Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry was standing, facing the Floo. His posture was taut, defensive.

“Love? We don’t have to go. Just say the word and I’ll text Hermione.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re expecting us—especially because they don’t have the kids tonight. Don’t you remember?” Harry’s voice was tight. And he still wasn’t looking at Tom.

“Alright, baby. Let’s go, then,” Tom said, stepping forward.

Except— “The cheese,” Harry remembered. He went to the kitchen, the fridge, and took out the bag with the deli snacks they wanted to bring to Hermione’s and Ron’s.

Then Harry drew in a breath, and they both stepped into the Floo.

They landed in a small, crowded living room. Hermione was there— arranging plates and silverware—when they arrived.

“Harry! Tom!” she cried fondly, ecstatic. Then, with a bit less enthusiasm and more authority, “Ron, they’re here! Do come!”

“I will in a minute,” an unbothered voice came through the flat, accompanied by a wireless account of an ongoing Quidditch game.

Hermione came to greet them.
She hugged Harry—and Tom mentally counted the seconds. One, two, three—Hermione already had a frown on her face. She knew that Harry was off.

Harry shook the paper bag and nodded toward the kitchen. “I’ll go set up the charcuterie board,” he said abruptly, not looking at her—and left. He was greeted by Ron in the kitchen—and the game from the wireless.

Hermione shuffled toward Tom immediately.

“What’s going on, Tom?” Hermione asked, worried.

Tom gained a new respect for her. In three seconds, she had already figured out something was wrong with Harry.

“We went to the Omega fertility mediwizard today.”

“Oh,” Hermione’s face filled with empathy. “And?”

“And she asked—stupidly—if he’d used suppressants for prolonged periods of time.”

“Oh no.”

“Yes.” Tom wasn’t surprised at how desperate his voice sounded.

“But—”

“But exactly. It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve been on contraception for years—longer than he has. And still—”

“He blames himself,” Hermione whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“He hasn’t even looked at me,” Tom’s voice broke. “I don’t know what to do. It’s usually him who guides us through all this… emotional stuff.”

“Tom,” Hermione started gently.

“Why did I let her talk?” Tom was rambling now. “Why didn’t I hex her? Or just deck her? You know what else she said?”

“No,” Hermione said softly.

“She said, ‘sometimes it happens once you stop trying so much.’ ”

Hermione grimaced. “That is—Godric—that is the most patronizing, invalidating rubbish ever.”

“Un- solicited rubbish,” Tom muttered.

Hermione leaned forward. “Tom. You need to—”

But just then, Harry and Ron entered the living room, and the conversation stopped.

Harry placed the cheese on the table and went to pet Crookshanks the Second for a bit, clearly as a distraction.

Ron followed, carrying a bowl of Caesar salad and a basket of garlic bread. But just then, Crookshanks, apparently done being useful, darted in front of Ron.

“Shit—!”

The salad bowl tilted in mid-air—

Tom flicked his wrist, freezing it all in place.. Instinctive. His wandless magic had been growing stronger since Harry dragged him back to the wizarding world.

“Cheers, Tom,” Ron muttered, a bit shaken, as he picked the salad from the air.

Meanwhile, Harry hadn’t reacted at all. He was staring into the distance, seemingly oblivious to everything.

“Mate, you alright?” Ron asked.

“Sure.” Harry stood up and took a seat at the table, where Hermione was adding the last napkins.

Dinner was quiet.

Harry barely spoke and kept avoiding Tom’s eyes. After a while, he stopped looking at Hermione too, once he noticed her exchanging glances with Tom.

Ron, oblivious as ever, seemed thrilled to finally dominate the conversation and launched into a detailed retelling of his latest Auror assignments—at least what he was allowed to share.

Tom was quiet for a while, until suddenly, as if deciding something, he joined in and started asking Ron questions—sharp ones, with an unsettling amount of precision for someone outside the field.

Once the meal was done, Harry excused himself to the loo.

Silence followed.

“I was hoping he’d join the conversation,” Tom admitted.

Hermione sighed. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

Ron glanced between them. “Who?”

Hermione shot him a look. “Who do you think , Ronald? Harry. ”

“What about him? Now that you mention it... he was acting weird in the kitchen.”

“Where are your Auror instincts? He’s miserable.”

“My instincts are intact. He’s been in the loo a while—see? I do notice things.”

Hermione sat straighter. “He’s not in there anymore. He’s in the children’s room. I felt the wards shift.”

The children’s room. Tom squirmed in his seat.

Ron looked at him. “Tom. Look, I know we’ve never really seen eye to eye… but if Harry’s upset, you’re the one who needs to talk to him. You’re the only one whose opinion really matters to him. And honestly, you look like you’re being flayed alive. You clearly don’t know how to function unless he’s okay.”

There was a beat of silence. Even Hermione looked caught off guard by Ron’s sudden clarity.

Tom stood, his legs moving before his mind could catch up. He made his way toward the children’s room.

Harry was standing by the window, lost in thought, absentmindedly fiddling with a pair of Lego pieces. His posture sagged, every inch of him exuding exhaustion and quiet defeat.

Tom’s heart clenched at the sight.

“Baby,” he whispered, his voice soft but filled with urgency.

Harry lifted his head, but he didn’t turn around.

“Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re worried about, whatever doubts you have, I promise we’ll overcome it together. It’s not just you, Harry. It’s me too.”

Tom moved to him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Harry melted into him, but some of the the tension was still there.

“And I love you,” Tom murmured against his neck. “I love you more every single day.”

He kissed the nape of Harry’s neck, slow and tender.

Harry let out a quiet breath, relaxing into the warmth of Tom’s arms. Finally. Tom felt like he could breathe again.

But then Harry turned, still within Tom’s grip, and looked up at him, uncertainty clouding his eyes.

“How can you be so sure, Tom? About the overcoming? What if it’s because of me that we—”

“Darling,” Tom cut him off, gently tipping Harry’s chin so their eyes met. “I meant what I said. I’ll always be with you, through everything. And trust me,” Tom’s smile deepened, mischievous now, “there’s nothing you can do—now or ever—that could make me doubt my love for you. Or… very little. You must know how immoral I am.”

Harry rolled his eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “That’s definitely one of your strengths.”

Tom’s grin widened greedily. “Also… I’m quite vulgar, did you know that?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And,” Tom’s voice dropped to a playful whisper, his eyes glinting as he leaned in closer, “I’m an absolute pervert.”

Harry snorted. “I’ve noticed.” 

“A right filthy bastard, I am. My love language is raw debauchery.” Tom pressed Harry into a wall beside the window. “My favorite thing in the entire world is your - “

“Tom! We are in the children’s bedroom,” Harry hissed, scandalized, but also trying not to laugh.

Tom shut him up by kissing him so fiercely that Harry was certain there’d be an imprint of his back on the wall.

The kiss quickly turned heated. Tom’s hands were under Harry’s shirt, and Harry had absolutely wrecked Tom’s hair. Tom was fumbling with the fly of Harry’s jeans.

“We can’t… not now,” Harry panted. “They’ll never invite us over again.”

Tom didn’t look particularly concerned. His fingers found the button.

“Tom. No.”

“I think it’s too late already. We’ve been gone too long—they’re not checking on us. At this point, they’re probably expecting us to do it.”

“That is not true. We’d hear Ron gagging. And Hermione…”

Tom smirked. “She’d probably cast an Extendable Ear and take notes.”

Harry shuddered. “That’s it. We’re going back.”

Harry gently pushed Tom off and started straightening their clothes and fixing hair. He did it very thoroughly, which Tom found mildly offensive.

When they finally emerged back in the living room, Hermione was arranging cutlery for the dessert - a key lime cake  - with precision that belonged in a lab.

“Oh, good! I was just about to send in a rescue team. Ron thought you’d fallen into the toy chest.”

Ron looked at them very suspicously, but their looks didn’t suggest anything. He visibly relaxed.

After the dessert it was time for a board game. For couples.

The rules were simple: the couple had to answer a question individually and also guess their partner’s answer. Each correct guess got a point. Tom hadn’t wanted to join, but after Harry said, “I want to play,” with that stubborn little glint in his eye, Tom relented.

Since they’d been together the longest, Ron and Hermione had expected to win easily.

Five questions in, Ron was at his wits’ end.

“Tom, that’s cheating.”

“Technically, it isn’t,” Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“He can’t just keep answering every question with ‘Harry’! His spirit animal? Weird, but fine. Guilty pleasure snack? I don’t even want to talk about that one. But favourite household chore? How the hell is Harry your favourite household chore, Tom?

“But he is,” Tom said smoothly, tossing Harry a saucy wink.

Ron turned to Harry, exasperated. “And you ! The fact that you guessed all of these ridiculous answers—you’re just encouraging him!”

