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Severus wasn't certain about the cause of unease that kept him awake well into the night. Kingsley wasn't back yet, which wasn't unusual. But the man's absence, coupled with the feeling of foreboding deep in his gut, was making him pace in their living room. Occasionally, he'd pause to check the wards around the house and at the nursery, at times taking a moment to peer into the crib housing little Lysander, more to comfort himself than anything else.
He was pouring himself his second glass of scotch in the pantry when he heard his errant husband arriving via Floo. The man had his wand out and was casting a series of security charms at the fireplace when Severus entered.
Though nothing seemed amiss in Kingsley’s expression, Severus could still sense the tension from across the room. He waited, watching, taking small sips from his glass—it took Kingsley the better part of ten minutes before he was done, and when he had the man's attention, he raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.
"The Floo stays blocked for travel when I leave in the morning," Kingsley said, as he walked up to him and took the glass out of Severus's hand. He downed the rest of the contents in one go.
Severus watched the prominent Adam's Apple bob with the swallow. "Anything I should know?" he asked, when the empty glass was returned to him.
"Nothing I can tell you," Kingsley answered, with a brief grimace as he suffered through the alcohol’s burn.
Severus hated this, but it was a tired issue that didn't bear repeating. Being privy to the Minister's most important affairs required level seven clearance—Severus's was a paltry level three, despite being married to the bugger and having been an effective spy for more than ten years. He wished, not for the first time, that the man wasn't such a law-abiding crank, but he knew damn well what he was marrying into when he accepted Kingsley's proposal and had only himself to blame.
Though to be fair, Kingsley had only been the interim Minister at the time. Neither of them had predicted he'd be there to stay.
"You're exhausted," he observed out loud, placing the empty glass on a nearby coffee table and heading for their bedroom. "Get some rest."
Strong hands caught him about the waist. "Stay up a bit longer...?" Kingsley murmured into his shoulder, his voice containing both parts weariness and heat.
"Not long." Severus turned in the circle of Kingsley’s arms and submitted to the deep kiss waiting for him.
---
The ill feeling remained lodged in his belly, but Severus had kept silent as they made love, as they slept, as Kingsley got up to shower and dress in the morning and he, too, an hour later. It didn’t help that before departing, Kingsley had given him strict orders not to open the Floo for anyone other than himself and the people they trusted the most, and even then to confirm identities first.
As if sharing his unease, Lysander was fussier than usual, crying all morning and throwing his mushed peas and bananas all over the kitchen floor. After a half-hearted attempt at getting him to calm down, Severus sat back and let the tantrum play out until the toddler had cried himself to exhaustion. It seemed hypocritical to admonish his child for reflecting his own turmoil.
He’d just finished giving Lysander his first bath of the day (the house was baby-proofed to the teeth—how Lysander often managed to get so dirty in so short a time never failed to frustrate him) when the Floo flared to life, and MLE Chief Harry Potter’s voice yelled for him in the other room.
Potter had always worn his heart on his sleeve, and though the young man’s voice was steady as they exchanged the day’s security passwords, there was grief and panic in his eyes that caused Severus’s throat to tighten.
"Sir," Potter said, his expression crumpling, "the Ministry’s been attacked. You need to be relocated. Please let me through."
Severus breathed through the sheer fear that momentarily froze him. "Kingsley...?" he managed to ask, hardly recognizing his own voice.
"I...sir..."
Harry held out something in his hand, visible through the green flames. It only took Severus a second to recognize it.
Northern red oak, fourteen inches, set in a carved ivory handle. Kingsley's wand.
"Sir, please," he heard Harry say, as if from a great distance, "we don't have much time."
Severus exhaled, only now noticing that he’d been clutching Lysander so tightly that the boy had roused and started to whimper. He stood, chanting the spell that cleared the Floo for travel and made room for Harry to step through.
As soon as Harry took one step into his living room, Severus knew he’d made a mistake.
He couldn’t pinpoint the exact why, but he catalogued the sensation of wrongness emanating from Harry, from the way the young man stood to how he held his wand. Harry looked appropriately grim and grief-stricken. He was saying something about bringing anything important but that they had to leave now, and Severus nodded.
He put some distance between them, backing up to Lysander’s nursery. As soon as their eyes met again across the room, Severus performed Legilimency.
