Chapter 12: 12
55Chapter 12: ASTTWT 1: Hazardous Hiccups
And so the Tables Were Turned, part one: Hazardous Hiccups
The family father role was really growing on them both, and life could not have been better. They were enjoying each day of parenthood and never regretted for a moment that they had decided to have the baby, even after all that happened … But it all worked out fine, actually. Piper had kept pretty much out of the way, Tom was dead and buried, and they had the huge Malfoy Manor all to themselves; nothing more odd happened.
Now, James was thirteen months and walking around the house like a little drunken goblin—although he did not look like a goblin, thank God! It was really hard to believe that that little innocent toddler, who always smiled and had such a wonderful melodious laugh, could have turned into such a vicious and deranged creature as Tom. Or, well, would turn into such a vicious and deranged creature, rather. Technically, none of that had happened yet.
And perhaps it never would—perhaps they had already changed enough of their own and their son's future by giving him a completely different name than what had obviously been intended from the beginning.
Hopefully they would never have to face Tom again.
Watching his son playing on the floor of the parlour, Harry could not help but think back on the problematic pregnancy with a knowing smile on his lips. He particularly remembered one morning during Draco's fourth month …
Harry had been in the bathroom, busy shaving, when he heard the terrified shriek from down the hall. Worried that something was utterly wrong, he hurried back to their bedroom with the electric razor in one hand and his wand in the other, his face white with shaving cream, like an old man's beard. "What's wrong? What happened?" he asked Draco, who was standing beside the bed with a look of despair in his grey eyes, hysterically waving his arms about.
"Look at me! Look at me!" he wailed, tears in his eyes.
He was wearing a set of pyjamas much too big for him in order to cover up the fact that he was swiftly getting rounder by the day, and now the pyjama bottoms were sliding off his hip.
Harry did not understand what was wrong. "I'm looking, I'm looking, but what am I looking at?" he asked confusedly.
Draco moaned as if to reproach him on just how stupid he was for not noticing. He quickly walked over to his lover and grabbed his right hand, in which he held his wand. Draco twisted the wand out of his hand and threw it on the bed, then he put it on his chest. "Here! Do you feel that?"
Harry was actually a little afraid of the wild look in the blonde's eyes. But he felt it alright. And was amazed. "You're … big. And soft …" He gave it a squeeze, fascinated.
Draco pulled away, grimacing. "Ouch! That hurts! Be a little more careful, will you?"
"Sorry. But, Draco, you're … how can you … I mean, it's almost as if you … like, you know, a girl." He tried to formulate a coherent sentence, but it all just came out as random, incoherent rambling.
Draco sighed irritably. "Oh, go on and say it! I have boobs!"
"Yeah … well, you do …"
"I know—and they are bloody killing me!"
"Come on, it can't be that bad," Harry tried to reassure, but only succeeded to infuriate Draco more.
"Not that bad? NOT THAT BAD?! Do you have any idea how it feels to have two huge bombs on your chest, all swelled up with who-knows-what, that feel as if they're about to burst any second?"
"Er … no?"
"No, that's fucking right! So just shut up and pity me!"
Harry protectively put his arms around Draco. Lovingly patting his belly, he said, "I pity you, baby."
"Shut up, you make me sound so pathetic."
"Yeah, well, you are, Draco."
"Fuck you! Call my sister, I would like to have a word with her about this. She's about the only woman I know, and regardless of how much I hate her, I guess I need her expertise in this area."
When the pregnancy really kicked in, Draco turned into a whiny, overly sensitive, impulsive, and very girly nancy boy with mood swings, whom ate huge quantities of food and sweets and puked his guts out respectively, and after puking he would simply go on eating some more. Harry soon learnt to read his lover's unpredictability and to be patient with his many whims, even though he got pretty tired of him from time to time.
He never got angry with Draco; in fact, he loved all the stupid little things that he did and supported him one hundred per cent.
Several times, he was asked to contact Piper for different reasons—mostly womanly reasons, which was rather ironic and highly amusing—only to receive a ranting from Draco because he had invited her over 'without consulting him first.' That time, however, Draco remembered perfectly well why he had asked for his sister. As soon as she arrived, he attacked her with angry, accusatory inquiries. "What the Hell have you done to me, Piper? Do you enjoy seeing me suffer? Is it your opinion that I have done something so awful as to deserve this? Huh? Answer me, you bloody wench!"
