Fest Fic: Baby, What a Big Surprise
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hp_bunintheovenTitle: Baby, What a Big Surprise
Author:burnin_up_a_sun
Pairing(s): Albus Severus/Scopius
Prompt: #s1
Summary: Albus and Scorpius, who have had no luck getting pregnant, receive a big surprise.
Word Count: ~4220
Rating: R (language and suggested sexual acts)
Warnings/Contains: TW: infertility, attempting to become pregnant
Notes: Thank you to Geronimoandbemagnificent and Crowgirl for keeping me on target and doing better. The title is from the Chicago song by the same name.
Prompt: Thank you, emmatheslayer, for your prompt which *immediately* spawned this fic. I mean, read the prompt/knew the story. It has everything you originally prompted, just not exactly how you prompted it. I won't say how/why, because that will ruin the surprise ♥
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell.”
Before Scorpius could stop him, Al flung his wand across the bedroom, shattering the vase on Scorpius’ nightstand. Water flooded the table top, soaking Scorpius’ half-read medical journals. The flowers, peonies clipped from Grand-mère’s garden, fell to the floor.
“Great. I’m a fucking idiot now, too.” Al buried his face in his hands and ignored Scorpius’ whispered charm; Al knew he was already cleaning up the mess. He’d be knitting the porcelain pieces together, arranging the flowers, drying out the books.
Scorpius was just good like that. He was calm and steady no matter what he faced, which made him a great A&E Healer.
“It’s okay, Al.” Scorpius ended the failed pregnancy test charm. He hugged Albus, gathered him into his arms and held him. “There’s always next month.”
Al shook his head, not lifting it from his hands. “I was so sure I was pregnant. I did what the books said. I held my legs in the air. Then I was on my side for more than an hour. I know it was the right time. It’s been almost a year. We’re just never gonna have a baby.”
Scorpius gently brought Al’s hands from his face. “It’s ok, really.” When Al shook his head again, Scorpius kissed his forehead. “Love, I’m good with no kids. We’re so busy. I’m always at work and my shifts are hell. And when your novel is published, you’ll be travelling the world doing interviews—”
Albus looked up at Scorpius’ earnest face. He knew Scorpius wasn’t teasing him; he believed Al would be a New York Times best-selling author one day. “I haven’t even found an agent yet,” Al laughed. “We probably shouldn’t book a portkey yet.”
“That’s better,” Scorpius kissed Al’s cheek. “You’re important to me, not some child we may or may not have.” He brushed his thumb over Al’s lips. “Unless you want to try again now?”
Scorpius waggled his eyebrows like some silent-movie lecher and squeezed Al’s arse. “C’mon. I have a half hour before I have to Floo to work. Wanna fuck?”
Scorpius was ridiculous, making Al laugh when he felt empty and miserable. “I’m not really into it…,” Al said, resting his forehead on Scorpius’ shoulder. Being held by him, guarded and protected by him, was enough.
Scorpius winked, over-played. “You can fuck me. We haven’t done that in a while.”
Albus meant to beg off, but he saw sadness behind Scorpius’ exaggeration. “You, too, huh?”
Scorpius shrugged. “It really is alright. You’re the only one I want.”
It really wasn’t alright, but it would be one day. Eventually this searing ache would become dull, and they would be able to spend weekend evenings babysitting nieces and nephews. They would be the charming uncles everyone called at the last moment because they were always free.
Al couldn’t. He’d been left wounded and raw from the past year. He needed—"Thirty minutes, huh?” Albus reached for Scorpius’ hand, lacing their fingers. Lying together, skin against skin, forgetting that anything outside of need and heat and desire existed—maybe that was what he needed, what they needed.
And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d fucked Scorpius; they rarely switched, but today maybe the change would jolt them from their heartache.
Besides. Not having children was okay, right? It meant they could spend more time on them. Long lie-ins, gourmet meals, travelling the world. And if Albus kissed Scorpius a little too hard, if some of the beads of sweat were actually tears, so what.
~*~
Albus and Scorpius lay curled together with the sheet twisted around their ankles, the sweat cooling on their bodies still sticky where they touched. Al stretched and hummed; his muscles were relaxed and loose, no longer tied in knots as they’d been all week. Scorpius had been right. Albus had needed to shut his mind off, give in to something physical. And fucking Scorpius, taking him apart and hearing him beg, had been incredible.
“Say it,” Scorpius mumbled against Al’s shoulder and pulled him closer.
Al laughed; the tiny breaths tickled his neck. “Fine. You were right. I was wrong.” He brought Scorpius’ hand up and kissed his palm.
“I was thinking—there’s a conference in Majorca this weekend that Dr. Parkinson asked me to go to,” Scorpius said, kissing Al’s shoulder before getting out of bed. “I wasn’t going to go, but she reserved a room anyway. Maybe we could, y’know, get away. Relax.” He grabbed his Healer’s robes and closed the loo door.
Al heard the shower running; Scorpius had five minutes to shower, change, and Floo to work. He laughed—maybe Scorpius would make it, but it was more likely he’d be late. Thank Merlin his bosses liked him.
As Scorpius showered, Al thought about Majorca. Lying on the beach, the sun’s rays drying them off after a swim in the cool sea water. Drinking too much, eating too little. It sounded perfect. “Maybe we can travel more—” he said when Scorpius came out of the bathroom, looking like he’d spent more than four minutes on his hair and robes.
Scorpius was gorgeous; Albus knew that both Witches and Wizards stared when Scorpius walked by. But for Al, Scorpius’ beauty was just window dressing. He loved who Scorpius was, his soul and his being. His kindness, his sixth sense that always knew what Albus needed. “Love you,” he said when Scorpius kissed him good-bye.
“Marry me?” Scorpius asked before kissing him again.
Albus frowned as he held up his hand to show Scorpius his ring finger. He spun the simple gold band around several times. “Sorry. Already married. He’s a pretty great guy. Known him for years. Got a funny name, though.”
