One of Your Fathers Chapter 8
Title: Parte The Eighth: Stirring The Nest
Link to all chapters: here
Author: luciology
Rating: PG-13,
Pairing: H/D
Genre: Mpreg, Hurt/Comfort
Disclaimer: No ownership, no money.
Summary: An unwanted intrusion causes trouble in the nest.
Beta: Many thanks to both dacro and quiet_lucidity, who were brave enough to step up & offer their services whilst saladbats is in Europe. *Hugs* I have added bits so any errors are mine.
A/N: This fic was written as part of the multi-author series One of Your Fathers. Thanks to dacro for the title.
Stirring the Nest
Draco stood at the top of the timber framed porch steps and carefully surveyed the gardens to the woods beyond, ensuring that he was alone before removing Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. God, how he’d missed this, the adrenaline rush, the thrill that came with being on a covert operation. Propping his broom against a garden chair, Draco cast a softly spoken “Alohomora.” then stood poised, cloak in one hand and wand in the other, unconsciously holding his breath as the front door swung inwards, just in case the information he had retrieved from the agent earlier was incorrect.
Draco hadn’t used Legilimency for some time but, like flying a broom, it was a skill that once learned was never forgotten. He had been able to slip into the Muggle estate agent’s mind easily during his first viewing of the property and found just what he needed - the details of the estate agent’s other appointments during the week, along with the code needed to disable the Muggle security device that was currently beeping rapidly, demanding his attention. Draco closed the front door and stepped cautiously into the small lobby. Turning to the right to enter the much larger oak beamed reception hall, he dropped the Invisibility Cloak on to a side table, quickly located the alarm’s keypad and tapped in the code.
Silence now emanated from the house.
Draco looked around the now quiet reception hall. His heart leapt to his throat and he started as he caught sight of another face looking back at him from across the room, before realising that it was his own reflection. Exhaling quickly, and with an imperceptibly shaking hand, the only outward sign of the unnerving experience, Draco tucked his wand away and walked across the stone floor toward the mirror to scowl at his refection.
“Merlin, what’s happening to me?” Draco murmured to himself, rubbing the light stubble on his chin with one hand and taking in the pallid visage staring back at him. The dark circles under his eyes that spoke of too many sleepless nights, the clenched jaw and taught features - too many times either biting his tongue or trying to coax Harry out of the depression he seemed to have sunk into over the last week, and the unhappiness that seemed to radiate from his body in waves, only confirmed that he had made the right decision in leaving Harry early that morning.
It hadn’t been an easy decision but Merlin knew that he needed time to think, a breathing space to find a solution to the problem that was currently gnawing away at his sanity - Harry. Draco walked through the archway of the dinning room to the large sitting room and stretched out on the leather chesterfield sofa, feeling more than a little grateful that the current owners had thought to leave the house furnished when they’d moved to work abroad.
Sinking further into the embrace of the sofa, Draco turned his head slowly from side to side in an effort to ease the tension from his neck and shoulders. When was this rollercoaster journey, this endless see-sawing of emotions going to end? Draco thought that he and Harry had finally turned the corner when he had woken to the sound of soft singing one morning just over three weeks ago. The corners of Draco’s lips curled into a smile as he recalled that memory.
~*~
Getting out of bed, Draco padded to the open bedroom door and listened, trying to locate the sound of the voice and work out who was singing. He had never heard Harry sing before, apart from semi-tuneless carousing with their friends, so he more than a little curious as to who owned the melodic voice that seemed to be coming from the nursery. Reaching the room, Draco grinned broadly and warmth suffused his body as he stood by the door jamb silently watching Harry. His husband was singing as he picked up a different item of the girls’ clothing, rubbed it softly against his cheek, then refolded it and put it back in the drawer, only to repeat the process over and over again.
Draco walked into the nursery and slid his arms around Harry, pressing his hands gently against that ever growing taut belly, hoping to feel some movement from the 'Malfoy Maids' as Harry had recently taken to calling the twins. “It’s like having my own personal Quidditch team of two playing inside me,” Harry had said after a particularly active session from the girls. Draco pressed himself as close to Harry’s back as he was able due to the more pronounced curve of Harry’s spine, so that he could hold those that were most dear to him in his arms.
“Good Morning Caruso,” Draco said then kissed Harry on the jaw.
“Is that an insult?” Harry said, trying to turn in Draco’s arms, “I’ve never heard of him, or her.”
“You really are plebeian sometimes, Harry, and that is an insult, if you’re unsure. Enrico Caruso. He was a great Italian opera singer.” Draco turned his face to the collection of stuffed animals overflowing from the shelves on the wall and sighed in mock exasperation, “Can you believe that this is the man I chose to be the father of my children.”
Harry tensed slightly against Draco. “Well, you didn’t exactly choose…”
“I would have done Harry, if we’d discussed the possibility first. I would’ve done.” He relaxed his hold and stepped back slightly so that Harry could turn to face him. Looking into those sparkling green eyes, Draco could hardly believe that this was his despondent husband from a couple of weeks before. “What were you singing?” he asked.