A cold sensation crept up Severus's spine. He hoisted Lysander higher up on his side, angling his body slightly to hide drawing out his wand—
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Sir."
His wand tore through his sleeve and landed in Harry’s unoccupied palm. An unfamiliar wand was trained straight at Lysander’s head.
"Let's drop all pretenses, shall we?" Severus managed to evenly say while willing his frantic heart to calm, shielding Lysander’s crying head from view as if that could somehow accomplish anything of value. "To whom am I speaking?"
"No one important," the stranger said in Harry’s voice, with Harry’s smirk. "We just want your Ministry to see things a bit more clearly, so to speak. I’d wanted to keep at least one of you alive, but both of you dead will serve the same purpose."
The wand rose.
There was no quarter in the man’s eyes. The stranger began to cast the Killing Curse, and Severus hadn’t been aware that the whispered, plaintive "please" had emerged from his own throat. He spun to keep Lysander out of the line of fire, facing the empty crib and the wall, closing his eyes against the oblivion to come.
He heard a crash, and then a shower of green light exploded to his left. Severus turned just in time to see a second Harry Potter stumbling out of the fireplace—dirtied, nose streaming blood, and looking like the angel of vengeance incarnate. Barely a second after casting the spell that saved both father and son, he fired off a powerful hex, catching the impostor on the shoulder, clothes and skin melting like acid.
The fight barely lasted ten seconds, the infiltrator on the floor, unconscious, and the second Harry panting through a blood-soaked mouth, barely managing to hold himself up on the table while he met Severus’s eyes without fear. He threw Severus’s wand at him and snarled, "Do it."
Severus didn’t hesitate. "Legilimens."
Half a minute later, he withdrew from sifting through Harry’s surface memories, the screams of a dead woman dear to his heart still echoing in his head and chasing him back to the present. "Potter," he exhaled, relief clear in his voice.
Harry’s expression was hard as flint, but Severus was unsurprised to find tears streaming from his eyes. "Sir," Harry gasped out with a nod. He threw a large canvas bag which Severus caught. "Essentials, clothes. Baby things. There's a kitchen and food where we're going."
"Potter...that man had Kingsley's wand."
Harry had just retrieved the aforementioned wand from the intruder and pocketed it when he replied, "Later. Please. We need to hurry."
---
They arrived via portkey to a Ministry safehouse, a cramped little place humming to the brim with anti-surveillance wards. Severus had no clue where he was, suspecting strongly that he was no longer anywhere near London.
Harry claimed the small bathroom first while Severus transfigured an ottoman into a bassinet. He’d gotten a rushed explanation from the young man—that Kingsley had been attacked and disarmed by several assailants, but the MLE had been expecting a confrontation for the past week and arrived at the scene fast enough to close ranks around the Minister. Harry took his second-in-command and left to secure the Minister’s family. The ambush that followed separated them.
The gash traversing the top of Harry’s skull to the tip of his left eyebrow looked ghastly, but all the young man would accept from him were two strong healing and blood replenishing potions. "Looks worse than it feels," Harry had muttered before vanishing into the bathroom.
Severus snorted but let it go. From what he’d seen of the young man’s memories, Harry needed a bit of time to himself.
Lysander, however, was inconsolable. Severus wasn’t sure if it was the attack or the unfamiliar surroundings or the damned bassinet, but the toddler refused to be put down. He was starting to choke from his tears, so Severus stopped trying and held him close, making quiet shushing noises into the small ear until the crying lessened into hiccoughs and sobs.
Several tedious moments later, the tiny death grip on his lapel was just starting to ease when he felt Harry’s presence back in the room. He turned to see a pair of green eyes staring at him with fondness. "The fuck are you gawping at?" he said in a low voice, mindful of his exhausted son.
Harry’s eyebrows rose at the cussing, giving his son a pointed look, but thankfully said nothing of it. "Surprised how much fatherhood suits you," he replied, sounding amused.
"Babies make everyone seem approachable," Severus muttered back. "So when are you leaving to fetch my husband?"
"Not my job right now." Though his voice still sounded light, Severus detected the hint of steel underneath.
