December 18th, 2008. 2:16 a.m. St. Mungo’s Hospital, Lily Evans Maternity Ward, Room 501.
Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort, former Auror, and current Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts (magical), paced nervously in the waiting room, running a hand through already messy black hair. There wasn’t much that Harry Potter was afraid of anymore. Between defeating one of the most evil wizards in history, traveling all around the world on mysterious (translation: dangerous) assignments as an Auror, and now at 29 spending each day teaching inexperienced, nervous young witches and wizards offensive and defensive spells, well, not much phased him anymore. Especially not one busy haired, brown-eyed witch whom barely came to his chin. One very pregnant, bushy-haired, brown-eyed witch who barely came to his chin.
So then why was Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, etc. etc. etc. pacing out in the waiting room instead of being with his darling wife on the eve of their son or daughter’s arrival into the world?
“Harry James Potter, if you don’t find me some drugs soon I’m going to—“ The furious threat was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream, followed by a torrent of expletives.
Harry winced. He may have been a brave (translation: sometimes rash) Gryffindor, but he was still a man with a wife in the throes of childbirth. He hadn’t know Hermione knew that particular curse. She probably learned it from Ginny or Angelina—Ginny knew a lot of interesting phrases thanks to her brothers, and Angelina swore like a sailor despite her purebred upbringing.
“Didn’t know Granger knew that one,” a voice drawled from behind him.
“She probably learned it from your wife,” Harry retorted, turning to greet the newcomer. “And she would kick your arse if she heard you call her that.” He winced again as another scream echoed through the door. “Although I’m not exactly her favorite person at the moment, so maybe not.”
“So the wife wears the pants, hm?” Draco Malfoy smirked, returning the other man’s handclasp. “Always knew she was the brains of the infamous trio.”
A brief flash of pain shadowed Harry’s face for a moment, but he managed a wry grin.
“I dare you to go in there right now and insult her,” he replied instead.
Draco shuddered. “No thank you. Woman has a nasty right hook. Besides, I have my own cursing wife to deal with.” He gestured at room 502.
“Kicked you out too, did she?”
“Mmm. I rather like all my parts as they are, thank you, so I felt it prudent to make a graceful exit.”
“Ginny’s got wicked aim, doesn’t she?” Harry grinned. “She and Ang were Chasers—maybe I should—“
There was a yelp and a crash of glass shattering in room 503. A man burst through the door, arms protecting his head as he ran out.
“—warn Blaise,” Harry finished with a grin. “Zabini! Down here.”
Blaise sighed in relief and joined the other two men in the private waiting room.
“I take it the baby’s coming?” Draco commented with a grin, earning him a withering look.
Blaise collapsed in a chair, long legs stretched in front of him. His dark brown hair was mussed, and his usually impeccable clothes looked as if he had slept in them.
“So, here we are.” Draco tsked, shaking his head. “Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. Blaise Zabini, international spy and key player in the war. And me. Draco Malfoy—“
“—snarky, know it all pain in the arse git, and another key player in the war,” Harry interrupted with a wink at Blaise, who snickered.
Draco ignored him.
“We are not weak men, and after the war, not much dares cross us, yet here we are, pacing this tiny room instead of being in there with our wives experiencing first hand the miracle of our children’s birth. It is a sad, sad day, gentlemen, when we run from three women.”
“I prefer to think of it as a strategical retreat.” Blaise replied wryly.
“Fine words now that you’re out here Malfoy,” Harry added amusedly. “You do realize you’re going to have to go back in there sometime–”
“Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Potter! Mr. Zabini!” a nurse called frantically. “Your wives are calling for you!”
“—Like now.” Blaise sighed.
Exchanging a last look of understanding, the three men parted ways to rejoin their respective wives.