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Chapter Thirty-One—Out of the Mouths of Children

Harry stood for a moment in the doorway of the bedroom that Narcissa, or possibly the Malfoy house-elves, had chosen for his children, observing them in silence. Lily was in a cot finer than anything Harry could have afforded, one charmed to rock slightly whenever her soft breathing faltered. Al was curled around his pillow, small fists resting on it, his lip thrust out slightly as it always was when he was having a particularly interesting dream. James—

James was awake.

Harry hesitated for just a moment. And then Tutela swooped down and landed on his shoulder, hooting softly at him and nipping his ear, before she swooped away again to explore the house. The scar along his right side tingled at the same moment.

He would never be happy with himself if he didn't answer the question he saw in those eyes.

"Good morning," he said, very softly, and crossed the room to scoop James out of his bed. That, too, was fine, carved wood and stone, worked into one another with deftness that Harry suspected signaled house-elf magic. The room was enormous, the walls and floor a soft streaked blue. Wasn't that supposed to be a soothing color? Harry couldn't remember. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"I'm hungry," James said, which was and was not an answer.

Harry nodded and carried James gently out of the room. A house-elf appeared to him with a bow as he hesitated, feeling lost—the children's room had turned out to be in a completely different wing from the bed where he'd collapsed last night—and led him towards the dining room.

Draco was there already, Scorpius balanced on his lap. He looked up with a faint smile when Harry came in. Harry smiled back. Even though he had rejected his wife and undoubtedly confused his children—facts he had remembered when he awakened—yesterday had also contained a wonderful occurrence that he had no intention of forgetting anytime soon. Draco already had a faint, secretive air to his smile, as if he wanted to show Harry that he had no intention of forgetting it, either.

"Daddy," said James insistently.

Harry realized only then that he was standing in the center of the room, holding his son and smiling at his lover like an idiot. He carried James carefully over to the table and then studied the chairs for a moment. They were considerably higher than the ones back at home—or, no, in the house he had shared with Ginny—and he wasn't sure that James would be able to manage sitting in one and eating alone.

Draco seemed to sense the problem. He gave Scorpius a piece of toast and then, as the little boy gravely ate it, waved his wand and smoothly Transfigured one of the chairs and part of the table into lowered, James-sized versions of themselves. Harry smiled at him again and set about arranging his boy and consulting with him and the house-elves about what he should eat.

James ended up wanting toast, porridge, and a few slices of apple. Harry watched him closely, certain that he was about to flick the apples into Scorpius's hair, and sure enough that was what James tried to do, in between one bite and the next, the way he always tried it with Albus. Harry caught his hand, took the apple slice away, and ate it himself.

James sat back with a scowl and folded his arms over his stomach, proclaiming himself done, even though there was still plenty of food in front of him—something he would never have been allowed to get away with if they were still living with Ginny. Harry stared at him, and then caught a small movement from the corner of his eye. Draco raised his eyebrows, clearly conveying, Do you want me to go somewhere else?

Harry shook his head.

"Daddy," James said. "Where's Mummy?"

Draco drew in a soft little breath, but Harry was determined not to let questions like this intimidate him or change his mind. He had known there would be questions, after all, when he suddenly hauled his children out of the house and off to live in the home of their father's friend. There would be more questions coming, from Mrs. Weasley especially. Harry only hoped she would listen to Hermione's version of events rather than simply blaming him.

"Mummy is at home," said Harry quietly. "She might stay there, or she might go to live with Grandmum and Granddad for a while. I don't really know."

James absorbed this with a small frown on his face. Then he shook his head and said, "But why didn't she come with us?"

"I didn't want her to," Harry said. He had promised. He wouldn't poison Ginny's relationship with her children, or at least he would do his very best not to do so. That meant taking the blame on himself and not placing it on her, at least until his children were old enough to learn the real reasons their parents had separated. "I wanted you to come with me, but her to stay away."