Scorpius laughed and pulled Al out of bed. “I gotta go, Albus Severus. Love you.”
Al watched Scorpius Disapparate instead of using the Floo; even still, he’d be at least ten minutes late. “Majorca,” he said aloud to the empty flat, playing with the sound of the word as he brewed his tea. A holiday would be brilliant—they desperately needed one. Maybe he could write a travel article for The Quibbler, which was basically a regular travel article with words like nargles and wrackspurts sprinkled in.
“Maybe I’ll make up some new ones. Tell Luna they’re only on Majorca,” Al said out loud, dragging out the syllables. “Ha. Maybe we should get a crup or a kneazle, so it won’t look like I’m talking to myself so much.”
On his writing breaks, he planned their get-away doing what he did best: researching every inch of the island and what it had to offer.
~*~
Majorca in July was gorgeous. While Scorpius attended medical seminars that he swore were fascinating, Albus relaxed on the hotel’s beach. When he got too hot, he’d dive in the cool sea water; when he felt chilly and pleasantly tired from swimming, he’d return to his beach chair and doze. At night, they’d explore the neighborhoods outside the hotel’s compound, find a local café and eat whatever the server recommended.
Which had been a terrible mistake their last night in Majorca. It might have been the sashimi—the raw tuna or white fish? Or the fresh mussels. Maybe the calamari. Or maybe the combination of all of it that Scorpius had eaten.
As Albus sat on the loo floor next to the toilet, holding back Scorpius’ hair and rubbing his back as he vomited that night, he assumed it wouldn’t be a good idea to mention that he was glad he’d chosen the steak. They extended their holiday a day to let Scorpius recover from the food poisoning.
When the Portkeyed back to London, Scorpius swore he felt better, but Albus had a little too much mum in him. “I don’t like the way your eyes look,” Al said, feeling Scorpius’ forehead for a fever. “But you don’t feel feverish. Do you think you have the flu?”
“Can we just go home so I can go to sleep?” Scorpius leaned against Albus as they held the empty soda bottle Portkey. When Albus felt the familiar tug in his belly and the hard swirl of disapparating, he knew landing would be ugly for Scorpius.
And for those around him.
The moment they’d apparated, Scorpius was bent over, sicking up on the landing. “This is mortifying. I’ve never—”
Albus dabbed Scorpius’ damp face. “S’ok. Let’s go home.”
He intended to clean the muck, but the Portkey security witch, an older woman with a kind face stopped him. “No worries, love. Happens all the time. I know just the spell.” She didn’t need a wand, just murmured the spell, and the mess disappeared. “It’s just rougher on some of us. A bit of dry toast, and he’ll be right as rain.”
Al suggested they walk home from the Diagon Alley Portkey office instead of using the Floo, but Scorpius shook his head. “I’ll be alright. Besides, I don’t have the energy to walk.”
Scorpius wasn’t alright.
“Green isn’t your color, love,” Al said as he led Scorpius to the loo and ran the shower. “And that’s saying something for a Slytherin.” When Scorpius insisted he could bathe himself, Al agreed, but hesitated outside the loo door until he heard the sound of the shower change from the hard stream rat-a-tatting against tile to softer splashing over Scorpius.
Albus stood in the lounge doorway and cringed. He’d either have to open the windows or cast a strong freshening charm in the lounge to get rid of the stink. Since London in July wasn’t going to provide much breeze, he decided on charms.
He firecalled his father as he cleaned. “So much puke, Dad. So. Much.”
Harry laughed. “Be glad you didn’t have the seafood. If he’s not feeling better, let Narcissa know you can’t make dinner tomorrow.”
Fuck. “The annual ‘State of the Malfoy Family’ dinner.” Al air-quoted the words and didn’t bother to hide his laughter. “Lucius is—”
“I know,” Harry said and looked over his shoulder, and Al assumed he was making sure Draco wasn’t in the room. “He’s a pretentious arse, but he’s important to Draco and Scorpius, so be nice.”
Al nodded and said good-bye. He’d been through three of these dinners as Scorpius’ husband. It was still hard not to laugh when Lucius lectured them on the glory of the Malfoy name, especially when Scorpius was squeezing Al’s hand so he wouldn’t laugh.
Albus helped Scorpius out of the loo and into bed for a nap. Scorpius waved off the offer of tea and toast. “Merlin, I’m just exhaust—” and was asleep before he finished the word.
Al pressed his lips to Scorpius’ forehead, a trick he’d learned from Gram Molly. No fever. He felt relieved; at least it wasn’t the flu. Just to be safe, Al decided to crawl into bed in case Scorpius needed him. His pillow. His mattress. So comfortable after the hotel bed, and Al was asleep until Scorpius’ alarm rang.
“Should you take tonight off in case it’s the flu?” Al said into his pillow.
Scorpius sat up and stretched. “Nah. I feel alright, but I really needed that nap. Food poisoning sucks,” he said as he headed to the loo.
Al stayed in bed, mostly awake, listening to Scorpius get ready for work. The drone of the Muggle razor he preferred. The slosh of the water as he brushed his teeth. Snippets of songs Scorpius would sing, never remembering all the words for just one song and switching mid-lyric.
Albus started, surprised by Scorpius’ kiss; he must have fallen back asleep.
“It’s almost 3. If you don’t wake up now, you’ll never sleep tonight.”
Albus wriggled upright and touched Scorpius’ cheek. “You don’t have a fever…”
Scorpius laughed and kissed Al’s hand. “You’re worse than Molly. It was food poisoning. I feel brilliant, but that’s the last time you choose the restaurant!”
Al had to admit that Scorpius looked fine now. Color in his cheeks and energy in his steps—a noticeable difference from before the nap. As Scorpius left the bedroom, Albus reminded him about the family dinner the next night. “It’s a good time to tell them we’re postponing having kids.”