Piper was not at all offended by his fury or his accusations, or even by the name-calling, but simply yawned with boredom. "I'm afraid I'm not quite following, Draco," she said impatiently. "Would you care to elaborate?"
Draco roared like an animal. Then he pointed at his chest. "I have breasts!" he yelled at her. "Why the Hell do I have breasts?!"
Piper stared at him in puzzlement. "You mean you actually sprouted breasts?"
"Yes! Is that some sort of life-threatening side effect to the potion?"
"Oh, no, no, that's no side effect, and it certainly isn't dangerous."
"But they really hurt!" Draco whined unhappily.
Piper tried to look down his décolletage to catch a glimpse of the unexpected 'beauties.' "Do you have real nipples, too?"
Draco violently fought her off. "I had the nipples before—all people have nipples, you moron! It's the breasts I'm worried about! Men aren't supposed to have breasts!"
As if struck by a sudden insight, Piper nodded and said, "Oh, yeah, congratulations on your 18th birthday, Drakie-bums."
Draco looked as if he was going to explode. "Excuse me?! It's not my birthday, that's not until December …"
"Oh, you're right … so maybe it's my birthday in November, then?"
"Your birthday's in February, dimwit!"
"Yes, of course it is. When did you think it was?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake … you're even more stupid now than when I last saw you. Now could we please return to the reason why I had you sent for?"
"Certainly. Well, it's quite simple, really. Your body is preparing itself for the baby, and naturally you are producing a healthy quantity of mother's milk—you know, to feed the baby with—and I guess since you're a man, the potion kind of helped you grow what you lacked, so to speak. In order to take care of the baby, I mean."
"Oh. Then why do they hurt if it's not dangerous?"
"Hello! Because they're so crammed full of milk right now and they're not used to it! The skin ought to be really stretched out down there." She once again tried to catch a glimpse of her brother's boobs, again failing because of Draco's extensive protectiveness. "I'm afraid you'll have to live with that for some time, maybe even as long as ten to twelve months after the baby's born."
"Ten to twelve months?"
"Yeah, and that's only in addition to the five months or so you have left of your pregnancy."
"Five more months?"
"Uh-huh. Well, if there was nothing else, I had better take my leave, then. Ciao!"
Reminiscing about that moment made Harry laugh and shake his head in amusement and resignation. It had sure been an ordeal to have pregnant Draco around, but it had been a pleasure as well. Seeing his lover with that huge belly, knowing that there was another little person growing inside of him, Harry had only come to love him more. And now they had a son. It was all too amazing to grasp.
He watched James as he played with his rubber wand, wearing his cute little black cloak …
James made a semi-grimace and hiccoughed loudly—and the next moment, he had disappeared.
Harry instantly straightened up in his armchair. "James?" he said, wanting so bad to believe that his son had somehow found his Invisibility Cloak and put it on without him noticing than to admit that he had actually vanished right under his nose. Hysteria rising inside of him, he called out once more, louder this time. "James?"
Draco appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a red-and-white chequered apron and holding a wooden spatula in his right hand. He had developed quite a predilection for cooking during his pregnancy, but in the true Malfoy spirit he never used his hands when he could use magic. He just liked holding the kitchen utensils. "What's wrong?"
Harry got up from the armchair and hurried up to the spot where James had been sitting. "He just disappeared! Where did he go?"
Draco knitted his eyebrows in confusion. "What do you mean, 'he just disappeared?'"
"He was here just a few seconds ago, playing, but then he disappeared! I don't know where he is!"
Clink. The spatula had fallen to the floor. A faint whisper came from the doorway. "What?"
Harry went over to him and put his arms around him. "I'm sorry, Dracums, I was supposed to watch him. I'll go find him."
"How?"
"I don't know, but I'll find him—somehow."
He went to all the places they usually took James to play, or to buy sweets, or to have fun in other ways that a small child might appreciate. Since they did not really spend time with other people outside their little family, there were no friends whose houses to go look for the boy at. Harry and Ron had lost touch after Tom murdered Hermione, which was quite understandable. Harry thought it was sad, but he did not know how to break the ice between them so he pretty much pushed it out of his mind.
