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Growing Up Quick	By : KittyMitty Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1880 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Lydia Anne Potter, Lydie for
short, was the most beautiful sight Harry had ever laid his eyes on.
With tiny and delicate features, pale downy-soft skin, emerald green
eyes that were still changing from the deep blue they had begun as,
and tufts of fine blonde hair that was like silk to the touch,
Harry's baby girl personified cute. She was the epitome of adorable;
even the medi-witches and Healers at St Mungo's had admired his baby
daughter, one even going so far as to suggest he name her "Belle".
Harry had been sorely tempted to do just that, as the second he'd
laid eyes on her he'd fallen in love with the tiny, wailing, perfect
baby girl, but when he'd really had a good look at her (after the
Healers had washed away the goo and he hadn't been so stuffed full of
pain-relieving potions), he'd decided that she was most definitely a
Lydia.

He'd actually been quite relieved
when her name had come to him so decisively: he'd spent the better
part of three months leading up to the birth worrying over whether
the first decision he made as a parent would be an utter disaster
because he named his baby the wrong name. He'd pored over baby name
books that Hermione had fetched for him, both wizarding and Muggle,
looking for the perfect name to give his soon-to-be son or daughter,
but hadn't been able to satisfy himself with making such a large
decision for someone he hadn't even properly met. He'd decided to
keep his options open, pick out around a half-dozen names he thought
were decent enough for his coming child, and hoped that he could make
the right choice once he was holding his baby in his arms. Three and
a half months later, he was still happy with Lydia Anne, and had high
hopes that it would stay that way.

Being a father was a feeling that
Harry couldn't even begin to describe. The incredible feelings of
awe, fierce protectiveness, and all around rightness he had
felt when he'd first looked at his baby had been more than enough to
make all the pain and strife of the past months worth going through.
When he had first held Lydia, his throat constricting and wetness
rimming his eyes as her warbling little wails subsided as soon as he
cuddled her close, Harry had known instantly that that was where he
belonged, what he was meant for. In that perfect moment, he had been
given a second chance at having the family he'd always wanted, had
dreamed of having as a little boy growing up in a small
cupboard; hoping that one day there would be someone to love and be
loved in return. She was a gift that Harry would cherish for the rest
of his life, and the knowledge that she was his and would love him
unconditionally, no matter his faults or mistakes, continuously left
him breathless with emotion.

Of course, as Mrs Weasley was
prone to say, being Lydia's father was most definitely not "all
daisies and roses." Lydia cried. She dirtied her nappies ... a
lot. She enjoyed spitting up all over Harry right after he'd changed
into his third shirt of the day. She slept when Harry couldn't, and
was awake and hungry when he was barely conscious. She hated being
washed to the point of screaming during her entire bath, no matter
how hard Harry attempted to calm her down. She yowled like an injured
cat when Harry didn't pick her up quick enough from her cradle, and
generally didn't like anyone else feeding her, so that job was
usually just her father's, three o'clock feedings and all. She was
absolutely terrified of Harry's owl Hedwig, and so the green-eyed boy
had been forced to ban his beloved pet from visiting him in the attic
room; something which thoroughly miffed the snowy owl to the point of
her cuffing her owner on the head with her wing whenever he tried to
approach her. Lydia was also complete hell to deal with while she was
ill, though Mrs Weasley had assured Harry that most babies were, when
he'd come to the older woman in near hysterics during his baby girl's
battle with a nasty ear infection at five weeks of age. But most of
all, she demanded attention like none Harry had ever seen, knowing
perfectly well that she was surrounded by people – besotted
father notwithstanding – who would happily supply her with all
the attention she desired. At fifteen weeks of age Harry could
already tell, by a look on his daughter's face he sometimes caught
her wearing, that Lydia Anne Potter knew perfectly well she had her
daddy wrapped around her little finger.

Oh, and wrapped around her finger
Harry was. One innocent look from those big, shining green eyes and
he'd be falling all over himself trying to give her what she wanted.
The sleepless nights, constant worrying about her health and
happiness, and general feelings of near-hysteria that were mandatory
with parenthood would momentarily disappear with one toothless smile,
or a gurgled sound, or a tiny hand grasping his finger with
surprising strength. When impossibly small feet kicked water all over
his trousers, Harry simply gave his daughter a love-sick smile and
continued washing her. When curious hands grasped the bridge of his
spectacles and nearly pulled them off his face, Harry laughed with
delight and praised his clever daughter. When Lydia woke up smelling
like a troll's dirty trousers, smiling in a way that told Harry she
knew perfectly well of the present she'd made for him, he held his
breath, bent forward and blew a loud raspberry on his stinking
daughter's stomach, just to hear her make those adorable gurgling
giggles. And when his baby fell asleep on his chest after a long bout
of crying, one of her small fists clutching at a loose fold of his
shirt, Harry felt his heart expand and his insides warm, and he knew
in that moment there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be
than lying there with his daughter safe and in his arms, her tiny
little body rising and falling with every breath he took.