“Sorry, Ron. Normally, I’d back your noble quest for fairness,” Harry said, not sounding remotely sorry, “but you know how competitive I get during games.”

“Oh yes,” Tom purred, low and pleased. “My competitive little animal .”

Ron waited for Harry to scold him. Or at least roll his eyes.

Instead, Harry fluttered his lashes.

It was like watching the slowest, most torturous foreplay in history.

“Okay…” Hermione said carefully, like trying to soothe two feral toddlers. “Next question: what is your favourite feature of your partner?”

Ron grimaced. It was a trap question, and he knew it. He was sure he will get it wrong, and was preparing for some drama.

Tom, on the other hand, grinned like a devil and started writing.

“Tom, don’t,” Harry warned. “Or pick your second favourite.”

Tom pouted, then struck something out with a dramatic flourish.

“You two have the strangest conversations at home…” Ron muttered.

“Oh, we don’t talk about it,” Tom said. “We demonstrate .”

A groan from Ron.

Tom continued. “I, for example, use my ton—”

“TOM!” Harry cut him off. “That’s enough. Please don’t traumatize him.”

Ron sat frozen, eyes wide in horror. He didn’t quite understand what they were talking about, but he was absolutely sure he didn’t want to.

Hermione was doing her best not to laugh.

“I’m starting to hate this game,” Ron muttered.

In the end, the Granger-Weasleys lost spectacularly.
(“I cannot believe you don’t find my mind the most attractive thing about me, Ron!”)
Meanwhile, Harry and Tom were practically eye-fucking across the board.

The goodbyes were awkward. Harry and Tom flooed home in a flurry of flushed cheeks and not-quite-met eyes.

Ron collapsed onto the couch with a groan. “Thank Merlin. I genuinely thought Tom was going to start devouring Harry right there on the table.”

“I bet he’s doing that now. On their table,” Hermione replied, far too casually.

“That’s disturbing, Mione. Please don’t tell me you enjoy having that image in your mind.”

“I thought you didn’t care about my mind?”

Ron winced. “I do! I do. But I also like your legs.”

Then, after a pause, he added more seriously, “Tom can still be kind of kinda creepy sometimes. The way he looks at Harry…”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“You find that attractive?”

“What, Tom?”

“Yes. And all his… shenanigans.”

Hermione tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Hmm… Do I find that tall, well-built, brooding man with dark eyes attractive?”

Ron stared at her, suddenly tense.

“No. Of course not. He’s not really my type.”

Ron visibly relaxed. “Good. He’s just so… obnoxious. And Harry gets like that too sometimes. It’s the influence.”

“Obnoxious, yes,” she agreed lightly. “Terrible to imagine them being….obnoxious…together.” She was smiling.

Chapter Text

The list had been relatively simple:

 - Bananas
 - Cheese
 - Eggs (free range!)
 - Feta
 - Cucumber
 - Avocados
 - Can of chickpeas
 - Bulgur (if you don’t know what it is, please ask the shop assistant)
 - Pistachios
 - Parsley and mint (look in the herb section)
 - Milk
 - Fish fingers

Tom was gone for five hours.

Harry had completely lost track of time - he’d been binge-watching his comfort TV series and not feeling remotely guilty about it. After all, being four months pregnant gave him every right to be lazy.

The crushing tiredness had finally passed, but the nausea hadn’t disappeared entirely. At least now it was mild.

And Tom - sweet, ridiculous, overbearing Tom - was making sure Harry had everything he could possibly want. Even if it meant enduring the torment of watching him eat liquorice wands in bed.

Or going out for groceries.

Harry frowned.

Five hours was excessive . He was just about to find his phone and check Tom’s location when - 

The door sprang open.
Tom barged in, carrying what appeared to be countless bags - and one of them was moving .

He dropped them all in the hallway like he’d just returned from war, strode straight to the whiskey shelf, and poured himself a generous glass.

Then, turning to Harry with a pained look:
“I’m sorry, love. I know I promised I’d do anything for you. But this… I really can’t.”

Harry blinked. “Tom, I only asked you to go to Tesco with a grocery list. You’ve been gone for five hours. What happened?”

He walked over to the hallway where the bags were dropped, and started unpacking them. “And what is this?”

“Oysters.”

“They were not on the list.”

“There was so much plain food, I wanted you to have something nice, okay?”

Harry squinted at the oysters. “What is on them? Dirt?”

“Gold leaf,” Tom said.

“Well, Tom, that would be just swell, except I can’t eat raw seafood. Also I am not particularly excited about consuming metals.”

Tom winced. “Oh. Right. But I also got you some nice Roquefort, too.”

“Can’t eat that either. Did you get anything that was actually on the list?”

“I did, I swear!”

Harry continued unpacking. There were dozens of items from the delicatessen, including the feta - some absurdly fancy variety - and an aged Cheddar that Harry would absolutely demolish while standing half-naked at the fridge at midnight. Tom was in luck. Eventually, he unearthed the normal food too. Three types of cucumbers. Multiple brands of milk, in various permutations - cow, almond, oat. A whole coconut, for reasons unknown. And a silicone ice cube tray shaped like cacti. Naturally.

Be checked the other bags - most of the list was there. Phew.

But something was missing.

“Where are the fish fingers, Tom?”

Tom groaned and closed his eyes. “ Oh, Merlin .”

“Spill.”

“Well…” he said wearily, as if recounting a tragedy. “The fish fingers. I didn’t get them at Tesco because obviously they had to be some kind of magical ingredient. Fish fingers, Harry. So I went to Diagon Alley. I walked through all the apothecaries and potion shops - nothing. Fish eyes? Sure. Fish scales? Hundreds of choices. But no fingers.”

Harry stared at Tom, his lips twitching.

Tom continued rather dramatically. “Then I went to Knockturn Alley. I hate that place, but I had to keep looking. After two hours of getting nowhere, I had to change tactics. Instead of asking the potion masters and medi-pharmacists, I started asking the most incompetent-looking people if they knew where to get them.”

“And?” Harry was stifling laughter now.

“Some tramps in Diagon alley can be really nasty, did you know? To one of them I paid two galleons and got mocked before the sod just Apparated away.” He sounded still upset about that.

“But then I got lucky. This Muggle-clothed lad laughed in my face at first. But then pulled out his phone and showed me those… dreadful things.”

Harry tried to school his face into something that wouldn’t upset Tom.

“So apparently, they’re made of real fish. But they looked so horrid I thought - hell no. If I love my darling husband, I’m not letting him eat that . So I had to go to the fish market and get you some real fish. A beautiful sea bass.”

That explained the twitching bag.

A terrible thought occurred to Harry.
“So you… didn’t get them?” he asked quietly, fearing the answer.

Tom exhaled. “No. I didn’t. I was exhausted and…”

And that was all it took. Embarrassingly, tears welled up in Harry’s eyes. What the hell, he thought. Stupid hormones.

Tom’s expression changed instantly. “Harry?”

“It’s just…” Harry sniffled. “I really wanted the fish fingers. Out of everything, they were the one thing I actually craved.”

And now the tears were falling. God, he felt manipulative and ridiculous.

But Tom was already across the room in two steps, scooping him up into his arms like he was made of spun sugar.

“Love, darling, look at me. I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry.” He sounded panicked. “I’ll go back to Tesco. Right now. I’ll buy the entire shelf. Or - wait - should I buy you a fish finger factory ? I can do that. They’ll deliver every morning. The freshest, fanciest fish fingers in the UK.”

Harry hiccupped a teary laugh. “That would be a little excessive.”

Tom stroked his face gently. “Should I go now to fetch them?”

Harry sighed. “No. But you’ll have to deal with the sea bass later. Either finish it off and clean it, or find some sea and set it free. Did you at least get the bulgur?”

Tom perked up. “Yes!” he beamed, triumphantly. “I did. And I didn’t Accio it.”

“Good.” Harry wiped his face. “Then help me make the salad. Please.”

After making the salad - a copious amount of it, thanks to Tom chopping all the cucumbers into a ridiculous mountain - they sat down at the table.

Tom, still nursing some guilt, had set the table unusually nicely: proper tablecloth, wine glasses (with some fancy elderflower and pear lemonade he had gotten), a candle flickering in the middle. A bit excessive for a salad lunch, but Harry found it sweet.

He scooped some salad onto Tom’s plate. Tom dived in immediately.

“Hm… what is this?” he asked mid-chew.

“It’s salad, Tom.”

“It’s delighful. Why are we not eating this more often?” He was piling even more salad on his plate.

“We can eat anything you like - as long as you make it, Tom. Not just order takeaway every time it’s your turn.” Harry raised an eyebrow.

Tom nodded solemnly. “I need the recipe so I can make this more often.”

“Just search for Jennifer Aniston salad.”