~*~
Albus spent the evening writing his article for The Quibbler, creating stories about the pesky bromistas, high-spirited but harmless sprites, and their mischievous pranks on the beaches of the tiny island. He wove tales about his encounters and the secret coves where the bromistas could be found. Luna would love the new entity he’dcreated discovered.
Once he owl’d it to The Quibbler, he began again; this article on local dining in Palma would be just what his editor at the Muggle travel magazine had been suggesting. “I’m leaving out the seafood restaurant!” Al said out loud and reaffirmed he needed a pet to talk to.
He pulled some descriptions and details from the article he’d sent to The Quibbler. A thousand words, written, edited, and emailed to the Muggle editor, and he was ready for a late dinner and bed.
Thank Merlin that he and Scorpius agreed about Muggle technology, like iPhones and computers. And microwave ovens, he thought, remembering some of Gram Molly’s summer stew in the refrigerator.
Al heated enough for two, and as he sat down with dinner, the Floo flames blazed emerald. “Just in time,” Al said, holding up his bowl in a toast to the end of the work day.
“Glad I’m home,” Scorpius said, dropping onto the couch before picking up the second bowl. “Oh, I love Molly’s stew!” He shoveled the food into his mouth, answering Al’s questions around his spoon. “Merlin, I’m starving.”
“That’s good to see,” Al said, laughing. “That you’re hungry I mean. Not that you’re talking with your mouth full. That’s disgusting.”
Scorpius shared stories from the A&E mid-day shift while Al told him about the two articles he’d submitted. When the wireless announced the midnight news, Scorpius took both bowls to the kitchen sink. “Come to bed.” He held out his hand for Albus. “I missed you today.”
Albus was so lucky, so blessed to have this man love him. To wake up and go to sleep with him. To eat and breathe and dream with him. Al slipped his hand into Scorpius’. “You missed me? Show me how much.”
And Scorpius did.
~*~
“How are you feeling, Scorp?” Harry asked as Scorpius wobbled out of the Floo at Malfoy Manor.
“Can’t get rid of this food poisoning,” Scorpius said, shaking Grandfather’s hand and hugging Grand-mère. “Mostly, I’m okay ‘til I try to apparate or Floo.”
Narcissa fussed over Scorpius, which Albus suspected Scorpius secretly loved. Al hovered in the background, hugging his dad and Draco. “I think he picked up something in Majorca. It can’t still be food poisoning, can it?”
Narcissa, who’d insisted that food would make Scorpius feel better, called for the house elf. “Binky, I believe we’ll forego apéritifs this evening and begin with a vegetable consommé for our soup course—”
The elf, in her pale green pillowcase, nodded and backed away from Mistress, right into Lucius’ legs.
“Narcissa. That is not this evening’s plan.” Lucius cut off Narcissa, reprimanding her.
“—but I believe the rest of the dinner we’ve planned will suffice. Thank you,” Narcissa finished. To Albus, it seemed as if she were ignoring Lucius. But, that couldn’t be right. No one ignored Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius pulled a parchment from inside his robe. “You’ve seen my agenda for this evening. Apéritifs and light conversation until 7:30.”
“Yes, darling. But your only grandson is feeling sickly,” Narcissa straightened the collar on Lucius’ robe before patting his chest. “I know you’d want to do what’s best for him.”
Lucius stood drop-jawed as she breezed out of the room with Scorpius and Albus following.
“Impressive,” Al whispered to Scorpius. “I’ve never seen anyone manipulate your grandfather like that.”
Scorpius grinned and nodded. “No one crosses Grand-mère more than once.”
Albus didn’t need to look behind them to know that Lucius had given up his protest and was following Narcissa.
The table, which could easily seat 20, was set for six. At least this year he was sitting with Scorpius; Lucius preferred to switch up the seating to ‘keep each of them focused on the discussion at hand.’ Lucius looked confused when Al stood with Scorpius, and Draco was next to his dad as the men stood, waiting for Narcissa to be seated. Albus suspected she’d rearranged the seating cards with quick, wandless magic. He couldn’t remember once sitting next to Scorpius, but he was relieved to be there.
As Binky served the consommé, Lucius stood at the head of the table. He tapped his wine glass with his knife for their attention. Albus bit his lip so he wouldn’t laugh. Drama queen, he thought.
“I’d like to take this opportunity to welcome you warmly to our annual—”
Scorpius pushed his bowl away, pressing his napkin to his nose.
“You okay?” Albus whispered as Lucius glared at them for interrupting him. Let Lucius glare; something was wrong with Scorpius and that was all that mattered.
Scorpius shook his head. “Grand-mère, don’t eat that,” he said, stopping Narcissa before she could bring her spoon to her lips. “It’s spoiled or something. It’s nasty.”
Narcissa nodded gravely and withdrew her wand from her robes.
“Excuse me, but if we could possibly continue, this time without interruption—” Lucius’ voice was high and tight, obviously angry while attempting and failing to mask it.
“Yes, dear,” Narcissa said apologetically. “Please, do continue.”
“—to welcome you warmly to our annual family meeting, wherein we will—”
Narcissa stood and came to Scorpius’ side.
“—wherein we will discuss the forthcoming year and what I hope we will accomplish—”
She looked at Scorpius, felt his forehead with the back of her hand, looked into his eyes. She knew something was wrong; Albus felt cold seep into his stomach as fear edged in.
“Stand, darling,” she said and helped Scorpius to his feet. To Albus, he looked pale and wobbly, like he was having trouble staying upright.
“What I hope we will accomplish this coming—For Merlin’s sake, Narcissa. What are you doing?” Lucius threw his hands up in frustration and dropped back into his chair.
“I’m tending to Scorpius, who’s quite clearly ill.” Narcissa was brusque with Lucius, but when she turned to Scorpius, her voice was soft and loving. “How are you feeling, love? Tell me.”
As Scorpius said that he was exhausted and nauseated, she intoned a spell Albus had never heard; the wand work was a complicated sequence of swishes and slashes. Finally, a faint line hovered near Scorpius. A second line flickered and then stabilized. When the spell was complete, three lines shimmered in front of him.