Now, when he returned home empty-handed, Draco began to cry. "He's gone! He's gone forever and we won't ever find him!"
Harry tried his best to reassure him, but his own anxiety made that task almost impossible. He was only a toddler, for crying out loud! How was he supposed to take care of himself out in the unknown, wide world?!
Another thought suddenly hit him. What if he were found by Muggles? What if he accidentally used magic in front of them and exposed the entire magic community? They would have the entire Ministry breathing down their necks in no time!
"How are we ever going to find him?" Draco sobbed into Harry's shirt.
"I don't know. I honestly don't know. Let's just hope that he returns home of his own accord, or that someone spots him and turns him in to the police or something."
"Police? You think he's with Muggles?"
"You never know. Who's to say where he wound up?"
Despite his fruitless efforts that afternoon, Harry kept searching for their son almost nonstop for the following three days without any results whatsoever. Ultimately, they were both ready to give up and leave it to the authorities to find James. That's when the owl came.
Harry recognised it almost instantly. "Hey, Pigwidgeon! How are you, mate? Got a letter for me or something?" Ron's faithful, but over-enthusiastic, owl reached out its left leg, where a piece of parchment had been attached. Harry unfolded it and read it. Feeling optimistic and exhilarated for the first time in almost four days, Harry called for Draco.
"What?" the blonde said gloomily.
"Here, read this!"
Dear Harry,
I know it's been some time since you heard
anything from us, and quite some time indeed
since you made contact with us. I tried to make
Ron write to you, but he said he didn't think it
would be right, so I took the task upon myself to
inform you of the matter.
You see, just this morning, a strange little baby boy appeared in
our kitchen, and when Molly took a closer look
at the chap she noticed the name 'Potter' written on
the nametag on his cloak. He doesn't belong
to you by any chance, does he? Cute little fella.
Anyway, Molly and I wish you and Draco would
come for dinner so that we can catch up on old times.
Best of wishes, Arthur Weasley
After many cheers and hugs and some triumphant dancing around the parlour, they went straight to the Burrow to pick up their son. "Mrs. Weasley? Mr. Weasley?" Harry called when they arrived, looking about the cosy kitchen.
The Weasleys momentarily hurried down the stairs from the upper floors of the house, Molly in the lead, wearing a broad smile. She held out her arms to him. "Harry, dear! Oh, look at you! You're so tall! And your friend! What was your name again, dear?"
"Draco," Draco said numbly as Mrs. Weasley hugged him.
Harry laughed. "Boyfriend, Mrs. Weasley," he corrected her affectionately. "He's my boyfriend."
"Oh, of course he is, dear!"
"Where's James?" Draco inquired worriedly, looking up behind them.
"James? Oh, you mean the boy! He's with Ginny, dear. GINNY! Take that boy with you and come downstairs!"
Harry shook hands with Mr. Weasley and said an awkward "Hi" to Ron, who was standing in the background looking rather lost. As soon as Ginny came downstairs with James, Draco knelt on the floor and protectively put his arms around the boy. "James! We've been so worried! Don't ever do that again—whatever it was you did …"
"Hicky-puff," James said, smiling broadly, putting his right index finger in his mouth.
"Yeah, that's right," Harry said as he remembered. "He was hiccoughing right before he vanished. D'you think that had anything to do with it?"
"Hiccoughing, eh?" Mr. Weasley said. "Never heard of it."
"Is he yours?" Ginny asked Harry, and smiled down at the little toddler.
Harry smiled back. "Yeah, he's ours. His name is James Sirius."
Mrs. Weasley patted him on the cheek. "It's a lovely name, dear. Bet both your father and Sirius would've been proud of you and your boy."
"Did you adopt him?" Ginny went on as if Mrs. Weasley had not said anything at all.
"Adopt!" Draco exclaimed, as if he had been insulted. "No, he's ours all right! He's both our flesh and blood!"
Ginny frowned. "But how is that possible? You're both boys …"
"It's a long story," Harry said, "and I will tell you all about it later. But first I think I better calm Draco."
