Work Text:
DANCING WITH JAMIE
The sound wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. Harry was so attuned to each sniffle, each creak of bed springs that he was instantly awake, sitting up, and reaching for his glasses on the night stand. Moving cautiously so as not to disturb the other occupant of the wide bed, he sat on the side and slipped his feet into slippers that waited there. Standing, he ran his hand through his thick hair as he headed across the room.
The hallway was dark and chilly, but the door immediately next to the Master suite was cracked open, and a sliver of light made a pie shape on the plush hall runner. As quietly as he could, he pushed open the door and stepped into a wonderland.
Painted fairies frolicked over verdant, rolling fields, flitting from flower to flower, pirouetting though the brilliant blue of the sky that washed the four walls. Dragons flew across the ceiling, the usually fierce creatures rendered with great, soft eyes and wide, uncharacteristic smiles. On a far hill a magic castle sat outlined against the sky, standards of red and gold, and silver and green snapping above turrets in a stiff breeze. And behind the castle was a magical playing field, three ringed hoops at each end, and tiny figures flying above on broomsticks.
Across the rug that resembled a neatly mown lawn dotted with daisies, just beneath a window that was shuttered for the night, was a crib that had been lovingly crafted to look like a train caboose. Lying on his back in a tangle of blankets was a very little boy in a blue footed sleeper, his black hair standing in spikes around his round face, his little button nose red and raw looking. He was sniffling, and if Harry didn’t miss his guess, working himself up for a good cry.
“Ah, little man. Can’t sleep?” Harry murmured as he approached. The baby saw him and immediately began to sniffle, huge grey eyes filling with tears. “Now, don’t do that.” Harry arrived next to the crib and reached down, catching the child under his arms and lifting him up against his chest. The baby sounded stuffed up, and when he breathed there was a soft rattle in his throat. “You cry, and it will just make your nose worse. Hush, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”
Little hands curled in the soft cotton of Harry’s t-shirt and gripped hard, just as those same little hands had curled around his heart seven months before and hadn’t released the grip since. He’d never imagined that it would be possible to love anyone or anything as much as he did this little creature, and yet, there it was. His sun rose and set in the wide grey eyes.
“Mipsy,” Harry said softly, curling his arm under the warm little body and rocking gently from side to side. There was a soft pop just to his side.
“Yes, Master Harry?”
Harry glanced over and saw the small house-elf watching him, great green eyes wide. “Master Jamie needs his decongestion potion,” he said. “Could you fetch it for me please?”
“Of course, sir.”
She was gone and back in the space of a heartbeat, the dropper of pink potion in her hand. “Thank you,” Harry said, taking it from her. The baby saw the dropper approach his face, and turned his head away, his mouth curling down at the corners. “No, honey, don’t do that,” Harry said gently. “It will make you feel better.” Jamie struggled , turning his face further away. “James,” Harry said, his voice a bit more stern, and the child looked at him from the corner of his eyes. “You have to take the potion now.”
He ended up having to insert the dropper into the corner of his mouth and squeeze the bulb, and the baby sputtered and began to cry, but he swallowed most of the potion. Harry handed Mipsy the empty dropper and shifted the baby to his shoulder.
“Sweet lamb,” the little elf murmured sympathetically. “He isn’t feeling very well, he isn’t.”
“No, he isn’t,” Harry agreed, patting the babies padded bum and rocking him while he cried. “Mipsy, if you’d bring me a bottle…”
“At once, Master Harry.” She was gone and back again with the same speed and Harry was always amazed at her efficiency. She held the bottle in her hand. “You be wanting Mipsy to give Master Jamie his bottle, sir? Then you could be going back to sleeping.”
“No, it’s all right, Mipsy,” Harry answered, taking the bottle when she held it up. “I’ll take him down to the living room and we’ll sit by the tree. Maybe that way, he won’t disturb Draco too much. You go on back to bed.”
“All right, sir. Good night.” She was gone with another soft, concussive sound.
“Okay, little man,” Harry murmured to the baby, who was still fussing, but more softly. “Let’s go downstairs and let Daddy get some sleep, yes?”
He left the nursery, his cheek pressed to the baby’s, murmuring to him gently as he passed the darkened Master bedroom, and descended the stairs.
There had been a point in his life when Harry had despaired of ever being a father. Ginny had fallen in love with Neville, and that part of his life had been over. Then he’d had to acknowledge to himself that, not only did he not want to marry Ginny, he didn’t want a bride at all. He loved the women in his life, but they were like sisters, or mothers. Coming to terms with his own sexuality had been one of the most painful journeys he’d ever taken, primarily because it had put fatherhood out of his reach. Or so, he’d thought.
