Les oiseaux volent á minuit- the birds fly at midnight

tw: mentions of minor character death, self-hatred, homophobia, blood, and bodies (aka the battle of Hogwarts basically)

**also i know Harry's POV comes twice between nine and ten instead of alternating, but it just fit so i kept it**

One for sorrow

He won't understand it, not for many years, the concept of death. It evades his mind when he tries his best to reach it, hides in the edges of his consciousness when he leaves it alone.

He can't fathom how the people who were supposed to protect him, to raise him and be with him through his life, who were supposed to smile and encourage him and hug him and inhale and exhale and laugh, could be sitting six feet under, unable to ever speak to him again.

He doesn't understand why cruel fate would tear him away from people so early in life. At only the age of ten, he can barely remember his mother's eyes, his father's smile. In a few years, they will probably vanish from his mind completely. He can't remember their voices, or anything they did. He can't remember murmurs of "I love you" or soft voices singing him to sleep.

It feels like mourning people he's never met.

Every sound of his breath feels like a betrayal to him, a mocking. I got to live, you had to die. It feels like a trade, their lives for his, and he feels like his life isn't nearly worth that of his parents. It doesn't feel like a fair trade at all.

Sometimes he wishes he had died instead of them, because he can sometimes remember flashes of how his father looked at his mother, and even a ten-year-old can recognize true love when they see it.

Sometimes when he dreams, he dreams of his mother crying. Not sad, he doesn't think, but at two years old he hadn't been able to tell much of a difference. No, he dreams of his mother crying and putting her hand on her stomach and his father hugging her with the brightest smile in the world, and when Harry was eight years old he sat bolt upright and wondered if it was really just a dream, or if his mother had been pregnant when she had died.

So sometimes he really does mourn someone he never met. He could have had a sibling, and instead Death cruelly tore them away from him.

Two for joy

Draco is positively alight with excitement. For the first time in his life, he will be able to go to a place without his father hovering over him, barking orders.

He will be free.

The candles in the Great Hall illuminate his excited face, and he struggles to keep his composure. A Malfoy must always be stoic and impassive, he father would say.

But his father is not here, so Draco allows a small smile to cross his face.

It feels like an act of rebellion.

Three for a girl

Cho's lips are soft.

Her body is soft.

She pulls away with a soft smile.

Her soft hand comes up to cup his face, soft eyes gazing into his before she softly kisses him one more time.

Harry doesn't want soft. He wants to press someone against a wall, panting and exchanging heated kisses. He wants to leave bruising kisses, to leave marks on necks, to have nails dug into skin, to fight for the dominance that Cho would just softly let him have.

"Have a happy Christmas, Harry," she says softly.

The door makes a soft click as it shuts behind her.

Four for a boy

Blaise presses Draco against the wall, panting. Draco leans forward and Blaise obligingly kisses him hard, almost like he's trying to bruise Draco's mouth. Draco fights against him, trying to regain dominance, but Blaise has always been the stronger of the two of them, and Draco fails in his attempt. He gives up the fight in favor of digging his nails into Blaise's shoulders, surely leaving imprints. Blaise doesn't seem to care, though, as he's moved from Draco's mouth to his throat, surely leaving a mark on the pale skin there.

It's fucking perfect.

Draco tips his head back, gasping for air as Blaise presses his hips hard into Draco's, grinding against him with the surety of someone who's done this before. Draco's eyes roll back as the friction becomes overwhelming, and Blaise groans into the hollow of Draco's throat.

It's almost embarrassing how fast Draco comes, but seeing as Blaise does only a few seconds later, he really can't be bothered enough to care. Blaise presses three lazy kisses along Draco's jaw before pulling back and releasing Draco's shoulders.

The boy winks and picks his shirt up off the floor before leaving the room, and self-loathing settles in quickly, as it always does after Draco's encounters with boys.

He remembers being thirteen and telling his father he thinks Harry Potter is beautiful, and his father had exploded.

Boys are not beautiful!

Draco picks up his shirt and puts it on.

A Malfoy does not find men attractive!

He looks in the mirror, combing his fingers through his hair until it looks normal again.

You will marry a woman if it is the last thing I have you do!

He sighs when he sees the mark forming on his neck.

And under no circumstances will you have anything to do with the Potter boy!

