Chapter 1: Info. Please read
Chapter Text
In this Universe, everyone at the age of 16 gets classified. Wizarding World has potions to classify a magical being while Muggle World uses a blood test to classify non-magical beings. The classification process is considered to be very private. The guardians of the teen are to be present when the teen is classified, and the teen and classifiers are the only people allowed to be privy to the classification of the teen. Though a private process, the result will be displayed on the Government websites of the respective world, along with the teen’s citizenship. In the case of Wizarding World, the classification is right alongside the magical signature of the witch or Wizard in the registry kept in the Ministry. The potion and blood test never give a wrong result, though there are certain cases of fluke where a person has registered falsely.
The classification didn’t bring any more discrimination, which had been fought against in the Victorian era. A person can get classified into one of the three major classifications i.e., Dominant, Baseline, or Submissive. The Dominants usually have larger bone structures, while the submissives usually have smaller bone structures. Inside the major category of Dominant and submissive, there are a few other sub-classification, which are listed below.
Dominants:
- Masters: Harshest Dominants, are also called as 'Sadists' used as a slang. They require a huge amount of control and can only be paired with Slave
- Owners: A dominant who usually loves to take care of pets, can be harsh and indulgent at the same time. All of them are into Pet Play. Do not practice the lifestyle 24/7, only when their Sub is in Pet Space
- Alphas: They are natural dominants, who want to always protect and provide for their Omega mate as well as their family whom they consider as their pack, have werewolf instincts, and they go into rut every month for 2 days.
- Caregivers: They are the gentle Doms, who wants to take care of littles, like a parental figure, are usually called Daddy or Mommy by the Littles. They are strong, to be able to lift the Littles and are specially empathetic. They are very nearly asexual, having sexual urgesvery rarely.
- Conservative Dom: Doms who love to be challenged, and are more traditional and likes to follow the old culture of being the sole provider and 'man of the house' dynamic.
- Liberal Dom: Who occasionally practices the power dynamic, and can easily live as a baseline if desired, but has a little urge to dominate once in a while.
Submissive:
- Slave Sub: An exact match for Masters, who craves Harsh Dominance, wants to be controlled in every aspect of life, is almost all the time masochist, and craves pain too.
- Pets: Submissives who love to be owned, and go into pet space, where their mindset is very similar to that of the pet. Wizards take this to another level by changing many parts of their bodies with the aspired animal they want to be. Their body gets modified a little when in their pet space, letting them have tails, ears or other body parts of the animal their self is affiliated with.
- Omegas: Submissives, who are gentle and want to be protected by their Alpha but love to take care of people or their pack. They go into Heat, where they will want to be bred once every month.
- Littles: Submissives who go into a space called little space, where they regress into a little kid of a certain age. Their mindset will also be that of a little kid at the time. They always are small in physical size, never reaching above 4’5 ft.
- Bratty Sub: Subs who love to test the boundaries and behave like a brat. Though usually want a controlling Dom. Usually the best pale for them is Conservative Dom.
- Liberal Sub: The counterpart of Liberal Dom. Wants to be dominated once in a while
Chapter Text
8th September 1999
It was a sunny day with pleasant weather, perfect for flying around or going on a picnic. Harry smiled at the cheerfulness of the day. The smile remained on his face when he got ready for work. He is an apprentice as a Healer at St. Mungo’s now. After the War, seeing all the violence, his heart yearns to fix it. And he couldn’t resist being a healer. He had been offered to be an Auror soon after the war, but he wanted to heal rather than fight. He had been fighting since age 11, and he was tired of the fight. He wanted a peaceful life now. He just wished he had a little one to care for. A Little, he actually felt connected to. Harry sighed, if Hermione heard him now, she’d descend in one of her lectures, saying how Harry has to get his lazy arse out and search for a Little and how a Little wouldn’t miraculously fall into his lap. And Harry knew he hadn’t really searched hard enough to find one, despite his yearnings. But he had attempted it for two months after the war. But he didn’t want a Little to accept him because they felt he was their Hero. He didn’t want his Little to look at him with hero worship. But all the Littles in Britain did look at him that way. Hell! Many played with his figurines as superhero or other such rot.
Harry had no idea what he would be before he had got classified, unlike his best friends. Hermione had known a few months earlier that she’d be either a Sub or a baseline. As it turned out, she became a Liberal Sub and Ron happened to be a Baseline. The only baseline in his family. Ginny was a Conservative Dom and Harry himself turned out to be Caregiver. Ginny had let her feelings for him go as soon as she found out he was a caregiver. She already knew she’d not be a Little at any cost. The twins turned out to be Owners, both of them. Harry, Hermione, and Ron had been classified on the same day. He had been filled with agitation, nightmares, and visions by Voldemort; he had not had much time to think about his classification, though he had been jittery with nerves when the day had arrived. When he had been classified as a Caregiver, it had made so much sense. He had never had a good childhood, and he wanted to give the kind of childhood he had dreamed of to a Little. It had been a few days after the Sectumsempra incident. He loathed Draco Malfoy, and even after a year and a half of not seeing him, the hatred hadn't diminished. He had been thrown in Azakban 6 months ago. Until then, he and his family had been kept in their Manor for 10 months. Harry had testified for the git and Narcissa Malfoy, though Narcissa Malfoy was saved from Azakban, Malfoy wasn't. Harry shook his head, not wanting to think about the asshole.
It had been just him and Nev who had turned out to be Caregivers in his year. Caregivers and Littles were the smallest classifications. The baseline being the next smallest. The largest were Alphas and Omegas, followed by Owners and Pets, and then Masters and Slaves. Being a caregiver had made him almost asexual; though he got horny occasionally, it was never to the extent where he had to do something about it. He usually wanked and called it a day. But there were institutions where he could visit to satiate his needs. Those institutes were usually filled with Slaves, Pets, or Bratty Subs. All of them were willing and were paid a huge amount for their service, Hermione had made sure of it. Dom and Sub faced the same discrimination as males and females. They were biologically different, and there would always be differences, but the world has come so far in providing equal opportunity to every being. The wizarding world is just a step behind. But there were still bigoted assholes who scoffed at submissive, who considered Littles to be a waste and Masters to be psychopaths who should be locked. Though there weren’t many, Littles are considered the most precious classification. All of the other classifications adored them. Who couldn’t, they always are the most adorable creatures on this earth. As if God created them to bring happiness in this dreary world. Just thinking about Littles brought a smile to Harry’s face. Oh! How he wished he had a little boy or girl -to take care of. Harry let out a huge sigh, shaking his head to clear those thoughts, and went ahead with his work.
******
Harry was administering potions to a sick Little when his world went tits up. Harry worked under Healer Samuels, a Conservative Dom who acutely resembled McGonagall with her specs and looks, which made Harry squirm.
"Mommy! I don’t want it! It’s nasty." A 23-year-old Little, who was in the age space of a 6-year-old, screamed at his caregiver, edging away from Harry. Harry had to suppress his amused smile.
"Kol, Don’t you want to be as strong as Harry Potter here?" Ms. Anastasia Crumbs asked her Little, the little nodded seriously, looking at Harry in awe. Harry was used to the awe and adoration from all the little ones now. "Then you have to take the potion, Baby."
"And you will get candy if you are a good boy and take this nasty potion," Harry said, bribing the little boy. A trick that always worked, although the caregivers always gave him an exasperated, half-hearted glare, as did Ms. Crumbs at that moment. Harry gave her a sheepish smile back, shrugging. He handed the potion to the Little, who took it and took a deep exaggerated breath before downing it, wrinkling his nose at the taste. Harry rummaged through his little bag for candy when Healer Samuels came to him with another apprentice, Parvati Patil, who was a Liberal Dom.
"Mr. Potter, Ms. Patil will take your shift, you are to come with me now."
Harry gave Parvati a puzzled look, and she shrugged, implying she had no idea what was going on. Harry absentmindedly gave the candy to The Little, who squealed in delight while nattering about something to his Mommy.
Harry trailed after Healer Samuels, knowing full well that if he asked any questions, she'd snap at him. She was in one of her moods, which he and Parvati called 'The Concentration Mood', where she was so focused on a case that she’d get pissed if anyone dared to distract her from her work. They eventually reached her office, Harry entered and was startled to see the Minister of Magic waiting for them. Kingsley was sitting beside an Auror. Kingsley turned as soon as they entered the office.
"Hello, Harry, how are you?" Kingsley greeted, but he seemed distracted. Kingsley was an Owner. He had a beautiful Pet named Olivia Bones, a distant relative of Susan Bones.
"Hi, Kingsley. I’m doing good. What brings you here? You seem tense." Harry asked, sitting down beside Healer Samuel on the opposite side of the men, as she motioned for Harry to take a seat.
Kingsley sighed and took a moment before he answered. "I’m here to talk about a case. A complicated case, and to ask you, if you can possibly help us with the issue." Harry nodded and asked, "What happened?"
Kingsley looked at the Auror sitting beside him, who spoke up. "Hello, Mr. Potter, I’m Head Auror, Gawain Robards. What I’m about to speak to you is a confidential matter as of now, which hasn’t been leaked to The Prophet yet. Among the arrests made following the war, there was a person who had been registered as a Master in the Registry. He was, as the protocols ruled, imprisoned on the lowest floor of Azkaban, among other Masters. It turns out he isn’t a Master at all, and his magic has taken control of the situation, and we are in a bit of a complicated situation now." He paused, seeing Harry’s increasingly confused look, and looked at Kingsley.
"It’s okay, Robards; we can’t keep it all under wraps for long, and if we have to ask Harry’s help, we need to divulge the full information, and he can be trusted to keep it out of reach of The Prophet," Kingsley answered, looking at the Head Auror, before turning to look at Harry and speaking,
"So, the prisoner isn’t a Master, he or his guardian has somehow registered falsely, leading to the chaos. He is a Submissive who was imprisoned on the same floor as Fenrir Greyback and his cronies, Crabbe Sr., Goyle Sr., Parkinson, and other lethal Death Eaters. So you can imagine, what this person has gone through." Kingsley paused to gauge Harry’s reaction.
Harry was horrified. If a Submissive is stuck with those monsters in a prison, like Azkaban, Harry hates to think about what horrors the Sub has been through. Harry was afraid to ask what type of Sub were they talking about. Harry had a sinking feeling, fearing the worst.
"He is a Little." Healer Samuel spoke, answering Harry’s unanswered question and confirming Harry’s worst fear, Harry paled. Oh, Merlin! A Little! A Little shouldn’t even be sent to prison, let alone Azkaban and with those Monsters. Kingsley regarded her with suspicion, but she spoke again, her voice steely,"He is A. Little, Minister."
Harry knew all too well, Greyback and his cronies' sick ways to gain pleasure. He had molested two Littles when the War was waging. Two innocent Littles, whom Harry had discovered, were dead. He wasn’t sure how many other Littles he had molested. Harry fought not to gag or puke his guts out.
"Wh-what happened?" Harry asked, his voice quivering with rage and horror.
"He hasn’t been biologically proven to be a Little, but Healer Samuel says he is a Little. Assuming that he is, he most likely had never let himself be pulled into little space for 3 years, and with the horror, the Sub has been through in war along with the horrors of the prison, his magic had taken over and exploded yesterday night. The magic had blasted his cell, alerting the Aurors. Except for the werewolves, all the others near his room or who were in his cell are dead, dead under the rubble. Fortunately, the Sub’s magic had shielded him before the rubble collapsed, so he is unharmed physically by the explosion." Head Auror Robards continued, his voice having no emotion in it.
"But the Little seemed to have… I don’t know how to say this, but his body has shrunk. It is still shrinking when he is awake. The healers have put him in a magical coma so that his magic can recuperate. The medical technicalities will be explained by Healer Samuels later on. He hasn’t spoken at all since we rescued him from the rubble, he is scared and screams when someone tries to touch him. All we could coax out of him were two words. One is Mother and the other is … Potter." Kingsley spoke in a low voice.
"My name?" Harry asked, breathless from the emotions swirling inside him. Kingsley nodded at him.
"His mother is dead, Mr.Potter. To trigger him to speak more and get a lead on how to heal his mentality, you are the only choice we have now. So you need to meet the Little, to see if you can make him do something other than cower or scream." Healer Samuels spoke matter-of-factly.
Harry nodded, but he didn’t understand why they asked him as if it were a big favor he had to do. Of course, he’d do that! But something wasn’t told. "Who is he?" Harry asked, "The Little?"
"Draco Malfoy," Kingsley whispered the name. Blood rushed through Harry’s ears, and he didn’t know how to comprehend what was told to him. Draco Malfoy was a Little.
Notes:
Here is the first chapter! How is it? Let me know your thoughts. And hopefully, this held your interest enough to wait for the next chapter.
Please leave Kudos! And Comments are love!!
Chapter Text
Harry felt like he was drowning. Nothing made sense. As if some integral part of his life had been shaken. Harry sat stock still for Merlin knows how long before his senses started working and he heard Healer Samuel’s sharp voice calling him.
"Huh?" Harry was still disoriented. Everyone in the room stared at him expectantly.
"It can’t be. Malfoy is a sadistic Master! He can’t be a Little." Harry mumbled, staring at all three faces.
Healer Samuel pursed her lips in displeasure, and she gave him a look that said she was extremely displeased. Harry took a moment to realize what he had said, "NO! I didn’t mean all the Masters are sadists. I just meant that Malfoy is one. He was cruel to everyone in my school days-" Harry trailed off, squirming in his seat, feeling like a chastised kid. "I’m sorry." He spoke up.
Kingsley took some pity on Harry and answered, "It’s okay, Harry, we all know young Malfoy was a little brat, but he is suspected to be a Little, though we are not sure. But we are sure about the fact that he is not a Master, and Lucius has somehow managed to fool the ministry and have him registered as a Master."
Samuel let out a sigh and spoke tiredly, "You might want to see him to convince yourself of the fact, Mr. Potter. He’d be asleep, so you will, of course, need to meet him tomorrow to try and talk with the Little." Harry thought about it for a moment before nodding his head,
"Where is he?"
"In the 7th Private Observation Unit for Littles, Second Floor," Healer Samuel replied. Harry nodded again before excusing himself.
******
Harry reached the POU—7, hesitating to enter. He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and entered. He nearly gasped at the sight in front of him. There, lying on the hospital bed, sleeping peacefully, was Draco Malfoy. Harry couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He looked very thin, and his cheeks were hollowed; his eyes were puffed up and ringed with huge dark circles. He looked absolutely sick, but what had Harry so shocked was Malfoy’s size. He looked so … so small. He was so tiny compared to the bed in which he was lying.
Oh, Merlin, he has to be a Little to look so small. No other submissives can be this small, can they? Harry slowly walked inside, near Malfoy’s bed. His face did not look restful. There was a frown on his small face, his eyes were puffed up, and he had tear tracks on his face. His lips were bruised, and looking at his face, there was no doubt that he was a Little. His face held the innocent hurt that can only be found in small children and Littles. Harry’s heart gave a twinge, seeing the obviously distressed Little. Even if the Little is a Malfoy, he couldn’t help but smooth out the wrinkle between his eyebrows. Harry looked at Malfoy’s face for a long time, and then he left, his heart heavy and his soul hurting from all the information. He knew he should meet the Healer back and ask for further information, but he just couldn’t. So he went to his best friends, knowing Kingsley would forgive him for divulging the information to Ron and Mione, and moreover, his friends would never leak such information.
******
Harry sent an owl to Ron and Hermione, telling them to meet him as soon as possible, and sat in his living room and waited for them to arrive, brooding. Why Malfoy said his name was a question that plagued him from the moment he left the hospital. Harry still couldn’t comprehend that Draco Malfoy was a little, let alone all the other horrible realizations that came with it. Like how a Little had been in Azkaban amongst monsters like Greyback and the like. Or the fact that Harry had hated and retaliated against a Little, no matter how infuriating he was. Malfoy seemed like such a typical Master, lording over the School, scaring the first years, and wanting everything to be done in his own way. He behaved exactly like a spoiled brat and was a Little demanding attention and if the fact that he's a Little had been known before, he'd never have been viewed as cruel. A traitorous voice in his head spoke up. And Harry slouched on his couch and brooded more.
Harry was startled when he heard the floo roar into life and looked up at his friends, who were staring at him with concern.
