Harry jerked awake with a gasp.
It was the first time in three years he woke without screaming and thrashing. He stared up at the ceiling in the dark, willing his heartbeat to slow. Apparently he hadn't jerked around much if he hadn't woken Draco.
He couldn't shake the feeling it had something to do with the blond sleeping peacefully across his chest. He pressed his lips into Draco's hair, whispering the words he'd found so hard to say the day before.
"I love you."
Draco snuffled in his sleep, his lips twitching into a fleeting smile. Harry let the world of sleep claim him again.
When Harry woke again, it was to warm September sunlight and an empty bed. The sound of running water told him Draco was in the shower in the adjoining bathroom. He rolled out of bed and lumbered up the stairs to his room to dress and retrieve knives and wand, both things he didn't want nearby when he shared a bed with Draco. It would be too easy to kill him while lost in a night terror.
The past two nights in Draco's bed had been wonderful and unsettling in the extreme. Harry hadn't been without a knife (besides in the shower) since the night Theo died, three years ago. Even in his own house, barefoot and dressed in Muggle clothes, he kept the blade strapped to his left bicep, his wand holstered to his right forearm. He slept with the wand holster still on, knife clutched in his left hand.
He was probably lucky he hadn't stabbed himself when he jerked around in his sleep.
He picked out a short sleeved t-shirt to wear, something he hadn't worn since Draco had moved in. It left his forearms bare, displaying his puncture scars from Severus's bite, his snake familiar, and his beating heart tattoo. The bottom half of the knife stuck out from beneath his sleeve.
After breakfast, where Draco pointedly did not ask about his clothing or accessories, he padded barefoot upstairs to the family room above the library. It had been a while since he had spoken to Walburga and Orion. Orion would have some insight into gathering support from the traditionalists on the Wizengamot. Walburga would be interested in hearing about his new relationship with Draco and how well Teddy and Reggie had taken him. If the woman wasn't a portrait she'd spoil her grandson rotten.
-0-
That afternoon found Harry swirling a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand, a conflicted expression on his face. He was lost in his thoughts, not even noticing as Draco approached until he crouched to meet Harry's gaze as he sat.
"What happened?" Harry frowned.
"Walburga told me where she hid Regulus's portrait."
Oh.
Draco understood immediately. Regulus Black was one of Reggie's fathers, the man Harry had named him after. Reggie had a chance to meet another of his fathers, possibly the only one other than Harry he could talk to. With Regulus able to speak to his son, Harry didn't have to raise the boy completely on his own.
So why the conflicted face?
"He doesn't know," Harry murmured, taking a drink. "He died before they even took his blood. He has no idea what they did or about Reggie."
Oh.
"What if he doesn't want to see him?" Harry asked in a small voice. Draco's heart broke for the man's worry over his son. "What if he thinks Reggie is some kind of monster?"
"Then he misses out on the chance to know a wonderful, magical little boy," Draco answered. "Don't jump to conclusions before you talk to him, Potter." He plucked the half-empty glass out of his hand. "You can't hide from him just because of some what-ifs. Where's that famous Gryffindork recklessness?" Harry quirked a half-hearted grin at him and heaved himself up out of the chair.
"I think you mean 'bravery and courage,'" he tossed over his shoulder as he made his way out of the sitting room.
Draco sat in the empty chair and downed the rest of the Firewhiskey in a single swallow.
-0-
Regulus Black stared at him for a long time after Harry finished telling his story. Harry took the moment to study him, trying to find what Reggie had gotten from this father.
Reggie had the same easy good looks his brother Sirius had had. He had bright, vivid blue eyes that were wide with shock. His dark hair was messy and slightly long, but it was a straight as Harry's. Reggie's wild curls must have come from Riddle, then.
"I have…a son?" he managed after a moment. Harry had a fleeting worry about whether magical portraits could faint. "With you and the Dark Lord, created by Old magic?"
"He's three years old now," Harry said in a gentle voice. "He's a smart boy, but quiet, and he's so powerful. Sometimes I can feel his magic running across his skin."
"What's his name?" Regulus finally asked, gripping his painted chair with white knuckles.
"Regulus Harrison Gaunt Potter." A gentle smile stretched across the portrait's face.
"You named him after me. Little Regulus."
"Reggie usually," Harry informed him, grinning.
"Amazing," Regulus breathed, relaxing back in his chair. "All of it, mind you, not just…Reggie," he added with an all-encompassing hand gesture. "You especially. Dealing with two sons on your own, going through…that. Killing the Dark Lord." Harry sat down in the chair facing the framed painting.
"I found your locket in the cave, you know." He shivered at the memory of the damp cave, the darkness, the cold, wet hands of the Inferi dragging at him. "Kreacher couldn't destroy the Horcrux. It ended up in the hands of Ministry worker who thought the S stood for Selwyn." Regulus snorted but had his eyes glued to Harry as he spoke. "We had to break into the Ministry to get it. Three of us, seventeen years old and not even out of school, on the run from Voldemort, snuck into the Ministry of Magic. Then when we had it, we couldn't even destroy it. We took turns wearing it for a while. It was absolute hell. Damn thing tried to kill me twice."
