The paperwork is a nightmare. It's like being at the Ministry all over again, form after form, the same cursory information again and again. They need to make sure neither of us is mad (we're not), that we're fit to be parents (we are), and that we're in this for the long haul (which should be obvious by the number of forms we've filled out). And they need to make sure about a hundred times over. Nev, bless him, is so much more patient than I am. He keeps reminding me that this'll be worth it, that it's what we both want more than anything, and that we're ready to share our lives with another person, one who's beautiful and innocent and absolutely perfect. And we think we've found him. But we have to meet him first.
"Good to see you both," Andromeda says. It's a beautifully clear day in January. We couldn't wait too much longer than we absolutely had to, and Alistair, the boy (yes, I won that argument) Andromeda's told us about, has already been at the orphanage for three months. He's content, she says, rather reserved unless you get him talking about, well, anything at all. He's four, brown-haired, like us, brown-eyed, like Neville, and compactly built, like me—though that could change at any time. He's young yet. And Andromeda tells us that that's for the best. The loneliness hasn't got to him much, and with luck, it never will.
"Ali's making a tower," Andromeda says, leading us to the back of the main room. "He's probably concentrating too hard to look up."
The three of us approach a young boy, who's staring concertedly at a stack of colorful blocks. He removes one from the top when he seems to notice that it's near toppling.
"That's as high as it'll go," he says, looking up. As we'd been able to tell from the pictures, he's about as handsome as a four-year-old can be, with deep brown eyes flecked with green and an easy smile, which he doles out on us. "I'm Ali. Are you my dads?"
Neville laugh, a nervous laugh that I know is due entirely to shyness, not a lack of confidence. "Hopefully. I'm Neville." Ali stands up and puts out his hand. They shake.
"I'm Harry," I say. Ali shakes my hand next.
"Oh, I know you both," says Ali. "You killed the snake, and you killed Voldemort. Cool."
"I've never heard a four-year-old say 'Voldemort,'" I say with a grin. "You must be a pretty mature sort."
Ali nods. "Andromeda says so. Denny, too." Someone I assume to be Denny stands up and walks over, leaving a round of dress-up behind. He's still wearing an eye patch and holding a hook in his hand, partially covering it with his sleeve. Hurriedly, he takes off his pirate accessories and lifts his hand in a wave.
"Hi, I'm Denny. Wait, we were in school together, weren't we?"
I take a closer look. Neville recognizes him first.
"Dennis Creevey. Blimey, it's been years." Neville gives him a hug, and Denny, beaming, hugs back before I take my turn.
"You work here, then?" I ask.
Dennis—Denny now, I suppose—nods. "I know what it's like to lose someone. I thought I could help."
"And he does," Andromeda says fondly, putting her hand on Denny's arm. "Now, if I could just borrow your dads and take them into my office, Ali, we can get that last bit of paperwork filed."
"More?" Nev laughs at the expression on my face and tugs me along.
"We just need your signatures on this last line," says Andromeda after we sit down at her desk. "I know you're ready for this, Harry, Neville. You're going to be wonderful parents for Ali."
I swallow hard, blinking back tears. I hadn't expected to react in such a way, but a son? It seems worth tears. Neville squeezes my hand and signs his name. I can tell he's trying not to cry, too. Andromeda taps a box of tissues on her desk.
"That's what they're there for, you know," she says with a wink. "Believe it or not, you're not the only new parents in the history of the orphanage to cry when they meet their child for the first time." We each take a tissue. Neville blows his nose loudly and we all laugh, perhaps searching for something funny to break up the sentimentality, and Andromeda takes the form.
"This should be filed and done with by the end of tomorrow. How is Friday for both of you?"
"Friday is perfect," I say. "Can we talk to him before we leave?"
"Of course," says Andromeda. She leads us back out to where Ali is busy sending tiny trucks through a tunnel he's made.
"Ali," says Nev, "what's your favorite color?"
Ali cocks his head to the side. "I like all of them," he says thoughtfully. "But I like red best."
"Brilliant. That'll go well with the rest of the house," I say. "Ready to go paint?"
Neville nods. "We'll see you in two days, Ali."
Ali reaches his arms upward for a hug. Neville crouches down and accepts it, kissing Ali's forehead. Ali comes to me next and I do the same.
"I'm glad you're my dads," he says as we turn to go.