Alex is pretty good at reading Henry’s moods by now. He knows polite smiles and vacant eyes mean Henry is overstimulated and on autopilot. Unwillingness to make eye contact means his thoughts are overpowering him, winning that always existent civil war inside his mind and making him doubt every deserving corner of his happiness. The start of a bad day happens when Alex awakes with Henry curled in on himself, tucked away toward the bed’s edge instead of enveloped in Alex’s arms. Alex can predict the exact flavor of depression Henry feels at any given moment, only needing to step away from his own rushing thoughts to observe Henry’s body language.
So when Alex sees Henry’s wide fearful eyes and slumped shoulders, already accepting a defeat he hadn’t received yet, his whole world freezes. His husband of four hours sits at the kitchen table of their new Texas home, still in his wedding tux, yet those fear-filled eyes transport Alex back to Kensington Palace. Suddenly he is five years younger, feeling the suffocating weight of heartbreak and the unknown. Feeling like he’s saying goodby, like he isn’t enough for Henry to fight for.
“Baby,” Alex begs, both as a question and a plea. What’s wrong? The words are left hanging in the air between them. Henry looks away, jaw clenching as he stones his features.
Absolutely not. Alex will never let Henry shut him out again. He sits in the wooden chair closest to Henry, sandwiching Henry’s face with his hands. His Remarkably Headstrongness fights Alex’s palms on his cheeks only for a moment before admitting defeat, melting into his touch. The walls come down and return his broken expression.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Alex whispers, thumb tracing soothing patterns on Henry’s cheekbone.
He reaches into one of the two pockets sewn inside his tux jacket, procuring a folded piece of paper that Alex is intimately familiar with. They’d waited in line like regular people at the Travis County Clerk’s Office a few days prior to be handed the elegant blue border and lines of information and a pleasant “congratulations” from the state employee. Alex’s flourish stands out as Henry flattens that paper on their table, the box next to his name empty.
“I haven’t signed it yet,” Henry admits.
Alex’s brain breaks. “What, do you need a pen or something?”
They’d just had their wedding, declaring their love in front of friends and family. Tomorrow they will leave for their honeymoon in Rio and two weeks after they have a reception in England, to appease the Brits. Even with Henry abdicating and the Queen dead, freeing them of the need of an overbearing royal wedding, the snobs of his husband’s country insist on some form of acknowledgment. Alex isn’t about to rob British history of its first royally gay marriage; Henry deserves to be celebrated.
Yet here they sit, Henry’s signature missing under his neatly printed name that doesn’t fully fit in the box it was allowed. Alex had made a joke outside the clerk’s office about how he’d never let Henry be put in a box again because he obviously couldn’t fit, and Henry hasn’t signed their marriage license.
“I need to tell you something,” Henry says. “There’s something—I haven’t been completely honest.”
Alex sucks in a breath like he’s been punched in the gut, hands jerking away from Henry’s face. They’d promised to be completely honest with the other, even when it was hard, and—
No. Alex wouldn’t let five years of hard fucking work be undone. Henry loves him. He trusts Henry. They’ll be fine. They’re fine. Everything’s fine.
“I wasn’t allowed to tell you,” Henry quickly states in response to the hurt shining in Alex’s eyes. Alex scoffs, as if what’s allowed ever stopped them before. “The Statute of—the law is very strict. I can only share this with m—my husband.”
“Are you?” Alex wonders, pointing at the document they supposedly both signed this morning. “My husband?”
Henry whines, wounded. “Of course I’m your husband. But, I couldn’t sign this, knowing I’ve been lying to you, and trap you to me if you no longer…” Want me. Alex hears what’s not stated as Henry chokes.
He needs a list, and fucking fast. List of Ten Things That Henry Could Be Hiding That Could Potentially Make Alex Leave Him.
1) Nothing.
2) There is absolutely nothing Alex would leave Henry for.
3) What if he found someone else? Someone better, someone less. Alex knows he’s too much and at the same time not enough and what if—
4) Nope. He can’t go down that train of thought. He trusts Henry and can think of nothing that falls into the category of ‘marriage ending’ that Henry would do.
5) Honestly, Alex is completely insulted that Henry would even think Alex would leave him.
6) Alex is completely heartbroken that Henry has been lying about something monumental for years.
7) What fucking law states Henry can’t share this secret with Alex until he’s married? Is it another royal thing? Alex will add it to his other list of things he hates about Queen Mary, may she rest in hell.
8) He needs Nora to do the math for him. Odds that Henry’s secret will ruin his life? Please be low, please be low.
9) Whatever it is, they’ll work through it together.