He pulled down the collar of his shirt just enough to show Regulus the oval-shaped mark where Hermione had removed the Horcrux from his skin with a Severing Charm after the disastrous visit to Godric's Hollow.
"I gave Kreacher the fake locket. He cried. I think that's what made him finally accept me as his master." He smirked. "Made him stop muttering insults, too, the mad little bugger."
Regulus all but roared with laughter.
They talked for hours, trading stories about school. Regulus had been a Slytherin while Lucius Malfoy was a Prefect, while the Marauders had been at the height of their pranking. He always enjoyed their little shows. Harry told him about Fred and George Weasley, about people bursting into canaries, about fireworks that spelled rude words, about a swamp that filled a hallway.
They told of the bad times, too. Regulus spoke of his Initiation, his Marking. Of following Voldemort to the cave to place the Horcrux. Of going back to retrieve it. Harry told of his year on the run, finishing Regulus's work. Of dueling Voldemort in the courtyard of Hogwarts, of killing him. Of the things that happened the two times he visited the graveyard in Little Hangleton: once during the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year, and once after the war, the night Reggie was born.
The sun set while they spoke.
"I should go," Harry said eventually. "It's late. Kreacher always waits dinner for me." Regulus nodded, but he called his name as he reached the door.
"Do you think…could I see little Reggie sometime?" he looked so lost and scared, so confused. It warmed Harry's heart to know that he wouldn't reject his son.
"Of course."
-0-
Draco pretended the bed didn't feel too empty and cold. He'd only spent two nights with Harry, for Merlin's sake, he wasn't allowed to be hopelessly dependent on him! He'd slept alone for years. Those two nights were the anomaly, not the norm. He shouldn't have any problems getting to sleep!
But nothing he told himself made the bed feel less empty.
He understood why Harry wasn't there, even if he didn't like it. Harry had spent the afternoon pouring out his history to the portrait of Regulus Black. He'd opened old wounds, poked healing bruises. His mind would be full of memories he usually shied away from.
His nightmares were going to be bad. Bad enough that he needed to sleep alone. For Draco's safety.
Frustrated with himself, Draco rolled out of bed. He headed for the kitchen. Maybe a cup of tea would help him sleep. Or a couple fingers of Firewhiskey. Either way, he needed something warm to drink.
Kreacher was happy to make him a cup of milky tea, but Draco still couldn't settle his mind. The ancient elf told him stories of raising the previous generation of Blacks. Apparently his mother had been quite the little troublemaker before she went to school. Draco was laughing a Kreacher's description of the mess his mother had made the one time she threw a tantrum in the kitchen when they felt it.
It was a burst of magic, so strong it made the china in the cabinets rattle. It must have shattered the silencing charms, since what followed was the most terrifying, blood-chilling scream Draco had ever heard.
"Master Harry!" cried the elf, popping away. Draco swore and pushed back from the table. His tea fell to the floor as he ran for the stairs.
On the fourth floor, three doors slammed shut and there was a burst of power as emergency wards sealed them. Draco realized that if he'd been in bed he would have been trapped in his room behind the wards. He took the stairs two at a time to Harry's room and threw open the door, the spells around it having melted away under their master's uncontrolled magic.
Inside there was a massive bed, trimmed with black velvet hangings that hadn't been touched. In the momentary silence, Draco whirled around, trying to find his lover. Waves of raw power crashed over him, making his hair stand on end and his teeth ache. It seemed to come from behind a small, oddly shaped door, like the door to a cupboard that would fit in the space beneath a staircase. Why on earth would Potter be behind something like that?
The next scream gave him barely enough warning to duck before the door was blasted apart. Setting the questions aside, Draco gritted his teeth and rushed for the tiny space behind the door where he could see Harry thrashing and screaming.
He remembered to search for Harry's wand and any knives, tossing them into other room before he reached for the screaming man.
"HARRY!"
He must have missed the knife in his hand, he thought as he gasped. The one that Harry had plunged into his stomach when Draco grabbed him. He pressed his hands to the whole in his abdomen, watching with a sort of detached fascination as blood bubbled up between his fingers. He heard a choked sob in the background.
"…Draco…?"
Harry's eyes had cleared of their haze of nightmares. They were wide with horror and guilt, sparkling with tears.
"Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't-" he babbled, choking back sobs. His hands joined Draco's, already painted with red. Blood was pooling around them, soaking into the floor of the tiny room with the crooked ceiling. "I'm so sorry, Draco, just don't- just stay with me. Please, stay with me, Draco, you can't go. I love you, Draco, you can't die! I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry!"
Draco wondered if he'd heard Harry right when he said he loved him.
Then the blackness took him, and he didn't hear any more.