds were also against him as he’d initiated the second kiss. Thus, he was just as at fault, just as guilty. And anyone would see right through his excuse of using Lupin to stem the pain from the Dark Lord’s torture through his Mark. Snape knew he was screwed: in every way but the way he wanted. He panted once, roughly, dark eyes bulging as they appraised Lupin, as he closed himself off, turned on his heel, and walked out of the hospital wing, robes billowing behind him.

Remus watched Snape leave, just walk away, robes puffing up behind him like a great storm cloud. As Snape turned down the hall and out of sight, Remus sighed heavily, shoulders sagging, looking every bit like the threadbare and haggard wizard he was used to being. So that was that, then, and about as likely to happen again as Flitwick marrying Hagrid’s mother. He sighed forlornly, shaking his head, and licked his lips, the taste of their first—-and probably last--kiss, still on his tongue.

Snape made his way distractedly towards Dumbledore’s office, lost in his thoughts, wondering why on Earth he had kissed Lupin again after the first brief touch of their lips. He couldn’t come up with anything better than Lupin being the only one who seemed to give a damn about his well-being, but even he winced at such a weak argument. Severus had to admit—and rather grudgingly--that Lupin was attractive, but he just wasn’t sure if he felt anything for the werewolf or not. Of course, he didn’t have a whole lot of experience with someone finding him attractive; he knew he wasn’t very good looking by any stretch of the imagination, and truthfully, as he licked his lips nostalgically, couldn’t be arsed to care.

@>*~

“Ah, Severus. How good to see you, my boy!” Dumbledore greeted cheerfully, truly happy to have his professor safe and sound and not in any pain (at least not as much as he had been in). “How are you faring?”

“I am doing better, Headmaster,” Snape replied, sitting in a comfortable seat across from Dumbledore’s desk, his expression grim. “I’m afraid I may need your help, sir.”

Dumbledore sat down in his own seat, nodding solemnly at Severus. “Yes,” he began, aged fingers on his chin, thinking. “It is perfectly fine if you want to stop spying for the Order,” he began, looking into Snape’s eyes, his own twinkling faintly.

Snape raised his eyebrows at this deliberate announcement. Damn the man for being such an accomplished Legilimens! Severus knew even if he blocked his mind until his nose bled from the effort, Dumbledore would still know what he was thinking. Damn it.

“I understand it was very straining and stressful for you over the years. And besides,” he said, leaning back in his chair, placing his arms on the armrests of his chair. “Your cover has been blown, but that’s quite all right,” he lightly commented, blue eyes glimmering behind his half-moon spectacles. “We now have a new spy.”

Snape barely kept himself from startling in surprise at this new information. A new spy? So soon? Did that mean he’d no longer be needed at Hogwarts, at least as a Potions professor? The thought troubled him more than he’d like to admit. He didn’t particularly like the students all that much, but Hogwarts had been his home for the last seventeen or so years. Steeling himself and taking a deep breath, he evenly asked, “Who is the new informant?”

Dumbledore knew Snape was worried for his teaching job, and his home, though he’d only divulge that when Hell froze over, but truth was, Snape was the best damn Potions professor they could have teaching at Hogwarts, and Albus wasn’t about to sack him. “Narcissa Malfoy.”

“Pardon me?” Snape asked, blinking, bewildered. He could’ve sworn he’d heard wrong.

Dumbledore sighed. “Narcissa Malfoy,” he repeated, looking over his half-moon spectacles at the Potions master. “I have it all worked out. Narcissa will still send letters to Draco, of course. She will also report back to Lucius, who will indeed tell Voldemort, and Draco will tell Harry, who in turn will tell me.”

Snape frowned at the insane logic of the Headmaster, but if he thought it’d work, maybe it would. He was just glad he didn’t have to play cloak and dagger games anymore. It was getting downright tedious, in his opinion.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, breaking into his internal musings. “Please let Remus know a letter back to Narcissa is in order,” he finished, steepling his fingers together and laying them on his desk.

