Chapter Text
"You have a child, Potter?”
It’s probably the last thing Draco ever expected to see, walking into Harry Potter’s little antique shop, the musical whistling of wind chimes rattling against the door upon his arrival his usual greeting.
Potter, the man in question, jumps about a foot in the air at hearing Draco’s voice and nearly dislodges the cherub creature giggling on his hip. “Er, no, he’s not mine.” Potter says wildly, eyes wide and astonished, as though he couldn’t believe Draco would ever make that assumption. But he’d be hard pressed not to, when the baby on Potter’s hip, the one he’s gripping real tight there, has shockingly clear green eyes and a mop of unruly black hair. Coupled with his rosy cheeks and tan complexion and you’d have…well, a mini Potter, obviously.
“Really?” Draco asks dryly, because really, what was the likelihood that this cute babe didn’t belong to Potter? The child was a carbon copy of the man! Draco has no idea how Potter has kept his secret child and secret lover hidden all this time, and has to remind himself he doesn’t care. Not really. What business is it of his if Potter had a secret love child or not?
Colleagues didn’t have to divulge information like that to each other.
Potter appears distressed, and a little sleepless as well, judging by the dark bags under his eyes. He seems barely able to hold himself up behind the counter with the weight of the chirping baby on his hip. “Well, I mean he’s mine, but it’s not what you think. He’s not real.”
The baby stops gurgling and starts whimpering, making Potter falter for a second. “Uh, I thought you might want to look at this artifact.” He stutters, trying to soothe the baby as he lifts one hip to gesture to the cherub.
“The baby is an artifact?” Draco can’t help but let the incredulity seep through his voice; he’s never seen a living, breathing artifact that looked like a baby. Either Potter’s off his rocker, or someone fed him some shrooms this morning, because either way Draco cuts it, that’s a real, living and breathing baby nestled in the crook of Potter’s arm.
Harry squeezes his eyes shut and takes a seat behind the counter, bouncing the now cooing infant on his knee. Draco turns to check the street through the shop windows and when it doesn’t look like anyone is about to enter, he makes his way over to him carefully, though Draco isn’t too keen on joining Potter behind the counter. “Sorry, no, he’s not supposed to be…uh, animate. Hermione uh, Transfigured it, maybe? When she was mad at me?”
Draco feels a headache coming on already. He hooks his hand on his hip and just stares at Potter, at the baby, at the mess behind the counter – Salazar, didn’t he clean it all last week? – and sighs deeply, like all of life’s misfortunes have fallen upon his shoulders. And to be honest, hasn’t it? He’s been picking up after Potter’s messes for what feels like years, really, though in reality it’s probably only been a couple months.
He wonders how Weasley and Granger managed to do it all through school.
“What did you do to piss off Granger?” Draco asks, though he certainly isn’t going to enjoy hearing the answer. He spots a gorgeous lacquered box with a felt insert laying on the countertop and throws a detection spell at it before running his fingers softly against the velvety indent inside.
“She, er,” Harry flushes pink and averts his eyes shamefully, “told me she and Ron couldn’t find a babysitter on time for Friday, so they canceled our plans, and I told her it can’t be that hard to find a babysitter when Ron has a whole family to choose from and she could have planned this out better and earlier, and she got sorta mad at me and we started…uh, bickering.”
Draco tipped a glance to the side to smile at Potter. “You always did have a nasty temper.” He remarks, picking up the box to feel its sturdy weight.
“Yeah, I know.” Potter says sadly. “So she whipped her wand out and found the nearest object to transfigure into a…er, baby. Told me it’d serve me right to learn what it meant to parent, and how difficult it really was, and Draco, you have to help me. I haven’t slept in days with this thing crying all the time!”
The baby blinks innocently at Draco with a gummy smile. It looks perfectly angelic.
Draco frowns and puts the box back down again in its original position.
“What’s the artifact?”
It’s the most important question, the whole reason he’s even here to begin with, so of course he needs to know what he’s getting himself into before he makes any promises he can’t keep.
“Oh, it was a ruby. But it definitely wasn’t a regular ruby. It was cut into a unique shape and it had all these spells on it, wrapping it up tight. I don’t–” Harry glances at the baby on his lap, “I’m not sure if they’re still there under Hermione’s charms. They should be. I’m surprised her spell worked at all, to be honest.”
“She’s one of the brightest witches of our age for a reason.” Draco says wisely. She didn’t make it to Minister for Magic by twiddling her thumbs. It was rare these days for anyone to upset Granger purposefully, but if someone was willing to fight back against her, it was definitely going to be Potter. Stubborn old mule, Draco thinks fondly. It had to be one of his better qualities, honestly.
“Do you happen to know anything about this ruby?” Draco asks, coming closer to peer at the mini Potter. It makes grabby hands at him and it takes him only a second of hesitation before he reaches out to relieve the weight from Potter’s lap. Potter looks gobsmacked as Draco hefts the baby up and balances him on one hip, the purest smile on his face as he greets the happy infant. It smiles and laughs out loud at him, slapping a small, soft hand to his cheek.
Merlin and Morgana does it have Potter’s eyes.
“Well, Potter? Do you?” Draco repeats, casting his gaze away from the baby towards Harry, who sits there silently watching them. At least he put his jaw away now.
“No, sorry. Haven’t got to do any research on it until this happened.” He gestures vaguely to the baby and frowns. “Do you like babies, Draco?” The question is innocent, but comes off rapid-fire, like Potter can’t believe it, and Draco rolls his eyes. “Yes, you imbecile. I do have a soft spot for family, if you recall.”
Harry snorts and stands up, going towards the counter for the lacquered box. “I recall you mocking me for not having parents, sure.”
Draco screws his nose up and sighs through his teeth. Years later and they still can’t let go of petty comments, though Draco knows he deserves the barbs.
The baby makes cooing noises and throws its whole face against Draco’s robes, suckling on the front of his shirt. He glances down nonchalantly at the wet spot Potter’s baby is making on his clothes and slides his stare up. “Potter, I think your child is hungry.” He says wryly, and Harry glares at him as he brings the box over to Draco.
“This is what it came in. You can take it with you, along with the artifact, and let me know if you find anything. I’ll get in touch with Hermione in the meantime and ask her to untransfigure it or something.”
“Beg her, you mean.” Draco snarks, offering a mock of a smile at Harry’s mild glare. “Again, your child is hungry. Can he eat? Poop? Did you name him, at least? The poor babe needs a name.” Draco pulls the baby gently off his clothes and tucks his finger against its lip cautiously to peer into its mouth, looking for teeth. The baby grabs his hand and chews on his thumb with its soft gums, and hey, now he can confirm there are no teeth.
Harry lets out a deep sigh and runs his hand through his mop of hair, not that he needs to mess it up further. It looks like enough of a rat’s nest already. “I named him Artie, short for artifact. And yes, he does eat, but he doesn’t poop so I don’t know where the food goes.”
A second goes by in which Harry shifts from foot to foot, uneasy at the way Draco just stares at him. “What?” He asks defensively.
“You fucking named the poor child Artie. After artifact. What an arsehole, Potter. Couldn’t you give him a real name?”
“What do you mean, a real name? Artie is a real name! And he’s not real anyway, so why do you care? What does it matter?”