And there was nothing quite like
watching his baby daughter sleep, Harry mused to himself as he gazed
down into Lydia's cot, watching her stomach rise and fall gently as
she blissfully slept on. Of course, the reason he enjoyed watching
his baby girl while she slept was mostly due to the fact that she was
more or less silent when sleeping, and although Harry absolutely
adored Lydia when she was all smiles and gurgling noises and curious
eyes, those occurrences were almost always followed by a large dose
of howling. Admittedly, Lydia's cries could be constituted as cute,
in that her wail sweetly warbled near the end, her adorable little
face always scrunched up and reddened, and her lower lip trembled
when she was feeling particularly fussy, but it was in all honesty
more ... loud, than anything else, and with the lack of sleep Harry
had been dealing with for the past few months, he was always quite
keen on avoiding crying-Lydia at any cost.

Which was why he was still
grimacing slightly as he bent over the cot and very gently lifted his
daughter up and into his arms, silently pleading with Lydia to not
start crying the instant she woke up. The grimace quickly slipped
away though, to be replaced by a look of soft affection when he
cradled Lydia up against his shoulder, one hand supporting her bottom
and the other gently cupping the back of her head.

"Good morning, lovey,"
he murmured into baby fine hair, his voice full of the giddy delight
he was feeling as his daughter made a kitten-like mewl and nuzzled
into his shoulder sleepily, blissfully whimper-free; though he still
swayed on his feet slightly and rubbed soothing circles onto his
baby's back -- just in case.

"No crying this morning, I
see. This mean you're ready to greet the day, then? Or maybe you've
seen how tired Daddy is and decided to let him have a bit of a
lie-in? Is that it, petal? Are you just trying to look out for
Daddy's health?" He pressed a kiss to the top of Lydia's head as
he side-stepped to the change table next to Ron's dresser on the
adjacent wall. "Very thoughtful of you, Lydie. Daddy needed his
rest after that particularly eventful night we had. Why you enjoy
bonding-time at half-past two in the morning is beyond me." He
grinned when a small fist grasped at his shoulder as though in
answer, and he gave his daughter's brow another kiss before gently
laying her on the change cot, careful to mind her head and neck as he
lowered her. He made quick work of the metal snaps to Lydia's pink
onesie, and was soon removing the soft material from his daughter's
wriggling body, pulling her tiny flailing arms and legs free and
kissing each hand and foot once they were revealed.

"Don't you start, Lydie,"
he chided softly when Lydia's brow scrunched slightly over
still-closed eyes and her lower lip began to tremble in reaction to
the cooler air hitting her bare skin. He began methodically changing
her nappy as he continued, "We've got a big day ahead of us, you
know, and I'll not have you wailing throughout the entire thing. We
need those vultures at the Prophet to think you're all cute
and cuddly, not a Dark witch in the making or any other rubbish
stories they can come up with, just because they've caught you on a
grumpy day." With accuracy only borne after three and a half
months of constant nappy-changing, Harry had the soiled cloth
plummeting into the waste bin next to the change table, a reflexive
wince gracing his features when the bin burped happily afterwards.

"Now, keeping in mind that
this may very well be your first press release, what d'you reckon
will look better: another onesie for comfort's sake, or a terribly
pink dress and bonnet that will be near impossible for me to put on
you, but will have Mrs Weasley, Hermione and every other witch within
seeing-distance fawning all over you?"

In answer, Lydia finally opened
her eyes, blinking up at him in a way that said, "You dare
suggest we not put me in the outfit that will garner the most
attention? Bonnet and dress now, you silly git!"

Harry grinned largely. "Right,
ridiculously cute dress and hat it is, then." He finished
pinning the sides of Lydia's nappy together, landed a smacking kiss
on her protruding baby belly, then turned to the old wardrobe next to
the change table.

Was it odd to have such one-sided
conversations with a fifteen-week-old baby, Harry wondered to himself
as he fetched the dress and hat from the wide selection of baby
outfits, all in varying shades of pinks and yellows, with a splash of
Gryffindor red standing out in random areas. Ron had teased Harry
about his conversations with Lydia, asking him if Muggle babies
learned to talk at four weeks of age, but in all honesty the
green-eyed boy didn't really know what the protocol was for talking
to one's baby. Sure, all the books had said to "communicate"
with the child for sensory development, but he'd never really
understood what that meant. Did it mean speak to the baby normally,
like you would a mate? Or maybe use softer tones or, Merlin forbid,
that sickening baby talk Professor Dumbledore and –
surprisingly – Ron were quite fond of? And what exactly was one
supposed to say to a tiny human who couldn't answer back? And was
Harry the only parent out there that had ever wondered about this?

Hermione had said he'd been
over-thinking, when he'd asked her opinion after one particularly
long conversation he'd had with his baby daughter, in which he'd
pleaded with Lydia to go to sleep, and she'd instead continued to
grab at his nose. Harry had found Hermione's reply a bit rich coming
from Miss Must-Know-Everything herself, but his friend's next piece
of advice, "Just do what feels natural, Harry, for Merlin's
sake," had made the raven-haired boy relent, and he'd not really
thought on the subject since.

"Suppose it doesn't really
matter," Harry mused to himself as he began the difficult task
of getting Lydia into an outfit that seemed to be all small openings
and even smaller clasps. "It's not as though you actually have
any idea what I'm saying any of the time, do you, duckie?"

A delicate sneeze answered him
which, of course, was cause for Harry to grin a tad wider than
before.

"Bless you."
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Growing Up Quick