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Some Virtues of the Fairy Tale	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 5178 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Some Virtues of the Fairy Tale
- 1
Title: Some Virtues of the Fairy Tale

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Warnings: Ginny-bashing, AU, sex, angst (at least on Ginny’s part).

Rating: R

Pairings: Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ginny and Blaise/Ginny

Wordcount: 4000

Summary: Draco and Harry have a fairy-tale-like existence. Or close enough to torment people, at least.

Author’s Notes: This is a fic written for dameange as a thank-you for donating to keep two fanfic sites, the Hex Files and HP Fandom, running. She asked for a sequel to my fic Building With Worn-Out Tools, involving Harry and Draco having their own children and Draco lording it over Ginny in a very smug way. If you haven’t read the novel-length fic, you should read that first for the backstory of Harry and Ginny’s divorce and how Harry and Draco got together.

Some Virtues of the Fairy Tale

            “Daddy, I want down.”

            “No,” Harry said firmly, and looked hard at Marissa until she sank back in the chair. Her lip stuck out, but Harry couldn’t help that. “You’ll sit there for four minutes.”

            “I don’t want to be here,” Marissa whined, and kicked with her heels at the chair rungs again.

            “Then, next time, don’t hit your little brother,” Harry said, and flicked his wand to cast a charm that made a golden watch appear in the air next to her. The watch glowed and began to count down four minutes. Marissa stared at it mournfully. Harry turned away with a shake of his head and a chuckle that he wouldn’t show her. Yes, their daughter was amusing, but showing that to her would undermine the whole point of the discipline he was trying to teach her.

            Marissa’s twin, Ianthe, played with her eyes on the floor, self-consciously trailing the garland she’d made out of daisies from the Manor gardens over the head of a toy unicorn Draco had bought for her yesterday. Harry ruffled her thick blonde hair as he passed. She smiled up at him, her body relaxing suddenly, and then went back to making up dialogue with the unicorn with considerable relief.

            “Ianthe’s already worried that we’re going to blame her for something Marissa did,” Harry remarked as he ducked into Draco’s office. “Even when we know that she had nothing to do with it. We ought to watch that.”

            Draco, who had two-year-old Michael balanced on his lap, nodded absently and went back to demonstrating the Silencing Charm to him. Michael leaned forwards, one hand grasping for the wand. Draco took it patiently back and showed him the swish-and-flick motion again. Michael laughed as he watched the conjured canary suddenly singing with an open beak and no noise to show for it.

            Harry leaned one elbow on the desk and watched, smiling. He knew that Draco had heard him. Draco always paid attention to anything Harry said about the children, as he paid attention to anything they said or did; he just didn’t always choose to acknowledge it at the time.

            A sharp ding sounded in Harry’s ears. “Get back on the chair, Marissa,” he called without turning around.

            There was a sulky whine, nearly as loud as the warning sound the watch charm had made, but Marissa climbed back onto it. Michael, meanwhile, was saying nonsense words like “Absalom!” as he waved the wand around.

            Harry laughed. Michael turned around to beam at him, and Draco gave him a faintly smug smile, bending down so that his chin rested on Michael’s head. Not for the first time, Harry thought that, while Michael technically looked more like Harry given his dark hair and hazel eyes. he really resembled Draco; Draco’s expression in delight and when gloating—which meant most of the time—was exactly the same.

            “I wonder what you’ll be good at,” Harry said softly, speaking to Michael. “A Charms genius like your mother?” Astoria Greengrass had agreed to be their surrogate after a suitable application of the Malfoy fortune; she had intelligence, beauty, health, and a talent at Charms that made Draco approve of her the minute Harry cautiously suggested asking her. “Wonderful at defense spells, like me?”

            “Don’t be silly, Potter.” Draco stretched lazily, and then put an arm around Michael before he could fall and casually took the wand back. “He’ll take after me and be good in all branches of magic.”

            “The child who really takes after you is sitting on a chair for the next—” Harry glanced back out at the watch “—half-minute.”

            “One can be good at both magic and trouble,” Draco says. “I know where my talent lies.”

