Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries hummed overhead as Harry Potter sat on the edge of the examination table, his Auror robes folded neatly on the chair beside him. He'd taken a nasty curse to the shoulder during a raid that morning—nothing life-threatening, but protocol demanded a full medical workup.
"Just a few more tests, Mr. Potter," Healer Strout said cheerfully, waving her wand in intricate patterns. "Standard procedure after curse exposure. We need to check for any lingering dark magic in your system."
Harry nodded absently, his mind already on the paperwork waiting back at the office. At thirty-three, he'd been an Auror for over a decade, and these routine injuries were part of the job. Ginny would probably roll her eyes when he got home, make some comment about him being reckless. The kids would want to hear about the raid—James especially, now twelve and obsessed with his father's work.
The Healer's wand suddenly stuttered mid-motion, and her expression shifted from professional cheerfulness to confusion.
"That's... odd," she murmured.
"What is it?" Harry asked, straightening.
"There's a... discrepancy in your magical signature analysis." She frowned at the glowing readout hovering before her. "When we scan for curse residue, we also map familial magical connections—it helps us understand how your magic might react to treatment. But this reading doesn't make sense."
Harry's stomach tightened inexplicably. "What kind of discrepancy?"
Healer Strout bit her lip, then met his eyes with obvious reluctance. "Mr. Potter, according to this scan, you have no biological children."
The words hung in the air like a Stunning Spell.
"That's impossible," Harry said flatly. "I have three children. James, Albus, and Lily."
"I understand this is distressing, but magical signature analysis doesn't lie. It's the same magic we use for paternity verification in inheritance disputes." She hesitated. "Would you... would you consent to a formal paternity test? Just to rule out any error in the equipment?"
Harry's mouth had gone dry. "Yes. Do it."
The next hour passed in a blur of diagnostic spells, blood samples, and increasingly uncomfortable silence. Healer Strout called in a colleague. Then another. They ran the tests three times, using different methods, different equipment. Each time, the results were identical.
James Sirius Potter was not his son.
Albus Severus Potter was not his son.
Lily Luna Potter was not his daughter.
Harry sat in the private consultation room, staring at the official parchment that confirmed what his heart already knew was true. The magical signature analysis was irrefutable—none of the children bore his genetic magical imprint. They were Ginny's children, certainly. But not his.
"How long?" he asked hoarsely. "How long has this test existed?"
"Magical paternity verification has been standard practice for centuries, Mr. Potter," the senior Healer said gently. "It's typically only used in cases of inheritance disputes or when paternity is already in question. There would have been no reason to test your children unless—"
"Unless someone had reason to doubt," Harry finished.
He'd never doubted. Not once in twelve years of marriage. He'd loved Ginny since they were teenagers, had married her after the war, had built what he thought was a life together. Three children. A home. A family.
All of it a lie.
"I need copies of these results," Harry said, his voice steady despite the rage building in his chest. "Official copies, sealed and certified."
"Of course, Mr. Potter. I'm so sorry—"
"Don't." Harry stood, taking the sealed documents. "Just... don't."
He Apparated directly home, bypassing the Ministry entirely. The house was quiet—Ginny would be at the Holyhead Harpies training facility, James and Albus at Hogwarts, Lily at her friend's house. Good. He needed time to think.
Harry sat at the kitchen table, the medical documents spread before him, and let himself feel the full weight of the betrayal. Twelve years. Three children who weren't his. How many times had Ginny looked him in the eye and lied? How many times had he held those children, loved them, believed they were his?
The rage crystallized into something cold and sharp. He'd spent his entire life being used—by Dumbledore, by the wizarding world, by prophecy itself. He'd thought his marriage, his family, was the one thing that was truly his. But even that had been a lie.
When Ginny came home two hours later, flushed from practice and calling out a greeting, Harry was still sitting at the table.
"Harry? I didn't expect you home so early—" She stopped in the doorway, seeing his face. "What's wrong?"
He slid the documents across the table.
Ginny's face went white as she read. Her hand trembled, and she sank into a chair. "Harry, I can explain—"
"Can you?" His voice was deadly quiet. "Can you explain how none of our children are actually mine? Can you explain twelve years of lying to my face?"
"It wasn't—it didn't mean anything—"
"Who?" Harry demanded. "Who is their father? Or is it fathers, plural?"
Ginny's eyes filled with tears. "Does it matter?"
"Yes, it fucking matters!" Harry's magic crackled around him, making the lights flicker. "I have a right to know who you were fucking while I thought we had a marriage!"
"It was Dean," Ginny whispered. "And... and a few others. Over the years. Harry, you were always working, always at the Ministry, and I was lonely—"
"So you cheated. Multiple times. And let me believe those children were mine." Harry stood, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. "I want a divorce."
"Harry, please—"
"I want a divorce," he repeated, his voice like ice. "And those children will take the Weasley name. They're not Potters. They were never Potters."
"You can't just abandon them!" Ginny cried. "They love you! You're the only father they've ever known!"
"And whose fault is that?" Harry's green eyes were hard. "You made the choice to lie to me for twelve years. You made the choice to pass off another man's children as mine. Those are the consequences."
"They're innocent in this!"
"So was I." Harry pulled out his wand and began Summoning his belongings from throughout the house. "My solicitor will contact you about the divorce proceedings. I'll be staying at Grimmauld Place. Don't contact me unless it's through legal channels."
"Harry, please, think about what you're doing—"
"I have thought about it." His trunk packed itself with ruthless efficiency. "For the past three hours, I've thought about nothing else. And I'm done. I'm done being lied to, done being used, done pretending to be a family we never were."
"What about James and Albus? They're at Hogwarts right now, they'll want to know—"
"Tell them the truth," Harry said coldly. "Tell them their mother is a liar and a cheat, and their father—their real father—is whoever you were spreading your legs for. I'm sure they'll understand."
Ginny flinched as if he'd struck her. "You're being cruel."
"I'm being honest. Something you've never been." Harry shouldered his trunk, his face set in hard lines. "Goodbye, Ginny. Or should I say Ginevra Weasley? Because you're certainly not a Potter. You never were."
He Apparated away before she could respond, leaving behind twelve years of lies and a family that had never truly been his.
—-
The Daily Prophet had the story within forty-eight hours.
HARRY POTTER DIVORCES WIFE AFTER PATERNITY SCANDAL
By Rita Skeeter
In a shocking turn of events, the Boy Who Lived has filed for divorce from his wife of twelve years, Ginevra Weasley-Potter, after medical tests revealed that none of their three children are biologically his.
