Harry sighed, holding his lower back as he leaned against the kitchen counter, closing his eyes for a few moments. James was heavy, too heavy, and his body wasn't used to carrying that much weight. His magic felt weaker than usual, and he'd had contractions the week before.
Healer Hawthorne had said it was normal, that by the looks of things, James would probably be born around the 25th, so he still had about a week to go.
"Harry, sit down, let me do that," Ron said, pulling one of the stools out for him, and Harry obeyed.
He watched Ron take over his place in front of the stove, starting to make toast for the four of them. He sighed softly, watching Hermione hand Teddy his bottle, which the baby grabbed eagerly and brought to his mouth. Harry rubbed the underside of his belly, trying to ease the pressure he felt there.
James was already head down, ready to be born. Harry knew his body would create an opening when the time came, it always did, though it didn't always close on its own afterward, often needing a Healer's help. Honestly, it wasn't surprising that almost no men who got pregnant had survived the Middle Ages.
He smiled when Ron placed a plate in front of him and ate the toast with maple syrup, silently hoping James would let him finish before squeezing one of his organs again. It was an endless mix of anxiety, happiness, back pain, and bathroom trips.
"When's Malfoy getting here?" Ron asked, sitting beside him.
"He went to Gringotts with his mother this morning, said he should be back around two, so soon," Harry replied, shrugging as he took a sip of the chamomile tea he'd made earlier.
"Ginny sent a gift," Hermione said, and Harry looked up at her. "It's a plush Golden Snitch," she explained, smiling. "You're going to raise a little Seeker, aren't you?"
"Well, he is the son of two Seekers," Harry muttered.
"One of them the youngest Seeker of the century," Ron added, his mouth full.
"Poor James," Hermione said softly, resting her hand on Harry's belly. He chuckled weakly.
"James," Teddy repeated, and Harry smiled wide.
"That's right, James, little man, he's going to be your brother," he said, and Teddy's hair shifted into a dark, messy black like Harry's own, making him grin even more.
He frowned when a sharp pain struck low in his abdomen, rubbing the area and taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a few seconds until the pain faded, exhaling in relief before looking up to see both Ron and Hermione watching him closely.
"You okay, mate?" Ron asked, and Harry gave a faint smile.
"I think so," he said, but another jolt hit, and he grabbed the counter for support. Hermione stood up immediately, moving closer.
"Do you want me to call the Healer?" she asked, her hand on his shoulder. Harry stayed still, thinking.
"I don't know," he murmured, rubbing his belly.
"What are you feeling?" Ron asked.
"Definitely contractions, but I had a few earlier this week, false alarm," he explained, taking a deep breath. "But men don't have signs like women do, no water breaking or anything." He winced, then relaxed when the pain faded again. "Time it. If it comes back within twenty minutes, we call the Healer," he said, and watched as Ron cast a quick Tempus.
He stood up, lifting Teddy into his arms, partly because he was afraid James might actually be on his way, and he wanted a bit of time with his boy before he had to go. He kissed Teddy's cheek over and over, hearing him giggle and squirm in protest.
The next wave of pain hit fifteen minutes later, and Harry had to brace himself against the table, barely noticing when Hermione took Teddy from his arms. He drew in a deep breath and leaned against the counter, staring down at his bare feet on the dark wooden floor.
"Hazz?" came the small, trembling voice. He looked up to see his godson in Hermione's arms, eyes filling with tears.
"It's okay, my love," he said, stroking the little hand before pressing his palm back to the counter.
"Hawthorne's on her way," Ron said as he entered the kitchen.
"I don't even know if I want it to be a false alarm or not," Harry muttered, feeling Ron's hand rub his back.
The pain lasted for another two minutes at most before fading, and Harry managed to walk into the living room. He didn't want to sit, standing up again would be too much effort. Then the green flash of Floo powder lit up the room, and for a moment it felt like an attack. His heart pounded, he took two steps back, fingers instinctively searching for his wand. Another sharp wave of pain tore through his abdomen, forcing him to clutch his belly as the air left his lungs.
"Mr. Potter," came the firm voice of the Healer. The sound made him flinch, even though she hadn't done anything threatening. "May I cast the diagnostic spell?" Harry nodded shortly, jaw tight, eyes closing, he didn't want to see another wand pointed at him, not now "In active labor, indeed," she said, and he heard Hermione draw in a sharp breath.
"Take Teddy to Andromeda," Hermione said, handing the crying boy to Ron. Harry's heart clenched at the sound of his godson's sobs.
"It's okay, champ. Hazz is gonna be fine, yeah?" Ron soothed, the baby's hair flashing through colors. "Shh, we're going to see Grandma Andi, okay? There'll be a baby after." He said, heading out the door.
