A/N: Like I said, a few hours later! Not so depressingly futile as the
last chapter, I hope.
Wonapalei: You're not going to come get these things, are you? ~cries~ They're all over the place! It was chapters like that last one that give me incredible guilt over what I've done to Ron. He's got some tough stuff ahead of him.
Harry was late. Not fashionably late or even "first day jitters late", but the kind of late that would make Snape turn over and deduct house points from his grave. The only consolation Harry had was that Professor Malfoy would also be late to class that morning. Firmly pulling off the path that those particular thoughts would lead him down he sped his brisk walk up to an almost run.
Absently he noted that the hallway looked significantly smaller than it had in his first year, but even the diminution of the corridors did not suppress the embarrassing echo of his steps. He knew his students would hear him minutes before he arrived. Fixing a contrite look on his face, he continued on, if falteringly.
As he entered the classroom he had the distinct urge to bow his head and sit in the empty seat at the back. Deciding, though, that he would look rather of place with a group of second years he marched himself up to the front of the room and fiddled with a piece of chalk. He could feel all those eyes on him, and decided that teaching class was almost as bad as the doll-filled room had been. If possible he grew even more nervous and put the chalk down to look busy with some papers. He knew that eventually he'd have to teach them something, especially considering he'd just arrived and class was already half over. Before he could think of what to say, though, one brave Hufflepuff raised her hand.
"Yes?" He asked, hoping against hope she had a real question and wouldn't ask to go to the lavatory.
"Are you Professor Potter like Harry Potter? I mean, are you the Boy-Who- Lived-Too-Many-Times-To-Count?"
Harry was startled, and had to resist many urges at that moment. ~I cannot hurt the students, I cannot hurt the students~ First off, he severely resented being called a "boy" by someone who had maybe been two years old when he had battled Voldemort for the last time, and second, he'd never heard that nick-name before, but he knew he did not like it.
"I am Professor Potter, your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and that's all that really matters at the moment" Oh dear. That had been colder than he'd meant, but the Hufflepuff was insatiable.
"Oh, so are you really going to marry a Death Eater?" Harry's head snapped up, any vestiges of nervousness had dissolved with her words.
"Class, please turn to page four-hundred-seventy, and read 'til the bell. When you arrive tomorrow I would like sixteen inches on what you read." Page 470-500 held a concise history of the aftermath of the war, including that Draco had been cleared of all charges.
Harry was tired. No, he was exhausted, shocked, angry, a little depressed, and wholly disappointed. After his first class was over the day had gone down hill ~If that were possible. ~ He had a class of first years, Slytherins and Gryffindors, right after the second years had gone, and they had had even fewer scruples than the Hufflepuff girl. After lunch he had been confronted by seventh years that, while not saying a word one way or the other, sent him funny looks. ~At least in that class I got to teach. ~
It was in that desolate frame of mind that he sought his and Draco's rooms. Thankfully this time each step was not heralded throughout the school. Opening the door he saw Draco sitting on the couch, red-faced, fists clenched staring down at a copy of the Daily Prophet. Upon seeing Harry he crumpled up the paper and shoved in under a cushion.
"What was that, Draco?" Harry asked tiredly, he didn't know for sure, but he suspected that paper held the source of all this day's troubles.
"It's nothing, love. Come here and tell me about your day"
Harry walked over and sat next to his blond fiancé, but before Draco could stop him Harry had his hand down the couch and pulled out the offending article. Draco muttered something Harry didn't catch, but before long he was saying some pretty risqué adjectives himself.
Headline: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy
Harry read no more, he spared a glance for the name at the bottom of the article, and sure enough, Rita Skeeter had written it. Sighing, he threw the paper into the flames, not caring what it had to say, knowing it was rubbish, and stretched himself out, laying his head in Draco's lap.
Harry noted that Draco was no less gorgeous upside down, and reached up to capture a hand in his. It didn't matter what the paper said about them. The people who mattered knew the truth, and Harry would be content with that, he'd learned that lesson years ago. He hated that it was wedging itself between him and his students, but he'd go on teaching them anyway, and eventually, he hoped they would come to know him as their professor and not some bloody persona the papers had created.
Throughout the years there had been several Harry Potters, and none of them came close. In fourth year he'd been pitiful, in fifth a madman, in his sixth year their savior, and in all the years since something new whenever material was running low. So what if today he was not in their good graces, anyone that quickly swayed by the Skeeter bitch wasn't worth his time anyway. Of course he wouldn't feel that way in the morning, but he'd had a bad day, and wasn't feeling very gracious. "Harry, come to bed. We'll worry about it in the morning, if we have to. Please."
Draco wouldn't have to ask twice. Harry's mood was drastically better, all things considered. He'd come to Hogwart's with out a home, a love, or a family, and found all three in Draco.