10) They always do.
“Henry,” Alex begs when the silence has stretched too long. Saying his name almost feels like a sin. He’s sweetheart. He’s baby. But right now, when he’s fucking stalling, he’s Henry.
Henry takes Alex’s hands in his, meeting his eyes with absolute seriousness. “I’m a wizard, Alex.”
Oh my god. Alex releases a startled chuckle, one loud HAH in the silence of their partially unpacked home, before a sea of giggles leave him. It’s a fucking prank. And—sure, he’ll admit it—it’s funny. Henry really got him, probably in retaliation for Alex accidentally (purposefully) knocking their cake over earlier, only to present the backup cake (it was the original the whole time) after Henry’s near tears over their fated ruined cake cutting. Maybe he’d taken that joke too far, paying homage to the moment that brought them together. Henry’s just giving him payback.
Henry isn’t laughing.
Alex’s next giggle catches in his throat, sticking there and preventing him from breathing. He forces the air through his nose, telling himself that this is still all part of Henry’s little scheme. “Okay, c’mon sweetheart, drop the act. You got me good, you Hufflepuff-ass-bitch.”
“Actually, I was in Ravenclaw,” Henry says, and this time his tone leaves no room for debate.
—————————————————————
Henry thanks his stars for Madam Hermione Granger-Weasley, Minister of Magic.
The release of Harry Potter was a strategic move that she rallied for, long before her election as a ruling body of the Wizarding World. She knew, as a muggleborn, what sort of reception a story such as Harry’s could have on the world as a whole. She knew it would be the first stepping stone to breaking down that barrier between Wizard and Muggle, easing their society closer to a place where they could finally be in the open again. The story’s ghostwriter took plenty of liberties streamlining it into a more child friendly tale, giving it a whitewashed straight boy as a hero. While Henry hated in his bones the necessity of it, it didn’t have to be true. It’s meant to market their world and its poster child.
While they are still decades off from revealing themselves, the Wizarding World is one step closer to safety. A wand in plain sight, the slip of terminology, or a set of nice wizarding robes doesn’t mean danger any longer. It means ‘wow, you must be a big Harry Potter fan.’
It means when Alex hears ‘wizard,’ he knows exactly what Henry is talking about. It also, unfortunately, means Alex thinks he’s having him on for a laugh.
When chuckles turn to confusion, Henry reaches into his coat for that inner pocket specifically tailored for his wand. He digs his fingers down into the thin vertical strip, that relief that always washes over him hitting in full force when he touches the elm wood hiding in his jacket.
Alex, ironically, has seen the wand before. Henry left it out after quietly reheating his tea, carelessly thrown on his desk as he slaved over his manuscript. ‘Okay, Remus Lupin,’ Alex mocked once he’d noticed it, mistaking it simply for a desk decoration. He’d picked it up, not noticing the panic in Henry’s eyes as he flippantly waved it around in a way that would mortify Henry’s old charms professor. Ever loyal, Henry’s wand didn’t dare to produce even a temperamental spark at its mishandling.
‘What spell should I cast on you?’ Alex joked while he pointed what was, for all intents and purposes, a deadly weapon at Henry’s chest. Henry carefully pried the wood out of his adorable and amazingly reckless partner’s hands, linking Alex’s fingers through his own.
‘You don’t need to cast anything on me, love. You’ve already got me enchanted.’
‘That’s so cringey, never say dumb shit like that again,’ Alex complained, but the kiss that followed told a different story. The night transitioned into a sexual wizarding roleplay Henry would rather die of mortification than ever admit to. His wand had been left out on other occasions, but it fit right into their decor of Star Wars posters and nerdy knickknacks and fandom merchandise. Because that’s all it could be to Alex: a fandom. Abdicating may relieve him of his royal title and responsibilities, but he still had his duty as a Wizarding citizen. Not even the Crown is exempt from the Statute of Security.
Now, however, he’s married.
Alex eyes the wand in Henry’s hand. “Okay, you’ve really taken this prank far. Have you had that on you all day? Wedding and reception and all?”
Henry shuts his eyes. I’m sorry, love. “WingardiumLeviosa.”
Everything in the kitchen raises two feet from their surface at Henry’s all-encompassing flick of his wand. The marriage license, the boxes on their countertop, the kitchen table. Alex clutches at the sides of his chair as it floats off the ground, his feet dangling and his eyes wide. He starts to move, ready to leap from his chair or scream or overthink himself into the grave, and Henry immediately drops everything back to the floor. Alex firmly presses his feet into the wood planks with a slightly hysterical laugh. “I—what—you—”
“Accio,” Henry says with his wand trained on a drinking glass across the room. “Aguamenti.”
