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Abigail and Cynthia race past, and Draco barely manages to keep his coffee from splattering against the wall. Again.
Draco lets out a relieved sigh before Liam shoots past with Ethan, colliding into Draco with a, “Sorry, Father!” before they’re off, too.
Draco mournfully watches his poor coffee slide down the splashed wall.
He isn’t sure how he got talked into this. He really isn’t.
Seven children. Seven.
To be fair, Harry didn’t ask him for seven when they got married. They came one at a time, except for Henry and Claudia, their twofer. But as one got old enough to start walking and talking and truly into mischief, Harry would look at Draco with those soulful eyes begging for another. Before Draco knew it, he was on par with the fucking Weasleys for progeny.
Draco spells the wall clean and makes his way to the kitchen for a refill when he spots Harry in the backyard with their five-year-old twins. He has their newest baby, Amethyst, cradled in his arms.
As he watches how sweet Harry is with their babies, Draco’s heart melts. He remembers how he got talked into “just one more” six times.
Draco hears crashes and screams behind him and swears to himself that seven is his limit . Then Harry catches Draco’s eye through the window and he has that Look.
“Bloody hell.”