Harry’s cheeks coloured in response to Draco’s question. “It’s something Hermione taught me to sing to our children called Blow The Wind Southerly. It’s not a lullaby exactly, it's more of a... Well, it's a love song actually," he finally blurted out.
Draco stared at Harry, fighting the urge to laugh. “A love song?" he queried. "Are you sure that's suitable for my daughters’ tender young ears?”
“Yes, you arse. It’s about someone’s true love returning to them from across the sea, and I really liked the tune.” The sparkle suddenly left Harry’s eyes and he looked down at his belly. When he spoke again his voice was hushed and filled with sadness. “I have no memory of my mother singing to me, Draco. No memory at all.”
At those words a cold shiver ran down Draco’s spine and he knew in that moment that he would do anything to protect Harry and the girls, so that his daughters would not experience the misery of their father’s childhood. In an effort to lighten Harry's mood he said, “I think it’s a wonderful idea, Harry. You can teach to me too, if you will.”
Harry looked up and beamed. “Draco Malfoy, have I told you that I love you today?”
Draco smirked, “No, but you can show me instead.”
Harry moved closer to Draco and leaned forward to murmur against his lips, “I have no problem with that, but first we need to relocate to somewhere more comfortable to help soothe my backache.” Draco could feel himself hardening in anticipation at the thought of touching Harry, feeling Harry around him. Taking Draco by the hand, Harry led him toward the bathroom. Watching Harry move in front of him, Draco eyed his rear and smiled fondly. He would never admit it to anyone, but he loved watching Harry’s recently developed waddle as much as his previous sexy swagger.
During the next two weeks, Harry seemed to exude energy and vitality. Draco would wake in the mornings, or return home to find him thoroughly cleaning each room in the house the Muggle way. “That way I know things are spic and span before the babies arrive,” Harry would reply when asked why he didn’t use magic.
Not sure if Harry’s sudden need to clean and organise was ‘normal’ for a pregnant spouse, Draco had finally swallowed his pride and sought Hermione’s advice about Harry’s irrational behaviour. She’d smiled and patted him on the arm in a manner that was eerily reminiscent of Molly Weasley, and informed him it was simply the nesting instinct, the need to prepare for the arrival of their offspring. A compulsion as old as life itself, she had said, and it was best to just go with the flow, unless it became dangerous.
So Draco looked on indulgently as Harry packed and repacked his hospital bag, or sorted through the contents of any cupboard in the house, seeming to find endless different ways to order and catalogue things that would make Irma Pince proud. Harsh words did follow, though, the day Draco caught Harry attempting to clean the top shelf of one of the kitchen cupboards, teetering on a chair to reach the very back. Draco was certain he had aged fifty years in as many seconds as he frantically debated whether to cast Wingardium Leviosa or simply grasp Harry firmly and hope he wouldn’t fall off the chair in shock, flattening Draco in the process.
Then, six days ago, it was over as suddenly as it had started. Draco had come home to absolute silence. Instinctively he knew something was wrong after the noise and bustle of the previous two weeks. Cold tendrils of something akin to fear began to curl around his insides, clenching his stomach and clutching at his throat, making it difficult to swallow. Draco shut the door quickly and quietly went down the hall in search of Harry.
The only thing that greeted him apart from empty rooms was more silence.
Fighting the little known urge to panic, Draco went upstairs and finally found Harry sitting ramrod straight on one of the rocking chairs by the window in the moonlit nursery, his arms encircling his swollen belly protectively. He appeared to be staring out into the night. “Harry?” Draco enquired softly as he stood behind the chair and put his hands on the silent man’s shoulders. “Harry, I’m sorry I’m late. Are you all right?”
“Don’t touch me. I don’t deserve to be touched,” Harry answered in a flat voice, all the while staring into the distance. The icy tendrils fingers clenching at Draco’s insides tightened their grip almost to the point of pain. Draco tried to sound light hearted when he spoke again, despite the constriction in his throat. “Of course you deserve to be touched. You’re the father of my children and…”
“Don’t!” Harry cried, shrugging Draco’s hands off his shoulders without attempting to make eye contact. “Don’t say those words. I know what I am and I know what I’ve done and I can’t forgive myself.”
Draco moved to the front of the chair between Harry and the window, his hands hanging impotently by his sides. “Harry, look at me,” he said gently.
No response.
“Harry, do you think I’m angry with you for some reason? Please look at me.”
Still no response, just that blank stare at nothingness.
Draco was certain that the ‘softly softly’ approach would break through Harry’s reserve so he knelt down before him, placing his hands gently on Harry’s knees. “Harry, I can’t help you if I don’t know what you think you’ve done.” He kept his eyes fixed on Harry’s face while sliding his hands up Harry’s thighs to clasp his husband’s hands in his. “Harry, I’m asking you to let me help. Don’t shut me out now, please.” Draco hated sounding needy but knew that Harry’s innate Gryffindorness would respond best to entreaties so he tried again. “Harry, you can trust me. Please tell me what you think you’ve done.”