Draco heaves a great sigh and pats Artie on the back. “It’s okay Artie, ignore your idiot Papa over there. I’ll take care of you.”
Harry splutters indignantly at the insult. It was literally an artifact! Why did it need a real name ? And he wasn’t its Papa! He’d only had it for three bloody, sleepless days.
“Well you can name him and take care of him too. Here, I have the receipt here for when I purchased him from the buyer and – what, why are you looking at me like that? What now?”
Draco was pursing his lips and pulling his hand out of Artie’s curious mouth. “You can’t talk about him like that, like you bought a baby off someone. What is wrong with you Potter? It sounds wrong.”
Harry closes his eyes and counts to ten before he opens them again. “Fine. I purchased the artifact from a seller who came by and wanted to unload a bunch of antique desks. I purchased three desks and one dresser, very nice quality with original hardware, beautiful dovetail joinery, gorgeous inlays, solid oak wood by the way, and then he produced the artifact and said he wanted to part with it. I told him I’d give him a fair price and bought it for roughly 10 thousand Galleons.”
“10 thousand Galleons, are you mental?”
“It’s worth more than that, Draco, easy. With the dark charms plastered all over it, I’m glad he was willing to part with it for that price. We’re really lucky and you know it. The ruby was larger than average and I was in the middle of appraising it for its volume to determine the carat weight before Hermione interrupted me.”
“Even so, Potter, you are insane.” Draco says, and pauses when Artie smacks him in the face with a wet hand, his other hand stuffed in his mouth. Draco does nothing to remove the offending little fingers. “You understand we’ll make no profit until we can sell the ruby at auction, and that requires us to undo this,” he gestures to the baby, “and take off all the dark magic first. It’s going to be a long process this time, Potter.”
Harry rubs his hand over his face tiredly. “I know, Draco. I’m sorry, okay? I bought the ruby so I’ll see it through. Can you just…take the artifact for now though? Please? I’ll raise your commission.”
Artie lays his head on Draco’s shoulder, one slimy hand still in his mouth, and Draco sighs. “All right then. I’ll take the paperwork and box with me. Make sure to send me any other pertinent information you recall or learn from here on and I’ll see what I can do on my end. We can reconvene in, let’s say, a fortnight?”
“Two weeks?” Harry repeats, packing a copy of the paperwork with the elegant box.
“That’s a fortnight, Potter.” Draco rolls his eyes. “Do you have any supplies for the baby or is he all you have? Please tell me you’ve been feeding him.” He looks around but there’s not much he’s expecting. It’s not like Potter would have a diaper bag prepared, would he?
Harry huffs irritably and goes into the back of the store, up a flight of stairs Draco knows leads to a small loft he sometimes lives in. It’s nothing like his distinct ancestral home, Grimmauld Place, but he’s come to learn Potter liked small, cramped places. Merlin knew why.
When Potter returns, it’s with a small bag filled with three onesies, a single bottle, a container of baby formula, and a few cans of baby food. “Can he eat that?” Draco asks dubiously, staring down at the cans and a small rubber spoon. “Yes, he’s like four to six months, I think. I’m not sure on the exact age; it’s been a while since Teddy was a baby.”
Draco takes the offered bag with a deep sigh. It goes without saying he’ll need to make a shopping trip for Artie, as well as brainstorm a new name.
“Great Potter. Anything else I’m missing before I leave?” He says it jokingly, shrinking everything with his wand to shove into his robe pockets, but Potter shifts again from foot to foot and Draco looks up at him suspiciously.
“What is it this time?”
“Uh, well, he–he has a unique heart.”
***
There are worse things in life than being a single parent, Draco thinks. Although he’d never expected to house Potter’s offspring, it’s quite nice having a baby around. He wouldn’t say he had a love for babies per se, but he surprisingly didn’t mind them all that much.
They babbled, they wobbled, and they cried.
It’s a simple enough endeavor, taking care of Artie. Artie, despite Potter’s claims, never cries much around Draco. He isn’t sure why, but the bundle of charms was as sweet as can be, always giggling and babbling at him, making cooing noises and grabbing at his own feet curiously during nap time. It probably helps tremendously that Draco hasn’t put him down since they’d arrived at the Manor, and if he was spoiling the child, then, well, he’d end up spoiled. It was inevitable if Draco was expected to look after him.
Draco loves taking care of Artie, who he secretly renames James, as in yes, James Potter. He’s the striking image of Potter, without the lightning bolt scar, and if Potter refused to have a junior, because let’s face it, he’d never accept it, then James it would be. Artie responds to either name anyway, so Draco reserves the name James for when they’re alone.
Which is most of the time.
He tries to research the ruby, but there isn’t much to go on with Potter’s lacking descriptions, and the seller he’d bought the precious jewel from wasn’t a familiar customer, so it makes the job doubly hard to track down any information about it. The most curious thing, however, has to be Artie’s chest.
There is a ruby embedded in Artie’s skin almost where a normal heart would lie, and Draco can see why Potter insisted the ruby was a justified pricey purchase. It’s magnificent and large, too big to be set in a ring as jewelry, and cut in a particularly unique fashion he can’t describe. It boasts a deep red color, almost glistening, with no imperfections or inclusions the eye could see. It doesn’t stick out of Artie’s chest or thump, but lies flush with his skin, as though it’s a part of him, something he was born with, even though he isn’t a real child.
That was something Draco had difficulty remembering.
It wasn’t a real child.
Each time Draco prepares to feed Artie, he has to remind himself he’s not a real child. It’s a bizarre feeling, lifting Artie in the air and making him laugh, setting him safely in a playpen so he can prep their meals, and entertaining the little cherub baby, just to remember it’s not a real child he’s playing with, caring for, or feeding.
It hits him like a stupefy whenever he changes Artie’s clothes, looking at the little baby and knowing he’s different from other children. But Artie doesn’t mind, rolling and twisting on the play mats, standing and dancing while Draco holds him up with strong, reliable hands, and the way Artie smacks him in the face with a happy sort of glee when he sees Draco makes his heart melt.
Draco doesn’t notice the insane amount of time he spends taking care of the Transfigured baby, and the attachment that comes with it. He simply puts in the hours diligently, and tries to ensure Artie has a happy childhood, wanting for nothing, until they meet up again with Potter and Granger.
There’s no reason a fake baby can’t be happy for two weeks.
***
“Are you ready to see your Papa again, James?” Draco asks, swinging the baby up and out of the high chair.
He’s so proud of Artie, having learned to sit up independently, using his little hands for leverage as Draco hovered nearby worriedly. He made sure repeatedly that Artie could sit himself up before they transitioned to a high chair, and Draco couldn't help but squish the baby in a hug, proud of his achievements.
It might be a foolish stretch to call himself Artie’s dad, and he knows he’s delusional, but Artie seemed to have learned his face, and often reached out for him or cried if he wasn’t there. The babbling was beginning to turn into consonant sounds, and Draco was tempted to teach him the word ‘dada.’ Only the knowledge that Artie wasn’t real, again a blow to the chest, stopped him.