Sources close to the situation confirm that Potter, 33, discovered the truth during a routine medical examination at St. Mungo's Hospital following an injury sustained in the line of duty as an Auror. Magical paternity testing—considered infallible in the wizarding world—revealed that James (12), Albus (11), and Lily (9) Potter are not genetically related to the famous war hero.
"He's devastated," a Ministry source revealed. "Harry Potter has spent twelve years believing he was a father, only to discover it was all a lie. The betrayal is unimaginable."
Mrs. Weasley-Potter, a professional Quidditch player for the Holyhead Harpies, has not denied the allegations. Sources indicate she admitted to multiple affairs throughout the marriage, including with former boyfriend Dean Thomas and several other unnamed individuals.
Potter has demanded that the children take the Weasley surname, as they are not biologically his. He has also made it clear he will not maintain a relationship with the children, stating through his solicitor that "Mr. Potter cannot in good conscience continue to act as father to children who are not his own, particularly given the circumstances of their conception."
The wizarding community has rallied behind Potter, with many expressing outrage at Mrs. Weasley-Potter's betrayal of the man who saved the wizarding world...
The article continued for three full pages, each paragraph more damning than the last. Rita Skeeter, for once, wasn't exaggerating or twisting the truth—she didn't need to. The facts were damning enough.
Harry sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, reading the article with grim satisfaction. He'd expected the media storm, had braced himself for it. What he hadn't expected was the overwhelming support.
Owls flooded in by the hundreds—letters from witches and wizards across Britain expressing their sympathy, their outrage on his behalf, their support for his decision. The few letters defending Ginny were drowned out by the tide of public opinion.
The second article came three days later:
GINEVRA WEASLEY: FROM QUIDDITCH STAR TO SCARLET WOMAN
The fall from grace of the youngest Weasley has been swift and absolute. Once celebrated as a talented Quidditch player and the wife of Harry Potter, Ginevra Weasley is now widely regarded as one of the most notorious adulteresses in recent wizarding history.
"She's a whore," one witch told this reporter outside the Holyhead Harpies training facility. "Plain and simple. She had Harry Potter—the Harry Potter—and she threw it away for a few cheap affairs. She deserves everything she gets."
The Holyhead Harpies have placed Weasley on indefinite leave, citing "personal matters" but sources within the team suggest her teammates have made it clear she's not welcome...
Harry should have felt guilty about the vitriol being directed at Ginny. He didn't. She'd made her choices. She'd lied to him for twelve years, had let him love and raise children who weren't his, had betrayed him in the most fundamental way possible. The public's judgment was nothing compared to what she deserved.
The knock on the door came on a Sunday evening, a week after the first article. Harry opened it to find Hermione and Ron standing on his doorstep, both looking exhausted.
"Can we come in?" Hermione asked quietly.
Harry stepped aside, letting them enter. They settled in the drawing room, the silence heavy between them.
"I'm sorry," Ron said finally. "I'm sorry my sister did this to you."
Harry blinked, surprised. "Ron—"
"No, let me finish." Ron's ears were red, but his voice was steady. "I've spent the past week trying to make sense of it, trying to find some way to defend her. But I can't. What she did was unforgivable. She lied to you for twelve years. She let you raise kids that weren't yours. That's..." He shook his head. "That's beyond anything I can excuse, even if she is my sister."
"We understand why you're doing what you're doing," Hermione added, her eyes sad but resolute. "I won't pretend it doesn't hurt to see James and Albus and Lily suffering—they are suffering, Harry. They don't understand why you've left. But I also understand that you can't be expected to continue acting as their father under these circumstances."
"They're not mine," Harry said flatly. "They never were. Ginny made sure of that."
"I know." Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand. "And I'm not asking you to change your mind. I'm just... I'm here. We're here. Whatever you need."
"Even though it's your sister?" Harry asked Ron.
Ron's jaw tightened. "You're my brother, Harry. You've been my brother since we were eleven years old. Ginny made her choices. She has to live with the consequences."
Something in Harry's chest loosened slightly. He'd been braced for Ron to take Ginny's side, for Hermione to lecture him about the children's wellbeing. Instead, they understood. They saw what Ginny had done for what it was—an unforgivable betrayal.
"Thank you," Harry said quietly. "Both of you."
They stayed for hours, talking about everything and nothing. It was the first time since the discovery that Harry felt like he could breathe properly. His best friends understood. They supported him. He wasn't alone.
When they finally left, Hermione paused at the door. "Harry? I know this is probably the last thing on your mind right now, but... don't close yourself off completely. You deserve to be happy. You deserve real love, real family. Don't let what Ginny did take that away from you."
Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. After they left, he sat in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, surrounded by the ghosts of his past, and wondered if he'd ever be able to trust anyone again.
—-
Three weeks after the divorce papers were filed, Harry was called to the Ministry for a consultation on a complex case involving experimental potions. The Department of Mysteries had requested Auror presence during their investigation of an illegal laboratory, and Harry's expertise in dark magic detection made him the obvious choice.
He didn't expect to see Draco Malfoy standing in the consultation room.
Harry stopped in the doorway, momentarily stunned. He'd seen Malfoy occasionally over the years—brief glimpses at Ministry functions, passing mentions in the Prophet's society pages. But he hadn't been this close to him since the trials after the war, and he certainly hadn't been prepared for... this.
Draco Malfoy had always been beautiful in that sharp, aristocratic way. But time had transformed that cold beauty into something breathtaking. He stood beside a table covered in confiscated potion equipment, his platinum hair falling in a sleek curtain to his shoulders, his grey eyes focused intently on a complex alchemical diagram. He wore elegant black robes that probably cost more than Harry's annual salary, and when he moved, it was with a fluid grace that made Harry's mouth go dry.
"Potter," Draco said without looking up. "I was told the Auror Department was sending someone competent. I suppose you'll have to do."
The familiar snark should have annoyed Harry. Instead, he found himself fighting a smile. "Malfoy. I didn't know you worked with the Department of Mysteries."
"I don't. I'm a private consultant." Draco finally looked up, and Harry felt the full force of those grey eyes. "I specialize in experimental potions and alchemical research. When the Ministry encounters something beyond their understanding—which is frequently—they call me."
"Modest as ever," Harry said dryly, moving closer to examine the equipment.
"It's not modesty if it's true." Draco gestured to the confiscated materials. "This is sophisticated work. Whoever was running this laboratory knew what they were doing. The potion they were developing is a variant of Felix Felicis, but with some very dark modifications."