"Bloody useless." He threw a glare at the younger man, but Harry seemed unfazed, vanishing past the narrow island counter and busying himself with the shelves. "What’s the point of being the Chief of the MLE if you’re merely following what the Minister says."
"This is protocol, actually."
Severus snorted. "Is it protocol for the Chief himself to do it?"
There was some clattering of metallic objects outside of Severus’s line of sight, and a bit of swearing. A small pot made an appearance. "I made a promise," Harry said, dusting his hands and coming back into view. "How’s my godson?"
"Tired. He’s not your godson."
"He eat solids yet?"
"Transitioning." Severus tilted his head at the abandoned satchel on the floor. "His formula’s in the bag, but the bottles need sterilization."
"I can handle that." Harry took the formula potions and a baby bottle back to the small kitchen nook. "You should get some sleep. You look about to fall over."
It sounded tempting. As soon as the adrenaline had fled Severus’s system, he felt heavier than a sack of bricks. His long, nearly sleepless night couldn’t be helping, either.
Sleep was the last thing he wanted to be doing, though. Severus was hyper-aware of Kingsley’s wand, placed on a shelf when Harry had done a quick survey of the safehouse. It was slowly sinking in, he supposed, that both his husband and his child had nearly been taken from him that very morning. Despite Harry’s assurance that Kingsley was in safe hands, he needed to see it for himself.
He sat on the plush armchair instead, Lysander on his lap. "I’m not the one who spent half the day foiling an assassination plot."
"No, you just nearly died. Again. Not stressful at all, that."
"Shut it."
---
Harry snorted. The stubborn bastard was determined not to rest, and Harry was too tired to argue. Much as Severus liked to think he could physically operate the way that he did during the War, everyone else knew better—especially after the complications that arose from his magically-assisted pregnancy with Lysander.
Those weren’t very pleasant memories, so instead he turned the heat up and searched for cups while he waited for the water to boil. "Hey," he called, "don’t you two have a house elf?"
"Kingsley sends her away whenever he’s feeling paranoid." There was a pause, then: "Due to you, mostly."
"What?" Harry asked, peering around the divider. "What the hell did I do now?"
There was the expression Harry had expected—eyebrow raised, unamused, looking at him like he was stupid. "Your shenanigans during the War highlighted how much of a security breach house elves can be." Severus gave a shrug. He winced and frowned in annoyance when Lysander kicked him in the chest. "He can be a bit...draconian when it’s warranted."
Harry echoed the wince and went back to the stove. "Draconian" sounded about right, remembering how tightly Kingsley held everyone’s leashes at the MLE when he was still Chief and things weren’t going as they should. Not something he’d want in a domestic setting, Harry imagined. "That a cause for concern?" he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.
"Hardly," he heard Severus answer. "I find it reassuring."
Harry huffed and grumbled a low "Nutter" while he disassembled the baby bottle for submerging.
Moments later, he’d just finished capping the prepared formula when he heard three things at once: a panicked gasp, a delighted squeal, and something made of glass shattering on the floor.
Instincts on high alert, he ran the few steps it took to get a good look of the entire room. He found Severus wide-eyed and flushed, leaning forward in his seat and frozen in that pose while he held his baby feet-side up by the waist. Lysander’s arms merrily waved two inches from the ground.
Harry gaped. "...Did you just—"
The glare Severus threw at him could have frozen water. "Not a word."
Harry stared for a moment longer, then firmly clamped his mouth shut. He repaired the toppled-over vase with a quick spell—he wanted so very badly to laugh, but it was a surefire way to make Severus uncooperative, and the man could raise the bar for "difficult" to a whole new level when he wanted to. He’d just have to hold it in ‘til he can snicker about it with Ginny later, then. Lysander had already been hefted back up and cradled against Severus’s chest—though that seemed to be the last thing the toddler wanted, twisting and turning this way and that as if to say, "I want to go again!"
It was probably not a good thing that Harry was fantasizing teaching the little tyke the Wronski feint soon as he could ride a broom. "Look..." he began, trying for a calming tone while Severus dealt with baby acrobatics, "his bottle’s done. I can feed him while you take a kip on the sofa." Taking one look at Severus’s mulish expression, he decided to add, "And maybe I won't tell Kingsley you were refusing to sleep, even though you were so tired you nearly dropped your baby like a hexed bludger."
