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Draco opened the door of the sitting room. Then he paused. He wondered for a second what would happen if Harry found out about this. He would probably tease Draco for days, and say that it was exactly as he had predicted.

He'd known that Veela sneaked in to cuddle their eggs to their chests without ever being told about it, after all. And in the time when his bond with Draco was still not functioning right.

But even when Draco thought about Harry gloating, it wasn't enough incentive to leave their egg alone. He stretched a simple Tripping Charm across the door to warn him if someone entered—the house-elves wouldn't be bothered by it—and came slowly forwards.

The egg still sat on the raised platform they'd built, made of simple brown wood, with the circle of salt and silver around it. Draco had chosen the wood of the platform to set off the equally simple white color he had assumed the shell would be. It was still somewhat of a disappointment that the egg had turned out blue-green instead, like the stone they'd chosen to hollow out.

But when he looked at it and felt his bond and his instincts welling to life in his head, Draco couldn't find any reason to despise their egg. They had made it. He and Harry. Them. And they had both made their wishes and cast their spells.

Draco had wondered, when he first became a Veela, what he would feel like when he had an egg. Then he had realized Harry Potter was his mate, and he had wondered whether their children would all turn out to be short-sighted Gryffindors, because that was the kind of thing Potter would wish, specifically to spite him.

Then he had come to know Harry, and he didn't know. He had no idea what their child would grow up to be, because even when he was in the bond with Harry, he had no idea whose desires were stronger.

And the wish magic, Draco thought as he smoothed a hand down the side of the egg, drew on unconscious desires as much as conscious ones. Draco might think he had sincerely wished for something that never got into egg at all, simply because wishes he didn't know about were so much stronger.

Shivering with the mystery, Draco picked up the egg. It was large enough that his arms strained to fit around it, but at the same time, it was only about as heavy as an ordinary baby would be. Draco smiled. Their magic had transformed the egg, then. It was no longer simply stone full of liquid magic.

It had become something more.

The Warming Charms he and Harry had placed around the egg with tender care shrilled a little as Draco moved the egg. Draco lowered them with a flick of his wand. They surrounded the egg as a specialized shield that would generate more heat and curl around and over the egg like a brooding bird's breast. But with that special shape came the ability to lower and raise them, both, so that Harry and Draco could pick up the egg without having to recast them.

Harry had smiled at Draco when he saw that Draco wanted to cast them that way. No, not just smiled, grinned, shaking his head as he muttered something about broody Veela.

The moment Draco felt the silky-warm shell touch his chest, though, he no longer cared about that. Nothing mattered but bending his wings around the egg, and giving all the body warmth he had to it. He'd already taken off his shirt. He rarely wore them around the house, anyway. Since Harry had accepted their bond, Draco had found it easier to go shirtless than to keep modifying his clothes to fit his wings.

The egg seemed to beam back its own warmth to him. Draco sang softly. The croon-like note had always been in his voice for his mate, but it came out as song much more often, now, the endless liquid run of a nightingale.

He lost track of time as he stood there. The egg didn't weigh his arms down. The room was as hot as the inside of a star around him. Warm with love and singing, he balanced the egg in his arms and bowed his head to nuzzle it.

"I knew it!"

Draco tightened his arms around the egg so he wouldn't drop it—that would be unthinkable—and turned around to give Harry a deadly glare. Harry only grinned back at him, not bothered at all, and wagged his finger at Draco.

"I knew you would come in and cuddle it." Harry folded his arms and clucked his tongue. "You just couldn't help yourself, could you? Even though the egg is perfectly safe and warm in its circle."

Draco was about to answer when something occurred to him. He had felt a very faint snapping as his Tripping Charm was activated, but he hadn't paid any attention to that tug on his magic, because holding the egg was so much more important. He looked over, just to make sure, and yes, the glow of his charm was gone.

That meant Harry had fallen over it as he came in. That meant he hadn't removed it, the way he would have done if he was sneaking in to catch Draco. When Draco turned back to Harry, in fact, he could see the faint bruise on his forehead.

"Why did you come in here?" Draco asked. "You couldn't have known I was in here if you didn't sneak in."

It was hard to tell when the fire in the hearth was so high, but Harry was flushing. Draco touched the bond lightly and knew.

You came in here to cuddle the egg, too! I know you did! Draco crowed in the back of Harry's head.

Harry tried to deny it, but Draco was too much in tune with him right now. He knew that for the lie it was. He rocked his head back and laughed, while Harry shuffled from foot to foot and frowned at him.

"So what if I did?" Harry finally asked, and shook his head a little when Draco raised an incredulous eyebrow. "It doesn't mean—"

"It means you're a hypocrite, is what it means." Draco held the egg closer. "You made fun of me for wanting to cuddle it, but you were going to do the same. What's the matter, don't trust the fire and the magic to do their work?"

"Draco, you're going to drop it."