For the next two hours, they worked together, Harry providing insight into the dark magic signatures while Draco analyzed the potion components. It was strange how easily they fell into a rhythm, their old rivalry transformed into something almost like partnership. Draco was brilliant—that much was immediately obvious. His understanding of potion theory was extraordinary, and he explained complex concepts with a clarity that made even Harry's non-specialist brain understand.
"You're good at this," Harry said as they finished documenting the evidence.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Did you think I spent the last fifteen years sitting around Malfoy Manor counting my gold?"
"I didn't think about what you were doing at all," Harry admitted.
"How flattering." But there was no real bite to the words. Draco studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I read about your divorce. The Prophet has been... thorough in their coverage."
Harry tensed. "I don't want to talk about it."
"I wasn't going to offer sympathy," Draco said coolly. "I was going to say that anyone who would betray Harry Potter so completely is a fool. You deserve better than that."
The words, coming from Draco Malfoy of all people, hit Harry with unexpected force. "Thank you," he said quietly.
Draco nodded once, then began packing up his notes. "If the Auror Department needs further consultation on this case, have them contact my office. I assume you're capable of not bungling the arrest?"
"I'll do my best," Harry said, and was rewarded with the faintest hint of a smile.
As Draco moved toward the door, Harry found himself speaking before he could think better of it. "Malfoy. Wait."
Draco turned, one elegant eyebrow raised in question.
Harry's heart was pounding. This was insane. They'd been enemies for years, had barely been civil to each other since the war. But Hermione's words echoed in his mind—you deserve real love, real family—and something about the way Draco had looked at him, had spoken to him, made Harry want to take a chance.
"Would you like to have dinner with me?" Harry asked. "Not about the case. Just... dinner."
Draco's expression shifted through several emotions too quickly for Harry to read. "Are you asking me on a date, Potter?"
"Yes," Harry said, his Gryffindor courage firmly in place. "I am."
For a long moment, Draco just looked at him. Then, slowly, he smiled—a real smile, not the smirk Harry remembered from school. "Alright. Dinner. But somewhere decent, Potter. I have standards."
"I'll make reservations at Lumière," Harry said, naming one of the most exclusive restaurants in magical London. "Friday at eight?"
"Friday at eight," Draco agreed. He paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. "And Potter? Don't be late. I don't wait for anyone."
After he left, Harry stood in the empty consultation room, his heart racing, and wondered what the hell he'd just done. He'd asked Draco Malfoy on a date. Draco Malfoy had said yes.
Maybe Hermione was right. Maybe it was time to stop letting his past define his future.
—-
Lumière was everything its reputation promised—intimate lighting, exquisite French cuisine, and privacy wards that kept even the most determined reporters at bay. Harry arrived fifteen minutes early, his dress robes freshly pressed, his hands slightly sweaty with nerves.
Draco arrived exactly at eight, looking like he'd stepped out of a fashion magazine. His robes were a deep charcoal grey that made his eyes look like molten silver, and his hair was pulled back in a low ponytail that emphasized the sharp lines of his face.
"You're early," Draco observed as he slid into the seat across from Harry.
"I didn't want to risk being late," Harry admitted. "You made it clear you don't wait."
"I appreciate punctuality." Draco accepted a menu from the hovering waiter with a gracious nod. "Though I'm surprised you actually followed through. I half expected you to owl with some excuse about Auror business."
"I wanted to be here," Harry said honestly. "I've been thinking about you since the Ministry."
Draco's eyes flickered with something that might have been surprise. "Have you?"
"Yes." Harry took a breath. "Look, I know this is strange. We weren't exactly friends at school, and we've barely spoken since the war. But something about seeing you again... I don't know. I felt something. And I'm tired of ignoring what I feel just because it's complicated."
"How very Gryffindor of you," Draco murmured, but his lips curved into a small smile. "Charging forward without thinking about the consequences."
"I've thought about the consequences," Harry countered. "I've spent the last month thinking about nothing but consequences. And I've decided that I'm done living my life based on what other people expect. I want to figure out what I want. And right now, I want to get to know you."
Draco studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright, Potter. Let's get to know each other."
The dinner was a revelation. Away from the Ministry, away from their shared history, Draco was fascinating. He talked about his work—the cutting-edge research he was doing in experimental potions, the theories he was developing about magical genetics, the laboratory he'd built at Malfoy Manor. His passion for his work was evident in every word, and Harry found himself captivated.
"What made you interested in potions?" Harry asked over the main course.
"My mother, initially," Draco said. "She's a talented potioneer, though she never pursued it professionally. But after the war..." He paused, his expression growing distant. "After the war, I needed something that was mine. Something that wasn't tainted by my family's past. Science doesn't care about your name or your mistakes. It only cares about results."
"And you've gotten results," Harry said. "The Department of Mysteries wouldn't consult you if you weren't the best."
"I am the best," Draco said matter-of-factly. "But it's nice to hear you acknowledge it."
Harry laughed, surprised by how easy it was. "Still modest, I see."
"False modesty is for people who aren't confident in their abilities." Draco took a sip of his wine. "What about you? Why did you become an Auror? Everyone expected it, but that doesn't mean you had to do it."
"I wanted to make a difference," Harry said. "I spent my entire childhood being told I was special, that I had a destiny. After the war, I didn't know who I was without that. Being an Auror gave me purpose. It let me help people without being the Boy Who Lived."
"But you're still the Boy Who Lived," Draco pointed out. "You can't escape that."
"No," Harry agreed. "But I can choose what I do with it. I can choose to be more than just the person who defeated Voldemort."
Draco flinched slightly at the name, then nodded. "I understand that. Wanting to be more than your past."
They talked through dessert and coffee, the conversation flowing easily despite their history. Draco was sharp and witty, but there was a vulnerability beneath the aristocratic facade that Harry found himself drawn to. When Draco mentioned his late wife Astoria in passing, his voice softened with genuine grief.
"I'm sorry," Harry said.
"She died three years ago," Draco said quietly. "Blood curse. We knew it was coming, but that didn't make it easier. She left me with our son, Scorpius. He's eleven now, first year at Hogwarts."
"Slytherin?" Harry guessed.
"Of course." Draco's smile was fond. "He's brilliant. Top of his year in Potions already. He has his mother's kindness and, I hope, my intelligence."
"I'd like to meet him," Harry said. "If this... if we continue this."
Draco's eyes searched his face. "You're serious about this. About us."