“I don’t think, Draco, I know,” Harry said in that empty voice. Suddenly he looked down at Draco, who was momentarily taken aback by the intensity of Harry’s gaze. “I know,” Harry whispered fiercely while clutching Draco’s hands tightly. “I know,” he whispered once more, his eyes burning in the moonlight with the fire of a recently converted zealot.
Draco was reminded of his father during one of his anti-Muggle rants and he couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder as it coursed through his body. Harry felt the slight movement and, breaking eye contact, snatched his hands away from Draco’s, placing them back on his belly. Draco was struck by how small and alone Harry suddenly looked and leaned forward so his face was closer to Harry’s. “Harry, look at me." Harry raised his head and his eyes bored into Draco's. "Remember who my father was. I cannot believe that you could have done anything that would shock or upset me. I’m not going anywhere, so tell me what you know. I won’t interrupt or judge you, I promise.”
Harry took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before speaking, “Through my own stupidity I’m going to ruin four people's lives. I’ve become a curiosity, a freak, a walking joke. You're being cast as some sort of arch villain - again. We can’t even leave our own home without being hounded for tomorrow’s gossip columns, and if that wasn't bad enough I’m about to bring two innocent children into this fucking media circus because I didn’t stop and think. Because once again I, the great Harry fucking Potter, acted on impulse.
There have been reporters hovering at the end of the road since this morning. I’ve been watching them all day, you know. They change every couple of hours thinking no one will notice, the fuckers. But I did and I bet they're going to stay out there until the birth. What do you think life is going to be like for our daughters, Draco? Have you thought about that? I have. They will be stuck in this house all day or have to Floo directly to someone else’s house without going outside - without being free to run around, because the minute they do some bastard with a camera will pop out of nowhere and splash their faces all over the front cover of The Prophet. How can we ever take them out like other children without being swamped by those vampires? Are their lives going to be nothing but Concealment Charms and Invisibility Cloaks, that is, if we can find another one?”
Draco opened his mouth to speak but Harry placed a finger on his lips and shook his head.
“Can you imagine what will happen when they go to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons? They’ll stand out because of us, because of me. They’ll become the endless target of crude jokes about gay fathers. Our sexual preference will become fuel for bullying. Anywhere they go; anything they say will be picked up by those media vultures and twisted out of all proportion. They’ll be miserable. They’ll grow to hate us and I couldn’t bare that, Draco. I just couldn’t. I want…" Harry’s voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears, "I need a Time-Turner, so I can undo this whole wretched mess and spare them a life of misery.” With one great shuddering breath, Harry pitched forward into Draco’s waiting arms, his whole body wracked with sobs. Draco had never heard such a wretched sound in his entire life and it broke his heart, chilling him to the core.
Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s shaking form. How could something that was supposed to be beautiful, something that was supposed to bring them together cause so much pain and misery? Because I married Harry Potter, he thought soberly. Because we’re too well known in the Wizarding World. Because people will never leave us alone while we live here.
Rubbing Harry's back gently, Draco thought back to Lucius. He knew his father wouldn’t have put up with this sort of harassment or with people upsetting his mother. The buggers would’ve had to have found the Manor first, and then break through the protective wards if they’d wanted access to the sprawling grounds and house, to that precious Malfoy privacy. True, his father had been able to utilize such a high level of protection to cover up his own nefarious plots but… what was good enough for generations of Malfoys should be perfect for their most recent descendant. God, I’m an idiot. Why didn’t I think of this before? he thought to himself.
“Harry, I've had an idea. Something that I think will be the solution to our problem,” Draco murmured, “but you’re exhausted, so first of all I’m going to clean you up and then put you to bed, okay? Then we'll talk." Draco felt, rather than heard, Harry’s acquiescence as the man now sobbing quietly in his arms nodded against his chest. "Come, let me help you up.” Draco got to his feet and Harry offered no resistance as Draco helped him out of the chair. He gently pushed Harry’s tangled locks away from his flushed face and took his glasses off, so that he could use his handkerchief to begin to clean away the tears and mess from Harry’s face. He kissed him softly, slowly, hoping the gesture would convey what words could not at that moment.
Thirty minutes later Draco had Harry washed, changed and settled in bed. He lay on his side facing Harry, carding his fingers through that messy dark hair. "Harry, what is it you're most worried about at the moment?" he asked.
"The reporters and never having any privacy," came the unhappy reply.
"I think I have a way to solve our problem."
Harry lifted his head slightly off the pillow to peer at Draco. "You're going to Hex all the staff of the Daily Prophet?"
"No, although I'm sorely tempted. I'm going to go house hunting."
Harry looked at hime blankly for a moment before asking, "How's that going to help?"
"I'm not just talking about any old house, Harry. I'm talking about somewhere we can ward against Muggles and Wizards alike. Somewhere with plenty of space for the twins to run around in. Somewhere to finally put our roots down. What do you think?"