He opens the drawer to see the makeup Pansy had put there for him; color corrector, concealer, powder.

You'd best get those thoughts out of your head right now, Draco, or I will beat them out of you.

When he looks in the mirror and looks exactly as he had before Blaise had brought him here, Draco leaves the room.

No son of mine will be a faggot.

Five for silver

Malfoy's eyes aren't grey, Harry decides as he looks down at the boy bleeding on the floor.

He kneels next to him, gripping Malfoy's hand as blood pools around the boy and wide not-grey eyes stare at Harry in horror as Malfoy chokes over his own breath.

Harry is fairly certain he's chanting something, and it takes a moment to realize the words I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry are spilling off of his own lips.

He knows he could lift Malfoy's sleeve up right now, see if he has the Mark, but the thought barely crosses his mind. He doesn't care if Malfoy is a Death Eater, he doesn't care if the blonde tried to Crucio him, none of that matters. All that matters is that Draco Malfoy doesn't die right now.

Malfoy is trying to choke out words, and Harry can barely hear them when he finally gets them out.

"It's okay."

Malfoy is still choking, still coughing and inhaling shakily, but... he's smiling.

Harry has never seen Malfoy smile before. It's beautiful, even surrounded by blood and twisted in pain and gasping, Malfoy's smile is enchantingly, hauntingly, beautiful.

"Why are you smiling?" Harry gasps, panic lacing through his voice. "Malfoy, you could be dying."

Malfoy chokes out a laugh, eyes bright, and Harry decides right then and there that Malfoy's eyes aren't grey, they're molten silver, filled with pain and agony and Harry realizes not all of the pain is from the slashes cut deep into his chest.

"Good," Malfoy gasps, and his terrified silver eyes meet Harry's in desperation. "Astronomy-" he chokes, and blood dribbles out of the side of his mouth. "Astronomy Tower- kill- Dumbledore- Vanis- cab-" He chokes again, more blood coming up this time. Harry desperately tries to think of any way to get someone to come.

He screams.

"HELP!" he screams at the top of his lungs, and tears are mixing with the blood on Malfoy's face but he looks so fucking content with what's happening to him. "HELP!"

Footsteps approach and Snape shoves him to the side, dropping next to Malfoy.

Silver eyes meet green, and Harry begs Draco Malfoy not to die.

Six for gold

It shouldn't be gold.

That's Draco's first thought when the spell hits his left arm, searing and burning into the flesh.

It shouldn't be gold.

Gold is pure and Gryffindor and Potter and shining and beautiful and royalty and happiness.

Morsmordre shouldn't be gold. Morsmordre is ugly and tainted and burning and dark and full of hate and power and anger.

His parents stand in the back of the room, watching him.

Lucius' face is impassive, cold. He looks detached, uncaring. His gold wedding ring glints in the light of the curse, and he says nothing as Draco screams.

Narcissa looks ready to scream herself. Her eyes shine with pain, although she allows no tears to fall. The golden ring on her finger flashes as she clenches and unclenches her fists, golden hair messy as she runs one hand through it in an effort to keep herself grounded, golden heels firmly planted into the ground. She doesn't dare look away from her son, from the irreparable damage being done to Draco's flesh, from the pain in his eyes.

Draco thinks his father is like Morsmordre; ugly, tainted, dark and hate and power and anger.

Draco thinks his mother is like gold; shining and beautiful and pure.

He thinks he is neither.

As Draco slumps to the ground, arm bleeding as the Dark Lord walks away, uncaring, he thinks he is neither of his parents, neither dark nor pure.

He thinks he is nothing.

Seven for a secret never told

Harry has never been the best with secrets.

But this one will stay with him to the grave, because he is standing at the forest's edge, and there is no one to tell it to.

But, as he raises the Snitch to his mouth and whispers "I am about to die", he realizes that might not be true.

His mother and his father and Sirius stand before him, there but not, smiling at him with pride that makes his heart swell.

And he wonders if they would hate him if he told them, and he thinks that hate is not the last emotion he wants these people to feel toward him before he dies.

Besides, it's such a trivial thing to say before you die. "Mom, Dad, Sirius, I'm gay." It would be a stupid thing to bring up at a time like this, so instead, Harry just asks them if they'll stay with him, and when the words "To the very end" meet his statement, Harry thinks he's made the right choice.