"I am," Harry said firmly. "I know it's fast. I know I'm probably rebounding from the worst betrayal of my life. But I also know that I haven't felt this interested in someone, this alive, in years. Maybe ever. And I want to see where this goes."
"I have to be honest with you, Potter," Draco said slowly. "I'm not an easy person to be with. I'm demanding, I'm particular about my routines, and I have a son who will always come first. And my past... my past isn't pretty. I've done things I'm not proud of."
"We all have," Harry said. "But we're not those people anymore. We're who we choose to be now."
Draco smiled, and it transformed his entire face. "When did you become so wise?"
"I've had a lot of time to think lately," Harry said dryly.
As they left the restaurant, Draco paused on the street. "I had a good time tonight, Potter."
"Harry," Harry corrected. "If we're doing this, call me Harry."
"Harry," Draco repeated, testing the name. "I had a good time, Harry. Would you like to do this again?"
"Yes," Harry said immediately. "Absolutely yes."
Draco stepped closer, and Harry's breath caught. This close, he could see the silver flecks in Draco's grey eyes, could smell his expensive cologne. "Good," Draco murmured. "Because I find myself quite interested in seeing where this goes as well."
He pressed a brief, chaste kiss to Harry's cheek, then Disapparated, leaving Harry standing on the street with his heart racing and a smile on his face.
—-
Over the next three months, Harry and Draco fell into a pattern. Dinners at elegant restaurants, walks through Diagon Alley, quiet evenings at Malfoy Manor where Draco would show Harry his latest research. They took it slow, both of them cautious after their respective heartbreaks—Harry from Ginny's betrayal, Draco from Astoria's death.
The first time Harry visited Malfoy Manor, he was struck by how different it was from his memories. The dark, oppressive atmosphere from the war was gone, replaced by light and warmth. Narcissa Malfoy greeted him with cool politeness that gradually warmed to genuine welcome, and Lucius—older now, his platinum hair streaked with silver—treated Harry with a respect that seemed sincere.
"My son speaks highly of you," Lucius said over brandy one evening while Draco was in his laboratory. "That's not something he does lightly."
"I speak highly of him too," Harry said honestly.
"Good." Lucius studied him with those same grey eyes Draco had inherited. "Draco deserves happiness. He's been alone too long, devoted himself too completely to his work and his son. If you can give him that happiness, you have my blessing. If you hurt him..." The threat was unspoken but clear.
"I won't," Harry promised. "I've been hurt enough to know I never want to do that to someone else."
Meeting Scorpius was more nerve-wracking than facing Lucius. The boy was a perfect blend of Draco and Astoria—platinum blond hair, grey eyes, but with a sweetness in his expression that was all his mother. He regarded Harry with solemn curiosity when Draco introduced them.
"You're Harry Potter," Scorpius said. "Father talks about you a lot."
"Does he?" Harry glanced at Draco, who had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.
"He says you're brilliant at defensive magic," Scorpius continued. "And that you're kind. Mother always said kindness was the most important thing."
Harry's heart clenched. "Your mother was right. And your father is brilliant too. The most brilliant person I know."
Scorpius smiled, and Harry saw Draco's expression soften. "Would you like to see my Potions homework? Father says I'm doing well, but I'd like another opinion."
They spent the afternoon going over Scorpius's schoolwork, and Harry found himself genuinely enjoying the boy's company. Scorpius was intelligent and curious, with none of the cruelty that had defined Draco at that age. When Harry left that evening, Scorpius hugged him goodbye, and Harry felt something in his chest warm.
"He likes you," Draco said as they stood in the Manor's entrance hall. "That's... that's important to me. Scorpius is my world."
"He's a wonderful kid," Harry said. "You've done an amazing job raising him."
"I had help. My parents, Astoria's family." Draco hesitated, then took Harry's hand. "But it's been lonely, being a single parent. Trying to be everything he needs."
"You don't have to be alone anymore," Harry said softly. "If you don't want to be."
Draco pulled him closer, and this time when they kissed, it wasn't chaste. It was deep and hungry, months of tension finally breaking. Harry's hands tangled in Draco's hair, and Draco's fingers dug into his shoulders, and for the first time since discovering Ginny's betrayal, Harry felt whole.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Draco rested his forehead against Harry's. "Stay," he whispered. "Stay tonight."
"Are you sure?" Harry asked.
"I'm sure." Draco's eyes were dark with want. "I'm very sure."
That night, in Draco's elegant bedroom with its silver and green silk sheets, Harry discovered what it meant to be with someone who truly wanted him. Ginny had been his only lover, and their intimacy had been comfortable but uninspired. With Draco, it was different—intense and passionate, both of them learning each other's bodies with a hunger that left them breathless.
Afterward, lying tangled together in the moonlight, Draco traced patterns on Harry's chest. "I should tell you something," he said quietly. "Before this goes any further."
"What is it?" Harry asked, his fingers combing through Draco's hair.
"Before Astoria, I was... promiscuous. A playboy, as the Prophet liked to call me." Draco's voice was carefully neutral. "I slept around quite a bit. Men, women, anyone who caught my interest. I'm not proud of it, but I won't lie about it either."
"I don't care about your past," Harry said firmly. "We all have one. What matters is who you are now."
"And who am I now?" Draco asked, looking up at him.
"You're the man I'm falling in love with," Harry said, the words coming easily. "You're brilliant and beautiful and a wonderful father. You're everything I didn't know I needed."
Draco's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I'm falling in love with you too," he whispered. "It terrifies me, but I am."
They made love again, slower this time, and Harry felt the last pieces of his broken heart begin to heal.
—-
Four months into their relationship, Draco invited Harry to his laboratory—the inner sanctum he rarely showed anyone. It was a massive space in the Manor's east wing, filled with bubbling cauldrons, complex alchemical equipment, and shelves upon shelves of ingredients and reference books.
"This is incredible," Harry breathed, looking around in awe.
"This is where I do my real work," Draco said, moving to a locked cabinet. "The consultations for the Ministry pay well, but this... this is my passion."
He withdrew a crystal vial filled with an opalescent potion that seemed to shimmer with inner light. "I want to show you something. Something I've been working on for years."
Harry moved closer, studying the potion. "What is it?"
"A solution to a problem I've had since Astoria died." Draco set the vial down carefully. "After she passed, I wanted to give Scorpius a sibling. He was so lonely, and I... I wanted more children. But I couldn't bear the thought of marrying again, of replacing Astoria. So I started researching alternatives."