Albus looked around the table. Draco and Lucius looked clueless, but his father’s eyes were wide with shock. “What is it, Grand-mère?” Albus asked, his voice wavering. “Is he ill?”
Narcissa patted Scorpius’ arm and nudged him toward his seat. She laid her hand on Al’s shoulder and said, “A bit. But only for the next 9 months, I’d say.”
Al stared at her. Scorpius was sick.
But only for nine—
“What the fuck?” Draco asked, shock and confusion playing out on his face. Harry whispered something that Draco openly ignored.
“Draco Lucius Malfoy. Language!” Narcissa stared him down until he grumbled an apology.
Albus laughed at his father in law, so formidable and frightening, subdued by his own mother, but when Harry glared at him, he bit off the laugh.
“Scorpius is pregnant?” Draco asked with more polite words but no less frustration. “How is that even possible—”
Narcissa returned to her chair and placed her napkin on her lap, smoothing out the wrinkles before looking up at her son. “Well, Draco. When a husband and a husband love each other very much—”
Albus laughed again. He’d always liked his grandmother-in-law, but he’d never again be intimidated.
“I know how children are made, Mother,” Draco growled in frustration. “I meant, how. Father, you took him to be tested.”
Lucius’ face was blank, as if he were attempting to remember a conversation from ten years prior. “I don’t recall taking him—”
“I was deployed to MACUSA. Mother was travelling. You took him to the Healer for his puberty evaluation. They said he didn’t have the gene.”
“I stand by what I said at the time,” Lucius said calmly, focusing on the consommé. “However, if I erred, it was so that my grandson could live a normal life as a man without focusing on an insignificant, 10% possibility—”
Al felt his anger rising. Once again, Scorpius’ family had thought for him, decided what he could know, as if he couldn’t cope with the truth. “Stop,” Albus said, his voice quiet but forceful.
Lucius and Draco gaped, as if they were shocked he would speak like that to them, but Albus just wanted them to be quiet. He knelt in front of Scorpius, who looked lost and afraid. “You’re pregnant.”
Scorpius shook his head. “No. It’s the calamari. It was off. And everyone at St. Mungo’s has the flu—”
Harry spoke for the first time since they’d begun dinner. He talked directly to Scorpius in the tone that Al knew from his childhood. When he’d broken his arm falling from his broom. When he’d failed a Potions test. It was soft and kind, but most importantly, it didn’t judge. “Molly used that spell on Al’s mum when she was pregnant. She says it’s never wrong.”
Albus’ breath shuddered; he felt overwhelmed with both fear and hope. Al touched his fingertips to Scorpius’ stomach and whispered, “Hello, baby.”
“Babies, I suspect,” Narcissa said, after a spoonful of the tepid consommé. “There were three lines.”
“Three lines?” Al’s voice cracked. He reached for Scorpius’ hand, finally realizing that what he felt must be multiplied for Scorpius. Times three.
“Three? Three babies?” Scorpius laughed and sounded as if he were going to cry. “We were going to tell you that we’d decided not to have children because Al couldn’t get pregnant. And now—three?”
Lucius tapped his glass once more. He cleared his throat as he stood. “That is the state of the Malfoy family for this year. Thank you.” He sat quickly, as if he thought he could almost disappear.
“I’m not done with you yet,” hissed Draco, jabbing his finger at Lucius. “You—”
Albus sighed. “Please. It doesn’t matter.” He stood and stretched his cramped legs, giving himself time to think. He needed to be calm, wanted to act adult enough to be someone’s daddy.
“Al,” Scorpius said, wrapping his fingers around Al’s wrist. “Al. Hey, Al.”
Albus turned to Scorpius, radiant in a way Al hadn’t seen him since they’d said I do. He was smiling, and Al knew he was looking at Scorpius in the same way. He felt as if his joy were a thousand fireflies in a too-small jar, flitting and glowing, and ready to take over the room. He knelt back down and brushed his fingers over Scorpius’ cheeks. “Yeah, Scorp?”
“We’re gonna be dads.” Scorpius’ eyes were wide, and Al understood that cross between fear and happiness.
Al kissed him. “Yeah. That’s kind of scary.”
Draco laughed. “You have no idea,” he said, but his voice sounded fond, but then he turned to Harry in shock. “Wait. I’m going to be a grandfather? I’m too young.”
Harry covered his mouth and pretended to cough, but Albus had seen that move before. Harry was laughing at Draco’s shock. “Yes, love. Too young.”
“I was younger than you are now when Scorpius was born,” Lucius snorted.
Draco raised an eyebrow and spoke with measured words. “Great. Grand. Father.”
Harry snickered then laughed out loud until he held his sides. Lucius looked outraged, but Al didn’t know if it were because of what his dad had said or because he’d dared to actually say it.
Narcissa stopped them all with a stare. “Binky,” she called to the elf who’d been sitting in the corner of the room. “We’ll have dessert now. Thank you.”
Lucius opened his mouth to protest, but another look from Narcissa stopped him. “Does that sound good, Scorpius?”
Before he could answer, a three-layer cake appeared on the table. It was vanilla frosted and covered in shredded coconut, and when Narcissa cut a generous slice, Al realized it was Devil’s Food inside.
“Oh, Scorp, I’m sorry,” Al said, patting Scorpius’ shoulder. “I know you hate chocolate and coconut—”
Scorpius held up his hand to stop Al. “Grand-mère, that looks—could I have a huge piece? Binky, do you have any chocolate syrup?”
Narcissa smiled placidly. “Of course,” she said, doubling the size she’d sliced for Harry.
Al watched Scorpius wolf down the cake, leaving chocolate crumb trails down the front of his dress shirt. Narcissa didn’t even blink when Scorpius asked for another piece.
“Don’t worry, darling,” she said to Albus. “I’ll have Binky give you the recipe. I do believe you’ll need it.”
Albus nodded, wide eyed and shell-shocked after seeing Scorpius’ plate empty again.