They all understood perfectly well what Harry meant by 'calm Draco', because the blonde was currently shaking the little boy, a hysterical expression on his face. "Why did you vanish like that? Are you out of your bloody mind? You're only one year old, for Christ's sake! Don't ever vanish like that again, do you hear me!?"
Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Draco, put the boy down. He can't answer you, anyway, 'cos he doesn't speak that well yet."
"I don't bloody care! He scared me!"
"He scared me, too, baby."
"Don't 'baby' me—and why do you always have to be so calm, too?"
Harry smiled teasingly. "Someone has to be the strong one. What would it look like if we were both mental cases, huh?"
"Don't mock me."
"Stop whining, then."
Draco pouted, but he at least shut up and put James down. The boy merely looked entertained by his hysterical father and tottered off to play with the Weasleys' fat cat. Harry watched him with an affectionate smile. The son that had paid them an unexpected visit from the future almost two years previously seemed to have been successfully wiped away from their memories, and neither of them worried or even thought about him anymore; they were both blinded by the bliss of parenthood.
Mrs. Weasley insisted on the two young men and the boy staying for dinner, and they happily accepted, even though Draco was anxious to get back home now that they had found James. Harry thought it best to express their gratitude to the Weasleys and grant Molly that one wish.
They actually had a great time, and they both discovered that it was not so hard to rebuild their friendship with the Weasleys. After a mere twenty minutes, they were once again talking and laughing as if they had ever lost touch in the first place.
After dinner, Ron surprised Harry by asking him for a private conversation in his room upstairs. Harry noticed that nothing had changed about it since he had last set foot in it. It was odd to think that they had lost contact altogether like that … They had always been best friends—almost like brothers, even. But Hermione's death had cut their bond. Now they needed to figure out how to retie it again.
Ron measured him with his eyes. "So, you have a child now?" he stated somewhat nervously.
"Yeah," Harry replied awkwardly.
"And Malfoy … carried him?"
"He was pregnant with him, yes."
"Quite amazing stuff."
"Yeah. We hardly believed Piper ourselves when she told us about the Priberty Potion. But it was quite obvious that she was telling the truth, what with Tom confirming it and everything …"
Ron stiffened. "Tom? You mean the bloke who killed Hermione?"
Harry felt something stab his heart when he saw the raw pain on Ron's face. He was not over her yet. Mentioning Tom had been a bad thing to do. Uncertain what to say, he squirmed in his seat. "Well, yeah … he was … I mean, he said that he was … Blimey, how can I tell you this?"
Ron's eyes had turned raven black and were shooting flashes of angry lightning. "You knew him? You were friends with him?" he demanded with hostility.
"I …" Harry was interrupted by a knock on the door. Draco appeared in the doorway. "Sorry to barge in on your private make-up-talk, but Tom is asking for you."
Harry frowned. "Tom?"
"What? Oh, sorry. I meant James, of course. I keep forgetting that we changed his name after he died … James is asking for you, and I figured that since he was so angry about not getting enough attention from you in the future, you might want to go to him, that's all." He fell silent when he saw Ron's face turn the same tone of ginger as his hair. "What's up with you? You look as if you've just received the insult of your life or something."
Harry made an urgent gesture at him. "Draco – don't!"
But it was already too late. Ron rose from his bed, and with an angry glance at Harry, he said, "What is this? What the Hell are you talking about? First you start talking about that Tom bloke who killed my Hermione, and then your bloody boyfriend barges in rambling about Tom wanting to speak with you and something about you guys changing James's name after he DIED—what is all this about? I demand an explanation!"
Harry and Draco exchanged a knowing look. Then Harry turned to his best friend. "I guess I have to tell you the whole story, then. About—what could it be now?—two years ago, a stranger came to our house claiming to be from the future, and he needed our help. Draco and I agreed to help him, but we never quite trusted him. All he told us was that his name was Tom and that he had to stop a particular event from occurring. For that, he needed planning, and that's what he did at our house.
"We didn't like having him there, but we were having problems of our own at the moment. Draco was feeling really sick, and we figured it must be because of all the stress Tom was causing him, but then we found out that he was feeling ill because he was pregnant. It was the same day that you guys showed up; the day he showed us his true colours and murdered Hermione … Piper came to the Manor to do a check-up on Draco, and it turned out that the child he was carrying was Tom."