"Alternatives?" Harry asked, confused.
Draco took a breath. "This potion, if taken correctly over a period of weeks, would allow a wizard to become pregnant and carry a child to term. Male pregnancy. It's never been successfully achieved before, but I believe I've solved the theoretical problems."
Harry stared at him, his mind reeling. "You've invented a potion that would let men get pregnant?"
"Yes." Draco's voice was steady, but Harry could see the vulnerability in his eyes. "I've tested it extensively on animals, and the results are promising. But I've never had a reason to test it on myself. Until now."
"Until now?" Harry repeated.
"Harry, I love you." Draco turned to face him fully. "I love you, and I can see a future with you. A real future. But I need you to understand what that future could look like. I want more children. I want to give Scorpius siblings, want to build a family. And with this potion, we could do that. We could have a child that's biologically both of ours."
Harry's heart was pounding. "You want to have my child?"
"I want us to have a child together," Draco corrected. "If that's something you want. I know you've been hurt, that the children you thought were yours weren't. But this would be different. This would be real. Ours."
Harry looked at the potion, then at Draco, and felt something shift in his chest. A child. A real child, biologically his, carried by the man he loved. A family built on truth and love, not lies and betrayal.
"I want that," Harry said, his voice rough with emotion. "God, Draco, I want that so much. But... are you sure? Pregnancy is dangerous, even magical pregnancy. And we've only been together four months—"
"I'm sure," Draco interrupted. "I've never been more sure of anything. But Harry, I need you to be sure too. I need you to be committed to this, to us, before we take this step."
Harry pulled Draco into his arms, holding him close. "I'm committed. I'm all in. I love you, and I want a future with you. I want a family with you. A real family."
Draco pulled back slightly, his grey eyes searching Harry's face. "Then there's something I need to ask you first."
To Harry's shock, Draco pulled a small box from his robes and opened it, revealing an elegant platinum band set with a single emerald. "I was going to wait, plan something elaborate. But I've never been good at waiting for what I want. Harry Potter, will you marry me?"
Harry laughed, tears streaming down his face. "That's supposed to be my line. I was going to propose to you."
"Too slow, Potter," Draco said, but his voice was shaking. "Now answer the question."
"Yes," Harry said, pulling Draco into a kiss. "Yes, I'll marry you. But on one condition."
"What condition?" Draco asked against his lips.
"After we're married, you use that potion. We have a child together. We build the family we both deserve."
Draco's smile was radiant. "Deal."
—-
They married two months later in the gardens of Malfoy Manor, under a canopy of white roses and silver ribbons. It was a small ceremony—just close friends and family. Hermione and Ron stood as Harry's witnesses, both of them beaming with genuine happiness. Narcissa cried delicate tears of joy, and Lucius looked more pleased than Harry had ever seen him. Scorpius stood beside his father, holding the rings with solemn importance.
The wizarding world had been shocked by the announcement, but the Prophet's coverage had been surprisingly positive. After the scandal with Ginny, public opinion had firmly sided with Harry, and his choice to marry Draco Malfoy was seen as a bold move toward happiness after betrayal.
HARRY POTTER TO MARRY DRACO MALFOY
In a surprising turn of events, Harry Potter has announced his engagement to renowned potions researcher Draco Malfoy. The two have been quietly dating for several months following Potter's divorce from Ginevra Weasley.
"I'm happy for him," said Hermione Granger-Weasley, Potter's longtime friend. "Harry deserves love and happiness, and he's found that with Draco. That's all that matters."
The wedding will take place at Malfoy Manor, with only close friends and family in attendance...
As Harry stood at the altar watching Draco walk toward him, resplendent in silver and white robes that made him look like something out of a fairy tale, he felt a peace he'd never known. This was right. This was real.
"You look beautiful," Harry whispered as Draco took his place beside him.
"I know," Draco murmured back, but his eyes were soft. "You don't look too bad yourself, Potter."
"Malfoy," Harry corrected with a smile.
"Not for much longer," Draco said. "Soon we'll both be Malfoy-Potter."
The ceremony was traditional but personal. They'd written their own vows, and when it was Harry's turn to speak, he took Draco's hands and looked into those grey eyes he'd come to love so much.
"Draco, when I first asked you to dinner, I was broken. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to trust anyone again. But you showed me that love doesn't have to be a lie. You showed me that family can be built on truth and choice, not just blood and obligation. You've given me hope for the future, and I promise to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you've made me. I love you."
Draco's voice was steady despite the tears on his cheeks. "Harry, you've given me something I thought I'd lost when Astoria died—the belief that I could love again. You've been patient with my fears, gentle with my son, and passionate in your devotion. You've shown me that second chances are real, and that the future can be brighter than the past. I promise to love you, to support you, and to build a life with you that's worthy of both of us. I love you."
When they kissed, sealing their vows, the garden erupted in applause. Scorpius cheered loudest of all, and Harry felt Draco smile against his lips.
The reception was elegant and joyful. They danced under the stars, Draco fitting perfectly in Harry's arms. Hermione hugged them both, crying happy tears. Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder and told him he'd made the right choice. Even Lucius unbent enough to tell Harry he was proud to call him son.
Late in the evening, as they stood together watching their guests, Draco leaned into Harry's side. "Ready to start our future?" he murmured.
"More than ready," Harry said, pressing a kiss to his husband's temple. "Let's go home."
They Apparated to their bedroom—Harry had officially moved into the Manor the week before—and made love as husbands for the first time. It was tender and passionate, a celebration of their commitment and their love.
Afterward, as they lay tangled together, Draco reached for the nightstand and withdrew a familiar crystal vial. "I'm ready," he said quietly. "If you are."
Harry took the vial, studying the opalescent potion. "You're sure? We can wait—"
"I don't want to wait," Draco interrupted. "I want to start our family. I want to give you a child that's truly yours. I want this, Harry. With you."
Harry kissed him deeply, then handed back the vial. "Then let's do this. Let's make our family."
Draco drank the potion in one smooth motion, and Harry held him as the magic took hold, beginning the transformation that would allow them to create life together.
—-
The pregnancy potion worked gradually, transforming Draco's body over the course of several weeks to make conception possible. During that time, Harry was attentive and devoted, making sure Draco was comfortable as his body adjusted to the powerful magic.
"How do you feel?" Harry asked one morning, finding Draco in his laboratory reviewing his notes on the potion's effects.
"Strange," Draco admitted. "The magic is... intense. I can feel it changing me, preparing my body. It's not painful, just odd."
