Chapter Text
Harry entered a rather cluttered drawing-room, carrying a teapot, two cups, a milk jug and a platter with sandwiches on a large tray. Shaking his head with what could be described as a look of fond exasperation on his face, he took out his wand and made the tray hover in the air while he made room for it on the table that was covered with mountains of books, rolls of parchment and heaps of notes, completely obscuring Hermione from view. In fact, the only thing that gave away her presence was the feverish scratching of the quill that filled an otherwise silent room. Harry sighed and put the tray down, squeezing it among the towers of books he had parted to accommodate it.
«Hugo and Rose are asleep,» he said softly. However, her concentration had been so great, his voice still made Hermione jump as though he had come from behind and shouted 'Boo!' at the top of his voice right into her unsuspecting ear. She looked up from the report she had been scribbling with wild, dazed eyes as though she was surprised to find herself in the room with another human being. Harry didn't like to see her looking like that: her face was thin and haggard, there were dark circles under her eyes and a stupid bun at the nape of her neck that she took to wearing in order to keep her bushy hair at bay and that made her look at least ten years older than she actually was.
«W-what?»
«Hugo and Rose are asleep,» repeated Harry patiently, «and it's high time you had some rest to.»
Hermione sighed.
«I can't, Harry!» she said and as she did so she sounded close to hysterics, reminding him of the girl in their third year at Hogwarts who had bitten off more than she could possibly chew. «I have to finish this report by tomorrow or they'll eat me alive! They hate me,» she said miserably, «and I have to be prepared on every — single — point and have all the necessary figures and data at hand to prove my point or I won't have the guts to face them at all.»
«You won't have strength to stand upright if you don't have a good night's sleep, that's for sure,» remarked Harry, sitting down into an armchair that he had moved towards the table with a wave of his wand. «And as for not having the guts to face them — » he snorted « — you have never been lost for words before,» he reminded her. «Not when talking about something you believe in or feel particularly passionate about.»
Hermione gave him a grateful, watery smile.
«At least have some tea. Here, I also made some sandwiches,» said Harry coaxingly, moving the tray towards her. He was relieved when Hermione complied, sighing and tossing the report aside.
Harry knew why Hermione was on the point of a nervous breakdown and he wished there was anything he could do to help her. However, he also knew that until Hermione realised that she was wasting her time and energy on doing nothing more than fighting windmills there could be no help or relief. As it happened Hermione was once again fighting to change something that had been deeply routed within the pure-blood tradition of the wizarding community. The next day she was addressing a roomfull of people comprised of pure-blood witches and wizards whose families have been upholding one such tradition for many a century and who considered her an upstart and a nuisance they couldn't shut up no matter what.
Harry didn't think that they were right but he wasn't sure that Hermione was right either or that she could look at it from their point of view. In his opinion there was nothing bad about preserving certain traditions as long as they didn't interfere with the natural development of the wizarding community or lead to genocide of muggleborns or something like that. But there was no convincing Hermione that some of them could be left well alone and were not worth fighting against. It seemed that she had made it her goal to try and uproot every single pure-blood tradition that she came in contact with.
For example, at the moment she was trying to persuade the wizarding community to establish kindergardens and primary schools for young children so that they could get there basic non-magic education there or even send them to muggle kindergardens and primary schools so that they were raised side by side with muggle children and learned to treat them as equals. Naturally, the second part of her proposed bill caused much discontent and objection among the pure-blood population. Especially, they were indignant over a widely rumoured fact that Hermione intended for such attendance to be made mandatory.
However, among her triumphs was the establishment of Fair House-Elf Treatment Committee a few years ago that monitored the house-elves' physical and psychological state and even sentenced those who mistreated them within their household to a term in Azkaban, pure-blood or not. But one of her on-going campaigns still remained to secure their days-off and fair wages. At the moment each household containing house-elves was at liberty to decide on their own whether to pay them and give them holidays or not. However, they were obliged to pay a house-elf maintenance tax, part of each went to cover the expenses at St. Mungo's Hospital, where there was now a special ward for treating house-elf who suffered abuse at the hands of their owners.