Tom tilted his head. “Is she some powerful salad witch?”

Harry chuckled. “No. She’s an actress.”

Tom nodded again. He had this habit - nodding whenever he didn’t quite understand something but had decided it wasn’t worth investigating further.

The bag on the floor twitched again.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Harry muttered, closing his eyes. “The poor fish is suffering. Can you…?”

Tom reached for Harry’s wand.

“ Don’t Kedavra the fish!”

“Why not? You said I could finish it off.”

“Not when I can see it. Not while we’re eating! ”

Tom huffed but got up, grabbed the bag, and disappeared down the hallway. A moment later, Harry heard the bathroom tap running.

Tom was putting the sea bass in the bath.

Somehow, that took a while. Harry heard some murmuring.

He’d almost finished eating when Tom returned to the kitchen and grabbed the salt.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, eyeing him.

“Adding a bit of salt to the water. For authenticity.”

Harry paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “Authenticity?”

“Sea bass. Sea. Salt.” Tom gave him a look, as if Harry were the mad one here.

Harry blinked. “You do realize it’s not a pet. Or a houseguest.”

“I just thought it might be nice. Give it a sense of…home.” Tom waved vaguely, then took a sip of his lemonade. “Anyway. I named him Bertrand.”

“You what?”

“He looked like a Bertrand,” Tom said with a shrug. Then, slightly sheepish, “I don’t think I can off him now.”

“Are we getting another pet?” Harry gave him a look.

“I don’t know. Maybe? You could still do it, if you want. But no reason for him to suffer in the meantime, right. Also…” He hesitated. “I conjured a rubber duck for him.”

Harry stared. He couldn’t tell if Tom was taking the piss or if some deeply buried paternal instinct had just activated. Possibly both.

Still, if these were the instincts kicking in, Harry wasn’t about to squash them. Especially if they included wandlessly conjuring bath toys. That could come in handy later.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Add your artisanal sea salt. Then come back to the table. We’ll… figure out Bertrand’s future later.”

Tom nodded like he’d just been given a sacred mission. “Right. Thanks, love.” He kissed Harry’s temple and strode off with purpose.

Harry topped up his lemonade and took a long, slow sip, occasionally casting a suspicious glance down the hallway. He could still hear Tom talking. Possibly to the fish. Possibly to the duck. Hard to tell.

By the time Tom returned, Harry had washed his plate and settled back at the table to keep him company. He watched as Tom tucked into his salad with enviable gusto.

Honestly - how did that ridiculous, muscular stomach fit so much? How did he still look elegant while shoveling food like the Titanic consuming coal? And never gain weight? And stay so stupidly, unfairly hot?

It wasn’t right. Harry had eaten half as much and already felt like he might explode. And he was enormous. And only getting bigger. And Tom was going to fall in love with the fish and forget all about him and - 

Harry’s lips wobbled.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He shut his eyes as tears started to sting.

A chair scraped. Then arms - strong, warm - scooped him up. He was carried across the room, then lowered gently onto the couch, Tom curling in behind him and pulling him close.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Tom asked softly, voice like velvet and stupidly kind.

“I don’t know,” Harry hiccuped. “Just hormones. I feel miserable all the time, I’m huge, and nauseous, and - ”

Tom kissed his temple and nuzzled close, holding him like he was the only thing that mattered.

“You are the most beautiful, amazing being in the entire world. You know that, right? And you - ” his hand settled gently over Harry’s belly, “ - are too. I love you both so much. I’m sorry if I act like a lunatic. It’s probably me, coping with how helpless I already feel about what’s coming. I’m afraid I won’t know…what to do.”

“That’s not lunatic, it’s normal. And you will know,” Harry mumbled with a watery smile. “Also, you’re way too cute. So much so that I’m starting to wonder if this isn’t an elaborate act.”

Tom shifted slightly, laying Harry down across the couch and lifting his feet into his lap. “It’s not. Can I?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, please .”

Tom smiled, pleased. He cradled one of Harry’s ankles gently.

“Have I ever told you I love your ankles?”

Harry considered. “Yes, actually. Twice.”

“Not enough, then.” Tom placed a slow, reverent kiss on the bone. “So pretty.” Then, his touch grew firmer as he started the massage.

Harry melted. He wiggled a little, rearranging himself into maximum comfort, and Tom adjusted with him, watchful, pleased when Harry’s features relaxed into something soft and content.

He alternated between strong, careful strokes and gentle kisses, and somewhere in the middle of it all, Harry drifted off.

Tom sat still for a moment, watching him sleep. Then, with a flick of his hand, a throw blanket floated from the nearby chair and settled over Harry.

Quietly, Tom stood, cast a stasis charm on the leftover salad, and gathered up his remaining portion.

Then, with the plate in hand, he slipped away toward the bathroom.

He just wanted to check on Bertrand.

Chapter Text

Tom was assembling a crib. For their daughter.

Not that it was urgently needed - there already was a bassinet in the nursery, plus something called a baby nest (apparently Muggles liked to pretend their infants were freshly hatched from eggs). But what if Lily only wanted to sleep in the crib? He had to be prepared.

As prepared as he could be.
Because how could anyone truly be prepared to have a daughter? It still seemed incredible. Unreal.
He imagined tiny fingers, a laugh that jingled like silver bells, and impossibly big eyes. Will they be green like Harry’s? The thought made his heart fill with joy. To create a life with Harry - their child -  was more than incredible. It was magical.

Unfortunately, the crib wasn’t.
Tom had tried several spells to put it together - only for the screws to shoot into the wrong holes or ricochet across the room like bullets. The result had been atrocious - it had looked like a pigeon’s nest. He took it apart hurriedly and started from scratch before Harry could walk in and witness the full extent of his do-it-yourself disgrace.

So, back to the instructions he went. He had to glance at them constantly. But holding the pieces, squinting at the diagrams, and digging through a pile of almost identical screws felt like some sort of advanced puzzle designed to test his sanity. Eventually, he started summoning screws wandlessly, but that also backfired. Without knowing the exact type of the blasted things, he kept summoning the wrong ones.

Tom sighed. It’s like the fish fingers all over again, he thought bitterly. He just couldn’t accept that sometimes, combining Muggle things with magic didn’t work out.

At least Harry hadn’t come to check on him. Yet. Last Tom saw, Harry had been curled up with a book - Gone with the Wind - wearing that faraway look he got when he was half in another world. Every so often, he’d glance up at Tom. Tom had the distinct feeling Harry was imagining him as one of the characters from the book.

He’d cast an extra-soft Cushioning Charm around Harry’s couch and slipped out to tackle the crib assembly.

Suddenly, something felt off, a gnawing feeling in his chest.

He rushed back to the living room and spotted Harry on the cushioning charm with a slightly confused expression.

Tom was by his side in an instant.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice tight with concern as his hands moved protectively over Harry’s massive belly.

“Yeah. Thanks to your charm. How did you…?”

“I cast it when you started reading.”

“Thank you.”

Tom didn’t reply. He simply leaned in and kissed him - slow, lingering, reverent. Then he pressed a hand gently to the curve of Harry’s stomach.

“Any day now,” he murmured.

Harry sighed. “I wouldn’t mind if ‘any day’ meant right now, to be honest.”

“How’s your back, love?”

“I think I’ve stopped registering the pain,” Harry muttered.

Tom’s expression shifted immediately from care to concern.

“It’s not that it’s bad,” Harry added quickly. “More like… a permanent strain. Like carrying a stubborn watermelon strapped to my spine.”

Tom leaned closer, resting both hands on Harry’s belly now, his thumb brushing lightly.

“Can I talk to her again? Ask her to come out?”

“Please do. I’m so done being pregnant. Not that she’ll listen to you.” Harry smiled wryly. 

Tom did it. This had taken him a while to start talking to Harry’s belly. 

At first, the idea had seemed ridiculous. But once he began, he couldn’t shut up. Now he spent long stretches crouched beside Harry, promising Lily all manner of absurd toys and activities, rambling about their pets -  Midori the snake (not Japanese, just named like it), and Bertrand the sea bass who lived (in a fancy aquarium nowadays)…

Harry grinned through every second of it, and Tom was completely besotted with that grin.

Later, once the crib was fully assembled and he’d triple-checked the nursery carpet for rogue screws or dangerous bits, Tom allowed himself a moment to simply look around.

It really was lovely. Soft pastels, with a ceiling charmed by Harry to glitter like stars even during the daytime. Above the bassinet, a carousel of floating toys twirled gently, endlessly, thanks to a witty enchantment.

“I still think she’ll get dizzy from that,” Harry said, coming to stand beside him.

Tom’s arm wrapped around him without hesitation. “We can always cancel the charm. How do you like the crib?”

“It’s perfect. I can’t believe you managed it without swearing once.”

