When Malfoy returned from showing Hermione where exactly in Grimmauld the floo was and where she was supposed to enunciate towards, he returned to a rather mollified Harry Potter, who looked up at the sound of the door sliding open and closed again.

"You look like you need a drink, Harry."

"Thanks, Malfoy, but if I'm going to see my parents tonight for the first time without ghosts or magic mirrors, then I want to be sober." As much as his reply was slightly humorous, he had to bite back the ending of how being married to a Malfoy definitely might have convinced him otherwise.

"Are you nervous?" Malfoy asked unsurely, sitting where Hermione had been before, next to Harry at the rather large dining table that Number Twelve Grimmauld Place possessed.

"A bit," Harry admitted hesitantly, looking at his husband with guarded expressions. No amount of auror training or encounters with Voldemort could have prepared him for this specific situation.

"It's so weird, you know?" It seemed that Malfoy had no such reservations, "All this nonsense, it's almost like you lost your memory."

The man shrugged, a rather misplaced action on a prideful Malfoy, but so was the awkward smile.

"I reckon. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" Harry wasn't entirely ready to even think some of the questions brimming at the edge of his mind, but the cauldron had already been stirred.

"Of course." Malfoy bit his tongue at the affectionate name he nearly clipped onto the end of his answer, it was obvious to Harry when his lips pursed.

"When did we get together?" The black-haired man could have choked on such a question.

"September first, nineteen ninety-seven. The beginning of our seventh year at Hogwarts. We had a compartment to ourselves since you told Ron and Blaise to scram, and Hermione was worrying over her Head Girl duties. I remember that day dreadfully clearly, because we had been flirting all summer, but you denied any fancy you had to me the moment someone asked. I think your mum told you something ridiculously Potter of her before you got on the train and just asked me."

Harry laughed, wishing he understood what Malfoy meant about his parents… wishing he knew his parents at all. The feeling in his chest could easily be identified as jealousy when Harry took a good look at it with his green eyes. James and Lily Potter were foreign entities to him, but right there in that moment, Draco bloody Malfoy knew more than he did about his own parents. Hatred and jealousy ran easily through Harry's system when he thought on how Malfoy had grown up knowing the sweet things Lily said to Harry when he was nervous, and the heroic way James Potter handled being Minister of Magic.

The hate krept out easily enough with a bit of heavy thought, because Harry was smart enough to know that it wasn't Draco's fault, but the jealousy stuck close to his heart like a blood clot. Malfoy knew his parents better than Harry probably ever would, and such thoughts made the grip on his phoenix-feather wand all the more tight. The boy-who-lived felt robbed of precious memories, more so now than he ever had when the Dursley's had told him about his parents dying in a car crash and Hagrid telling him quite the opposite. This jealousy ran deeper than he ever imagined it could have…

Then there was the righteousness running through his veins that told him he very well couldn't act like such a snob. Harry Potter had the chance to meet and live happily with his youthful parents for the many wonderful years to come. They were in their forties, so very young for a bonded wizarding couple, and that made some of his hurt at missing so many wonderful moments with them dull. He had wanted his parents his whole life, even after becoming an auror and making his way through the world as an adult. It was all he'd ever wanted, through war and through hard times, Harry had wanted his parents. This was his chance, and he couldn't waste it being bitter.

Though, something told Harry deep inside of his being that the fight between rage and thankfulness would continue on for quite a bit.

"When did we get married?" Harry asked regardless of Hermione telling him earlier when she'd plucked his ring from his finger.

Malfoy seemed to be on the same wavelength as he pulled off his own ring jokingly and stared at it much too far away from his eyes to actually be able to read anything at all.

"We were bonded at exactly eleven on September first, two-thousand and one."

"We're sentimental blokes, aren't we?" Harry jested, feeling sort of alright with the situation if only for a few moments to make the joke.

"You could say that," Malfoy smiled, laughing lightly with Harry, even if he looked quite the bit in pain.

There was guilt surfacing in him, wondering how exactly Malfoy was dealing with knowing that his husband sat before him, not recalling a single thing about the love they shared. He felt all the more guilty in realising that he was momentarily jealous of Malfoy for knowing his parents when the poor bloke hardly knew a thing about his own mother. Still, the war went on.

"Were we planning on having kids?"