"If it becomes too much—"
"It won't," Draco said firmly. "I designed this potion, Harry. I know what to expect. And it's worth it. For us."
Six weeks after their wedding, the Healer confirmed what they'd hoped: Draco was pregnant.
Harry cried when he heard the news, pulling Draco into his arms and holding him like he was something precious. "We're having a baby," he whispered. "A real baby. Ours."
"Ours," Draco agreed, his own eyes wet. "Biologically, magically, completely ours."
The pregnancy was closely monitored—male pregnancy was unprecedented in wizarding medicine, and Draco's Healer wanted to ensure everything progressed safely. But Draco's potion had been thoroughly designed, and aside from the expected discomforts, everything went smoothly.
Harry was obsessively attentive. He made sure Draco ate properly, rested enough, didn't overwork himself in the laboratory. Draco complained about being coddled, but Harry could see he secretly enjoyed the attention.
"You're going to be insufferable when the baby arrives," Draco grumbled one evening as Harry insisted on propping his feet up with cushions.
"Probably," Harry agreed cheerfully. "But you love me anyway."
"Unfortunately," Draco said, but he was smiling.
Scorpius was thrilled about the baby. He'd come home from Hogwarts for the holidays to find his father visibly pregnant, and his excitement had been immediate and genuine.
"I'm going to be a big brother!" he'd announced, hugging Draco carefully. "Can I help name the baby? Can I teach them Potions? Can I—"
"One thing at a time," Draco had laughed, ruffling his son's hair. "But yes, you can help with all of that."
As Draco's pregnancy progressed, they discussed names. Draco insisted on following the Black family tradition of naming children after stars and constellations.
"It's important," he said, one hand resting on his swollen belly. "My mother was a Black, and that tradition connects us to something bigger than ourselves. I want our child to have that connection."
"I like it," Harry said, his own hand covering Draco's. "What names are you thinking?"
"If it's a boy, perhaps Orion or Sirius," Draco mused. "Though Sirius might be complicated given your godfather."
"What about a girl?" Harry asked.
Draco's eyes lit up. "Lyra. After the constellation. It means 'lyre' in Latin—the musical instrument. It's beautiful and strong."
"Lyra Malfoy-Potter," Harry tested. "I love it."
"Then let's hope it's a girl," Draco said with a smile.
The months passed in a blur of preparation. They converted one of the Manor's bedrooms into a nursery, decorating it in soft silvers and greens. Narcissa knitted tiny blankets and clothes. Lucius had a custom crib made from rare magical wood. Hermione threw them a baby shower that was elegant and touching.
Through it all, Harry marveled at the reality of it. He was going to be a father. A real father, to a child who was biologically his. A child created from love and choice, not lies and betrayal.
He thought occasionally about James, Albus, and Lily—the children he'd raised for years believing they were his. The Prophet reported that they'd officially changed their surnames to Weasley, that Ginny had moved back to the Burrow with them. He felt no regret. They weren't his children. They never had been. And while he didn't wish them harm, he felt no obligation to them either.
His family was here—Draco, Scorpius, and the baby growing in Draco's belly. This was real. This was his.
—-
Draco went into labor on a cool spring evening, nine months after taking the pregnancy potion. Harry Apparated them directly to St. Mungo's, where a team of Healers was waiting—they'd been on standby for weeks, knowing that male pregnancy was unprecedented and potentially complicated.
"I've got you," Harry murmured, holding Draco's hand as the contractions intensified. "I'm right here."
"I know," Draco gasped, his face pale but determined. "I designed this potion. I know what to expect. It's going to be fine."
But Harry could see the fear beneath the bravado, and he held Draco's hand tighter. "You're the bravest person I know," he said. "You're going to be amazing."
The labor lasted four hours—shorter than average, the Healers said, likely due to the magical nature of the pregnancy. Harry stayed by Draco's side the entire time, offering comfort and encouragement, his heart in his throat with worry and anticipation.
And then, finally, a baby's cry filled the room.
"It's a girl," the Healer announced, placing the tiny, squirming bundle on Draco's chest. "A healthy baby girl."
Harry stared at his daughter—his daughter—and felt his entire world shift. She was perfect. Tiny and red-faced and screaming, with a shock of platinum blonde hair and, when she opened her eyes, the most brilliant green he'd ever seen.
"She has your eyes," Draco whispered, tears streaming down his face. "Harry, she has your eyes."
"And your hair," Harry said, his voice breaking. "She's perfect. She's absolutely perfect."
"Lyra," Draco said softly, touching their daughter's tiny hand. "Lyra Malfoy-Potter."
The Healers took Lyra for examination while they tended to Draco, making sure the magical pregnancy had left no complications. Everything was perfect—Draco's body was already beginning to return to normal, the potion's magic fading now that its purpose was complete.
When they were finally alone in the private room, Lyra sleeping peacefully in Harry's arms, Draco looked at him with an expression Harry couldn't quite read.
"What is it?" Harry asked softly.
"I want to do a paternity test," Draco said.
Harry blinked, surprised. "What? Why?"
"Because I never want you to doubt," Draco said firmly. "I never want you to wonder, even for a moment, if Lyra is truly yours. I know what Ginny did to you, how she lied. I won't have that shadow over our family. I want you to have proof, magical and irrefutable, that Lyra is your daughter."
Harry's throat tightened with emotion. "Draco, I don't need—"
"I do," Draco interrupted. "Please, Harry. For me. For us. Let's do this right."
Harry nodded, understanding. "Okay. We'll do the test."
The Healer performed the magical paternity verification the next morning. Harry held Lyra while Draco watched, both of them tense despite knowing what the results would be.
When the Healer smiled and handed them the official parchment, Harry felt something in his chest release. The magical signature analysis was clear and irrefutable: Lyra Malfoy-Potter was biologically the daughter of Harry James Potter and Draco Lucius Malfoy-Potter.
"She's ours," Harry whispered, looking down at his sleeping daughter. "Really, truly ours."
"I told you," Draco said, but his voice was thick with emotion. "I would never lie to you about this. About anything."
Harry leaned over and kissed him, careful not to jostle Lyra. "Thank you. For her. For everything. For giving me a real family."
"Thank you for choosing me," Draco said. "For choosing us."
—-
The Prophet's announcement of Lyra's birth was front-page news.
HARRY POTTER AND DRACO MALFOY WELCOME DAUGHTER
Harry Potter and his husband Draco Malfoy-Potter are pleased to announce the birth of their daughter, Lyra Narcissa Malfoy-Potter. The baby girl was born at St. Mungo's Hospital and is reported to be healthy and beautiful.