"Harry, what’s wrong? You look pale." Hermione voiced her concern while walking towards Harry, with Ron right behind her.
"Is everything alright, mate?" Ron asked.
Harry shook his head and motioned for both of them to sit. And then he dove into the matter, starting from when Healer Samuel asked him to come to her office and ending with him watching Draco Malfoy, who looked unbelievably small and had spoken only two words since Azkaban. His friends progressively got paler as his story progressed, and Harry paused after his story to let them digest the information. Ron sat so still, he could have been mistaken for a statue, and Hermione, after a few moments, stood up and started pacing. That’s how the next 30 minutes went. With Ron muttering curses and going paler and Hermione pacing, Harry had to suppress a hysterical laugh seeing his mates taking so much time to process what was told. It was finally Ron who broke the trance everyone was in.
"Bloody Hell. Mate, are you sure you identified him as the same ferrety git?" Harry nodded. Hermione paused her pacing.
"Merlin’s Tits, You mean to tell me that the Pointy git is a Little and he was in the deepest and most cruel place of Azkaban? Oh, Merlin," and a hysterical laugh bubbled out of Ron, and Harry didn’t know what to do. Had he finally managed to make Ron go crazy? Hermione walked towards them and whacked Ron’s head, making the redhead stop his laughter. And there was another long lapse when Hermione paced some more and Harry asked Kreacher to fetch some tea. They all sat sipping their tea when finally, Hermione spoke up.
"It all makes sense, now that we think about it."
"Mione! What makes sense? Nothing bloody makes sense here.!" Ron exclaimed.
"Oh, hush, Ron. And let me speak. Looking back at our school days, knowing that he was Little, just fits, you know? He always wanted to be the center of attention. He cried and made a ruckus when his arm broke from Buckbeak. Do you see what I’m telling?" Hermione asked.
"Calling us with names, some of which were ridiculously childish, like Potty, parroting his Father, going to his father for every little thing. Cowering when faced with danger, making flying origamis with drawings, dressing up as a dementor to scare me, and making Potter stink badges, though all of them are infuriating, were all done by a Little wanting attention and having fun the only way he knew how. Now that I think about them, much of his bullying was childish at best." Harry spoke slowly, letting his mouth spill what his brain had been thinking. So many of them, though done to mock someone, were done by a Little, to have fun, a Little, grown-up looking at Lucius as a role model." Harry continued Hermione's thought process.
"Exactly! He always tried to get attention in any way possible. He always tried to get his Father’s attention and …" Hermione trailed off, looking uncertain.
"And Harry’s. He came at us with an insult whenever we crossed his path, and we seemed to cross his path an awful lot of times for it to be a coincidence, don’t you think?" Ron asked, startling Harry. Harry slowly nodded as he let it all sink in.
"Maybe… maybe that’s why he said my name when the Healers and Aurors tried to coax him into speaking?" Harry asked, looking at his friends.
"Maybe. Maybe not." Mione answered. "You have to ask him when he is well enough to speak, Harry." Harry agreed to that. He’d talk to him as soon as he can.
"But what do you think Kingsley wanted from me? He broke the news so slowly, and he seemed hesitant, and I never went back to listen to what he actually wanted from me." Harry gave voice to his other doubt. There was silence for a few minutes while all three of them thought about it.
"He wanted you to take care of Malfoy, as his guardian." Harry and Hermione snapped their heads to look at Ron, surprised. Ron continued, "Think about it. Kingsley has a very soft spot for Littles, he’d do anything to keep them safe. And the only other caregiver he knows and trusts apart from you is Neville, who already has a Little, Hannah Abbot. You say that looking at Malfoy leaves you with no doubt that he is a Little, so Kingsley is sure Malfoy is a Little. If you succeed in getting him to respond, which seems very likely, since he asked for you, he’d need to be set up with a Caregiver. His father is in Azkaban, his mother is dead, and no relatives who could take him. Sending an abused Little to an orphanage isn’t what Kingsley would want to do, and more likely than not, the whole of Wizarding World will believe Malfoy is making it all up, and if he goes to the wrong house, he might as well become an obscure. So that leaves you as his only option."
"He’s right, Harry," Hermione spoke slowly.
"So what do I do?" Harry asked, at a loss.
"What we always do, Mate. We save the git and try helping him." Ron said so, shrugging as if it were a foregone conclusion. It made Harry crack a smile at him. "But he’s a Malfoy, and there is a definite possibility that all this can be an elaborate scheme on his part to get out of Azkaban. And seeing as he is suspected to be a Little, and possibly a traumatized one, the protocol dictates, he’s not to be administered a classification potion yet. It can only be administered when he is in the right mindset, which would take a long time to decide. So we have to tread carefully." Harry said, not wanting to fall into any trap, one trap had killed Sirius, and he wasn’t about to fall into another.
"Yes, we’ll have to make him tell us the truth," Ron said.
"But we can't access Veritaserum, and giving Veritaserum to a Little can have huge consequences." Hermione went on.
"No, not Veritaserum. We just have to be harsh enough for Malfoy to speak the truth, and we have seen a lot, and amongst us, we can discern whether he is lying or not." Ron continued.
"But he can be a Little, Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed.
"I know, but it has to be done; it's better than giving him Veritaserum, using Legilimency, or taking his memory, which we are not authorized to do," Ron answered, matter-of-factly as a soldier who had been through a war. Hermione let out a breath and nodded, she wasn’t pleased, but she knew it had to be done, they can’t believe Malfoy blindly.
"But if he is really a Little…" Harry trailed off, unable to voice the horror.
"Then we’ll do everything in our power to protect him and heal him. And he has to get better; we’ll consider no other option." Hermione spoke quietly, and though her voice quivered with the horror of it all, her voice held the quiet determination that had led all of them through the difficult times of the War.
"And we’ll make the bastards who hurt a Little pay," Ron said, through gritted teeth, and Harry agreed, wholeheartedly.
******
The next morning arrived in a flash for Harry. He didn’t know how to approach Malfoy now. He didn’t know what to say. There was one part of him that wanted to hug the Little and assure him that Harry’ll keep him safe now, the Daddy part of him. But then the other part of him, who knew how utterly awful Malfoy had been, even after knowing it probably might have been a Little’s call for attention, which still was suspicious of Malfoy, wanted to be cautious and was getting ready to fight the ugly sneer which always used to mar Malfoy’s face. With his two sides arguing with each other, Harry got ready and flooed to St. Mungo’s, where Healer Samuels dragged him to Malfoy’s Observation Unit.
Healer Samuels went ahead into the room, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to enter, which is until he heard a piecing scream coming from inside, and he rushed into the room, his instincts screaming at him. Inside, Draco Malfoy was cowering in one corner of the room, he looked like a scared puppy. There were about five people, apart from Healer Samuels, who had their hands up in the air, as if they were trying to calm a scared animal, which in this case, looked pretty accurate.
"What do you all think you are doing? You were supposed to administer potions to him, not scare the Little," barked Healer Samuels. Two Medi-wizards opened their mouths to say something, only to be cut off by Samuels again, "I won’t be hearing any explanations. Out. All of you. Now!" And just like that, they all filed out, leaving a cowering Draco Malfoy, Harry, and Healer Samuel behind. She walked to him with a tray on which four different potions were held and thrust the tray into Harry’s hands.
"A Mind Healing Potion, A Nutrient Potion, A Potion for Pain, and A Calming Draught. I want you to administer all of them to him, and make sure there is a sufficient time lapse between each of them to not create any adverse reaction. And try to heal his physical injuries, his magic hasn’t allowed anyone to cast spells on him yet, so just try, if it does allow you to cast healing charms, then start with the milder ones, before going for the stronger ones. I hope you will handle any other circumstances regarding his health well enough. He’s scared now, so he might take a little time before he comes to his senses, and when he does, I don’t want to hear him going into another one of his panic attacks again. And Mr. Potter, I don’t care about the disagreements you had when you were bumbling teenagers, you are being assigned to him for the foreseeable future. If you in any way harm his fragile mental state, you will not be required to come back to Mungo’s from then onward, at all. Am I making myself clear?"
Harry gave a curt nod and said, "Crystal." She gave a sharp nod back, before walking out of the room.
Harry took a moment to gather himself, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before walking towards the cowering blond, setting aside the tray on the bedside table, and crouching near the blond.
"Malfoy?" he spoke softly, but Malfoy flinched at that so violently that Harry had trouble keeping his distance. But he knew he shouldn’t hurry this, he shouldn’t touch abuse victims without their consent. Harry waited for a moment before continuing, "Hey." Malfoy peeked his head from his knees and looked at Harry with the most vulnerable expression he had ever seen, there was no recognition in those pools of grey whatsoever. Harry swallowed hard.
"Are you scared?" Harry asked and instantly wanted to kick himself. He had been training to be a Healer for more than a year now, and was so close to graduating, he knew better than to say something so ineloquent and obvious! There was a moment of complete silence where Harry was berating himself when Malfoy gave a small nod. This is progress; he’s responding to me at least. Harry thought.
"You don’t have to be scared here, I won’t hurt you, and look, there’s no one else apart from me and you here," Harry spoke slowly and earnestly, trying to look as warm and sincere as possible, keeping his hands out where Malfoy could spot them; he had his wand tucked in his jeans pocket, which wasn’t visible. Malfoy eyed him distrustfully, before giving an imperceptible shake of his head. Harry sighed and asked again, "Alright, Can I sit here at least? Please?"
Malfoy eyed him for a long moment, seemingly pondering his answer before giving him a slow nod. Harry beamed at him before making himself comfortable on the floor, two feet away from Malfoy, and waited for the blond to give some sort of sign to show that he’ll be okay if Harry spoke more. Harry didn’t know how long it was, but slowly the blond relaxed, and his eyes slowly became lucid. Harry saw the instant Malfoy recognized him; his eyes held recognition, distrust, and something that suspiciously looked like relief.
"Hey, I see you are back." Harry spoke and waited for a moment to get an answer, when he didn’t get any, he continued, "Can you come over to your bed? The floor is awfully uncomfortable, don’t you think?" It was another long moment before Harry got a cautious nod. Harry got up and stepped near Malfoy to help him, but he stopped when he saw the fear in his eyes and stepped back and stood still. Malfoy looked at him with caution before he slowly, painstakingly got up and moved to the bed, all the while looking at Harry. Only after he sat down and seemed to relax a little, did Harry move from his frozen position and towards the blond, slowly. He sat in the chair that was beside the bed and waited.
"You seem to be in pain, Malfoy," Harry spoke in a soft tone, carefully making sure it was nowhere near mocking when he saw the blond wince. Malfoy looked up at him and stared with an incomprehensible expression. "I can help with it if you let me." When Malfoy looked at him with suspicion, Harry continued, "I’m an apprentice, training to be a Healer, this is my job. I’m not here to mock you or anything, I promise."
The dubiousness in his eyes lessened but did not go away, Harry held the pain potion for Malfoy to take, "It’s a pain potion; you know about them, right? It helps with all the internal pain you are suffering, come on, takes it." Harry babbled all about the potions and their ingredients until Malfoy ever so slowly took the potion from Harry’s hands, sniffed it, and then downed it. Harry could have whooped at his success, he was so happy. In a similar fashion, Harry coaxed Malfoy into drinking the other three potions. And by the time he was done, the sun was nowhere to be seen, and Malfoy soon succumbed to sleep, and Harry left for his own home, thinking One day finished, several more to go!
Notes:
Hello Lovlies!!
The second chapter is finally out!!!
How is it? What do you think about our trio's talk?
And poor little Draco!!! What do you think should happen next??
Let me know all your thoughts in the comments, I'll be eagerly waiting for them, and don't forget to show your love through KudosP.S.: I'd like to make it clear that I'm not a consistent writer so you might get 2 updates in a week and no updates for a few weeks together. But I'll try to update as soon as possible, and I promise, I won't leave this story incomplete, at any cost, however long it may take.
Chapter Text
The days flew for Harry, with him treating Malfoy and coaxing him to come out of his shell. Harry had observed that, though Malfoy recognized him, he wasn’t the same person. And it was so clear to Harry, looking day in and day out into Malfoy’s eyes, that he was fighting tooth and nail to not let himself slip into his little space, and so he was stuck between his two headspaces, not quite adult but not quite Little either. He displayed certain moments of lucidness, where he seemed to be the same prat from Hogwarts but not so cruel. As if he had become a better person or had been a better person all along. But then there were times when he was almost Little, who was shy and sweet. Treating Malfoy was like treating a scared animal. He cowered when there were more than 3 people in his room. He doesn’t voice his needs. He eyes everyone with suspicion as if the Universe is out to get him. This is understandable, seeing as he was in Azkaban for nearly six months.
It took Harry nearly three days to get a word out of Malfoy. And four more days before the monosyllable answers turned into full-fledged sentences. But his progress was ruined when the other Healers entered Malfoy’s room when Harry hadn’t been there and scared Malfoy to muteness again. Healer Samuels, after that particular incident, had forbidden everyone from going into his room, which had been shifted to a Little’s ward private room. Harry took two days to get Malfoy to speak to him again. Later on, as the protocol required, and under Healer Samuels's suggestion, Harry coaxed Malfoy into letting the Healer view the harshest memories of Azkaban. Malfoy, who had somehow taken to Healer Samuels, had agreed after a week of coaxing. Healer Samuels, who had specialized in Little’s Health as well as Legilimency, had taken care of that gruesome task of viewing his worst memories and then giving him several draughts to help his mental faculty. The whole process took five days. And the healing process from there took nearly ten days, with Malfoy overcoming his trauma. Healer Samuels wanted him to not fight his little space and wanted Malfoy to slip into his headspace. Malfoy had proved to be stubborn all along. After about a little more than a month’s stay in St. Mungo’s, Healer Samuels declared that Malfoy had healed as much as he could in the institute, and the rest of it had to be done by himself. So Malfoy had been declared as mentally fit enough to be discharged from St. Mungo’s.
The only problem was that Malfoy had nowhere to go, and he was comfortable only if he had at least one interaction with Harry a day. Minister Shacklebolt had requested Harry to consider taking the blond in. And Harry had agreed, expecting this to happen. And now, looking down at Malfoy, whose adult headspace was slowly winning the battle, who’s looking more like his old self, whose grey eyes had looked at Harry with so many emotions swirling inside those pools when Harry had said he was taking him home. Harry really thought listening to Ron and Mione’s idea of scheduling ‘The Talk’ with Malfoy today itself, when Malfoy had just arrived an hour before to Grimmauld—as they said, ‘getting it over with as soon as possible’—was a pretty bad idea. Harry had convinced himself that it was not yet time, to tell Malfoy of the talk or Ron and Mione arriving just yet. But he knew he was just postponing the inevitable and made himself call Malfoys name.
"Malfoy?" Malfoy looked at him with those big eyes.
"Umm… I have to tell you something. Ron and Hermione are coming over today." Harry continued.
"Now?" Malfoy asked, with what should have been a sneer but looked more like a grimace.
"Yes. To talk to you." Harry answered. Looking at the blond, even though Harry knew he was a Little, Harry still couldn’t bring himself to refer to Malfoy as a Little.
"Me? Why?" Malfoy asked, fear leeching into his voice. And then, realizing that he cleared his voice and asked with disdain dripping. "Why does that Mudblood and Blood traitor want to talk to me?" Harry bristled at the insult but took a calming breath, knowing that he was just scared and using this as a defense mechanism. Even after knowing that when the insults were directed at someone close to him, Harry would not tolerate them.
"You know well enough that you are not supposed to talk like that, Malfoy. I’m not going to tolerate you spewing such insults about people I care about in my house. Do you get it?" Harry asked, sounding stern. Malfoy looked scared and chastened. Harry waited patiently until the blonde gave a tentative nod.
"Alright, they are coming here to talk to you about our mutual pasts. If you are going to stay in my house for an indefinite time, which you are, then we have to get it all out and sorted between us. If you live with me, you have to be civilized with me and them. So we decided to talk with you as soon as we could. You will be polite and cooperative with us. Understood?"