"Our own?" Malfoy joked, but it was lost on Harry who was very solemn in his demeanor. Clearing his throat, the blonde said, "Yes. We were going to adopt from a wizarding orphanage pretty soon, actually: we were quite ready."

"Oh… you might want to add on a few more years to 'soon'," Harry said wearily, "You know neither Hermione nor I recall a thing from this… timeline, right?"

"I do," Malfoy sighed, "I guess I just hoped… how about I show you some photograph albums? They might not jog your memory, but they'll help me tell you the story. Besides, Kreacher might get mad at us if we loiter in his kitchen any longer while he's trying to prepare a meal."

Harry nodded, knowing well enough not to cross Kreacher when cooking.

They both stood, though Malfoy looked a lot more comfortable with the place than Harry was in that moment. Even if he'd been living there the past few years of his life, he couldn't imagine Malfoy doing the same… with him. Unfathomable things were tangible here, however, so it was best Harry attempt to blindly accept what was coming.

"I've got a quite a few of the albums, they're a mix of muggle and magical pictures."

The first thing placed before Harry was a book that had two intertwined hands in the clear window carved into the cover. It was obvious the photograph didn't come with the book, and Harry was unendingly curious over what the thing itself would hold.

"That's us," Malfoy seemed to answer his unspoken inquisition, "You took it with this bloody annoying muggle camera that clicked of all noises, and I hated it, but only because it was the first time we held hands."

"We really are sentimental sods."

Without reply, though the black-haired man did seem to catch the edge of a smile, Draco Malfoy pried open the album as it made a few cracking noises, the binding protesting its sudden use.

Two photographs lay on the first page, one on the next, as Harry seemed to realize that the first two were taken by respective partners, and the next was taken by a third party.

"I took one of you while in a muggle park," the smiles were unwavering, definitely muggle, "And then you of me. We had literally no one with us that day because you'd bloody apparated us off the grounds with Lupin's help. I swear you were always his favorite no matter what he said, and we were stranded."

"I doubt that, Malfoy," Harry said with a scoff, though amused his husband was not.

If anything, the blonde looked rather put off, shrinking into himself even if there was no physical sign of change.

"It's… Potter, now, but…" The rest of his words were unintelligible to Harry as he watched the grey eyes of his partner glance away, lithe fingers flipping to the next page.

"When was this?" The black-haired wizard wondered as he pointed to another photo of them, seeming to be somewhere in Hogwarts….

"Hermione took it," the picture of them moved as they laughed together, arms touching enough to be recognized as wanting to be doing a little more than that. "She refused to let you take a picture of her when she realized you'd charmed the camera to take muggle and magical photos, so she snapped it from you and got this."

"When did she start seeing Snape?"

"Severus and her started seeing one-another after we left Hogwarts, but she had far too many extra-classes with him for them all to be Occlumency lessons."

Harry doubted Malfoy's doubts, but the hurt on the man's face deterred him from speaking out.

"These ones?" His fingers pointed to the next page where there were lots of sweets involved, and way more candles than Hogwarts was ever known for having during normal times.

"All Hollow's Eve. You had a field day with half the school high on sugar, the other half looking sick to their stomachs."

"It's mostly our friends."

"Exactly."

There were a few people Harry didn't recognize, but he did notice the lack of a presence which disturbed him greatly considering all they'd been through together. Her thin face and her red hair was nowhere to even be found in the photographs, not even the magical ones.

"Where's Ginny?"

Malfoy sighed, rather dramatically had you asked Harry, but the black look excused the noise.

"Ginny passed on in her fourth year. It was really hard for a lot of us, especially for my sister and Luna, but we persevered."

"What happened?" Harry wondered, frowning deeply at the mere thought of Ginny not being around, their relationship being non-existent if she hadn't lived to her fifth year. It stung something deep inside of him that he had suppressed, just like she had, when the war ended. They'd talked about reigniting the flames, blowing on the kindles to see how big they could get those flames, but with Fred's death waxing heavy on Mrs. Weasley, water had doused such a thought.

"A muggle sickness, the medi-witches never really specified to the kids, and I don't think Molly wanted anyone to know anyways, it might have made it worse; knowing."

Harry nodded merely to form a reply, but he felt all words would have been useless anyways in mourning of a girl he had loved at one point. And he had, loved her, loved Ginevra Weasley to a point of no return, yet nothing came of it. What came of it was a book that lead him being married to Malfoy, no Ginny Weasley in sight.