An embarrassed, pink flush accompanied the mortified look on Severus’s face. "I had him well in hand."
"That one’s going in a pensieve, you realize."
"You’re a half-wit and a shite Auror." A plaintive whine and a painful-sounding stomp on Severus’s knee sealed the deal. The wiggling toddler was thrust into Harry’s arms. "Fine, take the little hellion. I’ll not be the cause of him bashing his head open."
"Daddy’s gwumpy when he’s sleepy, isn’t he?" Potter cooed, and grinned when Lysander stared at him wide-eyed and made a grab for his nose. He ignored Severus’s unamused snort from the vicinity of the couch. He’d not had much of a chance to take a good, long look at the firstborn of the Shacklebolt household since the birth, he realized. The babe’s eyes were a rich hazel, which would likely darken over time, though just how dark would be interesting—as dark as Severus’s blacker-than-black, or lighter, with Kingsley’s sunset-during-fall hue? His skin was a middle ground between both parents, and his full head of black, wavy hair must be from Kingsley’s side of the family.
"Ever seen Kingsley’s baby photos?" Harry asked, while carefully settling on the floor with Lysander lowered in the nest of his folded legs.
"Yes." At Harry’s surprised (and likely far too eager) expression, Severus’s lips twitched into a brief smile. "As a child, at least. Curls down to his shoulders, black as mine. Lysander’s already showing signs of it."
Harry grinned. "Mail me a copy?"
"It was in his mother’s house, but if the opportunity comes..." Severus hummed. "And what will I be getting in return?"
"A furthering of our friendship?" Harry tried not to be hurt by the derisive snort. "How about babysitting duties?"
"We have a house elf. And Kingsley’s sister drops by when needed."
"I’m talking vacation-length babysitting." Harry tried not to echo Lysander’s giggle when he lifted the toddler in the air and safely brought him down again. "Dump him at our house any time, pick him up a month or two later. He even gets free socialization with kids near his own age."
To Harry’s surprise, Severus actually looked tempted. The expression was brief. "Not like we’ll have an opportunity to take advantage of that, what with the job and occasional threats to our persons. Try again."
He tickled Lysander’s sides while he thought. "A bottle of Glendronach that I was saving for your birthday?"
That earned him a thoughtful pause, at least. "Five."
Harry huffed. "I’m asking for one photo, not the entire bloody album."
"Two, and those babysitting duties you mentioned earlier, on the off chance we might avail of it." At Harry’s frown, he added,"Don’t even try to pretend you wouldn’t offer it—eagerly, might I add—regardless of this bargain."
"...Fine." Harry exaggerated his pout at Lysander’s happy expression. "Can’t resist this cute widdle face."
"You just have an unhealthy obsession with babies."
"Don’t say it like that. Like it’s weird, or something." He captured one of Lysander’s reaching hands and placed a brief kiss on the tiny palm. "This one was a bit of a miracle, so you can’t fault me for fawning over him."
"Male pregnancies may be uncommon, but they aren’t that unusual, Potter," Severus said, in what Ron often called his "you’re a dunderhead, and here’s why" tone. "And lest you forget, he’s scheduled to have a sibling in a year’s time."
"Not what I meant, but all right."
As he predicted, any reference to that week when Lysander was nearly born to a single parent was deftly ignored, and it had the added benefit of shutting Severus the hell up. Harry played monkey with a giggly Lysander and let the moments pass, politely ignoring how his former professor’s attention kept getting drawn to Kingsley’s wand every now and then.
Bastard won’t be able to sleep at this rate. He wasn’t above sneaking in a sleep hex, but the wards in the safehouse didn’t allow for it.
As if following the direction of his thoughts, he heard Severus huff to himself and turn on the sofa, facing the back and huddling against the cushions. Minutes later, Harry began to hear a light snore.
Lysander was a giggly and sensitive child, Harry observed after an hour’s worth of play and feeding. Regardless of what was grabbing his attention, a portion of his awareness seemed to be keyed to where Harry was and what he was doing. The slightest gesture had the child swiveling his head and staring at him expectantly. Harry couldn’t help but compare him to James’s very narrow range of perception, or Al’s moody silences.
