Rape, part eight: Forever Bonded to You
When they returned to the Manor, they were met with happy and relieved cries; it was clear that not everyone had expected them to come back. And well did they know that they were lucky to have all made it out alive. Four of six clones had given their lives for them, and that was something that would not go unacknowledged. Harry, for one, seemed particularly grateful for their sacrifice, looking at Draco's stomach when he spoke of it.
Ron immediately went to his husband. "Jonathan!" he said with an almost surprised smile, as if he could not believe that he was actually there. And bearing his injury and near-death experience in mind, that was probably natural.
Jonathan practically threw himself into the ginger's arms and elicited a pained moan from him. "Ron! I was so scared for you!" he exclaimed, and hugged him close. "I thought I'd never see you again, and I couldn't bear that!"
Ron reluctantly disentangled himself while holding a hand to his side. "If it hadn't been for Harry's clones, you wouldn't have," he said, shuddering as he realised what a close call it had been.
His husband frowned and finally took a good look at him. He gasped in fright when he saw the glistening wet bloodstain. "Ron, you're hurt!"
"Don't worry—Draco closed up the wound for me before we left, but there wasn't time to heal it completely so I'm still pretty sore. I'll be fine, though. He's the one who really needs help," he pointed out, nodding to Daring.
Just as they had been about to force open the French windows in the drawing room where James had been cornered by the Death Eaters, Optimistic had appeared in the doorway, sporting a wide and exhilarated grin. "Look what I found!" he had called out to them and proceeded to drag a lacerated and bleeding Daring into the room.
Considering the unfair numbers that he and Competitive had faced in that parlour, it was amazing that he had made it out at all. But it was clear that it had been an even closer call for him than it had been for Ron.
Daring was still bleeding freely and was dangerously weak from the blood loss. His skin was a pasty, pale grey. "One of the Death Eaters saw me using Sectumsempra on his pal and decided he wanted to try it on me," he croaked, and winced as the ever-present Optimistic lowered him into an armchair. "I tried healing myself, but Harry's never been very proficient in Healing Spells so I could only close up the wounds partway."
Draco pulled up a footstool and settled himself in front of Daring. "I'll take over," he said solemnly. It was the least he could do for someone who had so bravely risked everything for them. If it had not been for him, the outcome of that day might have been so much graver.
"I'll run and get some Blood-Replenishing Potions!" Piper called, and hastened off towards her laboratory.
A heavy silence fell over the parlour. Nobody seemed to think it proper to speak, and Draco did not blame them. The events at the Death Eater headquarters—if that indeed was what the manor house was—had frightened them all. Any one of them could have lost his life that day, and some of them almost had.
"Cheer up, fellas," Optimistic suddenly said with such undiluted merriment that Draco felt like puking, "it could've been much worse!"
"Yeah, you could've been dead like those other clones!" the blonde retorted indignantly.
Not even Optimistic could turn that around to something positive.
Once he was done with Daring and Piper was back to administer the potions, Draco went over to Ron, whom was currently sitting in one of the sofas, tiredly leaning against the back rest. "Here, let me finish that healing," he murmured, and carefully put his left hand to the redhead's injured side while lifting his wand with the right.
He quietly chanted the incantation until the ugly bruise had all but disappeared. When it was all done, his hand lingered on Ron's exposed flesh and he was temporarily unable to move. His emotions had been kept in tight check through the ordeal, for James's sake, but now that he did not need to be strong for his son anymore the walls were starting to crumble around him.
Ron noticed that he was beginning to tremble and gazed down at him questioningly. "Are you all right, mate?" he wondered compassionately.
Draco stubbornly bit his lower lip. He did not want to cry. Everything was fine now—they had saved James, the boy was safe and unhurt, they were all right and alive. But the more the tension lifted, the harder it sank in that things could have gone wrong.
They could have lost their son. Their first child.
Before he even knew that he had moved, he threw himself around Ron's neck and hugged him tightly, desperately.
The redhead started. "Hey, hey, easy now," he said, and awkwardly raised his arms to put them around the blonde.
Draco just hugged him tighter. "Thank you," he whispered into his friend's ear. "Thank you for helping us save him. I will never forget that."
