Been thinkin' about babies lately, and so has Harry. 2.2k of VERY sweet domestic fluff.
@calypsotempete love, I'm sorry it took me so long to get you this ficlet! Thank you again for being so lovely and for sending in this picrew prompt!I hope you enjoy this!
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Tiny Thing
Everyone always assumes that Harry Potter wants children—as many as possible, as quickly as possible.
Sometimes it feels like the entire Wizarding World got together as soon as Voldemort’s lifeless body hit the ground and collectively pushed “start” on a timer—waiting with baited breath as each second rolled into the next and Harry was still unwed and childless. As if, even in the Wizarding World, it isn’t largely uncommon for eighteen year olds to settle down and start a family.
For years, every single time the paparazzi snapped a photo of him talking to a witch—even if it was just the cashier at his local Apothecary—the Prophet seized on the chance to speculate about his love life.
He thought it would get better when he came out publicly, that all the talk of marriage and family and little Potters might finally taper off. He couldn’t have been more wrong—now every person he stopped to talk to on the street became a potential future parent of his unborn children.
And even though it exhausts him to no end, he gets it. As soon as people learn about his childhood they just assume he must want to start his own family, to right the wrongs of the past and create the loving home he never had, or something. It makes sense. It’s logical. He just doesn’t want that.
If anything, he’s intimately aware of how easily and profoundly it can all go wrong. He’s more than terrified of fucking it all up.
And he understands the almost desperate look in Molly’s eyes when she nags him again about meeting a nice witch and giving her grandbabies. It’s not just about wanting a large family, and seeing all of her children happy and settled. It’s not even about raising the next generation of little Weasleys, though all of those things are certainly part of it.
It’s about being part of a generation whose tomorrows were never promised. It’s about living through two devastating wars that took and took and took—friends and family and futures. It’s about half-empty Hogwarts classrooms and entire Ministry departments being shut down due to lack of staff.
He likes kids, he really does. That’s not the issue. His weekly visits to Andy’s are the highlight of his week. It lifts the weight off his shoulders for a while to watch Teddy create whole worlds for his stuffed animals, and he recognizes the privilege it is to be invited into those worlds. He feels so much joy watching little Rosie try and stuff her mouth full of cereal with her chubby little fingers, her brown eyes wide and her little face smeared with drool.
So he takes his role as godfather seriously. He just doesn’t think he’d ever like to have a baby of his own.
Until, that is, he finally meets baby Scorpius.
*
Harry can hear the high-pitched wailing before the front door even opens. It sounds like a small cat in mortal pain, and Harry winces as it grows louder.
Draco hardly looks at him when he finally flings the door open, his arms full of a tiny, wriggling baby and his long hair sticking out in all directions. The dark circles under his eyes are even deeper than usual.
“What are you doing here?” He says frantically, bouncing the baby up and down in his arms and patting him gently on the back.
“I, um—I thought we’re supposed to be having dinner, but—“ Harry looks at his watchless wrist as though it will show him his calendar. Maybe he got the day wrong?
“Shit,” Draco hisses, “fuck, I’m sorry, Harry. It’s just…and—“ He winces as Scorpius’s cries become even louder. The baby’s face is turning a startling shade of splotchy red that Harry thinks can’t be good.
“I can g—“ Harry starts to say, but Draco just turns and hustles away into the house.
Harry hovers for a moment, unsure what to do with himself.
He and Draco had begun seeing one another not long after Astoria learned she was expecting. Their courtship had lasted for the whole pregnancy, and everything seemed to be going well, until Astoria’s unexpected death a month after the baby was born.
Between Draco’s fresh grief at the loss of his wife—marriage of convenience though it may have been—and his utter panic about suddenly being the single father to a tiny infant, they’d had few opportunities to discuss exactly how Harry fit into the whole frighteningly new picture.
All Harry knows is that Draco has become hesitant to introduce the baby to anyone he may become attached to if they aren’t planning on sticking around. It isn’t hard for Harry to respect that request—never showing up at Draco’s flat unannounced, and tapping into his admittedly scant well of patience when Draco’s babysitter cancels at the last minute or Scorpius isn’t feeling well.
If he’s honest, having to keep his distance from the baby isn’t exactly a hardship. When Astoria had still been alive, Harry took comfort in the idea that Scorpius’s parental needs would be well taken care of. He was slowly making peace with the idea that any future involving Draco necessarily included his son, and that if they’re serious about one another—Harry is serious about Draco—he couldn’t avoid the kid forever.
But now, any real future involving Draco also involves Harry possibly becoming more of a father to Scorpius. It’s a lot to process, especially when he can hear Draco’s anguished pleas coming from the nursery between tiny, gasping sobs.
“Please, please, little baby, I don’t know what you want! Your diaper is fresh, you just ate, you won’t go to sleep…”
Deaco looks up quickly, startled, when Harry enters the room, as though he’d entirely forgotten Harry is there.
“Oh, shit,” he says again. “Harry. The babysitter canceled, and I’ve been trying to get ahold of Mother all day, but I don’t know where the hell she could be, and then he started having a meltdown and I completely forgot to call you and—“
“Hey, it’s okay.” Harry says, stepping into the small room decorated with golden constellations and blue, smiling clouds. Draco opens his mouth to retort, but Harry interrupts. “It’s no problem, really. I understand. If you want to reschedule that’s fine, but honestly…I’m happy to stay and help.”