He slides the cup to Alex, who sniffs the liquid in suspicion. He raises it to his lips slowly, tilting it till the liquid bumps his lip but doesn’t sip.
“It’s water. Just drink it.”
Alex does. “It’s missing that shitty metallic taste.”
“...You’re welcome?”
Alex’s face, however, confirms that this is not a good thing. “I like the mineral flavor. Reminds me of home.”
Henry’s foot nervously bounces outside of his control. “Alex, love, you don’t have to drink the conjured water, you just need to know–”
“Henry.” The silence stretches as Alex stares an indistinguishable amount of time at the unicorn-hair wand in Henry’s hand. After an eternity stuck frozen under his husband’s stare, Henry absorbing the feeling of his presence in case it may be the last time, Alex flicks his lashes down to the parchment between them. “Sign your name on our marriage license.”
Harry lets out a shaky exhale. His hand extends to their junk drawer—which its purpose Henry still fully doesn’t understand, but Alex insists all Americans homes must host such a confusing place—and summons a pen. The writing utensil responds to his beckon nonverbally and wandlessly. While his talent with innate spellcasting still is far from perfect, Henry feels invincible at this moment and the magic invigorates at his boost of confidence. He is halfway through his signature before he even realizes what he’s done. He glances up to Alex with an eyebrow raised.
Alex lets out a low whistle. “Okay, so I’m totally still process whatever the fuck is happening, but also that was hot. Are you trying to get in my pants, H?”
“You obtuse muggle, of-bloody-course I am.”
Something about the phrase sparks a memory in Alex. “Wait. You’ve called me ‘obtuse muggle’ before, asshole!”
Henry sees the moments clearly. Alex, gobsmacked for being played in poker. ‘Did you actually fall for my bluff? Wow, Alex. Obtuse muggle.’ Alex, nervously twisting Henry’s ring as he asks about Henry’s relationship with the new employee they hired for the shelter. ‘You’d really think I’d do something like that you, you absolute obtuse muggle? What have I done to make you think so low of me?’ Alex, hugging him so tightly after that one blow-out fight in the brownstone where Henry was sure he’d lost him forever. ‘My idiotic, fierce, extremely obtuse muggle, how could you think I’d leave you over something like this? Relationships take work; we just need to put a little more in.’
Henry blushes. “My apologies, love.”
“I didn’t say I was mad about it,” Alex mumbles. He runs his hands over his face, rubbing his temples. “Can we pause this conversation and have wedding night sex sex now?”
“You still want me?”
“Wales, you obtuse wizard, of-fucking-course I want you. Come make love to me or whatever.”
—————————————————————
Alex melts into their bedroom wall, the entirety of his bones turning to jelly at the warmth of Henry’s body rolling into his. Henry digs his fingers into the junction under his ass, in the exact spot that always makes Alex gasp. He bites Henry’s bottom lip softly in retaliation, just enough to drawl a gasp. “Engore-o, baby.”
“It’s engorgio, you menace.”
“Mm, that’s right, talk latin to me, sweetheart.”
—————————————————————
When Henry awakes, folded up into his husband’s arms with the Texas sun beating through their windows, all is righted with the world. For once there is no secret eating at the space between them.Turning in Alex’s embrace, Henry meets his alert gaze. Alex has unrested shadows under his eyes; Henry’s hope seeps out of his body. He expects Alex to pretend nothing changed. Henry would have done that, if faced with life-altering information and the reality of five years of betrayal from his partner, he would have firmly been stuck in the denial realm of questioning.
Alex is not like Henry. No, his brave boy faces life-shattering information head on and recklessly. “What’s your favorite candy at Honeydukes?” he asks, like the question has been stuck in his mind for hours.
Henry lets out a startled noise, half way between a laugh and a sob. “You’re such a Gryffindor.”
Alex wiggles his eyebrows. “You know it, baby.”
“Technically, now that I think on it, you would have gone to Ilvermorny.”
“Ugh. And I’m soft again.”
Alex asks what feels like a billion questions, one fired after the other, all throughout the day from their home to their flight to the sun setting on a private beach. He starts with his more ridiculous wonders and moves onto the logical questions once he runs out of obscurely random things to ask. Henry answers every one with equal amounts of eagerness and patience. It goes too good, to the point where Alex’s venomous acceptance feels unsettling and tenuous.