He could feel Ron awkwardly patting his back. "Er … you're welcome, mate," he muttered, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Maybe he quietly signalled his husband to do something, because a moment later Jonathan gently put his hands on Draco's shoulders and directed him away from the ginger.
Draco did not fight him, but simply nodded his understanding and allowed Jonathan to lead him to his favourite armchair. He was aware of the emotional turmoil raging inside of him, so he gladly accepted the cup of calming herbal tea that Piper offered him without question. Besides, he was already pregnant, so what could she do to him?
There must have been some Calming Draught in the tea, because his nerves were successfully soothed after drinking it. Letting out a pleased sigh, he leant back in his chair.
Across the room, Harry was giving instructions to Piper on what defences to add to the Manor's protective shield while they were gone. Ever the practical one, was not he? Draco could not help but smile in amusement.
Harry looked over at him, but instead of smiling back at his husband he clenched his jaw shut and turned away again, but not before Draco had seen the black anger in his eyes. With his heart skipping a beat in fear, Draco hurried up from his chair and went over to him.
The raven-haired man pointedly pretended not to notice him at his side.
"Harry, we need to talk," Draco nonetheless said. He was not about to back down and just accept defeat; he was going to fight for his husband, and he was willing to do anything to win him back. To earn his forgiveness.
Harry still would not look at him. "I don't want to talk about this now. There are more important things to do."
Draco jerked as if he had just been slapped across the face. "Mo-more important than making up with your own husband?" he breathed, his voice no more than a weak whisper and coloured by hurt.
Harry suddenly turned on him, and his eyes were shooting angry sparks at him. "Yes, like getting our son's name cleared and making sure he won't go to prison for the rest of his life!" he snapped. "Do you think we could do that?"
The blonde lowered his head in shame. How could he even think that anything could be more important than that? So instead of giving in to the immense, aching hole of fear, pain, and hurt that had opened up within him, he nodded mutely.
As soon as Piper had grasped what needed to be done, they took James and Flooed to the Ministry. There, they were met by a contingent of Aurors that escorted them to the Minister's own office.
Almost immediately upon arrival, Draco figured that they had already spoken to the Abbott girl and learnt the truth about the attack, for they were all very uncomfortable and wary, as if they would not be surprised—or even find it inappropriate—if the parents of the wrongly accused boy attacked them in retaliation.
The Minister was sitting behind his desk when they were shown in and his face dropped as soon as he recognised his visitors. He uncomfortably gestured towards a set of chairs opposite him, but none of them moved to take a seat. Draco was pretty sure that the other two felt as disinclined to ever sit down with the Minister again as he did.
"My gentlemen," Fudge began with that sickly-sweet fake smile he was so famous for, "I am sure you can imagine my embarrassment when the girl told my Aurors what happened that awful, awful day. It is with my deepest regret that I implore you to forgive this unfortunate mistake—"
"'Unfortunate mistake?'" Harry echoed indignantly. "Are you taking the piss?"
Fudge blinked at the raven-haired man in bafflement. "No, no of course not, I—"
"Good, because I almost thought I heard you calling your incompetency and rash conclusion about my son a 'mistake,'" Harry continued, seething with ire under his carefully controlled surface.
Draco stood by his husband's side, slightly behind him, and could see how he was shaking. He wished that he could have felt anger like that, too, because anger erased everything else and demanded a person's full attention. As it were, Draco could only feel fear. It was running cold in his veins, making his head swim and blurring the edges of his vision.
He desperately tried to focus on the conversation before him, but all he could really see was Harry's angry, betrayed eyes; all he could really hear was his husband's declaration that he did not want to talk. Did not want to make up.
A dull pain was spreading from his chest to his abdomen.
"I am sure that I speak on behalf of everyone involved in this matter when I say that we are deeply sorry for the pain and the inconvenience that this misunderstanding has brought young Mr. Potter-Malfoy and your whole family," Fudge was trudging on, unaware that he was digging himself an ever deeper grave.
James lashed out at the incapable Minister, but Harry wisely held him back by the arm. "You're calling this a misunderstanding?!" he yelled, beside himself with righteous indignation. "You fucking arrested me for rape without even bothering to investigate! You just bloody decided that I was guilty! Is that a misunderstanding to you?!"