"You’re going to be in the same year as my youngest," Harry muttered, while mulling how well-suited Lysander’s temperament might be to the curiosity and brashness Lily was already displaying. "You be nice to each other, all right?"
The toddler tapped his stuffed raven at Harry’s chin several times.
"Yeah, I’ll tell her to be nice to you, too." He bounced Lysander a few times on his leg, smiling at the squeal of delight that elicited. "And I hope your sibling gets here much more smoothly than you did. No offense."
Harry glanced briefly at the thin, sleeping form on the sofa, noting the starkness of his silhouette, the faint rattle in his breathing. He’d not missed the trembling of Severus’s right arm now and then, or the way the man seemed to have a bit of trouble carrying Lysander’s 15-pound weight for more than a few minutes. Kingsley claimed Severus had agreed the former would be carrying the next sibling, but Harry couldn’t see how with the already demanding job and the very real death threats flooding the office since he started flushing out the corrupt old guard from the Wizengamot. He didn’t think it was as agreed upon as Kingsley made it out to be either—he’d chanced upon an argument between the two, and from what Harry caught of it, Severus had misgivings about the decision.
The two children by childbirth had been a contract clause on Kingsley’s side, some sort of family tradition that Harry hadn’t really understood the significance of, but that both parties had supposedly agreed to. Ginny said it was common enough in Pureblood contracts, and Harry didn’t think further on it.
Then the pregnancy that would birth Lysander began.
No one could have predicted the nightmare that followed, least of all the mediwizard who had declared Severus in good health and given the couple the green light. A dormant curse, theorised to be a miscast hex caught during the War, made itself known within the first month. Kingsley had been so furious, that the mediwizard had felt it in his best interests to leave the country.
Months passed with Severus in and out of St. Mungo’s, mediwitches and wizards half the time trying to figure out what exactly the curse was doing to Severus’s body, and half trying to make sure the pregnancy stayed intact and not fatal to either parent or child. Options were considered and discarded—transferring the fetus, abortion, time magic, stasis spells, and on and on. Harry had still been working closely with Kingsley then, and the toll it had taken on the couple had been readily apparent. The two men rarely spoke of those months, but Harry got the impression that it had tested their new marriage in a way neither preferred to speak of.
In a way, work became Kingsley’s refuge, and old, doddering, Pureblooded wizards and witches became the target of his impotent fury whenever he caught whiff of bribery or wrongdoing. It had been impressive work, but Kingsley had made many enemies those months. Enemies, it seemed, that weren’t going to take the recent cleaning out of the Ministry lying down.
Catching sight of another cold shiver trembling the thin form, Harry gave in and grabbed a thick blanket from one of the cupboards.
Severus woke up with a start just as Harry was pulling up the edge towards his shoulder. "Kings...?" he asked, still hazy with sleep. Harry froze, transfixed at the unexpected tenderness in his former professor's voice. In a second, Severus's eyes focused and he frowned. "Potter."
Harry gave him a gentle smile and finished pulling up the blanket. "He'll be here, sir."
"Where's—" Severus followed Harry's gesture, glancing over his shoulder to where Lysander was rolling on the carpeted floor with his stuffed raven.
"Fed, burped, napped for a few minutes. Hasn’t needed a diaper change yet."
That seemed to assuage Severus well enough. Harry heard him issue a soft sigh, before a flinty, hard stare focused on his face. "Do you need to rest, or did you wake me for no good reason?"
"I was just—" Harry mentally counted to five. "Never mind. You’re welcome."
Harry ignored the impolite sound that followed his return to the much more welcoming company of the drooling baby on the carpet.
Merlin, but did he miss his own family right now. Today marked the second week of Ginny and the kids "vacationing" in France with the rest of the Weasleys, hosted by Bill and Fleur. Due to the nature of Harry’s job and the celebrity status he came with, Ginny had established a "protect the Burrow" game plan, aided by the convenience of having either France or Romania to pack up and run to for a few weeks (or months, if need be). It was foolproof and streamlined to perfection, and easy enough to sell to the little ones as a fun vacation.
It did mean that Harry seldom saw his family during times like this. He’d put on a brave face when he’d heard second-hand that Al had spoken his first word and learnt to walk in his absence, but that had devastated him.