The shoe that Henry’s been waiting for hits on their last morning in Rio after their unforgettable honeymoon. They snooze their first alarm, meaning they didn’t wake until their ‘now you don’t have enough time for sex’ alarm. Henry ignores his own message–it isn’t his fault Alex slips his glasses on when reading his phone and all notions of time leave with Henry’s last shred of control–and they are extremely late. With a flick of impressive magic, if Henry is to say so himself, all their scattered belongings pack themselves. Alex’s hoodie rips itself from his hands and folds neatly before stuffing itself in his double bag.
The emotional breakdown that follows leaves Henry rooted in the middle of the hotel room, body locked in a half-step. From “so you’re just going to cheat your way through everything now” to “nothing feels real anymore if you’ve been doing this behind my back for years,” Henry waits and soaks in Alex’s rage. In a way, this moment feels good. There’s a part of him that needed Alex to panic. Maybe it’s because he needs the validation knowing that this moment is the big deal he always thought it was, like the nauseously anxious waves that have eaten at him all of their relationship warranted that reaction. Maybe it’s because Alex shouldn’t be forced to live this life and that darker self saboteur that always lurks in his shadow finally had the reaction it wanted.
When Alex’s ramble turns to “I’m not even good enough; you can do anything and I’m just–” Henry’s in control of his body once more and jumps to smother Alex in his arms.
“You are enough,” Henry whispers over and over until Alex’s stream of consciousness wanes. “You are better than anything I could have ever imagined. You outshine my most desperately desired dreams.”
They lay in the bed still long after the pilot for their private plane had called to chew them out. With Alex cradled against Henry’s chest, he can’t find anything in himself to care.
Slowly, Alex let’s Henry mend him.
“You arrived so quickly at the Democratic National Convention because you aparated.”
“I had to get an international portkey,” Henry corrects. Now is not the time. He winces slightly in retrospection. “Regardless, correct.”
“Do you even actually play polo? Not quidditch?”
“The current royal line comes from the muggle royal family, the Windsors, and a prestigious pureblood family, the Mountchristens. It is very important that we represent all British citizens, both muggle and wizards. I play polo and quidditch.”
“I want to see you on a broom.” Alex blinks away his faraway look, shaking the inevitably horny thought away. Henry smirks into his hair. “You make my coffee better than anyone else, including myself, because you use magic.”
“Correct.”
“You’re diabolical. The paintings in Kensington Palace move and that’s why you always rush me through the hallway.”
“Correct.” Henry pauses.
“Couldn’t you have used magic to save that ugly ass cake at your brother’s wedding?”
“Thank God I didn’t try,” Henry breathes like a prayer. “Ruining their reception gave me you, and I’d do it again at the expense of Pip’s ire.” It’s a bad reference, not truly reflecting the lengths Henry would willing go to if it led him to Alex. He would lose everything as long as it guaranteed he and Alex would end in this exact position, Alex in love with him despite all his transgressions.
“I can’t tell my family.”
Henry inhales. “Correct, you cannot. Your mother has been informed. All world leaders know.” Ellen never acknowledged she knew, but there was a moment when Henry and Ellen’s eyes connected, right after her second election, that Henry knew she knew. Don’t hurt him, her eyes had pleaded. Henry would never let her down again. “But June and Nora don’t qualify in the Statue. They can’t… Promise me you won’t break any laws.”
And the fierce determination that darkens in Alex’s eyes at the new challenge makes Henry reconsider his previous assumption. “I won’t break any laws,” he says with a picture of innocence. Henry would never say it, knowing the spiral it may cause, but Alex just might have been a Slytherin.
The resolution passes, Alex resuming the oddest interrogation Henry’s ever experienced. “When I forced you to watch A Very Potter Musical, you laughed for hours about Scarfy. Is there a Scarf of Sexual Preference?”
“There is a necklace that can determine someone’s sexual preferences. It’s not kept at Hogwarts, nor is this magical object in a romantic relationship with the Sorting Hat, but I still appreciated the absurd irony.” Alex cracks a smile, equally appreciative.
“You’re a pureblood,” Alex says next, an air of certainty at his statement like all his others.
“The Mountchristen line is pureblood and the Windsor line muggle royal. For a time, after a multitude of wizard marriages, the royal family was considered pure lord. But my father was a muggle, so...”
“Halfblood. Well, that’s good. Can’t let you have any more privilege, can we?”
“No, I suppose not. What is your next inquiry? Let’s finally take down our wall, my fierce Thisbe.”
”I feel like I’m relearning you,” Alex admits quietly.
Henry stays strong. He can’t always be the one who breaks; right now is about Alex. “Then relearn me, darling.”