********************************************** In Draco's opinion, the rest of the term could only be described as hellacious. He wouldn't tell Harry, because he was having far too much trouble with his own students, but Draco was not having an easy time of it. The slanderous articles continued to be printed, he was ambushed whenever he left the castle, and he didn't think he could stand another prying student.
The only things that made these weeks manageable were Harry, and planning their wedding. In fact, he'd taken up the habit of bringing the wedding plans with him to class and setting them on his desk next to a picture of Harry playing Quidditch. It wasn't irresponsible; honestly it was the only thing that kept him from throttling some of the more inquisitive students
Today, though, he watched the last of the students leave on carriages, going home for the summer. Draco was free.
"Hi, Uncle Draco." Said a bright voice from behind him, and Draco sighed. He been made an 'uncle' the day Harry had told Hermione and Sam that they were getting married. He didn't mind, exactly, it was just strange. Draco had no siblings, no familial ties at all, and it was odd to finally be attached to people. The family he'd been born into had never felt like this. If it had he would have had no problems siding with his father. The old adage "Blood is thicker than water" did not ring true, at least not with either he or Harry.
"Hello Samantha-mine, what can I do for you?"
She tipped her head to one side and bit her bottom lip. Draco's eyes widened, this was the sign of either a confession or an uncomfortable question. He wasn't sure which, but he wanted neither.
"Can I be a flower girl?" Draco could breath again, no uncomfortable familial duties right now then.
"You have to ask? Of course, we're only having the best at our wedding, and there's no one going to be a flower girl better than our Sammy" Draco smiled wanly, he hoped that had been the right thing to say. Harry was better at this sort of thing. It seemed his words had done the trick, though, because soon he was wrapped in the patented rib-cracking Samantha squeeze. If she ever wanted to play Quidditch she certainly had the muscle.
"Yay!"
"Sam, honey, I don't think Uncle Draco can breathe" Hermione admonished from the doorway. Harry was standing next to her, a strange expression on his face. Draco didn't have enough air going to his head to contemplate it, though he'd seen if often when both Harry and Sam were around.
"Oh, sorry" and he was quickly released to see Harry and Hermione suppressing giggles, and Sam beaming at him like he's just handed her all the keys in Gringotts.
"Sammy, sweety, we have to go. Gramma and Grampa want to check your teeth today."
"Again? They checked them last month!"
"I know, we still need to go. Now." Hermione had her no-nonsense face on, and there were grown wizards who would fold under such a gaze. Sam, on the other hand, began to whine.
"Mom! I don't want to get my teeth checked. I want to play, I want to-" Suddenly no sound was coming from Sam's mouth and she was being pulled from the room by an ear.
Laughing quietly, as if amused, but preoccupied Harry sat down on their couch next to him. Laying his head on Harry's shoulder he again relished that they would be free all summer.
"I think," Harry began, "that you'd make a great dad." Draco was sure he felt his jaw hit the floor. This was what that look was about? Oh shit. How many times had he seen that look? ~Must be in the thousands~ Oh shit. Trying not to look as scared as he felt he smiled at Harry, albeit a wobbly smile, walked into their bedroom and locked the door. He knew Harry could be in their with a simple alohomora, but he also knew Harry would leave him be if he wanted privacy.
Draco had read about the spell that allowed men to have children. Everyone had, and even considering the origin, he had no problem with it. He just couldn't help but wonder if Harry and he would make good parents. They had both had disgusting childhoods, were media magnets, and were not used to being directly responsible for another life. Oh sure, Draco had been a spy, and Harry had struck the killing blow they'd been responsible for saving the lives of many people. Those people, though, were nameless, faceless, meaningless even, in the grand scheme of his life. This was another being, and it would rely on them in some way or another for as long as they lived. Yeah, they knew what not to do, but was that enough?
The other side of things was just as worrisome. It was far more stressful for a male to be pregnant than a female. Towards the end of the pregnancy it took an enormous amount of magical energy to sustain the baby, and to put it bluntly, they weren't getting any younger. There was also a whispering voice that repeated its mantra until it was all he could here: He would really like to have children with Harry.
Hours later he unlocked their door to find Harry sleeping on the couch. Creeping up as slowly as possible he dropped himself onto Harry's lap, relishing the "Ooof!" that had escaped Harry's pink lips.
He could see Harry looking at him. Their previous "conversation" would not just fade away. He'd have to tell Harry his answer. He wrapped his arms 'round his fiancé's neck and kissed him. Leaving his arms in their rightful place, he moved back only enough to make coherent sound come from his lips and whispered, "I think you'd make a great dad, too."
He could feel Harry picking him up. They wouldn't be making any babies that night, but there was no harm in a little practice.