«I just need a little more time,» she whispered over the brim of her cup in a voice that sounded close to desperation. Harry knew that she was talking to herself, because she wasn't looking at him. «It drives me absolutely insane that I've become so utterly bad at coping with my work at the Ministry. I used to do everything on time but now I'm always late because I have to take care of the children — »
Crack.
The cup Harry had been holding split in two and hit the carpeted floor, the table stood upon, with a muffled thud. Hermione gasped, looking up at him with a stricken expression and covered her mouth with her hands. Harry narrowed his eyes but was too angry to speak, his hands shook.
«Harry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I...»
There were tears in her eyes now. Tears that the very next moment spilled down her cheeks in two fat streams. Harry nodded, picked up the pieces of the cup with his wand, muttered 'Reparo' and managed to put it back on the saucer without breaking again. He knew that Hermione loved Rose and Hugo as any normal parent would but she tended to resent the need to spend her time taking care of them whenever she was under pressure. Harry, who had been yearning for a family of his own for the last ten years at least, could not hear it without getting furious. If only she knew what it was like not to have children when that was what you wanted more than anything, he thought bitterly, she would appreciate having them so much more!
Hermione, of course, knew how much Harry wanted to have children and it was the sign of how stressed she was that she had let something like that slip out in his presence. Harry was sure that her pity was the main reason why she would so often ask him round to babysit Hugo and Rose or put them to bed — like today — under the pretext that both she and Ron were too busy to possibly manage without his help. It was meant from the heart and out of desperation — because they didn't know what else they could do — and Harry was too absurdly happy to have such an opportunity to feel offended at being treated like a sad charity case. Besides, they liked to pretend that it was Harry who was really doing them a favour.
Of course, there was also Teddy Lupin — his godson. But he lived with Andromeda Tonks and was officially under her care. Harry regularly took him for the weekend, that they loved to spend in Muggle London, doing all the fun things that Harry hadn't got to do as a child. However, his relationship with Teddy's grandmother has never really recovered from their very first encounter, when Harry for a split second took her for her mad sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Harry still could not get rid of the suspicion that Andromeda blamed him for the death of her daughter and husband and, therefore, did not wish to be any more cordial to him than she had to be for Teddy's sake whenever he stopped by to pick him.
Earlier today Hermione had dropped by his cubicle at the Auror Headquarters on her way to pick up Rose and Hugo from the muggle kindergarden they attended, looking harrassed and irritated as she always did of late, and asked him to come round later, because she had still lots of work to do and Ron was stuck at the shop with George getting everything ready for the unveiling of their new Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product tomorrow. Harry readily agreed. There were only so many cases he could work on at the same time before the fact of his loneliness caught up with him, making him feel bad and potentially reckless.
Spending time with Rose and Hugo after a gruelling day in the field or a boring one at his desk calmed him down or enlivened him, depending on the immediate need. Doing something as simple as preparing them supper, playing with them, making sure that they brushed their teeth before going to bed, reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard to Hugo and entertaining Rose, who was growing up to be as inquisitive as her mother, with stories from work filled his life with meaning and warmth it missed otherwise. Besides, he missed talking about his work, discussing little clues that led him to solve crimes, describing new spells that he wanted to try, going over the more fascinating cases he was working on at the moment.
The problem was that he couldn't talk about any of it with Ron anymore — not after a botched-up operation about five years ago that left him with a permanent injury in his knee, that prevented him from being as quick and useful in the field as he used to be, and caused Ron to quit and join George instead. He never stopped blaming himself for what had happened to Harry and it took around two years for Ron to be in the same room with Harry without averting his eyes in shame. Their relationship continued strained for some time but they were slowly bridging the gap and becoming close again.
«Harry,» said Hermione softly, interrupting his train of thoughts, «how long has it been since you last dated anyone?»
«Not long enough for me to forget what happened each time I tried,» he murmured, curling his lips. The bitterness in his voice made Hermione flinch. Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. He didn't want to upset her or make her feel guilty — it was hardly her fault that he couldn't find anyone decent enough to date who wouldn't rush and sell him to the Daily Prophet at the very first opportunity. Harry gulped down the bile that rose up to his throat at the the horrible memories.
«Not since...?» began Hermione almost fearfully.
Harry made a jerking motion with his head — then shuddered.