"I like the idea, Draco." Harry smiled briefly. "It's so obvious that I can't believe we didn't think of this before. But I'm in no condition to go anywhere at the moment."
"Don't worry, I've got just the solution. We'll draw up a list of what would be in our ideal home then I'll go hunting and let you know what I find."
"At such short notice? Before the girls are born?" Harry asked, a mixture of doubt and hope in his voice.
"Believe me Harry, the Malfoy name can still open doors."
"Draco, that's a terrible pun," Harry laughed.
"Yeah, I know but it made you smile. Now, I’m going to Firecall Hermione to see if she or Ron can come over during the day when I go out so your not on your own. Would you like that?” Harry nodded silently, his eyes wide with incredulity at the thought of Ron’s expression when Draco’s face had suddenly appeared out of the fireplace to ask for Hermione’s help and advice on house hunting in quiet Muggle areas.
~*~
Draco stood, stretched, and crossed the sitting room to look out of the front window at the impressive oak tree that stood in the centre of the front lawn. Of the four properties he had viewed that week, only this house - Pink Knowle Farm, had fulfilled their specific criteria.
First there had been Eriviadd Hall in Wales; a rather forbidding Victorian property that looked like something out of a Bronte novel, followed by Westholme Hall in Surrey with the hideous reproduction Jacobean interior its Nouveau Riche owner had created, Draco shuddered at the memory of it. Next he had viewed The Towers - a rather stunning Oast house conversion in Kent that was, unfortunately, too close to Muggle housing. Finally, that morning, Draco had Apparated here, to Pink Knowle Farm feeling somewhat despondent only to have his dream house unfold before his very eyes.
Now he needed to tour this wonderful sixteenth century property once more then take his memories home to share with Harry, certain that the distraught man would fall in love with this house, just as he had. Apparating to the top of the gravel drive, Draco approached the house once again so that the property would reveal its secrets in exactly the same way for Harry as it had for him.
Acting as Harry's personal tour guide, Draco could hardly wait to see Harry’s reaction to the incredible interior with its exposed beams, inglenook fireplaces, breathtaking master bedroom and luxurious bathroom; complete with a shower large enough to accommodate several bodies - as per Harry's request. He was certain Harry would be as entranced as he was at the exquisitely designed indoor pool area, the dramatic Moroccan room and the piece de resistance - the fully functional cinema room where Harry and Ron could indulge their passion for watching football. And, if truth be known, Draco could enjoy Harry’s Muggle DVD collection in perfect surroundings.
After he had reset the alarm, Draco planned to don the Invisibility Cloak and give Harry an aerial tour of the magnificent gardens, flagstone terraced areas, ponds, water features, mature wooded areas and well-stocked fishing lake. Draco knew that Pink Knowle Farm was the perfect family home, somewhere he and Harry could put down roots for the future generations of their family. Following the birth, when Harry felt up to it, he and Draco would work on warding the property so that there would be no more unwanted intrusions into their lives.
~*~
The crack of Apparition brought Hermione running downstairs and into the sitting room. “Well?” she asked breathlessly, “Did you like this last one? Is it suitable?” Draco looked up and grinned broadly at her, his eyes shining with happiness as he rummaged around in the old trunk they used as a coffee table for the Pensieve he knew was in there, somewhere.
“More than suitable, Hermione.” Draco’s face was flush with excitement. “It’s perfect. How’s Harry been?”
“Not good, I’m afraid. I’ve had the devil of a job keeping him distracted and away from the nursery window and he seemed rather anxious about when you would be returning. He’s having his afternoon nap at the moment.”
“Good, that gives me time to get the Pensieve organised so that he can view the property with me.” Draco held his wand to his temple, then looked at Hermione “Can you get me another bowl and a tea towel from the kitchen, please?” Hermione looked puzzled for a moment. “In case he feels sick when we return from our trip.”
Harry felt the bed dip beside him, and then the soothing presence of Draco’s warm body next to his. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear before kissing him softly on the mouth, “wake up. I have a surprise for you.”
Harry blinked several times in an effort to chase sleep away. He turned toward Draco and poked him before saying, “Draco? You’re real. You came back.”
“Of course I came back you Gryffindork. What on earth made you think I wouldn’t?”
Harry looked away. “The other day, when I…" He turned back to Draco and looked at him with watery eyes. "I though that you were sick to death of me. That you were going to leave me.”
Draco cupped the side of Harry’s face with his hand and turned him back so that he could kiss him again. “The other day is in the past, Harry and I would never leave you. I have the future downstairs and I want to share it first with you, and then our children.” Draco stood and took hold of Harry’s hands to help him off the bed. “I’m sure you won’t be able to resist the allure of the Moroccan room.”
Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes before Draco handed him his glasses. “The Moroccan room?” Harry put his glasses on, looking completely nonplussed, “Draco, what are you talking about?”
Draco winked and grasped Harry by the hand. “That, Harry, is for me to know and you to find out.”