In an unprecedented achievement, the pregnancy was made possible through a potion developed by Draco Malfoy-Potter himself, allowing male pregnancy for the first time in wizarding history. The breakthrough is expected to revolutionize options for same-sex couples and single fathers wishing to have biological children.
"We're overjoyed," Potter told this reporter. "Lyra is everything we hoped for and more. We're grateful for the support of our family and friends during this journey."
Malfoy-Potter, a renowned potions researcher, has indicated he may publish his findings on the male pregnancy potion, though he emphasizes that it should only be used under strict medical supervision...
The article continued with speculation about the potion's implications and congratulations from various public figures. Notably absent was any mention of Harry's former children—the Weasley children, as they were now known.
Harry read the article while sitting in the nursery, Lyra sleeping peacefully in his arms. She was five days old, and he still couldn't quite believe she was real. His daughter. His and Draco's.
"Any regrets?" Draco asked from the doorway, watching them with soft eyes.
Harry looked up, understanding the question. Did he regret leaving James, Albus, and Lily? Did he regret the harsh way he'd cut them out of his life?
"No," Harry said honestly. "I don't regret it. They weren't mine, Draco. They were never mine. And I can't be expected to raise another man's children, to pretend to be their father, after what Ginny did. That's not cruel—that's honest."
"The Prophet says they're struggling," Draco said quietly. "That they don't understand why you left."
"They'll understand when they're older," Harry said. "They'll understand that their mother lied, that she betrayed me in the worst way possible. And they'll understand that I had a right to walk away."
Draco moved into the room, sitting beside Harry and looking down at their daughter. "I'm glad you don't regret it. Because if you'd stayed with them, you wouldn't be here with us. And I'm selfish enough to be grateful for that."
"I'm grateful too," Harry said, leaning into Draco's side. "This is my family. You, Scorpius, Lyra. This is real. This is what I was meant to have."
Lyra stirred in his arms, her tiny hand grasping at air. Harry offered her his finger, and she wrapped her impossibly small hand around it, holding tight. His daughter. His real daughter, with Draco's platinum hair and his green eyes.
"She's going to be brilliant," Draco said softly. "With your courage and my intelligence, she'll be unstoppable."
"And Scorpius will teach her everything he knows," Harry added. "She'll have the best big brother in the world."
"He's already obsessed with her," Draco said with a smile. "He spent an hour yesterday just watching her sleep. I think he's going to be insufferably protective."
"Good," Harry said. "She deserves to be protected. To be loved. To grow up knowing she's wanted and cherished."
"She will be," Draco promised. "We'll make sure of it."
They sat together in the nursery, their daughter sleeping peacefully between them, and Harry felt a contentment he'd never known. This was his life now. This was his family. And he had no regrets about the choices that had brought him here.
—-
Six months after Lyra's birth, Harry stood in the gardens of Malfoy Manor, watching Scorpius teach his baby sister about the flowers. Lyra, now able to sit up with support, gurgled happily as Scorpius showed her a silver rose, his voice patient and gentle.
"This is a moonflower, Lyra," Scorpius was saying. "It only blooms at night. Father says they're magical, that they can grant wishes if you're pure of heart."
Lyra reached for the flower with chubby hands, and Scorpius carefully guided her touch, making sure she didn't prick herself on the thorns.
"He's wonderful with her," Draco said, coming to stand beside Harry. He'd fully recovered from the pregnancy, his body returned to its usual elegant form, though he'd kept a few of the maternity robes because Harry had admitted he found them attractive.
"He really is," Harry agreed, slipping an arm around Draco's waist. "You've raised an amazing son."
"We've raised an amazing son," Draco corrected. "He's as much yours now as he is mine. He calls you Papa when he thinks we're not listening."
Harry's heart swelled. "Does he?"
"He does." Draco leaned into him. "You've given him something he lost when Astoria died—a complete family. Two parents who love him and each other. A sister to dote on. He's happier than I've seen him in years."
"I'm happier than I've been in years," Harry admitted. "Maybe ever. This—" he gestured to the garden, to Scorpius and Lyra, to the Manor behind them "—this is everything I never knew I wanted."
"No regrets?" Draco asked, echoing the question from months ago.
"None," Harry said firmly. "I know people think I'm cruel for abandoning the Weasley children. I know Ginny's been telling anyone who'll listen that I'm heartless. But I don't care. They weren't my children. They were never my children. And I refuse to feel guilty for choosing to build a life with people who are actually mine."
"The Prophet published another article about it last week," Draco said. "Calling Ginny out for her continued attempts to paint herself as the victim. Public opinion is still firmly on your side."
Harry had seen the article. It had been scathing, detailing Ginny's affairs and her attempts to manipulate public sympathy. The wizarding world, it seemed, had no patience for adultery, especially when the victim was Harry Potter.
GINEVRA WEASLEY'S CONTINUED DELUSIONS
Despite overwhelming evidence of her infidelity and the justified response of her ex-husband, Ginevra Weasley continues to paint herself as a victim in the dissolution of her marriage to Harry Potter.
"She's delusional," one source close to the situation told this reporter. "She cheated on Harry Potter repeatedly, lied to him for over a decade, and now she's shocked that he doesn't want anything to do with her or the children that aren't his. She made her choices. These are the consequences."
Potter, meanwhile, has built a new life with his husband Draco Malfoy-Potter and their children. Sources describe him as happy and devoted, a far cry from the broken man who discovered his wife's betrayal...
"I don't care what the Prophet says about her," Harry said. "I just care about this. About us."
Lyra let out a delighted squeal, and they both turned to see her attempting to grab Scorpius's nose. The boy laughed, letting her succeed, and the sound of their children's joy filled the garden.
"Come on," Draco said, taking Harry's hand. "Let's join them. We should take advantage of this beautiful day."
They spent the afternoon in the garden, the four of them together. Narcissa joined them for tea, cooing over Lyra and praising Scorpius's latest Potions essay. Lucius appeared later, looking distinguished and proud as he held his granddaughter.
"She has the Malfoy hair," Lucius observed with satisfaction. "And the Potter eyes. A perfect blend."
"She's perfect in every way," Harry said, taking Lyra back and pressing a kiss to her blonde head. She smelled like baby powder and magic, and Harry's heart felt so full it might burst.
That evening, after Scorpius had gone to bed and Lyra was sleeping in her nursery, Harry and Draco sat in their bedroom, comfortable in the silence of their shared space.