Alex nods firmly, accepting this task like his life depends on it. “No further questions. Let’s relearn each other, Pyramus.”
—————————————————————
There’s only one day a year Hogwarts drops its muggle wards. Alex is not going to miss his only chance.
“It’s not your only chance, dear,” Henry reminds him gently. “The Crown gets this letter every year, we can always go next year.”
“We’re going this year.”
Alex knows the story—the real story—which he’s pulled from Henry over the last half-year of marriage. The timeline was way off, taking place predominantly in the 80s, and the war was much longer than the books showed. Harry wasn’t as involved as the muggle-ized version implies, taking parts in battles after graduation gradually instead of practically leading a revolution.
A whole war happened, a whole generation affected, and none were the wiser. Alex’s heart clutches a little, thinking of all that civilians like him are left ignorant from.
The part that makes him the angriest is that a younger and more insecure Alex was robbed of his chance of reading a book with a hero like him. Mixed and bisexual. What he would do to read Harry Potter’s sexuality crisis and cultural insecurities about never being enough for either group and to feel heard.
“So that time we speculated on which Harry Potter characters were secretly gay, you knew this whole time,” Alex gasped the day Henry told him Harry Potter is bi. “Does he end up with Draco Malfoy?”
“This is real life, love, not one of your enemies-to-lovers books,” Henry reminded him. “Draco Malfoy, in real life, has become a bit of a hermit. He’s married to a woman, however, so his queerness is undetermined to the likes of me.”
Today, Alex would get to meet Harry Potter for himself. They are headed to the end of term celebration, meant to honor 7th years on their last day at Hogwarts, and families of students and other prominent community members are invited. It wasn’t until after Hermione Granger-Weasley, because some things in the books did come true after all, became Minister that they started to invite muggles family members. Alex, now ‘in the know,’ got the go-ahead to attend as Henry’s plus one and he won’t let Henry back out for a cozy day in. He wants to see Hogwarts.
When Henry holds his arm out in the lobby of Kensington Palace, Alex hesitates to take it. The loud pop of apparition follows, a PPO going ahead, and Alex’s stomach drops like some sick conditioning. “Do we have to apparate?”
“No,” Henry says with a tightness to his jaw. “But you get more nauseous when we use the Floo and I know you will not appreciate Portkeys. Our other option is muggle transportation.”
Yeah, as if they’d make it to Scotland in time. “Fine, we’ll aparate, but you better watch your shoes.”
Alex doesn’t go good on his threat to ruin his husband’s shoes, landing leaning into Henry’s side, metalwork surrounds them, the black pickets of a beautiful wrought iron gate. Just past the entrance, across a stone bridge, sits a castle on the hill. It isn’t quite what Alex expects. After years with Henry in large mansions he imagines the castle to be more posh. Perfectly laid and even stacks of the most elegant cream stone, ornate arches, large columns, an eye catching parapet. Alex sees none of those features that resemble the British architecture he’s observed. No, Hogwarts is fucking medieval with it’s grey stone that barely looks stable, probably held together by magic, and pointed towers with windowless openings. Something about it is almost sinister and creepy, a disappointing realization to Alex, but Henry melts at the castle’s sight. To him, it’s another home.
The Great Hall is overwhelming, but Alex works the room like it’s his job. Being the son of a political figure and a lawyer thought him the valuable proverb of fake-it-till-you-make-it. The candles float, dripping globs of wax that never seem to hit anyone. Paper flies through the air, little notes students send to one another. Sparks of spells meant as party tricks light up circles of crowds, synced with laughs and thick accents that Alex only half understands. He meets Headmistress McGonagall and Minister Granger-Weasley and Teddy Lupin—who is just as hot as Alex always expected Remus Lupin to be—and it’s better than any celebrity event Alex’s been to.
But it’s also, well, a lot.
“Let’s take a walk around the castle,” Henry suggests, pulling himself away from Pez and his other old school mates to link his fingers through Alex’s. He downs his whiskey on ice, the liquid lighting fire down his throat.
“Are we allowed to do that?”
Henry tilts his head, mock-concern in his tone. “You’ve never shown an inclination of caring for the rules, dear.”
“Yeah, you’re right, let’s get out of here.”
The stairs are exhausting. They start on the Grand Staircase, stopping at one level to go down a hallway, out through a set of doors, across a bridge that showcases Scottish hills and glistening lake, into a new wing of the castle, up another staircase…
Alex doesn’t know where the fuck they are anymore. All he knows is that his feet hurt. “We’re almost to the bottom of Ravenclaw tower,” Henry murmurs.