Malfoy nodded. Seeing Malfoy try to hide his fear and uncertainty softened Harry. Heaving a sigh, Harry softened his tone and spoke, "I’ll be right there, and none of us are going to hurt you in any way. We want to put all the nasty history behind us, that’s all. There's no need to be scared. I’m sorry for being so harsh. I just don’t like it when you call them names. Don’t be disrespectful to them, and all will be fine." Harry spoke in a soft voice, feeling bad for scaring him. This has been how he and Malfoy have been while at St. Mungo’s. Malfoy still got under his skin, and Harry still sometimes let it get to him and snapped, and seeing Malfoy terrified made him feel like shit afterward. Malfoy only gave a timid shrug in response, and Harry suppressed his sigh and went into the kitchen to get something for Malfoy and himself to eat, seeing as his friends would take some time before they arrived.
*****
Harry suppressed his sigh for what seemed to be the hundredth time after seeing the clock. Harry had made roasted beef sandwiches for both him and Malfoy. He had finished his a long time ago. But Malfoy was still nibbling, ever so slowly, on his for the past hour, and it was grating on Harry’s nerves. Malfoy had refused to eat when Harry had given him the sandwich, and when Harry had reprimanded him, saying he needed the food to sustain himself because he was malnourished, he had silently started nibbling the sandwich, which has continued till now, an hour later. Harry almost regretted asking the blonde to finish the whole thing. Harry was contemplating if he should tell the blond to hurry up or if he should ask him to leave the rest if he couldn’t finish when the floo flared. But before he could watch his friends stumble from there, Harry had to wrench his attention from floo to the blond, who gave a scared yelp, dropping the sandwich in the process and looked near tears when he realized he had dropped the food, looking from the sandwich to Harry and back to the sandwich. Harry suppressed his sigh again, and before he could speak, he was interrupted.
"It’s been just two hours, and you are already throwing our food away? Our food is not good enough for you, Malfoy?" Ron spat.
Malfoy snapped his head up from where he was looking at the fallen food. He seemed to freeze at the sight of Mione and Ron.
"N-no," Malfoy stuttered, looking all the while like a deer caught in headlights.
"Ron! Cut it!" Mione exclaimed and looked at Malfoy before vanishing the food, causing Ron to grumble about food waste by people like Malfoy. And before anyone could say anything, Hermione spoke up again, handing over the basket she was carrying to Harry.
"Here, Harry. Molly has prepared some chocolate truffles for you. You keep them on the counter. Me and Ron will settle in the drawing room." Saying that she turned and all but dragged a still-scowling Ron to the drawing room.
Harry made short work of casting preservative charms on the truffles, keeping them on the top counter of the kitchen island, and returning to Malfoy, who was looking at the counter Harry had just kept the truffles on. Harry cleared his throat to gain the attention of the small blonde, who looked at him with those beguiling grey eyes.
"Don’t worry about what Ron said. He’s just miffed about the situation, is all; he’ll come around eventually." Harry spoke softly. When Malfoy didn’t respond but continued to stare at Harry, he spoke up again: "Come on, let’s go and get this over with, then you can rest for the day." Seeing the uncertainty flash in his eyes, Harry added, "Or do you need a moment more?"
Malfoy seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in, attempted a sneer, and stood up, snapping at Harry when he didn’t move, "Lead the way, Potter, or do you need that moment you were talking about?". Harry felt a hot surge of temper rise inside him at the way Malfoy spoke, making him feel inferior, but he reigned it down and stalked to his living room, leaving Malfoy to follow him, mentally kicking himself for trying to be kind to the Malfoy prat.
In the Drawing room, there was a beige settee behind a small glass table, upon which Mione was seated on one side, holding the maroon throw pillows on her lap, leaving the Pearl white armchair beside for Ron, which was angled at 45 degrees, facing the same glass table. Harry promptly took the empty seat beside Hermione just before Malfoy arrived. Malfoy took in his surroundings; the room was inviting but formal enough for what they were about to do. Malfoy then quietly took his seat at the Maroon love seat, which was placed exactly in front of the table at a little distance. The seating was planned by Ron far before, making the love seat a perfect position for Malfoy to sit, which seemed to be isolated a little from the settee and armchair. Harry felt a twinge in his chest, seeing the loveseat dwarf the blonde. Malfoy looked incredibly small and afraid; with him twiddling his thumbs, all Harry wanted to do was spirit the blond away and give him a warm hug. Harry held in his thoughts and looked at Mione, knowing he couldn’t start speaking when his instincts were screaming at him to comfort the Little in front of him.
Hermione cleared her throat, gaining attention. "Hello there, Malfoy. I didn’t quite greet you earlier. How are you?"
Malfoy sneered his signature sneer and snapped, "You don’t need to ask about my well-being, Mudblood! Ask what you need to ask, and leave me alone." Harry bristled at the insult, but before he could say anything, Ron was on his feet, advancing at Malfoy threateningly.
"Listen here, ferret face. We are not required to take you in or give you shelter or food. If you insult Mione or any of us again, you will be out on your ass before you can blink. You will be out there with no food, shelter, or wand to protect yourself, with people who hate you, the Baby Death Eater. So I’d watch my mouth if I were you!" Ron growled at Malfoy’s face. Harry couldn’t quite see Malfoy’s expression, but he saw the frantic nods and a barely repressed whimper coming out of the blonde. Harry’s heart and mind were at war. One wanted to comfort and protect the other, and the latter was still bristling at the insult.
Ron then took his seat in the armchair, glowering at Malfoy. Malfoy looked like he was trying to make the loveseat swallow him with how much he was pressing into it, and he swallowed several times in fear.
"Alright, you didn’t want niceties. So you are going to get none. Now we want you to explain that you no longer believe in the blood purity shite, what happened to change your mind, and that you mean us no harm. Tell us what happened during and after the war. Convince us you deserve to be taken in, that you deserve all the time we need to invest in you." Ron spoke calmly. Harry wanted to object, but he didn’t know what to say. He was feeling unsettled with how things were processing. He opened his mouth to ask Ron to be gentler. He was stopped by a hand on his knee. He looked at Mione, the owner of the hand, to see her subtly shaking her head, indicating him to keep quiet. Harry looked at Malfoy, giving him an encouraging smile. Malfoy visibly pulled himself together before responding.
"You all know what has happened since sixth grade." Malfoy paused and swallowed again before resuming. "In my sixth year, the D-dark Lord summoned me to assign me a task. He wanted me to kill Headmaster Dum-Dumbledore. Father was in Azkaban, and he wanted me to complete this task along with fixing the Cabinet to sneak the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. He-he said that if I fail, he will k-kill me and Mother." Malfoy let out a shuddering breath at that. Harry could clearly see him nearly slipping into headspace, but he somehow pulled himself back to his adult headspace.
"So the necklace and poison were you? Trying to kill Dumbledore?" Hermione asked quietly, seeming to understand the struggle Malfoy was going through to explain. Malfoy nodded at that.
"I had imperiused Madam Rosmerta to give the cursed necklace to a student and ask them to give it to Dumbledore. That’s how Katie Bell got cursed; Madam Rosmerta gave it to her. And the poison was meant to get to Headmaster Dumbledore. I-I didn’t mean to kill her or you. I was just doing what was necessary to survive" Malfoy looked at Ron, his face pleading to be understood.
"You did repair the Vanishing Cabinet at the end, didn’t you?" Harry spoke gently. Malfoy nodded at that.
"I did. And I was also about to kill Dumbledore. I had his wand. But I couldn’t *swallow* couldn’t cast the k-killing curse. I tried to, but I just couldn’t. I knew I needed to in order to save Mother and myself, but at that moment, I wasn't able to cast it" Malfoy was near tears by this time. Harry nodded in encouragement, having seen what had taken place on that day in the astronomy tower. "Snape had to do-do it for me. And then-and then, I was punished by the Dark Lord for failure. But he didn’t k-kill us because I had managed to sneak the Death Eaters inside the school, and-and Dumbledore was dead."
"How did he punish you?" Ron asked. Malfoy shuddered at the question.
"He cast C-Crucio on me, so many times. And-and it hurt so bad!" Malfoy was slowly slipping into his headspace. Harry could see it. Hermione squeezed his knee, and Harry kept quiet, ignoring his instincts and the demands of his heart.
"And then he-he locked me in a scary room for so many days. I was so scared, and it was very dark." Malfoy sniffed, tears filling his eyes. But the hand on his knee didn’t let Harry do anything but helplessly watch. It’s okay; we need to know what exactly happened. He has to tell us, no matter how difficult Harry told himself.
"Why didn’t you recognize me? That day when we were caught by the snatchers?" Harry wanted to know that.
"Because-because I hated the D-dark Lord, and I-I wanted you to win the war. And-and I didn’t want you to d-die." By this time, Malfoy was slipping in and out of his headspace, and Harry was getting worried.
"What did he do when he found out that it was us? Did he punish you again?" It was Hermione who asked this.
"He-he Locked us in the-the dungeons for all my h-holidays. And-and he let Aunt B-Bella tor-torture me and m-my parents. She used to *sniffle* used to c-cut me up and *sniffle* and used to taunt me, saying that-that I sh-should be able to b-bear little p-pain when I used to c-cry. But it-it hurted a lot. And-and Father and Mother used to s-scream all night. Aunt Bella also used to ex-expement her new curses on me and s-see how long I can bear it." Tears were flowing freely down his pointed chin. Someone gasped at the horror of it all, and Harry was feeling rage course through his veins, wanting to hurt whoever hurt the Little.
"What happened in Azkaban?" Ron quietly asked while Harry was still failing to digest what was said. Draco blanched at hearing Azkaban and spoke, his words tripping over one another at how fast he was speaking.
"Please don’t send me to A-Azkaban. They were all very m-mean to me. They hurted me a lot and-and used to make me do all the ch-chores, and when I didn’t do it to their satis…satif-action, then they used to slap me and-and beat me until everything went dark. They-they used to make me b-beg to let me drink wa-water. Pwease don’ sen’ me back! I be very good to you. I’ll be quiet-quiet as a mouse and-and do all the chores. Pease, I’m sowwy. They-they also tried to do-do very mean th-things to me and-and touched my pee-pee and bum and-and it hurted so bad. Pwease, I don’ wanna go back, I-" And a sob broke through his little chest—a gut-wrenching sob that had Harry’s heart twisting in on itself. He instantly sprang to his feet, but surprisingly, it wasn’t him who reached for the Little first, nor was it Hermione. It was Ron who dashed to Draco’s side, pulling the now sobbing Little to his chest, and tried to hush him.
Draco still blabbered on wetly, his sobs wracking his body. "I do anythin’ you ask me. I’ll be quiet, and-and I don’t even need lotsa space. I won’t even dist-distub you. Pwease. I sowwy for bein mean to you; I won do it again, pwease don sen’ me back."
“Hush, buddy, no one’s sending you back. You will stay with us, and we will all protect you. No one would ever hurt you again. Hush now, little bud," Ron kept murmuring. Harry and Hermione were now beside them, and all three adults had tears in their eyes. Harry slowly caressed the blond head, sitting on the other side of Draco. Draco snapped his head at the caress and immediately held his hands, and as soon as Harry tried holding him, he clambered up to Harry's lap and cried wetly to Harry’s chest, repeating sorry again and again. Harry’s heart broke further at this, but he held the Little tightly, one hand rubbing his back while he rocked them both back and forth, murmuring, "It’s okay, little one," "You’re alright", "I got you" and "Let it all out".
Harry held the blonde Little on his lap while he sobbed his little heart out at all the tragedies that had happened in his life, clutching Harry for dear life. While traitorous tears slipped from Harry’s own eyes, Ron and Mione sat beside him, a warm and comforting presence bu his side. The Little cried himself to sleep in Harry’s arms, his little body still shaking with the occasional sob or a hiccup wracking through him in his sleep, and Harry held on just a little while longer, not wanting to let the hurt Little go yet. Not willing to ignore his heart's demands once more. So Harry held on, still rocking the Little, but it was more for himself than the sleeping boy in his arms. Promising himself that Draco will never know pain again from now on.
Notes:
Andddd I'm back!! Sorry for taking so long. But here's an angst-ridden chapter for you. I'll be trying to update more regularly from now on. And Thanks to all my lovely readers for waiting so patiently for the next chapter.
Do let me know how did you feel about this chapter. What did you think about our Golden Trio? And poor Draco! Wasn't he. The little thing has gone through too much.
Leave me comments and what you liked and what you did not. And don't forget kudos.
-Lots of love
Chapter Text
Harry sat with his two best friends in his dining room, sipping tea; none of them spoke a word. Outside, the sun was setting, as if it were a normal day without any hitch, as if Harry hadn't heard one of the most heartbreaking tales that had happened to an innocent Little. It had been hours since the talk, and Malfoy was still unconscious in the guest room. Harry had carried him there after everything. And now Harry was getting a little worried; he had checked on the blonde many times now, but the blonde hasn't even stirred; it wasn't a good sign; Harry knew that. Harry has even tried to wake him up, but to no avail. All three of them have discussed it and agreed that they'll call Healer Samuels soon if Malfoy still doesn't wake up. Harry looked at the time again, only to see that it had been just 8 minutes since he last checked on the blonde and signed.
"I think we should firecall Healer Samuels. I am not feeling good about this, mate," Ron spoke up, looking as worried as Harry felt.
"I agree; he hasn't had such a long nap since I started taking care of him, not even after he freaked out." Harry added.
"Alright, let's call her and see what's wrong." Mione agreed, finally. She has been reluctant to incur Healer Samuels's weath, which they will, upon hearing they had done something to her patient, in the few hours they have had them in their care. But Harry didn't care anymore. He needed to know what had gone wrong. He was scared to cast any advanced spells on the little one, so all he could describe was that Malfoy was physically fine.
Harry firecalled her Healer Samuels's office, knowing she would be there. She answered very quickly.
"Hello, Healer. I-I wanted to ask if you are free to floo over for a bit?" Harry asked nervously.
"What's the matter, Mr. Potter? Is Draco alright?"
"Uh, about that, he-he is not awake. Been sleeping since morning." Harry was now fidgeting.
"What do you mean he's still sleeping?"
"I checked his basic health; everything seems fine. But he's not getting up. I have also tried waking him up, but to no avail. He-he had a breakdown in the morning, and he was fully in his little space when he went to sleep. So I don't really know...." Harry trailed off.
"What. Have. You. Done. Mr. Potter? Step aside; I'll floo over right now." Barked Healer Samuels.
Harry didn't waste any time in moving aside. Healer Samuels came out of the floo, looking furious.
"Explain!" Healer Samuels demanded
Harry was too worried and nervous to explain to her satisfaction. So Hermione took over and explained in a crisp manner. Healer Samuels didn't say a word; he just nodded and asked Harry to show the way where Malfoy was asleep. Once she entered the room, she forbade any of them from entering with her. Harry knew he was in huge trouble. She has never asked Harry to stay out before.
It was a long 20 minutes in Harry's life to wait for Healer Samuels to come out and say what had gone wrong. Harry and Ron were fidgeting, and Mione was wearing a hole in his living room carpet. Healer Samuels came with a grim face, and Harry's heart sank a little. What if they had pressurized Malfoy so much that he's in danger? What if Malfoy never wakes up again? What if Malfoy's mental health is permanently damaged because of what happened? He was already fragile as it is. Why had they thought doing the talk was a good idea?
"He's not in any danger," Healer Samuels said, breaking Harry's mental monologue. "But whatever you three did today could have resulted in a very dangerous situation with Draco. He might have lost all his memory. You should have consulted me before doing all this." She held her hand up to silence Hermione, who had started to open her mouth to say something. "I understand why you did it. But having a valid reason doesn't give you the right to be careless with a patient whose mental state is already very fragile. You should have known better than this, Mr. Potter." She cast a disappointed stare at Harry. Harry wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. But more than that, he wanted to know what was wrong with Malfoy.
"But, fortunately, he's not in any kind of danger. Physically, mentally, or magically. Making him talk about his trauma has put lots of pressure on his delicate headspace. His magic has forced him to regress to protect his mind. The forced regression has left his body in a healing coma. Because it is the first time he has actually regressed, his body has also undergone several changes in a short amount of time, which were supposed to take months. His body is still undergoing changes at a rapid rate. He will be in this state for a few more hours. By morning, he will wake up. I think he will wake up in his headspace. He will remain in his headspace for a while, until his magic deems his mind healed enough to let him be in his adult headspace. His age in his headspace might vary. Right about now, he will be in the lowest spectrum of his age range. Or maybe lower than that. Be prepared; he might be anything between a toddler and an infant. He will need proper care. And be careful with what you say in front of him. Do not trigger him. I don't want any more complexities to arise. Understood?"
