Chapter 2: Public Indecency
Some months after Stolen's birthday, Tom purchased a mansion. It was expensive, far too large to be comfortable for only three people, and entirely tasteless. Harry hated it and loved it in equal measure.
The mansion had the space for Stolen to run around in; a lush backyard complete with a pond full of fish and plenty of trees for climbing and building things on. It had space for a child's bedroom, a child's playroom, and more.
For the second time in Harry's life, Number 12, Grimmauld Place was emptied of all its furniture.
Harry couldn't lie: more and more often, he'd been keeping an eye out for potential children to steal. Which sounded absolutely awful, like he ought to be locked away in a prison cell for life, but he didn't mean it like that. He and Tom would only steal children who needed to be stolen—actually no, that still sounded pretty bad.
He and Tom were adopting children. That the legality of said adoptions was up for debate was… not up for debate.
Harry had grown up under Sirius' direction, which was to say he'd grown up wild and carefree, with flexible morals and questionable taste in men. Until this point, Harry had kept himself out of Tom's illegal activities, but the times had changed. They had a child to think about, which meant Harry had a duty, and that duty was keeping his husband alive and out of prison.
"Move your elbow," Harry hissed. "It's poking me."
"Move your body away," Tom retorted. "It's hindering my elbow."
"That's not what you said last night—" Harry's excellent joke was postponed as Tom clapped a hand over his mouth. Someone was coming.
Harry raised his knife. Tom had hesitantly offered him a handgun, but Harry had refused on the grounds that:
If they got him, that meant they'd caught him slipping. Stabbing was more fun.
Tom had then expressed concern on how Harry was the civilian of the two of them, and therefore should not possess such a thirst for bloodsport, to which Harry had responded:
"I wouldn't have married you if I didn't."
But right now they had more pressing issues. Said issues were murderous mobsters—at least, Harry thought they were murderous mobsters, Tom hadn't been entirely clear on the details—entering the large mansion he and Tom had infiltrated.
Harry peeled Tom's hand off his mouth and deliberately angled his elbow into Tom's torso. Tom glared at him but said nothing as they tiptoed towards the exit. In the pouch secured to Harry's waist underneath his bulletproof vest was a very important USB drive with confidential-but-highly-illegal information on it. They just had to get out. Tom would berate his minions for failing to prove an appropriate distraction later on.
Shouts came from the direction of the basement floor. Alarms blared as all the doors and windows began to seal themselves off. Harry and Tom were still nowhere near the exit.
"Rats," Harry said.
Several cool fight scenes later, most of which involved Tom shooting people while Harry snuck around the edges and caught them by the ankles and shins with his knives, there was a lot of mess to clean up. Luckily for them, the house being owned by criminals had one benefit—no police would be showing up any time soon.
"Time for a hot bath," Harry declared, stretching his arms out behind his head. "Do you think these blokes have bath bombs in their cabinets?"
Tom wiped a smudge of blood off his cheek with the back of his hand. "We're not having a bath here."
"But did you see their bathtub? It's huge. It has jets."
"We have a bath with jets."
"Yes," Harry said slowly, dragging the syllables out, "but we don't have this bath. Or free bath bombs." He undid the straps on his vest while Tom stood a few meters away, clearly struggling with his inability to turn away a free shag.
"A quick bath," Tom grumbled, stomping up the stairs. "But only because it's better if we clean off all the evidence before we leave."
"Don't make the water too hot!" Harry called cheerfully after him. "You know I don't like it scalding like you do."
Much to Harry's delight, he and Tom enjoyed a very hot, very steamy time in the ensuite bathroom. There were lots of bubbles and nice smells and satisfying splashy noises. Harry would have liked for them to continue on with some naked cuddles on the fluffy bath rug, but they were unfortunately interrupted by some asshole they must have missed earlier.
Tom, who was a maniac and never went anywhere without at least three weapons, seized the handgun resting on the tub ledge and fired.