"And your sister, she was horribly affected."

There were many things that Harry had heard over the past minutes that had had the boy-who-lived ready to sacrifice himself to Death, but nothing quite as earth-shattering as him having a sibling, let alone a sister.

"You didn't have a sister in your recollection, did you? Because of Voldemort."

Shaking his own head of unruly black hair, Harry proclaimed his answer most definitely.

Pink lips in a slight 'o' that were accompanied by fluttering eyelashes made Harry quite uncomfortable as he shifted back to the albums and tried to take in the fact that he had a sister somewhere out there in the wizarding world, and he knew nothing about her. Again, almost tirelessly, the jealousy swept into Harry's mind at how Draco Malfoy knew about his family all the more than he did. He had a sister that he probably loved, who… bloody hell he couldn't even fathom what they were to one-another because he didn't know her. So many emotions attacked him, his magic in a deafening whirl about his head as he struggled to grasp just a sliver of what Malfoy told him.

"What's her name?"

"Iris Lily Potter."

Harry smiled, though knowing just her name didn't heal any of the hurt that was displayed blatantly on his face.

"Can you tell me about her?" He asked eagerly, knowing that Dinner was coming closer and closer, but he wanted to be familiar with his own bloody sister, at least a little bit.

"She was two years below us in school. Pretty smart, a Gryffindor through and through. She was a chaser, though, she didn't obtain the family lineage of Seeker. Red hair like her mum, if I didn't know Lily, I'd say James had nothing to do with making her since she's so utterly her mother. Besides her mischief, which is usually bearable. She plays pro Quidditch now, with the Hollyhead Harpies."

The information made Harry all the more queasy as he sat back, ignoring the photographs as he closed his eyes in thought. There was just a lot to take in, and he wasn't quite sure how much new information he could handle after everything thrown at him. One moment he was writing about the years he knew so well, the trials that had made him the man he was, and now none of that mattered a wink. It was all for naught as he sat in a world where everything seemed perfect, to an extent. He was sure besides Ginny and Narcissa's death, there were other things that would make this place just as equally overbearing as his other home had been. Call him crazy, but Harry even missed the way he and Malfoy avoided one-another like the plague.

"Eventually it will all make sense, yeah? You will love it here, no matter how insane I sound to myself right now," Malfoy protested, smiling slightly.

They were on two different ends of a couch Harry knew well, the feeling of scratchy plaid and wool familiar enough that it nearly made him smile. Though, the familiarity of Grimmauld Place wasn't going to be enough for Harry to merely forget that he was married to Malfoy, that his humor was suffocating Harry as he tried to forget that this man before him was looking at his husband… and Harry was looking at his enemy. There were subtle differences that were not awful to become accustomed to like Fred being very much alive, or Blaise Zabini being their friend, but… his parents? Ginny's death, Iris Potter, Aries Malfoy, Remus and Sirius alive, Dumbledore killing Tom Riddle as an infant? These things were near impossible to come up with as a joke after a pint let alone to be reality.

"This probably is as bad a time as any to say this, but…" Malfoy hesitated, putting a hand through his blonde hair and gulping nervously, "I love you, and bloody hell am I sure you feel the furthest thing from that for me in reply, but that doesn't matter. I have no intention of breaking my vows, and Merlin I'm a sappy prick, but I'm here for you no matter what."

There was a large gap in time when the blonde spoke that Harry just stared at his husband in fright, but Draco sodding Malfoy didn't seem to care as he leaned forward from his end of the couch, near crawling, to place an affectionate kiss on Harry's forehead.

"Thanks," though Harry hardly meant it.

"Right," Malfoy replied, the look on his face proving to them both that Harry had only allowed him to do such a thing out of pity.

"We better get ready for Dinner, I can hear Kreacher in the kitchens."

Harry heard nothing as he followed Malfoy to their room, not worried over the lie that had gotten them both a change of scenery and out of the awkward conversation that had been ensuing before, though with the next question, Harry made it all the worse.

"How am I… with my parents, I mean?"

Startled, the wizard who was pulling their bedroom door open looked back and furrowed his brows.

"You love them a lot, but it's casual… like any adult with their parent… since you're both adults it's more fun and wizarding talk, you know?" He opened the door as he explained, and Harry couldn't hold back a shudder at the sight of their bed, large and covered in black sheets.