It won’t happen a second time. He nuzzled Lysander’s head and hoped Lily was sleeping well tonight.
---
Kingsley felt bone-tired. The portkey dumped him into a nondescript, dead-end hallway...he tried to recall which one this was, but one safehouse blended into another in his memories. Morrison had said this was in Glasgow, but they had three in Glasgow. Or four. No, three when he was still Chief, four as Minister. Or maybe that was Dublin.
He straightened and leaned against a wall, resting his head back and closing his eyes. He’d wanted to come here as soon as Francis had delivered the news of his family’s state and whereabouts, but both the MLE and his staff refused to let him go until things were sorted to the bare minimum. It took a great deal of control for him not to snap back with how Fudge would just simply vanish to wherever hole the MLE put him in whenever there was a threat to the former Minister and not re-emerge until weeks later.
Fudge was a coward, he reminded himself, letting the bitterness melt away, and Scrimgeour changed nothing. These new protocols were good. He just wished he hadn’t needed to stew in uncertainty for several hours, relying on the mere word of Potter’s second-in-command about whether or not he still had a family to go home to, while he put out fires left and right.
He pushed against the wall and left the hallway, softening his steps when he rounded the corner and caught sight of Severus’s sleeping form, with Harry sitting cross-legged on the carpet, humming a soft tune to Lysander while the baby slept on his shoulder.
The breath he released was slow and unclenched something deep in his chest. Harry met his eyes across the room, his gaze filled with echoing sympathy.
The young man rose quietly, careful with his child, and approached where he stood. Kingsley noted with satisfaction that the other man’s wand was discreetly being hidden back in its sleeve.
"Want him?" Harry asked, tilting his head at the toddler.
Kingsley smiled at the reluctant note in Harry’s voice. "Unwise. I’m about to fall over." He watched Harry with his child for a moment, grateful that this remarkable man was so invested in his family’s well-being. "Francis got the message you left for him. How’s your head?"
"Fine now. Severus’s potions pack a punch. Safe to return, I’m guessing?"
"You have a press conference in two hours," he said, and laughed when Harry cursed under his breath. "Robards already gave a statement, you can keep yours brief."
"’Brief,’ right. Funny. Minister gets attacked, just another day at the Ministry." Harry rolled his eyes and headed for a corner nook housing a small kitchen. Kingsley recognized some of Lysander’s things and Severus’s potion bottles strewn on the counters. "I’ll pack up some and maybe kidnap your son for an hour, then. Go say hi to your husband. Wand’s on the shelf facing the window."
Kingsley threw his robe onto the armchair and expanded the sofa with his retrieved wand. Though he was gentle about it, he grew concerned when Severus barely stirred while his makeshift bed changed and shifted beneath him. Another checkup was likely in order, but since the last one he’d convinced the man to go to had revealed nothing important, Severus had started throwing that in his face whenever Kingsley worried about his health. He needed something more compelling than "it’s just a damn checkup" to get him to go again.
He toed off his boots and raised the edge of the blanket, scooting into the expanded space. Severus must have woken up at some point and realized he was joining him on the sofa—he felt the man sigh deeply when he wrapped his arm around the thin waist, resting his palm on the sunken stomach.
Severus’s bony hand clutched his. "I want to hear everything, but later if nothing’s urgent," he said, voice still ladened with sleep.
"Not in a good frame of mind for it, anyway," Kingsley murmured in agreement. "It’ll be all over the Prophet tomorrow."
"Mm." Severus gave another sigh. Minutes drifted past, with Kingsley exhausted but too wired to fall asleep, loving the silent moment after the excitement of the attack and the consequent hours-long mess he’d needed to deal with. He’d not come out of the fight unscathed, but what had been long gashes on his thigh and back, and a curse wound on his chest, were now tender bruises after the careful attentions of a mediwitch.
My family’s whole. He pressed closer against the thinner body of his husband, breathing in his scent, thankful for the sensation of skin against skin.
Moments later, while Kingsley was idly listening to the muted sounds of Harry talking in babyspeak, Severus spoke again. "Make sure Potter's placed into support leave," he said, sounding less sleepy this time.
Kingsley frowned, thinking back to his interaction with Harry upon his arrival. "He looked fine earlier."
