A/N: Lol, sorry this took so long-I hope to update more? I'll try! I'm sorry;;. I have a vague idea of where I'm going.
Still unbeate'd so sorry for any/all mistakes.
Replies and such are graciously appreciated. :")
"Mr. Potter?" Harry looked up at the call of his name, fingers thread together so tightly his knuckles were white. "Mr. Potter? There you are Mr. Potter!"
"Yes, that's me," Harry chimed, standing up and walking over to the doctor, pursuing his lips, they had no choice but to go to St. Mungo's. They'd just been getting dinner, a small bistro away from the Leaky Cauldron, but not too far, and all of a sudden something went wrong. "Is… is the baby okay?"
The doctor paused, looking up from his charts. "The baby's fine. The mother might not be." He said, Harry's throat constricted, "she's lost a lot of blood."
"I. Please don't tell me you're about to ask me to make a choice." Harry asked, looking at his hands, crescent shaped nail marks in the palm of his hands.
"No, we managed to save them both. But it might not be safe for her to have the baby. There are many risks; she's not doing very well physically." The doctor said, but he paused and looked at the charts again before sighing, "But it's already this late in the pregnancy. In another two months the baby's due. Your… Miss—"
"Did she say she wants to abort the baby?" Harry asked heart in his throat as he looked at the doctor with wide eyes.
"Yes. But you're as a part of this decision as she is." The doctor said, frowning and putting the chart to his side.
"I— can't. Isn't there any way that we can take the baby out and magically give him the next two months of labor without—without killing him, killing my son?" Harry asked, voice barely a whisper.
"It's risky, very risky. The likelihood of it working is about forty percent. But if Miss—"
"I don't care what she wants. I don't care if she wants to abort him; he's my son, my child. I can't lose him, not now, not when I haven't met him." Harry said, his voice shallow and weak, "Do whatever you can to save him. Just please don't—please don't abort him like he's nothing. He's everything."
"We'll do our best, Mr. Potter. It's all we can tell you."
Harry paused at Olivander's Wand Shop. Flourish and Bolts, The Apothecary, even Gringots was easy for him. Yes, Harry had taken James and went door to door offering coffee samples and taking Hermione and Ron's advice, finally. He let himself be known, at least to his neighbors.
James has been a tether between a teenager going around Diagon Alley, and reality. Most of all, Harry was surprised at how welcoming everyone was to him, even the goblins gave him as much of a smile that goblins could offer.
But, Olivander's was different. Olivander was another reminder of the hardships of war, a real war reminder. Of what his wand was; a brother.
"'Addy, are we going in?" James asked, standing on Harry's shoes so he wouldn't get his house slippers dirty.
"Yeah give me a moment, James, please," Harry said. Gringots should be harder than this, he stole a fucking dragon there, but it wasn't. Finally, after another beat, he pushed the door open.
"'Ullo!" James called at the empty rows of wands, walking swiftly across the wooden flooring, "We're 'rom The 'Orner!"
"Hello?" Harry heard Olivander ask politely as he made his way towards the counter. "Oh! Mister Potter. Are you here for a wand? He—" looking down at James, "—seems a bit too young for one."
"I've just been going around the neighborhood," Harry said, lifting James into his arms, "I'm the, uh, owner of the coffee shop. Thought I'd offer free samples, be neighborly."
"Oh my? Is that so? I've had a cup or two before, absolutely lovely coffee, Mister Potter." Olivander said, accepting the bags of coffee beans James dropped on the counter. "Thank you."
"Of course," Harry said, offering a small smile, "Of course."
"It's nice to see you after all this time, Harry. Come back whenever you want," Olivander said, smiling back kindly.
"I'll be off then. I've got to get James some real shoes."
"Well then, I'll await your next visit."
Draco didn't know how he felt when he saw it. The sign board was classy, oak wood, a design etched into the edges. But, it made the coffee shop, hidden away in its concave, less hidden—less secret. Maybe it was second hand pride, Ginevra was always telling Blaise, who in turn told him, that Harry was hiding in his work. Literally.