Even if it hurts to let this secret burn through his heart like the Killing Curse does when it hits him.

Eight for a wish

Draco doesn't scream when Harry Potter's body is carried onto the battlefield.

He wishes he could.

He wishes he could scream, he wishes he could bring the boy back, he wishes Voldemort were dead and he wishes he could love Harry and he wishes Harry could love him and he wishes he had been able to tell Harry more than a few jumbled words on the night Harry almost killed him, because if he had just managed to tell him, maybe Dumbledore would have survived and helped Harry and maybe Harry would have lived.

His mother's voice cuts through the screaming in his head.

"Draco."

His eyes snap up, and he realizes his vision is blurry before he blinks away the welling up tears. His parents are looking at him, Voldemort is looking at him, the Death Eaters are looking at him, the students and the teachers and the house-elves and everyone is looking at him.

All his life, Draco had wished to be noticed, and now he wishes he were invisible.

"Draco, come," his mother says softly, eyes pleading.

Draco wishes he could stay here and fight the Death Eaters, but he wants to hug his mother and run away and if he had to fight her he would kill himself.

He takes a step down. Another.

He sees McGonagall looking at him with a devastated expression. It's similar to the one Harry had when they were in the bathroom, and Draco finally recognizes it as the look of someone realizing they could have stopped this, that they can't save everyone but they could have stopped this.

And Draco realizes if he joins the Death Eaters, he will have that expression too.

He can stop this, or he can die trying.

"Draco," his father hisses.

Draco is standing several feet in front of the people he spent his classes with, some he joked with and some he joked about, some he hugged and some he cursed, some he laughed with and some he laughed at.

And in front of him is the man who marred Draco's arm for life, the woman who begged Draco not to go through with it, and the man who pushed and pulled and yelled at Draco until there was nothing left.

On both sides, there are perceptions of Draco.

Behind Draco stands the Draco who everyone sees as a bully, who taunts and hates and is cruel and unforgiving.

In front of Draco stands the Draco who his father sees as a disappointment, who fails and cries and is weak and pathetic.

Both Dracos are bad choices, and Draco decides he needed to be a new Draco.

And so, standing with him is the Draco he sees as a person, who fights for what he believes and stands up for what is right and loves with all his heart.

"Draco," his father bites out into the echoing, drowning silence of the courtyard. "Come here."

Draco takes a step back.

"No," he breathes.

Lucius Malfoy's face screws up in anger. "If you know what's best for you, boy, you'll come over here right now!"

"I might not know exactly what's best for me yet, but I know it's not following a murderous psychopath who brands people," Draco replies. His voice only shakes a little. He takes another step back.

"You have no wand, Draco," his father taunts. "How do you plan to defend this silly castle without one?"

Draco's shoulders slump. His father sees that as an opening. "Come here, Draco."

Draco takes several steps forward. His father's grin grows. McGonagall whispers a soft "please, don't."

Draco joins the Death Eater's side.

His father looks all too pleased, and Draco allows him to have that expression for all of two seconds before he punches Lucius Malfoy in the face and takes his wand, sprinting back to where he had been standing moments before.

"Now I have a wand, Father, and you do not," he says. "Who's to stop me from cursing you?"

"I'll kill you, you brat child!" Lucius roars.

Draco doesn't expect the protective arm over his chest, or to be pushed back as Minerva McGonagall stands in front of him and extends her wand.

"You will not," she replies coldly. "And I will destroy you if you try."

Draco looks over McGonagall's shoulder to see his father's enraged face, and his mother's stunned one.

Narcissa Malfoy crosses the battlefield.

She turns and stands next to McGonagall, pointing her wand at Lucius Malfoy with nothing but fire in her eyes.

And as Harry Potter rolls to the ground and springs to his feet, Draco wishes he had made this decision a long time ago.

Nine for a kiss

Harry feels somewhat hollow. What little pieces of himself he still can hold onto are twisted and pulled and contorted until they shatter and fall into a heap, building atop his heart and through his throat, rendering him unable to speak.

Bodies are scattered across the Great Hall, some covered, some not, and it sickens Harry to see, but he can't bring himself to leave the sixty-two people who died so he could survive.