"He's not." At the inquiring noise Kingsley made, he continued, "A baby, a parent at wandpoint, the Killing Curse..."
"Oh." Past incidents returned to him, moments when he personally saw Harry react strangely given the threat level, and once with him yelling at the young man for freezing during a field operation. It hadn’t happened again.
Bugger. "Has that always been—"
"Can’t be certain," Severus said, with a very certain tone, "but I imagine so."
"That explains a few things...when we worked together, he’d be out of sorts at times. No clue why. It makes sense, but I hadn't thought..."
The grip on his hand tightened, consoling. "You'd no reason to. Potter’s an idiot for not mentioning it."
A disembodied, annoyed voice floated in from the kitchen nook. "Guys...this space is small. I can hear you two talking about me."
Kingsley's "Apologies, Harry," clashed rather brilliantly with Severus's "Not everything is about you, Potter." Harry gave a short laugh and told Lysander what a silly pair his parents were. The noises from the kitchen became a mix of baby squeals and rushing water.
Severus turned to face him, grumbling a little when it took some rearranging of limbs and scooting to get into a comfortable position. When he was settled again, the side of Kingsley’s neck tickled with every breath he exhaled, and the palm of one pale hand rested on his ribs, thumb idly moving back and forth on his thin shirt.
"You’re not allowed to be the first to go in this relationship, just so you know."
Kingsley’s eyebrows rose. "Is that so?" he asked, his tone light but feeling awash with tenderness for the man in his arms. "Noted. Ideally, I like to think we’d shuffle off together, but we do have a child to think of now."
"He’ll adjust. Not lacking in godfathers, apparently."
The accusing note wasn’t lost on Kingsley, which he merely chuckled at. "I’d apologize, but I figured you’d see the advantages to your son being under the Chosen One’s protection when it’s time for Hogwarts."
A brief silence followed as Severus mulled over this. "Fine. But next time you extract a promise from Potter, include yourself in it, then. I’ll not be widowed less than two years into my damn marriage."
"Promise...?" Kingsley asked.
"Harry wouldn’t leave to find you earlier. Stayed like a stubborn weed for security."
The two seemingly incongruous statements only made sense to Kingsley after a long while. "Severus..." he began, wondering, not for the first time, how his husband could read people like a book but have such trouble interpreting them, "you seem to have forgotten that Harry’s your official Bulwark in this marriage."
---
Dear Merlin, he had. Kingsley’s meaning hit him like a ton of bricks, leaving Severus feeling unsettled while he reviewed his exchange with Harry earlier.
Something of his unease must have been felt through their closeness, for Kingsley’s hold on him tightened. "I’m grateful for it. He takes the role seriously, if you hadn’t noticed," his husband said in a low murmur.
"He told me as much," Severus admitted. "Feels like ages ago." People spoke of that time fondly, as public a thing as it had been, but Severus didn’t like thinking back to the Courtship much. He’d acted like a right prat throughout, more intent on discovering the identity of his mystery suitor than genuinely participating in the proceedings. For most of it, he’d been convinced it was all a ruse to humiliate and discredit him, and for the last stretch needed quite a bit of catching up to the idea that someone genuinely wanted him as a life partner.
One requirement (among many) of the whole circus of ritualistic pureblood nonsense had been for the suitor to approach a designated Bulwark. Logically, that should fall on Lucius, or Minerva if he was stretching it—the two people Severus trusted the most to have his well-being in mind. But when Severus paid a visit to both, he’d been duly informed that they had not, in fact, taken on the responsibility. Lucius hadn’t even stepped up to it, the useless bugger.
But Minerva had, and she’d been told that the role had already been taken by someone else.
"I insisted," Harry said, while taking his crying son from the stroller.
"Without consulting me," Severus accused.
"Yes," Harry confirmed, with a calmness that just served to enflame Severus’s annoyance. "I was told I didn't have to, and I wanted to skip you yelling at me. Look, do you want to do this inside...?"
"So you know who it is." Harry rolled his eyes at having his question ignored. "And you think he is...suitable?"
It was a tense moment while Harry rocked his child, whose crying had calmed down to small hiccoughs. "I don't think you're allowed to ask that question."