~*~
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~*~
Link to all chapters
Link to all chapters: here
Author: luciology
Rating: PG-13,
Pairing: H/D
Genre: Mpreg, Hurt/Comfort
Disclaimer: No ownership, no money.
Summary: An unwanted intrusion causes trouble in the nest.
Beta: Many thanks to both dacro and quiet_lucidity, who were brave enough to step up & offer their services whilst saladbats is in Europe. *Hugs* I have added bits so any errors are mine.
A/N: This fic was written as part of the multi-author series One of Your Fathers. Thanks to dacro for the title.
Stirring the Nest
Draco stood at the top of the timber framed porch steps and carefully surveyed the gardens to the woods beyond, ensuring that he was alone before removing Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. God, how he’d missed this, the adrenaline rush, the thrill that came with being on a covert operation. Propping his broom against a garden chair, Draco cast a softly spoken “Alohomora.” then stood poised, cloak in one hand and wand in the other, unconsciously holding his breath as the front door swung inwards, just in case the information he had retrieved from the agent earlier was incorrect.
Draco hadn’t used Legilimency for some time but, like flying a broom, it was a skill that once learned was never forgotten. He had been able to slip into the Muggle estate agent’s mind easily during his first viewing of the property and found just what he needed - the details of the estate agent’s other appointments during the week, along with the code needed to disable the Muggle security device that was currently beeping rapidly, demanding his attention. Draco closed the front door and stepped cautiously into the small lobby. Turning to the right to enter the much larger oak beamed reception hall, he dropped the Invisibility Cloak on to a side table, quickly located the alarm’s keypad and tapped in the code.
Silence now emanated from the house.
Draco looked around the now quiet reception hall. His heart leapt to his throat and he started as he caught sight of another face looking back at him from across the room, before realising that it was his own reflection. Exhaling quickly, and with an imperceptibly shaking hand, the only outward sign of the unnerving experience, Draco tucked his wand away and walked across the stone floor toward the mirror to scowl at his refection.
“Merlin, what’s happening to me?” Draco murmured to himself, rubbing the light stubble on his chin with one hand and taking in the pallid visage staring back at him. The dark circles under his eyes that spoke of too many sleepless nights, the clenched jaw and taught features - too many times either biting his tongue or trying to coax Harry out of the depression he seemed to have sunk into over the last week, and the unhappiness that seemed to radiate from his body in waves, only confirmed that he had made the right decision in leaving Harry early that morning.
It hadn’t been an easy decision but Merlin knew that he needed time to think, a breathing space to find a solution to the problem that was currently gnawing away at his sanity - Harry. Draco walked through the archway of the dinning room to the large sitting room and stretched out on the leather chesterfield sofa, feeling more than a little grateful that the current owners had thought to leave the house furnished when they’d moved to work abroad.
Sinking further into the embrace of the sofa, Draco turned his head slowly from side to side in an effort to ease the tension from his neck and shoulders. When was this rollercoaster journey, this endless see-sawing of emotions going to end? Draco thought that he and Harry had finally turned the corner when he had woken to the sound of soft singing one morning just over three weeks ago. The corners of Draco’s lips curled into a smile as he recalled that memory.
~*~
Getting out of bed, Draco padded to the open bedroom door and listened, trying to locate the sound of the voice and work out who was singing. He had never heard Harry sing before, apart from semi-tuneless carousing with their friends, so he more than a little curious as to who owned the melodic voice that seemed to be coming from the nursery. Reaching the room, Draco grinned broadly and warmth suffused his body as he stood by the door jamb silently watching Harry. His husband was singing as he picked up a different item of the girls’ clothing, rubbed it softly against his cheek, then refolded it and put it back in the drawer, only to repeat the process over and over again.
Draco walked into the nursery and slid his arms around Harry, pressing his hands gently against that ever growing taut belly, hoping to feel some movement from the 'Malfoy Maids' as Harry had recently taken to calling the twins. “It’s like having my own personal Quidditch team of two playing inside me,” Harry had said after a particularly active session from the girls. Draco pressed himself as close to Harry’s back as he was able due to the more pronounced curve of Harry’s spine, so that he could hold those that were most dear to him in his arms.
“Good Morning Caruso,” Draco said then kissed Harry on the jaw.
“Is that an insult?” Harry said, trying to turn in Draco’s arms, “I’ve never heard of him, or her.”
“You really are plebeian sometimes, Harry, and that is an insult, if you’re unsure. Enrico Caruso. He was a great Italian opera singer.” Draco turned his face to the collection of stuffed animals overflowing from the shelves on the wall and sighed in mock exasperation, “Can you believe that this is the man I chose to be the father of my children.”
Harry tensed slightly against Draco. “Well, you didn’t exactly choose…”
“I would have done Harry, if we’d discussed the possibility first. I would’ve done.” He relaxed his hold and stepped back slightly so that Harry could turn to face him. Looking into those sparkling green eyes, Draco could hardly believe that this was his despondent husband from a couple of weeks before. “What were you singing?” he asked.