He supposes Potter would think he’s crazy when he sees them, but it doesn’t stop Draco from putting Artie in the cutest little white shirt with a tie print on it, and black slacks, all comfortable cotton of course, and tucking a hat on his head. Artie reaches out to pull on the hat, tugging it over his head to throw at the floor, but Draco catches it neatly to place it patiently back on his fluffy head of hair. “We’re going to see your Papa, James. You have to be bundled up, love. You’ll catch a cold otherwise.” He knows the babe can’t understand him, but he talks to him regardless, because Artie giggles at the sound of his voice and offers him big gummy smiles when he speaks.
“We’ll see if your Papa has learned anything new about you, and I’ll tell him what I learned as well.” Draco explains, slipping some mittens on Artie’s hands and tucking him into a tiny coat. Oh, how small all the baby clothes were. It makes Draco nervous handling a human so small and delicate, reminds him immensely how precious babies are, and though part of him still understands Artie isn’t a human, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s delicate and tiny, and bursts with emotions like a real child.
He giggles and kicks his little legs out when Draco balances him on his hip. “Are you ready, baby?” Draco asks, and he smiles when Artie blows a raspberry at him.
***
“This is unnatural.”
Draco frowns and covers Artie’s ears, though the baby hardly cares, sucking on his toy dragon. He giggles at Draco when his face comes into his peripheral vision. “Don’t say that around him, Granger.” He hisses protectively.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like he understands us.” She says in her know-it-all way. It’s hard enough meeting with the great and mighty Hermione Granger these days, but Draco doesn’t think he’s missing out on much, frowning unhappily at her inconsiderate behavior in front of his – er, the – child.
“Let me get this straight,” Potter says from his place in the cramped room. Why he insisted they meet in his ugly little crowded loft is beyond Draco, but here they are regardless, Draco seated on the floor next to Artie and his toys, with his diaper bag nestled against them on the dingy rug, and Potter and Granger sitting across from them on the bed.
He’d thought Granger would coo over the baby when she saw him, but surprisingly she’d simply looked exhausted. She might be overwhelmed by her own difficulties with child-rearing, but she could at least offer Artie a smile, Draco thought uncharitably.
“You seriously can’t undo the charm, like at all? There’s no way Finite Incantatem will work?” Potter shifts the papers he’s holding from one hand to the other and stares at them hard, like he’s deciphering hieroglyphics. “Yes, Harry. I’m sorry. I did the research like you asked. When I cast my spells, I didn’t realize the ruby was a heart. The dark magic placed on it is such old magic, but it’s an amazingly complex and functional heart, and such a unique find! When I transfigured it into a baby it seemed to have really taken hold of my magic. If you’d like, I can try Finite Incantatem again.”
She brandishes her wand, intending to point it at Artie, but Draco throws his robes over the baby, covering him from her magic. “Draco!” She cries, admonishingly. Artie makes giggling noises in the dark, grabbing at the fabric that’s suddenly appeared in his face.
“No. Not again. You’ve tried it five times already, Granger, give it a rest. It’s not going to work. We need to move on to other ideas, another avenue to getting the artifact back to what it needs to be. But you are not throwing more unnecessary spells at this poor baby. James has had enough.”
Potter almost falls off the bed, startled. “He is not going to be called James!” He shouts indignantly, shocked at the new name Draco has bestowed upon his charge.
Draco sniffs. “He’s a carbon copy of you, Potter. And people always go on about how you’re a spitting image of your father. He’s got your eyes and hair, too, look.” He smirks and lowers his robes once Granger reluctantly puts away her wand so Potter can get a good look at his baby. Artie squeals and topples over excitedly.
“I don’t look exactly like my dad. I’ve got my mum’s eyes.” Potter snaps, hand automatically going towards his face, fixing his glasses and pushing his hair back. Draco gently nudges Artie back into a seated position and gives him his fallen dragon toy to chew on.
“Huh, guess I learned something new. Look James, you’ve got your grandmum’s eyes. Isn’t that exciting?” Draco asks, smirking when Artie squeals again, louder this time, and throws his toy across the room with a jerky motion. Draco watches as it flies into a basket of questionable clothes. “Yeah, you’re not putting that back in your mouth.” He mutters under his breath, reaching into the diaper bag for something new.
Harry opens his mouth to argue back again, but Hermione hits him with her sheaf of parchment.
“It doesn’t matter what his name is.” Hermione interrupts them. “It’s an artifact, first and foremost. It’s not a real baby, no matter how cute it is. And Draco, you should be worried with how attached you’re getting. There’s dark magic all over it; don’t forget, we don’t know how dangerous this thing can be!”
“The most dangerous thing it’s done so far is throw up on my good clothes.” Draco says stubbornly. “Besides, I’m more surprised that you lot don’t care for him as much as I do. Who else is advocating for James?” He ignores Potter’s twitch at the name. “He’s a sentient being as far as I’m concerned. I know you’re not bleeding Hufflepuffs, but you’re Gryffindors aren’t you? Don’t you believe in justice? He deserves an advocate; we need to do right by him.”
Harry snorts. He can’t believe Draco’s sitting here lecturing him on advocating for justice.
Hermione huffs at him. “It’s the fact that he’s sentient that’s all the more worrying! Stop being a prat and look at the situation properly. Harry bought Anok’s Bleeding Heart, Draco! Anok was sentenced to death by his own father, the Pharaoh, for killing his older brother. He literally knocked him off his horse and trampled him to death so he could ascend to the throne! He wasn’t a good guy! And this ruby is incredibly complex magic! We don’t know what happened to the mummy that housed it, or what Anok’s mother intended for the dark magic to do when she placed the ruby in his chest. It’s not safe and you have to stop acting like it’s a real baby!”
Draco rolls his eyes and pats Artie on the back, encouraging him to babble again. “That’s the Muggle lore, if you will. From the wizarding side of it, Anok’s mum said the prince was guiltless and though we admittedly don’t know the purpose of the enchanted ruby, it doesn’t change the fact that Anok himself said he was innocent. His brother died from falling off his horse. What is justice if we don’t listen to the ones being accused?”
They have a glaring match, a silent stand-off, until Artie squeals again and tips over, trying to reach for Draco.
“Oh my poor baby. You just can’t stay up straight can you?” Draco says, using the possessive noun more than anything to get under Granger’s skin. He picks Artie up and swings him in the air, making sure he smiles so Artie can at least see one friendly face. Artie lets out a sweet giggle and reaches down to touch him.
“I think we need to proceed with caution.” Harry says, sighing heavily. He wishes he didn’t get them in this mess. “As long as we remember it’s an artifact and not a real baby we’ll be fine. At least, until it displays some sign of dark magic, I guess. The detection spells didn’t find anything, did they? It means he’s at least not actively dangerous, right now.”
Hermione nods in agreement, though Draco purses his lips and stands up.
“Where are you going?” Potter asks immediately, making to stand too, but he stops short when Draco plops Artie in his lap. The baby turns to coo happily at him, a new face in his field of vision.
Though Draco knows Potter is speaking sense, it still grates on his nerves how both Gryffindors think his baby will turn evil, suddenly grow dark magic with which to torment them. He figures a week is all Potter really needs to learn Artie was just a baby, harmless and sweet, despite his ruby origins.
“I’ll be amenable to changing his name if you can come up with a better one. Until then, you can have James for the week while I finish some paperwork I’ve had to put off while doing your parenting for you.” Draco sweeps back around to the rug for the heavy diaper bag and tucks it in next to Harry’s leg. “James needs a nightlight to sleep. He likes to cuddle and kiss, though it’ll feel more like he’s slobbering on you, and his favorite food is sweet potato, though he’s rather partial to carrots as well.”