A/N Better?
Wonapalei: You're not going to come get these things, are you? ~cries~ They're all over the place! It was chapters like that last one that give me incredible guilt over what I've done to Ron. He's got some tough stuff ahead of him.
Harry was late. Not fashionably late or even "first day jitters late", but the kind of late that would make Snape turn over and deduct house points from his grave. The only consolation Harry had was that Professor Malfoy would also be late to class that morning. Firmly pulling off the path that those particular thoughts would lead him down he sped his brisk walk up to an almost run.
Absently he noted that the hallway looked significantly smaller than it had in his first year, but even the diminution of the corridors did not suppress the embarrassing echo of his steps. He knew his students would hear him minutes before he arrived. Fixing a contrite look on his face, he continued on, if falteringly.
As he entered the classroom he had the distinct urge to bow his head and sit in the empty seat at the back. Deciding, though, that he would look rather of place with a group of second years he marched himself up to the front of the room and fiddled with a piece of chalk. He could feel all those eyes on him, and decided that teaching class was almost as bad as the doll-filled room had been. If possible he grew even more nervous and put the chalk down to look busy with some papers. He knew that eventually he'd have to teach them something, especially considering he'd just arrived and class was already half over. Before he could think of what to say, though, one brave Hufflepuff raised her hand.
"Yes?" He asked, hoping against hope she had a real question and wouldn't ask to go to the lavatory.
"Are you Professor Potter like Harry Potter? I mean, are you the Boy-Who- Lived-Too-Many-Times-To-Count?"
Harry was startled, and had to resist many urges at that moment. ~I cannot hurt the students, I cannot hurt the students~ First off, he severely resented being called a "boy" by someone who had maybe been two years old when he had battled Voldemort for the last time, and second, he'd never heard that nick-name before, but he knew he did not like it.
"I am Professor Potter, your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and that's all that really matters at the moment" Oh dear. That had been colder than he'd meant, but the Hufflepuff was insatiable.
"Oh, so are you really going to marry a Death Eater?" Harry's head snapped up, any vestiges of nervousness had dissolved with her words.
"Class, please turn to page four-hundred-seventy, and read 'til the bell. When you arrive tomorrow I would like sixteen inches on what you read." Page 470-500 held a concise history of the aftermath of the war, including that Draco had been cleared of all charges.
Harry was tired. No, he was exhausted, shocked, angry, a little depressed, and wholly disappointed. After his first class was over the day had gone down hill ~If that were possible. ~ He had a class of first years, Slytherins and Gryffindors, right after the second years had gone, and they had had even fewer scruples than the Hufflepuff girl. After lunch he had been confronted by seventh years that, while not saying a word one way or the other, sent him funny looks. ~At least in that class I got to teach. ~
It was in that desolate frame of mind that he sought his and Draco's rooms. Thankfully this time each step was not heralded throughout the school. Opening the door he saw Draco sitting on the couch, red-faced, fists clenched staring down at a copy of the Daily Prophet. Upon seeing Harry he crumpled up the paper and shoved in under a cushion.
"What was that, Draco?" Harry asked tiredly, he didn't know for sure, but he suspected that paper held the source of all this day's troubles.
"It's nothing, love. Come here and tell me about your day"
Harry walked over and sat next to his blond fiancé, but before Draco could stop him Harry had his hand down the couch and pulled out the offending article. Draco muttered something Harry didn't catch, but before long he was saying some pretty risqué adjectives himself.
Headline: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy
Harry read no more, he spared a glance for the name at the bottom of the article, and sure enough, Rita Skeeter had written it. Sighing, he threw the paper into the flames, not caring what it had to say, knowing it was rubbish, and stretched himself out, laying his head in Draco's lap.
Harry noted that Draco was no less gorgeous upside down, and reached up to capture a hand in his. It didn't matter what the paper said about them. The people who mattered knew the truth, and Harry would be content with that, he'd learned that lesson years ago. He hated that it was wedging itself between him and his students, but he'd go on teaching them anyway, and eventually, he hoped they would come to know him as their professor and not some bloody persona the papers had created.
Throughout the years there had been several Harry Potters, and none of them came close. In fourth year he'd been pitiful, in fifth a madman, in his sixth year their savior, and in all the years since something new whenever material was running low. So what if today he was not in their good graces, anyone that quickly swayed by the Skeeter bitch wasn't worth his time anyway. Of course he wouldn't feel that way in the morning, but he'd had a bad day, and wasn't feeling very gracious. "Harry, come to bed. We'll worry about it in the morning, if we have to. Please."
Draco wouldn't have to ask twice. Harry's mood was drastically better, all things considered. He'd come to Hogwart's with out a home, a love, or a family, and found all three in Draco.