Harry’s cheeks coloured in response to Draco’s question. “It’s something Hermione taught me to sing to our children called Blow The Wind Southerly. It’s not a lullaby exactly, it's more of a... Well, it's a love song actually," he finally blurted out.
Draco stared at Harry, fighting the urge to laugh. “A love song?" he queried. "Are you sure that's suitable for my daughters’ tender young ears?”
“Yes, you arse. It’s about someone’s true love returning to them from across the sea, and I really liked the tune.” The sparkle suddenly left Harry’s eyes and he looked down at his belly. When he spoke again his voice was hushed and filled with sadness. “I have no memory of my mother singing to me, Draco. No memory at all.”
At those words a cold shiver ran down Draco’s spine and he knew in that moment that he would do anything to protect Harry and the girls, so that his daughters would not experience the misery of their father’s childhood. In an effort to lighten Harry's mood he said, “I think it’s a wonderful idea, Harry. You can teach to me too, if you will.”
Harry looked up and beamed. “Draco Malfoy, have I told you that I love you today?”
Draco smirked, “No, but you can show me instead.”
Harry moved closer to Draco and leaned forward to murmur against his lips, “I have no problem with that, but first we need to relocate to somewhere more comfortable to help soothe my backache.” Draco could feel himself hardening in anticipation at the thought of touching Harry, feeling Harry around him. Taking Draco by the hand, Harry led him toward the bathroom. Watching Harry move in front of him, Draco eyed his rear and smiled fondly. He would never admit it to anyone, but he loved watching Harry’s recently developed waddle as much as his previous sexy swagger.
During the next two weeks, Harry seemed to exude energy and vitality. Draco would wake in the mornings, or return home to find him thoroughly cleaning each room in the house the Muggle way. “That way I know things are spic and span before the babies arrive,” Harry would reply when asked why he didn’t use magic.
Not sure if Harry’s sudden need to clean and organise was ‘normal’ for a pregnant spouse, Draco had finally swallowed his pride and sought Hermione’s advice about Harry’s irrational behaviour. She’d smiled and patted him on the arm in a manner that was eerily reminiscent of Molly Weasley, and informed him it was simply the nesting instinct, the need to prepare for the arrival of their offspring. A compulsion as old as life itself, she had said, and it was best to just go with the flow, unless it became dangerous.
So Draco looked on indulgently as Harry packed and repacked his hospital bag, or sorted through the contents of any cupboard in the house, seeming to find endless different ways to order and catalogue things that would make Irma Pince proud. Harsh words did follow, though, the day Draco caught Harry attempting to clean the top shelf of one of the kitchen cupboards, teetering on a chair to reach the very back. Draco was certain he had aged fifty years in as many seconds as he frantically debated whether to cast Wingardium Leviosa or simply grasp Harry firmly and hope he wouldn’t fall off the chair in shock, flattening Draco in the process.
Then, six days ago, it was over as suddenly as it had started. Draco had come home to absolute silence. Instinctively he knew something was wrong after the noise and bustle of the previous two weeks. Cold tendrils of something akin to fear began to curl around his insides, clenching his stomach and clutching at his throat, making it difficult to swallow. Draco shut the door quickly and quietly went down the hall in search of Harry.
The only thing that greeted him apart from empty rooms was more silence.
Fighting the little known urge to panic, Draco went upstairs and finally found Harry sitting ramrod straight on one of the rocking chairs by the window in the moonlit nursery, his arms encircling his swollen belly protectively. He appeared to be staring out into the night. “Harry?” Draco enquired softly as he stood behind the chair and put his hands on the silent man’s shoulders. “Harry, I’m sorry I’m late. Are you all right?”
“Don’t touch me. I don’t deserve to be touched,” Harry answered in a flat voice, all the while staring into the distance. The icy tendrils fingers clenching at Draco’s insides tightened their grip almost to the point of pain. Draco tried to sound light hearted when he spoke again, despite the constriction in his throat. “Of course you deserve to be touched. You’re the father of my children and…”
“Don’t!” Harry cried, shrugging Draco’s hands off his shoulders without attempting to make eye contact. “Don’t say those words. I know what I am and I know what I’ve done and I can’t forgive myself.”
Draco moved to the front of the chair between Harry and the window, his hands hanging impotently by his sides. “Harry, look at me,” he said gently.
No response.
“Harry, do you think I’m angry with you for some reason? Please look at me.”
Still no response, just that blank stare at nothingness.
Draco was certain that the ‘softly softly’ approach would break through Harry’s reserve so he knelt down before him, placing his hands gently on Harry’s knees. “Harry, I can’t help you if I don’t know what you think you’ve done.” He kept his eyes fixed on Harry’s face while sliding his hands up Harry’s thighs to clasp his husband’s hands in his. “Harry, I’m asking you to let me help. Don’t shut me out now, please.” Draco hated sounding needy but knew that Harry’s innate Gryffindorness would respond best to entreaties so he tried again. “Harry, you can trust me. Please tell me what you think you’ve done.”