"Rats," Harry said, eyeing the body now slumped on the floor. "That's not going to come out of the carpet very easily. Also, rude much? We were clearly in the middle of something. My arse is only for you to get off to, not some nasty stranger."
"Get dressed," Tom said. "We're leaving."
"Jealousy is not a good look, Tom." Harry craned his neck to watch Tom clamber out of the tub and tug on his pants. Okay, maybe it was an alright look from this angle.
Harry got out, dried himself off, and got dressed. When he and Tom exited the bathroom, there was a second surprise waiting for them on the bed.
Tom seized Harry by the arm and dragged him back into the bathroom.
"That," he said, pointing at the bedroom, "is a child."
"Well spotted."
"That is a child!" Tom insisted. "That child just saw me murder a man and god knows what else!"
"Honestly, considering whose house this is, I think I'm more concerned about the latter. Murder is probably the least of its worries."
"It was in the other room," Tom muttered to himself as he ran distraught hands through his damp hair. He did not sound reassured. "It didn't see anything."
"No, wait, you were right!" Harry nodded. "You were absolutely correct the first time. This child has seen too much. Murder? Naked butts? We might have scarred this kid for life." Harry paused for dramatic effect. "So I think, you know, we should take it."
Tom stared at him. "We should not take it."
"It has seen too much," Harry repeated in a deep, ominous tone.
From outside the bathroom, the child sitting on the bed said, very quietly, "I want McDonalds."
"We will get you McDonalds!" Harry declared loudly, shoving Tom out of the way so he could walk over to the bed. "All the McDonalds you want. And then we're going to take you home with us, if that's alright."
Instead of answering, the child slipped off the bed, walked up to Tom, and wrapped both of their little arms around Tom, squishing their tiny face into his thigh.
"Aww," Harry said. "See? They like you. We have to take it." He stepped closer and knelt down next to the child. "Do you have a name?"
The child lifted their head of brown curls to peek at Harry for a brief second before they resumed hiding behind Tom's leg.
"That's fine!" Harry gave the child a pat. "I'm going to go with 'Public Indecency'. I'll have you know it's the only crime Tom's been arrested for that I actually approve of. Feels poetic."
"That's a terrible name," Tom said, but Harry noted that Tom had already set a protective hand on the child's shoulder.
"We'll shorten it later," Harry decided. "For now? Happy Meals!"
Stolen didn't seem upset about suddenly having a sibling, but Harry felt it was important to clarify a few things before Public was truly settled into their household.
Harry took his child by the shoulders and stared deeply into their eyes. "Stolen Baby, you were named after the best crime your father and I ever committed and got away with. Your new sibling Public Indecency is named after the best crime we did not get away with, but that does not make you any less special."
Stolen licked their lips, which were smeared with leftover crumbs from eating chicken nuggets. "Daddy?"
"Yes?" Harry asked gently.
"What is milk carton kid?"
Harry froze. "You know what? Let me go ask your father about that. l'll be right back. Don't go anywhere! Neither of you go anywhere. Eat your french fries."
Stolen dragged three french fries halfway through their puddle of ketchup then abandoned them there to soak. "Okay."
Public merely nodded and sipped their orange juice. Good enough. They could be left alone for a few minutes. Harry made a mental note to ask their new child if they wanted to be known by conventional genders and pronouns, then went to find Tom.
Tom was in his office, on the phone, yelling at his underlings. Harry managed to hold onto his patience for all of five minutes before he got tired of listening to the meaningless insults and snatched the phone out of Tom's hand.
"The next time you fuck up and put our lives in danger," Harry said calmly into the phone, "I won't tell him to hold back. I will let him do whatever he likes and I won't say a word to help you."
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"Got it?" Harry asked.
"Yes, Mr. Potter."
Harry hung up the phone and handed it back to Tom.
Tom's face was flushed pink from all the yelling, but he appeared pleased as he tossed the phone aside and pulled Harry into his arms. "I do like seeing you put them in their place," he murmured. "It's very attractive."