He’d definitely need that recipe.
Author:
burnin_up_a_sunPairing(s): Albus Severus/Scopius
Prompt: #s1
Summary: Albus and Scorpius, who have had no luck getting pregnant, receive a big surprise.
Word Count: ~4220
Rating: R (language and suggested sexual acts)
Warnings/Contains: TW: infertility, attempting to become pregnant
Notes: Thank you to Geronimoandbemagnificent and Crowgirl for keeping me on target and doing better. The title is from the Chicago song by the same name.
Prompt: Thank you, emmatheslayer, for your prompt which *immediately* spawned this fic. I mean, read the prompt/knew the story. It has everything you originally prompted, just not exactly how you prompted it. I won't say how/why, because that will ruin the surprise ♥
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell.”
Before Scorpius could stop him, Al flung his wand across the bedroom, shattering the vase on Scorpius’ nightstand. Water flooded the table top, soaking Scorpius’ half-read medical journals. The flowers, peonies clipped from Grand-mère’s garden, fell to the floor.
“Great. I’m a fucking idiot now, too.” Al buried his face in his hands and ignored Scorpius’ whispered charm; Al knew he was already cleaning up the mess. He’d be knitting the porcelain pieces together, arranging the flowers, drying out the books.
Scorpius was just good like that. He was calm and steady no matter what he faced, which made him a great A&E Healer.
“It’s okay, Al.” Scorpius ended the failed pregnancy test charm. He hugged Albus, gathered him into his arms and held him. “There’s always next month.”
Al shook his head, not lifting it from his hands. “I was so sure I was pregnant. I did what the books said. I held my legs in the air. Then I was on my side for more than an hour. I know it was the right time. It’s been almost a year. We’re just never gonna have a baby.”
Scorpius gently brought Al’s hands from his face. “It’s ok, really.” When Al shook his head again, Scorpius kissed his forehead. “Love, I’m good with no kids. We’re so busy. I’m always at work and my shifts are hell. And when your novel is published, you’ll be travelling the world doing interviews—”
Albus looked up at Scorpius’ earnest face. He knew Scorpius wasn’t teasing him; he believed Al would be a New York Times best-selling author one day. “I haven’t even found an agent yet,” Al laughed. “We probably shouldn’t book a portkey yet.”
“That’s better,” Scorpius kissed Al’s cheek. “You’re important to me, not some child we may or may not have.” He brushed his thumb over Al’s lips. “Unless you want to try again now?”
Scorpius waggled his eyebrows like some silent-movie lecher and squeezed Al’s arse. “C’mon. I have a half hour before I have to Floo to work. Wanna fuck?”
Scorpius was ridiculous, making Al laugh when he felt empty and miserable. “I’m not really into it…,” Al said, resting his forehead on Scorpius’ shoulder. Being held by him, guarded and protected by him, was enough.
Scorpius winked, over-played. “You can fuck me. We haven’t done that in a while.”
Albus meant to beg off, but he saw sadness behind Scorpius’ exaggeration. “You, too, huh?”
Scorpius shrugged. “It really is alright. You’re the only one I want.”
It really wasn’t alright, but it would be one day. Eventually this searing ache would become dull, and they would be able to spend weekend evenings babysitting nieces and nephews. They would be the charming uncles everyone called at the last moment because they were always free.
Al couldn’t. He’d been left wounded and raw from the past year. He needed—"Thirty minutes, huh?” Albus reached for Scorpius’ hand, lacing their fingers. Lying together, skin against skin, forgetting that anything outside of need and heat and desire existed—maybe that was what he needed, what they needed.
And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d fucked Scorpius; they rarely switched, but today maybe the change would jolt them from their heartache.
Besides. Not having children was okay, right? It meant they could spend more time on them. Long lie-ins, gourmet meals, travelling the world. And if Albus kissed Scorpius a little too hard, if some of the beads of sweat were actually tears, so what.
~*~
Albus and Scorpius lay curled together with the sheet twisted around their ankles, the sweat cooling on their bodies still sticky where they touched. Al stretched and hummed; his muscles were relaxed and loose, no longer tied in knots as they’d been all week. Scorpius had been right. Albus had needed to shut his mind off, give in to something physical. And fucking Scorpius, taking him apart and hearing him beg, had been incredible.
“Say it,” Scorpius mumbled against Al’s shoulder and pulled him closer.
Al laughed; the tiny breaths tickled his neck. “Fine. You were right. I was wrong.” He brought Scorpius’ hand up and kissed his palm.
“I was thinking—there’s a conference in Majorca this weekend that Dr. Parkinson asked me to go to,” Scorpius said, kissing Al’s shoulder before getting out of bed. “I wasn’t going to go, but she reserved a room anyway. Maybe we could, y’know, get away. Relax.” He grabbed his Healer’s robes and closed the loo door.
Al heard the shower running; Scorpius had five minutes to shower, change, and Floo to work. He laughed—maybe Scorpius would make it, but it was more likely he’d be late. Thank Merlin his bosses liked him.
As Scorpius showered, Al thought about Majorca. Lying on the beach, the sun’s rays drying them off after a swim in the cool sea water. Drinking too much, eating too little. It sounded perfect. “Maybe we can travel more—” he said when Scorpius came out of the bathroom, looking like he’d spent more than four minutes on his hair and robes.
Scorpius was gorgeous; Albus knew that both Witches and Wizards stared when Scorpius walked by. But for Al, Scorpius’ beauty was just window dressing. He loved who Scorpius was, his soul and his being. His kindness, his sixth sense that always knew what Albus needed. “Love you,” he said when Scorpius kissed him good-bye.
“Marry me?” Scorpius asked before kissing him again.
Albus frowned as he held up his hand to show Scorpius his ring finger. He spun the simple gold band around several times. “Sorry. Already married. He’s a pretty great guy. Known him for years. Got a funny name, though.”
Scorpius laughed and pulled Al out of bed. “I gotta go, Albus Severus. Love you.”
