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They were snogging on the settee when Harry realised that Draco had fallen asleep. His beloved’s grey eyes had shuttered closed, and his long lashes fluttered as he dreamt. His plush lips were slack. Draco snored gently.
Carefully, so as not to wake him, Harry disentangled his arms from his husband’s middle. Next, he summoned a blanket with wandless magic. It was a chilly evening and the last thing Harry wanted was for Draco to feel cold.
Harry supposed that he ought to feel the slightest bit miffed. It used to be that his kisses were always enough to perk up Draco’s interest – not to mention other parts of his husband’s anatomy – but nowadays that is no longer the truth. Nowadays Draco could fall asleep at the drop of a hat and his sudden attacks of lethargy came without warning or notice.
Merlin, but Harry had discovered Draco sleeping on the Weasley-Granger’s settee whilst Ron cooked their dinner two nights before. A week previously, Draco had fallen asleep at one of Narcissa’s afternoon tea parties. His mother-in-law hadn’t been best pleased.
It was their baby that made Draco so exhausted. Their little Scorpius-or-Lily who grew bigger with every day Harry ticked off the calendar. Their baby who had no qualms about stealing every drop of his husband’s energy. It oughtn’t to have been a surprise. Wizard pregnancies were supported by magic, and the making of a new life seemed to take everything that Draco had. The Healer had warned them, at the start of their pregnancy: Draco would eventually get so worn out that he wouldn’t be able to do much more than the minimum.
Harry wrapped the blanket around Draco’s shoulders before pulling Draco close. He cradled Draco in his arms. Their baby was a warm round curve between the two of them, and, as always, Harry found himself powerless to resist. He splayed his hand on the thin material of Draco’s tee-shirt and felt the smooth nudge of their baby beneath his palm.
Draco muttered something incomprehensible and Harry shifted, guiding him to a more comfortable position. This sleepiness wouldn't last much longer. At their last appointment the Healer had said that Scorpius-or-Lily was developing perfectly. Their magical core was powerful and their heartbeat strong.
They were due in slightly less than a month, due on Valentine’s Day, but the Healer had told them to pack their bags and get themselves prepared. “This little one is wiggly,” were his exact words. “Wiggly and keen. They’ll want to come out and play before much longer.”
Draco couldn’t wait for the pregnancy to be over. He waddled like a Hippogriff and complained that he needed the loo every five minutes. “I’m not doing this again,” he’d told Harry grimly as they’d eaten breakfast that morning. “Next time you’re carrying the baby.” Harry could only offer platitudes and they sounded weak, even to his own ears.
Harry moved his hand to Draco’s lower back, massaging the tangle of muscle in the base of his husband’s back.
There was a spot there that had been giving Draco trouble for days, and so Harry rubbed the knobs of Draco’s spine. Whatever he was doing seemed to work, for Draco sighed, letting out a deep breath. Carefully, Harry stroked Draco’s skin and eventually his whole body began to relax, all without ever waking.
It wasn’t much at all, not really, not when his husband was giving his body and his strength to their baby, but it was all Harry was able to do to help him. Harry did it willingly, for Scorpius-or-Lily, and Draco were his entire life. It was such a strange wonder, seeing his husband so large with his baby.
Scorpius-or-Lily was a part of him and a part of Draco, and that was miraculous. Harry was the boy who slept in the cupboard, the boy whose parents were dead, but now he had a family.
Harry had a family all of his own.