"That's not right," said James, and his frown grew, darkening his brows in what Harry knew was a foretaste of the gale he would get if James didn't receive satisfactory answers. "Mums and dads should be together." He raised himself a little, then flopped back hard in the chair, daring Harry to contradict him.

"Most of the time, yes," Harry said. His voice shook, and he had to turn his head aside and cough. He waved Draco away when he would have stood up with Scorpius, though. He thought this was a matter that should be handled between him and his son.

Scorpius stared at them with a curious little pout on his mouth. Harry wondered if he even remembered his mother. If Marian hadn't been allowed to touch him in years, could he?

There could always be something worse, he reminded himself. I wouldn't trade my situation for Draco's for anything in the world, even if it would make certain things easier.

"So you should be together," said James, and the scowl and the storm warning spread across his face.

"I don't want to be together with her anymore," Harry said.

James uttered a short, choked scream and flung himself out of his chair, heading straight for Harry. Long experience had taught Harry to be ready, and he caught James close and wrapped his fingers gently around the small wrists. James liked to kick and pummel and bite when he didn't get his way. Harry gave him enough room to rage and flail a little, but not enough to actually hurt him.

He shut his eyes as he listened to his son's screams, demanding his mother back now, he wanted Mummy, he wanted her, he wanted her. He was remembering James's birth, the sudden choking sensation when he held his son in his arms, the feeling that he would do anything, brave death a second time or Voldemort another, to protect his baby boy.

Slowly, just because James was a child no matter what had happened to him in the past day, his shrieking and flailing stopped. He sagged against Harry's chest, sobbing as if his heart would break. Harry let him go finally, and then cradled him close, murmuring into his ear, telling James that he would always love him no matter what happened.

James finally looked up, and sniffled, and said, "But I miss Mummy."

"I know," Harry said quietly. "I'm so sorry, Jamie."

"What about Al and Lily?" James demanded. "They'll want her, too. They'll want Mummy, and she won't be here, and it will be your fault."

Harry felt a tremor shake his limbs, but he only said, "Maybe you can visit Mummy soon."

"Will you visit her, too?" James did have the most disconcerting talent for latching on to those things in their words that adults wished he wouldn't find out about.

"I don't know," Harry said honestly. "I can't promise that, Jamie. Maybe if I think she can be trusted, but other than that—" He stopped, realizing he was about to break his promise and speak badly of Ginny. "I don't know," he repeated, and ran his fingers through James's hair. It had a tendency to act like his own and curl wildly after he'd spent a restless night in bed. "But I reckon I'll always be here with you."

James snorted a little, and then turned and looked towards Draco. Harry glanced over at him, a little surprised he'd stayed. He would have imagined that Draco would have left, whether or not Harry gestured to him to stay, when James started sobbing. The scene couldn't have been comfortable for him.

"Why do we have to live here with him?" James complained in a voice that he probably meant Draco to overhear. "He's not a real dad."

Draco had watched in silence, tense and ready to go to Harry's aid if he should need it, but Harry, though his face had shadows in it that had vanished when they were together in the world of their dream, had managed on his own. Draco was considering that James Potter was a child sorely in need of discipline when he realized what the boy had said.

And what Scorpius had said in response.

"He's my real dad," his son said, vibrating a little. "You take that back. And I won't let you share my toys," he added, apparently considering that enough of a punishment.

James stuck out his tongue. Scorpius just stared at him, and then looked up at Draco, asking in silent horror why that was allowed. Draco had scolded him the few times he'd done it, and Scorpius, young as he was, already knew that it was an action unbecoming to the dignity of a Malfoy. Apparently he thought that everyone living in the house should, at least partially, be considered a Malfoy too.

"It's all right, Scorpius," Draco murmured, for his son's ears alone, and stood up. He knew that he would probably intimidate James a little by doing that, but that was all right; he had the feeling the brat could stand a little intimidation. "Why don't you think I'm a real dad?" he asked James, as he had once before.

The boy folded his arms. Harry shifted to turn himself into a more comfortable chair for him, his eyes wary but not forbidding. Draco was glad. For the sake of everyone in the house, he and James should be able to get along as well as possible, as soon as possible.

