The Meredith Series

Title: Freedom
Author:sa_kun On LJ
Rating: PG -- a hint of sexual activities towards the end.
Prompt Set: 50.1
Prompt: 023, freedom
Word Count: 2065
Summary: In which there is a birthday celebration.
Warnings: A little smexing at the end. CWHP.
Notes:

Freedom | 023

Meredith had only just learned to walk when he realised that he could make things float by conscious effort. Like biscuits, or Daddy-Harry's broomstick (he never touched the grouchy looking Grandfather-man's things, because that was scary), and he never dared to take the sticks any more either; both the Daddy-Harry and the Grandfather-man had become really, really angry, and Meredith hadn't liked that. It made him scared and sad.

-x-

“Mum's been insisting lately.”

Harry made a questioning hum as he flipped through a Muggle cooking book, teeth worrying his bottom lip in a form of absent-minded concentration. Birthdays were always tricky and while he didn't mind cooking for Severus – Severus appreciated it, both him and his culinary creations – he wasn't so sure about cooking for Charlie. True, he had done it plenty of times by now and their relationship was pushing on two years, so Harry supposed it was about time, but still…

“Do you know how long it took for me to smile and appreciate my own cooking, Charlie?”

Charlie didn't answer, but Harry felt him approach, then rest his hands warmly on Harry's shoulders. “Knowing you, too long. Your food's…delicious.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks. It's just…they never said anything and what little they did say…” Harry trailed off and Charlie sighed. He circled his arms around Harry's chest in an awkward hug. “Meredith proclaimed you as 'Daddy Cool', by the way.”

“Nn,” Charlie protested. “I'm not gonna be his dad, Harry.”

“I know.” Harry frowned. “I just assumed that it was natural for kids to…give titles like that. Isn't it?”

Charlie shrugged.

“But anyway, Mum's been insisting on throwing me a party—” Harry's shoulders slumped “—thought so, Dragon.” There was a definite smile in his voice. “Does this mean I can actually tell her no, and be able to…invite her…” he trailed off, frowning. “…to Romania?”

But Harry shook his head. “No, not Romania. Severus agreed to let me invite as many 'inane Weasleys and whatnots' as I desired. He has agreed to…babysit.”

“Snape does that?”

“Only when I'm not looking,” Harry muttered. “Do you like strawberry cake?”

Charlie nodded. “But aren’t strawberries hard to come by in December?”

-x-

The guests weren't supposed to arrive until six thirty, so when the doorbell rang just after four, Harry was admittedly a little bit curious. So was Meredith, who babbled along in toddle-speak and gibberish as he rode on his place of honour on Harry's hip.

“Prof—” A glare and Harry winked. “Remus. Hullo.” He frowned. “Granger.”

“It's Weasley, actually,” she primly corrected, eyes narrowed and alight with curiosity. “Is this your house?”

“Sort of. What are you doing here?”

“Severus said something about an experiment—”

But Harry wasn't there any longer, he was storming through the house, down the stairs and into the laboratory he rarely ever ventured. “You,” he hissed, “are not welcome to watch Meredith tonight!”

“Wa-gah!”

“Shush, you,” Harry muttered, then turned back to glaring at Severus. Who stoically glared back. “Well?”

“It is not your concern.”

Harry deflated a bit, then brought Meredith up more securely on his chest. “Then neither is Meredith. No potions – that was the agreement and you promised to be honest.”

Severus was still glaring, but somehow he managed to sound rather pained as he said, “Harry, this…experiment…it is purely…theoretical in its practical execution.”

“What?”

“I have been invited by Lupin for supper.” If it had been anyone other than Severus, Harry could have sworn the sentence was blurted and that the man was sporting faintly pink cheeks. But it was, and he couldn't be. “It is…unexpected.”

Harry gaped.

-x-

“I didn't know you could cook, Potter,” Hermione said stiffly from the chair she had been banished to by Harry. “When Remus said he was coming by to see Professor Snape, I—”

“—decided to use his kindness against him and force yourself into our home?” Harry murmured, never turning around, steadily chopping onions and carrots.

“There's a spell—”

“Be silent, would you?”