            Harry rolled his eyes and moved around the desk to kiss him and take Michael. He didn’t have to ask what Draco was talking about; Draco would just say “Everywhere,” and he had enough chances to be smug.

            Draco handed Michael to him willingly enough, but clung to the back of Harry’s neck when he would have pulled away from the kiss, his fingers digging into the skin, stroking and petting and caressing until Harry was panting heavily. When he looked into Draco’s eyes, they were half-shut, the glint of desire in them nearly hidden.

            “The house-elves should be done making dinner by now,” Draco said thickly. “I think we can rely on them to given the children their baths after we eat, don’t you?”

            Harry rolled his eyes again, despite the thickness in his throat and his pants. “If I didn’t think so, you’d decide for me anyway.”

            “I did choose such a clever partner,” Draco said, and his fingers sank deep into Harry’s hair, twisting and pulling before he let go. Michael giggled in Harry’s arms, and footsteps pounded the floor as Marissa ran in, triumphantly and legitimately off the chair. Ianthe peered around the door after her, holding the toy unicorn in her arms this time and giving the shy smile that, though she was Draco’s blood daughter, always reminded Harry of himself.

            “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” Marissa demanded, addressing them both indiscriminately. “Can we have peanut butter sandwiches for dinner? I want them!”

            “The elves are already making a chicken salad,” Draco said, and strode around the desk to take her right hand in his, while stretching out the left for Ianthe. She came, smiling at everyone in that quiet, glorious way she had. Harry hefted Michael closer and tickled him so that he giggled. “Someday, my girl, you’ll learn to like it…”

            And so they left the room to have supper together, Draco cajoling Marissa into admitting that she liked some of the fancier meals the house-elves prepared, Ianthe pulled into the conversation when Draco spoke to her, Michael laughing in Harry’s arms, and all, as far as Harry was concerned, right with the world.

*

            “Damn it…”

            Harry had the odd habit of swearing during sex, Draco thought, arching back and then driving his hips down again so that he drilled Harry’s prostate exactly. Not that he minded—he minded nothing about Harry, nothing about their lives together—but it was something he always noticed. He kept his mouth shut, as nature intended, and every whimper that Harry won from him was a gift.

            Harry shrieked suddenly, and then reached up, gripped Draco’s shoulders, and rolled Draco beneath him. Draco, laughing, went. He could still drive into Harry, although he had less control this way, and watch through heavy-lidded eyes as Harry arched his neck back and let himself ride and be ridden.

            Harry glowed above him, his head tilted back, his shoulders gleaming with sweat. He shuddered and writhed and panted and then came, spraying Draco’s stomach and chest, his body so slick that Draco’s hands slipped off as he struggled to hold onto him. Then Harry fell back onto the bed and Draco propped himself up on his arms as he thrust, riding out the ecstasy of his completion in a rolling wave of pleasure.

            He dropped down onto Harry’s chest and listened to his heart for long, silent seconds. Harry’s breathing and the fingers he traced through Draco’s hair showed that he was alive, but that was all.

            Until he spoke and brought Draco’s scattered thoughts wheeling back together like a flock of birds.

            “Are you writing another letter to Ginny? I saw her name on one of those documents on your desk.”

            Draco stilled, and then reminded himself that Harry had always had this irritating habit of noticing things Draco didn’t want to be noticed. It had been true during Hogwarts; it had been true during Harry’s divorce case; it was true now. Draco sat up and slid out of Harry, caressing the leg that had been wounded during his last battle with Voldemort on the way. Harry smiled at the touch, but it didn’t change his gaze or the general serious look of his face.

            “Yes,” Draco said. “What of it?” He tried to sound casual, but Harry sighed and shook his head.

            “I think we should leave her alone,” he muttered. “She can’t have a happy life, dependent on Mrs. Zabini’s generosity and always fearing that her child will be taken from her.”

            Draco let his eyebrows climb, because speaking right now would probably have resulted in him snapping at Harry. He let his eyes do the talking instead, and in the end Harry flushed and looked down, tracing one finger over a crease in the blanket. Draco covered Harry’s hand with his.

            “That was pretty stupid, I reckon,” Harry whispered.