Draco flapped his wings at him, said, "Blow it out your ear," and put the egg down carefully on its platform again. Then he turned and held out a hand to Harry. Harry came over slowly, watching Draco with one careful eye as if he assumed Draco would start making fun of him again at any moment.

"If you come here," Draco said, and placed Harry's hands on the egg before he could pull back and pretend that he hadn't wanted to put them there, "then we can hold it together." Then he put his hands over Harry's and moved carefully behind him, draping his wings over both Harry and the egg.

He could feel Harry's immediate relaxation down the bond, the way he almost melted back—and not just from the heat of the fire or the heat that rose from the egg when they were both cradling it. Harry was gazing mistily at the egg and visualizing their child coming from it, the same way Draco had.

I don't understand why you think cuddling our child is something to be ashamed of, Draco scolded him down the bond.

Sure you don't. Or you would have come here openly and invited me to come at the same time.

Draco scowled a little, and silently massaged his way down the shell. Harry was right, and he didn't have any answer for that.

But Harry's smugness fled the bond soon, and then they sat there in the heat and held the egg and each other and Draco tilted his head back and began to sing, softly, ready to cut off the notes if Harry got irritated that Draco was singing them almost right in his ear.

Harry only leaned back, though, and smiled. So Draco kept singing, and he knew—without feeling any stir or movement, simply because he had the knowledge—that their child was listening in some way. And the song stroked the shell along with their hands and the warmth and helped the child to grow in much the same way.

"Now."

Draco was the one who spoke the word. Harry knew why. He was too nervous to say it himself. What if he said it too soon? Or too late? They might take out either a premature child or one who had almost choked to death on the magic.

But Draco had said it, and he was the one with the Veela traits and Veela instincts, so that must be okay. Harry reached out and gripped the shell that had already bulged up a little from the pressure of the power inside it. Then he pulled down at the same moment as Draco, even as Draco muttered sarcastically down the bond, Your faith in me is touching.

It is, Harry said, and took some satisfaction in knowing that the way he said it had shut Draco up.

Then he lost everything but wonder, the rush of it drowning him like the magic had when they first raised it. They both pried at the shell, and it flashed and flaked away from the egg, and then they were both reaching in and they were pulling out—

A shape. Harry hastily rearranged his hands so that he was holding the feet and Draco was cradling the head, and then Draco raised his wings and brought them down hard, once, while singing a note that seemed to resonate in Harry's bones and head.

The coating that covered the baby, coating like the yolk of an egg dripping with magic, froze and cracked and fell away. The next instant, they were hearing the hysterical wails that Harry remembered from Victoire and Dominique when they were little.

"A girl," Draco whispered. He sounded a little dazed.

"Who is she?" Harry moved around to the side and bent over her. Her eyes were a cloudy dark blue; he wondered who she would look more like when they settled, but right now it was impossible to tell. Her hair was clinging dark wisps. Harry smiled at her and stroked her head. She was still screaming, but she stopped at his touch and turned an unfocused gaze on him. Then Draco bent over and sang softly to her.

She opened her mouth and made a soft noise back. Harry didn't know if it was a laugh, but he didn't think it was a sob. And he didn't know if it was a normal noise for Veela babies—she would probably be a Veela, like Draco, wouldn't she?—and he didn't care, because his soul was burning with love and his eyes were lingering on her skin as if it was the most remarkable color he had ever seen.

"Too small to tell yet if she'll be a Parselmouth or a Veela, but I'd like to think so," said Draco, and smiled at Harry. "But she's healthy. She seems happy." He hesitated. "Would you like to name her?"

Harry hesitated in turn. They hadn't really talked about names, other than Harry making it clear that he wasn't going for any of the wilder Roman names or star names that came from both sides of Draco's family. He'd done a little reading on his own, but he hadn't found a name he really liked. He'd half-thought that Draco would do the naming, and half-thought that he would know the right one when he saw the baby.

As it turned out, he did, after a few moments of increasingly awkward staring from both Draco and the baby. Some of his reading had included Roman history, if only so he would know what names to forbid. And he'd found one name he really wouldn't object to.

"Julia," he said slowly.

Draco smiled, then. "It's only fair I get to decide on the middle name if you picked the first one."

"Yes, that's fair," Harry found himself agreeing.

"Good, then." Draco slid his hand slowly over the baby's chest, and sang at her again, in a voice half-croon and half ordinary speech. "Julia Maia."

"It's a star, isn't it," Harry said, resigned.

"One of the Pleiades." Draco beamed at him. "But also a goddess."

Harry nodded again. He could live with that.

As he could live with deciding what her last name would be, and what she would look like, and when they were going to introduce her to other people. But for now, he couldn't live without holding her.

He leaned forwards and took Julia, and Draco wrapped his wings around them both and sang that ringing note again. This time, right into Harry's ear.

He couldn't mind. He couldn't mind anything right now, holding their daughter, with his mate beside him.

The End.