Ron jerked. "What? Do you mean to tell me that that boy … that James … that he is Tom?!"
"Yes. There is no easy way to tell you this, but … yes, he is Tom. Obviously, Draco and I did something terribly wrong in raising him, or rather: I did something wrong. He accused me of not loving him enough, of not seeing him, so he turned to the Dark Lord in the hopes of finding what I had been unable to give him. He tried to kill me twice. Draco was supposed to take a potion that would terminate the pregnancy, but he couldn't do it, so when Tom tried to kill me for the second time, Draco killed him."
Ron stared at him in confusion. "Draco killed Tom?"
"Yes."
"But you kept the baby?"
"Yes."
"In spite of everything that Tom did?"
"Yes, but you need to understand something, Ron. You see, the baby hasn't done any of those things yet, and there is still a good chance that Draco and I will be able to prevent it this time. We have twenty years to figure out what we did wrong. You can't blame James for what Tom did, because technically all those things haven't happened yet."
Ron sank down on the edge of his bed. "This is giving me a headache," he complained whiningly.
"Er, Harry, I don't want to pressure you or anything, but would you please go to Jimmy now?" Draco pleaded. "I don't want to screw up already."
Harry took a seat beside Ron. "Why don't you bring him up here instead?"
"Okay." Draco went to get the boy.
"Why are you bringing him up here?" Ron asked furiously.
"Because you need to see that he is as innocent as any other child. He's just a small boy, and he has never harmed anyone. I love him, and Draco loves him—he's part of our family. If we're going to be friends again, you have to accept that, and you have to accept James."
It proved to be easy for Ron to accept the jolly little boy, with his clumsiness and amusing attempts at speech, and they were soon playing with Ron's old Quidditch merchandise as if they had never done anything else. It warmed Harry to see them together: his best friend and his firstborn son. At that moment, he knew that everything would be all right.
Later, when they returned home from a successful reunion with the Weasleys, someone was in the house. They came in through the fireplace in the den, which was dark and deserted just like they had left it, but there were eerie noises coming from the kitchen. One look exchanged, Draco raised his wand and took the lead, Harry following close behind with James tight in his arms.
Slowly, quietly, they moved through the archway to the parlour and out into the short hallway. Draco stopped just beside the kitchen doorway and listened. A low thud echoed through the quiet house. With determination, Draco stepped around the corner and shouted, "Freeze, you burgling bastard!", but stopped short with his mouth hanging open just inside the door.
Harry followed. "Who is it?"
As soon as he had stepped into the kitchen, he realised that he should not have had to ask that question. Of course it was Piper—who else? She had frozen with a piece of yellow pepper dangling from the corner of her mouth, busy searching through their refrigerator.
When the shock lifted, she smiled broadly. "Hey guys! What have you been up to today? I've been waiting here for three hours."
Draco's face was swiftly turning crimson. "And what exactly are you doing in my house, eating my food?"
"See, that's why I came here. It seems I've been evicted from my London apartment, and I haven't any place to go, so I wanted to ask you guys if I may stay here for a couple of months while I look for a new apartment?"
Harry took a step back from Draco, protectively shielding the boy from the outburst-to-come.
"WHAT?! Stay here? Are you out of your bloody mind? You are not staying at my house, not ever!" Draco yelled furiously.
"But Draco, I haven't any place to go …"
"I'm glad! It's time you learnt your lesson for being so insufferable all the time!"
Harry carefully put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Dracums, we have a hundred and five rooms here, and we hardly even use thirty of them. Can't you give her at least one or two?" he said soberly. "She can even have her own kitchen if she'd like, and we wouldn't ever have to see her. She is your sister, Draco; we can't just turn her out in the cold."
Draco looked as if he wanted to present all 3000 arguments that he had stored up, but finally he sighed and gave up. "Oh, all right. But if you're going to live here, you have to promise me a few things."
Piper lit up. "Sure! Anything!"