"Well," James said sullenly, "I don't know. You're just—not. I mean," and he waved his hand around the dining room, "this doesn't look like a real house, either. It's too big. And why are we living with you?"

"You're living with me because you dad wants you to," said Draco, and caught the relieved flicker of Harry's eyes that meant he was glad Draco wasn't badmouthing Ginny. Draco wondered if Harry even realized how well Draco could read him, how much silent Potter body language he had absorbed. "And I want to get along with you, but you're making it hard. You're acting like a little brat, and I don't think that's the way you should act in Malfoy Manor."

James's mouth fell slightly open. Harry shifted and tightened his grip on his son. Draco jerked his chin up a little, hoping that Harry could read that as a signal for Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. Harry swallowed, but seemed content to let him do it for now.

"I'm not a brat," said James at last, though in a considering tone, as if he had to admit that he didn't quite know what else he would be.

"Why not?" Draco jogged Scorpius once in his arms so that he wouldn't feel left out, and cocked his head. "What do you think you are?"

"James Potter," said James promptly.

"But that's a who, not a what."

This was apparently too much for even a three-year-old's logic. All it got him was a frown. Draco sighed silently and shifted tactics. "You want to be polite when you're over at someone else's house. I like you and your dad—" he gave Harry a look that made him blush and James turn his head back and forth between them in interest "—and your brother and sister, very much—"

"Why does everyone always like Al better than me?" James complained, with just the beginning of a whinge in his tone.

"Because he's polite," said Draco, catching up the chance to make a point. "And quiet, sometimes. You can make noise—Scorpius makes noise, sometimes." He felt his son nodding agreement. "But not all the time. And you just made a lot of noise. I don't think my mother or the house-elves will like you very much."

"Is this about being good?" James spoke the words in what Draco recognized as an incredibly good parody of Harry's voice.

"Yes, somewhat," Draco said. "But also because there's a lot of fun here that I'll show to your dad and your brother and your sister, but not you, if you don't behave."

It took James a moment to work that out. Then his eyes widened in alarm. Apparently he took the same threat more seriously coming from an adult than he did when Scorpius gave it. "I can be good," he said. "If I really try."

"That's what I want," said Draco, with a serious nod. "For you to try." He raised his voice. "Twibby!"

That brought the house-elf who spent a great deal of time watching over Scorpius, and who had tended to Draco himself when he was a child, popping into the room with a small bow. Draco handed Scorpius to him, and saw James's eyes widen in envy. He didn't seem afraid of the house-elf at all, though Draco doubted he could have seen one before he came here; Harry didn't have them, Granger certainly wouldn't, and he knew the Weasleys were too proud to own one.

When he goes to Hogwarts, he'll be in Gryffindor, of course, and I'm sure Harry and I will get more owls from the school about him than any other child.

Draco felt a sweet little shiver when he realized how long-term he was planning to make his association with Harry, but he pushed that out of his head. James was bouncing up and down in his father's lap, reaching.

"I want to go too! I want to go too! It's not fair if he gets to go and I don't!"

Draco strolled across the room and knelt down in front of James, signaling Twibby to wait with a wave of his hand. "But it is fair," he said. "I know that you can't be good, and you're not very polite—"

"I can be polite." James was scowling ominously, but he was biting his lip at the same moment, and for the first time, Draco saw something of his father in him. "I promise. I'll be polite and good."

Draco considered him gravely, then glanced over his shoulder at Twibby. "What do you think, Twibby? Would you be willing to take James and Scorpius to the play-room, and make sure that they don't get into trouble?"

"Of course, Master Draco," said Twibby, with an elaborate bow this time.

"And you would keep an eye on them to find out when James isn't being polite and good?" Draco asked, dividing his attention between the house-elf and the little boy now. "And you would bring him back here right away if he yells at you, or hits Scorpius the way he hit his father?" He could almost feel Harry's smothered chuckle, and stifled the impulse to reach out and put his hand on Harry's knee. The way he felt at the moment, it would probably just cause Harry pain.