"For Merlin's sake, Potter!" Severus’s glare intensified when the baby—named Albus Severus, of all things, but if Harry wanted his child to be born a pariah, he was welcome to it—looked like he was about to wail again.
Whatever knee-jerk reply Harry had been about to release was kept silent behind firmed lips. He huffed, patting the baby’s back. "I think he's a good man. Honourable, kind, strong." A curious, sideways glance was thrown at Severus. "In good shape, if that matters to you."
"Nevermind all that!" he hissed, mortified that the very insinuation embarassed him. "Does he have...is he doing this to—"
Something in his stilted question caused Harry’s stance to soften. "Honestly don't really know him that well. But if I'm certain of one thing, it's that he wants you. Not your business, not your reputation, not some sort of nasty Death Eater kink, or whatever else you're imagining—"
"Potter—"
"He wants you. He was very eloquent about it, actually. Gave me goosebumps."
Severus gave him a suspicious, considering look. "So you...approve of the match?"
Harry shrugged. "Final say is yours, Snape. Doesn't matter what I think," he said. "For what's it worth, I think you two could be great together."
And truly, Severus should have left it at that. But morbid curiosity, and a nagging lack of satisfaction, urged him to keep poking. "So why take on this role? Idle curiosity on whoever the fuck started this farce?"
"I wanted to make sure you'd be taken care of."
The frank answer, delivered with no hint of ridicule or sarcasm, gave Severus pause. Just how ludicrous it was struck him after. "I can take care of myself," he immediately said after getting his bearings. "Have, even, for longer than you've been alive."
"I know." Satisfied that his baby was once again tucked safely in the stroller, Harry turned to fully face him. "You don't think I'm serious about being your Bulwark, but I am. If he goes back on a promise, or if he hurts you in any way, he'll answer to me. He knows well enough what I'm willing to do for you."
Severus wished the brat would start crying again, because being subjected to the full force of Harry’s serious attention was not something he quite knew how to deal with. His suspicions, yes. His unfounded opinions. But now, something fierce and concerned and protective lay behind those green eyes, and so utterly sincere. The way Lily used to look at him when she’d got so good at spotting new bruises on his skin whenever they met up for the summer holidays.
Severus found he couldn't meet a gaze that heartfelt for any extended length of time. He looked down and cleared his throat. "I suppose you expect me to be grateful for this."
"You're welcome," Harry deadpanned. Severus bristled. "If there's to be a wedding, I expect good seats for me and the Weasleys, by the way. And Ginny wants you over for Christmas."
He’d thus far managed to escape two Potter/Weasley Christmas invitations, but after today, Severus doubted he could sneak out of a third. Harry’s loyalty was a bit more predictable than Harry’s devotion—yet, despite his best efforts, Severus managed to have both.
He enjoyed many things in his life right now that he didn’t deserve, Severus knew, the most evident one currently holding him like he was something precious instead of something broken. When Kingsley became so indispensable in his life, he couldn’t tell, but now the very thought of his loss made his spine shiver and his throat tighten.
"Quit it," Kingsley whispered, a sultry note to his amused voice, "unless you’re up for putting on a show very soon."
Severus froze. He’d not noticed he’d been doing it, but his idle stroking of Kingsley’s skin had drifted farther up, close to the area beneath his pectorals that he damn well knew was sensitive. "Violence and the threat of imminent death not enough of a cold shower for you?" he teased, while pressing his fingers deliberately against the thin shirt separating their skin.
"You can feel my answer to that." Severus slid a hand between them and gave a firm squeeze. Kingsley responded with a low, breathless chuckle. "Sofa feels sturdy enough."
That startled a laugh out of Severus. He could feel his husband’s smirk against his temple when he quickly withdrew his hand. "Don’t you dare," he growled. "Come home early tonight. I plan on having my way with you."
"We can return now," Kingsley murmured while nuzzling his hair. "After the day we’ve had, no one will bat an eye if we take some time to ourselves. Harry’s practically begging to babysit."
"If you leave Lysander with him for that long, Harry will have four children and we will have none."
Kingsley’s sigh felt warm against his scalp. "Point. He can have him later when he’s in his rebellious phase, putting up rock band posters and crying about how no one understands him or some such."
Severus laughed against his skin. "I believe I’m starting to see the benefits of this whole godfather thing."
End