The Minister was now fidgeting nervously in his seat, and his eyes were flickering this way and that as if he was too afraid to rest them on anything. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well … we will be looking into our routines, that I will see to … personally." He made a short pause to collect himself. "Mr. Potter-Malfoy will of course be cleared of the charges and compensated for his unjust incarceration. We will also have an official apology printed in the Prophet tomorrow."
"Yeah, you had better," James said with such aristocratic authority that there was no question whose son he was.
"However …," the Minister continued somewhat reluctantly, and made them all cock their ears again. "Well, there is no easy way to say this … There is the matter of Mr. Potter-Malfoy's escape from Azkaban, which is an offense punishable by law—"
Harry violently took a step forward. "Oh, no, you do not get to punish him for anything after what you put him through!" he growled warningly.
Draco felt compelled to step in before the others did something that could not be taken back and got all of them landed in Azkaban, but before he could so much as utter a word, a tiny blond figure appeared between them and Fudge. Stunned, they all looked down at him sheepishly.
"I can prove to you that James didn't leave the prison of his own volition," he piped, his precocious green eyes fearlessly fixed on Fudge.
The Minister stared down at the boy in pure astonishment. "How … who …"
"Timothy, what are you doing?" Draco admonished him once the shock lifted.
Fudge's gaze snapped to the blonde. "You know this boy?"
"I am their son," Timothy replied, and sent another shockwave washing over the old man. "My brother did not break out of Azkaban, as you think, and I can prove it to you." He slowly turned his small face to look at his brother. "James disappears when he hiccoughs. It is nothing he can control and therefore nothing he can be faulted for."
Silence reigned over the room for some time. Ultimately, Harry broke it by addressing the Minister: "It's true; James has suddenly disappeared every time he hiccoughs ever since he was a toddler."
Without waiting for Fudge to dispute this matter, Timothy reached up and grabbed the jug of water that was standing on the Minister's desk and went up to his brother. While the others looked on, he stood on one of the visitor's chairs and unceremoniously poured the water into his puzzled brother's mouth.
James spluttered and coughed—and hiccoughed.
One moment he was there, the next he was gone.
Fudge cursed in shock and violently rose from his seat, staring at the now vacant spot where James had been standing.
As indifferent as ever, Timothy once more turned to Fudge. "Don't worry, I know exactly where he is. I'll fetch him, and you had better go with me as a witness so no-one can claim this never took place."
Understanding what the boy was about to do, Harry grabbed after him. "No, don't—!" But before his hand could clasp the slender arm of their son, Timothy had taken the Minister's hand in his and spirited him away.
Upon seeing them vanish, Draco's knees gave out and he slumped to the floor clutching his aching abdomen protectively. It was just too much. There was a limit to how much one person could take in one day and no amount of Calming Draught could counteract it.
Harry knelt beside him and steadied him. "Dracums, are you all right?" he wondered worriedly.
Draco almost fainted with happiness when his husband called him 'Dracums,' as if everything was like normal. He pressed out a weak smile. "I'm not equipped to deal with all this," he apologised.
Harry put a hand to his stomach. "Does it hurt?" he asked.
"I'm fine," Draco assured him. "I'm just exhausted."
Mistrustful green eyes met his under a scowl that seemed to question everything that came out of his mouth. It shook the blonde. Had he really fallen so far in standing that Harry did not believe him anymore?
He opened his mouth to beg his husband's forgiveness again but was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Timothy, James, and the Minister. The tiny boy was standing solemnly between them, holding their hands as casually as if they had merely been out on a nice afternoon stroll and not at all just travelled through time.
Fudge stumbled away on shaky legs and almost fell over before catching himself on the edge of his desk. His wide-open eyes stared wildly at Timothy. "Wha-what are you, boy? H-how did you do that?"
Timothy met his gaze squarely. "It's easy. I can show you again, if it please you."
"No!" the Minister exclaimed violently before checking himself. Careful to retain some of his dignity, he straightened himself up and cleared his throat importantly. "This is outrageous," he declared pompously. "You let your child use magic unchecked? Not to mention that you have unlawfully taught him very advanced magic! This is … a scandal!"
Draco's stomach turned at the old man's outrage. He had a very bad feeling about this.