"Right," Harry said, however tentatively he went about his words, prying his green eyes from the scene of pure horror.

There had to be a guest bedroom he could stay in for a little while, right?

"Here, wear this, it's your mum's favorite shirt. She'll tell you that you didn't have to wear it, but you always reply that you'd do anything to see her smile."

It sounded like Malfoy was reciting his favorite poetry or line from Shakespeare as he told Harry the small banter that ensued with his mother, and it hit him again just how much this pitiful wizard loved him.

Taking the green shirt in his hands, Harry set it down on the bed, unfortunately enough, as he pulled his long-sleeve from his body and peeled it off. When he reached for the new shirt, something odd caught his eye.

On the lower part of his right arm, mostly the forearm, there was a colorful tattoo that had quite obviously never been there before. The thing was obviously quite muggle, as it had no magical properties to it when he'd taken his wand to it, and nothing about it moved. Harry pulled his arm closer and glanced over to Malfoy who's back was turned as he took off his own shirt, muscle leanly placed over him, a silver, silk shirt in his hands. He pulled it over his arms, straightening it out over his broad shoulders and then buttoned it. If he hadn't seen the ink on his arm, Harry would have continued to watch the admittedly attractive bloke continue to change, but he needed to know when he'd gotten such a thing on his skin. It was beautiful, per se, the colors perfect and the blending very well done- he couldn't imagine what it had cost him- but there was still a curiosity about it that needed to be discovered. Harry couldn't have this golden lion on his arm for no reason.

"M-" Harry couldn't dare to call the hurting man before him Malfoy, especially after seeing him react the last time he'd done it.

Harry could hardly bare Draco, and there was no way a pet-name would do, so he settled for the next best thing.

"Potter."

It felt wrong coming from his lips, as usually everyone else had called him Potter, or Harry Potter in some type of reverence he hadn't deserved.

Luckily enough, Malfoy turned, his toned stomach showing until he covered it with the rest of his buttons.

"Yeah?" He answered as if it were something he was called on a daily basis.

"When on Earth did I get this?" He showed him his arm, and the blond's eyes went wide until a smirk took over.

"Two thousand. Your mum almost killed you, I think."

Harry laughed, looking at the undeniably Gryffindor tattoo on his arm that was so happily resting there. It made him feel slightly better, having something like that reminding him of any good things that came from the war he'd gone through. His Gryffindor roots were something spectacularly significant to him, considering he'd chosen them and all.

"Were you there?" Harry asked, for some reason unknown to him.

"Yeah," Malfoy smiled fondly, "You took it well, though you were tearing up when you got home because it 'bloody well fucking hurt'."

They laughed together that time, but it didn't last long as Harry finally remembered why he'd seen it in the first place. Taking his shirt from the bed, he pulled the green fabric on and felt utterly Slytherin, cringing merely at the thought.

"Do you like it?" Malfoy asked him for little reason at all, but considering his eyes had been over Harry's body at least three times by then, he could see why the wizard had been compelled to ask.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

"Dunno, just-" Malfoy was close then, his hand reaching for Harry's, but it fell short when he had to tip his head down slightly to look into Harry's eyes, "asking."

Harry swallowed hard, backing away from the warmth of another body, and nodded.

They stood awkwardly looking at one-another, their sides touching the bed that only Malfoy remembered sharing, and then something struck him as if a bludger had thrown him off his Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

"If you still have your tattoo, then…" Suddenly pacing furiously, Malfoy pursed his lips, shaking his head all the while, "But that's a stretch, even for the wizarding world."

"What is going on?" Harry asked him, but the frustrated wizard seemed not to notice.

"It can't be," he muttered again, his footsteps quickening from the war in his mind.

"Draco," Harry said finally, also grabbing his hand in hopes that one action or the other would calm him down. "What are you thinking?"

"It's an insane theory, even for the wizarding world," Malfoy warned him, not at all gently grasping Harry's hand back, "It's asinine."

"What is?" The boy-who-lived insisted.

"Well, our Hermione… before your little mishap… well, she was pregnant. And, seeing that you have your tattoo and all, even though you're not my Harry, then," Malfoy implied, tilting his head with a lopsided smile.

"Then that means my Hermione is pregnant too."

A/N

Surprise!

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