Title: He Finally Had a Family of His Own
Pairings: Harry Potter/Astoria Potter and Neville Longbottom/Daphne Longbottom
Harry Potter pulled his wife closer to his chest, rubbing one hand over her stomach. A little foot kicked against his palm, and the grin on Harry's face was blinding. After three years of peace, he was finally going to be a father. He finally had a family of his own. "Hey, little man," he whispered. "Are you going to make an appearance soon? You've kept us waiting an extra two weeks already."
The baby kicked again.
Astoria Potter groaned and carefully rolled over, so that her swollen stomach rested between them. "Why couldn't our first one have been a scholar, Harry? No, you had to make a Quidditch player in me. A Beater, by the feel of him."
She was so beautiful. Harry blushed, ducked his head, and grinned. His other hand tangled in her strawberry-blonde hair. He gave her a loving kiss. "Sorry." Not really, though. He would never be sorry about making a family with her. How could he ever regret a dream that came true?
"I don't believe you," huffed Astoria, eyes sparkling.
That was because she knew him so well. Laughing, Harry buried his face in her hair. "You're right. I'm not. You're giving me a family, Astoria. The next one can be a scholar. This is my son, you know. He's supposed to play Quidditch. He's got to be strong so he can protect his brothers, but mostly his sisters, from anyone who wants to hurt them, or flirt with them." One child would never be enough. Harry had too much love to give.
Astoria snickered and carded her fingers through his hair. "So your daughters are going to attract unwanted suitors, are they? What makes you think that?" She scratched his scalp; it sent shivers down his back. He loved it when she did that.
She wasn't serious, was she? Harry stared at her as if she had just declared her tarot cards were useless. "Well, duh, Astoria! Haven't you ever looked in a mirror?" Astoria was stunning, everything about her appealed to him. Accidentally winning her betrothal contract by Disarming Draco Malfoy was the luckiest happenstance of his life. "Our daughters—plural, of course—are going to have men after them like crazy. Draco Malfoy, International Abraxan Racer, ringing any bells?"
Blushing, Astoria kissed him. It didn't last nearly long enough. "That was just a little crush. He was never you, Harry. All I've ever wanted was you. You're the only one I've ever loved," she confessed. "I was hoping to make you jealous and catch your attention, is all. It was very silly and immature of me. Then when my father signed the betrothal contract, thinking I was serious about Draco . . . well, I thought I'd lost you."
She would never lose him.
"Well, it worked," Harry said. He could easily remember how irritated he had been to see Astoria all dressed up and in another wizard's arms. That was the night he had realized he fancied her. It was downright embarrassing that it had taken him so long to understood how he felt, especially since Professor Flitwick had assigned Harry as her official tutor for her O.W.L.s. Not that Astoria needed much help. She was brilliant, as was the hallmark of their House.
And just when he managed to garner the courage to ask her about courting, her betrothal to Draco was announced in the Daily Prophet. That was horrible.
The first night he was at Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black, his godfather, had nudged him with a bony elbow and winked. "Taking after your dad, eh? Can't blame you, Prongslet. Beautiful and smart is a rare combination. Just keep it in your trousers until you're bonded, all right? If you really love her, treat her right."
I thought I'd die of embarrassment, he remembered fondly.
Harry blushed at the memory and traced his fingertips across Astoria's stomach, grin widening with each kick against his palm. Harry had waited, as Sirius advised, despite the overwhelming temptation on occasion. He needed her—always. It was worth it. Waiting to consummate their love was worth it because it let them bond, instead of marry. It soothed the niggling doubts in the back of his mind that she would eventually get tired of him, or that he wouldn't be able to make her happy. Their magic had been entwined together, strengthening both of them, and guaranteed that the child in her stomach was his.
Not that he thought Astoria would ever cheat on him . . . because he didn't. She's too pure for those type of thoughts to even enter her head.
However, after losing so much in his life, the added reassurance of her love and safety, which radiated through him, eased his mind. His orphan self felt comforted. The little child who thought everyone who loved him would either die or abandon him of their own free will trusted in Astoria. He trusted her completely. It was a scary thought some days, because absolute trust led to the worst of betrayals. She wouldn't betray him. Harry knew she wouldn't.
"Harry, you know I love you. More than anything in the world." Astoria pressed herself against him. "I never apologized before, but it was wrong of me to try to make you jealous like that. I just—I thought you would never notice me. I thought you'd break my heart."
The betrothal contract with Draco broke his. Harry would never tell her that. He would never tell her about the nights he spent in the Room of Requirement, downing bottles of Firewhisky. It hadn't made him forget reality; it only gave him blinding headaches and helped him become overly acquainted with a toilet. He hadn't handled the news maturely.