All three of them bobbed their heads eagerly. "This is a step forward in his case. It's good that he's in his headspace now. It will do the stubborn little thing some good. But, Mr. Potter, do be careful. One more such mistake, and I will personally see an end to your career. Saviour or not. I will need to go back now. I have kept a few draughts at the bedside table. Make sure you give them to him after every meal. And get him proper furniture and equipment. You are a caregiver, Mr. Potter; I understand you know how to handle him when he's in his little space." Harry nodded again.
"You mentioned physical changes?" Hermione asked, ever the curious one.
"I reckon you haven't looked at him properly after what happened. Do go and do that; you'll know what I'm talking about. I'll take your leave now." With that, she left through the floo with a whoosh. Leaving all three to breathe a sigh of relief. They all rushed inside the guest room to check in on the blonde. The blonde was still fast asleep, little puffs of breath escaping his nose; his mouth was slightly open, showing a peek of his teeth. His hands were in little fists. That's when Harry noticed that those fists were smaller than before. His cheeks held baby fat in them, and his whole face looked smaller and more childlike. Harry tentatively tugged the blanket aside to reveal Malfoy, who had clearly shrunk from before the talk. He stood about 4'4 if that. Maybe slightly less than that. He has lost nearly 8 inches. Someone gasped at the sight of Malfoy. But Harry was too busy looking at the Little infront of him to see who. The pajamas Harry put Malfoy in, after he had cried himself to sleep, were large on him. Malfoy was drowning in the extra fabric. But he looked so adorable in his big pajamas that Harry had to restrain himself from awing. But he couldn't resist himself from smoothing the blond hairs. He turned back to his friends and then slowly tucked the boy under his blanket. He also cast a charm to keep him from falling down his bed in his sleep. It'd let him get down if Malfoy was conscious. He also cast a monitoring charm, just in case, and all three headed out.
*****
The first thing Harry did after dinner was get his books related to Little and start studying. He was an apprentice; he needs to know more than what he knows now, and he has to catch up on his studies anyway. Harry kept reading until midnight before he passed out due to exhaustion. He woke up at 8 in the morning, still sitting on his chair, his head resting on his table. Getting up, he regretted doing that when he felt a sharp pain in his lower back. Sighing, he went on to get freshened up and immediately went to check in on Malfoy, who was still peacefully sleeping. But he had changed his position, which meant he was out of his healing coma and was just sleeping. Then he headed out to his kitchen to make some breakfast. Ron and Mione had promised to come as soon as they could in the morning, so he made a big breakfast for the three of them. He didn't know what Malfoy's age would be when he woke up, so he reckoned he could make do with the leftover formulas and baby food he had from St. Mungo's if Malfoy needed any of it. Just as he was setting up the table, the floo whooshed, indicating his friends had arrived.
They were all sitting in his living room, talking about everything and nothing, when they heard the monitor charm chime. Realizing that Malfoy was up, they waited for a few minutes to see if he'd come out of the room on his own. When they heard no other sound, Harry slowly made his way to the guest room to find the bed empty. He turned around to check the en suite bathroom and found it open and empty too. Looking around the room, he could see no one. Where did he go? He couldn't have apparated, nor could he get out of the window, seeing that it was a magical one. He ran his eyes around the room again, getting worried.
"Malfoy?" He called out to see if he would get a response. Harry strained his ears to hear something when he heard a small, barely there, muffled sob. Harry breathed out, calming his nerves, and wracked his brain. Malfoy must have woken up in his headspace. Where would a child hide if he woke up in a strange place? Think Harry. Under the bed? Harry kneeled down to see if Malfoy was under it. Where else? He couldn't see any legs below the curtains, so he couldn't be behind them either. Where else? Harry ran his eyes again, trying to think where a person could hide. His eyes fell on the large mahogany cupboards. He slowly opened those, not making any sudden noises. He turned around when he heard footsteps to find Ron and Mione looking worried. He motioned for them to remain silent and fully open the door.
Down in the lowest rack, he spied a little leg peeking out. He lowered himself to the ground, sitting on his haunches. The sight in front of him twisted his heart. There, amidst the linens kept, was the small boy, his hands pressed against his mouth to keep himself from making any noise, while silent tears dripped down his little face. Malfoy looked so scared, and he was shaking with suppressed sobs, wracking his body. Malfoy was completely in his headspace. Harry reckoned that, as Healer Samuels said, he was on his lowest spectrum of age. Suppressing his sigh, Harry spoke up,
"Hey there, why are you hiding here, little one?" When Harry got no response other than Malfoy staring at him with those tear filled eyes, he tried again.
"Malfoy?-" Before he could utter anything, he was stopped by the violent flinch from Malfoy. Maybe calling him by his last name is not really right.
"Draco? What's wrong, little one?" Harry asked in his softest voice.
"Are you scared?" Harry prompted again. After a moment, he got a hesitant nod from the boy.
"Oh, Draco, none of us are going to hurt you; instead, we will protect you. I promise. Can you come out for me?" Malfoy shook his head at that.
"Do you remember me? I'm your friend, Little one. You can talk to me. Tell me, why are you scared? I promise I'll do everything I can to help you." Harry spoke again, feeling helpless in the face of a crying little boy.
After a while, Malfoy spoke up, sniffing, "Meanies. Hurt" and a sob broke out of the little. And he instantly covered his mouth with his hand, looking scared at the prospect of making any noise. Harry suppressed the rage brewing inside him and concentrated on the facts and symptoms exhibited by Malfoy. His speech was broken and simple, which has to mean he must be anywhere around 1-3 years old. And he remembers everything that had happened, might be in a childlike version, seeing Healer Samuels had removed the worst of it. But even after that, if Malfoy was this scared and traumatized, Harry did not want to know what the 'worst of it' consisted of.
Taking a deep breath Harry spoke again, making sure none of his inner turmoil leaked into his voice. "Yeah? Did those Meanies hurt you? That's not nice of them. How is this?I and Ron will beat up those meanies if they ever come near you. And, Hermione over there? She's very good at magic, and she will magic the house to make sure no one else comes in. And then you need not be scared anymore, and we can play! What do you think?" Harry made his voice as excited as he could. Mione and Ron, who had come and sat behind him, waved at the blonde when their names were mentioned. Harry knew they would have a warm expression on their faces to ease the little one.
Malfoy seemed to think it over; by this time, he had relaxed from the frightened little boy to just a scared boy. It was progress. Harry thought. "We pawy?" Malfoy asked in a small voice.
"Yes! We'll play whatever you want. We can play blocks; we can read stories! And I thought we could eat those very yummy Chocolate Truffles that I have. We can then play King! You will become the little prince. How does that sound?" Harry exclaimed, wracking his brain to think what else a toddler could play. He had to get some toys for the boy soon.
Malfoy was already bouncing on his spot. "And-and chocate? 2 chocate! Me? And no meanies?"
"Yes! No meanies. You will get two chocolates after you have your breakfast! And we have yummy milk too! Don't we, Ron?"
"Uh-Oh yes! We have chocolate milk! And we can have pancakes with lots of syrup for breakfast." Ron continued catching up.
Malfoy was nodding frantically, his fears forgotten for the time being.
"So will you come out now? Or else your chocolates will be sad that you didn't eat them." Malfoy looked at all of them and slowly crawled out of his hiding space. Harry was so happy that he wanted to cheer at that.
The moment Malfoy was near him, Harry all but grabbed him and was about to go back to the kitchen when he felt it. Wet pants. Looking down at the linens, he could see a wet spot there as well. Harry was thinking about how to broach the subject when Ron spoke.
"Did you have a little accident, buddy?" Harry and Malfoy whipped their heads towards Ron. Harry was glaring while Malfoy looked down at his pants, and noticing the wetness, his lips trembled before a small sob emerged. Malfoy covered his mouth again, and silent tears rolled down. He kept mumbling through his hands, "I-I so-sowwy." Harry sighed at that. This was going to be a long day.
Notes:
Hello lovelies!!
Thankyou for waiting so long, but here is the next chapter.I'm sorry for taking so long again. I'm swamped with work and have a writer's block but I promise I will not abandon this fic.
Please let me know how did you find the chapter? Comment down, I'd love to hear from you.
-Love, your author!
Chapter Text
Harry took an hour to console the sobbing Little. Glaring at Ron in between, who gave sheepish smiles but did not lift a finger to help him. Harry swayed with the Little in his arms to help him calm down, and slowly the sobs tapered to hiccups and the Little calmed down sucking on his thumb for comfort. Harry had noticed the considerable difference in Draco's body frame. He’s gotten smaller, now about a little less than 4 ft tall, looking like a 5 year old, but there was no baby fat. Draco looked all skin and bone.
“ Hey, you alright now, little one?” Harry cooed at the boy. Draco mumbled something. "What was that, can you speak loudly?” Harry spoke gently.
" I sowwy” Draco lisped.
"Why are you sorry?” Harry asked, confused.
“ Mess. I-i sowwy. P’ease no mad.” Draco said in a small voice, pointing at his crotch to indicate the mess, lips trembling and eyes brimming with tears.
"Oh Draco, no, we are not mad at you for having an accident. Little boys like you have accidents because you can't control it. And that's okay. We would never get mad at you for something like that. Now, come on, let's wipe those tears and get you out of those icky pants. Yeah?” Draco nodded, eyes still tearful. Harry accioed a wipe- he should really get things for the little- and carefully wiped his face, while Draco scrunched up his nose adorably. By that time, Hermione had transfigured a piece of cloth into a changing mat. Harry laid Draco down on it, and cautiously started undoing his pants, not knowing how he would react to that as it was the first time Draco was being put into a diaper. Draco looked uncomfortable, looking a little scared when Ron swept in and started making faces at him, which sufficiently distracted Draco. Quickly Harry removed the wet clothes and put on a transfigured nappy and the now dried and cleaned pants, courtesy to Hermione. Thankfully Draco did not notice a thing and was now giggling at Ron's antics. Harry refrained from awwing at the sight.
All four of them went to the dining hall, Ron and Hermione immediately busied themselves in setting the plates, and Harry conjured a passable high chair, and went to put the Little down, but Draco whimpered and held Harry thightly. Draco clung like a Koala, not letting his grip on Harry's shirt loosen, no matter how much Harry tried to coax him to let go. Draco's lips trembled before tears started streaming down.
"What's wrong, Draco? Don't you want to sit here and eat yummy food?” Draco shook his head, whimpering "S'ay”
"Do you want to stay with me while we eat?” Harry questioned, to which he received a nod from Draco.
“ Alright then, you can sit on my lap for breakfast today.” Harry went over to his place and sat, with Draco on his lap, and said “ Now, let's wipe those tears shall we?” Harry wiped Draco's face again, while Mione and Ron set up plates for Harry and Draco, making sure Draco's plate had lot's of syrup on it. “ Should I feed you these yummy pancakes to you, Draco?”
Draco sat on Harry’s lap, his small frame stiff with fear. He stared wide-eyed at the plate of food, eyes darting between it and the faces around him. " F-For, Daco?”. Harry spoke, saying softly, “It’s all for you, little one,” Draco’s eyes filled suddenly with tears, and a strangled sob burst from his chest.
The sound was raw, desperate, cutting through the room. Harry’s heart clenched, and before he could react, Mione stepped forward, her eyes wide with worry. The sudden movement made Draco flinch, his tiny fingers tightening on Harry’s shirt as if holding on for dear life and sobs increased.
“It’s okay, Draco. No one’s going to hurt you,” Harry whispered, his voice steady despite the ache inside him. He kept his touch gentle, one hand supporting the boy’s back as Draco shivered. Mione stopped in her tracks, eyes glistening as she saw the fear etched in the little’s trembling form. Slowly, she knelt on the floor, making herself smaller, less threatening.
Ron, who had moved abruptly at the first cry, froze mid-step, realizing too late that his reaction had frightened the boy further. He exchanged a look with Harry, filled with helplessness, before taking a step back and standing still, hands raised as if to show he meant no harm.
Draco’s sobs came in waves, tiny gasps that made his whole body shudder. Harry was quick to react and turned the little to face him and cuddled closer. Draco pressed his face into Harry’s chest, hiding, trying to block out the unfamiliar faces and the too-big room. Harry rocked him gently, murmuring soft reassurances that he was safe, that it was okay to be scared.
Mione’s voice joined in, soft and soothing. “You’re safe, honey . We’re right here,” she said, eyes never leaving the boy. Harry felt the tension in Draco’s small form begin to ease, the sobs quieting into hiccups. The weight of the room seemed to shift, not lighter, but more bearable.
Draco’s fingers loosened slightly on Harry’s shirt, and he dared to peek out, eyes still damp, but searching, questioning. Harry met his gaze with a small smile, full of warmth. “We’re not going anywhere, Draco. We’ve got you.”
A fragile moment of quiet settled between them, broken only by the last of Draco’s hiccups. Mione reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of the blanket wrapped around the boy’s shoulders. This time, Draco didn’t flinch. He stayed pressed to Harry, but the shaking ebbed, replaced by the tired weight of trust trying to find its way in.
Draco’s breathing slowed, each shaky exhale softer than the last. He shifted slightly on Harry’s lap, still wary but no longer caught in the storm of panic. Harry could feel the boy’s small hands relax just a little, fingers still clutching but no longer clawing.
Mione and Ron want back to their seats. They searched Harry’s eyes for a signal, a sign of what to do next, but Harry just nodded at them, letting them know they were moving in the right direction. The room was still, each person holding their breath, careful not to break the fragile calm that had settled.
Draco’s head turned slightly, and he peeked up at Mione, eyes wide and uncertain. She offered a tentative smile, her voice gentle as she said, “Would you like to try a bite, Draco? Just one, and we can sit together.”
Draco hesitated, his grip loosening bit by bit. Harry took a fork, cutting a small piece of pancake, and brought it close to Draco. “The pancakes look sad that Draco isn’t eating them. Should we try a bite, baby?” he asked.
Ron grinned. “Say ahh, buddy!”
Encouraged, Draco opened his mouth, mimicking Ron, and Harry fed him the first bite.
“ It's yummy, right?”. Draco gave a shy smile to Ron for the question. Harry fed him four more bites before Draco was squirming. Harry understood that Draco must be feeling full. It wasn't even the right diet to feed a Little who has been starved for so long. But beggars can't be choosers. Harry had to make do with them until he got the proper supplies. Harry sighed, rubbing Draco's arm and decided he should put the Little to sleepy, who looked ready to crash or burst into another set of sobs. He let Draco rest his head on his chest and rubbed his back soothingly, while he had his own breakfast. By the time all three were done, Draco was fast asleep, his breath coming in little puffs, his thumb has found its way inside his mouth and Dearo was suckling it lazily.
As Harry glanced down, he couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight of Draco dozing in his arms, tiny hand gripping his shirt as if afraid he might disappear. Ron and Hermione had both fallen silent, careful not to disturb the peacefulness that had finally settled over them.
Ron leaned forward, keeping his voice barely a whisper. “He really trusts you, doesn’t he? Must be the first time in a long time he’s felt safe.”
Harry’s gaze didn’t leave Draco. “Yeah… It feels like he’s been through more than any little should have to handle.” He ran a thumb gently over Draco’s shoulder, careful not to wake him. “But he’s safe now. We’ll make sure of that.”
He watched the little one for a moment, feeling the peaceful weight of him as he lay curled up, thumb in his mouth. The vulnerability in Draco's quiet form tugged at Harry's heart, and he couldn’t help but brush a light hand over the boy’s silver-blond hair.
As much as Harry wanted to stay like this, he knew Draco needed a proper rest. So, slowly, he rose, careful to keep Draco cradled against him as he moved down the hallway to the guest room they’d set up for him. The soft creak of the floor was the only sound in the quiet house, and Harry took extra care, walking slowly to keep Draco from stirring.
When he reached the room, he nudged the door open with his foot and stepped inside. The room was simple, but cozy—Hermione had been quick to transform the space with warm-toned bedding and a few soft toys she'd conjured just that morning. Harry eased Draco down onto the bed, laying him on his side, then covered him gently with a blanket.