Al watched Scorpius Disapparate instead of using the Floo; even still, he’d be at least ten minutes late. “Majorca,” he said aloud to the empty flat, playing with the sound of the word as he brewed his tea. A holiday would be brilliant—they desperately needed one. Maybe he could write a travel article for The Quibbler, which was basically a regular travel article with words like nargles and wrackspurts sprinkled in.
“Maybe I’ll make up some new ones. Tell Luna they’re only on Majorca,” Al said out loud, dragging out the syllables. “Ha. Maybe we should get a crup or a kneazle, so it won’t look like I’m talking to myself so much.”
On his writing breaks, he planned their get-away doing what he did best: researching every inch of the island and what it had to offer.
~*~
Majorca in July was gorgeous. While Scorpius attended medical seminars that he swore were fascinating, Albus relaxed on the hotel’s beach. When he got too hot, he’d dive in the cool sea water; when he felt chilly and pleasantly tired from swimming, he’d return to his beach chair and doze. At night, they’d explore the neighborhoods outside the hotel’s compound, find a local café and eat whatever the server recommended.
Which had been a terrible mistake their last night in Majorca. It might have been the sashimi—the raw tuna or white fish? Or the fresh mussels. Maybe the calamari. Or maybe the combination of all of it that Scorpius had eaten.
As Albus sat on the loo floor next to the toilet, holding back Scorpius’ hair and rubbing his back as he vomited that night, he assumed it wouldn’t be a good idea to mention that he was glad he’d chosen the steak. They extended their holiday a day to let Scorpius recover from the food poisoning.
When the Portkeyed back to London, Scorpius swore he felt better, but Albus had a little too much mum in him. “I don’t like the way your eyes look,” Al said, feeling Scorpius’ forehead for a fever. “But you don’t feel feverish. Do you think you have the flu?”
“Can we just go home so I can go to sleep?” Scorpius leaned against Albus as they held the empty soda bottle Portkey. When Albus felt the familiar tug in his belly and the hard swirl of disapparating, he knew landing would be ugly for Scorpius.
And for those around him.
The moment they’d apparated, Scorpius was bent over, sicking up on the landing. “This is mortifying. I’ve never—”
Albus dabbed Scorpius’ damp face. “S’ok. Let’s go home.”
He intended to clean the muck, but the Portkey security witch, an older woman with a kind face stopped him. “No worries, love. Happens all the time. I know just the spell.” She didn’t need a wand, just murmured the spell, and the mess disappeared. “It’s just rougher on some of us. A bit of dry toast, and he’ll be right as rain.”
Al suggested they walk home from the Diagon Alley Portkey office instead of using the Floo, but Scorpius shook his head. “I’ll be alright. Besides, I don’t have the energy to walk.”
Scorpius wasn’t alright.
“Green isn’t your color, love,” Al said as he led Scorpius to the loo and ran the shower. “And that’s saying something for a Slytherin.” When Scorpius insisted he could bathe himself, Al agreed, but hesitated outside the loo door until he heard the sound of the shower change from the hard stream rat-a-tatting against tile to softer splashing over Scorpius.
Albus stood in the lounge doorway and cringed. He’d either have to open the windows or cast a strong freshening charm in the lounge to get rid of the stink. Since London in July wasn’t going to provide much breeze, he decided on charms.
He firecalled his father as he cleaned. “So much puke, Dad. So. Much.”
Harry laughed. “Be glad you didn’t have the seafood. If he’s not feeling better, let Narcissa know you can’t make dinner tomorrow.”
Fuck. “The annual ‘State of the Malfoy Family’ dinner.” Al air-quoted the words and didn’t bother to hide his laughter. “Lucius is—”
“I know,” Harry said and looked over his shoulder, and Al assumed he was making sure Draco wasn’t in the room. “He’s a pretentious arse, but he’s important to Draco and Scorpius, so be nice.”
Al nodded and said good-bye. He’d been through three of these dinners as Scorpius’ husband. It was still hard not to laugh when Lucius lectured them on the glory of the Malfoy name, especially when Scorpius was squeezing Al’s hand so he wouldn’t laugh.
Albus helped Scorpius out of the loo and into bed for a nap. Scorpius waved off the offer of tea and toast. “Merlin, I’m just exhaust—” and was asleep before he finished the word.
Al pressed his lips to Scorpius’ forehead, a trick he’d learned from Gram Molly. No fever. He felt relieved; at least it wasn’t the flu. Just to be safe, Al decided to crawl into bed in case Scorpius needed him. His pillow. His mattress. So comfortable after the hotel bed, and Al was asleep until Scorpius’ alarm rang.
“Should you take tonight off in case it’s the flu?” Al said into his pillow.
Scorpius sat up and stretched. “Nah. I feel alright, but I really needed that nap. Food poisoning sucks,” he said as he headed to the loo.
Al stayed in bed, mostly awake, listening to Scorpius get ready for work. The drone of the Muggle razor he preferred. The slosh of the water as he brushed his teeth. Snippets of songs Scorpius would sing, never remembering all the words for just one song and switching mid-lyric.
Albus started, surprised by Scorpius’ kiss; he must have fallen back asleep.
“It’s almost 3. If you don’t wake up now, you’ll never sleep tonight.”
Albus wriggled upright and touched Scorpius’ cheek. “You don’t have a fever…”
Scorpius laughed and kissed Al’s hand. “You’re worse than Molly. It was food poisoning. I feel brilliant, but that’s the last time you choose the restaurant!”
Al had to admit that Scorpius looked fine now. Color in his cheeks and energy in his steps—a noticeable difference from before the nap. As Scorpius left the bedroom, Albus reminded him about the family dinner the next night. “It’s a good time to tell them we’re postponing having kids.”