“Granger, you should be glad to see I’m separating myself from the dangerous baby. I’m being cautious. He has at least a few pairs of clothes in the bag, Potter, and there’s a bottle and formula prepared already, too. Owl me if you need anything. James, be a good baby now, okay?” Draco takes one of Artie’s little hands in his and swings it fondly, and Artie giggles, leaning all over Potter’s lap, dangerously close to falling over until Potter clamps him around the waist with his Seeker-like reflexes.
Granger doesn’t say anything when he leaves, thankfully. She simply watches him pack his stuff and exit the room, her mouth pursed and eyes distrusting as she glances at Artie.
His poor baby. He knows they won’t mistreat him, not in good conscience at least.
***
“So the heart really is a ruby.” Hermione breathes in amazement. Harry nods and lowers the shirt over Artie’s stomach lest he get cold. He frowns for a second and flips the shirt up real briefly, eyes skimming over his chest, and wonders at the color.
The ruby is a darker red than he remembers, perhaps a slight bit. He’s not sure if he’s imagining it or not though, and Artie starts crying, trying to swing himself up to a sitting position. He tries to roll over but can’t get anywhere due to Harry’s vice-like grip on his midsection. “Sorry Artie, here, let me–” Harry finishes changing him and lifts the baby up into his arms. Artie sniffles sadly.
“Hermione, why? Just why?” Harry asks despondently, rocking Artie in his arms as the little artifact tucks its head in under Harry’s chin, his tiny hand going straight into his mouth. Draco didn't look like he'd missed a wink of sleep taking care of Artie, still handsome and put together, but Harry can't be sure he'll get the same treatment. The artifact was already a sobbing mess without Draco around.
Hermione bristles at the blame. “You know why.” She says unapologetically. Then she winces. “I didn’t know it would be permanent. You know I just picked anything to charm. But we’ll do our best to fix it. I’m sorry I chose the artifact, but I’m not sorry for what I did.”
Harry understands what she means. “Why do you even know those spells?” He mutters anyway, and she shrugs. “I thought it’d be smart of McGonagall to give us a Home Economics course in our 8th year, but as nobody really returned, it was a pointless endeavor and all the spells I learned for it were for naught. I thought I could help mimic what Muggles do when they teach their students how to prepare for their adult lives.”
Harry sighs. He’s glad he didn’t return for his 8th year, and even more glad he never took those Muggle courses she’s talking about. Though he realizes if he had, it would help him get through this predicament much better than he’s faring at the moment.
“I’m surprised Draco is so fond of the artifact.” She says, voicing his thoughts out loud. He nods in agreement. “Does he like babies?”
“Says he does. He says it’s family he has a soft spot for.” Harry repeats, digging out the diaper bag to find a toy for Artie. It’s filled to the brim with a random assortment of stuff for the artifact and Harry rolls his eyes.
Rich prat. Artie was going to be spoiled rotten if he was left with Draco all the time.
Hermione makes a thoughtful face. “I guess that’s true. You do recall he was always going on about our families, people’s lineage, and that stupid blood purity. It was definitely a focal point of his growing up.” She shakes her head disapprovingly.
“Yeah, well, Artie’s not a real human. He has no bloodline or lineage and he’s not a Potter, regardless of what Draco insists. He’s an artifact.” Harry says reasonably. He pulls out a stuffed bunny and offers it to Artie but Artie shakes his head, moving away from the offered toy, content to suck on his fingers instead. Drool drips down his chin.
“As long as you remember that, we’ll be a bit safer.” Hermione reminds him, and kneads her hands together. “Do you need me to help with anything? He said a week, right? I’ll research what I can on Anok, see if I can locate any studies done anywhere on the ruby’s charms. I’ll be an owl away if you need me, but I really need to get back to the office.”
Harry nods. “I’m probably going to close up shop for the week. Don’t want customers coming in and running off to the Daily Prophet claiming I’ve got a child if they catch sight of him.” He sighs bitterly and Hermione grimaces apologetically. It’s lucky he doesn’t need the money, but he’s going to be so bored taking care of a needy baby, and it was only an artifact! It was meant to be purchased, cleaned of dark magic, and sold.
He hopes this situation doesn’t drag on too long.
***
Artie proves to be a handful, just as he’d been the first three days Harry had him.
He doesn’t fuss too much, but he’s a curious little bugger. He touches everything he can and puts it in his mouth. Whenever Harry takes dangerous objects away from him, he cries and throws up from his excessive tantrums, or blows raspberries at him.
Draco might like baby spit in his face, but Harry certainly does not.
He’s at least grateful the tiny artifact allows him to sleep most nights undisturbed. All he has to do is remember to charm the nightlight on and tuck the artifact in next to him. He doesn’t have a crib and he refuses to transfigure one of his good antiques into one, so he uses barrier spells to prevent himself from crushing the artifact, and if he watches over Artie more than he sleeps, that’s his business.
“There we go,” Harry says, having set Artie up in a high chair he’s transfigured from an old, sturdy lowboy. It had pained him greatly to transfigure the antique dresser, but the walnut wood was good and sturdy, and it was the oldest thing he’d been unable to sell in his antique shop. It felt marginally better to repurpose it into something he needed than let it rot away unused. Trying to feed Artie without a high chair had been a real pain in the arse.
Artie babbles at him excitedly as he pops a can of sweet potatoes open. “Yes, it’s time to eat now.” Harry says, and he wonders why he bothers talking to the artifact like it actually understands him. Though they’d all agreed it had an aura of sentience, they couldn’t agree on how perceptive it was to the actual world around it.
Draco seemed to think Artie was a real baby with the way he acted. Hermione insisted it was a charmed ruby, likely to go off with a blast of dark magic, and Harry simply treated it with distance and uncertainty, mindful of its origins.
“You play with your food more than you eat it, you know.” He complains to Artie once he tucks a bit of the spoon into his mouth. Artie giggles and makes a grab at it, successfully squishing some of the sweet potato puree into his tiny fist. He screams with delight and smashes it onto his cheek. Harry sighs and starts searching for the baby bib.
He makes sure the artifact can see him while he putters around for the small piece of fabric. It’s peculiar but he’s learned that whenever he pulls his face away from Artie’s field of vision, Artie will start whimpering, and if he stays away from it for too long, it starts crying. It’s hard finding balance, but Harry manages to find the bib and slips it around the artifact’s neck without much of a problem. He goes on feeding Artie, and together they make a little mess until Harry decides that’s enough for lunch time.
He picks Artie up from his high chair after wiping his face until he’s clean (and yes, he does have to tug the rag out of Artie’s hand because a dirty rag is not going to make its way into his mouth, thank you; he can only imagine what Draco would say if he found out), and drops him off in a playpen filled with his soft toys and rattles as he goes to prepare a bath.
Harry had found out the first few days that the best way to keep Artie occupied was to give him items to explore safely while doing tummy time. He was happy to lounge in his playpen, and bounced and blabbered at the things he picked up and shoved into his mouth curiously. There were even a few moments Harry had joined him, letting Artie rest his butt against Harry’s side as he picked up his pacifiers and dropped them, knitting his brows together until he succeeded in picking something up and keeping it in his grasp. His motor skills were coming along well.