“Can I try to answer the riddle?” Alex whispers back as they sneak through the vacant castle.
“Yes, you bloody nerd.”
Entering the alcove he sees another set of winding stairs, which Alex nearly complains loudly about. Henry quickly clasps a hand over his mouth; Alex tries to fight off the unfair silencing, but another set of voices interrupts his protest.
“You know I don’t do crowds,” a man grumbles. Alex makes out the back of his black hair and robes next to a stone opening that looks toward the forest.
“Poor you,” another man says with no compassion in his words. “When you’re done with your pity party, we have seventh years to say goodbye to.”
“Fuck you, Nott.”
“I’ll consider it, if you get that perfect arse down to the Great Hall and kiss some babies, or whatever it is that the Chosen One does.”
“Maybe I’ll jump through this window and perish and you’ll feel bloody awful for being rude to me,” the first one says, the one Nott called the Chosen One. Harry Potter. The dryness of his humor sparks a connection in Alex’s brain.
“You flirt like Harry Potter,” Alex whispers, but the firewhiskey from the Great Hall burns his insides stronger than the alcohol he’s used to. His voice comes out louder than intended, muffled against Henry’s hand.
“Commentary on death isn’t flirting, dear,” Henry breathes in his ear. “Which is what we’ll be if they catch us eavesdropping.”
“Too late,” Harry Potter singsongs, not willing to turn from his place at the window.
The other man at his side, Theodore Nott, does turn. His white skin illuminates in the moonlight, silvering hair falling perfectly over his forehead, and Alex wonders if his attraction preferences are women and exclusively white British wizards because “hot damn.”
“I don’t think you meant to say that allowed,” Henry mutters, putting on that nervous and slightly mischievous smile he uses before he’s about to be a suck up. Alex wants to capture his lips and never let them go. “Professor Nott, Professor Potter. Sorry to bother. We’ll just be—“
“Mister Fox,” Harry Potter says, turning to face them. Alex is struck with how easily he sees features of himself in an older man; they do not even share the same ethnicity or anything really, but something about Harry Potter’s messy curls and sassy smile gives Alex comfort.
“You totally had a crush on him in school,” Alex declares uncaringly, pinching Henry’s cheek. “You have a type.”
Henry laughs awkwardly, glancing between Alex and his old processors. “Alex,” he grinds through his teeth, the scold clear, before turning to Potter and Nott, “is my husband.”
“Yes, we may not have the internet in the castle but even we know about the emails. Congratulations, gentlemen,” Nott says with a professional nod. His hand casually sits at the small of Potter’s back like it’s perfectly at home. Alex wonders if the Queen knew two of Henry’s male professors were fucking; she probably would have freaked out at the impropriety of it all.
Potter nods in agreement with Nott’s congratulations. The older man walks forward, resting a hand on Alex’s shoulder. He briefly wonders if he’s going to faint, not remembering his lungs need air when he comes face to face with his not-so-fiction hero. This is better than meeting any celebrity. “Good luck, kid. First firewhiskey hangover is a bloody shitshow. Fox, make sure he gets a potion for that.” Potter turns to Nott, wiggling the fingers on his outstretched hand. “Come, I have babies to kiss or whatever.”
Alex watches them go: Harry Potter and Theodore Nott. If they can do it, so can he and Henry. Alex takes Henry’s hand and doesn’t complain at the next round of stairs designed to kill him. “Show me the place you used to call home, sweetheart.”
—————————————————————
The day June gives birth to their little girl, Alex throws a book of wizarding laws at Henry’s head. He narrowly catches the tome from the air, their hospital bag slipping from his shoulder in his struggle. “What on earth—“
“Page 231.”
Henry complies at Alex’s commanding tone, knowing when his husband is about to delve into a filibuster, but he doesn’t listen without complaints. “Your sister is giving birth to our daughter, can’t this wait?”
“Statue of Security, amendment 11, article 2, paragraph 7 states that the muggle mothers of magical children and their immediate family, are now allowed to be informed prior to the child’s eleventh birthday if there is probable cause to believe the child is magical.”
“That’s for cases such as muggleborns and or single mothers who fell pregnant by a wizard. It’s not for surrogates.”
“Read the page, baby.”
Henry tries to make sense of the words, despite the creeping anxiety that Nora called a half hour ago, meaning June would be in the hospital by now, meaning their little girl could be born any minute, and it’ll take them an hour to get from South Austin to North Austin in the current state that traffic surely is, and what if June gives birth while they’re on the 35 and they miss—
“June is fine,” Alex soothes. “Lucia’s fine. These things take, like, a whole day. I’ve been doing my research—“
“Is this why you keep getting me to aparate you into the magical quarter in Houston? You said you were keeping up with the Sweetwater All-Stars stats in Quidditch Weekly.”