"It is not the time to be sexy!" Harry shoved Tom off of him. "Stolen just asked me what a milk carton kid is!"
Tom paled almost comically. "What did you tell them?"
"Obviously I said I had to go ask you."
Tom went still for a moment. Then he nodded, quite seriously, and said, "I will handle this."
The two of them went back to the dining room. Stolen had finished their french fries and was now driving the toy car from their Happy Meal into a pile of scrunched up napkins while Public watched.
"Stolen?" Tom said. "Harry tells me you were asking about milk carton children. May I ask where you got this idea from?"
Stolen swiped a finger through their ketchup pile and stuck the tip in their mouth.
"Who told you?" Tom asked. He planted both palms on the table and loomed forward.
Harry extracted Stolen's finger and said, "Answer your father, please."
"No one."
Tom frowned. "Someone must have told you."
"No one," repeated Stolen with wide, innocent eyes.
Harry watched his husband melt in response to the puppy-dog eyes.
"Don't you worry, darling, you're not in any trouble—"
"Rats," Harry said under his breath. There was no chance they'd get an valuable information now, not with Tom incapacitated.
"Rats," echoed Public. When Harry looked at them, they blinked innocently in response.
"I bet it was one of the Weasleys," Tom said thoughtfully. "Or Black. I bet it was him. Anyway!" He clapped his hands together. "Who would like some ice cream?"
Harry sincerely hoped that their children never uncovered the connection between their father getting laid and their father giving them ice cream. It would absolutely lead to unspeakable levels of chaos.
As it turned out, Public was a four-year-old boy. Everyone took to calling him Decency for short, but that nickname was quickly shortened further to Dee.
Dee was a very quiet child, and this trait endeared him to Tom. Funnily enough, Dee was indifferent to Tom, or at least to Tom's attempts to win his favour, and instead preferred to spend time playing with superhero figurines and toy dinosaurs.
Meanwhile, Harry had to listen to Tom's constant insistence to the various people in their lives that Decency was not a result of the copulation he was named after and had actually been stolen from a mansion that belonged to mobsters.
It was a toss up as to how many people believed him, but soon enough there were more important things to deal with:
Enrolling their children in primary school.
Tom had tasked some of his more trusted minions with procuring fake birth certificates for Stolen and Dee, but so far, progress on that front had been less than stellar. Locating a competent criminal willing to make fake birth certificates for 'Stolen Baby Potter-Riddle' and 'Public Indecency Potter-Riddle' was apparently very difficult to do. Something about 'no one is going to believe these are real' or some rubbish like that.
Harry compiled a list of all the best schools in the area—and there were a lot of excellent schools because Tom had purchased a mansion in an expensive area—so they could begin narrowing down their options.
What was most important to Harry was that they selected a tolerant, open-minded school. He would not have his children pick up bad habits, never mind that their father was a supervillain with a list of crimes longer than Sirius' dating history. Harry wanted Stolen and Dee to feel safe and comfortable during their proper introduction to society.
Eventually, Harry and Tom settled on Hogwarts Primary School, which boasted inclusive staff, prestigious rankings, and a reputable Parent Teacher Association.
Tom was very excited about joining the PTA for unfathomable reasons. Harry had assumed Tom wanted to flaunt their excessive wealth in front of the other parents, but when Tom got up absurdly early on the first day of school to cut the crusts off their children's peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Harry realized there was something else going on. Something much more worrisome.
Tom was a DILF.
This fact was confirmed when their little family pulled into the school lot and instantly caught the attention of all the posh-looking white women in the area.
Harry, who did not consider himself as someone prone to fits of unwarranted jealousy, kept a very firm hold on Tom's arm as they marched their children into the building.
"So what happened with the birth certificates, anyway?" Harry muttered as they consulted the map that would tell them which classroom they were meant to deposit their beloved brood into.
"I have it handled," Tom muttered back, a polite smile fixed on his face as they made their way down the hall to Classroom 7.
That answer did not reassure him, but this was not the best place to discuss it so Harry let it be. They entered the classroom and introduced themselves to the teacher, a kind woman with long blonde hair by the name of Luna Lovegood.