"Shall we go to your room, Mr. Potter?" the Healer asked. Harry nodded, pushing himself off the wall. When she reached out to help, he jerked back violently. Her touch felt wrong, invasive, like his blood had turned to ice under his skin. She immediately lifted her hands in surrender.
"I'll go get Malfoy," Hermione said.
"Send a Patronus," Harry managed, breathing through the fading pain. "I need you here," he added, and saw her nod before a bright otter appeared beside her.
He didn't catch the message, the rush of blood in his ears drowned everything out. Slowly, he climbed the stairs, one hand on his belly, breathing deeply. A hand pressed gently to his back, and he didn't need to look to know it was Hermione helping him. He let her.
The room felt too small. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, muscles trembling, breaths coming shallow and uneven. Hermione was there beside him, her gaze steady, trying to hold him together with nothing but calm.
"What do you think about lying down?" the healer asked. Harry looked at her, and the thought alone made him shrink inside. The vulnerability of lying down, of not seeing who was coming closer, made his stomach twist. He shook his head. "Alright, that's fine. Whatever feels comfortable for you," she said gently, and Harry took a moment to think.
"I want to stay sitting for a bit," he said, and she nodded. Hermione brought something to support his back, he knew it was some sort of spell, but didn't really care. He let his body relax into it.
"Draco," he whispered, looking at Hermione, who took his hand.
"He's coming," she said softly, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. That was when Harry realized he was starting to sweat.
The heat spread from the inside out, a burning pain, like cursed fire had found him again. His body reacted the same way it used to, tense, breath caught, an instinctive urge to protect himself from something unseen. He closed his eyes and felt a faint vibration fill the air. It came from the bedside table, the map and the scarf. The touch of familiar magic.
Another contraction hit, tearing him out of any thought. The pain ripped through him from the inside out, and he bent forward, groaning, fingers digging into his thigh.
"Can I get in the bath?" he asked through clenched teeth, looking toward the healer, who was talking to an assistant. Harry didn't even remember when the man had appeared.
"Of course," she said at once, and Hermione hurried to the bathroom, he heard the sound of running water.
There was movement at the door, and when Harry looked up, it was Ron, eyes wide with worry. Harry reached a trembling hand toward him, and Ron came closer, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead just as Hermione had.
"Does it hurt a lot?" Ron asked.
"Like hell," Harry answered with a shaky laugh. Another wave of pain hit, and his body nearly gave out, but Ron held him up firmly as Harry squeezed his eyes shut.
"Harry, it's ready," Hermione called.
Ron didn't even ask, he just helped Harry walk toward the bathroom, matching his pace. When the assistant tried to come near, Hermione stopped him cold.
"Don't you dare," she said, and Harry wanted to thank her, but couldn't form the words.
Ron helped him remove the shorts he was wearing and step into the tub. The hot water immediately eased something inside him, pulling the weight out of his muscles. He let out a deep, trembling sigh. He didn't let Ron move away, clutching his hand tightly, and Ron didn't move an inch.
"It's okay, Harry. You're doing great," Ron said quietly, and Harry felt the hum of magic grow stronger. He saw the healer bring the scarf and the map into the bathroom.
"Where's Mione?" he asked Hawthorne.
"She went to get Mr. Malfoy," she said calmly, stepping closer. "May I?" she asked, raising her wand, and Harry nodded once before closing his eyes.
Before she could say anything else, Draco appeared in the doorway, breathless, his face flushed, eyes wide, sweat glinting on his skin.
"Sweetheart," he said, and Harry felt a tear roll down his cheek.
"It's alright, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Draco said quickly. Ron stepped aside, and Draco took Harry's hand in his own. "How are you holding up?" he asked, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"Get in with me?" Harry asked, voice trembling between breaths. Draco nodded before even thinking, desperation clear in his expression.
Harry watched him take off his shoes and socks, but not his trousers or the white shirt. Draco stepped into the tub behind him, and Harry let himself relax against his chest. He could feel the warmth of Draco's body against his back, his heartbeat loud and uneven, a quick kiss pressed to his temple, then another on the top of his head. Draco's hands slid along the sides of his stomach, hesitant, yet steady.
"Shit, shit, shit," Harry cursed, gripping Draco's arm and digging his nails into his skin when another wave of pain tore through him, stronger than any before. "Fuck," he whimpered, voice hoarse and desperate.
"Easy, Mr. Potter, your body is beginning to open," the healer said, and Harry had the urge to tell her to fuck off.
He reached out blindly for something solid, Ron, and gripped his hand tightly. The warmth of his friend's skin helped him cling to the present, to the fact that he was still there, still breathing. But the pain was unbearable, burning like a curse, like he was being ripped apart.