And then, he’d become reacquainted with an old school rival, and realized that what had once been the bane of his existence was also the love of his life. They’d entered into a tumultuous but passionate relationship and for a very long time, Harry believed that while he’d never be able to have children; he’d have the love of this magnificent man, and that was enough. And then that great love had left him, cruelly, and Harry had been destroyed. So destroyed that he’d left England for the next eight months.
He’d come back only for Neville and Ginny’s wedding. He’d planned to be in country for less than a week, and he’d been almost ready to make his excuses and leave the reception when Narcissa Malfoy had appeared.
The next few hours had been some of the most surreal of Harry’s existence.
Naricssa had told Harry that Draco needed help, but she wouldn’t elaborate. When he’d arrived at the run down carriage house where they’d been reduced to living, at first he’d just been horrified by how very ill Draco had appeared. Colorless and wan, clearly much thinner than when last he’d seen him, he’d been lying on a tattered sofa breathing shallowly in sleep, lines of pain and fatigue around his mouth, and Harry had instantly been afraid that he was dying. And then, his mother had awakened him, and he’d struggled into a sitting position, and Harry had… stared.
It was surreal, at best. Harry had been raised by Muggles; men did not become pregnant, they hadn’t the right equipment. And yet there, sitting on that swaybacked sofa, was undeniable proof that in the magical world, absolutely nothing was impossible. Thin as he was, Draco’s huge, swollen belly had given silent testimony to the truth.
Thanks to an ancient spell placed on the Malfoy line, under certain conditions, a male could, in fact, become pregnant and carry a child. Magic would be required to nurture the pregnancy and magic would be required to deliver the baby, but with the production of an heir being the only goal, it could be done. Without ever knowing that they were doing it, Harry and Draco had fulfilled their part of the conditions; they’d both desired children with the other, even though they’d thought it impossible. The result was currently gnawing on the collar of Harry’s t-shirt as he reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into the dark, silent living room.
Because of laws that had been enacted at the end of the war making it illegal for anyone bearing a Dark Mark to acquire medical treatment, Draco had had no prenatal care at all. By the time Harry had been brought into the picture, Draco was in labor with no way for his body to deliver a baby. Narcissa had come to Harry in desperation, for the only other alternative was for both the baby, and the baby’s father, to die.
Of course, Harry couldn’t allow that. As surreal as the whole thing was, as fundamentally as it rocked him to his core, that was his child and he’d have moved heaven and earth in order to see him, and Draco, survive. Re-aligning the planets hadn’t been necessary; re-decorating an emergency room with an eruption of unintentional magic had done the trick. The baby had been delivered by emergency c-section, and both father and child had been saved.
But more than that had been saved that astounding night. Draco had only left Harry to begin with in order to save him the embarrassment of their… unique… situation. He’d been convinced that any news of the pregnancy would somehow destroy Harry’s reputation irrevocably. But to Harry, it seemed as if the universe had presented him with the greatest of gifts; he could have Draco, and they could have their son. It wasn’t an aberration to Harry at all; it was a miracle.
He crossed the dim living room to a beautiful mahogany rocking chair that sat next to a towering, darkened Christmas tree. It was nearly Christmas Eve, and the tree had gone up the weekend before. Knowing that the baby was fascinated by it, and thinking that perhaps it would help to distract him from how miserable he was until the potion had a chance to kick in, Harry approached the tree and searched the heavy branches. Finally he spotted what he’d been seeking.
“Ladies,” he said softly. “A favor, if you don’t mind?”
Sitting near the trunk, a fairy with dark hair lifted her head from where it had been cradled on her arms. She saw Harry and frowned slightly, but then she saw the baby and making a soft cooing sound, her wings spread as she fluttered toward them. Jamie saw her, and his remaining fussiness faded as he stared at her in wonder. She was a pretty little thing, and Harry smiled.
“He isn’t feeling well,” he said softly. “I was wondering if you’d mind waking the others and asking them to light the tree for a little while, just until he goes back to sleep. He’s quite taken with all of you…” She hovered over the wide-eyed baby’s face, making sympathetic noises, then nodded and fluttered back into the tree. Moments later, she was waking the other fairies and the tree began to glow softly.
“Your first conquest, James Arthur,” Harry murmured, sinking into the rocking chair and settling Jamie in the crook of his arm. “The tree fairies.”
Actually, as Harry knew perfectly well, his first conquest had been Harry himself. He’d taken one look at that tiny face, seen that head of disreputable black hair, and he’d been in love. And nothing had changed since. Sometimes, it terrified him how fiercely he loved his son. He’d never felt anything like the vise grip Jamie had on his heart. He adored Draco, and they were together and happier than Harry had ever imagined that they could be, but there was something profoundly singular about the love he felt for his son.
He loved him so much, he’d done something he’d once sworn he’d never do: He’d gone into politics.