Antoine Perriere.
He was the worst of the kind. The final straw. Harry felt sick to the stomach just thinking about the bastard and what he had done to him. He was a real charmer, that one. They had been together for eight months. Harry didn't think that he could be happier. He had been sure that after all the disappointments and betrayals that he had to endure, after a long string of failed relationships, he had finally found his Mr Right. He was considering bonding and adoption when he found out that that son of a bitch had published a book titled In Bed With The Chosen One, which provided a long and detailed account of their love affair and sex life that was no more truthful than (as it turned out later) his name and identity. Harry was beyond devastated. It was after that blow that he swore off relationships for good.
Hermione was looking at him with growing concern. Harry gave her a small smile that meant to reassure. 'I'll be fine,' it said. 'Don't worry about me.' Hermione looked like she was about to say something else but thought better of it. This time Harry smiled to himself. It was another sign of how exhausted she was that she didn't pursue the subject and tried to convince him to give it another try without Ron telling her to let go. Hermione merely nodded, leaned forward to squeeze his hand and with an air of someone facing the battle picked up the report again.
Harry levitated the tray and went to the kitchen, wondering if that was to be his life. He loved Rose, Hugo and Teddy, but when all was said and done, they weren't his children and he just couldn't pretend otherwise. In the end of the day he always returned to an empty house where he could count only on old Kreacher to be happy to see him. They had discussed his options many times before. Wasn't there anyone out there who wouldn't attempt to gain something through his association with Harry? Well, maybe there was. But Harry wasn't about to find that out. Not after that last debacle that cost him so much hurt and humiliation. He'd had enough. He just didn't know who to trust. And he didn't want to wait. There were times when he was even contemplating seeing muggles. But he didn't want to live a double life, always hiding his true identity. Not to mention that being an Auror it wouldn't look too good if he broke the Statute of Secrecy.
He didn't want to burden anyone with his desire for a family. He still remembered Ginny's less than thrilled reaction many years ago when he told her that he wanted to have a large family — it turned out that settling down with a brood wasn't exactly in her plans. Of course, that was right after the war and before Ginny had shoved him none too gently onto the journey of self-discovery that led him to the realization that he was, in fact, more interested in persuing romantic alliances with those of his own sex. No, he didn't want to burden anyone. He had to do it alone. Of course, he wanted to do it the normal way but normal didn't seem to apply to him. So he had to consider alternative ways of creating a family for himself. He has. For example, adoption. In fact, at the moment he was expecting a letter from a wizarding orphanage, hoping that they would let him adopt a baby on his own.
Having washed the dishes (he still preferred to do it the muggle way), Harry went upstairs to check if Rose and Hugo were asleep; he wasn't worried about Hugo, but Rose loved to sit up in bed with a book long past her bedtime. Then he returned to the drawing-room, kissed Hermione on the forehead (she gave him an absent-minded smile and patted him on the arm without taking her eyes off the parchment she was studying), took a pinch of Floo powder from the pot next to the fireplace and Flooed himself to Grimmauld Place.
«Master is home,» croaked Kreacher's voice as the elf appeared with the barest of pops a split second later, his tiny arms crossed on his chest. «At last.»
Harry laughed.
Then he spotted an official-looking envelope lying on the kitchen table. He grabbed it, fumbled with the seal (suddenly his hands started shaking), unfolded the parchment and looked through the first paragraph, holding his breath. Three lines down a lump formed in his throat and he slumped into a chair, shaking his head, his feasts clenched in fury.
Dear Mr Potter,
We have received your letter and application form concerning the adoption of a child from St. Hilda's Home. However, having carefully considered the matter, we regret to inform you that we must reject your application on account of a number of important points that make you unsuitable for taking a child in your care.
We are much obliged to you for your ardent interest in the welfare of our wards and wish to thank you for your generous contributions in the past. We hope that our reply will not affect your generous nature in any way.
Our records show that you have previously applied for adoption to two other institutions. In order to avoid any further disappointment on your part, we wish to inform you that all the orphanages established by the wizarding community of Great Britain share the same database and that we carefully study all the records before making a final decision.
A child, especially one brought up in an institution, requires safe, stable and comfortable environment. Therefore, we insist on allowing adoption only to those applicants who have a life partner to share the responsibility of raising the child with.