“But—”

Harry turned his head and glared. Hermione grumbled and rolled her eyes, but she did quiet.

Toddling in through the door came Meredith, with a wide grin on his face and his small arms waving about madly. “'A-rie! 'A-rie!” he cried.

“Yes, Meredith?”

“Sha-lee shploooode!”

Harry turned around completely then and smiled. “Aren’t you articulate today?”

“Wooga! Sha-lee! Sha-lee!” He shrieked as the redhead ventured inside the kitchen and ran – tumbled – for cover (Harry's legs) “'A-rie, Sha-lee!”

“I see him.”

“And I see you.” Charlie grinned. He bent down so that he was eye-level with Meredith. “A little pickpocket, is what you are.”

“Na, na!”

“Oh yes,” Charlie insisted, then reached out with his hands and Meredith shrieked with laughter, relinquishing the treasure in his hands almost immediately. But Charlie still tickled him, easily scoping the small boy up in his arms and rubbing the tiny stomach. “This is what little thieves get, you scoundrel!”

“Shaaa-leeeeeeee!”

Laughing throatily, Charlie stopped and Meredith easily curled himself up against his chest, legs on either side of Charlie’s hip. “What are you making?” he asked Harry.

“I don't know.”

Hermione made some kind of noise, but neither man paid it any notice. “Okay. Can I do anything?”

Harry bit his lip, then, after several moments of silent inventory, murmured, “Broccoli. I need broccoli. And eggs. Cream, butter…tofu.”

“What was that last one?”

“Tofu,” Harry repeated, once more chopping, this time potatoes. “Severus likes it.”

Charlie frowned, shifting Meredith to a more comfortable position. “Wasn’t he going away?”

“Mmmm.” Harry nodded. “But he'll be here tomorrow.”

Charlie blinked and his mouth moved silently, no words escaping. In the end, he sighed and shook his head. “Ruddy Slytherin. Can't you just come out and say that you want to be left alone?”

“Now, dear,” Harry said mockingly, “Where would the fun be in that? Take the reformed Granger with you.”

“I resent—”

“She is interrupting.”

-x-

“How many are there?” muttered Harry and Charlie choked back a laugh.

“We're nine in the family, then add spouses. You’ve met them before.”

“Oh God…”

Playfully, Charlie tapped Harry's nose and reprimanded, “You promised to be nice.”

Harry just nodded, choosing not to say anything. It was just…there were so many of them. And the formerly Granger girl, now Weasley – which one had she married? Ronald? And Ginny…who was that bloke she arrived with? Fleur, he knew, and the Prefect Weasley brought the Prefect Ravenclaw, but Harry couldn't remember any names. She looked pregnant though.

“…why didn't you tell me that one was pregnant?”

Charlie actually looked a bit startled. “Who?” Harry nodded at the woman with the rounded stomach and Charlie whistled softly. “I didn't know…”

“Who's the one with the pink hair?”

Charlie blinked. “Nymphadora Tonks. Went to school with her. What's she doing here?”

“Mum reckons maybe you need to find yourself a proper woman?”

Hearing that, Harry glared coldly and crossed his arms but Charlie absent-mindedly placed an arm around Harry's shoulders and tugged him closer, all in one smooth motion. “I reckon she's got the wrong idea, Billy.”

Bill chuckled and nodded. “Oh, I know that. I went to Hogwarts with you.” He winked. Charlie shook his head. Stretching out a hand towards Harry, he said, in a friendly way, “Good of you to invite us all here. Crazy though you may be for doing it.”

Harry cautiously shook the offered hand. “Yeah…so Severus said.”

“This is my boyfriend,” Charlie added, as if Bill had somehow forgotten, but there was no denying the pride in his eyes, or the way Harry seemed calmer and less tense. “You can argue any day, Billy, but Harry's more gorgeous than that Veela of yours.”

Bill glared. “Ha,” he scoffed. “Impossible.” Then, in a stage whisperer, “You do realise I could end up on the couch for saying things like that?”

“Oh, Bill,” Fleur butted in, patting him on the arm, “I would give you zee spare bedroom. No need to act like uncivilised barbarians. 'Ello, 'Arry. 'Ow 'ave you been?”

“Great.” Harry smiled. “How are you?”