            Draco shook his head impatiently. Harry still put himself down too much of the time. “Not stupidity,” he said. “Compassion, which she doesn’t deserve. But I reckon your Gryffindor morals and nerves didn’t get the message.”

            Harry smiled up at him and lifted a hand to stroke Draco’s hair back from his forehead. “Why do you do it, though? You know that she can’t get away from Mrs. Zabini, and that she has a miserable life. Isn’t that enough punishment?”

            “No,” Draco said, astonished. “She tried to blackmail you both monetarily and emotionally, she deserted you, she put you through the nastiest divorce case that I’ve still ever tried, and she was cheating on you long before she decided to announce that the spawn in her belly wasn’t yours. Not to mention the years of misery that she inflicted on you before then. Nothing will ever be enough.”

            Harry pulled Draco down to lie on top of him. Draco went willingly; he could smell Harry better that way, and Harry had a delicious smell.

            “Why do I bother?” Harry asked the ceiling or the cushions scattered behind them, because he couldn’t be asking Draco. “You won’t have compassion for her no matter what I do.”

            “No,” Draco said sleepily. “I win every case I Argue, remember? I leave the hopeless ones to you.”

            He fell into the sleep of the just and the righteous while Harry was probably still holding a colloquy of misunderstanding with everything that would listen to him. At least he had stopped some of that irritating habit in the last few years; Harry was too busy with Draco and the children and his bodyguarding business to have as much time for whining.

            Draco fell asleep with a smile on his lips, because he had thought of the perfect way to insert a reference to his perfect bout of sex with Harry into the letter.

*

            “Hullo, Harry.”

            The voice behind him was dull, but Harry would still have known it anywhere. Once, it had made his blood leap and run, and had the power to hurt him more than anything else in the world.

            Now the remembered reactions made him shake his head mentally, although he still turned around and nodded to her. “Hullo, Ginny,” he said.

            Ginny stared at him, then looked away. She had her little girl, whom she had indeed named Lily, held by the hand. Lily looked a great deal more like Blaise than like her mother, Harry thought. Well, good. That meant she wasn’t stuck with that unfortunate sulky look or those eyes that never stopped watering with tears.

            Harry winced a little. I’m getting as bad as Draco. But, well, Ginny still hadn’t stopped sending him letters that the Malfoy wards defeated, and she hadn’t stopped giving interviews to the Daily Prophet whenever they were bored enough to do them, usually on the anniversary of the divorce case.

            And there were all those crimes that Draco had listed the other night. No, Harry thought with an enormous feeling of freedom, he didn’t have to forgive her if he didn’t want to.

            “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”

            Marissa crashed into his shins, almost making Harry drop Ianthe, whose legs had got tired earlier. Ianthe squealed and clutched him around the neck, and Harry steadied her with a curl of his arm, then reached down to Marissa, who was holding up a bright blue cube that sparkled and changed colors and the positions of its squares from moment to moment. Harry smiled at her. “What is it?” he asked.

            “A puzzle!” Marissa jumped up and down, waving it around. “I could solve it in five minutes!”

            “Then why should we get it?” Harry felt Ianthe straining to reach the puzzle, and put her down. Ianthe reached out her hand, and Marissa shared the cube with her. Ianthe’s eyes widened, and she smiled, then laughed when a bright yellow streak ran down the side of the cube and changed the whole thing to yellow. She looked up at Harry, and the smile was still on her face, which made Harry grin back. It was rare that Ianthe was that open in the middle of a crowd of strangers like the ones that filled Diagon Alley.

            “I want it, Daddy,” she said softly.

            “They call you Daddy,” Ginny jabbed, drawing Harry’s attention back. “How precious. Even though these are Malfoy’s brats by Astoria Greengrass, right?”

            Harry glared at her, cupping one hand around Ianthe’s ears so she didn’t have to hear. Marissa had already heard and was standing with a finger tucked into the corner of her mouth, giving Ginny an assessing stare. Lily had wandered off to inspect a man with a crate of fluffy white puppies, but Harry could see embarrassment in the tense set of her shoulders.

            “Oh,” said Marissa suddenly in a tone of enlightenment, finger popping as she pulled it out of her mouth. “You’re the cheating bitch-woman.”