"I've been thinking," Draco said, his head resting on Harry's shoulder. "About having another child."
Harry looked at him in surprise. "Already?"
"Not immediately," Draco clarified. "But in a few years, when Lyra is older. I'd like to give her a sibling close in age. And I'd like to use the potion again. It worked perfectly, and I... I enjoyed being pregnant. Knowing I was creating life, that I was giving you a child that was truly yours."
"You want to do it again?" Harry asked, his voice soft with wonder.
"I do." Draco lifted his head to meet Harry's eyes. "If you want to. We could have a whole family, Harry. Children who are ours, who grow up knowing they're loved and wanted. We could give them everything we never had—stability, honesty, unconditional love."
"I want that," Harry said, pulling Draco into a kiss. "I want all of that. With you. Always with you."
They made love that night with a tenderness born of deep love and commitment, and afterward, as they lay tangled together, Harry thought about the future. More children, all of them with Malfoy blonde hair and various combinations of their features. A house full of love and laughter. A family built on truth and choice.
"Thank you," Harry whispered into the darkness.
"For what?" Draco murmured, half-asleep.
"For giving me this. For giving me a real family. For loving me."
Draco's arms tightened around him. "Thank you for choosing me. For choosing us. For being brave enough to walk away from a lie and build something true."
Harry closed his eyes, listening to Draco's breathing even out into sleep, and felt a peace he'd never known. He'd been through hell—betrayal, divorce, public scandal. But it had led him here, to this moment, to this man, to this family.
And he had absolutely no regrets.
—-
The Great Hall of Hogwarts was decorated for the start-of-term feast, candles floating overhead and the enchanted ceiling showing a clear autumn sky. Harry sat at the staff table—he'd been invited to give a talk on defensive magic to the seventh years—and watched the Sorting with interest.
Scorpius was in his third year now, still top of his class in Potions and a credit to Slytherin House. He sat at the Slytherin table with his friends, occasionally glancing over at the staff table where Harry sat. When their eyes met, Scorpius grinned and waved, and Harry waved back, his heart warm.
At the Gryffindor table, James Weasley sat with his friends, now fourteen and in his fourth year. At the Slytherin table, not far from Scorpius, Albus Weasley was in his third year. Neither of them looked at Harry. They hadn't spoken to him since the divorce, and Harry felt no inclination to change that.
They weren't his children. They never had been. And while he didn't wish them harm, he felt no connection to them, no obligation. They were strangers who happened to share a painful history with him, nothing more.
After the feast, Harry met Draco in Hogsmeade, where they'd arranged to have dinner at the Three Broomsticks. Draco arrived with Lyra in his arms—now two years old, with her father's platinum hair in ringlets and Harry's bright green eyes. She squealed with delight when she saw Harry.
"Papa!" she cried, reaching for him.
Harry took her, spinning her around until she giggled. "Hello, little star. Were you good for Daddy today?"
"She was perfect," Draco said, kissing Harry in greeting. "Though she did try to help me with my potion work and nearly knocked over a very expensive ingredient."
"I help!" Lyra insisted. "I good helper!"
"You're the best helper," Harry assured her, settling her on his hip. "Just like your big brother."
They had dinner together, Lyra chattering about her day and the new spell Grandmother Narcissa had shown her. She was already showing signs of powerful magic, and Draco was convinced she'd be a prodigy.
"She'll probably be in Slytherin," Draco said, watching their daughter with obvious pride. "She's far too clever for Gryffindor."
"Hey," Harry protested. "I was in Gryffindor."
"Yes, and you're the exception that proves the rule," Draco said with a smirk.
They walked back to the Manor together, Lyra falling asleep against Harry's shoulder. Inside, Scorpius was home for the weekend, working on homework in the library. He looked up when they entered, his face lighting up.
"How was Hogwarts?" he asked Harry.
"Good. Your Potions professor says you're doing excellent work."
Scorpius beamed. "I'm working on a variation of the Draught of Living Death. Father's been helping me with the theory."
"Of course he has," Harry said fondly. "Just don't blow up the laboratory."
"That was one time," Scorpius protested. "And I was nine."
They settled into their evening routine—Scorpius finishing his homework, Harry putting Lyra to bed, Draco working in his laboratory. Later, they all gathered in the sitting room, comfortable in each other's presence.
"I have news," Draco said, his hand resting on his flat stomach. "I'm pregnant again."
Harry's head snapped up. "What?"
"I started the potion last month," Draco said, his eyes sparkling. "I wanted to be sure before I told you. But the Healer confirmed it today. We're having another baby."
Scorpius whooped with joy, and Harry pulled Draco into his arms, kissing him deeply. "Another baby," he whispered. "Another child. Ours."
"Ours," Draco confirmed. "I was thinking, if it's a boy, we could name him Orion. And if it's a girl, perhaps Andromeda, after my aunt."
"Perfect," Harry said, his hand joining Draco's on his stomach. "Absolutely perfect."
That night, lying in bed with Draco curled against him, Harry thought about his life. He had a husband he loved desperately, a stepson who called him Papa, a daughter who was the light of his life, and another child on the way. He had a home, a family, a future built on truth and love.
He thought briefly about the life he'd left behind—Ginny, the children who weren't his, the lies and betrayal. He felt no regret. No guilt. No second thoughts.
This was his family. This was his life. And he had chosen it, built it, fought for it.
And he had absolutely no regrets.
—-
Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy-Potter are expecting their second child together, sources confirm. The couple, who married three years ago following Potter's divorce from Ginevra Weasley, already have one daughter, Lyra (2), and Malfoy-Potter has a son, Scorpius (13), from his first marriage.
"They're a beautiful family," Narcissa Malfoy told this reporter. "My son and Harry have built something wonderful together. We couldn't be more proud."
The pregnancy is once again made possible through Malfoy-Potter's groundbreaking male pregnancy potion, which has since been made available to other same-sex couples under strict medical supervision.
Potter, who continues his work as an Auror, and Malfoy-Potter, whose research has revolutionized several fields of magical science, are reportedly thrilled about the new addition to their family.
Meanwhile, Ginevra Weasley remains at the Burrow with her three children, James (14), Albus (13), and Lily (11), all of whom now bear the Weasley surname. Weasley has not remarried and continues to maintain a low profile following the scandal that ended her marriage to Potter.
"Some mistakes you can't come back from," one source close to the Weasley family said. "She made her choices. Now she has to live with them."