Chapter 2
Harry Potter, being the saviour of the Wizarding World and everything, got his own special room when the Healers realized he wasn't waking up anytime soon. His door was riddled with as many protection and privacy spells as possible, and the room was twice the size of the normal hospital rooms. Even though the Healers themselves said that Harry was not aware of the world around him, they gave him the most comfortable bed they had, with feather pillows and fluffy blankets–James had been obsessed when he was little and took many naps snuggled up to his dad on that bed.
"Of course Mr. Malfoy-Potter," the nurse says after checking her files. "I assume you know which room it is? The password is Lion."
"'ames!." Scorpius, nestled in his father's arms, suddenly starts squirming to be let down. Draco sets him down on the polished floor and when Scorpius is stable enough on his feet, he starts running as fast as his little legs can go, to where James just stepped out of the floo network of St Mungo's.
"Little dude!" James catches Scorpius when the toddler flings himself at him, laughing. "Oh, I've missed you! You keeping 'pa on his toes while I'm away?"
Scorpius, delighted in his older brother's arms, squeals and nods enthusiastically. James ruffles his hair and walks over to his father and Astoria, sobering up slightly at seeing Draco's permanent frown. He let Scorpius out of his arms and walked up to Draco. "Hey, 'pa. How are you?"
"Oh, I'm so glad you're here. Come here, Jamie." Draco snaked his arms around his eldest son, holding him tight. James allowed it, even if he felt like he was too old for such public displays of affection. "Are you ready? If you don't want to see him-"
"I want to be here with you, 'pa. We gotta do this together. He's still my dad, after all, right..?"
Draco pulled away from him, enough to look him in the eyes. He smiled down at his son and kissed his forehead, feeling his heart about to burst from the love and pride he felt for James. After what happened to Harry, James was all he had. He used to hold James for hours, too afraid that his son, too, would leave. Whenever Draco couldn't sleep, he would stand at the foot of James' bed and watch him breathe, willing him to wake up.
James, too, struggled for the first years. He would wake up crying for his dad, would stare at the floo or the door in hopes whenever a sound rose in the house, would go days without uttering a word.
Their lives as father and son had not been easy.
Astoria put her hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Shall we go?"
Draco took a deep breath, squeezed James tight, and pulled away. He took Scorpius in his arms, resting him on his hips. He needed the comforting weight of his son with him. "Let's go."
***
Harry Potter felt like shite. His head hurt, his muscles ached and he felt like a stranger in his own body. He was so confused; the last thing he remembered was fighting alongside Ron to catch the potions dealer they were after. He had turned his head and saw a green light coming full speed towards him. He had heard a scream, his mother’s scream, and then… here he is. In a hospital room, apparently thirteen years older. Harry’s mind felt like it would explode at any moment, and he knew his husband was the only one who would help him understand and feel better.
The first thing that popped in Harry's mind when he woke up, was Draco is definitely cross with me now . The biggest arguments they had, as a married couple, were about Harry’s job as an auror–Draco thought it was too dangerous and kept him from their family, while Harry felt a duty to help protect the wizarding world. This would be the straw that broke the hypogriff’s back, Harry was sure. Draco would not let him hear the end of this, would demand he quit and look for another job. Maybe he was a bit right, too. The last thing he wanted was for his son to grow up without a parent, just like he did.
To say Harry was shocked when the medi-witch told him he was now 40 years old would be an understatement. This, at least, explained his muscle ache; he did not move for more than a decade, of course he felt weak. But what was Harry supposed to say, to do? Nurses came and went in a flurry, while the medi-witch kept talking.
"Someone hit your chest with the killing curse. I'm sorry to say, Mr. Potter-Malfoy, but you now have a scar right here," she told him, putting a hand over her heart. "Though, I guess that's the least of your worries right now, isn't it."
Why would she think Harry cared about that? He was only half listening to her, anyway. Draco would fill him in on everything that happened, or Hermione will. All his questions would be for them, he would not panic until Draco was in front of him. "Right. You did tell my husband I woke up, didn't you? I want to see him now."
The medi-witch shot a quick glance to the nurse standing next to her, and Harry did not like that look one bit. Why did she do that? Did something happen to Draco? Did he die? Is he in a coma, too? Was he hurt because Harry wasn't there to protect him? But before Harry's thoughts could derail too out of place, the nurse smiled at him and nodded. "I will go fetch him, Mr. Potter-Malfoy. You just sit tight." And she was gone before he could answer her.