“I don’t think, Draco, I know,” Harry said in that empty voice. Suddenly he looked down at Draco, who was momentarily taken aback by the intensity of Harry’s gaze. “I know,” Harry whispered fiercely while clutching Draco’s hands tightly. “I know,” he whispered once more, his eyes burning in the moonlight with the fire of a recently converted zealot.
Draco was reminded of his father during one of his anti-Muggle rants and he couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder as it coursed through his body. Harry felt the slight movement and, breaking eye contact, snatched his hands away from Draco’s, placing them back on his belly. Draco was struck by how small and alone Harry suddenly looked and leaned forward so his face was closer to Harry’s. “Harry, look at me." Harry raised his head and his eyes bored into Draco's. "Remember who my father was. I cannot believe that you could have done anything that would shock or upset me. I’m not going anywhere, so tell me what you know. I won’t interrupt or judge you, I promise.”
Harry took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before speaking, “Through my own stupidity I’m going to ruin four people's lives. I’ve become a curiosity, a freak, a walking joke. You're being cast as some sort of arch villain - again. We can’t even leave our own home without being hounded for tomorrow’s gossip columns, and if that wasn't bad enough I’m about to bring two innocent children into this fucking media circus because I didn’t stop and think. Because once again I, the great Harry fucking Potter, acted on impulse.
There have been reporters hovering at the end of the road since this morning. I’ve been watching them all day, you know. They change every couple of hours thinking no one will notice, the fuckers. But I did and I bet they're going to stay out there until the birth. What do you think life is going to be like for our daughters, Draco? Have you thought about that? I have. They will be stuck in this house all day or have to Floo directly to someone else’s house without going outside - without being free to run around, because the minute they do some bastard with a camera will pop out of nowhere and splash their faces all over the front cover of The Prophet. How can we ever take them out like other children without being swamped by those vampires? Are their lives going to be nothing but Concealment Charms and Invisibility Cloaks, that is, if we can find another one?”
Draco opened his mouth to speak but Harry placed a finger on his lips and shook his head.
“Can you imagine what will happen when they go to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons? They’ll stand out because of us, because of me. They’ll become the endless target of crude jokes about gay fathers. Our sexual preference will become fuel for bullying. Anywhere they go; anything they say will be picked up by those media vultures and twisted out of all proportion. They’ll be miserable. They’ll grow to hate us and I couldn’t bare that, Draco. I just couldn’t. I want…" Harry’s voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears, "I need a Time-Turner, so I can undo this whole wretched mess and spare them a life of misery.” With one great shuddering breath, Harry pitched forward into Draco’s waiting arms, his whole body wracked with sobs. Draco had never heard such a wretched sound in his entire life and it broke his heart, chilling him to the core.
Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s shaking form. How could something that was supposed to be beautiful, something that was supposed to bring them together cause so much pain and misery? Because I married Harry Potter, he thought soberly. Because we’re too well known in the Wizarding World. Because people will never leave us alone while we live here.
Rubbing Harry's back gently, Draco thought back to Lucius. He knew his father wouldn’t have put up with this sort of harassment or with people upsetting his mother. The buggers would’ve had to have found the Manor first, and then break through the protective wards if they’d wanted access to the sprawling grounds and house, to that precious Malfoy privacy. True, his father had been able to utilize such a high level of protection to cover up his own nefarious plots but… what was good enough for generations of Malfoys should be perfect for their most recent descendant. God, I’m an idiot. Why didn’t I think of this before? he thought to himself.
“Harry, I've had an idea. Something that I think will be the solution to our problem,” Draco murmured, “but you’re exhausted, so first of all I’m going to clean you up and then put you to bed, okay? Then we'll talk." Draco felt, rather than heard, Harry’s acquiescence as the man now sobbing quietly in his arms nodded against his chest. "Come, let me help you up.” Draco got to his feet and Harry offered no resistance as Draco helped him out of the chair. He gently pushed Harry’s tangled locks away from his flushed face and took his glasses off, so that he could use his handkerchief to begin to clean away the tears and mess from Harry’s face. He kissed him softly, slowly, hoping the gesture would convey what words could not at that moment.
Thirty minutes later Draco had Harry washed, changed and settled in bed. He lay on his side facing Harry, carding his fingers through that messy dark hair. "Harry, what is it you're most worried about at the moment?" he asked.
"The reporters and never having any privacy," came the unhappy reply.
"I think I have a way to solve our problem."
Harry lifted his head slightly off the pillow to peer at Draco. "You're going to Hex all the staff of the Daily Prophet?"
"No, although I'm sorely tempted. I'm going to go house hunting."
Harry looked at hime blankly for a moment before asking, "How's that going to help?"
"I'm not just talking about any old house, Harry. I'm talking about somewhere we can ward against Muggles and Wizards alike. Somewhere with plenty of space for the twins to run around in. Somewhere to finally put our roots down. What do you think?"