Draco shifted a little, his hand reaching out unconsciously as he settled into the soft mattress. He murmured something, a sleepy babble, and Harry patted his back softly until he fell back into a deep sleep.
Standing back, Harry let out a small sigh of relief, feeling a little more secure about Draco’s place here with them. He looked around the room, taking in the sight of Draco's peaceful form nestled against the pillows, and made a mental checklist of what they still needed to get for him.
“Right… essentials,” he whispered to himself.
Harry grabbed a bit of parchment from the bedside table and quickly began to jot down the items in his untidy handwriting, thinking through each one carefully.
Essentials for Draco:
- Diapers — Merlin knows we’ll need enough for a few weeks, at least.
- Baby wipes — could probably charm them to stay soft and gentle.
- Clothing — small, comfortable ones; Draco’s sizes are different from typical Little’s.
- Bottles and formula powder — he might still need extra nourishment to help him get his strength back.
- Blankets and soft bedding — Hermione’s made do with charms, but he needs something permanent.
- Stuffed toys or anything comforting — he’s going to need something he can hold onto.
- Pacifiers
- Bib
Harry paused, tapping the quill against his chin. Maybe some toddler-safe books? he thought. Draco might enjoy something familiar but gentle enough for his age.
With the essentials listed, he thought back on the pancakes from breakfast. Proper food, he scribbled, soft snacks, fruits—anything he’ll eat and keep down.
Maybe he should get all the furniture needed some other time. Maybe he should take Draco with him and make a outing. Harry decided nodding to himself.
At that moment, Hermione peeked in, holding a small satchel. "How’s he doing?” she whispered, glancing at Draco's sleeping form with a tender smile. Ron right behind her.
“Out cold,” Harry replied softly, tucking the list into his pocket. “I made a list. We’ll need all this to make sure he’s comfortable.”
Ron nodded, determination lighting his eyes. “We can handle it, mate. I’ll make sure we get everything—even if it means stopping by three different places.”
Harry chuckled softly, a hint of gratitude in his smile. “Alright. I’ll keep an eye on him while you’re out.”
After a few more hushed exchanges, Hermione and Ron headed off to gather supplies, leaving Harry to settle back, Draco’s small soft snores comforting him. As he sat there, listening to the gentle sound of Draco’s breathing, he felt an unexpected sense of peace.
With a gentle sigh, Harry leaned back, letting himself drift into the quiet, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, he wasn’t facing them alone. He had his friends, and that was enough for now.
Notes:
Hey Lovlies,
Look who's back. I'm sorry for such delay. And I still won't be regular. The update will be slow, but you'll get them.
So how was the chapter? Also where do you think we're are heading next? Tell me what you would like me to incorporate in the story. Harry is handling the situation great I think. This is more of a filler chapter let's say. I hope to post soon. Leave comments and your love please. I love to read them. A big thank you to all those who are still here with me! ❤️
Happy Halloween 👻 🎃!!!
Also Happy Diwali 🪔 !!!- Love, author
Chapter Text
Harry was roused from sleep by the faint sound of sniffles nearby. Blinking in the dimness, he rubbed his eyes and looked at the small bed beside his armchair. Draco lay curled up, his small frame trembling as soft, stifled sobs filled the quiet of the room. His thin hands clutched the edge of the blanket, knuckles white, his body tense with a fear that seemed to cling to him.
Harry felt a pang in his chest. He leaned forward slowly, reaching out to gently rest his hand on Draco’s back. The boy flinched at the touch, instinctively shrinking away, though he didn’t pull back entirely.
“Draco?” Harry whispered, keeping his voice as soft and steady as he could. “What’s wrong, little one?”
Draco froze, his small frame going still as if he were bracing himself. “Daco hafta go ‘way to Az’ban? Misteh-Misteh Pottah send Daco ‘way to mean people?” Draco asked fearfully, his voice trembling. Harry was shocked out of words, and when he didn’t respond fast enough, in a voice barely above a whisper, Draco began to speak, his words tumbling out in a frantic, broken stream. “P-please, Misteh Hawwy… don’… don’ send Daco ‘way, pease” he begged, his voice thick with tears. “I-I’ll be good, so good, I p-p’omise! Won’t make no t’ouble, won’t ask for nothing. Can… can be quiet… can do cho’es. P’ease don’ sen’ Daco t-to Az’ban.”
Harry felt his heart clench painfully as the boy’s words sank in, each one heavy with desperation. Draco’s shoulders shook with each word, his face pressed into the blanket as if he couldn’t bear to look up, his big eyes peering up at him, his little hands twisting the edge of the blanket tightly. Harry’s mind reeled, stunned by the depth of Draco’s fear—so certain he’d be abandoned, sent away for the slightest mistake.
Draco seemed to sense Harry’s silence as a kind of judgment, and his pleas grew more frantic, his voice trembling. “D-Daco can stay in a… a corner, Mistah Harry. Won’t need lotta space… won’t ask for lotta food also, p-promise,” he stammered, the words tumbling out faster now as if he feared his chance to beg was slipping away. “Jus… jus please… p’ease don’t send Daco ‘way. P-pomise, won’t cause no trouble. C-can be good, can do all the chores, can—”
“Draco,” Harry interrupted gently, voice thick with emotion, unable to bear any of it anymore, but Draco was too deep in his fear to hear.
“D’aco will be quiet, Mistah. Harry. Won’t even know I’m here, will be so quiet” he whimpered, still clutching the blanket as if it were his last anchor. “Please… please… don’… don’t make Daco go to the bad people…”
The words were broken by quiet sobs, and for a moment, Harry was too shocked to respond. He hadn’t realized just how deeply Draco’s fear ran, how lost and unwanted the boy truly felt.
Taking a steadying breath, Harry finally found his voice. He reached out, gently lifting Draco’s trembling form and pulling him into his arms. “Draco…Baby, no, listen to me. You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured softly, wrapping the boy in a firm, reassuring embrace. “You’re safe here, and I’m not sending you away. Not now, not ever.”
Draco let out a small, choked breath as if daring to hope. “B-but…Daco was a bad boy to Mistah. Harry, I so sowwy, n-now Daco can be g-good. Daco o-only ….. need tiny space, … and-and only tiny food, pomise, You don hafta take Daco’s care. Daco will- will be outta your way.” he mumbled, his voice still thick with tears as he clung to Harry’s shirt, fingers clutching desperately. “Don’t send Daco… please… can… can be good, I swear.”
Harry tightened his hold on the boy, gently rubbing his back, his heart aching with each plea that left Draco’s lips. “You don’t have to do anything to stay here, Draco,” he said, his voice steady but gentle. “You don’t have to be quiet, or do chores, or… or give up food. None of that. You don’t have to earn that. You can have as much space, food and attention you want, Little one. And you can be as loud as you want too. No one will send you away for that. No one will send you away for any reason at all. I won’t let that happen ever. You don’t have to do anything to stay here. Do you understand?”
Draco looked up at him, his wide gray eyes full of tears, lips trembling. “I… I don’t?”
“No, Draco,” Harry replied, brushing a tear from the boy’s cheek. “You’re safe here with me, and I won’t send you away, no matter what. You’re staying right here.”
Draco stared at him, eyes shining with disbelief, his small hand still clutching Harry’s shirt as if he couldn’t quite let go. “Draco… Daco stay with Mistah Hawy?” he whispered, barely able to speak the words.
Harry nodded, pulling him close. “Yes, Draco. You’re staying with me.”
Draco let out a shaky sigh, his body slowly relaxing as he leaned into Harry’s chest, still sniffling but calmer now. Harry could feel the boy’s grip loosen, though his small hand never quite let go, as if he still needed to hold onto something solid. Just then, the door creaked open, and Harry looked up to see Hermione and Ron standing there, bags of supplies in their arms, their eyes widening as they took in the scene.
Draco glanced over, catching sight of them, and immediately stiffened, clutching at Harry’s shirt again, his fear returning. “P-please… p’ease, Miss He’mo-ninny, Mistah Ron… don’… don’t send Daco away,” he stammered, his voice a desperate whisper. “Daco can… can be good don’t need… don’t need much. Can stay in a little space… don’t have to waste no food on Daco. J-jus don’t send… don’t send me to the bad place.”
Ron looked stricken, his face softening with sympathy as he took a hesitant step forward. “Hey, Draco… no one’s sending you away. You’re staying right here with us,” he said, his voice unusually gentle.
Hermione set the bags down, moving closer and kneeling to meet Draco’s gaze, her eyes filled with quiet compassion. “Draco, we got all these things just for you, who will use them if you go silly?” she said softly, gesturing to the supplies. “No one’s going to send you anywhere. You belong here, with us.”
Draco’s wide eyes flicked between them, his face a mixture of confusion and fragile hope. “F-fo Daco?” he whispered, his voice trembling.
“Yes, Draco, all for you,” Hermione replied, reaching out a tentative hand, which Draco instinctively leaned into, craving the touch.
“Look Draco, we bought you lots of toys, and these wicked blocks that are just waiting for you to play. And look, these soft sweaters with snitches on them. And there’s a mini Hogwarts Express too all for you. You and me will play with all these wicked toys, okay? We will have lots of fun while these two do the boring adult stuff.” Ron rambled, distracting the baby effectively from the emotional turmoil. Draco let out a watery giggle, looking at the toy train which Ron was animatedly waving in the air, making whistling sounds. Harry saw the exhaustion in the little boy’s eyes after the breakdown and decided another short nap was necessary since it hadn’t been long since they went to sleep after all.
“Yes, you can play with all of them, but before that you have to have a teeny tiny nap. Just close your eyes for a minute that is all. And we will be right here waiting for you to open those pretty eyes. Now rest your eyes a little” Harry murmured, rocking the boy in his arms, feeling the tension completely easing out of the boy.
Draco let out a tiny, exhausted sigh, his small body finally relaxing as he leaned into Harry’s chest, clinging to him as though afraid to let go. Harry held him close, silently promising to keep him safe, no matter what it took. And as Draco’s breathing began to even out, a flicker of trust finally softened his tear-streaked face.
“Fuck Mate, he’s been through so much and he’s a very young little at that. If I get my hands on the assholes who did that to him, they will wish they were never born” Ron silently raged, his words quiet.
“Oh they will al face the consequence to this, I promise. Atleast the ones that are alive. We will hunt every one of them and make sure they never touch Draco ever again.” Hermoine’s words held a promise that Harry knew she wouldn't rest until she fulfilled them. Harry smiled at his best friends, grateful for all they have done and are doing in his life.
Harry let out a sigh of frustration and anger, “Right, I was wondering if I should go and visit Lucius Malfoy in the prison. Would you send out a letter to Kingsley on my behalf, Mione? I want to know what the bloody hell he was thinking, hiding his son’s classification like that, and letting him be sent to that cruel hellhole.”
Hermione nodded, “ I would suggest to first let Draco settle here before leaving him to visit Malfoy. He’s clearly attached and seems to have a serious case of abandonment issue. Wouldn’t be right to leave him right now. Maybe we can visit him for you?”
“No, you are right, the timing is not right. I will visit him in a weeks’ time. Should be enough time for Draco to be comfortable to leave him with one of you for a few hours. But I want to do it myself. It has to be me. Also I was thinking of starting the adoption process of Draco, so officially he would belong to me. There’s no way I am letting the Little be sent to someone else.”
“Are you sure Harry?” Hermione, ever the voice of reason, asked.
“Yes. Quite sure. I’m never letting him go. Not after all of this. The last sheds of the doubt is stripped away from my mind. And there’s a feeling of contentment while I hold him. I have treated quite a few little’s but he’s different.”
“Ofcourse he is. You and he have always revolved each other. You have always gravitated to him, mate. It’s a bloody good thing too. That you have decided to not send him, and keep him. I, myself am quite attached to the Little thing already” Ron cracked a smile.
Hermione smiled, promising Harry she would bring the adoption papers, and start the process of it. Then they moved to the living room, Ron excitedly showing Harry all the toys and clothes they had brought for Draco, while Hermione piped here and there, showing the utilitarian things brought for the Little, along with some books, which she vowed to read to the little guy.
“Don’t you guys think, you have gone a tad bit overboard with the shopping?”
“Shut up mate, this is nothing. You will see overboard when mum gets to know about the whole fiasco and she starts bringing food and clothes to her new Grandkid.”
“Merlin,, I had completely forgotten about informing this to them. Molly is going to have my head for not letting her know about Draco before. I should really write her a letter.”
“Don’t worry Mate, I will let her know, me and Mione have to go there today anyway. Dad had asked some muggle things that we have to drop off. Be ready for Mum to barge in in the morning” Ron laughed, prompting the other two to laugh, forgetting the heartbreak they all experienced for the time being.
Notes:
Hey Loves, *Coming out of my cave with a fresh chapter*
I know i have been forever away and that's not really nice of me, but yayy i am back!! *Sees no one is excited, looking at the deadpan expressions of readers* *Laughs nervously*
Okay, moving on,
How was the chapter? Let me know everything you think. I love love love to read all your thoughts. Kudos are also very much appreciated. Its been quite a long, and my writing style might have changed a lil bit. Let me know how i sthe writing style, and what do you guys think i should improve on.Also please point out any grammar errors. I use grammarly and stuff for editing so might have missed quite a few.
ANyway, thank you very much for still being here
*Runs back to my cave, already thinking of new ideas to write*
Bye!!
Chapter Text
Harry exhaled quietly, running a tired hand through his hair as he glanced at the small figure curled up on the bed. Draco had finally drifted off, his tiny body pressed into the blankets, one hand still loosely clutching the sleeve of Harry’s shirt as if afraid he’d disappear. Even in sleep, there was a slight crease in his brow, as if he expected to wake up and find it had all been a cruel trick. Hermione has left to Ministry to get the papers required for adoption, and start the adoption process. Harry had no doubt the adoption would go smoothly, with Kingsley himself wanting this to happen, in fact he had manipulated the situation so this would happen.
Harry sighed. It had only been a day, but already, it felt like his entire world had shifted.
Draco Malfoy was a Little. A scared, fragile, underfed Little who had spent Merlin-knows-how-long in a hellish place, being treated as nothing more than a burden. And now, he was Harry’s responsibility.
The weight of that truth settled heavily in his chest as he turned away from the bed, moving toward the supplies Ron and Hermione had brought. Harry charmed the bed so that he’d hear if Draco woke up. He and Ron managed to carry everything to the living room so Harry can go through them without disturbing the sleeping baby. They’d gone a bit overboard—not that Harry could blame them. Stacks of tiny clothes, soft sweaters, thick blankets, bottles of baby-safe lotion and shampoo, even stuffed animals were piled neatly inside the bag, which certainly had a quite a good extension charm performed on it, no doubt it was Hermione.
"Mate, are you just going to stand there staring, or are you actually going to have a go at it?"” Ron teased from the couch, his feet propped up on the table as he flipped through a Quidditch magazine he had found on the coffee table.
Harry rolled his eyes but crouched beside the bags anyway, pulling out a small, knitted jumper with golden snitches stitched into the fabric. He ran a hand over it, the soft wool reminding him of the Weasley sweaters Mrs. Weasley made every year.
"It looks like something your mum would make," he remarked, glancing up. Harry's eyes widened as he spotted Hermione standing at the doorway to the living room, her bushy hair haloed by the soft afternoon light.
Hermione smiled in amusement. “No, but when she hears about Draco, she’ll probably knit a whole wardrobe for him.”
Ron snorted. “More like a whole trunk’s worth. She’ll have kittens when she learns about this.” He peered at the sweater in Harry’s hands and grinned. “Good thing we grabbed a couple of those. Bet the little guy will love ‘em.”
Harry hummed in response, setting the sweater aside and digging through the rest of the clothes. Tiny socks, mittens, a few soft cotton shirts—all smaller than anything he’d ever bought before. The sight of them made his stomach twist. How long had Draco gone without proper clothes? Without warmth?
He swallowed the thought down, focusing instead on the other items. There were toys—stacking blocks, a miniature enchanted Hogwarts Express, soft plushies of magical creatures, and even a little wooden broomstick (which Harry was definitely putting away until he determined if Draco was old enough to use it safely).
“Hope he likes trains,” Ron commented, reaching over to roll the small Hogwarts Express toy across the table. It let out a tiny, enchanted whistle. “Figured he might like something familiar, you know?”