Tom hadn’t. He just had cursed inwardly. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked, nudging his chin gently into Harry’s temple.

Harry nodded. “Do we have anything vegetarian? I’d love something light.”

“We do,” Tom said with smug satisfaction. Knowing the contents of the fridge was still new territory for him, and he relished every opportunity to show it off.

He made one of Harry’s favourites: a Buddha bowl. It took time, mostly because Tom was obsessed with presentation. Each vegetable had to be arranged just so. The end result looked like something out of a culinary magazine - especially the avocado, which he’d arranged into the kind of spiral that deserved applause.

Harry wandered in just as Tom was putting the final touches on the bowl.

“Wow,” he breathed. “I’m not sure I can eat that. It’s like a work of art.”

“If you don’t, I’ll be offended.”

Harry smiled, eyes twinkling. “Alright. But you’ll have to feed me. I refuse to be the one who ruins it.”

For Tom, that was the ultimate reward.

Later, they watched a movie.

Harry had spent a solid twenty minutes scrolling before making up his mind. Normally, Tom would’ve been mildly exasperated by the indecisiveness - but not tonight. Tonight, he was just pleased Harry had finally claimed the Eames chair. The same chair Harry had once mocked with, “Are you a bachelor, Tom?” and then refused to sit in on sheer principle.

But now he was curled up in it, bump and all, like it was a throne made just for him.

Well. Maybe it was.

It was comfortable - Tom knew it, Harry now knew it, and thankfully, neither of them needed to say it aloud.

The movie was strange. Something about a woman narrating her chaotic life, obsessively weighing herself, trying to seduce her sexual predator of a boss, and showing up to a garden party in a bunny costume. Tom couldn’t get invested in the plot if he tried.

Though he did think the outfit would look absolutely ravishing on Harry. Not that he’d say that out loud. Not these days...

Then - 

“Oh god,” Harry said suddenly, voice tight with panic.

Tom straightened up. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I think my water just broke. Either that or… I’ve peed myself. Which wouldn’t be surprising - my bladder’s been utterly unpredictable lately. How am I supposed to tell which it is?”

“How do you feel? Any pain??”

“No. Well, not really. I feel… normal? Still massive and bloated like a dirigible. Just ...soaked through. I think I’ve ruined your chair.”

“Sod the chair - ”

Harry shifted carefully, sniffing himself and the chair. “No, honestly, I believe I did. This smells… well, strange.”

“I’ll grab the bag!” Tom called out, already halfway to the walk-in wardrobe.

The hospital bag was exactly where it was meant to be. They had packed it meticulously. Charmed it to be bottomless. Tom himself had re-packed it multiple times, just for peace of mind. It had everything: nappies, onesies, teeny socks, impossibly small mittens, a white cashmere beanie Harry had agonised over in the shop, towels, wet wipes, a soft blanket - 

Where was the bottle?

Tom swore under his breath and upended the entire thing. Baby items flew everywhere. Splendid.

Eventually, after a flurry of repacking, Tom re-emerged from the wardrobe victorious - only to find the bedroom door mysteriously shut.

He knocked. “Harry?”

“Nothing!” came the very suspicious reply.

Tom’s panic simmered into exasperation. “Darling, now’s not the time to get bashful. I’ve seen you snore with a marmite toast in your mouth and survived it. Open the door.”

He nudged it open gently.

Harry stood in the middle of the room, looking like a shamed puppy in one of Tom’s oversized T-shirts. No trousers. No pants. There was a damp patch on the carpet and what appeared to be a crumpled and torn adult nappy kicked off to the side.

“I tried to put it on,” Harry said mournfully. “But it didn’t fit. Why did I get size small, Tom? What was I thinking? My arse is a planet .” He sniffled. “And then more water came out, and now the carpet’s ruined, and you’ve almost seen me in a nappy, for crying out loud. It’s over. You’ll never unsee this. You’ll never fancy me again.”

Tom blinked. This was a new situation, certainly, but nothing he wasn’t ready to deal with.

First and foremost: Harry. Then the nappy. Then the carpet. 

He took a few long steps and wrapped Harry in a tight hug, almost lifting him off the ground.

“Baby,” he whispered into Harry’s ear. “You know I love you more each day. You could ruin every carpet in this house wearing a potato sack, and I’d still adore you.”

Harry hiccuped. “Don’t…tempt me - ”

Tom kissed him just to shut him up. Slowly.

Harry relaxed in Tom’s embrace, then drew in a ragged breath.

“I think you’ll have to let me go before I ruin your clothes. More water’s gonna come soon.”

Tom reluctantly released him and glanced at the sad little heap of used nappy.

“Do you have another?” he asked.

“Another what?” Harry hiccuped again.

“Adult nappy.”

“Yes, but it’s also small. I should’ve known my arse would be this massive by now. It’s going to burst at the seams.”

“You’re forgetting you’re a wizard, love. And I am too. Let me help.”

“Tom, if you glamour my bum, I swear - ”

Tom chuckled. “Not glamour, sweetheart. Extending Charm. Also, you know very well that your arse is my favourite thing in the world. Nothing’s going to change that. But if you need me to prove it - ”

“Tom. This is literally the worst possible time for those thoughts!” Harry hissed.

At least Tom had distracted him enough to take the edge off the panic.

Having already spotted the second nappy, Tom knelt and cast a gentle Extending Charm, helping Harry into it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Which, at this point, it sort of was .

Harry looked anywhere but at him, flushed from embarrassment.

Tom bit back a smile, cleaned the carpet with a quick Scourgify , and checked the go-bag one last time.

He helped Harry into fresh clothes - joggers and a soft, loose hoodie - then offered his arm. They hobbled toward the Floo.

They paused at the hearth. This was it. No turning back.

Then Harry winced. “Ow.”

Tom froze. “What?”

“The contractions. I think they’ve started.”

“Then we must go. Now.”

Even though the plan was a caesarean, contractions meant risk. Male omegas had to be monitored immediately.

Tom wrapped his arm securely around Harry’s waist. “You’ve got this. We’ve got this.”

Harry turned to him and kissed him, desperate and sweet and full of something enormous.

Then, with a flash of green flame, they disappeared into St Mungo’s.

~~

There were exactly thirty-two steps across the corridor that Tom hated with a passion.

He had been out here for hours. Well, it felt like that, despite what his watch insisted.

He was still reeling from the fact that the magiwife had just pushed him into the corridor with a brisk little quip - and then proceeded to help to cut open Harry.

Cut. Open. Harry.

He trembled. The very concept of it had too many variables. How was that even legal? What if they cut too deep? What if they didn’t know how to put the things back in the right place? What if they left something inside ?

Salazar.

Tom was gripping the wall, hyperventilating, when the woman returned.

“You can come in now.”

Tom raised his head. Her voice was…joyful? That had to be a good sign. It had to be.

He crept into the room on quiet feet, breath caught in his throat.

First, he noticed Harry. He looked unspeakably tired, his eyelids barely holding on. Still, he managed a loopy, drowsy smile when he saw Tom, and that alone nearly undid him.

Then - there was a bundle. A very tiny one.

“Three kilos, eight hundred grams. Time of birth: 3:28 a.m.,” the magiwife announced. “Please take off your shirt.”

“What??”

“Your husband asked for her to have prolonged skin-to-skin contact. But as you can see…” - she gestured at Harry, who was already halfway to unconsciousness - “…he needs a rest. So it's you.”

Right. Time to become a dad.

Despite the sheer, unrelenting, soul-shaking panic that overtook him, Tom stripped off the top half of his clothes like a man possessed and carefully took the bundle into his arms. The magiwife took away the small blanket, leaving the baby almost naked.

His daughter.

A scrunched-up, grumpy little face. Eyes squeezed shut in protest. Deep-rose skin, with a faint dusting of dark hair. Teeny, tiny fingers - and already overgrown fingernails ( so that’s what the mittens were for! ). She made a sound like an angry kitten.

And she was perfect.

“This way, Mr Riddle,” the magiwife said, guiding him toward a deep, cushy chair. “Just hold her gently against your chest. She’ll settle.”

Tom sat down as if the chair were made of glass. He held Lily against his bare skin, one large hand curved protectively over her back. She was already wearing one of those tiny nappies they had brought.

She was warm. And so small. Tom could cover half of her body with just his palm.

And then, she started crying.

It was a furious, offended little wail that didn’t seem anatomically possible from someone her size.

Tom panicked. “She’s loud. Why is she so loud? Harry’s sleeping. She’s waking him up - ”

“We’ll dim the lights,” the magiwife offered gently.

“Does she want food? Is she cold? Do you have the bottle?”

“We’ll bring a bottle shortly.”