It reminds him oddly of how he felt when he was young, when two lives died so he could survive. He had never thought himself worthy of such a sacrifice, and now sixty-two more names are added to the list of bodies Harry's throne of life sits atop.

There is a girl in front of him, and he wants to tell her he doesn't want to talk right now, but his throat is blocked by secrets and memories and self-hatred and he almost chokes on the words he attempts to say.

And then he recognizes her as Ginny.

He's never seen Ginny like this before. Her hair is a mess, her face streaked with dust and tears, her t-shirt torn and dirty, the heaviness on her shoulders.

But even so, to not recognize the girl he had once thought himself in love with feels like a betrayal.

"Hey," she murmurs, quiet so as not to disturb the silence of grief in the room. "You looked lonely."

I am, God, I'm so alone and empty and alone-

"Thought I'd visit you and check up on you," she continues softly.

He nods, unable to speak. She meets his eyes and she's leaning forward and Harry knows she's going to kiss him, so he lets her.

Her lips are dry and a bit chapped, in direct contrast to his kiss with Cho years prior. But it just feels like nothing.

All Harry can think of is the fact that he couldn't recognize the girl right in front of him when he had been able to recognize silver eyes from across a battlefield.

Ten for a surprise you should be careful not to miss

Harry doesn't expect Malfoy to sit next to him at the bar, but he can't help the small twinge in his heart when the blonde does exactly that.

Malfoy says nothing to him. Instead, he turns his attention to the cute bartender, giving the boy a wink and asking for something with lot of alcohol.

The boy turns a lovely shade of pink and nods, rushing to do so, and only when the drink is finally in his hand does Malfoy face Harry.

Harry can't speak. He hasn't spoken, not really, not since Voldemort died, not since Harry murdered him, not since the last piece of himself crumbled away.

"Beautiful, are they not?" Malfoy says quietly, his eyes resting on Harry with the sort of calm composure Harry has never seen from the boy.

A year of righting your past mistakes will do that to a person, though, and Harry is sure that's only a part of why Malfoy is such a different person.

Harry tilts his head to indicate his confusion. Malfoy gives him the softest smile Harry has ever seen, a heart-wrenching display of the gentlest affection.

"Boys," Malfoy answers Harry's unspoken question. "are beautiful."

Harry can't bring him to smile, because he hasn't done that since the war either, but he catches Malfoy's eyes with a sort of wonder, because he's never met another gay boy before, and because he can't agree more.

Draco Malfoy is beautiful.

"Do you think so?" Malfoy asks, his voice still soft and gentle, and it doesn't sound anything like the Malfoy Harry used to know, the bite and the smirk and the shoving.

He kinds of wants the old Malfoy back, because this one is too soft.

He just nods once, and Malfoy becomes the first person he's come out to.

"I won't tell, don't worry," Malfoy says easily. "Your secret is safe with me." 

There is a long pause, and Malfoy speaks again.

"I miss when you used to talk. You have a lovely voice, very powerful and convincing. It's oddly jarring to have it ripped away from you, is it not?"

After another long pause, during which Malfoy sips his drink until it's gone, the blonde stands, pushing his stool back to where it had been before he had arrived and turning to leave. If not for the glass sitting on the bar, Harry would think he had imagined Malfoy being there at all.

He wonders if this is a sign, something that he shouldn't miss, shouldn't pass up. He hasn't spoken, hasn't smiled, and hasn't seen Malfoy since the war. But it feels like those things are bundling up in his chest, hot and tight, and Malfoy has walked out the door, and before Harry can stop himself, he's following him.

Malfoy is walking down the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets, and only then does Harry realize Malfoy is wearing Muggle jeans.

The world feels silent. Even the cars driving by are quiet, as though the world is hushing itself for just the two of them.

It makes Harry's voice loud, even though it's barely a raspy whisper.

"Draco."

Malfoy freezes immediately, spinning around with wide, shocked eyes. 

Harry's throat is immediately sore from the one word, vocal cords unused to being used, but the burn feels better than the emptiness Harry has held inside himself for so long, so he speaks again.

"Stay?"

Malfoy's shock melts away into something beautiful and hopeful and shining.

He stays.