"Not like I can do anything else, can I?" He still mumbled, for the sake of the nurses that were still at his side. Some of them chuckled under their breath, but there was one nurse who couldn't seem to do anything but stare at him. A few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence, and Harry cleared his throat. "Er, thank you guys for taking care of me, but is this all necessary? I feel fine, I promise."
"Don't listen to him. He is famously known for lying whilst in a hospital bed."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and a grin spread across his face. Even at forty years old, Draco was beautiful. He was still tall and lean, and Harry noticed a few new wrinkles on his face. His hair, too, changed; it was shoulder-length, and prettier than ever. Not a single strand out of place, artfully swept away from his face. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed and his mouth was set in a line, like always. Even though it's only felt like a normal nap for Harry, he missed his husband so much.
"Draco! You look so good. How are you?"
"Oh, Harry," Draco's voice wavered as he went to his bedside. "You can leave now," he said to the nurses, making them scurry out of the room to give the family some privacy. It's only when the door shut that Draco turned back to Harry, and hit his shoulder with the back of his hand.
"Ow! What'd I do! I've just been in a coma, have you not heard?"
"You prat!" Draco spat out. "I told you something like this would happen! Why did you have to go, huh? Do you know what I went through? You selfish, self-sacrificing, horrible, beautiful man!" His chest was heaving at the end of his small rant, and his face was flushed.
Someone cleared their throat suddenly, and Harry finally noticed the three people standing at the door. There was a woman with long dark hair and a potioneer's uniform that looked familiar. She was holding a toddler with bright blond hair and a chubby face, and next to them was a tall teenage boy with unkept brown hair and eyes an icy grey. His rectangle glasses sat very neatly on his face, and he had muscles that made Harry know he was a fan of Quidditch.
His son.
"James?" Harry's voice dropped to a whisper. Seeing his toddler be so old, almost a man now, suddenly made the situation a lot more real. He lost his only son's childhood. All those formative years, all those memories that could've been, gone forever. Because of one stupid man. "You look-"
"Like you, yeah, I know. Can't go a day without someone telling me. With pa's eyes, of course." His voice was deep and he sounded like all other teenagers, but Harry noticed the same posh lilt that Draco spoke in. Draco, who raised their son on his own.
Harry coughed awkwardly. How do you even speak to your estranged son? "I was actually going to say that you look like your granddad did. Same glasses, too.
"Oh." James smiled at that. "Thanks, uhm, dad."
"Yeah," Harry looked back at Draco, to try to ground himself. It partially worked-the love Harry felt for him filled his chest, but Draco looked so different from how he remembered him. "Could I... would you like a hug?" That's what parents did with their kids, right? Mrs. Weasley was always hugging all her kids, and Harry always wished he could've had one from his parents. He also loved when Sirius hugged him. Finally giving a hug to his teen son would probably help the situation a lot.
But James looked awkwardly to Draco and cleared his throat. He walked over to the bed and tried to move around all the things sticking out of Harry. He crouched, and gave Harry what was probably the most uncomfortable hug of his life.
Merlin, Harry kind of wished the killing curse actually did what the name advertised.
"Er, I'm sorry, but I don't think I remember you, ma'am," Harry said to the woman in the room when James scurried over to stand next to Draco. He thought maybe she had been in Hogwarts at the same time as them, but he wasn't too sure. Maybe one of Draco's friends.
"My name is Astoria Greengrass, I was in Slytherin with Draco." Her voice was soft and level, but her smile was small and tight. The child in her arms had his head on her shoulder and was looking at Harry curiously, silently sucking his thumb. Now that his attention was fully on him, Harry was surprised at the uncanny resemblance the boy had to Draco. It made alarms ring at the back of his head, but Harry ignored it. He send a polite smile to Astoria.
"Nice to meet you." Harry smiled at the kid and gave him a little wave. "What's your name? I'm Harry. Potter."
"Hi Hawwy," the child mumbled shyly. He looked over at Draco, and the man must've given him a look because the toddle turned back to Harry, raised his head from the woman's shoulder and smiled cutely at Harry. He pointed to himself and said "Sco'pus Mafoy. Das ma papa!" He continued, and pointed to Draco.
What?