He’s a little surprised to realize that he is happy to stay, despite the crying that is about to hit ear-splitting levels. The desperate look in Draco’s eyes and the way he’s clinging to the back of the baby’s onesie as if holding on for dear life tugs at something in Harry’s chest. “More than happy, in fact. I-I want to stay. If that’s okay.”
Draco looks at him for a long moment, still bouncing the angry baby against his chest. He looks conflicted, and Harry is sure he’s about to ask him to leave when the Floo chimes from the other room and Narcissa Malfoy’s voice carries down the hallway.
“Fuck!” Draco says again. He looks back and forth between the baby, who has now cried himself into a case of full-body hiccups, and Harry.
“Just…give me a moment. Hold him while I get that,” he says firmly as he presses the wriggling baby into Harry’s arms and hurries from the room.
The baby stops crying for a moment, startled by his sudden change of context, and blinks up at Harry with big, watery eyes. Harry is surprised to see that they’re an enigmatic shade of blue-grey-green-brown—he was expecting a miniature version of Draco’s steely gaze.
“Hello,” he says softly, and Scorpius let’s out a tiny whimper around his small fist that’s stuffed in his mouth. His wispy, blond hair is sticking up in all directions, so Harry smooths it down with one broad palm. His head is warm and so soft, and he seems to like the sensation, so Harry does it again, and again.
The baby starts to fuss, so Harry hoists him onto his shoulder and starts to pat his back like Draco had done. He presses his nose into the top of Scorpius’s head and breathes in the warm, milky smell that is uniquely baby, a smell that he’s always found quite comforting if he’s honest.
He can hear Draco arguing with his mother in the sitting room, and Scorpius’s tantrum is picking up steam again, so he steps out of the sliding door onto the small balcony off the nursery.
Almost instantly, the baby falls silent again. He huffs out a big sigh, no doubt exhausted from all the crying and blinks his teary eyes against the golden sunset visible over the trees. Harry walks over to a wind chime hanging in one corner of the balcony and begins twisting the striker in front of Scorpius’s little face. He makes an excited noise as the chime tinkles out a happy melody and stretches one chubby hand out to make the noise himself.
“I know we’ve never met,” Harry says softly, his mouth pressed to one of the baby’s silky cheeks, “and this is probably not how you imagined it…well, I don’t know if you can imagine things yet. Point is, I’m your…well, your dad and me…I mean, I’m…Harry.”
Scorpius turns in Harry’s arms to bury his face in Harry’s shoulder and grab a fistful of Harry’s T-shirt. He tilts his head up and stares up at Harry through long, luminescent eyelashes, and the most wonderful thing happens. He smiles. His round cheeks bunch up and his little pink tongue pokes out between his gums, and Harry is smitten.
He’s a bit in awe of how cute Scorpius is, with his round cheeks and tiny, button nose. Harry places a gentle kiss to said nose and chuckles when Scorpius sneezes so hard his whole body shakes.
“Ohh, I’m sorry, bug. I won’t do that again,” he sing-songs. He realizes he’s bouncing gently at the knees, but he doesn’t know when he started that.
A cold breeze blows through the balcony, and it makes Harry shiver, so he knows the baby must be even colder in his thin onesie. Harry maneuvers Scorpius from arm to arm as he tucks the baby inside his jacket and zips it up. It’s so cozy, holding the baby close like this, and Harry feels warm right down to his toes.
“It’s just, I never thought I’d suddenly have a…a kid to look after,” he says into the top of Scorpius’s head. “Not that you’re my kid or anything. I know that. I’ll never be your parent or anything. Your…your mum loves you very much and no one could ever replace her…”
Scorpius’s head lolls, heavy against Harry’s shoulder and his body goes slack in Harry’s arms. His breathing grows slow and even. Harry can hear the little wet noises he’s making as he suckles unconsciously on his fist, still stuffed into his mouth.
Harry knows the baby is finally asleep, but he keeps talking. “Only, I think I’m pretty in love with your dad, and I think I might already be pretty in love with you too, even though we only just met.”
Scorpius stirs, opening and closing his little fist and puffing out a deep breath against Harry’s chest before settling back down. Harry holds him a little tighter.
“He can’t understand you, you know,” Draco says quietly from the still-open doorway. “He’s barely six months old.”
Harry turns to face Draco, who is sagged against the door frame. He looks completely exhausted, but there’s a gentle smile on his face. He’s combed his hair and tied it back in a bun, and he’s changed into a beautiful, maroon jumper. Harry rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’m not a complete idiot.”
“Yes, you are,” Draco teases, his tired smile growing into a beaming grin. Harry smiles back.
They stand, looking at one another for a long moment. The light is fading from gold to grey, and Harry is still bouncing, bouncing, bouncing the baby.
“How long were you standing there?” Harry asks, finally. His voice is shaky. Nervous.
“Long enough,” Draco replies, stepping out onto the balcony.
“I didn’t mean to intrude, really. I know you’re careful about who he meets, and I can still go if—”
Draco leans carefully towards Harry, bracketing Scorpius in between their chests, and presses a lingering kiss to his lips. “Stay. I’m hungry, and I’m craving your curry. And…”
Draco lifts his hands to cradle Scorpius’ tiny head in one palm and Harry’s cheek in the other. “You’re good with him. He wouldn’t fall asleep on you like that if he didn’t feel safe.”
Harry’s eyes go wide. “Yeah? You think? I mean, I’m not sure I’m any good with babies, but I think I want to be. And—”
“Harry. Shut up.” Draco says, leaning in for another kiss.
“Sorry, sorry, I—” Harry’s whole body curls in on itself from fear of waking the baby, and his voice goes nearly silent.