"Oh, yes, Master Draco!"

"I'll be polite!" James insisted in a loud whisper.

"Excellent," Draco said. "Now go along with Twibby."

James jumped down from his father's lap with interest; he seemed to have forgotten all about his mother as he ran towards Twibby, who caught him with the ease of long practice, and then vanished. Harry stared after him for a moment, then sighed and leaned against the table, stretching his arms over his head.

"Thanks for staying here," he told Draco. "That can't have been easy to watch, but—"

"It needed to happen," said Draco. "Or rather, it was going to happen, and I'm impressed that you were able to handle it with the maturity and the fairness you did." He hesitated a moment, checking the state of his feelings, and then put his hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry relaxed even more, tilting his head to the side and resting his cheek on the knuckles, while his hand reached out and stroked the scars on Draco's forearm. "I like to think I would be a tenth as fair about Marian, if Scorpius ever asks me about her."

"He probably will," Harry muttered, tensing again. Draco didn't want that, so he started rubbing the back of his neck, and Harry sighed in relief. "If nothing else, by the time he goes to Hogwarts he should know that most children live with their mums and dads, not two men."

Draco's breath caught. Harry lifted his head. "Oh, shit, Draco, I'm—"

Draco kissed him, out of pure thankfulness that they'd been thinking along lines so similar. With no, or little, sexual desire behind it, the itching wouldn't start for Harry. Harry leaned into it, lifting his hands and cupping Draco's cheeks to help matters along. Their breaths rumbled and mixed together; they sighed and breathed each for the other, and Draco felt a sliding thrill of excitement that made him pull away hastily before things could become uncomfortable.

It was just as well that he did, because two things happened at once. The wards twanged to let him know that someone stood at the gates of Malfoy Manor requesting admittance, and a house-elf appeared in the room with a little squeak.

"Master Albus has awakened and wants attention and breakfast!" he said. "And Mistress Lily will soon be up!"

Harry grunted. Draco wondered if he found it strange to hear his children addressed by those names. Well, he would have to get used to it if he spent enough time in the Manor.

"Just a moment," Draco murmured, and cast a spell that would let him see the gates from several different angles, so that he could see who was there as well as what enemies might be lying in ambush.

He had expected either pure-blood supremacists or a confusion of angry Weasleys, but Hermione Granger stood there, alone. She wore a set of formal robes, and if she seemed a bit nervous, well, Draco could hardly blame her. After all, this must be her first visit to someplace as nice as Malfoy Manor. Blood Reparations work would lend itself more to crouching in slimy holes and talking with wizards of doubtful birth than it would to visiting manor houses.

She shifted, and then he realized she wasn't alone. There was a small figure next to her, holding her hand. Draco blinked. It was a young witch, clad in soft pink robes. She had the red Weasley hair, but appeared, so far as Draco was adept at judging expressions on the face of a two-year-old who wasn't Scorpius, sane and sensible.

"Harry," he said, catching his lover just as he was about to leave the room. "Is there a reason that Hermione Granger and her—her daughter, I suppose—are here?"

Harry halted, a rich smile spilling across his lips. "The girl's in pink, right?" he asked.

"Yes."

Harry nodded. "That's her daughter, Rose. She insists on dressing in pink, even though Hermione tried to encourage her to pick some more gender-neutral color. Drives Hermione mad." He chuckled, but Draco could hear the relief he was trying to hide in the sound. "If she's here, and she trusted you enough to bring her daughter into your house, then I think that's at least partially good news. From Hermione, if not anyone else in the family." He paused, and then spoke the words Draco had been thinking. "Maybe she wants to apologize."

"We can only hope," Draco muttered, and made the gestures that would lift the wards. "I'm still checking her for Polyjuice Potion."

"Understandable," Harry said. "Thank you."

The words were empty compared to the hand that he brushed across the small of Draco's back a moment later. Then he went to wake his children, and Draco went to meet his strange guests and invite them inside.