Eleven for health

Terror winds itself around Draco's very bones as he shoves the door to St. Mungos open, rushing to the desk and barely managing to whisper the words "Harry Potter."

She gives him a sympathetic look and the number of Harry's hospital room and Draco manages to force a "thank you" out of his throat before the feeling of being unable to breathe returns and he bolts down the hallway.

48, 49, 50, 51, there are too many numbers and they blur together and suddenly Granger and Weasley are standing in front of him.

They haven't trusted him, not since this relationship started, and Draco has never expected them to. They've been his best friends since they were eleven, and he only extended his apologies to everyone he hurt a year and a half ago.

"No one's allowed to see him," Granger says coldly, and Weasley looks ready to fight him in the middle of the hallways before Draco can get to Harry.

This is no time for petty rivalries. "What happened? Is he okay? Is he alive? Is he hurt?"

"Why? Want to make sure your pretty boy toy doesn't get damaged? Don't want spoiled goods?" Weasley demands. Granger's glare has lessened slightly.

"Answer my fucking question!" Draco screams. "Is he alive? Is he okay? What happened?"

Any traces of a glare have dropped from Granger's face. Weasley looks surprised.

"We don't know," Granger whispers miserably. "They won't let us through, family and spouses only."

Draco's breathing is fast, too fast, and he does something really stupid and dumb, and he grabs Ron Weasley's left hand and yanks the ring off of it.

"Hey!" Weasley protests loudly, but Draco ignores him, shoving the ring onto his own left hand and sprinting up to the nurse outside the door.

"Please, I'm his fiancé," Draco begs, holding up his left hand to show her the ring. "Please, I need to see him, I need to know he's okay."

"He's no-" Weasley is cut off by Granger slamming her hand over his mouth with a worried glance toward Draco.

Draco has never been more grateful for the fact that his boyfriend is famous and their relationship is public and that marriage records exist and engagement ones don't, because the lady opens the door and Draco sprints in.

There are several Healers surrounding the bed and Draco feels like crying, but instead he just steps forward.

"Harry?" he whispers.

One of the Healers turns toward him and the sight of blood on her gloves makes Draco feel sick.

"He's not conscious right now," she says gently. "Are you his husband?"

"Fiancé." Draco tries to look around her. She just shakes her head.

"You don't want to see this, sir," she says quietly. "It's not pretty."

"Will he be okay?" Draco pleads.

"We think so. Lots of blood, lots of injuries, and some internal bleeding, but nothing fatal. Your fiancé will likely be alright, although you should tell Auror Potter he's done enough for our world and he can take a break once in a while." Draco can't see her smile through her surgical mask, but he can tell she is by the way her eyes sparkle.

"Thank you," he whispers, and he walks back out the door and to an arguing Granger and Weasley.

"What if he hurts him while he's in there?" Weasley hisses.

"Did you see his face? He looked like he was going to pass out! Maybe we were wrong about him, Ron, maybe-"

"This is yours," Draco says quietly, taking the ring off of his hand and holding it out to Weasley.

Weasley grabs it and Granger gives him a worried look. "Is he okay?"

"Healers say he's got some internal bleeding and quite a few injuries, but yeah, he'll be okay," Draco whispers. A smile comes across his face, and he feels like he's breathing for the first time since St. Mungo's called him.

Granger sighs shakily and wraps a surprised Draco in a very tight hug.

"Thank you," she whispers in his ear, shaky with tears. "And I'm sorry."

"Me too," Draco murmurs, and they hold each other in the middle of the hall in St. Mungo's.

Twelve for wealth

"Harry," Draco gasps as he shoves the door of their shared flat open.

Harry stands immediately, wand in hand, protective instincts kicking in. "What? What's wrong?"

Draco breathes out shakily, a smile crossing his face. "Harry, I got a job."

Harry 's mouth falls open. He slowly pockets his wand. "You-you did? Where? What?"

"Hogwarts. I'm a Potions professor next fall."

Harry gasps, a smile bursting across his face as he strides forward and hugs Draco tightly. He pulls back to cup Draco's face and kiss him before he finally speaks.

"That's incredible, Draco."

Harry can barely comprehend it. For three years now, every place Draco has applied has turned him down. Harry doesn't mind providing for Draco, he has more than enough money, but he knows Draco hated that he couldn't make his own money, and now he can. 