Harry glanced at the toy and nodded, feeling another rush of gratitude toward his friends. “Yeah… I think he will.”
As he sorted out the last of the supplies—potions for proper nutrition, a few bedtime books, and an assortment of soft blankets, the muggle formula powder for young littles—Hermione gently placed a folder on the table in front of him. “And this,” she said, her voice quieter now, “is for when you’re ready.”
Harry’s stomach clenched as he recognized the stack of parchment inside. Adoption papers.
He stared at them for a long moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on him.
“You don’t have to fill them out right away,” Hermione added gently, as if reading his mind. “But I thought you might want to at least look through them.”
Harry exhaled through his nose, nodding. He did want to look—he needed to. Because the idea of sending Draco anywhere else, of letting someone else decide his future, made something in his chest tighten painfully.
“Thanks, Mione,” he said, his voice quieter than before.
She gave him a soft smile before turning back to the books she was organizing. Ron, sensing the shift in mood, cleared his throat and stretched. “Well, while you get all sentimental, I call dibs on playing with Draco first when he wakes up.”
Harry huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re terrible.”
“I prefer fun uncle, thanks.” Ron smirked, tossing a stuffed dragon onto the couch beside him. “Besides, if the little guy’s going to stick around, he needs to learn important things. Like how to properly complain about the Cannons’ performance.”
Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes. “Ron, he’s barely settling in. Maybe let’s focus on helping him feel safe before you start ruining his taste in Quidditch teams?”
“I’d never,” Ron gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “The Cannons are a fine team—”
Harry shook his head fondly as his friends bickered, a small smile tugging at his lips. Merlin, when had his life changed so much?
A quiet noise from the bedroom made them all pause. Harry quickly went to the bedroom to see Draco stirring, his tiny body stretching slightly under the blanket before he blinked sleepily at them, thumb still tucked in his mouth.
Harry softened instantly. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he murmured.
Draco blinked at him, still groggy, then his eyes flickered toward Ron and Hermione. His tiny fingers clutched at the blanket, suddenly looking unsure.
Ron, ever the distraction maker who had grabbed the Hogwarts Express toy on his way, waved it animatedly in the air. “Draco, buddy! You awake enough for some serious train racing? Because I’ve been practicing and waiting forever for you to wake up!”
Draco’s sleepy eyes widened slightly at the moving toy, his gaze flickering between Ron’s eager grin and the tiny train whistling softly in his hand.
Harry saw it—that brief hesitation, the nervousness that came when Draco remembered he wasn’t alone with just Harry anymore. But then, after a moment, the tiniest of nods.
Ron beamed. “Brilliant! Come on then, I’ll show you how to make it go super-fast.”
Draco hesitated, then slowly sat up, still clutching his blanket. Harry reached out instinctively, running a reassuring hand over Draco’s back as he whispered, “It’s okay. We’re all here.”
The little one turned, staring up at him with sleepy gray eyes. Then, slowly, he reached for the train Ron was offering, his tiny fingers wrapping around it carefully.
Ron grinned, scooping up the baby along with the blankets and went to the living room while Harry and Hermione followed them. “Good lad. Now, let me tell you the secret to winning a train race—”.
As Ron started chattering, Draco’s grip on the toy tightened, and—just barely—his lips curled into the smallest of smiles.
Ron proved to be an excellent distraction for Draco. The little one, still wrapped in his blanket, sat cross-legged on the floor as Ron animatedly showed him how to race the Hogwarts Express toy across the enchanted tracks Hermione had conjured. At first, Draco only watched, hesitant and unsure, but with Ron’s constant chatter and exaggerated reactions every time the train crashed into a block, a small, barely-there giggle slipped out his train still clutched in his grip. Why did they bring two versions of the same train Harry wasn’t sure.
Harry, sitting on the couch with Hermione, didn’t miss the way Draco immediately clamped his lips shut afterward, as if he wasn’t sure if laughing was allowed. But Ron, ever the one to make people comfortable, acted as though nothing had happened and simply cheered loudly when Draco’s train managed to loop perfectly around the tracks.
"There we go! You’re a natural, mate," Ron praised, ruffling Draco’s fine silver hair.
Draco ducked his head, but his lips twitched ever so slightly.
Encouraged, Ron grinned. "Right, now that we’ve got the train moving, we need to work on speed, yeah? A true train master always knows how to make his train go faster."
Draco blinked up at him, still unsure. Draco mumbled something looking up at Ron.
"Yeah, buddy?"
"Go… f-fast?" Draco asked, pointing at the train in his hands.
Ron gasped dramatically. "Exactly! Blimey! He’s getting the hang of it!" He tapped the train with his wand, making it whistle excitedly. "Alright, mate. I’ll show you the best trick. But first, you have to say, ‘Go, go, speedy train!’ It’s the magic words, you see."
Draco hesitated, looking at the tiny train in his hands, his lips parting slightly. He set his train on the track, then, so softly it was almost inaudible, he whispered, "Go… go, spee’dy twain…"
The Hogwarts Express let out a happy choo-choo before zooming across the enchanted tracks. Draco’s eyes went wide in surprise, his tiny fingers curling into his blanket as he watched it go.
Ron let out an exaggerated gasp. "Merlin’s beard! You did it! You’re the best train racer I’ve ever met!"
Draco blinked at him, his tiny fingers still curled around edge of his blanket. He looked unsure, as if he didn’t quite believe Ron’s excitement was real, but the corner of his lips twitched—just the faintest hint of something soft and hesitant.
Harry watched the entire exchange with warmth swelling in his chest. It was small, but this—this was a start.
Draco was still hesitant, still cautious, but he was engaging.
For the first time since bringing him here, Draco wasn’t curled up in fear. He wasn’t sobbing, apologizing, or begging to stay. He was simply being a child—however fragile, however uncertain, he was here.
And that was enough.
Harry let out a slow breath, tightening his grip on the couch arm, slightly, Hermione, who noticed, squeezed his hand, in silent understanding. He knew there was still so much ahead—so many hurdles, so many reassurances that would need to be given, so many nights Draco would wake up terrified.
But right now?
Right now, there was warmth. There was trust—not all of it, not yet, but enough to build upon.
And as Draco hesitantly reached out for another round of racing, his little fingers brushing against Ron’s with careful uncertainty, Harry knew one thing for certain.
Draco was safe. And happy. Cautious but definitely happy.
And he’d make sure he stayed that way.
No matter what.
Notes:
Hey Loves! *peeking out of my cave, with new chapter in hand*
I'm back!! Let me know what do you think about this chapter. And just so you know, your comments make me write more. So keep at it!!
*running back to the cave, already imagining what all the comments I would get*
Love,
Author
Chapter Text
The warmth of the moment still lingered between them—the soft glow of the enchanted train, the quiet rustling of Ron shifting beside Draco, and the hesitant, almost-hidden smiles that had passed between them. It wasn’t much, but it was progress.
Draco was quietly inspecting the toy train when Harry stood. "Alright, I’m going to make Draco’s bottle," he announced. "And get him something to eat."
Draco’s entire body stiffened instantly.
His tiny fingers tightened around the toy train, knuckles going pale as his wide, grey eyes snapped up to Harry. His breath hitched—small, sharp, as though he had been startled awake from a nightmare.
Harry barely had time to process it before Draco inched forward, his little shoulders hunching, his body curling inward like he was trying to make himself smaller. Then, hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed, Draco’s tiny fingers reached out and clutched at the hem of Harry’s pants.
The grip was barely anything—light, uncertain, trembling.
But it stopped Harry in his tracks.
His chest tightened at the sight.
Draco’s fingers, curled into the fabric of his pant, shook. His whole body was stiff, his breaths uneven, his little mouth slightly parted like he was trying to form words but didn’t know how.
Harry’s heart clenched.
Oh. Of course.
Draco didn’t want him to leave. It was such a simple thing, and yet the weight of it pressed down on Harry like a stone. The way Draco’s entire body had gone rigid at the mention of him stepping away—the way his tiny hand, hesitant and scared, had latched onto him like a lifeline—how had Harry not realized it sooner?
"Hey," Harry murmured, crouching back down instantly, his voice softer now. "It’s okay, love. I’m just going to the kitchen. I’ll be right back."
Draco didn’t answer. Didn’t move. His fingers only curled tighter around Harry’s sleeve. Ron, who had gone quiet beside them, shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t the best at handling delicate emotions, but even he could tell this was something deeper than just a small moment of hesitation.
"Hey, bud," Ron said, keeping his voice casual, but gentler than usual. "Harry’s just getting you some food, yeah? Not leaving the house or anything."
Draco still didn’t move. His little eyes flickered toward Ron, uncertain, then back up to Harry. His bottom lip wobbled, but he bit it—hard—forcing himself not to cry. Harry’s heart ached. He had seen this before—a child bracing for disappointment. A child preparing for loss before it even happened. He didn’t want to cry about it because he thought—maybe if he didn’t cry, maybe if he didn’t cause a fuss, Harry wouldn’t be angry. Harry exhaled slowly. He reached down, carefully prying Draco’s tiny fingers from his pants—not forcefully, but just enough so he could properly hold them in his own hand instead and crouched to Draco’s level.
Draco let out a tiny, sharp inhale—his body trembling slightly, as though he was waiting for something bad. Harry squeezed his fingers gently. "Draco," he murmured, soft, steady. "I promise I’m coming back. I’d never leave you, Sweetheart."
Draco’s lower lip trembled again. "You… com’ back?"
The words were whispered, hesitant, small. Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Every time," he promised.
Draco’s small fingers twitched, barely holding onto his hand now—but he didn’t pull away. Harry leaned forward, brushing his fingers lightly through Draco’s fine, pale hair before pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. "Why don’t you stay here with Ron, yeah?" he suggested gently. "You can play a little longer, and I’ll be right back with your bottle and some yummy snacks. Sound good?"
Draco hesitated. His little hand curled into the blanket wrapped around him with the toy still clutched in another, his teeth chewing anxiously at the inside of his cheek. Harry waited. He didn’t rush him. He didn’t push. He simply let Draco process. And finally—after several long moments—Draco gave the tiniest, most reluctant nod. Harry smiled. "That’s my boy."
Ron let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, patting Draco lightly on the back. "Don’t worry, Bubba. I’ll make sure your train doesn’t crash while Harry’s gone."
Draco blinked at him, his small body still tense, but after a moment, he gave the barest of nods. That was enough. With one last reassuring squeeze to Draco’s tiny hand, Harry stood up and headed for the kitchen. As he disappeared down the hall, he felt Draco’s eyes on him the entire time.
Harry left for the kitchen, quickly preparing a warm formula bottle and gathering a few things Draco could safely eat—a handful of soft blueberries and a small piece of the chocolate éclair Hermione had brought. He figured a little bit of it wouldn’t hurt and hoped the treat would make the baby eat a little more calories.
Returning to the living room, he found Ron still animatedly talking about the ‘official’ rules of train racing, while Draco sat tucked into his blanket.
"Alright, here we go," Harry murmured as he set the plate and bottle down on the coffee table before lifting Draco onto his lap. "Hungry, Baby?"
Draco blinked up at him, his small fingers curling into Harry’s shirt, but nodded.
Harry adjusted him slightly in the crook of his arms and brought the bottle to Draco’s lips. The little one took a tentative sip, getting startled when milk flowed, before latching on properly, his tiny hands clutching at the warm bottle, drinking slowly. Harry rubbed Draco’s tummy absentmindedly as he kept drinking, letting the soft, rhythmic sounds of sucking fill the room.
Ron watched with a soft sort of expression, but after a few moments, he sighed and stretched. "Well, mate, I reckon we should get going before Mum starts wondering where we are."
Draco stiffened instantly. His hands trembled slightly as he tugged at the bottle, turning his head their way, still a hand on the bottle, his gray eyes darting between Ron and Hermione.
Hermione seemed to notice first. "Oh, sweetheart," she said gently, crouching down to his level. "We’re just going home for tonight. We’ll come back, I promise."
Draco's lip wobbled slightly, but he said nothing. He simply stared, his fingers still curled tightly around the bottle. His shoulders were taut, his entire body braced as though he were preparing for something—but he didn’t cry.
Harry’s heart clenched. He could see it in Draco’s eyes—that deep, familiar fear of being left behind, of being abandoned.
Ron scratched the back of his neck, clearly feeling just as awful. "Hey, bubba, I’ll bring some more wicked toys next time, yeah? Maybe we can ride on a broomstick—but only if Harry lets me."
Draco swallowed thickly, eyes flickering to Harry. Harry gave a small smile, running a hand over Draco’s hair. "You’ll see them again, Baby. I promise." Draco hesitated, then gave a small, barely-there nod.
Ron and Hermione both took turns offering him soft goodbyes, but Draco simply sat stiffly on Harry’s lap, his little fingers still gripping his bottle. When the door finally closed behind them, Harry sighed, tightening his arms around Draco, murmuring, "It’s okay, love. They’ll be back."
Draco didn’t say anything, just leaned his forehead against Harry’s chest, his little hands curled against his sleeve.
Wanting to distract him, Harry shifted, “Come on, lets finish this yummy milk, yeah? And then you can have a treat! Don’t you want the chocolate eclair?”
Draco hesitated, peeking up at the half finished milk bottle and then looking at the snack plate with blueberries and éclair on it. And then opened his mouth like a baby bird. Harry smiled warmly and brought the nipple of the bottle near the baby’s mouth, who quickly latched on, holding the bottle with one hand and sucking on it with gusto.
Draco, was almost asleep by the time the bottle finished. Harry shook him gently, not wanting the baby to go to sleep, knowing he has to adjust the sleep schedule early on, and made Draco sit up, so he can feed him the berries and éclair.
For the next hour, after Draco has had his fill of snacks (which wasn’t as much as Harry had hoped he would have, much to Harry’s disappointment) Harry coaxed Draco into looking at the new things brought for him—holding up soft sweaters for him to touch, helping him stack the enchanted blocks, and even managing to change him into one of the smaller outfits. The little one remained cautious, his small fingers hesitant as they brushed over the fabric of a tiny sweater Hermione had picked out, but he didn’t pull away when Harry gently dressed him in a soft, warm cotton shirt.
"There we go," Harry murmured, carefully smoothing the fabric down over Draco’s small frame. "Nice and cozy, yeah?"
Draco looked down at himself, running his fingers over the material as if trying to process the fact that it belonged to him. His gray eyes flickered up toward Harry, uncertain but quietly pleased.
Harry smiled, tucking Draco’s fine silver-blond hair behind his ear. "You look very handsome, little love."
Draco didn’t say anything, but his lips pressed together in what Harry was starting to recognize as shyness.
The enchanted blocks Ron had picked out sat in a pile nearby, softly glowing and shifting every few moments, rearranging themselves into new colors and patterns. Harry reached for them, setting a few down in front of Draco.
"Do you want to try?" he asked, holding out a bright blue one. "You can stack them however you like."
Draco’s small fingers twitched, his gaze darting toward the blocks, then back at Harry. He hesitated before reaching out, taking the block so gently it was as though he feared it might shatter in his grasp.
Harry kept his voice light. "That’s it, love. You can put it on top of this one." He placed a yellow block beside them as an example.
Draco copied him, carefully stacking the blue block on top of the yellow one. He sat still for a moment, as if waiting for something—for the block to vanish, for Harry to tell him he’d done it wrong—but nothing bad happened.
Harry smiled warmly. "Perfect, Draco."
Draco’s lips parted slightly, his little fingers reaching for another block. He placed it just as carefully on top, his gray eyes wide and intent as he focused on keeping the structure steady.
For the next few minutes, Harry let Draco take the lead, simply handing him new blocks and watching as the little one built a small, wobbly tower. The concentration on Draco’s face was almost adorable—his tongue poking out slightly in focus, his small hands adjusting each block with delicate precision.
When the tower finally tumbled over, Draco startled, flinching slightly as if expecting… something.
Harry quickly ran a hand over his head. "That’s alright, little one. You did amazing."
Draco hesitated, glancing between the fallen blocks and Harry’s calm expression, as if trying to determine whether he’d actually made a mistake.
Harry tapped the topmost block playfully. "Want to build it again?"
Draco blinked at him, hesitated… then nodded.
Harry beamed.