"There's nothing to forgive, Astoria. How could I want you to apologize for anything that led us here? You're my wife, my lady." He slid his hand down her arm and grasped her left hand, raising it to kiss the jeweled heirloom ring—the same bonding ring his mother had worn. "You were my first everything. You're carrying my child, love. You've given me a family." Harry's jaw hardened. "Never apologize for that."
The thought of anything tearing his family away from him was the source of Harry's worst nightmares. Because if he had learned anything in life, it was that happiness was fleeting. Maybe he would get lucky for once.
Astoria squinted at him in the evening light, and then nodded. "All right, Harry. All right." She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him close for a kiss. Kissing Astoria was like coming home; it was safe and loving, but had undertones of passionate longing and desire. When she finally withdrew, Astoria smirked at the look he gave her. Harry stared at her as if she were the only woman he ever saw, and he knew she wouldn't have it any other way.
"I want our sons to have your eyes," Astoria said as she brushed her thumb underneath his right eye. "But at the same time, I don't. I don't want any other witch in the universe to know what it's like to lie in bed with your eyes looking at them like that." She nuzzled his cheek. "That fiery need in your eyes belongs to me, Harry. No one else should see it."
Harry's breath stuttered in his chest and he stroked a hand down Astoria's back. "Then we'll just have to ask Mother Magic to make sure our daughters get my eyes." It seemed like a silly thing to say, but the smile that lit Astoria's face made him ache. The simple words had made her so happy. He knew she was possessive of him, worried that he—the Lord Conqueror—would slip through her fingers even now. She still woke up from nightmares and reached for him with desperate hands, as if he had vanished from their bed.
That year they spent on the run still haunted her. It was all his fault.
Cho Chang had tried to catch his eye in fifth year, after Cedric Diggory's death, to no avail; Luna Lovegood was his friend and he refused to consider anyone who bullied her. Romilda Vane had attempted to dose him with a love potion in sixth year when he was visiting the Gryffindor common room, and caught Ron Weasley instead. And Ginny Weasley had sought to win his heart out of a misguided sense of hero-worship, and in repayment for saving her life.
Ginny was the only one who hadn't sparked a sharp, bitter resentment in Astoria's eyes. Astoria and he had sat down with Ginny and explained that they were together, she owed Harry nothing, and that would never change. The relief on Ginny's face had been painful to see; she had burst into tears and flung herself at them, thanking them for releasing her from a pureblood maiden's debt bond. Harry hadn't known at the time what it was, but Astoria had supplied the words he needed to say to fix the whole situation. Now Ginny, his little sister in all but blood, was engaged to Michael Corner. Harry couldn't be happier for her.
Astoria cuddled against him. "That'll work nicely. Good idea, Harry. Mother Magic likes you, so I'm sure she'll answer your prayer."
"Sure she does," Harry agreed. He still wasn't used to all the Olde Religion stuff. Astoria had told him all about it. She believed that their children should be raised in the proper traditions of magic, something he had never had: Harry's parents having died before they could pass any of it along. Praying to Mother Magic was odd, but nothing bad ever came from it. In fact, more than once, he would even dare to say it helped. "So, no other woman gets to see my bedroom eyes?" he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. "Even in the face of my sons?" The firstborn would be James.
Astoria's eyelids fell to half-mast. "Would you want any other wizard to see my eyes like this?" she purred as her fingers walked across his chest.
If Draco had seen her eyes burning with desire, he never would've stopped attempting to catch Harry by surprise and Disarm him to win back her contract. Livid fury ate at Harry. The Elder Wand appeared in his hand without a single word on his part. It returned itself to him in times of high emotion or danger, regardless of how often he left it in Dumbledore's tomb. Maybe he would stop taking it there. Maybe it came back for a reason. "You're mine." It was a statement of fact, nothing less.
"Of course I am," agreed Astoria as she eased the Elder Wand out of his hand and put it on the bedside table. "I am, Harry. That's something you never have to worry about. I swear it." She kissed him with loyal devotion this time, no hint of teasing to be found. "Why don't we make it fair and ask Mother Magic to give my eyes to our sons, then?"
Harry whispered, "Yeah, okay," against her neck as he buried his face against it. The thought of anyone seeing that look in her eyes—that sheer need, which belonged to him alone—frightened him. He would do almost anything to keep that to himself; it was more personal and private than most things in his life. He treasured that look. It was genuine love, something impossible to fake. When that look was in his wife's eyes it was because she wanted him, just Harry: her husband.
The baby kicked hard, drawing Harry's gaze down to her stomach. "Hey, little man. Are you ready to come out yet? We love you. We want to meet you." The baby stilled. "I guess not," Harry sighed. Each day past the due date was excruciating; nine months was already long enough! "Stop hogging your mum," muttered Harry.