He makes sure the barrier spells that act as the playpen walls hold up before he fetches the bathtub.
He still has the baby bathtub he’d bought for Teddy all those years ago (bonus points for being a packrat who owns an antique store) and places it in his sink. He’s busy adjusting the water temperature so it doesn’t scald the artifact when footsteps echo up his stairs and Draco barges into his kitchen.
Artie squeals at the sight of the blonde and wiggles in place excitedly. Harry’s not sure Artie should be old enough to recognize people yet, but maybe he’s a naturally happy baby. Artifact. Whatever.
“What are you doing back so early? I thought you said a week?” Harry asks confusedly, letting the water run over his hand.
Draco looks at him funny and Harry double checks Artie to make sure he hasn’t done anything weird to the artifact to warrant the stare, but he’s still there on his belly, staring up at Draco happily. “It’s been a week, Potter.” Draco says slowly, and Harry flushes a little, too caught up in taking care of Artie to notice the passage of time.
He could have sworn it’d been only four days or so, but maybe time passed quicker while he was trying to adjust his life around Artie.
“Are you…giving him a bath in the sink?” Draco asks, and Harry notes the judgment in his tone immediately. “Hey, at least it’s a baby bathtub. I’m not keen on kneeling on the floor near my toilet just to give him a bath in a real bathtub. This works perfectly fine.” Harry defends himself, splashing some water at Draco for good measure.
He’s not surprised Draco is one of those posh, judgmental moms.
The blonde dodges the droplets with a frown. “Fine. I suppose so. Every person parents differently.” He says calmly. "I love your apron, by the way. Looks very fitting." He smirks as Harry rushes to pull the apron off, forgetting he'd put it on as a version of his own bib against Artie's terrible eating habits.
Artie lets out a loud scream, trying to reach out for Draco, bouncing up and down on his belly, arms and legs lifted in the air. Tears prick the corners of his eyes as he whimpers loudly.
“I got you, you little bugger.” Draco says fondly, leaning down to pick him up. He glances up at Harry as if asking permission and Harry nods, turning back to the sink to turn off the faucet.
“We just had lunch, as you can see. He really enjoys his sweet potatoes.”
Draco smiles at the food stains all over Artie’s clothes. “Enjoys making a mess, you mean.” He slides a little tote bag down his arm and leaves it on a chair at the kitchen table.
“Are you still convinced he’s going to be this evil dark lord or something?” Draco asks, rubbing Artie’s cheek, and Artie chirps happily, throwing his hands together and missing. Draco catches one flying palm and laughs.
Harry watches them quietly. “I think he’s still an artifact and not a baby, if that’s what you mean.”
Draco shrugs. “Even so, he’s not evil Potter. You can’t even sense dark magic coming from him. Or did he do something nefarious? Prevent you from getting your beauty sleep?”
“No, he did…surprisingly well. He likes to put everything he touches into his mouth, and he’s learning to strengthen his grip. He also sleeps like half the day away.”
“Oh look at you, developing fine motor skills!” Draco cheers, and Artie makes bubbling noises back at him happily, eyes wide and green.
“Any news from Granger?”
“Nothing so far, but it’s only been a week. Have you found anything new yourself?” Harry asks, coming closer. Draco leans Artie over to him so the artifact is squished between the two of them. It wiggles with delight.
“No, not yet. I’m still looking though. I think I found Anok’s brother’s mummy, Meti. It’s over in New York, at a muggle museum.”
It always catches Harry by surprise how intelligent Draco is and if he and Hermione could actually get along, they’d have this situation resolved in the blink of an eye, he thinks. Too bad they couldn’t stand each other.
“Are you going to visit it and see what you can find?”
Draco hums thoughtfully. He passes Artie over to Harry, who takes him with no finesse, and goes over to the tote bag to pull out some parchment. “I can, but I figured you’d want to take a break from parenting and head there yourself.” He shows Harry the parchment, with coordinates, a map, and a detailed drawing of Meti’s sarcophagus. There’s even a picture of the museum so Harry can’t miss it.
“I can try going, but I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m looking for. If I bollocks it up, you’ll have to go anyway.” Harry says, hesitantly. He’s not sure he’s the man for the job. Research wasn’t his thing.
That was part of their partnership; when Harry had first opened his store, Ron, yes that Ron Weasley, had suggested he hire Draco Malfoy as his research partner and dark artifacts expert. According to Ron, Draco was already helping the Ministry identify dark artifacts, and with the amount of suspicious things people brought into Harry’s antiques shop (which Harry was loathe to let them leave with, in case they sold it to unsuspecting victims and harmed more people) it was wiser to hire a knowledgeable partner who could help him handle dark artifacts safely.
So Harry had caved and hired Draco, who was a helpful and snarky companion, and did all the research for them. Harry himself simply had to buy the artifacts, help out when possible, and re-sell the artifacts at auction. By now he had a great reputation as a safe dealer for all things antique and extraordinary. His auctions were always lauded as exceptional. But the credit and his thanks all went to Draco.
Draco frowns and puts the parchment down. “Well, I’m not a muggle,” Draco says simply. “I have no idea how to blend in and I’m not entering a crowded muggle place under a disillusionment charm. I just need you to read the plaque next to the sarcophagus and tell me if they mention where Anok’s mummy is being exhibited.”
Harry frowns at the easy cop-out. “Fine. I’ll go.” He did enjoy investigating; not quite researching but something along the same vein, “But you have to bring Artie back in a week, all right?” He’s not sure if he’s saying this for his own sake, the artifact’s, or Draco’s. Either way, they need to remain vigilant around the artifact. If it really does prove dangerous, he knows Hermione’s not above locking it up.
Draco smiles like the cat that got the cream. “Of course Potter. And must you call him by that name? I thought we’d decided on James.”
Harry sets his jaw stubbornly. “It’s Artie. I like it and so does he, so stop trying to change it.”
Draco scowls at the name, but he finally gives in when he realizes Artie perks up each time Harry says it and makes happy little vocalizations that sound like his approval. Harry grins at him and Artie giggles loudly at the eye contact, vivid green eyes meeting vivid green eyes.
“Then I’ll be bringing Artie back in a week.” Draco says, snatching Artie out of Harry’s arms. Artie hums at him cheerfully, bouncing in Draco’s arms. “Don’t forget to be careful,” Harry warns him, and he pretends Draco isn’t rolling his eyes at him, instead hovering over Draco’s shoulder, focusing his attention on Artie.
“Be good for your daddy, okay Artie? Papa’s gonna miss you.” Harry says, and Artie beams at him and does a little jolly dance, something between a wiggle and a bounce, and it genuinely makes Harry laugh.
“All right Draco, I’ll see you guys in a week. His diaper bag is on the table.” Harry says, turning and missing the peculiar expression on Draco’s face. “Don’t forget to give him a bath when you get home.”
“Got it, Potter. Thanks.”
***
It should have been an easy week. It is an easy week.
Draco loves having Artie around; recently, he’s even begun reading to him, holding Artie in his lap as they pore over colorful blocky wood pages, Artie drooling and pointing his stubby finger at the pictures, animals and letters blurring in his little eyes.