Additionally, while we greatly admire your heroic past and your noble and essential work as an Auror at present, we cannot hide our concern at the violent nature of your job and the consequences that it might have on your life and that of your child should you adopt.
And lastly, we absolutely cannot discount the fact of your own disturbed childhood, your criminal record, extremely public way in which you conduct your personal affairs and other calamities that plagued your life as a child and a young man. We fear that they could have left a lasting effect on your mental state and we cannot guarantee that the child you adopt will be safe in your care.
With best wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Evangelina Blight
St. Hilda's Home for Orphaned Children
His knuckles white, Harry crumpled the parchment and threw it into the fire.
*
«Harry, are you sure about this?» asked Hermione, peering closely at him, her eyes brimming with sympathy and desperate desire to help. Harry felt a mad desire to hug her. However, he restricted his movements to a nod.
Ron shook his head, looking slightly green.
«I don't know, mate. I mean, wizarding pregnancy... it's not common... it's considered dangerous, you know...»
He looked troubled and kept throwing furtive glances at Harry. Once again he refused to meet his eye. Harry knew that he still felt guilty about Harry and Ginny's failed relationship, especially Ginny's decision not to pursue it any longer. Harry tried telling him again and again that it didn't matter, because of his preferences, but Ron was convinced that if Ginny hadn't broken off their relationship in the first place, Harry wouldn't have gone off on a self-searching journey during which he discovered that he wasn't straight after all. Besides, if they'd stayed together, he'd have had the family he'd always wanted. Harry thought that it was completely ridiculous and that the signs had been there all along but he had just been too busy while at Hogwarts to take notice.
Harry had asked Hermione to speak to Ron about his decision beforehand, so the first shock had worn off by now, but he still didn't look too happy with the idea. Now they were sitting in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, which seemed like a fitting place, because it was always here where they planned momentous things. Harry knew that it would take a while to convince Ron to accept the fact that his best friend was going to conceive through artificial donor insemination and he braced himself for what was to be a long and difficult discussion. He could do it. He had prepared in advance too. He just had to remember his speech. How did it begin...?
Harry had really counted on adoption but, after the letter that he received about a month ago from St. Hilda's Home, he had to face the fact that adopting — at least in the wizarding world and by legal means at his disposal — wasn't an option. Apparently, according to their logic, it was better for a child to grow up in an institution, not knowing what it was like to have a real home and a loving family, than with a single parent who would do everything in his power to make it feel loved and cherished. Harry was sure that he had much to offer to any child of his but he wasn't about to settle for just about anyone in order to suit the stupid requirements at the orphanage. Therefore, he had decided to go with the only other option that required neither a life partner nor a permission: he was going to use a sperm bank to obtain semen for his future child and carry it himself.
It wasn't a rash or light decision to make. He had long been contemplating the possibility. He had researched and studied the matter of male pregnancy extensively (or as extensively as he could study something so rare) and consulted one of the specialists in the field: his old schoolmate, Ernie Macmillan. He was ready to do it if it meant that he would have a family of his own. He had counted on a big family and a special someone by his side but he had to start somewhere. So what if he decided to start backwards? He had enough experience in looking after the children thanks to his godchildren to be certain of his abilities to rear a child on his own. Of course, it took him awhile to decide on doing something as drastic as carrying it himself but the longer he waited the more desperate he became. Until male pregnancy stopped being a foreign concept but rather something that he regarded as a new adventure that scared him shitless.
Harry took a deep breath.
«Ron, listen, I know that it's a lot to take in. I know that it's not what you would want for me. I know that it's not all that common — but it's not unheard of either. I can supply you with all the necessary data to prove it.» Harry smiled ruefully. «Trust me, I've been doing nothing but studying and researching the matter ever since I decided on that course of action. I know exactly what I'm getting myself into and I know that whatever the risk I'm willing to take it because this is my chance to have a family of my own. I know that you don't like it but I will need my two best friends by my side. I need you. I don't have anyone else. And there is no one I'd rather share it with. I need you to be there for me. But only if you can do it.»
Harry fell silent and hung his head.