They played like that for a little while, slowly and carefully. Draco never said much, but he was engaged, and every once in a while, when he managed to stack several blocks without them falling, a tiny hint of a smile would appear on his face.
After a while, Draco’s small hands stilled on his lap, his body shifting slightly where he sat.
Harry recognized that look immediately—he needed a change.
He leaned forward, running a gentle hand over Draco’s back. "Time to get you changed, love."
Draco tensed.
Harry’s heart clenched when he felt the little one go stiff under his touch. His tiny fingers curled into his lap, his breaths going shallow, as though bracing himself for something.
Harry kept his voice gentle. "It’s okay, Draco. Just a quick change, and then we can play some more."
Draco’s little shoulders shook. He kept his head bowed, his fingers clenching at the fabric of his shirt. "D-Daco do?" he mumbled, voice trembling.
Harry frowned. "Do what, baby?"
Draco sniffled, his voice almost inaudible. "Daco c-chang’ self…?"
Harry’s heart ached at that.
Draco wasn’t asking because he thought he could—he was asking because he thought he had to.
Harry shook his head softly, reaching out to tilt Draco’s chin up so their eyes met. "No, love. You don’t have to do it alone. I’ll help you, okay?"
Draco’s gray eyes were wide, uncertain. He searched Harry’s face, as if trying to understand.
Harry ran a gentle hand over Draco’s soft hair. "I’ll be very careful, I promise."
After a long moment, Draco gave a small, hesitant nod.
Harry lifted him carefully, carrying him to the bedroom where he had set up a small changing area. He moved slowly, giving Draco plenty of time to see what he was doing.
When he laid Draco down on the soft blanket, the little one fidgeted, his small hands clutching at the hem of his shirt. His breaths were uneven, his tiny body tense.
"Shhh, love," Harry murmured, rubbing slow, soothing circles over Draco’s belly. "I’ve got you."
Draco’s fingers clenched, but he nodded, his little chest rising and falling in small, careful breaths.
Harry worked quickly, murmuring soft reassurances as he changed Draco into a fresh nappy and a new pair of soft cotton trousers. The entire time, Draco stayed rigid, his little hands twitching, his gaze darting toward Harry every few seconds as if making sure he wasn’t angry.
When it was done, Harry didn’t rush to pick him up.
Instead, he cupped Draco’s small face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over his pale cheeks.
"You did so well, baby," he whispered.
Draco blinked, his lips parting slightly. "Daco… did?"
Harry smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Yes, love. You did."
Draco blinked again, then, hesitantly, reached up—his tiny hands pressing lightly against Harry’s shirt. He was seeking comfort, Harry realized.
Harry gathered him up, pressing a kiss to his soft blond hair as he whispered, "You’re safe, little one. Always."
Draco let out a tiny sigh against Harry’s shoulder, his small hands curling into the fabric of his robes.
For the first time since arriving, he felt warm.
And for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could believe Harry’s words
After a while, just as Draco was starting to grow sleepier again, the Floo suddenly roared to life.
"Harry James Potter, you let me in this instant!" came Molly’s voice.
Draco jerked, eyes widening in fear as he clung to Harry.
Harry sighed, rubbing Draco’s back before waving his wand to let Molly through.
Molly practically burst into the room, a large bag clutched in her hands. "Oh, Harry! Why on earth didn’t you tell me sooner? I had to hear from my own son that you’ve taken in a Little, and it’s Draco Malfoy!"
Draco whimpered softly, burying his face into Harry’s chest.
Molly immediately softened. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed, moving forward, setting down her bag. "You don’t have to be scared of me, love."
Draco trembled but peeked up cautiously. Harry looked down at the little in his arms, “She’s Ron’s mum, love. She’s nice. Say hi to her, baby” Draco didn’t open his mouth but after a brief hesitation and looking at Harry for confirmation gave her a small shy smile.
“Oh my! You are so precious aren’t you, treasure?” Molly cooed, gently petting Draco’s hair. Draco relaxed slightly after a few moments.
“Now then,” Molly said, hands on her hips. “You, little man, need fattening up. Lucky for you, I’ve brought plenty of yummies all for you.”
Draco tensed slightly in Harry’s lap, his small fingers curling into the fabric of Harry’s shirt as he eyed Molly warily. His wide gray eyes flickered between the bag she had set on the table and her warm, expectant expression.
Harry felt the tension in Draco’s tiny frame and instinctively rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles. "It’s alright, baby ," he murmured. "Molly just wants to make sure you’re taken care of."
Draco didn’t say anything, just tucked himself tighter into Harry’s chest, his small hands still gripping the front of his shirt.
Molly, ever patient, sat down in the armchair across from them and began unpacking the contents of her bag. “Let’s see what we have here,” she said brightly, pulling out a small container of soft mashed fruit. “Lovely and fresh—perfect for little tummies."
Draco blinked at the container but said nothing. The smell of delicious goodies wafting in the air.
"And this," Molly continued, pulling out a plate wrapped in a cloth, "is my homemade treacle tart." She gave a knowing smile toward Harry. "I made it for you, dear, but I think our little Draco here might like a bite, too."
Harry huffed a quiet laugh. Of course, Molly had sent something for him, even when she hadn’t known about Draco. But he barely paid attention to the treacle tart—his focus remained on Draco, who was still nestled against his chest, unmoving.
Molly, noticing Draco’s hesitance, softened her tone. "Sweetheart, I promise, you don’t have to eat anything if you don’t want to."
Draco fidgeted, his fingers twitching against Harry’s robes.
"But," Molly added lightly, "I do think my biscuits would be very sad if you didn’t at least try one."
She pulled out a small, soft biscuit—one that smelled like cinnamon and honey—and held it up for Draco to see. The little one’s gaze flickered toward it before quickly darting back down.
Harry could see the conflict in his expression—curiosity warring with fear.
He squeezed Draco gently, pressing a kiss to his soft hair. "It’s alright, little one. You can try some if you want."
Draco hesitated, then, with a tiny, unsure movement, nodded.
Molly beamed.
"That’s my sweet boy," she cooed, breaking off a small piece and holding it out for him.
Slowly, cautiously, Draco reached out, his tiny fingers barely brushing against Molly’s as he took the piece. He held it in his palm for a moment, staring at it, before finally bringing it to his mouth.
The biscuit melted easily on his tongue, soft and sweet, and Draco’s lips parted slightly in surprise.
Molly clapped her hands together. "Oh, I knew you’d like it, dear!"
Draco blinked up at her, still chewing, then hesitantly reached for another piece.
"That’s it, sweetheart," Molly encouraged, breaking off more and placing it in his little hand. "You take your time."
Harry watched the exchange with a strange, tight feeling in his chest. He had never seen Molly mother anyone but her own children like this. She was so natural, so effortless. And Draco—scared, fragile, hesitant Draco—was responding to it. Slowly after several long minutes, Draco was moved from Harry’s arms to Molly’s lap, while she kept on giving small bites of everything she has brought, while she ordered Harry to take a look into the contents of the other bag that was left at the floo, which had plenty of nappies, little worn sweaters, a shrunken changing table and a shrunken white wood crib and several more things that Harry wouldn’t have thought of like rash cream, burp clothes, little booties and gloves.
A part of Harry felt relieved. The other part…
The other part felt like he wasn’t enough.
Molly was everything he wasn’t—gentle, knowing, experienced. Harry had barely figured out how to feed Draco without overthinking every step, and here Molly was, effortlessly getting Draco to eat biscuits like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Could he ever be that for Draco?
His thoughts were interrupted when Molly unwrapped a soft bread roll filled with butter and honey. "Let’s try this next, love. This Ron’s Papa’s favourite treat. And I brought it just for you" she said, placing a small piece on the plate in front of Draco.
Draco hesitated, but after a brief glance at Harry, he reached for it.
It started slow—Draco nibbling at the bread, occasionally glancing up at Molly as if waiting for permission. But the more he ate, the more he wanted.
Harry should have noticed it sooner.
The way Draco’s little fingers trembled as he reached for another bite. The way his chewing became more hurried, his body tense as he took bite after bite, his little shoulders curling in as if expecting something to be taken away.
But by the time he did, it was too late.
Draco let out a tiny, pained whimper, his hand pressing to his stomach.
Harry immediately straightened. "Draco?"
Draco whimpered again, his face scrunching up as his small frame began to tremble. "Daco tummy… hurts…" he mumbled weakly. Harry was quick to rush to his little.
Molly’s face fell. "Oh, sweetheart—"
And then, before anyone could react—
Draco vomited.
Right onto Harry.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Draco froze. His breath hitched, his tiny hands shaking. Then, his whole body crumpled.
A broken sob tore from his throat, and before Harry could even think, Draco was babbling between panicked gasps.
"S-so’y! So’y, so’y! Din’ mean—D-Daco din’ mean!" His small hands clutched at Harry’s robes, his little fingers desperate, terrified. "No mad! No mad, p-p’ease—p-p’ease, no send ‘way! No wan’—no wan’ bad place, no Az’ban—"
Harry’s chest ached.
Molly looked heartbroken.
"Oh, love, no one’s mad at you," she tried to soothe, but Draco wasn’t hearing her.
He was panicking.
His whole tiny body shook with each desperate sob, his breaths coming in short, gasping hiccups, his little fingers clinging to Harry’s robes like he was begging not to be thrown away.
Harry barely had time to register anything before instinct took over.
He wrapped Draco up in his arms, pulling him close. "No, no, no, baby," he murmured, rocking him gently. "I’ve got you, you’re okay, Shhh."
Draco hiccupped against his chest, still trembling. "N-no send Daco ‘way? N-no bad place?"
"Never," Harry whispered fiercely. "You’re safe, love. I promise. You are never leaving me to go anywhere."
Molly, looking utterly distraught, wiped at her eyes. "Oh, Harry, dear, I—"
Harry shook his head, sending her a small, grateful look, trying to convey he wasn’t mad at her. "It’s okay, Molly. But… I think it’s best if we keep the food slow from now on."
Molly nodded hurriedly, still looking horrified. "Of course, dear. I should’ve been more careful—"
Harry exhaled, shifting Draco in his arms. "Why don’t you head home, Molly? You look tired. I’ll take care of him from here."
Molly hesitated but nodded. She leaned forward, brushing a soft hand over Draco’s curls. "I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon, alright?"
Draco, still hiccupping, gave a tiny, unsure nod.
Once Molly was gone, Harry pressed a kiss to Draco’s damp hair. "Let’s get cleaned up, love. How about a bath?"
Draco, exhausted and clinging to Harry, nodded against his chest.
Harry carried him to the bathroom, murmuring soft reassurances, feeling the tiny weight of Draco against him, and knowing, without a doubt—
Draco was his. His little boy. His baby
And he would never, ever let him go. And he might not be as good as Molly. But Draco looked for him for comfort and damn him if he ever hesitated to provide what Draco needed.
Notes:
Hello!! Surprise!!
Here's another chapter just two days after previous chapter. Its something like a miracle now. Well this was written along with teh last chapter, but then that became too long for my liking and i had to split it in two which i have done. So this is like a one time thing, do not get your hopes up, i will usually not publish during weekdays coz i have job!!
Anyway, I had somethings to explain, usually victims of starvation has always found with characteristics of hoarding, but here because Draco is afraid and unsure if he can hoard, he tries to eat as much as possible, his mind still not sure if he will see the next meal, that is what happens with Molly feeding him. But when Harry feeds, because he is a Healer himself, he notices tiny signs like squirming and nose scrunching from Draco, also because he has been treating Draco for a while now. That's how he knows when Draco is full, which Molly doesn't recognize.Also, did you guys notice the small steps in the right direction by Baby Draco?!!! He's seeking for comfort, engaging and doing things that a baby does... Yayyy
And i finally figured out how to embed images here. Also I cannot stop cooing over Draco's picture. Isn't he the cutest little thing ever? Oh my god i'm so excited for you guys to read this that i had to sit and edit it right after my office to post it today. Lemme know what do you think. And tell me all about how cute you think Draco is.Extra Love,
Author
Chapter 10: Gentle hands. Soft words. Warm water
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The bathroom was already warm, steam curling gently in the air as Harry knelt beside the tub, carefully adjusting the water temperature with his wand. He had added just a drop of calming lavender-scented bubbles—a gift from Hermione, tucked into the bag she’d brought over earlier.
Behind him, Draco clung tightly to his robes, his small face still damp with tears, his nose a little red from crying. His breaths had evened out a bit, but hiccups still shook his little frame now and then.
Harry turned slightly, reaching out his hand. "Come on, love. Just a quick bath. I’ll hold you the whole time if you want."
Draco didn’t answer. He just nodded—a tiny, tired motion—before slowly raising his arms in a silent plea.
Harry scooped him up without hesitation, his hand steady against Draco’s back, his fingers curling gently under the little one’s thighs. "That’s my brave boy," he murmured.
He placed Draco gently on the soft towel laid out on the changing table, careful as he helped him out of his clothes. The soiled ones were already vanished away, replaced with clean things Molly had brought—but Harry could deal with those later. Right now, Draco came first.
The little boy didn’t squirm or resist. He just let Harry undress him in silence, his gray eyes tracking Harry’s every move, as if he were still waiting for something bad to happen.
Harry could feel that weight again—that awful tightness in his chest. He wished he could take it all away, just wave his wand and erase whatever memories made Draco flinch when someone raised their voice or brace when he made a mess.
But all he could do was this.
Gentle hands. Soft words. Warm water.
Harry picked Draco up again and slowly stepped into the bathtub, sitting down with the little one tucked carefully into his lap. Draco tensed for just a second at the sensation of water, then relaxed when Harry’s arms curled securely around him.
"There we go," Harry whispered, smoothing Draco’s hair back from his forehead. "Just a bath, baby. Nothing else."
Draco nodded again, pressing his cheek to Harry’s chest.
Harry let them sit like that for a few long moments, the scent of lavender thick in the air, the soft bubbling sound of the water almost enough to lull them both into a daze. Draco’s tiny fingers curled in the fabric of Harry’s wet shirt, not letting go.
Harry didn’t try to make him.
Instead, he reached for the soft washcloth, dipped it in the warm water, and gently ran it down Draco’s back. "I’m going to wash you now, alright? Just like before."
Draco gave a soft, sleepy hum in response.
Harry worked slowly, carefully washing his tiny arms, his legs, the delicate curve of his back. He murmured soft praises as he went. "There you go. That’s it. So good for me, love."
Draco’s breathing had slowed, the hiccups mostly gone now. He wasn’t trembling anymore—not visibly at least.
"Can I wash your hair, sweetheart?"
Draco hesitated this time. His small hands curled tighter into Harry’s shirt. Then, after a long pause, he gave a tiny nod.
Harry was extra gentle with that part. He cupped water in his palm instead of using the enchanted pitcher, letting it trickle slowly down Draco’s silver-blond hair. He massaged the soap in with slow, circular motions, whispering to him all the while.
"You’ve got the softest hair," he said with a small smile. "Like clouds."
Draco didn’t reply, but he let Harry tilt his head back to rinse, even reaching up once to rub his eyes when suds slipped too close.
"There we go," Harry said softly as he reached for the towel. He lifted Draco out with care, wrapping him tightly in the warm, fluffy fabric. The little one made a quiet noise and curled into him again, seeking the safety of Harry’s chest.
Harry kissed the top of his head, breathing him in.
"All clean, love. My sweet, clean boy."
Back in the bedroom, Harry settled Draco down on the bed just for a moment while he dressed quickly. Then he turned back to the small bundle curled up on the pillows and carefully lifted him again to get him into pajamas.
He chose the softest set from the bunch Molly had brought—a pale blue sleeper with tiny white stars on it.
Draco was mostly quiet through the whole thing, though his little body leaned into Harry’s touch every time.
Once he was zipped up, Harry picked him up and held him for a moment, rocking slowly in place.
"You did really well today, baby," he whispered. "I’m so proud of you."
Draco shifted slightly, pressing his face to Harry’s neck. After a beat, he whispered, "S’ry…"
Harry froze. Then he hugged him tighter.
"You don’t ever have to apologize to me," he murmured fiercely. "Not for crying. Not for throwing up. Not for anything. You didn’t do anything wrong, Draco."
Draco sniffled softly against his neck.
"Your tummy just got upset, that’s all. It happens. And you told me, and I helped. That’s what we do, yeah?"