Apparently, Harry's brain was heading down the same path, for he stepped in to defend their small son. "Cornelius, listen—I know this looks bad, but there really isn't anything forbidden going on here," he said, and he sounded alarmingly worried, which in turn made Draco even more anxious than he already was. If not even Harry was confident …
"Nothing forbidden?!" Fudge echoed incredulously. "You have taught your seven-year-old to Apparate!"
"Actually, he travels through time," Harry corrected, "and he's five, not seven."
Draco hit him hard on the arm. "Harry!" he warned in a fierce whisper. "Not helping!"
Could not he see where this was going?!
But the damage was already done. The same expression that had met them when James had been taken away to Azkaban was once more on the elderly Minister's face. It seemed like the life of one son had just been bought with the life of the other.
"This is unprecedented. Never in all my years have I witnessed such carelessness and utter disrespect for the law … I will have the Wizengamot assembled immediately. Report to the courtroom, if you know what's good for you." And with those words, he left the office, stubbornly refusing to listen to Harry's upset objections.
So it was that they found themselves in front of the wizarding world's court of law with at least fifty pairs of eyes staring down at them sternly, judging them. Despite telling himself to stay calm and present a confident, united front, Draco could not help but shrink before them. He wondered if this was what Harry had felt like when he had been tried for underage magic.
Glancing over at his husband, he noted that the raven-haired man was indeed nervous and scared. Draco wondered what was running through his mind at that moment, when his own son was on trial for the same offense that he himself had defendant of as a youth. Both of them unjustly accused and already seen as guilty in the eyes of the Ministry.
What seemed to rattle him the most, though, was the fact that Dumbledore was sitting amongst the judges this time around, rather than presenting the defence as had been the case at his own trial.
Fudge, apparently heading the Wizengamot now, explained the case to his colleagues and gave a detailed description of what he had experienced at Timothy's hand. The appalled looks on their faces did not bode well for the boy, and Draco protectively pulled him closer to him. No matter what happened, he would not let go of his son. They would have to kill him before he let them take another child away from him.
"As this is a highly unusual case of unprecedented gravity, the Wizengamot can see no other outcome than to ban Timothy Bond Malfoy from all magic schools and all further use of magic by this individual will be strictly prohibited," was the Minister's ultimate verdict.
Draco's chin dropped. What?!
"But you can't do that!" Harry instantly objected. "He is not just any boy—he is a Time Manipulator! He needs to use magic, and if you take that away from him the entire world will be in danger!"
A scornful chuckle escaped the old Minister's throat. "You presume to change our minds with some fairy tale creature? Come on, Harry, you know better than that."
A vein popped in Harry's right temple. "It is not a fairy tale, and we can prove it to you—right here, right now," he growled between gritted teeth.
"Preposterous! Escort them out of here before I have to hold them all in contempt," Fudge ordered, losing his patience.
But Harry would not give up. "Timothy!" he cried. "If you want to keep changing the future you'd better get your arse over here right now!"
Hardly a second passed before the blond teenager appeared before them, his back turned to the gathered judges. "Harry, is something wrong?" he wondered worriedly.
Harry nodded to their audience and said, "You might say that."
Timothy turned around and took in the Wizengamot. "Oh," he said. "I see."
The arrival of their son's future self relieved both Draco and Harry; it gave them new hope and restored some of their confidence. The elderly witches and wizards of the Wizengamot seemed of a different opinion, though.
"How is this possible?" one witch enquired in an alarmed voice.
"He Apparated here? But that is impossible!" a wizard exclaimed almost simultaneously.
It took Fudge a good three minutes to calm his colleagues down sufficiently to return order to the courtroom. When he was once more in control of the situation, he turned to them anew. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "And who is this boy?"
The newly arrived Time Manipulator took a bold step forward. "I am Timothy Malfoy," he informed them soberly.
A buzzing broke out again, but this time at a much lower volume.
Fudge frowned down at him. "Timothy Malfoy? You are claiming to be—"
"Exactly. I am an older version of this boy you see standing before you. And, for your information, I didn't Apparate here—I stepped through a time portal from the year 2029, where I live." At the renewed buzzing of the judges, he held up his hand to quieten them. "I understand if this is hard for you to believe, so you may verify my claim by comparing my magical signature to that of the boy's. You will see that they are a perfect match."