            “Marissa!” Harry snapped, feeling a strong sensation of déjà vu. He had already said that twenty times since the children woke up and came to breakfast, and he had the strong feeling that he would say it twenty times more in the next hour. “We do not use language like that.”

            “But Daddy does,” Marissa said, and leaned against his leg, giving him the appealing, winsome smile she always tried when she was in trouble. “And so do you. You just pretend you don’t, ‘cause you don’t want anyone to hear!” Delighted with her own cleverness, she laughed and leaped in the air, doing a turn that made her come down with one leg cocked out as if she was going to dance. Lily sneaked an envious look at her, but Ginny didn’t seem to notice.

            “How pleasant,” Ginny said thickly; her whole face was covered with red patches. “You teach your children to mock me and make fun of me. That’s not what I thought a hero should do, Harry.”

            “I’m not a hero anymore,” Harry said. “And you made it clear that I was never your hero and that you never cared about me since I couldn’t give you what you wanted, so why do you care now?” He scooped up Ianthe again, along with the cube-puzzle, and crossed the Alley to the booth where Marissa had got it. He paid for it while Marissa chattered, painfully aware that Ginny was staring at him. He wanted her to go away, and hoped she would. She was making a spectacle of herself, and even if she didn’t care that she was making Harry uncomfortable, she ought to care that she was hurting her daughter.

            Someone grabbed his shoulder, and Harry turned around with a smile, thinking it would be Draco. But it was Ginny again, shoving at him with one hand in the center of his chest, her eyes wide and desperate.

            “Why do you have to hurt me this way?” she demanded. “Why do you have to act as though we can’t be friends, when I know that we can? He’s the one who told you that we can’t, and he’s the one who—”

            “Is right behind you, Weasley.”

            Harry felt the tension leave him in a rush. Draco was there, carrying a sleeping Michael, his eyes narrowed as though he could shut out the sight of Ginny that way. He slipped around Harry to pick up Marissa, too, and held them both easily, not making them look as if he were juggling them. Ianthe pressed close to Harry’s chest and hid her eyes. Draco tilted his head to the side so that his cheek rested against Harry’s, and together they stared at Ginny.

            Ginny lowered her eyes and stared at the cobblestones of the Alley in silence for long, tense seconds. Lily was behind her, but facing the other way again, this time watching some bobbing balloons. Go away, Harry urged Ginny silently. Take your daughter home. You should care more about her than about your chance at revenge.

            “I could get the Aurors interested in you for harassment, Malfoy, the letters you’re writing to me,” she muttered at last.

            “Go away, Weasley,” Draco said, his voice so thick and cool with scorn that Harry was doubly glad Michael was asleep and Ianthe shutting out the world. “We would have a better case for harassment, since no one asked you to come up to Harry, follow him, or touch him.” His tone descended then, and Harry shivered. He didn’t know if it was a shiver of apprehension or pleasure that Draco was defending him this way; he wasn’t sure the two emotions were distinct enough to tell apart at the moment.

            “Yes, go away!” Marissa said, almost bouncing up and down in Draco’s arms with excitement. She visibly considered what the best thing to do would be, and then stuck her tongue out at Ginny.

            Ginny shook her head, eyes half-closing as if she was weary of it all, or didn’t know what to do next. Then she turned away and walked to the far side of the street, calling out for Lily. Lily gave them a quick look before she ran after her mother. Harry saw Mrs. Zabini join them as they passed Madam Malkin’s, and relaxed a little. Mrs. Zabini might keep too tight a hold on Ginny for Ginny’s comfort, but at least she would make sure that Lily was safe. And from the way Lily beamed at her grandmother, she knew that, too.

            “Don’t worry about it,” Draco murmured into his ear, brushing his lips so close that Harry couldn’t tell if they touched the lobe or not. “There’s no law that says you have to worry about her anymore.”

            “I worry about her daughter,” Harry said quietly. “That’s not a good environment for a child to grow up in.”