“No, no, no. Not a bottle. We need the bottle, the one we brought! It’s made in Switzerland. It has a proper milk flow. Check the black bag with the monogram.” His voice cracked halfway through.

The magiwife laughed, fond and a little indulgent. “You’ll be just fine, love. We already have it. Your husband explained every feeding preference in excruciating detail, while under partial anaesthesia. Just hold tight for a moment.”

And then she left them.

Lily was still wailing. Eyes shut, tiny mouth unleashing a banshee shriek. Honestly, how did she have lungs that powerful?

Harry, miraculously, remained unbothered.

Tom bent over slightly, whispering, “Lily, darling, please - your papa needs a nap. He just performed a miracle and had the mental capacity to be impressively controlling while doing it, and I really need him to rest before he wakes up and has to parent both of us.”

And just like that, she stopped.

It was so sudden Tom almost checked for a Silencing Charm.

Then her eyes blinked open.

Green eyes.

Harry’s eyes. No - hers, now. Lily’s. And looking right at him.

He knew that look.

Tom’s chest ached. He didn’t know he could feel this full. Or this terrified. Or this stupidly happy.

“Hello,” he whispered. “We haven’t formally met. I’m Tom. Your dad. Don’t tell anyone, but I think you might be the scariest person I’ve ever met.”

She blinked, unimpressed, and nestled her cheek more firmly against his chest.

And Tom, who had once thought he needed the world to feel powerful, now only hoped his daughter would stay asleep long enough for Harry to get some rest.

And clearly, she already had the world in the palm of her tiny hand.

Chapter Text

Tom arrived home by taxi.

It was an early evening, and for once, he had good news - great news. After months of proving to the authorities that he could, in fact, drive like a perfectly normal, law-abiding citizen, he’d finally gotten his license back.

He was already plotting the most entertaining way to break the news to Harry - who knew he’d been trying, but not that success was so close - when he heard it.

Crying. Lily’s crying.

Oh no.

He was used to it by now, but it still twisted something deep in his stomach.

He unlocked the door, slipped off his shoes, and rushed into the living room.

Harry and Lily were both perched on the gym ball. Harry, milk-stained pajamas rumpled and a towel slung over one shoulder, bounced tiredly. Lily wailed in his arms - and Harry’s own eyes were wet.

Tom’s heart clenched.

Harry looked up, saw him, and more tears fell down his cheeks.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he hiccupped. “She had the bottle. Nappy’s clean. She won’t sleep - she’s just crying, Tom. What am I doing wrong? Why am I so bad at this?”

In two strides, Tom crossed the room, took the bundle from Harry, and began rocking her gently.

“Sometimes,” Tom said softly, “she just wants to cry.”

“I know. But three hours, Tom?” Harry blinked hard against the tears. “I thought I was going to lose my mind. I wanted to jump out the window. I cursed us for living on the first floor.”

Tom froze. “Why didn’t you call me?” His voice was careful, but each word was honed with worry.

“Because I didn’t want to distract you!”

“Harry, you know you’re always my priority.”

“Great. I try to do what’s best for you, and you throw it back in my face.”

“Harry- ”

But Harry was already standing, shoulders slumped. “I’m taking a shower,” he snapped, and padded away.

When Harry reappeared half an hour later, clean pyjamas clinging damply to his frame, Tom was just as desperate. None of his usual tricks were working - rocking, singing, the bottle. Still no wish from Lily to try the pacifier whatsoever. Just crying and screaming and scream-crying.

Even the sling had earned him an indignant shriek.

Now he stood by the stove, the exhaust fan on, hoping that the white noise would help to calm her down somewhat.

“I think the noise is bothering her more than it’s helping,” Harry said from the doorway.

“Do you have any better ideas?” The words came out too sharply. Regret followed instantly.

“I don’t.” Harry’s voice was low, defeated.

“I’m sorry, love. It’s just- ”

“I know. I spent three hours like that.”

Part of Tom wanted to circle back to what Harry had said earlier - that he’d chosen to shoulder it alone - but there was no point. They were already wrung out, both of them. No need to twist the knife.

Tom exhaled. “What were those other things Hermione mentioned…?”

Hermione’s Rose had been a fussy baby, too. They’d tried every trick in the proverbial newborn-parents’ book.

“She said they put her in the car seat and went for a drive. But… we’d have to call Paul, and it’s already late- ”

Paul was their driver. But this time, they wouldn’t need him.

Tom grinned. “I forgot to tell you - I got my license back today.”

Harry’s face lit up. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go.”

“Are you coming too? You could rest…”

“I’m coming. I didn’t put clean pajamas on for nothing.”

It took time to get out of the house - another bottle just in case, nappies, a blanket for a pop-up changing station, a pacifier in case she decided to accept it… But Harry packed it all efficiently, as if ticking off a mental list. Even sleep-deprived, hungry, and exhausted, he was organised. Tom watched him with admiration, quietly cataloguing every step in case he ever had to pack Lily’s bag without Harry’s help.

They buckled Lily into the car seat in Tom’s least ostentatious vehicle - a Volvo - and Harry slid into the back beside her.

“All right,” Tom asked, “where to?”

“Anywhere. Just mind the speed limit,” Harry murmured, head already resting against the seat.

The streets were quiet. Lily’s crying slowed, interrupted by little breathy pauses. Then, blessedly, silence.

“It worked,” Harry whispered. “I can’t believe it.”

Tom could. He just had one more question. “Have you eaten?”

“Oh… no. Not properly.”

“I’ll find us a drive-in.”

“That’s a good idea.”

A few minutes later, they were in an almost-empty parking lot, burgers in hand and fries in their laps, watching the orange circles of the streetlights painting the ground. Harry had moved to the front seat, his eyes closing briefly with the first bite.

“Thank you for this,” he groaned softly. “I needed it.”

“Always,” Tom murmured, glancing into the back seat. Lily slept on, serene at last.

Harry finished eating first, wiping his hands with bunched-up napkins. His eyelids fluttered. “’M so full…” he muttered. “Shouldn’t have eaten so much so late.”

“Yes, you should have, darling,” Tom frowned. Why was Harry saying things like that?

Luckily, Harry finished his drink - he had ordered tea of all things - and soon curled up into a ball in the front seat like a kitten.

He yawned. “Will it be rude if I fall asleep? Leave you up alone?”

“I will be delighted,” Tom said, finishing up his meal and drinking the rest of the Coke.

“Mmm.” Was Harry’s last response before he fell asleep.

Tom started the car. He decided to do a few random laps before going home. The streets were quiet and nice.

With a pang, he remembered how he had hit Harry on one of such nights nearly five years ago. He still couldn’t stomach the thought of what might have happened, had Harry not been quick with his magic.

His breath caught in the throat and he immediately glanced at his sleeping husband just for a second.

Harry’s face was peaceful and beautiful, and Tom regretted that he couldn’t stare at it longer, but his eyes needed to be on the road. At the next intersection with red lights, he made sure that Lily was still sound asleep.

Hope she sleeps for some more hours, Tom thought, as he pulled into their driveway.

First, he took out Lily and the nappy bag and brought her to the cot - one that was by their bedside. He changed her nappy and, miraculously, she didn’t wake up. She must have worn herself out by all that screaming, Tom thought. After double-checking that she was tucked away properly and was still fast asleep, he went to the car to take out Harry.

Harry stirred slightly but remained asleep as Tom took him out carefully. He was warm and soft, and his skin still bore the scent of the shower gel he used - cedar and cinnamon - and his always-present Omega scent. Tom’s mouth watered and, as usual, arousal pulsed into his veins when he smelled Harry or touched him.

They hadn’t been intimate since before Lily’s birth. It wasn’t like Tom had been counting the days, and he knew that Harry needed time to heal and there were the hormones, but… he absolutely craved for that skin to be under his mouth, his touch. When they weren’t sleeping, or sleep-deprived, or desperately trying to figure out how to calm down Lily, they did share a kiss here and there, but that was all.

Tom lowered Harry on the other, cot-less side of the bed and allowed himself to caress his husband a while longer, loving how soft and pliant he was. A string of inappropriate and dubious thoughts entered his mind, only to be repressed by himself, half-scandalized.

Then, he lay down himself - between Harry and Lily’s cot. Their bed was huge and there was plenty of space, but he still moved Harry closer to him, just to feel his warmth.

Like every night since Lily was born, his hearing attuned to her little breaths, just to be sure that she was alright. She made some tiny sound and Tom leaned to check, but it was nothing. He listened to Harry’s breathing as well - slower and deeper.

His family. His most important people in the world. They needed him, and he could protect them, provide for them, spoil them, and love them unconditionally. And they loved him back.

In his sleep, Harry reached out, arm sliding around Tom of its own accord. He mumbled something about Lily, but it was incoherent.

“I got it,” Tom whispered to him in the dark and smiled.  Because he did.