Ron hadn't looked at him once during his speech. Then —
«Er — how big will you get?»
Harry laughed. Hermione rolled her eyes.
«Honestly, Ron, is this the only thing you want to know?» she snapped.
«Well, as I understand from what I've read on the subject,» said Harry before they could start bickering, «there will be a certain degree of transformation visible outwardly — mainly in my abdominal region — but because it will be achieved through a special spell, I won't be as big as — »
« — me,» muttered Hermione darkly. It was Ron's turn to roll his eyes.
Harry gave her an apologetic grin.
«What will the spell do?» she asked.
«It will create an artificial womb that will allow me to carry the baby once I use the sperm from the wizarding sperm bank and — »
Ron had turned a nasty shade of green, now looking as though he was about to puke all over the kitchen table.
«Oh, get a grip, Ron!» hissed Hermione. «Stop being so childish, will you? This isn't about your sensibilities. Harry needs our help and he needs us to act our age! If you can't even hear what he's got to say...»
«I didn't say that I won't be helping him, did I?» snapped Ron, nettled. «But I can't just sit here and pretend that I like it. I mean, come on, it sounds really dodgy.»
Harry shook his head.
«There's nothing dodgy about the spell, Ron,» he said gravely. «Male bodies aren't exactly built to carry children, you know. And this spell is the only known way that can help a male wizard conceive, carry and bear a child. I'm not the first wizard to go through with it.»
«It's really dangerous,» repeated Ron, averting his gaze. «I don't want anything to happen to you, mate. That's all. I mean, a child is all very well, but I don't want to lose you because of it. You are more important. To me.»
«Ron, you're not going to lose me,» said Harry. «It's actually quite safe as long as you do it under proper conditions.»
«And what are they?» asked Ron defiantly.
«First of all,» said Harry patiently, «you must have powerful enough magic and you must be closely and constantly monitored by a specialist at a proper mediwizarding facility. I've been undergoing all sorts of tests to make sure that I can do it. There's actually a spell that tells them if your magic is strong enough to do it. If they told me that it's no good in my case, I would never do it. Believe me. No matter how much I wanted that child. I will have to have biweekly appointments, monthly check-ups and the spell will have to be reapplied every trimester. There's also a number of potions that I'll have to take on a regular basis to keep things running smoothly. And, of course, I mustn't do anything dangerous or overstress myself.»
Hermione let out a cough that most certainly covered a snort.
«What? You don't think I can do it? It'll take some getting used to, sure, but I reckon I can manage. There was something else... Ah! No more Firewhiskey for me on a Friday night. Sorry, mate.»
Ron gave a hollow sort of laugh.
«But, Harry, what about your work?» asked Hermione with a half-glance at Ron. «I know how much you've always wanted to be an Auror and how much you love being one. So what are you going do about it now? Surely, you can't run around catching criminals — not once you'll be carrying a baby.»
Harry snorted.
«I've been an Auror long enough to realise that being one didn't quite live up to my dreams,» he said, also with half a glance at Ron, who appeared to be quite intent on making a serious dent in the wooden table with his stare. «I mean, I love my work and all that, but I always knew that my decision to carry a child would affect it. But, really, I don't need to run around in order to catch criminals. I can restrict my dealings with them to my cubicle and solve cases at my desk. I don't always have to be on the field team, you know. There are many other trained Aurors at the Auror Department. I've trained many of them myself. I'm sure they'll manage just fine in the field without me. I have lots of paperwork to do as it is and there's one project I've never had enough time to work on before. Besides, because of the magical nature of my condition, my magical activity will have to be restricted to simple, basic spells, which will be of no use to me in the line of duty. Oh, yes, almost forgot. I won't be able to use any magical means of transportation either, so my movements will be limited too. Good thing I took my driving test though,» Harry added with a smirk.
Hermione was looking at him with tears in her eyes.
«Oh, Harry! I'm so proud of you,» she whispered.
«Why? Don't tell me it's because I've finally learned to do my own research,» he joked.
Hermione shook her head, smiling feebly at him.
«You are so brave to carry and bear a child, knowing that you will have to raise it on your own...»
«Well, I have you two to help me and I've had enough practice with Rose and Hugo.»
Harry tried to keep the conversation light but Hermione would have none of that.