After meeting the teacher, Stolen immediately ran toward what looked like a giant plastic tub full of colourful grains of rice. Dee clung to Harry's leg for a brief second, watching Stolen play, then detached himself and went to join his sibling in making a rice bucket tower.
"Are there any issues or concerns you'd like me to be aware of?" asked Miss Lovegood, who had not been fazed in the slightest upon learning that Harry and Tom's children were named after seriously illegal crimes.
"Yes, in fact, I do," Tom began, then proceeded to list several dozen points about their children's likes, dislikes, and general temperaments.
"Tom," said Harry as gently as he could. "I think Miss Lovegood has all she needs to know for their first day."
"A few more things," Tom said briskly, patting Harry on the shoulder.
Harry went to offer Miss Lovegood an apologetic look, only she was nodding along and smiling, clearly making note of all the details that Tom was insistent on providing. Well, alright. So long as no one was being bored to death, Harry supposed this was fine.
"Do you have puzzles with dinosaurs? Race cars?" Tom asked. "If you don't, I am more than happy to provide the funds for them—"
"Oh, I'm not sure if we have dinosaur puzzles, Mr. Riddle. However, we do have a puzzle featuring the very rare, very unique Blibbering Humdinger!"
"Blibbering Humdinger?" Tom repeated. He stared at her for a moment, then pulled out his wallet. "Here, have thirty pounds and please purchase whichever puzzles feature the most accurate depictions. None of that cartoon nonsense."
From across the room, Stolen waved at them. Harry waved back, then looked at his watch. They'd been here for fifteen minutes so far, their children seemed fine, and Tom was…
"Now, let me explain to you how their naptime procedure works—"
...still going.
Harry sighed.
An hour later, they finally arrived back at home.
"Tell me what you did with the birth certificates," Harry demanded as they set their coats on the coat rack. "Actually, no, I want you to show me what you did because I don't believe you finally found someone willing to make them."
Tom was looking anywhere but at Harry. "Everything has worked out. Both children are successfully enrolled and there will be no issues going forward. I don't see why some silly little pieces of paper matter so much."
"These silly little pieces of paper are very important," Harry retorted. "Now show me what you did or else you're not getting any tonight."
Tom scowled. "That reminds me, was it really necessary to shout at that poor woman on our way through the parking lot?"
"Yes," Harry said defiantly, arms folded over his chest, "it was. She was staring too long so I told her to stop."
What Harry had actually shouted across the lot was "I would recognize this arse with my eyes gouged out! If you can't say the same? Then MOVE ON and KEEP WALKING!", which was not exactly polite to do in a public setting but Harry felt he was entirely justified with his actions.
"Was the slap necessary?"
Harry kept a perfectly straight face as he said, "Visuals are important. I smack your arse and that's how they know it's mine. Now stop changing the subject! Show me the birth certificates."
With obvious reluctance, Tom led them both to his study and pulled out two sheets of paper preserved in plastic sheets. Harry snatched one up and examined it.
"Tom, is this what you gave to the headmaster?" Harry asked incredulously. "You didn't even put a birth year on it! Or an entry number! And why are we both listed as parents? What about the mother?"
"Stolen doesn't have a mother," Tom said, yanking Stolen's certificate out of Harry's hands, "they have a father and a dad."
Harry picked up Public Indecency's birth certificate, which was the same poorly-edited certificate with slightly different information on it. "I cannot believe you submitted this. How did you get this past anybody with eyes, let alone past the school administration?"
"I bribed them, obviously."
That did explain a lot.
"You're not allowed to use Photoshop anymore," Harry told him. "Officially banned."
"I used MS Paint, actually, and I think I did a decent job all things considered—"
Harry rubbed at his temples. "You're lucky we have children together or I would divorce you for saying that."
A/N:
next up will be the golden child, everyone's favourite (or soon-to-be favourite): ROB.
rob, my beloved. we're coming for you.