His whole body trembled. Every muscle, every nerve screamed to run. He clutched whatever he could reach, Draco's arm, Ron's hand, the air itself. His eyes squeezed shut, breaths short and shallow, heart hammering in his chest.
"It's been a relatively quick labor so far," he heard someone say, but couldn't tell who.
"This is quick?" he asked, voice breaking with anger and panic. "Go to hell," he hissed through his teeth, and when the pain hit again, his scream broke into sobs. "I want my mum," he cried, unable to stop himself.
"It's okay, sweetheart, you're doing so well," Draco whispered, pressing another kiss to his shoulder. His voice was the only sound that made sense anymore.
Then the pain came back harder, and Harry screamed. His body arched, skin burning, and he no longer cared if he was crying or breathing wrong. He pulled away from Draco, following the primal instinct to push, not knowing what he was doing, only that his body commanded it, and he obeyed.
The relief was brief. Harry sagged back against Draco's chest, his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair. The hot water seemed to trick his body for a moment, but every strong touch, every sudden movement made his stomach twist and his breath catch from reflex, from fear. He felt kisses being pressed to his skin. He cried.
"I can't anymore," he whispered, trembling, voice almost gone.
"Yes, you can, Harry. It's okay. You're doing really, really well," Hermione said softly, her hand brushing his arm with gentle care.
He clung to Draco as if the world was falling apart around him.
"I can't," he sobbed, eyes screwed shut as another wave of pain tore through him.
"It's all right, Harry. Breathe," Draco urged, his tone both firm and breaking. Harry tried, he really did, but every breath felt too heavy.
"Is he close?" he managed to ask between gasps, looking at the healer.
"A few more times, Mr. Potter. You and James are doing fine," she replied calmly.
James. The name seemed to pull the ground from beneath him.
Harry took a shaky breath, trying to hold onto that name, but the air came in ragged bursts, scraping his throat raw. His body no longer obeyed him, trembling, muscles in his legs and abdomen tight as stone, sweat dripping down his shoulders. The pain returned, deeper, heavier.
He gripped Draco's arm tightly, a rough moan escaping as his body pushed on its own.
"You're doing so well, sweetheart," Draco whispered, his voice trembling, one hand on Harry's stomach, the other steadying his waist.
"I can't anymore," Harry gasped, his face buried in Draco's shoulder, every muscle taut. "I can't, Draco."
"Yes, you can," Hermione's voice came from nearby, patient, steady. "You're almost there."
He wanted to laugh or curse, but no sound came out, only another broken moan as the wave ended, leaving him limp, breathing hard like he'd just run for miles. For a moment, the silence felt too heavy. Harry blinked, trying to focus, but the bathroom spun around him.
"Breathe with me," Draco said, voice firm, and Harry tried, inhale, exhale, count, but the air always seemed to run out halfway through.
Then another contraction tore through him, shredding what was left of his control. Harry screamed, breathless, raw, squeezing Ron's hand so tightly he heard the bones creak.
"Come on, Harry," Draco urged, his face close, voice barely a whisper. "You can do this. He's coming."
"Fuck," Harry whimpered, pushing again, his body following some deep, ancient instinct. His back ached, his abdomen burned, and every second stretched into eternity. The pain retreated only to crash back stronger. Harry sobbed, breath stuttering.
"I want him," he said weakly, almost inaudible.
"You will," Draco answered firmly, stroking his face. "Just a little more, sweetheart, just a little more."
The next contraction hit like a bombard, an explosion inside him, a force that split him open. Harry screamed, gripping the edges of the tub until his fingers throbbed. Instinct took over, he'd learned long ago to trust his body, and now was no different.
He pushed. His body knew what to do, even if his mind wanted to run. His back shook, sweat poured down his shoulders, his lungs refused air. Draco's hand traced his spine, his voice murmuring words Harry couldn't quite make out, just the rhythm of sound, the warmth of presence.
"You're doing great," Draco whispered, and Harry bit his lip until he tasted blood.
"I can see the head, Mr. Potter," Hawthorne said.
Harry drew in a deep breath, but it burned in his throat.
He screamed again and pushed. The pain was too sharp, too consuming, he no longer knew where his body ended and the pain began. He only knew he had to get him out, that James needed to breathe.
The edges of the world darkened, his vision closing in, until there was only Draco, the pressure of his hands between Harry's legs, the warm water, the sound of his own ragged breathing.
Then suddenly, silence. And weight.
Harry opened his eyes slowly, his whole body trembling. Draco was holding James, lifting him from the water, and placed him immediately against Harry's chest. The baby was warm, slippery, heavy and light all at once.
A sob burst out of Harry as he wrapped his arms around him, laughing and crying at the same time, his face wet with tears and sweat. Draco held them both, the two of them leaning into each other, and Harry breathed in the scent of blood, magic, and life, trying to believe it was all real.