“I was—and Texas is totally winning the US League, sweetheart, so you better buy me Grand Final tickets—but I also looked into MACUSA law. I was going to convince you to get us a Portkey to London for the books I needed, but apparently the Statue of Security is worldwide, so…”
“Of course it’s worldwide,” Henry scoffs. With the way media spread so rapidly in this day and age, all nations had to be on the same page when it came to their kind’s security. “And the bookstore, Vobes, they sold to a muggle?”
“A no-maj,” Alex corrects to be annoying, because even in situations like this he has to be so bloody American about everything. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, opening the zipper behind his mix of bills with Andrew Jackson’s face or Henry’s mother. The pouch in his wallet is similarly confusing, with quarters and pence and galleons and dragots. “It’s not like they asked me to cast a spell to buy their books. Money is money, in all societies.”
Henry’s heart swells at this tiny gesture. “You keep American and British money on you, both muggle and wizarding, at all times?”
Alex shrugs, like something that means the world to Henry really doesn’t mean much to him at all. “Always good to be prepared. Now you’re the one that’s stalling; I thought you were worried we’d be late?”
If it weren’t for the fact that their daughter could enter the world at any moment, Henry would take Alex’s face in his hands and pour every gram of love he currently felt into his partner until Alex turned into that gooey mess that loses the ability to talk. Now, however, wasn’t the time. Henry shows his love by meeting Alex’s demands and reading the paragraph in question. It is the same as Alex stated—wizarding child birthed by a muggle has the right to know. While Lucia wouldn’t show any magical abilities so soon, it clearly states that if the father is a wizard it can be assumed that the child will be magical. The father doesn’t have to be married to the mother and there is no mention that the child has to stay in custody of the mother; the Statue even goes on to say that the spouse of the mother of a wizarding child is also allowed to be informed.
“I’m certain they don’t mean surrogates,” Henry says again as he reads the paragraph a second time. It’s meant to cover a variety of blended family dynamics, but surely they only mean when the child still would live with the mother.
Alex snaps the book back from Henry, tucking it under his arm. “Well, they should have been more clear.” Alex pokes Henry’s chest, swooping their hospital bag from the floor as he opens their front door. “Never challenge a lawyer to find a loophole, baby.”
This time, Henry can’t control himself. He grabs the back of Alex’s neck, pulling him into Henry’s steering kiss. The bag finds its way to the floor once more and they arrive at the hospital much later than Henry originally preferred, but the shine of Alex’s afterglow is well worth the delay. June’s only just settled into a room with Nora at her side, her contractions still well apart to signal that they have a long night ahead of them.
“You thought you could give birth without me, love?” Pez asks as he pushes his way into the delivery room with Bea awkwardly trailing behind. Pez kisses both June and Nora on the lips, a triad that Henry may never understand but adores regardless.
“How did you get here so quickly?” Nora asks with narrowed eyes. While June’s fully unaware of the impossibilities of Pez’s quick travel, grinning with half-lidded eyes from the epidural, Nora still has her sharp brain.
Pez looks at Henry for an alibi but it’s Alex that answers the question with easy confidence. “He traveled by Portkey.”
Nora rolls her eyes, thinking this is one of Alex’s dumb jokes. Pez giggles nervously, a sound Henry doesn’t believe he’s ever heard leave his confident friend’s mouth. “That’s crazy. You’re crazy.”
With narrowed eyes flickering between Alex and Pez, Nora files away the oddity and tables the issue for later. Alex squeezes Henry’s hand, a victorious smile on his face.
“You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”
Alex raises his eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Alex slips in twenty-two more wizarding related jokes in the next grueling fourteen hours they spend at the hospital, driving Nora to the point where she throws her hands up and leaves the room. Alex follows, begging his best friend to come back, and Pez also leaves to mediate the argument that’s sure to happen.
Henry takes the place June’s wife evacuated, holding her hand. “I know we’ve told you this a million times, but we’ll never be able to repay you for this. Thank you so much for giving Alex and I a family.”
“You’re family,” June reminds him sternly. “It’s what we do for each other.”
Bea grins from her chair in the corner. Both her and Henry understand that this is not what family does for each other. Not from their perspective or experience. Henry kisses the back of their laced hands. “We love you, June. You’re doing brilliantly.”
June eyes train on the door half of their blended family left through. “Is Alex being irritating because he’s trying to tell me you’re all wizards?”