"I like the idea, Draco." Harry smiled briefly. "It's so obvious that I can't believe we didn't think of this before. But I'm in no condition to go anywhere at the moment."
"Don't worry, I've got just the solution. We'll draw up a list of what would be in our ideal home then I'll go hunting and let you know what I find."
"At such short notice? Before the girls are born?" Harry asked, a mixture of doubt and hope in his voice.
"Believe me Harry, the Malfoy name can still open doors."
"Draco, that's a terrible pun," Harry laughed.
"Yeah, I know but it made you smile. Now, I’m going to Firecall Hermione to see if she or Ron can come over during the day when I go out so your not on your own. Would you like that?” Harry nodded silently, his eyes wide with incredulity at the thought of Ron’s expression when Draco’s face had suddenly appeared out of the fireplace to ask for Hermione’s help and advice on house hunting in quiet Muggle areas.
~*~
Draco stood, stretched, and crossed the sitting room to look out of the front window at the impressive oak tree that stood in the centre of the front lawn. Of the four properties he had viewed that week, only this house - Pink Knowle Farm, had fulfilled their specific criteria.
First there had been Eriviadd Hall in Wales; a rather forbidding Victorian property that looked like something out of a Bronte novel, followed by Westholme Hall in Surrey with the hideous reproduction Jacobean interior its Nouveau Riche owner had created, Draco shuddered at the memory of it. Next he had viewed The Towers - a rather stunning Oast house conversion in Kent that was, unfortunately, too close to Muggle housing. Finally, that morning, Draco had Apparated here, to Pink Knowle Farm feeling somewhat despondent only to have his dream house unfold before his very eyes.
Now he needed to tour this wonderful sixteenth century property once more then take his memories home to share with Harry, certain that the distraught man would fall in love with this house, just as he had. Apparating to the top of the gravel drive, Draco approached the house once again so that the property would reveal its secrets in exactly the same way for Harry as it had for him.
Acting as Harry's personal tour guide, Draco could hardly wait to see Harry’s reaction to the incredible interior with its exposed beams, inglenook fireplaces, breathtaking master bedroom and luxurious bathroom; complete with a shower large enough to accommodate several bodies - as per Harry's request. He was certain Harry would be as entranced as he was at the exquisitely designed indoor pool area, the dramatic Moroccan room and the piece de resistance - the fully functional cinema room where Harry and Ron could indulge their passion for watching football. And, if truth be known, Draco could enjoy Harry’s Muggle DVD collection in perfect surroundings.
After he had reset the alarm, Draco planned to don the Invisibility Cloak and give Harry an aerial tour of the magnificent gardens, flagstone terraced areas, ponds, water features, mature wooded areas and well-stocked fishing lake. Draco knew that Pink Knowle Farm was the perfect family home, somewhere he and Harry could put down roots for the future generations of their family. Following the birth, when Harry felt up to it, he and Draco would work on warding the property so that there would be no more unwanted intrusions into their lives.
~*~
The crack of Apparition brought Hermione running downstairs and into the sitting room. “Well?” she asked breathlessly, “Did you like this last one? Is it suitable?” Draco looked up and grinned broadly at her, his eyes shining with happiness as he rummaged around in the old trunk they used as a coffee table for the Pensieve he knew was in there, somewhere.
“More than suitable, Hermione.” Draco’s face was flush with excitement. “It’s perfect. How’s Harry been?”
“Not good, I’m afraid. I’ve had the devil of a job keeping him distracted and away from the nursery window and he seemed rather anxious about when you would be returning. He’s having his afternoon nap at the moment.”
“Good, that gives me time to get the Pensieve organised so that he can view the property with me.” Draco held his wand to his temple, then looked at Hermione “Can you get me another bowl and a tea towel from the kitchen, please?” Hermione looked puzzled for a moment. “In case he feels sick when we return from our trip.”
Harry felt the bed dip beside him, and then the soothing presence of Draco’s warm body next to his. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear before kissing him softly on the mouth, “wake up. I have a surprise for you.”
Harry blinked several times in an effort to chase sleep away. He turned toward Draco and poked him before saying, “Draco? You’re real. You came back.”
“Of course I came back you Gryffindork. What on earth made you think I wouldn’t?”
Harry looked away. “The other day, when I…" He turned back to Draco and looked at him with watery eyes. "I though that you were sick to death of me. That you were going to leave me.”
Draco cupped the side of Harry’s face with his hand and turned him back so that he could kiss him again. “The other day is in the past, Harry and I would never leave you. I have the future downstairs and I want to share it first with you, and then our children.” Draco stood and took hold of Harry’s hands to help him off the bed. “I’m sure you won’t be able to resist the allure of the Moroccan room.”
Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes before Draco handed him his glasses. “The Moroccan room?” Harry put his glasses on, looking completely nonplussed, “Draco, what are you talking about?”
Draco winked and grasped Harry by the hand. “That, Harry, is for me to know and you to find out.”
~*~
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