He cuddles his baby as much as he can and fawns over him as he teaches Artie the alphabet, handing big letter cards to Artie that get flung across the room accidentally when Artie’s muscles spasm with his uncontrollable joy. He’s trying to get a handle on his motor skills, but it’s still big work in progress. Draco absolutely doesn’t mind.
However, Draco finds himself more and more lethargic as the week wears on, less energy surging through his bones as he takes care of Artie.
It’s bizarre, almost unexplainable, but he barely manages to place Artie in his high chair before he’s running to the loo, a serious case of stomach acid making its way up his esophagus.
He throws up in the porcelain bowl and tries very hard to remember what he’d eaten that had given him such a strange, burning sensation in his midsection but nothing comes to mind. It was early morning and breakfast hadn’t yet made its way into his stomach.
He wipes his mouth and downs a Pepperup potion before making his way back to Artie, who bounces up and down waiting for his pureed breakfast. The bottle of milk Draco had left on the high chair has already fallen to the ground.
“Oh baby, what is going on?” Draco mutters to himself, leaning down to pick up the bottle. His arm abruptly sears with pain and his flinch brings him to his knees. He grabs at his scorching Dark Mark tightly, eyes going wide. He prays and prays it’s not signaling what he thinks it is, but the burn is different, not calling to him the way it had in the past. It feels like a scratching burn, a dry quill being dragged across his skin and he doesn’t try to look at it, not now in front of Artie. He doesn’t want his baby seeing such a heinous thing.
Bubbling laughter comes from above his head and Draco winces, forcing himself to stand and smile at Artie. “You ready for some breakfast, little guy?” Draco asks in false cheer. It’s worth the fake happiness when Artie wiggles and coos, and he pops open the seal on a container of carrots, hoping the burning in his arm goes away with deep breaths.
At the moment, Artie comes first, Draco decides. He can deal with his own problems later.
***
“You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“It’s not a ghost I look like I’ve seen. I look like I’ve just seen Ron Weasley standing on my doorstep.” Draco says with a snigger and deftly dodges the lame swipe Ron makes at his head. “Trying to maim me now, are you? Beating the shit out of me a few months ago wasn’t good enough for you?” Ron mumbles an apology that Draco brushes off. He doesn’t hold a grudge against him, he just likes to rib the redhead the same way Weasley would do to him if given the chance.
His eyes fall upon the curious bundle in Ron’s arms.
“Isn’t your wife going to kill you? I hardly think she wants your child playing with my child.” Draco says, and Ron shrugs, making his way into the house to the parlor.
“She’s not here right now, is she? She’s always working late, and besides, if I want to take Rose somewhere with me, I’ll do it. At least I know she’ll be safe with me. Isn’t that right Rose?” He frowns when Rose tries to stick him in the eye with her finger. He supposes he shouldn’t have woken her from her nap to go gallivanting to Malfoy Manor but he was dying of curiosity to see the artifact everyone kept talking about. It wasn’t fair to keep only him out of the loop.
Draco leads him in deeper until they enter the kitchen, where Artie is playing with his toys doing tummy time. Ron takes a long look at him and it makes Draco shift nervously, though he’d never admit it. Finally Ron turns and declares, “Holy shit Malfoy, that’s…that’s a child. Like a real child.” If Ron wasn’t told it was an artifact, he might not have believed it himself.
Draco smirks, slight relief evident on his face. At least someone else agreed with him. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them.”
Ron takes another long look at Artie and drops Rose cautiously into the playpen with him, where she excitedly makes her way towards the other baby by scooting her bum along the floor. “I’ve been hearing so much about him. Harry told me he was kind of warming up to him right before he left for New York. It definitely looks more like a child than an artifact.” He doesn’t fear for his daughter’s safety. If anything, she posed a greater threat to the artifact than he did to her.
Draco hides the surprise he feels at the comment. It was good to know Potter was finally coming around. “Granger might want to lock him up, if he proves dangerous in any way. He’s been innocent so far though. Whatever spells are on him are lying dormant.” He hopes it stays that way.
“She can’t do that. Just look at him! Those chubby cheeks. Rose, oi, don’t hit him. Hey! No Rose! That’s…sorry Malfoy.”
Artie is snatched out of the playpen before Ron even has to speak, Draco glaring down at the mean little Miss Weasley. “Teach your child some bloody manners.” Draco snaps, checking over his baby to make sure Artie isn’t injured. He looks confused, a puzzled expression on his face as he tries to lean out of Draco’s arms, staring at Rose in the playpen, who suddenly has his dragon toy in her hands. She pulls on its head a few times experimentally and throws it on the ground.
“Sorry. She’s teething right now and it’s making her grumpier than usual. You should see the bruises she’s leaving on us.” Ron says, which is the wrong thing to say just as Draco’s about to put Artie back in the playpen. He lifts his baby up as quickly as he was about to put him down. “She’s not going to bite Artie, is she?” Draco asks incredulously. Ron chuckles. “No, uh, at least I don’t think so.” He shrugs under Draco’s distrustful glare. He can’t predict all of Rose’s actions. She’s as spontaneous as any Weasley. What can he say; it runs through her blood.
“Hey, she’s a baby. It’s what they do. Here, I’ll give her this and maybe it’ll calm her down.” He fumbles in his pocket for a teething ring and hands it over to Rose, who stares at it and grabs it in one hand unsteadily, bringing it to her mouth to chomp on. It seems to soothe her, as she begins bouncing and making noises. She crawls over the dragon toy she’d stolen from Artie and does a little dance.
Artie starts making noises as well, arms outstretched towards the other baby and Draco finally gives in and places him back in the playpen, this time under strict supervision. He doesn’t trust Weasley’s offspring.
“Have you taken him outside yet?” Ron asks, finding his way to Draco’s tea set and pouring himself a cup. Draco gives him a sidelong glance and goes back to observing the babies interact. It involves a lot of slapping and wandering hands, fierce grunts and weird noises. “Not yet. Not sure it’s safe. Also, can you imagine the headlines if people saw me or Potter with a child?”
He isn’t brave or crazy enough to take Artie out in public. He can’t imagine the wizarding community would take it lightly. Gossip would fly in all directions, and with the pains he’s taken to live a low profile life, the last thing he needs is people speculating over him having a secret love child. He certainly doesn’t need that stress. And neither does Potter, he knows.
Ron nibbles on a chocolate biscuit he helps himself to, even though Draco knows he didn’t put any chocolate biscuits out. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true. But you can always take him to a Muggle park, if you wanted. Nobody would recognize you there. I do it all the time when I don’t want to be disturbed. Plus, thankfully muggles don’t recognize Auror files so I can read to my heart’s content too.”
“Hm, didn’t know you could read, Weasley.” Draco snarks. He dodges a chocolate biscuit with a mild huff. Of course Weasley was going to dirty up his house in the five minutes he was here.
The idea is enlightening however, and Draco muses on it. A muggle park, huh? Were they safe?
“Can I see the ruby?” Ron asks, and Draco breaks out of his musings to glower at him. “What? Sorry, I told you I was curious. Hermione keeps going on about it.” It’s justified, honestly, even Draco would be curious if someone told him about a realistic baby with a ruby heart, so he begrudgingly picks up his baby and gestures for Weasley to follow him to the nursery.