"That's not all," Draco adds. "Minerva told me to ask you to fill the position of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry raises his eyebrows. "Wow. That would be great, if there wasn't Voldemort's curse on the job. I can't leave my job for another one that I'll only be able to hold for a year."

"Don't you get it?" Draco looks positively alight with excitement. "You're Harry fucking Potter. You're the counteract to Voldemort. I have full faith that you'd be able to break the curse."

Harry laughs softly. "Draco, I have a job." Although every time he walks into the Ministry, his heart sinks a little more, and every time he comes home with blood all over himself, shaking and crying, it breaks him down a bit.

"I hate your job," Draco pouts. "And you hate it too. The amount of times I've had to run to St. Mungo's almost crying is insane. They know me by name, you know. I come in and they don't even ask anything, they just tell me the room you're in."

Harry grins a bit. Hope fires through him like a bullet right to the heart. "Alright. Alright, I'll do it. I'll owl Minerva tonight."

Draco sighs out shakily, smile crossing his face. "I love you, Harry Potter."

"And I love you, Draco Potter."

Thirteen beware, it's the Devil himself

Draco doesn't want children.

This is a fact he's held to his heart and just accepted since he was young. When he was eight and his father shouted at him that he was to produce an heir or be disowned from the Malfoy family, Draco decided that just to spite Lucius Malfoy, he would never have a child.

And now he's not even a Malfoy, so it's not a worry, to be disowned. But he still holds the fact to his heart. He doesn't want children.

He stopped thinking about it at the age of thirteen, just accepted that he would never have a child, would rather die than raise someone as Lucius had raised him.

He doesn't want children.

Harry does.

So Draco puts a fake smile on his face when Harry broaches the subject, and he agrees and pretends that's what he wants too.

They agree on Luna as a surrogate. With her striking similarity to Draco, and an intrauterine insemination with Harry's DNA, they figure it's the closest to getting a child that looks like it could actually be theirs.

Draco's idea, and the only one he had contributed to the idea of having a child. He's glad his DNA won't be in the thing.

Luna is eight months along now. She loves being pregnant. She calls the baby in her stomach an angelic miracle, and says she's honored to hold such a blessed life inside of her.

Draco thinks the Devil is in Luna's stomach, although he doesn't voice that concern.

The demon spawn's room is green. Draco doesn't ask why Harry chose Slytherin colors for the room. He doesn't care. He just hopes the devil child is quiet.

Draco is starting to resign himself to the fact that he only has a month left of his freedom before the Devil is brought into his home when Harry bursts into their room, cell phone in one hand and wand in the other.

"She's gone into labor early," he breathes, and Draco's heart crashes to the ground.

They Apparate to St. Mungo's and rush to Luna's room.

She's not screaming like Draco would have thought she would. She's gripping Hermione's hand impossibly tight and her face is a bit strained, but she gives Harry and Draco a bright smile when they come in.

"The angel is coming early!" she cheers. Ron gives Harry and Draco a warm grin, his arm wrapped lightly around his wife's shoulders while her hand is crushed by Luna.

"Alright, how about we give Hermione a break? I'll hold your hand, since I'm technically the one who got you pregnant," Harry jokes, taking Hermione's seat. He winces a bit at the death grip suddenly on his hand, but he's positively glowing with excitement.

Draco feels ill.

"Alright, Ms. Lovegood. And you two, you must be the parents. There are mild concerns that come with premature births, although one month early isn't the rarest of premature births. His lungs could be a bit underdeveloped for a couple of weeks, and he may not have enough fat to stay warm or enough strength to bottle-feed effectively. If this is the case, we will need to keep your child here to monitor and protect his sleep and keep him in the NICU until he's ready to go home." She gives them all a bright smile, and only then does Draco recognize her as Katie Bell.

He thinks he's going to throw up.

She looks at Draco, and there is no malice in her eyes. 

"Congratulations, Draco," she says kindly. 

"I-" he starts, but Katie shakes her head.

"Nope. None of that, not while one of the happiest moment of your life is happening! You're forgiven, Draco, you know that." She turns to Harry. "Harry, have you two got a name picked out? We don't put it on official record until the baby is born, but I'm curious and nosy anyway."