There were no words in the English language that could accurately describe the reaction of the old witches and wizards when the two Timothies' signatures lined up and proved that they were, indeed, two versions of the same boy from two different points in the timeline. Most of them had heard about Time Manipulators but, like Fudge, believed them to be mere fairy tales; mythical beings created by some author or another in the distant past. To have it confirmed that such creatures did indeed exist and were guarding the flow of time was a momentous discovery.
At one point, Fudge even said, "The mingling of your bloodlines has certainly resulted in some remarkable wizards," his eyes falling first on Timothy and then on James.
Draco immediately drew himself up and haughtily looked down his nose at the old man. "Of course it has! What did you expect from The Boy Who Lived and the heir of Britain's most distinguished wizarding family?"
Now that the matter had been cleared and they had, once again, been profusely apologised to, Draco just wanted to go home and forget all about it. But when he started to motion the boys towards the door, Harry instead went up to the stand where some of the chief judges were seated. "Before we go, there is something I need to make clear," he said, looking straight at Dumbledore.
The ancient wizard nodded his assent but said nothing.
Undeterred, Harry went on: "As of today, I am resigning from my position at Hogwarts, and I am also resigning from the Order. For good."
There were gasps all around the room, but the one escaping Draco was probably the loudest. "Harry, what are you doing?"
For years now it had been his greatest wish to see Harry quit his job, but he had never expected it to actually happen. He did not know if he could believe it.
Harry turned around and met his gaze, then he looked over to their sons. "I've always thought that choosing between you and Hogwarts would be impossible … but now I see that it's the easiest choice in the world." He looked Draco straight in the eye again. "My family is the most important thing in my life. Nothing can make me live apart from you ever again."
The blonde frowned in disbelief. "Do you know how many times you have said things like that? And every time you have gone right back to Hogwarts. So how can you expect me to trust that this time is any different?"
Harry stepped up to him, but when he spoke it was not directed at him. "Timothy, you are a skilled Legilimens, right?"
The Time Manipulator cocked his head. "Yes. Why?"
"Assist me?" Harry asked. Then he put a firm hand on Draco's shoulder and forced him down on his knees. Harry himself knelt in front of him and took his right hand in his.
Confused, Draco searched his emerald eyes for some sort of hint to what was going on inside his mind. Slowly, the significance of their clasped right hands and their kneeling position sank in. Eyes widening in astonishment, he whispered, "What are you doing?"
A fleeting, wry smile flew across the raven-haired man's lips. "Proving to you that I mean it this time," he murmured. "Timothy, would you do the honours?"
Their son directed the tip of his wand to their clasped hands and uttered the incantation.
Harry looked deep into Draco's eyes, and everything they had shared over the years, everything that they felt for one another, the love that still burnt strong and true in both of them, was right there to be seen in those brilliant emerald pools. "Go on," he nudged the blonde, "ask me everything you've wanted to ask me for so long."
His heart skipped a beat. That was a huge responsibility, binding Harry to him in that manner—for the rest of their lives. Taking a deep breath, he nonetheless said, "Will you, Harry Malfoy, put your family first from this point on, no matter what happens?"
Harry's eyes did not waver. "I will."
A thin, wire-like strand of fire snaked its way out of Timothy's wand and around their wrists.
No going back now. Draco closed his eyes. "And will you refrain from ever working at Hogwarts or any other place that would force you away from your family for any extensive time?" he continued, scared of what he might see in his husbands gaze.
"I will."
His eyes shot open again. Had he really heard Harry make that promise? Looking down at their hands, the second ring of fire tying them together confirmed it. "Will you stay away from the Order from now on and never join their ranks again?"
"I will," Harry instantly replied, without a single moment's hesitation.
"And should Dumbledore ever ask you to do a job for him again, regardless of what that job may be … should he ever stake a claim on your duty again … will you decline in favour of your family and always put your duties to me and the children first?"
"I will."
Four promises now. Could he stretch it to five, to include the one promise that mattered to him the most at that moment?
"Finally … will you stay with me for as long as we both live and never leave me?" he whispered, so weakly that he wondered if Harry had even been able to hear him.
