Chapter Text
Harry Potter had everything he wanted and more. His life didn't start easy; it's undoubtedly one of the most difficult. His adolescence was a terrifying rollercoaster, and now his adulthood...
It's a calming effect. A balm.
Harry has everything he wants. A loving husband, an eleven-year-old son who will start Hogwarts this year, and a baby on the way.
The three (soon four) live happily in a small country mansion belonging to the Potters (neither Harry nor Draco were very interested in the Malfoy properties that were not confiscated) and from time to time they receive a visit from their mother-in-law Narcissa, who is always happy to visit her grandchildren.
Draco had a respectable reputation in the alchemical world for his research with potions and his work with aconite. Harry (when he wasn't pregnant) dedicated himself to making wands, which he sent to Ollivanders. And then there was Sirius (his eldest son), who ran around with the same energy as his namesake in his prime, sometimes helping his mother and other times passing ingredients to his father. Sirius was bursting with excitement for his first year at Hogwarts.
So how on earth did everything fall apart so quickly?
Okay. Let me rephrase. How on earth did peace last so long for Harry Potter?
It all started that morning. A package was sent from the Auror office with a message: 'Please, Harry!' It was obviously from Ron. His friend used to complain about Harry quitting his job as an Auror after marrying Draco.
"Life isn't the same without you here, old man!" she whined as Harry patted her and clung to her stomach with only a few months until Sirius's birth.
And at that time it had only been a year.
So Harry (in a fit of hormones and nostalgia) offered to help Ron with any gadget he wouldn't understand.
One artifact became two, and then three.
Harry spoiled Ron. But he was his best friend, he had the right!
Besides, I was bored. A small incentive.
Sirius stopped eating his cereal. "What's that, Mom?" he asked.
Harry's chest filled with warmth (as well as milk). His beloved son picked up the bad habit (from Ron) of calling him Mum. Although Harry allowed it, after all, 'carrier' wasn't any better, and two dads can be confusing.
"A package from Uncle RoRo, darling," said Harry. He hung his apron on the coat rack and moved the package onto the table.
Sirius visibly perked up. Lifting his head from the bowl of cereal, his blond locks were soaked with milk and his cheeks were covered in crumbs. The boy stared at the package with large green eyes.
Sirius is the perfect combination of Draco and Harry, but with that extra something. That Black touch that made him look more and more like his godfather every day. Harry supposes that just being named Sirius activated his Black genes to the fullest.
"Mom, can I help you with that?" Her son pointed at the package. Green collided with green. One illuminated by morbid childlike curiosity and a promise of future destructiveness and chaos at the slightest refusal, and the other, tired but loving, exasperated after living through thousands of those unspoken promises.
Harry hummed, pretending to think. He didn't need to; he was perfectly capable of preventing any accidents, besides. It was better for Sirius to experience it in a controlled environment, and he had complete faith in his son's ability to follow orders.
With Draco, she had no choice. Potions were a volatile subject. Too much for her liking.
"Okay. As long as you do the dishes," she said with a mischievous smile.
"Deal!" Sirius squealed. He nearly spilled the contents of the bowl so quickly he lifted it. He discarded the rest of his breakfast and turned on the tap; the water ran clear and fresh.
"Use the sponge!" Harry reminded him. Sirius responded with a whistle that morphed into the jingle of a random commercial.
Harry unwrapped the small package. By the time he was almost finished, Sirius was already beside him, his hair soaking wet. Harry needed to cut it soon if he kept up that bad habit.
"What is it?" asked his son.
He preferred to keep unwrapping it rather than answer. Sirius didn't complain (he never did) since they were both completely in the dark about every strange package Ron sent.
If Draco were here, he would complain about how irresponsible Ron was to send dangerous objects to a house where a child (and later a pregnant man) lived.
Harry would just dismiss it, but he'd still fidget uncomfortably. That's why he always runs out to collect the mail before Sirius.
(Nightmares sometimes torment him)
Finally, the object was revealed. Harry gasped. Before him stood a medium-sized object, almost like a marble, shaped like a Time-Turner.
"What is it?" Sirius asked more insistently. Harry couldn't find the words to answer him. Of course, his son wouldn't know. All the Time-Turners had been destroyed in his fifth year, and their production was outlawed.
What on earth was this?
"Mom!" his son insisted. When he got no answer, Sirius did what the real Sirius would do in his place. He reached out to touch the Time-Turner.
A worthy namesake of Sirius.
No, wait!
Harry gasped. His breath caught in his throat. He tried to stop his son, as reckless as his mother, but only managed to grab his wrist and pull. Sirius's fingers brushed against the strange clock in the center. One of the hands moved as the contact was abruptly broken.
It turned, turned, and then stopped.
Space blurred and Harry (again) panicked. He clung to Sirius as best he could, protecting both his womb and his unborn child. Everything blurred and reversed at an alarming rate.
It wasn't just a day, or two. It was years. And years. Something impossible.
It happened so fast. He didn't even see himself. Only the ever-changing house. It ceased to be a home in a matter of seconds and reverted to its former desolate state.
Harry was afraid. He hadn't felt this way since that fateful battle with Voldemort. Afraid for his son and his unborn child. Horrified by an uncertain future (or perhaps past?).
This object was a time-turner, a different one, more advanced. More dangerous.
They were traveling through time and didn't know when (or how) it was going to stop.
Time stopped changing. It wasn't going backward anymore. It was such an abrupt change that it made him nauseous. Sirius trembled in her arms, and soft sobs escaped his lips.
"I'm sorry, Mum!" he exclaimed as soon as everything was back to normal. Harry's heart sank.
His son was reckless, spoiled, and stubborn—very stubborn. Sirius knows he was wrong, just as Harry was wrong to let him be around, just as Ron was wrong to send them that thing.
"Don't worry, darling," she tried to reassure him. She smoothed her platinum blonde hair, which fell in delicate waves just like her father's. "We'll work it out."
Sirius sobbed a little more but nodded. He didn't try to hug him as he would under any other circumstances. Perhaps because of the roundness of his belly.
Her belly!
Alarmed, she cast a swift, wandless spell—the one she had memorized since her first pregnancy so she could check on Sirius's condition at all times.
He sighed with relief as the small pulses of magic from his other son washed over him.
"Is my little brother alright?" Sirius hesitated. His son's green eyes, as large as a deer's in headlights, stared at him. Panic seeping through his gaze.
"That's right. Your little brother, just like you, is very stubborn," Harry joked. It had the desired effect; Sirius relaxed, and the few tears that threatened to continue falling disappeared.
"Now let's find that object and go back home."
Sirius nodded. They both turned to the table. Harry stifled a grimace at the sight of the old, moldy table he'd insisted (begged) Draco to replace. It was covered in loose calluses and glaring imperfections.
The worst part was that the time-turner was no longer there.
Potter's blessed luck.
(Even now that he was Malfoy!)