And just like that he let the touch and the sound of his family’s breathing lull him into sleep.

Chapter Text

“And in this pocket, the socks. Three pairs - not a huge amount, but it should be enough…” Harry said and showed one of the pairs, bundled together in his hand.

“I think you showed this to me already,” Hermione frowned.

“So what? I have mommy brain, Mione. What else…”

“I think you’ve covered it all. The feeding alone involved at least ten items: the bottle, the bottle warmer, washing up, the formula, the schedule of feedings… Then the nappies, the method for changing, the cream for rashes - by the way, I have two kids, I know all of this already, but never mind that. And then the clothes. The blankets. The bouncer chair. The crinkle and pacifier toys. The songs. Her favourite white noise.”

“I just want to make sure we’ve covered everything!”

“It’s just one day, Harry. You’ll have her back in the evening!”

“Just in case, I got it all written down too. See?” Harry handed her a folder.

Hermione raised a sceptical eyebrow. “I’ve never seen you compile folders, Harry. I’d be impressed if you hadn’t just spent an hour on all of that.”

Harry huffed. “If you’re so all-knowing, prove it! Why don’t you just take her and… oh god. You are doing it. You’re taking her. Listen, if something happens- ”

“Then I will call you. And I bet your phone is on max volume already.”

Tom appeared with two large bags, packed to the brim. “I’ll help you to the Floo, Hermione. Thank you so much for doing this. Lunch and dinner will be delivered to your home at the hours we agreed. And…”

“For the hundredth time, Tom, don’t mention any money!” Hermione snapped.

“No money, but… flowers? A gift card?” Tom offered with a smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Harry, deal with your husband. He’s insufferable.”

Harry smiled. “Don’t I know it. I will. Thank you again.” He kissed Lily on the cheek. “Bye, petal. See you soon, and be good to Auntie Hermione.”

Then Tom stepped in the Floo with the bags, and Hermione followed him. A few minutes later, Tom returned. His face was already different - a smirk playing across it.

“So, Harry…” he said in a low voice. “What are we going to do with all that free time?”

Harry huffed. “We have a plan, Tom! Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten about it.”

Tom sighed. 

Tom hadn’t loved the idea of a plan, but it was meticulous planning that had made this day - the fifth anniversary of their first date possible in the first place. Initially, Harry had suggested it would be nice to celebrate, and when Hermione and Ron agreed to take Lily, the plan was set in motion almost effortlessly.

Since it was the first time they’d have most of the day to themselves, Harry had insisted on planning the rest of it too. Seeing how excited Harry was, Tom had agreed.

For Harry it was no mere plan, for him it was an event. A rare occurrence of prolonged, sacred alone time: a solo walk while listening to his favorite true crime podcast, a pastry and coffee from a café, then returning home for a long bath with a book, followed by an early romantic dinner organized by Tom and his ex-private chef - and only then, the evening activities.

Tom’s plan had only one item: an extra hour in the home gym. He’d even offered to join Harry in the bath - but got a firm rejection. “It’s my lone time, Tom. Lone time is important for couples. And now, I need it.”

Tom just shrugged and decided to wing the rest of his plan. Harry suspected he’d agree to nearly anything to get to the dinner - and, perhaps, the part he was most eager for: the intimacy.

The truth was, Harry was nervous. It had been far too long since their last time. He didn’t even remember exactly how long, but it definitely had been before Lily’s birth.  Before he had felt too bloated, achy, and uninterested in sex. After childbirth came the six weeks for healing, and then the hormonal rollercoaster… Now, more than two months since giving birth, he finally felt a flicker of desire - at least, he thought he was ready for it. And there couldn’t be a better time than today, while Lily was away. He couldn’t imagine doing anything with her nearby, even if she were sound asleep in her own room. 

But first, there was the day’s plan—and for once, this was a day where Harry could actually tick everything off. It felt good. Usually, his more ambitious plans were abandoned or traded for an extra hour of sleep.

While Harry was still in the bath, predictably, Tom knocked on the door.

“Don’t you feel a bit lonely in there?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Harry replied.

“You’re very selfish, Harry,” Tom said.

“Tom. We talked about this.”

“Just… five minutes? I could use a bath too, and think of the water we’d save.”

“Next time, dear. This is just for me.”

“So selfish,” Tom muttered.

“How’s that dinner coming along?”

“Oh… very well, actually. Soon to begin.”

“I hope I won’t need to dress fancy?”

“Not if you let me in.”

“Tom!”

“Or… you could wear a towel. Yes. Either a suit or a towel.”

“That’s it. I’m tuning you out, Tom…”

In the end, Harry settled on his best - really best - black joggers and a loose, comfortable shirt, and joined Tom, who, unsurprisingly, was dressed in rather fancy slacks and a crisp button-down.

He’s such a show-off, Harry thought fondly.

Harry sat down, and Tom poured him some white wine. The chef who had cooked everything had already left, and Tom had placed a stasis charm on all the dishes.

“So, what are we having?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My, my, Harry… I’m surprised you have to ask. The same menu as our first date: tuna tartare, seafood pasta, and chocolate fondant,” Tom said, a proud glint in his eye.

Harry frowned. “That wasn’t what we ate on our first date.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Wasn’t it? I swear I-”

“It was what we had on the second… well, not exactly a date. I just came to your flat.”

“What did we have, then?”

“I had a courgette flower. You had ostrich tartare. Then scallops, octopus, and even steak. And some cheese, maybe? And the chocolate fondant. How do you not remember that?”

Tom froze, looking both horrified and amused. “I… I had forgotten all about that. I remember staring at you. You were so beautiful with your hair down. Also, your lean little waist in that button down made my trousers a very uncomfortable confine.”

Harry smirked. “By the way, do you at least remember how we met?”

That did it. Tom’s face crumpled, and he pressed his hands to it. “Please, not tonight,” he groaned. Then, trying to shift the conversation, he leaned closer. “Also… what the hell is a courgette flower?”

“It’s an arrangement made from carved courgette petals, shaped into a flower,” Harry said, giving him a fond look.

“You are a courgette flower,” Tom said immediately.

“Then you’re an octopus,” Harry shot back, grin widening.

“I do like to wrap myself around you,” Tom shrugged. Then, lowering his voice, he added, “My cute little scallop.”

Harry bit his lip. “You’re… you-” He struggled to come up with a quip, glancing around for inspiration.

Tom raised an eyebrow, enjoying Harry’s momentary incapacity.

“A ciabatta. Or… a toast,” Harry finally muttered, lame but earnest.

“Waiting for you to spread yourself all over me,” Tom said with a smirk. “See? I saved you.”

Harry smiled. It felt good - like they were slipping back into their pre-child dynamic: bantering, flirting, ridiculous pet names, and promises of dessert in more ways than one.

And the dinner, despite the menu mix-up, was wonderful. Their conversation flowed easily, light and carefree, not bogged down by childcare or household problem-solving, or venting. It was so effortless that Harry felt - for the first time in a long while - not just a parent, but a husband, a partner, a bonded mate. Tom’s Omega.

When the last crumbs of chocolate fondant were gone, Harry slid away with a wink, and Tom’s eyes followed him hungrily.

Harry grabbed a few things from the wardrobe and locked himself in the bathroom, heart racing, mind alight with anticipation.

He unfolded the camisole and slipped it on, trying to remember the last time he had worn it as he looked at himself in the full-length mirror.

It took a moment for him to actually register what he was seeing.

Merlin.
No. No, no, no.

The view was… horrifying.

The camisole that once had hung loosely around him now clung to his stomach like a second skin.  But his stomach… It wasn’t a stomach anymore.

It’s a gut, his mind supplied grimly. And his thighs, far from the toned legs he remembered, looked heavy and soft. 

Harry swallowed, taking another long, reluctant look, and then slowly removed the camisole.

There he was, in all his naked glory. Except… it wasn’t glory.

The gut sagged where once he had a lean and wiry abdomen that Tom had loved. A reddish scar from the cesarean cut across the underside of that soft flesh, marring it. 

Ugly. There was no other word for it.

This wasn’t just baby weight. This was… fat.

Why had he gone so feral on the cheddar while pregnant? And why hadn’t he stopped with the late-night snacks after Lily was born? He wasn’t even breastfeeding her. Sure, he didn’t eat unhealthily all the time, but the occasional burger, or… Merlin, the fondant tonight. Why did he eat all of it?

And why hadn’t he been more active? He could have walked more with the stroller, done some light exercise, instead of sitting on his arse for nine weeks while Tom was still hitting the home gym four times a week, often sacrificing sleep.

A thought struck him. Or -something Tom had said tonight.