Though his brow creased and a strange feeling coursed through him at hearing of Remus contacting Narcissa (it was not jealousy, no way in hell would he be jealous), Snape nodded curtly, unclenching his fingers from the armrests. He grimly met the elder wizard’s gaze and confirmed his orders with a silky reply of, “Yes, Headmaster.”

@>*~

Still wondering about what all might happen with Severus, especially after their kiss, Remus paced a bit before he spotted the thick curtains hanging around Harry’s bed. Deciding he needed a distraction, Remus walked casually over to the curtains, taking a moment to clear his thoughts. “Harry?” he asked gently, not wanting to disturb anyone in case they were sleeping. “Are you awake?”

“Yes, professor,” Harry’s soft tone came through the closed curtains. “You can come through if you’d like, sir.”

Remus pushed aside the curtains and made his way to the side of the bed unoccupied by Draco. The blond boy was holding Jamie, his fingers caressing his son’s little hand as the babe stared in fascination at his father.

Remus smiled gently at the sight of the pair, reluctantly pulling his eyes away to face Harry. “I ran into Ron and Hermione earlier today and they told me you had your baby,” he said, looking from Harry to Draco. “Congratulations. A boy, correct?”

Harry smiled proudly, nodding. “Yeah. We named him after my father and Sirius,” he replied, turning as Draco whispered down to their son.

Chest tightening a bit, Remus gave Harry a watery smile. He still missed his friends, especially Sirius, who he’d had a minor relationship with before he’d died. “I’m sure they’re both very proud of you, Harry. And very happy to have their names passed on to your son,” he said, sitting at the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing better today. Still a little sore, but Madam Pomfrey said I would be sore a few days. How’s Professor Snape? I couldn’t help but overhear the two of you talking,” Harry inquired, readjusting himself on the bed, getting comfortable.

“He’s doing better. Hopefully the Dark Lord has stopped his torturing of Snape for now. I still haven’t found a way to remove his Mark yet,” he replied, idly pulling at a loose thread on the careworn blanket covering Harry.

Harry nodded in understanding, falling silent. He knew all too well what it was like to be harassed by Voldemort. Harry felt badly about it, but he could honestly say he was glad Voldemort was too busy with Snape to cause him any pain, especially right now. He immediately turned his attention to his son when he made a fussing noise. “Here, Draco: give him to me a moment.” Draco got up from his chair, carefully handing Jamie over to his other father with a mixture of ease and wariness. Harry was thoughtful for a moment before he said, “Professor, would you like to hold him?”

Remus blinked, startled, before smiling. “I’d be honored,” he replied, holding his arms out to accept the little bundle. When Harry delicately placed the newborn in his outstretched arms, he pulled the baby towards his chest, looking down at him, Jamie, who made a questioning noise and moved his head around at Remus’ voice. “He’s a lovely child,” he began with an indulgent grin, running a finger over Jamie’s tiny forehead. “I see he has your hair color, Harry.”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, smiling at seeing Remus holding his son. Draco looked on warily, watching the werewolf with his infant son, grey eyes narrowed a bit, but he remained quiet.

They sat there quietly before they heard a sharp rapping against the hospital’s window. Draco was the one to get up from his seat to let the owl inside. The brown owl hooted inquiringly at him and stuck its leg out, indicating it wanted Draco to remove the letter posthaste. Once he took the letter, the owl flew off into the blue sky without hesitation. Draco turned the letter over distrustfully and tensed when he recognized the wax seal of the Malfoy crest stamped on the back, his father’s handwriting on the front addressed to him.

Draco made his way back to Harry and sat down in his chair numbly, the letter tight in his grasp. Remus saw the look on Draco’s face, wan with mostly surprise and confusion, and turned, handing Jamie back over to Harry. “I’ll leave you alone for a while,” Remus said tiredly, standing up from Harry’s bed and making his way out of the hospital wing. And he was tired, spending most of last night and earlier that morning going through his books. He decided now would be the best time to go back to his room for a nap.