Fleur's face lit up. “Wonderful, 'Arry. 'Ave you seen my Victorie?”

Bewildered, Harry shook his head and instantly, Fleur was showing pictures and talking rapidly. Then, after several minutes, she said, “what about zis Merediz I 'ear about?”

“Meredith?” Fleur nodded. “Um. He's my ward.”

“Can we 'ave play-dates?”

It was Charlie who nodded. “Absolutely. In the evenings, preferably— Ow!” Charlie pouted as Harry glared at him. “But yes, I think that'd be great. Kids need kids their own age, don't they?”

“To grow?”

Harry bit his lip and shrugged. “I'll leave that to you, then, Charlie.” After all – he accepted the fact with detachment – it wasn't like he would have known. No one had ever liked him, really truly, liked him until he met Charlie, and by that he meant people his own age, because Severus had liked him, Remus had liked him, and Sirius had, eventually, warmed up to him (i.e. they had warmed up to each other).

“Harry, dear!” Harry's eyes widened and he thrust his hand out. Mrs Weasley shook her head, that same disapproving frown on her face from the first time they met as she shook it warmly with both her hands. “So good to see you again, dear boy. Is Severus here?”

“Good to see you, too, Mrs Weasley,” Harry said stiffly. Either, she was extremely whimsical, or she was colder than his father and had no qualms about playing Harry, or…and this was what Harry thought most likely, Nymphadora Tonks was there, and it had nothing to do with either Harry or Charlie. “Um, no, he's not here.” Someone muttered, 'thank Merlin', and Harry glared in the general direction – as did Mrs Weasley he noted with amusement.

“Where is he then?”

“Away?” he muttered, then amended himself as Charlie pointedly cleared his throat. “Remus invited him for dinner.”

“Remus did?” someone demanded. It was the woman with pink hair.

“Yes, he did,” Harry said dryly. “They do get along, contrary to popular belief.”

“But all they do is argue!”

Pursing his lips, Harry shrugged, choosing not to comment any further. Argue…banter…it wasn't worth the trouble, trying to make Weasleys and extras see that the 'arguing' was, to the two of them, what others referred to as ‘bantering’.

-x-

“Oh, Charlie,” Mrs Weasley breathed, “did you cook all this?”

Charlie shook his head and said, rather proudly, too, “I laid the table. Note the precision with which I folded the napkins.” Harry rolled his eyes at him and got a impish grin in return.

Hermione snorted. “Do you know what it is now, then, Potter?”

But Harry merely shook his head and smiled. “What it is, is not what matters. What matters is the taste and Charlie found it satisfactory and today that is all that matters. Pregnant woman,” he said to Prefect Ravenclaw, “there's alcohol in everything with red containers, the white ones are harmless.”

“Citrus,” Tonks demanded, “is there citrus in anything? I'm allergic.”

“Don't think so. Severus uses what little we had in his experimental potions.”

Hermione frowned, then. “What's he trying to do?”

Harry's lips twitched. “Shampoo for werewolves with sensitive scalps.” I.e. Remus Lupin.

-x-

“Ah, Potter,” Charlie sighed, slowly smoothing his hands around Harry's chest. “Where is the little minx?”

“Severus has him all night.”

“Oh,” Charlie breathed. Harry's breath hitched as the aimlessly stroking hands suddenly seemed to gain a purpose. “The freedom…I could fuck you on the kitchen table—”

“No,” Harry protested, short of breath, because, damn, if that man didn't know what he was doing with those perfect, perfect hands of his. “Severus and I…oh, nice…we eat there. I couldn't, not with a straight face…”

“You're right, I suppose.” Charlie pouted, then began nibbling kisses along Harry's neck. “But we can skip the spells, right?”

“Probably,” Harry groaned.

-x-

Yes, Meredith was only sixteen months old when he learned how to levitate whatever he wanted to get to him. That, at the moment, what he wanted was his Daddy-cool's necklace that sparkled prettily was of little consequence. That he shrieked with laughter as Daddy-cool sprinted from the bed, stark naked, and bore down on him with hands that tickled and ruffled his hair was all that mattered.

Daddy-cool was much funnier than Daddy-Harry.

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