Astoria laughed and ruffled Harry's hair. "From what I've heard, your dad was a total mum's boy. This is what you get for deciding to name our firstborn James Sirius."
"Hey!" Harry wrinkled his nose with false affront. "Sirius left his mum because she was horrid; I figured it would balance out." None of his children would have a bad mother.
"And then went to live with your grandmother, clinging to his favorite older cousin as much as James did," Astoria retorted with a smile. "Let's face it, this kid is going to be a total mum's boy. It must run in the Potter genes. He hasn't even been born yet and he doesn't want to share me."
Harry pouted and then poked her stomach. "Then you're giving me a daughter next. As soon as possible." He winked. It had been much too long. "And she'll be a daddy's girl. As head of this family, I've decided it shall be so!" he declared with a cheeky grin.
Astoria snorted. Her curls tangled together as she giggled in his arms. "And what, oh head of the family, will this daughter I must provide as soon as possible—after birthing your heir—be named? Or do I not get any say in this?"
The solemnity of Harry's face was uncharacteristic, as his words echoed through their bedchamber. However, he had long ago decided what he would name his firstborn daughter, and he knew Astoria, of all people, would never disagree with it. "Lilith Amaranth Potter," he breathed. After his mother and hers, who both died to keep their children safe.
Silence hung in the air, before Astoria shattered it. "That's . . ."
"Perfect," Harry finished for her. "I know it doesn't bring up pleasant memories, love." He kissed her cheek. "But I'll never forget that she died to keep you safe, so that you could return to me. When Bellatrix dragged you out of the dungeon in Malfoy Manor, I thought . . ." Harry shuddered. He remembered throwing himself at the door, desperate to break it down. All he ended up accomplishing was dislocating his shoulder. "If your mum hadn't been able to fight Bellatrix off until Dobby arrived—" He choked on terror. Astoria couldn't die. He was the Master of Death. She wasn't going anywhere.
"I—" Astoria started crying and fought against the blankets, pushing them away and sliding out of his arms. "I . . . I have to go to the bathroom," she finished, an obvious lie.
"I'll keep the bed warm for you," Harry said, worried eyes on his wife. Whenever he brought up that day, Astoria broke down and left the room. She had never given him all the details, and he would never ask her; the traumatized look in her eyes when Dobby freed them told of the horrors she had faced. He had been an infant when he saw his mum die, and the Dementors still brought the memory forth. How much worse must it be since she was old enough to take in every detail?
Astoria doubled over and yelped. She clutched her stomach as her water broke. "The baby!"
Harry scrambled to her side. This was his fault. He shouldn't have upset her. What if something went wrong? "Everything's going to be fine, Astoria," Harry said. The Elder Wand was in his hand again. "I promise."
"Daphne," Astoria gasped, as Harry settled her back against the pillows. "Get Daphne."
"Are you sure you don't want to go to St. Mungo's?" he asked. Since Astoria found out she was pregnant, she had been insistent on giving birth in the manor. She claimed it would be safer, but wasn't allowed to give him an explanation of why. All she would say is that it had something to do with Morgana's Secret Arts. While Harry respected Astoria's sister, Daphne was still in training. She wasn't a certified Healer yet. What if she made a mistake?
Astoria grabbed his wrist. "Promise me, H-Harry." She whimpered, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Get Daphne. No hospitals."
If he knew why she was so adamant, it would be so much easier to give his word. As it was, he would just have to trust her. "I promise." He snapped his fingers.
Dobby's widow appeared at his side. "Master?"
"Do what you can to help. I'm getting her sister."
"Of course, Master. Taffy being helping the Mistress."
Harry kissed Astoria's sweaty forehead and sprinted for the nearest fireplace. He almost dropped the tin of Floo powder three times before he successfully opened it and threw some on the crackling flames. Once they turned green, he yelled "Longbottom Manor!" and thrust his head inside.
Neville dropped his quill. "Harry?" He jumped up from the desk in his study. "What's wrong? It's almost midnight!"
"Daphne. Astoria needs Daphne. Now." His fingers scrabbled at the floor before the fireplace. He wanted to take Astoria to St. Mungo's, but he had a feeling she wouldn't forgive him if he did. Why did witches have to have rituals and Secret Arts and other things that terrified him? He needed to know! Information kept him from falling apart. He had always needed to know why, how, what, when, where, and dozens of other questions. That's why the blasted hat had screamed "Ravenclaw!" before it even touched his head.
"I'll get her, Harry. We'll be there as quickly as we can," Neville assured him before hurrying from the room.
Harry ran back to the master bedroom. Astoria's head thrashed against the pillows as Taffy wiped her brow. She was muttering in a language Harry didn't know; the syllables rolled from her tongue. Her magic reacted, but Harry had no idea what it was doing. Her stomach rippled against her soaked nightgown. Her feet kicked. "What's happening?"