But now, there was a sign, with a dumb soup-of-the-day / coffee combo title: Eat Your Heart Out, Seamus Finnegan. Draco offered an elegant snort.
Pushing past the sign, Draco opened the door and paused. Literally a day ago the shop was full of warm wood and chairs, pictures and portraits. But, today, it was like Christmas threw up and then waited an hour before throwing up again. A large tree nested right by the lovely black leather chair chair, fire place hanging four stockings messily made with glitter with the names, Rory, Eddie, James, and Harry scrawled on with inelegance.
"Mista!" came James' high pitched voice, and Draco leaned down to pick up the child without hesitation. "D'addy and I had the BEST two days! We went allllllll around 'Iagon Alley passin' 'offee and jokes. And today we went to Leaky fo' pancakes, Mista! Pancakes! I love Pancakes!" James chattered on and on. What a change, Ginevra would be proud, yes, Ginevra.
"How about—" Potter's voice came, booming and happy, scooped his son out of Draco's arms and to the floor, "You put on a jacket like I told you. Aunt Hermione is coming to get you remember."
"Yes!" James chimed, looking at Potter like he didn't want to spend a single moment away from him. "Do you think Aunt 'Mione will buy me punk'n pasties?"
"Not a chance. Try anyways." Potter smiled, running a hand through James' hair.
"Potter."
"Malfoy." Potter flashed him a—dare he say it—charming smile. "The usual?"
"Excuse me?" Draco asked, looking into cool green eyes that flashed with amusement, "Oh. Oh! Coffee. Yes. Because that's why I'm here. For my coffee."
"Extra black," Potter called, lips curling into a grin, "two shots of hazelnut sauce, no cream or sugar, large. On the house."
Rory looked at Draco, confused before a smile of her own came to her face, "No prob, boss."
"I can pay, Potter." Draco deadpanned, and Potter's grin grew.
"Friend's don't pay." Potter said, and Draco felt prickly.
"I don't recall us being friends," Draco said, eyes narrowing, glancing at James who was sitting on a set of stairs behind the counter, waiting for Granger probably.
"I don't hold just anybody's hair back while they puke, and then let them stay at my house where my son is available to them without much effort of rousing his curiosity," Potter said. The urge to punch him square in the jaw was building, "anyways we should talk about what you said. About sixth year."
Harry Bleeding Ruddy Potter, then had the galls to smile sheepishly and pass him his coffee.
"I told you to—" Draco paused by Potter putting his hand on Draco's shoulder.
"That's nice, Draco, you're going to be late for work. I'll see you at the fitting."
"What?" Draco asked, dumbfounded for a brief moment, "Shit."
"James fell asleep on the way here, and it's best not to wake him up because he'll get way beyond cranky, and a cranky child is not what any of us need right now," Harry said, fumbling to find a piece of paper in his trousers while balancing his son on his him, but he eventually pulled a piece of paper out and handed it over, "but Rory gave me his measurement's here."
"That's perfect. Do you know color? Cut?" Blaise asked, staring at the paper in his hands like it was the key to the universe.
"Uh. I thought you picked that and I was just here for sizing." Harry shrugged sheepishly and sat down with his son nestled in his lap, snoozing away.
"Useless, Harry, absolutely useless!" Blaise spoke with conviction as he walked over to the tailor and discussed possible options for a good suit for a ringer bearer.
"Shh, James is sleeping!" Harry hushed as he watched Blaise step away, only to turn and looked at him with annoyance.
"Bite me, Scarface," Blaise said and Harry stared at him, not necessarily shocked, but partly amused. "Sorry, we're not close like that."
"It's okay. I guess we'll eventually have to get close, or Ginny will murder the both of us," Harry said, patting James' back. Blaise gave him a sympathetic look before going back to his work.