Draco stuck out his chin. "You have to live by my rules, and you don't have any say in this house—about anything. You can stay for as long as you need to find a new apartment, but the moment you do you're out of here, understood? I have the right to kick you out whenever I feel that you have broken the rules, and you won't be able to come back. There will be no explosions, no careless wand-waving, no making up new spells, and absolutely no bloody potions! Understood?"
Piper nodded. "Yes, absolutely, understood. I promise there will be no trouble at all, no trouble at all. Thank you, bro." She gave him a brief hug before strutting off with her vegetables.
Draco sighed again and sank down in one of the kitchen chairs. "Blimey, what have I done now? How could I ever consent to her staying here? She'll mess up our lives again."
Harry put the squirming James down and walked over to Draco. Kissed the crown of his head. "I'm very flattered that you actually said 'our lives' when you wanted to say 'my life,' Dracums," he mumbled lovingly.
Draco chuckled. "Yeah, I do sound awfully self-centred, don't I?"
"Yeah, you do. But I love you just the way you are."
"Good for me, I guess. Wouldn't have anyone in the world if I didn't have you to love me. Except for that bloody brainless wench who poses as my sister, of course, but that wouldn't count for anything, either."
Harry laughed and pulled Draco up from the chair. "Come. Let's go upstairs and calm down a bit. I think we need it."
Draco nodded and followed him to the stairs. Through the parlour archway, they could see Piper semi-lying on one of the couches, chewing loudly on a carrot, and James playfully hitting her legs with a yellow rubber club. She did not mind him, and he seemed to be awfully amused by the squeaky noises that the rubber club made when it hit her knees and ankles.
"Look after him a while, will you?" Harry asked as he began to push Draco upstairs. He thought he heard her mumble an indifferent, "Yeah, sure," between bites, but he did not stay to see if she would start objecting.
Draco went directly into their bedroom, but that was not where Harry had liked to go—not yet. There, Draco stopped. "Oh, my Coke," he said, and bent down to pick up a plastic bottle from under the bed.
Harry wrinkled his nose. "You're not gonna drink that, are you?"
Draco gave him a blank look. "Why not?" He unscrewed the cork. "I like Coke. One of few good things that's actually come out of Muggle minds." He took a deep swig, and Harry let hear a disgusted moan. Draco frowned. "Wha'?"
"That's been under there for like a month!"
"Two, actually."
"Ugh, even worse! Do you know what that does to you? Old Coke?"
Draco cast a glance at the bottle. "Says here it expires in May of next year," he protested.
"If you haven't opened it or keep it chilled, yeah! Ugh, Draco, no—that's just disgusting! You won't get any kiss from me until you've thoroughly brushed your teeth!"
"Good. Then I can take out the other bottle that I hid in the wardrobe six months ago."
"Uuuuugghhh!"
"And, look here! I think I put this can behind the trash basket like two years ago. Wonder what that tastes like?"
"You can't be bloody serious!"
Draco tried it, smacked his lips together, and nodded in approval. "Not bad. Wanna try it, Harry?"
"UUUUUGGGGGHHHHH! Now I have to go puke!"
Harry swiftly left Draco to his Coke-drinking and retreated to the library down the hall, opposite the huge master bath. In desperate need of occupying his mind with something else than the gross images that Draco was currently inspiring, Harry took down a book from one of the many shelves in the 5000-square-feet room and began to skim through it.
At first, he did not register the words and the pictures in the volume, but eventually he grew aware that the book he was looking through was about some really advanced dark magic, and his first thought was to close it and put it back as soon as possible, but then he saw something utterly interesting. It was a Summoning Spell, but not any ordinary kind.
How to summon the dead.
Harry stared at the page as if paralysed by fear. As he read the instructions on how to use the spell, he realised that it would not be too hard to perform it. And regardless of the risks, he discovered that he was strangely compelled to rip the page out of the book and put it in his pocket so he could use it later—why, he did not know.
"Harry?"
He quickly slammed the book shut and crammed it back in with the others on the shelf.
"Harry, did you go downstairs?"
Draco's footsteps faded away as he descended the stairs to the second floor. Harry released his breath and exited the library. With one last glance at the spine of the dark book, he shut the door and walked back to their bedroom. Resolutely, he picked up the two half-empty bottles and the can of Coke that Draco had left on his desk and went to the bathroom. He poured them out in the sink. Then he returned to their bedroom and started to sort through his wardrobe. He wanted to change into something less formal, more comfortable.