********************************************** In Draco's opinion, the rest of the term could only be described as hellacious. He wouldn't tell Harry, because he was having far too much trouble with his own students, but Draco was not having an easy time of it. The slanderous articles continued to be printed, he was ambushed whenever he left the castle, and he didn't think he could stand another prying student.
The only things that made these weeks manageable were Harry, and planning their wedding. In fact, he'd taken up the habit of bringing the wedding plans with him to class and setting them on his desk next to a picture of Harry playing Quidditch. It wasn't irresponsible; honestly it was the only thing that kept him from throttling some of the more inquisitive students
Today, though, he watched the last of the students leave on carriages, going home for the summer. Draco was free.
"Hi, Uncle Draco." Said a bright voice from behind him, and Draco sighed. He been made an 'uncle' the day Harry had told Hermione and Sam that they were getting married. He didn't mind, exactly, it was just strange. Draco had no siblings, no familial ties at all, and it was odd to finally be attached to people. The family he'd been born into had never felt like this. If it had he would have had no problems siding with his father. The old adage "Blood is thicker than water" did not ring true, at least not with either he or Harry.
"Hello Samantha-mine, what can I do for you?"
She tipped her head to one side and bit her bottom lip. Draco's eyes widened, this was the sign of either a confession or an uncomfortable question. He wasn't sure which, but he wanted neither.
"Can I be a flower girl?" Draco could breath again, no uncomfortable familial duties right now then.
"You have to ask? Of course, we're only having the best at our wedding, and there's no one going to be a flower girl better than our Sammy" Draco smiled wanly, he hoped that had been the right thing to say. Harry was better at this sort of thing. It seemed his words had done the trick, though, because soon he was wrapped in the patented rib-cracking Samantha squeeze. If she ever wanted to play Quidditch she certainly had the muscle.
"Yay!"
"Sam, honey, I don't think Uncle Draco can breathe" Hermione admonished from the doorway. Harry was standing next to her, a strange expression on his face. Draco didn't have enough air going to his head to contemplate it, though he'd seen if often when both Harry and Sam were around.
"Oh, sorry" and he was quickly released to see Harry and Hermione suppressing giggles, and Sam beaming at him like he's just handed her all the keys in Gringotts.
"Sammy, sweety, we have to go. Gramma and Grampa want to check your teeth today."
"Again? They checked them last month!"
"I know, we still need to go. Now." Hermione had her no-nonsense face on, and there were grown wizards who would fold under such a gaze. Sam, on the other hand, began to whine.
"Mom! I don't want to get my teeth checked. I want to play, I want to-" Suddenly no sound was coming from Sam's mouth and she was being pulled from the room by an ear.
Laughing quietly, as if amused, but preoccupied Harry sat down on their couch next to him. Laying his head on Harry's shoulder he again relished that they would be free all summer.
"I think," Harry began, "that you'd make a great dad." Draco was sure he felt his jaw hit the floor. This was what that look was about? Oh shit. How many times had he seen that look? ~Must be in the thousands~ Oh shit. Trying not to look as scared as he felt he smiled at Harry, albeit a wobbly smile, walked into their bedroom and locked the door. He knew Harry could be in their with a simple alohomora, but he also knew Harry would leave him be if he wanted privacy.
Draco had read about the spell that allowed men to have children. Everyone had, and even considering the origin, he had no problem with it. He just couldn't help but wonder if Harry and he would make good parents. They had both had disgusting childhoods, were media magnets, and were not used to being directly responsible for another life. Oh sure, Draco had been a spy, and Harry had struck the killing blow they'd been responsible for saving the lives of many people. Those people, though, were nameless, faceless, meaningless even, in the grand scheme of his life. This was another being, and it would rely on them in some way or another for as long as they lived. Yeah, they knew what not to do, but was that enough?
The other side of things was just as worrisome. It was far more stressful for a male to be pregnant than a female. Towards the end of the pregnancy it took an enormous amount of magical energy to sustain the baby, and to put it bluntly, they weren't getting any younger. There was also a whispering voice that repeated its mantra until it was all he could here: He would really like to have children with Harry.
Hours later he unlocked their door to find Harry sleeping on the couch. Creeping up as slowly as possible he dropped himself onto Harry's lap, relishing the "Ooof!" that had escaped Harry's pink lips.
He could see Harry looking at him. Their previous "conversation" would not just fade away. He'd have to tell Harry his answer. He wrapped his arms 'round his fiancé's neck and kissed him. Leaving his arms in their rightful place, he moved back only enough to make coherent sound come from his lips and whispered, "I think you'd make a great dad, too."
He could feel Harry picking him up. They wouldn't be making any babies that night, but there was no harm in a little practice.
A/N Better?