            Draco looked interested. “Well, Blaise’s mother spends most of her time looking after the girl, from what I understand,” he said thoughtfully. “But we could try to get a case started for taking her away and—”

            “Draco!” Harry hissed at him. “There are some times when you go too far.” He held Ianthe closer, made sure that he had firm hold of the puzzle as well as the other toys and food they’d bought in the Alley, and started walking towards the nearest Apparition point.

            “If you feel that bad about the girl, the logical thing to do is take her away so that she can be reared in safety,” Draco said, jogging beside him. He didn’t seem tired or out of breath, although with the other two kids, he was carrying more in sheer weight than Harry. “Or at least good manners. That’s something we could teach her and that I don’t know if Mrs. Zabini could. Murdering your husbands continually and casting their dead bodies behind you isn’t my idea of good manners.”

            Harry closed his eyes and shook his head before a reluctant bubble of laughter escaped from between his lips. Draco leaned nearer, and, this time, did kiss his ear. Marissa laughed, too, though Harry thought that might not have to do with anything but his obvious humor.

            “That’s better,” Draco whispered. “I fought too hard and too long for you to see you sulk.”

*

            Draco stretched luxuriously and looked out the window of their bedroom at the gardens. As usual, they glowed in the early morning sunlight, enormous plates of red and blue and golden flowers nodding in the beds nearest the house. While Draco watched, a slender shape slipped away among them. He smiled. No matter where he lived, Harry attracted snakes to live with him.

            Harry was still asleep in the bed behind him. Both of them were between cases at the moment, and Draco was glad for it. It gave them more time to spend with the children, sleep in during the mornings, and eat the absolutely delicious meals that the house-elves prepared.

            And for fucking, of course.

            Draco smirked, dipped his quill in the ink, and wrote his latest letter to Weasley—or Zabini, as she sometimes called herself now—the hobby that he would never tire of, the duty that he had taken up because she had to know something about their new life that wouldn’t make it into the papers.

            Dear She-Rodent,

            I thought you would like to know that our oldest child, Marissa, is learning to read, and that Harry is a wonderful teacher for her. If he ever decides to retire from being a bodyguard, he would be welcome in that capacity at any primary school I know of. Marissa can read her name and ours. I think her sister Ianthe is further advanced, but she is shyer and tends to hide her accomplishments. It’s only for Harry that she’s comfortable displaying them, and then only when they are alone. Yes, she is my blood daughter, but I see so much of Harry in her.



            Michael is already displaying bursts of accidental magic, and what he’s shown so far makes me sure that he’ll be good at both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, uniting the strengths of his fathers.

            My mother, though not fully-recovered, is doing well in the new program at St. Mungo’s for patients who live at home to interact with others. One of the Healers says that the Longbottoms will respond to her when they will not respond to anyone else.

            Harry is happier and healthier than he was when he was younger—about the age he was when living with you, I believe. He has more muscles, he can run for a longer period of time without gasping (an advantage in his job), and he shows such lively enjoyment in our children that I can’t help but pity someone who doesn’t live with him. He fucks like a racehorse, strong and smooth and sleek.

            We’re discussing having another child. Astoria Greengrass, who has recently been able to start her own Charms business, would be willing to carry her for us. We are thinking of Guinevere as a name. It is a solid name, pure-blood enough, and the only carrier of a name remotely similar to it in the last few generations has not done justice to it.

            He didn’t bother to sign it. Weasley knew who would be sending them by now, and Draco always placed a small charm on the paper to let him know when she had read it.

            And she always did, rather than dropping them in the fire. Perhaps she would even have made the contents public, were it not for certain other small charms that Draco sent along with the owl.

            He stood with the letter folded in his hand and saw Harry’s sleepy eyes focused on him. Draco paused and drank up the admiration in them.

            “You don’t have to do that,” Harry muttered. “We know that our happiness is real, and our children and your mother know, and that’s all that matters.”

            Draco bent down to kiss him. “But this makes it more real,” he said.

            Harry rolled his eyes and didn’t argue, instead kissing back. Draco approved. One of the many lessons Harry had learned in the past few years was not to argue with a Malfoy.

            Yes, Guinevere is a pleasant name, he decided, and let Harry roll him down on the bed and nip his way towards Draco’s groin. The letter could wait.

            The End.
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Some Virtues of the Fairy Tale