"Oh, there you are," Draco said from the doorway. "Where'd you go? I was looking for you."
"Did you brush your teeth?" Harry teased.
Draco laughed. "Actually, I did." He went over to Harry and put his arms around his waist; rested his head on Harry's shoulder. "I was thinking of taking a bath, you want to join me?"
"Can't, I have a million things to do."
"Bloody Auror-boy."
"I'm not an Auror," Harry protested affectionately.
"But you're going to be," Draco pointed out.
Harry made a wry face that his lover could not see. "I don't know about that, actually. It doesn't feel … right. Feels as if I should be doing something else."
Draco gently kissed his shoulder. "What? You don't like your training? You don't like you classmates?"
Harry sighed. "It's not that. It's just that … I feel confined. I want to do something, not just study all the time. Do you know how much paper work Aurors have to push? I don't want to be stuck behind some bloody desk in wait of a dark wizard to pursue."
"Then what do you want?"
"I don't know … but lately I've been thinking about Quidditch."
"Professional Quidditch?"
"Yeah. I miss flying."
"Well, your Firebolt's in the broom closet on the first floor, and the talent's in you, Harry. I know you can do it if you really want to. And I'm not just speaking of your incredible flying during all your Quidditch matches back at Hogwarts—I'm thinking about the time you tricked that dragon during the Triwizard Tournament. That was some bloody brilliant flying, Harry! The best Wronski Feint I have ever seen. If you want to play Quidditch, every bloody team in England will be fighting over you."
"Thanks, Dracums." Harry took out a black sweat suit and turned around to face his lover. He knitted his brows when he saw the fresh beads of sweat on Draco's forehead, the flushed cheeks, and the watery eyes. "Draco, are you all right?"
Draco looked bewildered. "What d'you mean?"
"You don't look very good. Are you feeling sick?"
"Well, now that you mention it … I do feel rather strange …"
Harry put his hand on Draco's forehead. "You might want to reconsider that bath, Dracums—you have a fever. And a quite high fever, too."
Draco instantly fought him off. "Oh, no, no, I am going to have that bath! Want it more now than ever, might take my fever away …"
Harry stopped him when he tried to walk away. "Are you crazy? You can't take a bath now! You'll faint and drown, for crying out loud!"
"Like I care. Nothing you say will make me change my mind, so just let me go, all right?" He pushed past Harry, wobbled a bit, but just kept on walking when he regained his balance.
Harry sighed. "As you wish. But don't come back to haunt me after you've drowned, all right? I have enough on my plate as it is. I'll just go down to James, then. Call me if you need anything. Anything."
"You got it. And make sure you keep a close watch on James. Don't let him vanish again."
"Fat chance. I'll be holding his hand all the time, so if he goes anywhere I'll be going with him."
"Great. Love you, Harry."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, jump into that bath and shut up."
"Bastard."
Harry was smiling when he went down to the parlour to look after James. No matter how much they mocked each other or how much they quarrelled, it always ended up with them declaring their love for each other. He was certain that no other couple in the world could have that same special relationship that Draco and he had.
Piper looked up from the novel she was reading when he arrived. "Where's Draco?" she asked, surprised to see him alone.
Harry sat down in his favourite armchair and sighed happily. "He's come down with the flu so he's taking a bath," he informed the sister.
Piper raised an eyebrow. "A bath? When he's having the flu? Don't you find that awfully stupid?"
"Yeah, I do. I tried to talk him out of it, but you know how Draco is."
"Unfortunately. Man, that's something you might expect me to do."
Harry gave her a look that said, Are you stupid or are you stupid?
On the floor, James coughed twice and then hiccupped loudly.
Remembering what happened the last time the boy had the hiccoughs, Harry jumped down on the floor and clasped his son in his arms, and it proved to have been good to listen to his instincts, because in the next moment they both left the cosy parlour and travelled through a sparkling nothingness at breakneck speed. Next thing Harry knew, they were lying on the floor of somebody else's living room, and the person in front of him was not exactly whom he had expected …
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