“…your lean little waist in that button down…”

Tom didn’t know how he looked. Not the full extent anyway. For months, Harry had been hiding this under loose jeans, pajama bottoms, joggers, and oversized t-shirts. Everything baggy. Everything designed to disguise. When Tom was hugging him, or touching him, Harry always - maybe subconsciously - had moved Tom’s hands towards the parts that had not been so…changed.

Heck, Harry had even managed to hide the reality from himself - he’d stopped weighing himself soon after Lily was born, and avoiding the mirror had become a habit long before that.

His throat constricted, and nausea prickled the back of his tongue.

One last glance.
No way Tom would find any of this sexy, he thought.

But the thought of Tom- flirty, seductive, the way he had been tonight - made it impossible to simply excuse himself with a headache. He had made him wait long enough. And Harry himself wanted it.

Besides, Tom didn’t need to see him. Perhaps in the dark, under a blanket… and really, Tom was mostly fixated on his backside anyway.

He turned to check his bum in the mirror.

Well… it definitely wasn’t the pert bottom he remembered, but it wasn’t as tragic as the front. He flexed it experimentally.

From a plump peach to a large apple, he thought grimly. Harry hoped Tom would still like it - or at least not be repulsed. After all, Tom was obsessed with his arse and never missed an opportunity, no matter how wildly inappropriate the moment, to demonstrate it.

And Tom had been more than hinting at how much he’d been waiting for tonight.

Perhaps all wasn’t lost. If Harry wore clothes - not the camisole, obviously, but something loose - and kept the lights dim, and avoided touches to the critical area, maybe it would work. At least he could try.

He came out of the bathroom wearing one of Tom’s t-shirts. No milk stains, mercifully. Tom liked when Harry wore his clothes; it was a safe choice.

Tom was sitting on the edge of the bed, already stripped down to black boxer-briefs. The sight of that muscled, sinfully fit body made Harry’s insides clench as flashes of his own mirror reflection flooded his mind.

“My mate,” Tom purred, spreading his legs in invitation. He had no idea about the absolute pity-party-turned-festival Harry was throwing in his head.

Harry swallowed. He could do this. He could try.

He stepped between Tom’s thighs and kissed him slowly, wrapping arms around his neck.

It was a beautiful kiss -  eager but soft. Tom’s hand cupped Harry’s arse, the other traced up his spine. The kiss lit a spark Harry hadn’t felt in months: a burning desire to surrender, to let himself be taken care of. His body went lax in Tom’s arms, the mad chatter in his head finally quieting-

Until Tom flipped them.

Now Harry was on his back, Tom kissing down his neck, hands at the hem of the shirt.

Immediately, Harry flicked his hand and the room went dark.

Tom paused. “Did you just make the power go out?”

“I just… want it dark. Heightens the sensations.”

“I’ll heighten your sensations myself, darling - so much you won’t survive the heightening,” Tom said, voice low and wicked.

“…Uh-huh.”

“Harry, I can’t even see my hands.”

Harry huffed, and the lights returned. Tom resumed kissing, but the moment of easy surrender was gone.

When Tom’s fingers found the hem again, Harry blurted, “The shirt stays on.”

Tom lifted his head, puzzled. “Why?”

“Just… because.” Harry waved vaguely, as though the reason were obvious and it was Tom’s fault for not catching it.

“But I want to see you.”

Trust me, you don’t, Harry thought.

“You’ve seen me plenty of times.”

“There are never enough times. And I haven’t seen you properly in months.”

“Well, that’s… part of the reason, okay?” Harry snapped before realising he’d shown his hand.

Tom’s expression shifted instantly. He inhaled sharply, eyes scanning Harry like he was seeing him for the first time.

“Are you… worried about how you look?” Disbelief coloured his tone.

“I’m not worried, I know how I look, Tom,” Harry said grimly. “I just don’t like looking at myself, so I thought-”

“Harry.” Tom pressed a hand over his mouth. “I promise you - however you look will only make me love you more. I’m mad for you no matter what you think is under that shirt.”

He was already tugging at the hem again, like it was hiding some secret treasures.

“What if I don’t want to see myself?” Harry said, realizing he was behaving absurdly, but not ready to give up so easily.

Tom paused for a moment to think. Then, carefully, like talking to a wild horse, he said, “Tell you what. You can cover your eyes if you want so you won’t have to see. But I will take off your shirt and show you just how much I love what’s under, and if at any point you want to uncover your eyes, I will be very pleased.”

Harry sighed. It could go wrong, surely. Tom might see his stomach and run. He might laugh. Or poke the flesh like a scientist would poke at an alien blob.

But then Harry could tell him told you so! And that would probably be all for the night, and Harry would gain extra time to lose the belly fat, and return to intimacy when he felt confident enough.

“Fine,” he snapped. Then, he squeezed his eyes shut and took off the shirt himself. He dropped back down on the bed and covered his face with his forearm, just to be extra sure.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then he felt a touch - light fingertips - tracing the caesarean scar.

“Does it hurt?” Tom whispered.

“No,” Harry said.

And then - kisses. First, around his navel, then lower, where the stretch marks and all those cheddar-originated body reserves were.

“You are amazing, Harry. Your body is amazing,” Tom whispered, kissing along the scar. 

Harry huffed into the crook of his arm. “You say that now,” he muttered, “wait until you get to the muffin top section.”

Tom’s mouth curved against his skin. “Ah, my favorite course,” he said, voice all amused. His hands slid to Harry’s waist, fingers tracing the new curves. “You think I’d complain about you growing handles, darling? I’m thanking you. About time, really. It will be that much easier for me to hold you in place when I pound into you.”

Gods. Tom was, as always, very good with his words.

Harry almost opened his eyes. But not yet.

Tom was kissing him again on the stomach, biting lightly. “So soft. And so warm. And all of this is for me.”

Harry snorted. “You sound like you’re describing a loaf of bread.”

“Mmm,” Tom hummed, his lips brushing lower still, “and I’m starving.”

The ridiculousness of it tugged a reluctant smile from Harry, even as his ears burned. He felt Tom’s fingers curve under his hips, coaxing him to relax.

“Still hiding from me?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” Harry said stubbornly, keeping his arm firmly over his eyes.

“Good,” Tom murmured, kissing him again. “Means I can take my time.”

And apparently, he meant it - continuing to worship Harry’s stomach until Harry started to feel like Tom had been holding out on him. He had never been this obsessed with it back when it was flat and toned.

Finally, Harry moved his forearm and opened his eyes.

Tom was already looking at him, smiling.

“You’re beautiful, love. Exactly as you are now, and however you might be in the future,” Tom whispered.

“You too,” Harry said. Because it was true. He couldn’t think of a single scenario where Tom wouldn’t be absolutely magnetic.

“Good.” Tom purred, and then took Harry’s cock in his mouth. It had gotten even smaller during the pregnancy, but the change hadn’t bothered Harry at all. Apparently, it didn’t bother Tom either.

“It’s even better now,” Tom said between swirls of his tongue around the head. “The size of a lollipop.”

Harry wanted to roll his eyes, but instead, his hips bucked involuntarily. Tom gladly took him deeper.

“Mmm. Perfect,” he murmured, kissing the crown before dipping his tongue into the slit.

A thought cut through Harry’s haze. “Did you take the potion?”

“Of course. Don’t worry.”

“I’m… I’m gonna need more prep. Probably more than…when we did it, you know, before.”

Tom grinned wickedly. “Perfect. Why do I feel like it’s Christmas?”

Since his mouth had left Harry’s cock, Harry, not wanting to come from just a blowjob, rolled over, putting his apple-arse on display.

For a moment, Tom just looked at it. Then warm palms settled on each cheek, resting there.

“I didn’t know I could get more attracted to your arse,” Tom said, voice low and reverent. “But you go and make it like this? I’m going to have a heart attack, Harry. Your arse is deadly.”

He shifted his hands, making the cheeks jiggle. “Oh, gods. Look at them move.” He moaned like it was killing him.

Harry smiled into the pillow. He was sure Tom was hamming it up for him, but… it was nice. Nice to know his body - exactly as it was - still had such an effect on his Alpha.

Then Tom attacked it - first with kisses, but soon the kissing grew more feral, more possessive, until he was biting, open-mouthed, all over Harry’s arse cheeks.

“Mine. All of it,” he murmured into the bruised flesh.

It had been going on for a while, and Harry was wondering when Tom would move to the next part - but, as usual in these situations, Harry’s body took matters into its own hands, producing a slick trickle that immediately caught Tom’s attention.

And that was it. Tom shifted to preparing Harry, moving with care and Harry was reminded of when they’d first been together. Tom kept checking in, asking if it was too much, if it hurt - so attentive, so caring. So fucking hot.

When Tom finally pushed into him, Harry almost sobbed. It was the best feeling in the world. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this, how badly he had needed it. How complete it made him feel, how every silly thought and worry melted into pure bliss. He felt perfect. And for Tom, he was perfect. Made to be Tom’s.