James's cries filled the bathroom, loud, pure, and Harry laughed again, a weak, almost disbelieving sound, before resting his face against his son's still-damp hair and closing his eyes, exhausted, trembling, alive.
"You did so well. You were perfect, sweetheart," Draco murmured, his voice hoarse from crying, his lips brushing against Harry's sweaty temple.
Harry looked down, his chest rising and falling too fast, and saw James for the first time.
His baby was so small, still covered in blood, but none of it mattered. He pulled him close with trembling hands, feeling the fragile warmth, the solid weight, the muffled sound of breath. He kissed the top of his head, tasting the metallic air, and silent tears spilled down his face.
There were voices around him, footsteps, someone speaking to Draco, but the world felt distant. All that existed was the tiny body moving against his, warm and alive. Then a shadow approached, Hawthorne. "I need to check if he's healthy," she said, reaching out her hands.
Harry shook his head immediately, clutching James tighter to his chest. His heart pounded unevenly, arms locked in place, as if any touch were a threat.
"Please, Mr. Potter," she urged, but he only shook his head again, his gaze fixed on the baby's still-streaked face.
"Harry," Ron's voice came, soft but steady. "I'll go with him. I won't take my eyes off him for a second, I promise."
He hesitated, every nerve on edge, but finally, he nodded. The motion was as small as the trust he had left. Reluctantly, he handed James over to his friend, his heart pounding in time with the ache in his body.
Draco was already moving, stepping out of the tub behind him. His white shirt clung to his body, face wet, eyes red-rimmed. Harry flinched at the movement, his muscles tightening in protest.
"Hey, it's okay, sweetheart," Draco whispered, approaching slowly. "It's just me. Only me."
He held him firmly but gently, lifting him from the water without a spell, carrying him in his arms. Harry whimpered, a small, broken sound escaping before he could stop it.
Draco kept him close against his chest, murmuring soft words Harry could barely understand. A drying and cleaning spell swept through the room, and the smell of blood and sweat was replaced by something faintly floral.
The soft mattress met his back, and Harry exhaled in a trembling groan, his body finally giving in. Draco adjusted the pillows, pulled the blanket up to his waist with careful hands.
"You were perfect, my sweetheart," Draco whispered, kneeling by the bed, his fingers tracing Harry's face. "You gave us a healthy boy, a perfect boy. You did so, so well."
Harry blinked, trying to see through the veil of tears. Draco's hands were warm, grounding, helping him breathe a little deeper.
"Bring him here," he asked, his voice rough and faint.
Draco nodded, brushing a soft kiss against his lips, a brief, tender promise.
"I'll be right back, okay?" he murmured, touching Harry's forehead before standing up.
When he left, the room suddenly felt far too big.
Hermione stepped closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, distracting him while Hawthorne's assistant cast diagnostic spells over his body. The air filled with golden sparks.
"You'll need to take a few potions," Hermione said, and he only nodded, his eyes fixed on the door.
A warm potion slid down his throat, burning, another, bitter, left a metallic taste. He drank them all in silence.
"Everything hurts," he muttered, his body tense.
"I can imagine," Hermione replied with a small smile. "But it was a quick labor, Harry. You were amazing."
He let out a weak laugh. "If that's quick…"
Hermione disappeared from his line of sight when Draco returned, and the world seemed to fall back into place. In his arms was a tiny bundle wrapped in white cloth, small, perfect.
Harry straightened instinctively, ignoring the pain, chest rising sharply. When Draco placed James in his arms, the air seemed to vanish from the room.
James was blond, so blond it was almost silver, and Harry couldn't stop the smile that broke across his face. He brushed his fingertips over the baby's cheek, soft and warm. The nose was thin and pointed, like Draco's. James had inherited his father's hair color and nose, but that was all. The chin and lips were definitely his, and when the baby opened his eyes, bright, vivid green, he were his eyes. Lily's eyes.
"Hey, my little boy," he whispered, voice trembling, a small smile breaking through.
"He's so beautiful, sweetheart," Draco murmured, sitting beside him, still looking at the baby like he was something sacred. "And so hairy," he added with a teary laugh.
Harry looked at him, saw his boyfriend's face streaked with tears, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
"Thank you," he whispered, and Draco blinked, confused. "For giving him to me," Harry clarified, and Draco smiled.
"I should be the one thanking you," he said softly, stroking James's tiny head with something close to reverence. "You're going to give us trouble, aren't you, Bambi?"
Harry laughed quietly, watery and warm, leaning his forehead against Draco's. James squirmed between them, letting out a soft sound. James Sirius Potter-Malfoy was born in the afternoon of August 18th, 1999, and Harry knew he would never forget that day.