It’s a short trip through the manor and Ron isn’t surprised to see the decked out nursery. You’d think there was a nanny, a governess, simpering parents, and overindulgent grandparents with the way the nursery was laid out. It’s anything but simple, but Ron would never put it past Malfoy to prepare anything but the best of the best for his child. He’s merely surprised Malfoy has gone all out for an artifact, a semblance of a child, and not a real one. He keeps his comments to himself, however, not a fan of being on the receiving end of a stinging hex today.
Ron can easily do a plush rug and appropriately-sized crib, but he can’t fit giant French windows that generously display vast gardens in his house, and it’s the only thing he’s jealous of in this nursery, really. He doesn’t need all the other baby amenities Malfoy lavishes on his child, and he bets Malfoy doesn’t have a garden full of gnomes his kid can swing across the property line either.
Draco walks past the rocking chair, where a fancy enchanted bunny jumps after him, part of the giant forest mural that takes up half the walls in the room. He stops at a changing station he pulls out of the wall and lays Artie down carefully. “You can put Rose in the crib if you want, Weasley.” Draco says. He unbuttons Artie’s little onesie as Artie stares at him quietly.
Ron walks over to the ornate crib to stare down at the mattress and scoffs. “Oi, why does a baby need Egyptian cotton?” He jabs, pressing down on the plush cushion with one hand to test it, but Rose reaches down for the soft bedding, apparently a connoisseur of good taste at her ripe young age, and Ron drops her into the crib with minimal fuss. She croons and lays her head down on the mattress, seemingly in love. Ron hopes she doesn’t get used to it; he’s not sure they can afford baby Egyptian cotton.
“Oh no.”
The worry in Draco’s tone has Ron at his shoulder almost immediately, but all he sees is a remarkable sight. “Wow, he really does have a ruby heart.” Ron says, awestruck. The red is a brilliant color. It practically glows in Artie’s chest.
Draco’s hands tremble. “Yes, but it’s black. Don’t you see? It’s not supposed to be black. It was red this morning.” The worry is laced with a tinge of fear as Draco slowly runs a finger delicately down Artie’s chest. The ruby is beginning to darken at the bottom edge, the original red luster entirely gone in that small section. Artie kicks his legs at Draco and starts pulling on his onesie with his curious hands, bunching it up.
All Ron sees is a gorgeous red ruby. He has nothing to compare it to, never having seen the striking rich red from before. He can tell slightly that it’s ombre, maybe, but the red still looks pretty uniform throughout. “Well, um. I guess you can tell Harry that tomorrow when you see him. Or he should be back tonight. Has anything…strange occurred that I should know about? Report to Hermione?”
He hates to pull the Auror card, but he is technically an Auror and Draco is technically dealing with an artifact. Even though his was a living, breathing, giggling baby, it still needed to be addressed and tracked accordingly.
“No, nothing out of the ordinary has happened at all, that I can recall. Don’t tell Granger anything yet. Please. I promise I’ll see Potter tonight. We’ll try to sort this out and see what’s going on and then…then we’ll call Granger, if Potter doesn’t bring any good news from New York.” Draco takes a fortifying breath and pulls a set of clothes out from a nearby drawer.
Ron doesn’t say anything as Draco puts a pair of soft shorts on Artie and slips the onesie off his head. He watches the baby start babbling as Draco puts a shirt on him, something with a cutesy lion print, and slides red socks onto Artie’s feet. Draco picks Artie up with a deep sigh and faces Ron. “Do you think he’s dangerous?” He asks.
Ron shrugs. He’s not really one to say. From the outset, no, Artie looks perfectly normal, he interacts with others just like a normal baby and he’s a hell of a lot sweeter than Rose, who’s thornier than her name. Speaking of, Ron turns around to find her fast asleep, contentedly hugging the bed with her outstretched hands. Figures she’d have expensive taste. He sighs. “I don’t think your baby is any more dangerous than mine, Draco. But that’s not my call to make and you know it.”
“It still helps to hear you say it aloud though, Weasley. Thanks.”
“You know, Hermione had a hard time liking Rose when she first had her, and I thought I was going to be the one who had a hard time connecting with the baby. But it’s easier than I thought. She’s just so funny when she gets grumpy and makes all her little faces. Maybe he’ll grow on ‘Mione and Harry and they’ll see him the same way you do. Eventually.”
Draco shakes his head at the far-fetched dream as he grabs a diaper bag to start packing. He offers Artie to Ron, who takes him with hardly a complaint, and starts looking for the essentials he’ll need. Artie furrows his brows at Ron and Ron does the same, mimicking the baby’s face. It makes Artie so baffled Ron almost breaks out in a laugh.
“You know they both see him as an artifact. He is a danger, in a way, regardless of what I think or feel. But he’s not dangerous himself, I don’t think. It’s whatever the ruby is that we need to worry about. We know hardly anything about it and now it’s changing colors.”
“Anok’s Bleeding Heart? Why is it called bleeding anyway?” Ron blinks as Artie’s hand makes its way to his face, his signature baby slap hardly stinging. But oh, it is on.
Draco spares a moment to shrug. He puts away three toys and goes into a drawer for some hats. “Something about his grief being twofold. One for losing his father’s love and the second for losing his brother.” He places some socks into the bag and sighs. “I know this farce can’t go on forever. It’s an artifact. I’m very much aware of that, but I want to make sure we’re doing right by him. Taking care of him while he’s…here.”
Ron looks up from where he’s battling Artie with his facial expressions. Artie screeches when Ron sucks in his lips and smiles with just his teeth. He quickly licks his lips back into place when Draco turns to stare at him, pointedly questioning his maturity with a single glance.
“Malfoy, you’re doing just fine from what I can tell. Look, go see Harry. Talk to him. Don’t overthink it on your own. You’re partners, aren’t you? Partners get through things together.” Ron pauses. Ew, that sounded sorta romantic. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter romantically linked? Ron blinks some more. He stares at Artie and frowns.
There are some things a bloke shouldn’t think about and Ron decides this is one of those things.
“I suppose you’re right for once, Weasley. I can’t solve this on my own.” Ron would normally give him some flak for finally admitting he was right, Ronald Weasley being right, ha! But he’s too busy making cross-eyes at Artie to pay attention to Draco’s words. Either Draco would take his advice or he wouldn’t.
He shoves a few shirts into the diaper bag and clicks it closed. “Do you want me to send a mattress to your house? I think your d- uh, child seems infatuated with it.” He gestures to the crib.
Draco holds out on the adjective he’d been about to use. He doubts Weasley would appreciate it if he called his child demonic, especially after Weasley had been so strangely nice, but she had gone around hitting Artie. Or maybe she was a different breed of baby, being a Weasley and all. He’s not really sure, but he’s mighty glad Artie’s an easy-going baby.
“I would appreciate it, actually.” Ron says, surprising himself. “But for now, I’ll wake my princess and see if she tries to take my eye out again.” He smiles and passes Artie back to Draco.
Artie stares at Draco and makes the same face he’d made at Ron, his brows furrowing, but Draco ignores him. Instead, Draco watches as Ron tries to gingerly pick up Rose and has to pry her from the bed, screaming.