As soon as Lupin left, Harry turned to the blond. “Draco?” he questioned, frowning at the blank look on his lover’s face.

“It’s a letter…from my father,” Draco quietly replied, opening it up and scanning it with his eyes. Harry remained quiet (holding Jamie as his son moved his head to take in his surroundings) as the other boy read the letter to himself, watching as his face went through several different expressions.

Draco read quietly, frowning at the words written there; his father was reiterating how he shouldn’t have switched sides for Harry and how his mother took on Snape’s role as informant. Wonder how that’ll work out, he absently mused.

He knew with all his heart that his mother loved him, but he also knew that she loved Lucius as well, and wouldn’t want to risk his father’s wrath over something like this, even though Draco knew that technically she was an honorary Death Eater by the simple fact of being married to his father--more of a Death Eater’s wife, than anything else, really.

He knew his mother had nothing to do with the letter he received from his father. Lucius was only trying to make him change his mind by saying his mother would hate him now. Draco sighed and balled up the letter, sticking it into his pocket and tiredly rubbing his face.

“Draco, are you alright?” Harry tentatively asked once he saw Draco crush the letter.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it,” he assured, more for himself than for Harry’s benefit. “My father only loves me when I do what he wants me to do,” he answered sadly, sighing heavily as he stood up and went to sit on the bed next to Harry and Jamie, needing the support, even if he couldn’t voice it.

Neither one said anything from there, just sitting with each other, Jamie asleep in Harry’s arms. Draco absently brought a hand up to his son’s small head, petting his dark hair, unsure of what the future held for them.

@>*~

Voldemort sat in his chair, once more repaired after he’d blasted it to smithereens. He knew Narcissa had been chosen to be the new informant and he had a few plans in mind for her. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her being the new spy because she was closer to Lucius than she was to either Snape or her own son. He was pretty sure if she asked it, Lucius would betray him in a heartbeat; she was, after all, his wife and he knew Lucius valued his family more than anything else. More than him, even.

Voldemort hadn’t forbid Narcissa from still sending letters to her son. He knew she more than likely wouldn’t obey him, even if he outright told her to cease and desist. He was not happy to find out that the younger Malfoy had apparently switched sides. When the time came, he would make them pay dearly, family of his highest ranked follower or not.

“Lucius,” he smoothly began, “I fear I will need to make new plans against Potter,” the Dark Lord suddenly announced, causing the blond man to look his way.

“I would be inclined to agree, my Lord,” Lucius replied, thinking, plotting his own plans.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed into sinister slits. “I’m afraid your son may not survive this time.”

Lucius frowned deeply at this. Draco may have been stupid to choose Potter over his own family, but Lucius wasn’t about to let his son perish at the hands of the Dark Lord for his poor choices. “My Lord, my son has no capacity to love such a person as Harry Potter; it’s not in his blood,” Lucius confessed, trying to sound as convincing as he could. He had to make the Dark Lord believe his son was just a stupid bloody teenager.

“My son, he will grow bored and learn to hate the boy for hurting him, making him feel: making him feel he could be anything other than what he is. He will be more valuable, my Lord, I promise you, against Potter in the war if he is allowed to pursue his induced feelings. He will bring us sensitive information, the likes of which any spy could never have learned, and he will bring the boy to his demise,” Lucius swore, striking his fist against his palm for emphasis.

He just hoped the Dark Lord was too stupid to realize he was basically pulling all of this out of his arse. As much as he hoped Draco would do the smart thing and just kill Potter, he knew that Draco cared too much for the boy, which could ultimately lead to his son’s own ruin.

Voldemort listened intently to Lucius’ excuses, fingers tenting beneath his chin. In time, he’d have to see if the younger Malfoy would really come back or not. All in due time. His face suddenly morphed from pensive to evil, causing Lucius to fleetingly doubt in his plan’s ability, but the Dark Lord said nothing.

This was definitely not finished.

@>*~