Harry grins. "Draco says he doesn't care, he's happy with whatever name I like. So I've decided if the baby has black hair, his name is James, and if he's blonde, his name is Scorpius."

Draco looks up in surprise. Katie raises her eyebrows.

"I get James, but what's Scorpius' meaning?"

Harry bites his lip, looking excited even as Luna nearly breaks the bones in his hand. "Draco's family has a tradition of star-related names. Scorpius sounds lovely, and it's one of the brightest constellations in the sky."

Draco is touched. He had figured the baby would be named James; he hadn't been expecting Harry to consider him when choosing the baby's name.

"Um, Healer Katie?" Luna says. Her voice sounds a bit strained. "Must say, I'm in quite a spot of pain. Is the baby ready to be born now?"

Katie smiles at her. "I'll bring some more Healers in. It'll be another few minutes before the baby actually starts coming out, but very soon, Ms. Lovegood."

Luna gives her a thumbs-up, looking a bit strained, and Katie laughs before darting out of the room.

The unsettled feeling returns to Draco again, and he takes three deep breaths before Katie and several other Healers come and surround Luna.

It feels like blur. Luna doesn't scream once, and Harry smiles tightly as his hand is nearly crushed in her grip, and as quickly as the past few months seemed to have gone by, it's over.

There is screaming and crying from the devil for several minutes, and then it quiets down and Katie hands the demon to Harry and Draco remains rooted to his seat, unable to move, unable to join his husband across the room.

His life is over.

And then Harry comes up to him, and Draco almost robotically reaches out to grab the bundle of blankets from Harry's hands, and he looks down at the devil child that has decided to ruin his life.

He's positively tiny. Draco knows all babies are tiny, but God, this one is practically drowning in his blankets.

Draco lifts one hand to move the blanket edges away from the baby's face, trying his best not to gasp at the sight.

His skin is soft and pale, cheeks round and chubby and rosy pink, teeny tiny lips in the smallest half-asleep pout Draco's ever seen. Draco gently runs his hand through the blonde hair on the child's head, and it's the softest thing he's ever felt.

And then his eyes open and Draco nearly falls apart.

Round green eyes blink up at him from inside the swaddle of blankets, and the tiniest, tiniest hand Draco has ever seen presses against one of the eyes as a teeny tiny yawn comes from the baby in his arms.

"Awww," he hears Hermione and Luna say in unison, but he is enraptured by the child in front of him.

He had built an image in his head of a red-faced, screaming demon child with wild black hair and grey eyes and flailing, but this being in front of him is so small, so peaceful and innocent and Draco is overcome with a wave of affection and the sudden need to protect this tiny human from every bad thing the world has to offer.

He feels like he can't breathe, like even the smallest disturbance to the child will crash reality down upon his head and he'll find himself hating it.

The baby's mouth opens and a tiny hiccup comes out and Draco's mouth falls open, a small gasping sound ringing from his own throat as tears spring to his eyes.

"Scorpius Narcissus Potter," he hears Harry say to the nurse.

"Sirius," he murmurs. Harry looks over in surprise, but Draco can't look away from the child. "Scorpius Sirius Potter."

Harry repeats the words in wonder and the nurse writes them down and Harry drops down next to Draco, staring at the tiny baby in his husband's arms.

"If you were going to name it after a father figure of mine, why not James?" Harry asks.

"We'll name the next one James," Draco mumbles. "James Narcissus Potter."

Harry breaths out shakily. "You want another one?"

"I didn't want one at all," Draco whispers. "And I was so afraid that this would ruin my life." He lifts his finger, and a tiny pale hand wraps around it so gently that he thinks he's going to cry. "And now I see him, and I want to feel this feeling again. I want him to have a sibling, I don't want him to be an only child like you and me. I want children."

He almost breathes the last part to himself in shock. "I want children," he repeats softly, and Scorpius Sirius Potter blinks up at him with wide eyes and Draco wonders how he could have ever thought that this would be the devil when an angel was so clearly in his arms.

"Hello there, Scorpius," he whispers. Unfocused green eyes blink around the room, and a small gurgling sound comes from his tiny lips. "Hello, angel."

Harry wraps an arm around Draco's shoulders, and they smile down on their child together, finally at peace with the world.