Narcissa was taken with Rose. Harry secretly suspected that she liked girls more, and that it wasn't her fault Draco didn't have a sister. But Lily was too young to make much of a fuss of. Rose was the perfect age, and Narcissa had whisked her away to comb her hair, which Rose liked, almost instantly.

Albus and Lily had been awakened and fed. Al didn't ask questions about where Ginny was, but just clung to Harry as if he were afraid his father was going to disappear, too. He was reluctant to accept Draco's invitation to go to the play-room with James and Scorpius, at first, but when he heard his friend would be there, he loosened his tight hold on Harry's robe and let himself be persuaded. He still kept glancing back, and Harry nodded reassuringly several times.

Lily was happy as soon as her stomach was full and her nappy changed. She lay gurgling in Harry's arms for a while, then fell asleep. When Hermione rose from the awkward tea and more awkward conversation they were having and gave Harry a significant look, Harry handed his daughter to Draco and also stood up.

They left Draco making faces at Lily in the drawing room while they strolled up and down the corridor outside it. Harry wouldn't put it above Draco to cast an eavesdropping spell the way he apparently had several times in the past, but so long as he wasn't present for the conversation, that seemed to satisfy Hermione.

"I wanted to apologize," Hermione said quietly.

"You have a lot to apologize for," said Harry, which was as neutral a statement as he could make to her right now.

Hermione hissed between her teeth, but when she looked up, the shine in her eyes was tears, not anger. "I know," she said. Her voice faltered and broke. "Harry, I didn't—I never knew those things about Ginny. I swear to you. I knew she felt unhappy and trapped in her marriage sometimes, but I never realized how much she relied on you to just make things better, even if you had no idea they were wrong."

Harry nodded. That sounded more like an excuse than an apology, though, so he kept his arms folded instead of reaching out the way it was clear Hermione would have liked him to.

"And I'm sorry for trying to control your life as much as I have," Hermione continued in subdued tones. "Malfoy has done a lot more for you than I have in the last little while. I see that now. The way you sat down next to him when we were talking…" She shook her head. "I have eyes to see when I open them, Harry. I promise. I can't promise to control myself if he calls me that word he likes to my face, but I'm willing to apologize, too, and to act as civilly as I can all the while."

"Good," Harry said quietly. "Now. You came here to tell me about the others, too, I think. Why didn't Ron come with you?"

"You're right," Hermione said. "He doesn't blame you—either of you—and he—he and I had a good long conversation after you l-left." She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing for a moment, then continued in a steadier voice. "He explained some things to me, better than I could have explained them to myself." She smiled a little, small and watery expression though it was. "I don't know what I did to have such a wonderful husband, but he knows I love him.

"But he felt he had to stay behind today and comfort Ginny and Molly." Hermione shuddered a little. "This has just destroyed her, Harry. She thought that you and Ginny would be in love forever. I can't decide if she judges all marriages by her and Arthur's, or whether she thought the children would keep you together, or whether she just never saw a sign of it coming and it's the suddenness. But this, on top of the grief for George…"

Harry winced, but since he wasn't about to go back to Ginny, he didn't have the one remedy that would have eased Molly's feelings.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. But I can't change my mind. Not with Draco and not with the kids. She can visit them. I'll never let them forget she's their mother. But I'll monitor the visits."

"I know," Hermione said, and then hesitated.

"What?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Ginny—she's broken, too," Hermione said. "I brought a letter for you from her, if you want to read it." She took it from her robe pocket and extended it to him, slowly, as if she thought he would bite.

Harry took the letter and stuffed it in his own robe pocket. Hermione looked upset for the merest moment.

Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. "I understand," she said. "I think it has to be this way."

"It does," said Harry, squashing the sense of betrayal that Hermione had allowed herself to be a courier for Ginny. She was caught between two of her friends, and her position had to be only a little more comfortable than Harry's right now. "Do you want to see the children?"

Hermione nodded gratefully. As Harry turned to open the door and ask Draco for directions to the play-room, Hermione caught his hand and squeezed.

Harry hesitated for a moment, then squeezed back.