“Gods, Harry, how beautiful… how perfect you are for me, darling,” Tom groaned, hands gripping Harry’s handles, thrusting slow and languid strokes. “Look at that gorgeous arse, taking me so well.”

Harry came with a shout, and Tom let out a low, guttural sound, filling him with a hot, seemingly endless spurt before pulling out, careful not to knot him.

Harry collapsed onto the bed, utterly, mercilessly, gloriously fucked. Tom dropped on him - though not his full weight, leaving Harry free enough to breathe - and pressed a lingering kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered. “I needed this.”

“Oh, you are very welcome,” Tom said, the smile audible in his voice. “Happy to oblige. Happy to repeat. Anytime.”

“We can’t repeat it anytime, Tom. We’re parents to an infant.”

“Anytime you find feasible,” Tom purred, with that infuriating, teasing tone that made Harry’s stomach flutter. 

But then, to Harry’s surprise-

“Speaking of infants… when do we have to take Lily back?”

Harry glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “In forty-two minutes.”

“Mmm… another round?” Tom asked, voice low and teasing.

Harry actually considered it, but hesitated. “No, I’d like a shower. And we need to clean up the bedroom a bit.”

Tom sighed but nodded. Then he stood, swung his arms around Harry, and carried him toward the shower.

“Tom! I’m heavy!”

“Harry, I bench press twice your weight.”

“You don’t know my weight!”

“Of course I do. You weigh exactly three rays of sunshine, a muffin, a burning napkin, a basket of kittens, and a lifetime of love.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“I know, my courgette flower. I know. But you better start believing it.”

After the shower, Tom volunteered to get Lily while Harry changed the sheets. Soon, he heard Tom’s footsteps carrying her into the bedroom.

“She’s asleep,” he whispered. “Can you imagine? Hermione actually did it - she put her to sleep. And she said it had been easy!”

“Oh, gods. What if we’re the issue?” Harry whispered. “What if we actually are bad parents?”

“Well, there’s a saying for that - you don’t choose your parents.”

They both leaned down, mesmerized by Lily’s sleeping face.

“I think she’s starting to have your nose. It’s clearer now when it’s not scrunched up,” Harry murmured.

Tom leaned in, smirking. “You might be right. Her nose is dangerously attractive.”

With one last kiss from both of them, Tom put Lily in the cot, and Harry chose to lie beside her. Tom had been doing that for the past few nights.

Tom shuffled behind him, and Harry felt a large, slightly greedy hand find its way to his arse.

“Goodnight, Tom,” Harry said pointedly.

The hand caressed him. “Goodnight, sweetcheeks.”

“You cannot say goodnight to my arse only.”

“I can. It was very good for me today. In fact… I could kiss it…”

“Okay. I take my goodnight back, and say it only to your cock. Goodnight, Tom’s cock. You were good to me. See you in the morning.”

Tom laughed softly and hugged Harry from behind, tightly. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Chapter Text

AUROR DEPARTMENT – INCIDENT REPORT

————————————

Date: Saturday, June 25, 1998

Case File No.: #AUR-2137/Tz-MNR

Location: Thornfield Manor, Somerset

Filed By: Auror Miriam Grimshaw

SUBJECT: Fire Incident at Thornfield Manor – Fatalities Involved

Time of Incident: 01:07

First Responders Arrived: 01:29

Confirmed Fatalities: 3 (Identities ███████, ██████, ████████, sealed for family notification)

Summary of Events:

At approximately 01:00 on June 25th, a fire was reported on the west wing of Thornfield Manor, during an elite social gathering. The blaze originated in the corridor adjacent to the smoking room. Three guests were locked inside the room and perished due to smoke inhalation and magical combustion.

Initial interviews confirm that the majority of the party’s attendees had vacated the smoking room shortly before the incident. It is unclear why the three deceased remained. Their identities indicate they held notable positions within the Wizengamot and had publicly opposed recent reforms to council admission regulations.

A full list of attendees has been compiled. Notably, nearly half the Wizengamot was present.

Current Status: Investigation ongoing. Magic residue analysis inconclusive. Arson not ruled out.

Filed by,

Auror Miriam Grimshaw

Senior Investigator, Department of Magical Law Enforcement

————————————

Addendum: Statement by Auror Rudolph Flintcroft

Time Logged: 08:52, June 25, 1998

On my part, I have conducted preliminary questioning of all present guests. Most accounts are consistent and cross-verified. One exception stands out - one Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was not officially invited. Per my findings, he arrived alone and had no known associations with the hosts.

A Revelio Incantatem conducted on his wand revealed no trace of active or incriminating magic. That alone does not exonerate him. Notably, Riddle stood to benefit from the deaths of all three victims, each of whom was vocally opposed to his recent proposal to broaden Wizengamot eligibility.

I will continue pursuing leads. I am not letting this one slip away.

Filed by,

Auror R. Flintcroft

————————————

Addendum |  Follow-Up (12 hours later):

Time Logged: 20:54, June 25, 1998

The suspect is an accomplished Occlumens. Surprise, surprise. The very fact that he can block Legilimency should be seen as an obstruction of justice. I don’t care how polished his speech is.  Three people are dead! One left behind two young children. He’s not walking away from this. I’m administering a Ministry-approved Veritaserum.

Filed (without approval),

Auror R. Flintcroft

————————————

Addendum |  Follow-Up (6 hours later):

Time Logged: 02:42, June 26, 1998

That tricky little sod must be somehow resisting the Serum, I dosed him twice. Granted, the Ministry approved serum is not as good as the real one. Doesn’t matter. I will get the truth out of him one way or another. And we have one more witness lined up. I will get him. I will ████ ████ .

Filed, R. Flintcroft

————————————

Final Note from the Office of the Head Auror

Date: June 27, 1998

Time: 09:03

Following internal review, it has come to light that Auror Flintcroft engaged in unauthorised interrogation methods during the detainment of Mr. Tom Riddle, including overdoses of Ministry-approved Veritaserum, physical violence and torture.

However, credible witness reports (including testimony from a house-elf) indicate the suspect was likely involved and at fault in the Thornfield Manor incident. However, due to Flintcroft’s subsequent use of an Unforgivable Curse - confirmed by Pensieve review - we are legally barred from pursuing prosecution. 

Disciplinary measures have been enacted:

• Auror Flintcroft is suspended indefinitely, pending further investigation.
  
  
• The case is hereby sealed and reclassified as Top-Secret - Restricted Access.
  
  
• In accordance with Ministerial Order #433-D, Tom Riddle is to be released from detainment in Azkaban and stripped of wand rights indefinitely. He is henceforth barred from holding office or employment within any official magical institutions under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Magic.
  
  

This is the maximum penalty enforceable under current legal constraints, short of imprisonment. Case is closed. 

Signed,

Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Additional Note: In the aftermath of this case, mandatory mental health evaluations will be instituted for all Aurors engaged in active interrogation duties.

———

Attached files: 

• Witness statements from  ████, ████ , ████, ████ 
• Witness statement from house elf ████ 
• Auror’s R. Flintcroft’s mental health evaluation

Hermione finished reading.
It had been two days since she’d gained access to the restricted documents, and learning more about Tom’s past had been at the top of her list.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about what she’d just read.
Did Harry know? She doubted it.
Did she want to tell him?

Her mind flicked back to the last time she’d visited them - how Tom had taken Lily in a stroller to a park so she and Harry could talk. How Harry had quietly confided his body image insecurities, cheeks pink, and how he’d said that Tom had been nothing but accepting.

How Tom had returned with a box of éclairs. How Harry’s face had lit up.

Hermione slid the document back into its folder and resealed it, marking it as Restricted Access - Scheduled for Destruction.

Chapter Text

Family Stricken with Cancer After Radioactive Capsule Discovered in Home
Surrey – July 3, 2024

A quiet suburban household in Little Whinging has been left devastated after the discovery of a small radioactive capsule concealed in a rarely used cupboard beneath their stairs.

The family - described by neighbours as “ordinary, friendly people” - have all been diagnosed with late-stage cancers. Radiation experts believe prolonged exposure to the capsule, which had been emitting dangerous levels of radiation for years, may be responsible for their illnesses.

Authorities say the capsule went undetected during previous inspections because the family refused to open the cupboard for examination. “It makes us wonder how many other radioactive objects might be sitting in homes, silently causing harm,” said a city council representative. “If you spot any suspicious items, contact the authorities immediately.”

Health officials have urged residents to undergo regular medical check-ups, suggesting earlier detection could have improved the family’s prognosis.

Police are investigating the origins of the capsule to determine whether its presence was accidental or deliberate. The family is now receiving specialist medical care, but their outlook remains uncertain.