The laws that had nearly led to Draco and Jamie’s deaths had to be changed, and there was only one way to do that. From the inside. Harry was now one of the youngest elected members of the Wizengamot in history, and many thought him on the fast track to Minister someday. He wasn’t interested in that; he was only interested in changing public opinion enough that the old prejudices and hatreds could be overcome.
It hadn’t been, and still wasn’t, easy. His status as war hero helped, but there were still some, mostly old school witches and wizards, who thought that Death Eaters deserved not to have any rights at all, including emergency medical care. And there were others who believed that Harry and Draco were an aberration, and that Jamie should have never been born.
Harry’s arms tightened instinctively around his son. There had been howlers in the beginning, spewing hate about Jamie’s birth and Harry and Draco’s relationship. Those had stopped, but there were still those who looked at them with disapproval, and disgust. Harry wasn’t sure what their problem with them was, actually. To him, even though Jamie’s conception and a birth was something of a miracle, it was no more of one than wizards Apparating from one place to appear in another, or turning a tea cup into a living, breathing animal. He’d been raised in the non-magical world; all of it was magical to him. It had surprised, and dismayed him when he found out that even amongst wizards, some magic was suspect. He’d even broken one of his own long standing policies and given an interview to the Daily Prophet when a rumor had begun to circulate that Draco had only been able to bear a child because of some dark spell left over from Voldemort.
Harry looked down into his son’s face as he noisily drank his bottle, and couldn’t imagine anyone looking at him and thinking he was the product of something dark. He was beautiful, and perfect, and Harry would do everything and anything in his power to make sure that he grew up happy, healthy, and knowing that he was loved. Including running for office, and giving interviews to the ruddy newspaper.
Jamie finished the bottle, and Harry set it aside before lifting the baby and propping him against his shoulder, patting him gently on his rounded, solid little back. After a moment he belched loudly.
“Now, that was a manly burp,” Harry chuckled. Jamie responded by rubbing his little nose on Harry’s shoulder and whining softly. “I know, baby,” he said, his hand lingering on the child’s back and rubbing in soothing circles. “I know. Potion should work soon, I promise.”
The little boy had been fussy and feverish for just over two days. He’d caught a cold from Ron and Hermione’s youngest; his first ever, and he wasn’t proving to be a very good patient. But then, Harry thought with a slight smile, in that respect he was very much like his father.
Draco’s recovery after Jamie’s birth had been long and arduous. He’d had no pre-natal care, and the emergency caesarian had caused him fairly serious blood loss. He’d healed slowly and still tired far more easily than he should. That was why Harry took the night shifts with the baby; Draco needed his sleep more than Harry did, though he’d argue that fact strenuously. He was fine, he’d say. Never better. Harry merely smiled and kissed his forehead as he drifted off to sleep, still protesting that he wasn’t tired.
Jamie began to fidget restlessly, and Harry pushed up from the chair to walk him slowly across the room. The movement seemed to soothe him, and Harry began to hum softly, pausing for a moment to rock from foot to foot before turning and repeating the pattern, going in the other direction. He wasn’t sure what he was humming; he thought vaguely that it was a Christmas carol, and this seemed to be reaffirmed when the fairies still fluttering amidst the boughs of the evergreen began to accompany him, their voices soft, high and pure. He quit walking back and forth and began to sway gently in rhythm with the lovely melody. Vaguely, he seemed to remember words.
Silent Night, Holy night, all is calm, all is bright…
He continued to hum, and he felt Jamie begin to go limp in his arms, felt his little head come to rest on his shoulder, and still Harry moved, humming to the accompaniment of the fairies in the tree.
He wasn’t sure how he knew that he wasn’t alone in the room anymore; the same way he always knew, he supposed. There was an… awareness. He turned slowly in place, still moving gently to the song, and found Draco standing in the doorway in a white bathrobe, his arms crossed over his chest, his fair head resting against the doorframe. He was watching, wide grey eyes the exact color as his son’s.
“What are you doing?” he murmured. Harry smiled.
“Dancing with Jamie,” he answered, keeping his voice very soft.
A slight smirk curved the full lips. “Well, he must be leading then, because we both know that you can’t.” Harry’s smile warmed at the gentle teasing. “Is he all right?”
Harry nodded. “He’s fine. In fact, I think…” he leaned back and looked down. Jamie’s pink lips were slack, but his eyes were still slightly open. “No, not quite yet.” He patted the little back, his eyes still on Draco’s face. “You should go back to bed.”
“No,” he answered, moving away from the doorframe and coming to Harry. He paused in front of them. “I think I’d rather dance with my husband and my son, if it’s all the same to you.”
Harry smiled and reached out with this other arm, curling it around Draco and pulling the slender body into his side. Draco slipped his arm around Harry’s waist and lay his head on one shoulder, Jamie’s head remained on the other, and the three of them swayed gently in the magic lights of the tree, accompanied by enchanted song.
And Harry knew, in that moment, that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. This was his reality, his family, his life. And it was perfect.