He’s laughing at the pair when Artie slaps him, the distinct noise echoing through the air, and Draco frowns at his baby, finally making the same furrowed brows as Artie, a small hand on his cheek. “You’ve broken my child, Weasley. How dare you.” Draco says, offended at Artie’s slap, and the mirrored expression makes Artie break out in his trademark giggle, his face morphing into a smile again.
“Nah mate, your child is just as violent as mine. They’re two peas in a pod.” Ron jokes, finally yanking Rose out of the crib and holding her tightly in his arms, ignoring her tear-streaked face and her wobbly lips. She looks at the crib longingly.
Draco hopes dearly he never has to see Artie as hurt as Rose Weasley looks parting from the Egyptian cotton bed sheets. He hopes it’s painless when Artie turns back into an artifact, or even better, he doesn’t have to be there to witness it.
Just the thought makes his stomach churn unpleasantly.
***
It’s not unusual for Harry to go to the kitchen and grab a cold drink after taking his nightly shower, but it is unusual to find Draco already seated at his kitchen table with Artie fast asleep in his lap. He tightens his hold on the towel around his waist and blinks, startled at having unannounced visitors, but more mortified to be caught barely clothed.
“Hi Potter,” Draco says dryly. He spends a good minute raking his eyes down Harry’s nicely muscled body and whistles low. “My my, what a treat. Didn’t know I’d get to see our wonderful Golden Boy shirtless tonight.” He says playfully, voice dripping with approval, and Harry tries to cover his chest with no success. “Stop staring.” He snaps, cheeks red.
Draco’s warm laugh chases him away to his bedroom, where he throws on a mismatched shirt and muggle sweatpants, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. He peers around the doorframe and emerges when he’s sure Draco isn’t going to continue teasing him. Draco has shifted his attention to Artie, carding his fingers gently through Artie’s hair as Artie drools on his chest and twitches. His expression is pensive and Harry wonders what he’s ruminating on.
“Why are you here? It’s midnight.” Harry says, unsure whether or not he should be alarmed by Draco’s appearance. He notices the diaper bag sitting on the table and Draco’s robes thrown over the chair. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it looked like Draco was settling in. “Is something the matter?”
It takes Draco several seconds to answer, his hand rhythmically patting Artie on the head, lulling him deeper into sleep, and Harry grabs his drink out of the fridge after all. “I know I said come back in a week, but this is really hitting it on the nose Draco.”
“There is something the matter—with Artie. His ruby is turning black and I’m afraid something bad is going to happen to him.”
Draco doesn’t look him in the face as he says it, avoiding Harry’s stare, but focuses more on the wall behind Harry’s head. “Weasley said I needed to tell you, because we’re partners and we’re in this together.”
“Yeah, we are.” Harry says automatically. “I’m here for anything Draco. I’m not going anywhere.”
He knows he doesn’t imagine the way Draco’s shoulders relax from the reassurance. “What do you mean the ruby’s turning black? Can I see it?” He puts down his drink and walks over. His heart almost warms at the way Artie’s little cheek smushes against Draco as he conks out on his shoulder, a little hand sticking out with tiny fingers curled loose.
“I don’t want to move him,” Draco admits. “He’s been so active lately it’s been hard getting him to sleep.” Harry runs his hand along Draco’s shoulders comfortingly as his other hand grasps one of Artie’s little fists. The baby twitches faintly. “Then show me tomorrow. I’ll go make the bed, if you’re uh, staying the night. Are you?”
It’s not the first time the two of them have shared a bed, for work purposes (nothing more). They’ve pulled all-nighters researching dark artifacts plenty of times before. Sometimes it’s just a requirement in their line of work. Harry thinks the most memorable night had been when they’d both had to stay up late to watch over a bubbling, menacing teapot that only allowed one of them to sleep at a time. It spat sizzling water on them if someone took their eyes off of it, able to throw water several feet like a geyser, and had to be supervised diligently as it grew legs and wandered away if it wasn’t. No spells worked on it until they found the exact counter-curse. It was a nightmare of a case and Harry had dubbed it the Evil Mrs. Potts, much to Draco’s confusion. Try as Harry might, Draco still refused to watch the Muggle telly.
“I hope you don’t mind. I know it’s late, but I wanted to see you as soon as possible. Weasley said you should be back from New York tonight, so I just—” Harry pats him softly on the shoulder to stop the apologies and gestures for him to follow.
He doesn’t mind letting Draco spend the night. He doesn’t mind holding off the conversation for tomorrow either. It’s good knowing Draco was being cautious and it feels even better knowing Draco came straight to him with Artie’s problem. They were partners and they were meant to support each other through everything.
Draco makes his way into Harry’s room gently cradling Artie and looks around for a crib. Harry shrugs guiltily and points at his large bed, at a section shimmering with magic, the barrier spells already placed as he’d never bothered to get rid of them.
“You can’t be serious. You did that for a whole week?” Draco asks, and though Harry expects to hear ire in his voice, he’s surprised to hear awe instead. “Um, yes?”
“You’re unbelievable.” Draco snorts. “Even I had Artie sleeping in a crib. How can you possibly sleep when he’s right there?” Harry blushes and Draco shakes his head fondly. “But of course you didn’t. Should have known you have just as much of a soft spot for him as I do.”
“Shove off. Here, go take that side after you tuck Artie in.”
Draco makes his way to the left, like he’s used to, knowing Harry prefers the right side of the bed so he can face the door. He has no qualms about sleeping soundly tonight and letting Potter handle all the would-be monsters that might burst into the room. The only worry he has is Artie’s heart problem, and as Artie isn't a real baby, there isn’t a doctor they can go see who’ll solve all their problems for them.
After tucking Artie safely inside the barrier spells, Draco pulls all the blankets and pillows away and makes a bundle of them on his side. “Eh, not fair. Give. You can’t take all of my bedding you gremlin.” Harry says, spotting three of his pillows on Draco’s side. Even if Draco disparages Harry’s tiny loft, he does have to admit Harry has a large, comfortable bed. He frowns and returns one pillow. “Oi.”
Draco grins and tosses a blanket over at Harry and then pauses, eyes on Artie when he twists and begins making baby noises, grumpy sounding baby noises.
“He’ll be okay Draco. Whatever it is, we can tackle it in the morning. It’s nothing we can’t handle.” The softness in Harry’s voice, the solid confidence, does something to calm his nerves.
“But we know so little. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on,” Draco mutters, sinking his fingers into another pillow to return to Harry. Harry gets up and walks around the room, towards Draco, and slowly begins making his side of the bed. He tucks the two stolen pillows against the headboard, points at the middle for Draco to lay, and then tosses the blanket over him, and a second one for good measure in the drafty room. “We’ll handle it tomorrow.” He repeats firmly, and Draco sulks as he nods.
Harry turns out the lights and to Draco’s surprise, turns on a charmed nightlight for Artie. He then returns to his side of the bed, where the blankets are half-done and his pillows lay haphazardly. Harry throws himself into the mess and sighs like he’s resting his weary bones. Considering he just came back from New York, he probably does need the rest.
“Go to sleep Draco. I can feel your brooding. We can fix everything tomorrow.”
He’s not sure how long Draco lays there in the dark worrying, but Harry feels a hand touch his just before he drifts off to sleep, and he wraps his fingers around it groggily, trying to reassure Draco that everything will be just fine.
Nothing bad was going to happen to Artie, not when he had a Papa and a Daddy to look after him.