~*~
Albus spent the evening writing his article for The Quibbler, creating stories about the pesky bromistas, high-spirited but harmless sprites, and their mischievous pranks on the beaches of the tiny island. He wove tales about his encounters and the secret coves where the bromistas could be found. Luna would love the new entity he’d
Once he owl’d it to The Quibbler, he began again; this article on local dining in Palma would be just what his editor at the Muggle travel magazine had been suggesting. “I’m leaving out the seafood restaurant!” Al said out loud and reaffirmed he needed a pet to talk to.
He pulled some descriptions and details from the article he’d sent to The Quibbler. A thousand words, written, edited, and emailed to the Muggle editor, and he was ready for a late dinner and bed.
Thank Merlin that he and Scorpius agreed about Muggle technology, like iPhones and computers. And microwave ovens, he thought, remembering some of Gram Molly’s summer stew in the refrigerator.
Al heated enough for two, and as he sat down with dinner, the Floo flames blazed emerald. “Just in time,” Al said, holding up his bowl in a toast to the end of the work day.
“Glad I’m home,” Scorpius said, dropping onto the couch before picking up the second bowl. “Oh, I love Molly’s stew!” He shoveled the food into his mouth, answering Al’s questions around his spoon. “Merlin, I’m starving.”
“That’s good to see,” Al said, laughing. “That you’re hungry I mean. Not that you’re talking with your mouth full. That’s disgusting.”
Scorpius shared stories from the A&E mid-day shift while Al told him about the two articles he’d submitted. When the wireless announced the midnight news, Scorpius took both bowls to the kitchen sink. “Come to bed.” He held out his hand for Albus. “I missed you today.”
Albus was so lucky, so blessed to have this man love him. To wake up and go to sleep with him. To eat and breathe and dream with him. Al slipped his hand into Scorpius’. “You missed me? Show me how much.”
And Scorpius did.
~*~
“How are you feeling, Scorp?” Harry asked as Scorpius wobbled out of the Floo at Malfoy Manor.
“Can’t get rid of this food poisoning,” Scorpius said, shaking Grandfather’s hand and hugging Grand-mère. “Mostly, I’m okay ‘til I try to apparate or Floo.”
Narcissa fussed over Scorpius, which Albus suspected Scorpius secretly loved. Al hovered in the background, hugging his dad and Draco. “I think he picked up something in Majorca. It can’t still be food poisoning, can it?”
Narcissa, who’d insisted that food would make Scorpius feel better, called for the house elf. “Binky, I believe we’ll forego apéritifs this evening and begin with a vegetable consommé for our soup course—”
The elf, in her pale green pillowcase, nodded and backed away from Mistress, right into Lucius’ legs.
“Narcissa. That is not this evening’s plan.” Lucius cut off Narcissa, reprimanding her.
“—but I believe the rest of the dinner we’ve planned will suffice. Thank you,” Narcissa finished. To Albus, it seemed as if she were ignoring Lucius. But, that couldn’t be right. No one ignored Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius pulled a parchment from inside his robe. “You’ve seen my agenda for this evening. Apéritifs and light conversation until 7:30.”
“Yes, darling. But your only grandson is feeling sickly,” Narcissa straightened the collar on Lucius’ robe before patting his chest. “I know you’d want to do what’s best for him.”
Lucius stood drop-jawed as she breezed out of the room with Scorpius and Albus following.
“Impressive,” Al whispered to Scorpius. “I’ve never seen anyone manipulate your grandfather like that.”
Scorpius grinned and nodded. “No one crosses Grand-mère more than once.”
Albus didn’t need to look behind them to know that Lucius had given up his protest and was following Narcissa.
The table, which could easily seat 20, was set for six. At least this year he was sitting with Scorpius; Lucius preferred to switch up the seating to ‘keep each of them focused on the discussion at hand.’ Lucius looked confused when Al stood with Scorpius, and Draco was next to his dad as the men stood, waiting for Narcissa to be seated. Albus suspected she’d rearranged the seating cards with quick, wandless magic. He couldn’t remember once sitting next to Scorpius, but he was relieved to be there.
As Binky served the consommé, Lucius stood at the head of the table. He tapped his wine glass with his knife for their attention. Albus bit his lip so he wouldn’t laugh. Drama queen, he thought.
“I’d like to take this opportunity to welcome you warmly to our annual—”
Scorpius pushed his bowl away, pressing his napkin to his nose.
“You okay?” Albus whispered as Lucius glared at them for interrupting him. Let Lucius glare; something was wrong with Scorpius and that was all that mattered.
Scorpius shook his head. “Grand-mère, don’t eat that,” he said, stopping Narcissa before she could bring her spoon to her lips. “It’s spoiled or something. It’s nasty.”
Narcissa nodded gravely and withdrew her wand from her robes.
“Excuse me, but if we could possibly continue, this time without interruption—” Lucius’ voice was high and tight, obviously angry while attempting and failing to mask it.
“Yes, dear,” Narcissa said apologetically. “Please, do continue.”
“—to welcome you warmly to our annual family meeting, wherein we will—”
Narcissa stood and came to Scorpius’ side.
“—wherein we will discuss the forthcoming year and what I hope we will accomplish—”
She looked at Scorpius, felt his forehead with the back of her hand, looked into his eyes. She knew something was wrong; Albus felt cold seep into his stomach as fear edged in.
“Stand, darling,” she said and helped Scorpius to his feet. To Albus, he looked pale and wobbly, like he was having trouble staying upright.
“What I hope we will accomplish this coming—For Merlin’s sake, Narcissa. What are you doing?” Lucius threw his hands up in frustration and dropped back into his chair.
“I’m tending to Scorpius, who’s quite clearly ill.” Narcissa was brusque with Lucius, but when she turned to Scorpius, her voice was soft and loving. “How are you feeling, love? Tell me.”
As Scorpius said that he was exhausted and nauseated, she intoned a spell Albus had never heard; the wand work was a complicated sequence of swishes and slashes. Finally, a faint line hovered near Scorpius. A second line flickered and then stabilized. When the spell was complete, three lines shimmered in front of him.