"Taffy is forbidden to tell Master. Master needs not be worrying. Mistress is strong." Taffy grinned at Harry. "Young Master is being very powerful."
"Move, Harry!" He stepped to the side, allowing Daphne to pass him. "Now get out."
"What?" She was mental if she thought he was leaving!
Daphne turned on him. He had never seen her angry before; it was a fearsome sight. "You can't be here, Harry. You'll make it worse. Go keep Neville company!" she ordered.
"How could I possibly make it worse?" He wasn't the one who was pregnant! What did his presence matter? He wanted to be there when the baby was born. Harry crossed his arms, prepared to stand his ground.
"Because your bloody magic has been touched by Death twice! I'm not a fool, Harry. I know you have the Hallows. Do you think Death wants to be enslaved?" Daphne raised her hand, as if she would dearly like to slap some sense into him. "I'm not taking any chances that Death will steal my sister or her son to free himself from never-ending bondage to your bloodline. So, for the last time, Harry, get out."
He stumbled from the room to the bathroom down the hall. Harry kneeled before the toilet and threw up everything he had eaten for dinner. His skin felt cold and clammy. Once his son was born, Death would be permanently bound to the Potter bloodline? His position as Master of Death was hereditary? "Did you know?" he croaked, when Neville entered the room with a concerned look on his face.
Neville nodded and rocked back on his heels. "Daphne shared Astoria's concerns with me."
"Astoria's concerns?" She hadn't said anything to him! There hadn't even been an inkling to lead him to suspect she was concerned about anything like this. Why hadn't she told him? Didn't she trust him?
Neville hauled Harry to his feet and dragged him over to the lounge. They collapsed side-by-side on the couch. "She didn't want you to spend nine months agonizing over something you can't control, Harry. She knew you would tear yourself to pieces. All she wanted was for you to be happy, to keep smiling at her."
Harry folded his knees against his chest like a child. "And if she dies?"
"She won't."
His chuckle was bitter and lacked all humor. "You can't know that." It would be his fault if Astoria died. He would be a failure. Dad died to protect Mum; he didn't kill her. Harry swallowed his gorge, not desiring another trip to the bathroom.
"Astoria won't die, Harry," Neville said patiently.
He smushed his cheek against his knee and stared at his friend. "What makes you think that?" Harry was desperate enough for any reassurance at this point. Please, Mother Magic, please don't take her away.
"Because she knows you hate being left behind."
Tears fell intermittently as the hours passed. Harry's knees ached, but he didn't loosen his grip. The parts of him that weren't crumbling to pieces were monitoring the wards, which kept shifting and flickering. They grew stronger, changing from a dull gray to a piercing ivory as the night dragged on. Then, just as the sun crested the horizon, stinging his gritty eyes, Daphne walked into the room. She slumped against the wall, exhaustion in every line of her body, wearing the most tender smile Harry had ever seen on her face.
"Well," she prompted, "aren't you going to see your family, Harry?"
His knees popped as he stretched out his legs and stood. "Is she . . . ?"
"They're fine, Harry. It went well. The danger's passed."
The danger had passed. The danger had passed. Thank you, Mother Magic! Harry walked, then ran, back to the master bedroom. He stopped at the threshold, heart in his throat. The bedding had been changed, as had Astoria's nightgown. She was pristine. Her hair was in one long braid. She sat against the pillows, a baby with fuzzy black hair lying on her chest.
"Harry." His name was filled with gentle love. "Come meet your son." Astoria held out one hand, beckoning him closer.
Harry walked over and took it in his. She was still alive. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer of gratitude. The baby fussed, and Harry couldn't help the breathless laugh that escaped when he saw that his son had Astoria's eyes, just as they had been discussing earlier. "He has your eyes."
"I know." Astoria petted the baby's hair. "Mother Magic heard us."
His desperate, oft repeated prayer of the past several hours echoed in his head: Please, Mother Magic, please don't take her away. "Yes, she did." He almost couldn't get the words out, he was so choked up with awe and wonder and thankfulness.
Astoria took the baby's little hand in her own and brushed it against Harry's. "This is your dad, James. He's going to spoil you rotten. He's going to buy you a broomstick much too early, and teach you to fly it recklessly. He's going to protect you from everything." She kissed him. "And he's going to love you with his whole heart."
He didn't think he had any tears left, but he felt them trickle down his cheeks. He never would have imagined his life being happy after losing his parents, a miserable childhood with the Dursleys, the war, and almost losing Astoria three times. Harry brushed a knuckle against a baby soft cheek and whispered, "Hello, James, welcome to the family." Life had surprised him in the best way.