Harry sat down and lightly patted his sleeping son soothingly. James had been so—so happy the past few days. It'd been amazing, a dream. Nothing like when he'd lived with Hermione and Ron and didn't know how to take care of James as a baby—as a single parent. But now, James was so independent in his own ways, he lead children around at school according to Rory. A natural leader—just like his father. Maybe that wasn't a good thing, but, it was James and James always found his way around trouble. And if there was no other option, he knew he was cute enough to get away with most things—the bugger.
Harry smiled softly, pressing kisses onto James' forehead. Maybe if James stayed this age forever, then Harry would be content. James was always so happy, hardly anything ever brought him down. If there was anything he dreaded, it was when his son had grown into a teenager, because if James' rage was anything like Harry's—well, he could hope not.
"Blaise wants you to go in for measurements." A light voice said simple, slightly as though they were grudging to talk to Harry at all, and Harry was okay with that. He pressed another kiss on James' sleeping form before looking into brilliant grey eyes. Harry wondered what James would look like with green eyes.
"Okay. I was hoping James'd wake up by then. I don't want to leave him alone." Harry said, standing up and lifting his son carefully. James had been so over excited the past few days with how much time he and Harry were spending, that he'd barely been able to sleep at night. Maybe Harry was neglecting him—maybe Harry was hiding from his son as much as he was hiding from everyone else. He just didn't think he could stand himself if James woke up one day and realized how much of a coward Harry really was—how much of a disappointment.
"I can take him. If you want. I understand if you don't." Draco said awkwardly, shuffling a foot before crossing his arm over the other and biting his lip. The things Harry thought about doing to those lips in sixth year—whenever he saw Draco. The things he'd stopped himself from doing.
"I—if you don't mind. If he wakes up tell him, I'll see him soon. He's been clingy because he's afraid I'll stop spending as much time with him again." Harry said, slightly ashamed to think of such things.
"Why—I'd expect you to coddle your son and never let him out of your grip, seeing as how you, you know." Draco said, walking over and holding his hands out for James, speaking in a low whisper, a way that a parent would know how to do.
"I was afraid I'd never be good enough for him. Never be good enough to be his father." Harry said, passing James over and brushing some of his hair out of his face. "And now I'm trying to prove to myself I'm wrong. I guess I'm not as perfect as you always expected me to be."
"Potter—Harry?" Draco asked for him as Harry began to walk through the door to the other room. Harry turned around with an eyebrow raised in a silent yet. "I—never mind."
"James' mom tried to abort him because she could have died if she kept him. I forced her to keep him, kind of. It's complicated." Harry said, finally answering a question he'd never thought he'd ever answer to Draco Malfoy. A question he'd never expect Draco Malfoy to ask. "You didn't know her. She was a muggle."
"Did you love her?" Draco found himself surprised to ask as much as Harry was surprised to hear it.
"No. She was just a means of getting a son for me. A surrogate. I'm not very inclined to be into women like that, it seems." Harry answered before whisking himself away into the dressing room to be sized and figure out the cut and color of the suit. Matching for him and his son, while also matching to the dresses Ginny wanted for her brides maids.
Harry wasn't sure what made him honest—or open, or anything like that, he reflected. James sat on the island in the kitchen, drawing pretty little pictures of lines that only made images to children. Harry ran his hand through James' hair as he watched.
"'Addy?" James asked, putting his crayon down and lacing his fingers together atop his picture, looking much older than someone his age.
"Yes James?" Harry asked, leaning his elbow onto the island, showing his amusement to his son, but treating him with the utmost respect and love as he would any other adult (maybe minus the love).
"I think you and Mista Malfoy should have more sleep overs. You're always in a 'ood moo' when he's around. He makes you make jokes and be more f'nny." James said, seriously, screwing his face up like he wanted to make a very serious face but only happened to look comical instead.
"Is that so, James? Or do you just want to spend more time with him?" Harry asked, running his hand through his son's hair with a laugh of amusement.
"Both?" James said hopefully, bright and childlike again.
"Go wash up for dinner."
"Never!" James said as he hopped down the stool and bounded down the hallway, avoiding the spider whom had been living in the house for a couple of months that he'd named Everett.
Harry would have many regrets in his life, he thought, but James would never be one of them.