But his husband had heard him, alright, and answered that question as readily as the previous four. "I will."
And once the fifth stream of fire had weaved itself around their hands, Timothy sealed the Unbreakable Vow between them, making Harry fatally liable for the upkeep of every promise Draco had ever wanted him to make.
When they finally got back home, Harry knew that it was time for him to sit down with James and have a serious talk; a talk that may decide which path their son would ultimately go down. It was a responsibility that he was not comfortable with taking upon himself, but he recognised that it was his and nobody else's. He had, however unwittingly, done exactly as Tom had foreseen and it was therefore his job to make it right.
"Is there a Pensieve in the house?" he asked Draco after he had helped the blonde into his armchair in the parlour.
Draco raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Yes, but why—"
"Have it brought to James's room upstairs," he interrupted. He did not want to be held up by questions right now; he was anxious to get this over with.
James was not very pleased when Harry joined him in his room, but he at least seemed to accede that it was necessary. He watched warily as his father put his wand to his own temple and pulled out several luminescent, whispery strands that he then put in separate glass vials.
"What are you doing?" he finally wondered.
He was sure getting that question a lot today.
"Preparing," Harry told him shortly.
A few minutes later, Piper arrived with the Pensieve. Harry thanked her and shoved her out the door before she could invite herself to the trip down memory lane. One person walking straight into his mind and witnessing some of his most vulnerable moments in life was quite enough.
Using the Pensieve, he guided his eldest son through every memory that he had of Voldemort starting with the night the Dark Lord killed his parents, the grandparents that James would never know. Even though Harry had no conscious memory of that night, the event had been so traumatic that it had been forever engraved in his subconscious. He still had nightmares of his mother's screaming on occasion.
That memory along with the night of the final task in the Triwizard Tournament—the graveyard in Little Hangleton, Lord Voldemort once more gaining a corporeal body, the murder of Cedric Diggory—affected James the strongest. The more he saw, the more the boy began to realise that the man he had called his uncle had been a dangerous and deranged man.
When the last memory had been viewed, James sat in silence for a long time, mulling things over. When he finally spoke, it was with a low, regretful voice. "I had no idea."
Putting a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder, Harry said, "I know, and that is my fault. I should have shown you this years ago instead of just trying to pound my view into your head with words that … words that had no true meaning when there was no tangible evidence. Since I lived all that and saw how truly evil he was with my own eyes, I just sort of expected that you'd accept it when I told you he was a bad man. And I … I didn't want to remember those …"
Words temporarily failed him.
James patiently waited for him to continue.
"Cedric was my friend. Not a close friend, admittedly, but I liked him and I'm sure that we would've been good friends if he'd … if Voldemort hadn't …" He had to stop and collect himself somewhat. "And I never forgave myself for what happened to Sirius, not completely. He died because I fell for a falsified vision and acted on impulse. If I had only waited for Snape to check it out and get back to me … he would still be alive."
The boy lowered his gaze uncomfortably at this emotional display. Yet again, it was a long time before he spoke. "I have a lot to think about," he murmured. "But I can understand now why you didn't want me to hang out with him. I won't go back there anymore."
A weight lifted off Harry's heart at his son's words. "It gladdens me to hear it," he said, and squeezed the boy's shoulder anew. "And I won't expect too much of you anymore. As long as you are happy and healthy I will be happy. And I will be around much more from now on, so maybe you and I can spend some time together now and then, just the two of us."
Cheeks burning slightly with embarrassment, the boy nonetheless said, "Yeah, that'd be cool."
"I also wanted to ask you … since you always stress that you are a Malfoy, would you like to lose the Potter part of your name altogether and just be James Malfoy?"
James was plainly taken aback by his offer. "D'you really mean that?" he wondered disbelievingly. "You'd be okay with me not being a Potter anymore?"
Harry laughed, despite himself. Then he met his son's direct gaze. "You will always be a Potter. It's not the name that makes a man who he is, it's the choices he makes and the way he lives his life. Regardless what you call yourself, you will always be a Potter and a Malfoy. You will always be our son."
James at first did not seem to know what to do with this new, unexpected freedom. But then he smiled cautiously, and said, "I think I'll keep it for now."