Bea coughs loudly, choking on the tea she’s sipping. Henry squeezes June’s hand, not seeing the point in denying it. “Yes, he is. How did you know?
June rolls her eyes. “When Percy’s in town, he cleans the house using magic. I got suspicious on how he could do hours of chores in fifteen minutes, so I watched him once. Never told Nora, though. She’s probably freaking out right now—she gets scared when the logical, scientific data doesn’t align with reality.”
Henry hums. It’s no surprise to him that Pez blew it. “I’m sure Nora will be just fine. Right now the priority is you.”
Nora returns with tears in her eyes, tucked under Pez’s arm. Henry vacates his spot for the two of them and wraps his arms around Alex’s shoulders. “June already knew. Caught Pez.”
Alex smiles, that competitive streak in him finally content that more of his loved ones know. An absolute menace, but Henry can’t help but love every facet of Alex. Even the more unsavory ones. “I love you.”
Alex raises on his toes to reach Henry’s lips for a peck. “I know.”
—————————————————————
“No, I won’t do it.” Lucia bounces on her feet, looking up at Alex with such hope. He bits his lip, not letting her convince him. “Nope, none of those puppy eyes. I’m not running headfirst through a fucking wall.”
“Swear jar,” Lucia chimes, still bright and sunny and so excited. A group of teens run their carts through the wall, disappearing to the other side; Alex flenches.
Henry’s hands massage the back of his neck, taking some of the tension out. Alex relaxes into the touch, pressing his body back into Henry. The baby in Alex’s arms, their little Eddie, giggles. “Lucy, why don’t you go through with your Auntie Bea.”
Bea steps up, taking her place next to Lucia’s side. Alex watches the way his little girl’s happiness breaks into that anxious fear she inherited from her dad. It stabs him straight through the heart, knowing it’s him who’s caused this turmoil. Her eyes water, his sensitive little girl, already preparing to say goodbye. “You’re coming through, though, right?”
“We’ll be right there, love,” Henry promises. Bea guides their daughter to the runway strip between the pillars, taking the other side of her trolly, and starts to run. A scream nearly tears from Alex’s lips as his daughter collides with a brick wall, overwhelmed by all the memories of scraped knees and scared tears and his daughter in the hospital with a broken arm and the time the reporters overwhelmed her and the car crash and—
“Breathe with me,” Henry tells him gently. Counting seven, Alex inflates his chest with Henry and exhales when he feels Henry’s chest start to recess from his back. This doesn’t feel right to Alex; he’s not the panicy one, usually. “What happened to being a Gryffindor?”
“Fuck you.”
With Lucia gone, the wall is less scary. That’s the thing about parenthood—he’ll worry about her every single second for the rest of his life, but when it came to just Alex and a wall he couldn’t find the will to care. His life, his pain, really aren’t factors that matter anymore. She matters. Eddie matters. The rest fades. Alex would give himself a concussion against those rough bricks every day if it would keep Lucia’s tears at bay.
It feels like he’s losing her. She’s only eleven; Alex wants more time with her, god dammit. He wants to hold her and protect her and spend every day with her. Once upon a time, before he knew Hogwarts was actually real, he made fun of kids that went to boarding schools. ‘It’s not my fault mommy and daddy don’t love you,’ he mocked the silver spoon white boys at Georgetown. ‘Sent you away to boarding school the second they could so they wouldn’t have to deal with your ugly face.’
And now here he was, sending his daughter away many years before she’s ready to function on her own. Before Alex is ready to let her go. She wants this, though. He’d been on the fence, but oh how she’d begged when the letter came.
“She’ll always need her Papa,” Henry caresses the curve of his neck, kissing his hair and knowing exactly what hole he’s sunk into. “She’s still our little girl.”
And suddenly, he might have the strength to do this.
“Strap Eddie to my back,” Alex decides, because he’s not about to run through some hard-as-fuck portal baby first. Henry does as commanded, helping Alex rotate the chest carrier so Eddie is pressed firmly at Alex’s back. “On a scale from one to ten, how stupid do I look?”
“Love, I already told you this morning that you look ridiculous.” Henry kisses him in the crowded Kings Cross station. “Luckily, I love ridiculous.”
“Luckily, I didn’t leave your ass on our wedding night,” Alex grumbles as he faces his nemesis: a wall. Thisbe and Pyramus, indeed.
“I’m thankful everyday you choose me,” Henry agrees and it doesn’t sound like banter. It sounds genuine, pulling at the nerves that wrap around Alex’s heart and leaving him vulnerable.
Their hands interlock and they run to their daughter, headfirst and together.