Albus looked around the table. Draco and Lucius looked clueless, but his father’s eyes were wide with shock. “What is it, Grand-mère?” Albus asked, his voice wavering. “Is he ill?”
Narcissa patted Scorpius’ arm and nudged him toward his seat. She laid her hand on Al’s shoulder and said, “A bit. But only for the next 9 months, I’d say.”
Al stared at her. Scorpius was sick.
But only for nine—
“What the fuck?” Draco asked, shock and confusion playing out on his face. Harry whispered something that Draco openly ignored.
“Draco Lucius Malfoy. Language!” Narcissa stared him down until he grumbled an apology.
Albus laughed at his father in law, so formidable and frightening, subdued by his own mother, but when Harry glared at him, he bit off the laugh.
“Scorpius is pregnant?” Draco asked with more polite words but no less frustration. “How is that even possible—”
Narcissa returned to her chair and placed her napkin on her lap, smoothing out the wrinkles before looking up at her son. “Well, Draco. When a husband and a husband love each other very much—”
Albus laughed again. He’d always liked his grandmother-in-law, but he’d never again be intimidated.
“I know how children are made, Mother,” Draco growled in frustration. “I meant, how. Father, you took him to be tested.”
Lucius’ face was blank, as if he were attempting to remember a conversation from ten years prior. “I don’t recall taking him—”
“I was deployed to MACUSA. Mother was travelling. You took him to the Healer for his puberty evaluation. They said he didn’t have the gene.”
“I stand by what I said at the time,” Lucius said calmly, focusing on the consommé. “However, if I erred, it was so that my grandson could live a normal life as a man without focusing on an insignificant, 10% possibility—”
Al felt his anger rising. Once again, Scorpius’ family had thought for him, decided what he could know, as if he couldn’t cope with the truth. “Stop,” Albus said, his voice quiet but forceful.
Lucius and Draco gaped, as if they were shocked he would speak like that to them, but Albus just wanted them to be quiet. He knelt in front of Scorpius, who looked lost and afraid. “You’re pregnant.”
Scorpius shook his head. “No. It’s the calamari. It was off. And everyone at St. Mungo’s has the flu—”
Harry spoke for the first time since they’d begun dinner. He talked directly to Scorpius in the tone that Al knew from his childhood. When he’d broken his arm falling from his broom. When he’d failed a Potions test. It was soft and kind, but most importantly, it didn’t judge. “Molly used that spell on Al’s mum when she was pregnant. She says it’s never wrong.”
Albus’ breath shuddered; he felt overwhelmed with both fear and hope. Al touched his fingertips to Scorpius’ stomach and whispered, “Hello, baby.”
“Babies, I suspect,” Narcissa said, after a spoonful of the tepid consommé. “There were three lines.”
“Three lines?” Al’s voice cracked. He reached for Scorpius’ hand, finally realizing that what he felt must be multiplied for Scorpius. Times three.
“Three? Three babies?” Scorpius laughed and sounded as if he were going to cry. “We were going to tell you that we’d decided not to have children because Al couldn’t get pregnant. And now—three?”
Lucius tapped his glass once more. He cleared his throat as he stood. “That is the state of the Malfoy family for this year. Thank you.” He sat quickly, as if he thought he could almost disappear.
“I’m not done with you yet,” hissed Draco, jabbing his finger at Lucius. “You—”
Albus sighed. “Please. It doesn’t matter.” He stood and stretched his cramped legs, giving himself time to think. He needed to be calm, wanted to act adult enough to be someone’s daddy.
“Al,” Scorpius said, wrapping his fingers around Al’s wrist. “Al. Hey, Al.”
Albus turned to Scorpius, radiant in a way Al hadn’t seen him since they’d said I do. He was smiling, and Al knew he was looking at Scorpius in the same way. He felt as if his joy were a thousand fireflies in a too-small jar, flitting and glowing, and ready to take over the room. He knelt back down and brushed his fingers over Scorpius’ cheeks. “Yeah, Scorp?”
“We’re gonna be dads.” Scorpius’ eyes were wide, and Al understood that cross between fear and happiness.
Al kissed him. “Yeah. That’s kind of scary.”
Draco laughed. “You have no idea,” he said, but his voice sounded fond, but then he turned to Harry in shock. “Wait. I’m going to be a grandfather? I’m too young.”
Harry covered his mouth and pretended to cough, but Albus had seen that move before. Harry was laughing at Draco’s shock. “Yes, love. Too young.”
“I was younger than you are now when Scorpius was born,” Lucius snorted.
Draco raised an eyebrow and spoke with measured words. “Great. Grand. Father.”
Harry snickered then laughed out loud until he held his sides. Lucius looked outraged, but Al didn’t know if it were because of what his dad had said or because he’d dared to actually say it.
Narcissa stopped them all with a stare. “Binky,” she called to the elf who’d been sitting in the corner of the room. “We’ll have dessert now. Thank you.”
Lucius opened his mouth to protest, but another look from Narcissa stopped him. “Does that sound good, Scorpius?”
Before he could answer, a three-layer cake appeared on the table. It was vanilla frosted and covered in shredded coconut, and when Narcissa cut a generous slice, Al realized it was Devil’s Food inside.
“Oh, Scorp, I’m sorry,” Al said, patting Scorpius’ shoulder. “I know you hate chocolate and coconut—”
Scorpius held up his hand to stop Al. “Grand-mère, that looks—could I have a huge piece? Binky, do you have any chocolate syrup?”
Narcissa smiled placidly. “Of course,” she said, doubling the size she’d sliced for Harry.
Al watched Scorpius wolf down the cake, leaving chocolate crumb trails down the front of his dress shirt. Narcissa didn’t even blink when Scorpius asked for another piece.
“Don’t worry, darling,” she said to Albus. “I’ll have Binky give you the recipe. I do believe you’ll need it.”
Albus nodded, wide eyed and shell-shocked after seeing Scorpius’ plate empty again.
He’d definitely need that recipe.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-28 10:04 pm (UTC)