When he came back down to the parlour after the talk with James, Draco was the only one left. He had apparently wrapped himself in a luxurious Afghan and was shuddering visibly. When he spotted Harry in the archway, however, he shot up from the armchair and all but ran up to him. "I need to talk to you, I can't take this anymore, I have to make this right!" he babbled desperately.
Almost immediately, the anger and pain at seeing Draco pleasured by that clone returned to him and burnt as hotly as ever in every fibre of his being. He demonstratively turned away. "I don't wanna hear it," he barked, intending to head back the same way he had come, but the blonde grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
"Harry, please," he begged. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I've never wanted to hurt you, you have to believe me! I didn't know that it wasn't you, I—"
Harry rounded on him, anger getting the better of him. "I had fucking gone to call Ron!" he practically shouted at the blonde.
"But I didn't know that!"
Harry could not believe what he was hearing. Was he taking the Mickey?!
"How could you not know that?! I bloody told you!"
Draco scoffed, but it soon turned into a sob. "Yeah, 'cos it's not like my mind was completely distracted by the fact that our son had been captured by the Dark Lord and might even be dead!" he exclaimed, his voice breaking on the last word as he, himself, broke down in front of Harry. Sobbing wretchedly and shaking, with his lip trembling violently as he spoke, he went on: "How was I supposed to know that it wasn't you? I-I thought it was you, trying to ca-calm me down … I thought it was you …"
His heart breaking at the sight of his husband so torn up, Harry pushed his own disappointment and hurt aside and embraced him. Petted his long, wavy hair consolingly. "Shhh, baby. It's okay. It's okay."
Draco only cried even more violently, loud sobs wracking his shaking body. It scared Harry. He felt so small in his arms, so utterly destroyed … Belatedly, he realised just how much this whole ordeal had actually affected them—his husband especially, what with the pregnancy pumping copious amounts of hormones into his system …
The pregnancy.
Suddenly terrified of the prospect of their unborn daughter being affected by all the stress and anxiety and life threatening events of the day, as well, he urged Draco to listen to him. "I think we should go to St. Mungo's and have them check on the baby. Make sure that she's all right. Okay?"
The blonde seemed to have exhausted himself with his crying and did not even have the energy to object. Fortunately, the check-up showed that the baby was fine, but due to Draco's elevated stress levels the Healers ordered him to take it easy and not excite himself for at least a month, preferably with the first two weeks on strict bedrest.
Back home again, Harry helped his husband up to their bedroom and onto the bed so he could rest. It did not take long before little Timmy showed up in the door, towing toddler Blaise. They climbed up into the bed and snuggled down next to Draco, one boy on each side of him, and Harry felt immense relief when the blonde cracked the first genuinely carefree smile since their trials began.
"Hey, sweethearts," he murmured, and hugged them close to him.
After a little while, even James came into the room and silently lay down next to Blaise, hugging his baby brother. Even though he put up a fearless, unaffected front worthy of any rebellious teenager's admiration, it was clear that James, too, was pretty shaken up and needed comfort.
Draco looked at them all happily. "All my beautiful babies. I love you so much."
The scene made Harry smile, and his heart warmed at the sight of his husband and his children cuddled up, safe and sound. His amazing family. He sure was the luckiest man on the planet.
When Draco, exhausted, fell asleep surrounded by their three boys, Harry left the room and walked downstairs. He felt like the least he could do was make them all some dinner.
On his way to the kitchen, he met Piper. "Do me a favour?" he asked her.
She stopped next to him. "Sure, whatchu need?"
"Find a way to get rid of the clones, yeah? The sooner the better."
She gave him a mock salute. "Aye, aye, Captain!"
Things were finally going to go back to normal again.
Lord Pywercaseley had been standing in the midst of his fallen followers for the past few hours, quietly seething with wrath over his failed plan, wracking his brain for a new scheme that would prove more successful.
The problem was that Potter was never alone; he and his despicable husband were inseparable, and as long as they were together they were a formidable duo.
And that was when it hit him.
He called forth his right-hand men, his most loyal servants, and divulged his plan to them. "We will tear Potter and his pouf apart," he told them with a wicked grin. "But first, I need my brother."