«You know that's not what I mean.»
«I know...»
Hermione rose to her feet and Harry did the same. He knew that what she needed right now was a hug. He hugged her tightly, tucking her head under his chin and exchanging a look with Ron over the top of her head.
«I wish you had someone special in your life,» mumbled Hermione; «someone who would make you truly happy and who would be a great parent to your future child.»
Harry kissed her on the top of her head with a half-smile.
«Maybe I will.»
Hermione looked up at him.
«Someday.»
«But, say, what if something happens,» said Ron anxiously. «I mean, what if there's an emergency — how will we know? Can you at least use Floo to contact us?»
«I've thought about that too,» replied Harry, nodding. «The thing is that I might not be necessarily anywhere near a fireplace at the time.»
«So how then — ?»
«I'm sure that we can use our old method of communication. Hermione can always enchant a couple more fake galleons.»
«It's the least I can do,» she said, stepping back and looking at him with a mixture of wonderment and admiration as if she was about to remark on how tall he'd become. «You seem to have thought of everything.»
Harry was surprised that she had refrained from saying «You've grown so much. It's like you don't even need us any more.».
«I'm sure there are still plenty of things that I haven't taken into consideration,» replied Harry with a chuckle, «and that will take me completely by surprise when they come. But for now I think I'm all set.»
They sat down at the table again. It seemed that the most difficult part was over: Ron appeared to be resigned — if not quite convinced — and subdued by Harry's meticulous preparations. So Harry thought it save to ask Kreacher to bring in some tea.
«So what will you say at... at the office?» asked Ron, stumbling slightly over the word. «Do they know?»
Harry shook his head. «No one does.» He scratched the back of his neck. «I thought I would have to make a public statement at some point.»
However, what he didn't say in Ron's presence was that he was going to lean on his old Dark Magic injury as a cause for turning to desk job. Before now Harry tried to work as though he didn't have it at all, remembering battle-scarred Mad-Eye Moody and exerting himself to his full capacity. But now things were about to get very different different and Harry was actually willing to go as far as to pretend that the old injury had gotten to him at last in order to cover up the truth until he was ready for the wizarding community to know it.
Hermione was frowning at him.
«Are you talking about going to the Daily Prophet?» she asked.
«That stinking old rag!» exclaimed Ron. «Harry, are you out of your bloody mind?»
«I don't want there to be any speculations or rumours, Ron. I'd rather they have my side of the story before any Rita Skeeter-penned articles appear.»
«But how do you know that they won't twist your story? I mean, nothing stopped them from doing it before.»
«Susan Bones works as a special correspondent there now,» replied Harry. «She's OK. She's got her own column there, Family Matters. I think it'll be a perfect place for my story and I'm sure I can trust her to present it in a proper light.»
Hermione nodded.
«I forgot that Susan worked there. I must say that she's really good at what she does. Yes, I see your point, Harry. I think you'll be just fine giving her an interview.»
«I'm sorry but am I the only one who still doesn't like this idea?» asked Ron.
«Shut up, Ron,» said Hermione.
Ron looked incredulously at Harry who grinned back at him and shrugged his shoulders. Defeated, Ron shook his head, muttering «Barmy. The both of you.» under his breath.
However, the next moment Hermione asked a question that wiped away Harry's merriment and sobered him up.
«Harry, will you be able to learn the identity of the donor?»
Harry shook his head.
«No. He will remain completely anonymous. Neither I nor my child will ever know who he is. It will be my child. Mine and mine alone.»
Harry was adamant on that point when he was filling the application form during the preliminary meeting at the wizarding sperm bank a fortnight ago and was rigorously questioned on each and every point during an interview by a kindly elderly lady afterwards.
«Don't worry, dear,» she added quickly at the look of alarm on his face when she mentioned the he or his future child could opt to know the identity of the donor, «all our records are sealed unless requested otherwise and we guarantee complete anonimity of the donor and the recipient alike. However, we do offer a choice for those who wish to have one. In this case, it will be noted down in your application form and will, therefore, affect the selection of the donor in question. Just like recipients many donors prefer to remain unknown to any future offspring they might help conceive. That's a 'no' then, dear? Very well.»