There was a small pause, then a slow, sleepy nod.
Harry carried Draco to the chair beside the bed in Harry’s room, settling into it with the little one wrapped close.
Outside, the evening light had started to dim, the soft glow of floating lanterns beginning to flicker to life across the room. The walls, enchanted to mirror the colors of the sky, slowly shifted from rose-gold to twilight blue.
"Tomorrow we’ll go slow with food, okay? Just small bites. Whatever feels good."
Draco gave the tiniest hum in reply.
Harry tilted his head down slightly, brushing a kiss to Draco’s temple. "Do you want a story before bed?"
There was a pause. Then—quietly—"…yes."
Harry smiled. He summoned the small picture book Hermione had left, one about magical creatures and their babies. The drawings were gentle, the pages soft, the text simple.
He opened to the first page and began reading, voice low and calm.
Draco stayed nestled against him, his small breaths deepening as the story went on. His fingers loosened from Harry’s shirt, his little body finally starting to go limp with sleep.
Halfway through the story, Harry glanced down.
Draco’s gray eyes were closed.
Harry didn’t stop reading. He kept his voice soft, his tone steady, letting the rhythm of the words carry the little one deeper into sleep. When he finished, he closed the book with a soft snap and set it aside.
Then he stood, still holding Draco, and brought him over to the bed in Harry’s room. He will let Draco sleep beside him for a bit. Draco needs all the comfort he can get.
Harry gently laid Draco down.
To his surprise, Draco stirred.
His fingers reached out blindly—and then found Harry’s hand.
Harry’s heart clenched.
"I’m here, love," he whispered, sitting beside the Little. "I’m right here."
Draco didn’t say anything. But his fingers curled around Harry’s, holding tight.
And so Harry stayed.
Even when Draco finally slipped fully into sleep, his tiny breaths even and slow. Even when his grip slackened.
Harry remained sitting beside the Little, watching his little boy sleep.
His Draco.
His baby.
There was so much more to do—so many things he didn’t know yet. But he’d learn. He had to.
Because Draco had chosen him.
And Harry would spend every day proving he was worth that trust.
Once Draco’s breathing evened out and the steady rise and fall of his chest told Harry he’d fallen deeply asleep, Harry reached for the wand on the bedside table and cast a silent spell.
A single roll of parchment popped into existence—adoption forms from the Ministry’s Department of Magical Family Affairs.
Harry stared down at them for a long moment. His hand hovered over the parchment.
And then he picked up a quill and began to fill them out.
Morning Light
The sunlight peeked through the enchanted curtains just enough to cast a warm glow in the room. The gentle charm Harry had woven ensured no harsh light would wake the little one too early.
Harry blinked awake first, instinctively checking for the weight pressed against him.
Draco was still there.
Soft snores. Pale lashes brushing his cheeks. His little hand, still curled into Harry’s jumper.
Harry smiled sleepily, brushing a kiss to the top of Draco’s head. “Morning, baby,” he whispered, though he didn’t expect a response.
Still, Draco stirred, letting out a soft sigh.
Harry gently extricated himself and sat up, stretching his arms overhead before slipping out of bed. He padded softly into the adjoining guest room—Draco’s temporary space—and cast a warming charm over the floor. He summoned a soft nappy and one of the new onesies Hermione had left folded neatly on the edge of the bed.
Then he returned, carefully scooping the sleepy Draco into his arms.
Draco blinked slowly awake, tiny hands fisting in Harry’s jumper. “Ha’y?”
“Good morning, love,” Harry murmured. “Time for a fresh nappy and a warm bottle, yeah?”
Draco didn’t answer but nestled closer into Harry’s neck, his body boneless and warm with sleep.
Harry chuckled quietly and laid him on the bed, changing him gently and talking softly the whole time—about the sun coming up, and the birds outside, and how they were going to have a lovely day.
Draco let it all happen without protest, yawning so wide it made his eyes water.
Once he was clean and dressed in a pale blue onesie with tiny golden snitches embroidered across the chest, Harry picked him up again. “There we go. My handsome baby,” he whispered, kissing his temple.
Downstairs, Harry warmed a bottle of formula—the special magical blend he’d mail ordered yesterday night—and added a tiny spoonful of powdered herb mix that helped with nutrient absorption.
While the formula warmed, Harry summoned his wand and gently cast a diagnostic charm over Draco. A soft golden light enveloped the little one.
"Alright, let’s see…” Harry murmured. The results came in slow pulses—mild nutrient deficiency (expected), low magical core activity (normal for Littles), slight dehydration, and one or two trace indicators of past potion residue that needed flushing out.
He nodded to himself and made mental notes.
The formula would help.
And the food? Slowly, carefully reintroduced.
He settled Draco in his lap on the couch, just like the night before, and brought the bottle to his lips. “Hungry, sweetheart?”
Draco blinked up at him, eyes still heavy with sleep. His thumb was halfway to his mouth before Harry caught it gently.
“Ah-ah, baby. Let’s try your bottle first,” Harry said, gently guiding the bottle to his lips.
Draco latched on after a second’s hesitation.
He drank slower than last night, but steadily, his little hands curling around the bottle like it was a lifeline. Harry rubbed soft circles on his tummy while he fed, humming gently under his breath.
Once the bottle was mostly empty, Harry offered a soft cloth to wipe Draco’s mouth and set him upright.
“Do you want to try some porridge today, baby?” he asked. “Just a little bit. No pressure.”
Draco looked uncertain, his little fingers curling into the blanket draped over Harry’s legs.
Harry gave him a smile. “Just a taste. With cinnamon. You can say no.”
After a few seconds, Draco gave a tiny nod.
Harry summoned a small, warm bowl from the kitchen and fed him by spoon, slow and careful. Draco didn’t finish much, just a few soft bites, but Harry praised him like he’d eaten a feast.
“You did so well, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”
Draco ducked his head, cheeks pink.
As Harry wiped him up, he noticed Draco’s thumb sneaking back toward his mouth.
Harry paused.
“Hmm,” he said lightly. “I think I’ve got something better for that.”
He reached into the supplies Molly had brought and pulled out a small, soft, honey-colored pacifier with a little lion charm on the clip.
“Want to try this instead, baby? It’s like your thumb, but gentler for your mouth.”
Draco eyed it warily.
Harry offered it gently.
“It’s just to help you relax. You don’t have to if you don’t want.”
Draco glanced between Harry and the pacifier for a long moment, then—almost shyly—opened his mouth a little. Harry slipped it in gently, watching as Draco’s lips instinctively closed around it. He gave a tentative suck.
Then another.
And slowly, his shoulders relaxed.
“There you go, little love,” Harry whispered, beaming. “Look at you. That’s perfect.”
With Draco snuggled in his lap, paci in his mouth and warm blanket wrapped around him, Harry felt a quiet calm settle over the living room.
He glanced at the empty guest room down the hall, then at the untouched nursery space he’d always thought he’d use someday.
Today, that someday had come.
He needed to go shopping. There were things missing—furniture, a proper changing table, soft rugs, enchanted mobiles, night lights, baby-safe shelves…
And two cribs.
One for Draco’s future nursery.
And one for Harry’s room—something smaller, simpler. A cradle where Draco could sleep close, safe and near.
But not today.
Today was for this.
For quiet cuddles, for gentle feedings, for pacifiers and onesies and slow breathing.
Harry looked down at the little boy in his arms—his little boy—and rocked him gently.
“You did so well, baby,” he whispered again. “We’re gonna be just fine.”
Draco’s eyelids fluttered, the paci gently bobbing as he sucked. His little fingers clutched Harry’s sleeve, content.
Harry held him close, and let the morning pass them by.
Notes:
Hey Loves,
I am sorry for going MIA for so long - 2 months!! But as a compensation we have 2 chapters today! Yayy
Leave me kudos and comments. I love all your comments!
And Draco is slowly healing and Harry is being a wonderful Daddy. Comment your thoughts on this!Love, Author
Chapter 11: Laughter and Lolo
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The early afternoon was golden and slow.
Draco sat curled up on the couch, blanket draped around his small shoulders, eyes following the enchanted fish lazily swimming across the room’s ceiling, lazily sucking on his pacifier. Harry had charmed them that morning—bright, floating koi with glittering tails that swam in lazy loops over their heads. Draco didn’t ask for them. He didn’t need to. His little gaze had followed a painting of one earlier in a book, and Harry had simply smiled and pulled out his wand.
That was how things were now. Unspoken, easy. Harry learned to watch for the way Draco’s eyes lingered on something, the small ways his fingers twitched when something overwhelmed him, and the way his body froze completely whenever a loud noise cracked too close.
It was a delicate rhythm—one Harry gave himself entirely to.
“Baby, d’you want to draw for a bit?” Harry asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a stack of fresh parchment and the waxy magical crayons that didn’t stain fingers, and Little friendly.
Draco blinked, then nodded slowly, pulling his blanket tighter as he slid off the couch and into Harry’s lap. He didn’t speak, but he picked up the red crayon and started to draw—circles and slanted lines and something vaguely human-shaped stick figure, one big with a lightning bolt on the face and one little figure with yellow lines for hair, all with deep concentration. Harry’s heart melted at the picture
Harry kissed his hair. “Is that you and me, Little Bug? That’s the prettiest picture I have ever seen, we should put it up on the cold storage.” Harry claimed, and was rewarded with a gummy smile from Draco and a quiet noise. A sound that, maybe, possibly, could be called the beginning of a laugh. Harry didn’t say anything. He just smiled and kept watching as Draco scribbled all over the parchment making an imaginary world.
The afternoon drifted by that way—drawings, snacks, Draco chewing on his pacifier while nestled into Harry’s side, soft lullaby music playing in the background. Until an excited knock came at the door. Draco startled immediately, his entire body jerking as the crayon fell from his hand. His fingers dug into Harry’s sleeve, wide eyes locking on the door like it might explode. Harry held him instantly. “It’s alright. Just our friends, Baby. Ron and Hermione, remember. You played with them, didn’t you sweetheart?”
Draco didn’t relax fully, but he let Harry scoop him into his arms and carry him to the door, hiding his face in Harry’s neck, pacifier bobbing furiously in an attempt to self soothe.
Hermione greeted them with a bright smile and a bag full of what looked suspiciously like plushies and books. Ron, holding a magically floating plate of cupcakes, offered a cheerful wave.
“Afternoon! We brought treats for my favourite Little boy in the whole world!”
Draco wondrously stared at Ron and the cupcakes, then at the stuffed animals peeking from Hermione’s bag, and then at Harry.
Harry whispered, “They’re for you, sweetheart.”
Draco tucked his head against Harry’s shoulder and gave the smallest of nods.
Ron and Hermione knew the rhythm now, too. They didn’t rush in. They sat on the floor, made themselves small, and let Draco choose when and how to engage.
Ron pulled out the toy train from last time and began making absurd train noises, louder than necessary, complete with little puffs of steam from his wand. Hermione started lining up blocks in odd shapes, pretending to stack them into the world’s worst wizarding castle.
Draco watched, sucking gently on his pacifier, wide eyes following every silly movement.
And then—
A giggle.
Not much more than a puff of sound, but it was unmistakable.
Harry’s breath caught.
Draco had laughed.
It was so soft, so shy, but it made the whole room feel brighter. Hermione beamed. Ron grinned so wide it looked like his face might split.
They didn’t say anything. They just kept playing, letting Draco watch a while longer. Eventually Draco crawled over to Ron, entranced by the train. Ron was quick to gather the boy and start a new train race, while occasionally coaxing a smile from him.
Hermione who has now stacked the blocks to a wobbly tower, was mindlessly keeping the blocks atop, while watching Draco play with Ron, as gravity wont to do, it drew the bloks and they fell in a spectacular way, eliciting a shriek from Hermione and a shrieked laugh from a little voice. Harry froze for a second before his face split into a wide smile while Ron laughed out loud in joy of it all. And Hermione joined the laughter, letting the baby laugh for the first time, and joy bursting in their chests as they watched.
Eventually, Draco drifted back to Harry’s lap, who lowered him down. “Wanna help me build a castle too, baby?”
Draco looked at the blocks, then at Harry, and nodded slightly enthusiastically.
Harry didn’t make a big deal out of it. He just passed over a green one and let Draco nestle between his legs as they started to build. The blocks toppled three times, and Draco flinched every single time. But Harry didn’t scold. Didn’t sigh. Just helped him try again. Laughing every time the blocks fell, and Draco eventually started smiling and giggling too.
“You’re really good at this,” he whispered, and Draco smiled against his pacifier.
By evening, Draco was thoroughly worn out, and Ron and Hermione reluctantly left, with a tearful goodbye from Draco.
Hermione left behind two books about “Magical Bedtime Tales” and a soft, lion-shaped plush that Draco had quietly accepted and then clung to like it was stitched from starlight. They said their goodbyes quietly, promising to visit again soon, and Harry had no doubt they’d be by within the week.
After a quick warm bath—complete with bubble charms and a floating ducky charm—Draco was dressed in another soft onesie (green this time, with tiny stars) and tucked into the bed in Harry’s room. His pacifier bobbed gently with each sleepy suck, his new lion—who had been named as Lolo, after coaxing Draco to name the toy—held tight in one arm.
Harry sat on the edge of the bed, brushing Draco’s hair back softly.
“You did really well today, love,” he murmured. “I’m so proud of you.”
Draco blinked slowly up at him. “No bad?”
“Not even close,” Harry said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Perfect.”
Draco hummed a tiny sound and curled in tighter.
Harry stayed until the little one was fully asleep, then tiptoed out to clean up the last of the toys in the living room. He was halfway through stacking the books when Hedwig swooped through the window and landed on the couch arm with a letter tied to her leg.
Harry blinked. “That was fast.”
He took the scroll and unrolled it, heart stuttering.
It was from the Ministry.
Application for Guardianship: Approved.
The golden seal of the Department of Magical Family Affairs gleamed at the bottom.
Harry let out a slow breath, chest tight, heart thudding loud.
It was real.
Day after tomorrow, he’d need to go to Gringotts with Draco to finalize it magically. To make it binding in the goblin-led archives. But for now… this was enough.
He looked back toward the hallway, where Draco lay fast asleep.
They were officially a family.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The sun streamed through the windows and birdsong lilted from the trees outside.
Draco woke slowly, nose wrinkling at the morning light, a sleepy noise escaping him.
Harry was already there when Draco stirred—sitting cross-legged, bottle in hand, eyes tired but soft in that way they got when he hadn’t slept much and didn’t care. The bottle was warm. His hands were warm.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
Draco blinked up at him, slow and confused, like he wasn’t sure yet if it was morning or if he was dreaming again. Then his eyes crinkled and there it was—that stupid little smile, all lopsided and half-buried in the blanket. It hadn’t been there yesterday.
Harry exhaled without meaning to.
“Hungry?”
Draco nodded. Didn’t say anything. Just reached out in that small, half-hearted way he did when he was still figuring out where his limbs were. Harry pulled him in without waiting for it to be clearer.
He fit into his lap like he belonged there. Head on his shoulder, knees all folded up. Harry pressed the bottle into his hands and Draco took it like it was instinct. Like he didn’t need to think about it anymore.
The bottle went down slow. Harry rubbed his back. Gentle, steady, thumb tracing little half-circles near the base of his spine. Draco’s breathing evened out halfway through, eyelids fluttering, Lolo squashed against his side like he needed the lion to listen too.
After a while, Harry spoke—quiet and offhand, like it didn’t mean anything. Like it wasn’t the only thing he’d been thinking about since the letter arrived.
“Draco… remember how you said you wanted to stay with me? Forever?”
Draco gave a tiny grunt. Didn’t look up. Still poking at Lolo’s button eye like it had personally wronged him.
“So I asked,” Harry said, thumbing a curl behind Draco’s ear. “The Ministry. I asked if I could keep you.”
A pause.
“We got a letter last night. They said yes.”
Draco didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just gripped the sleeve of Harry’s jumper a little tighter, fingers curling in like he was anchoring himself to something.
“Tomorrow we go to Gringotts,” Harry said, soft. “Make it official. I sign the parchment. You stay.”
There was no response. Just a breath caught weird in Draco’s chest. Harry didn’t push.
“But not today,” he added, leaning his chin on top of Draco’s head. “Today’s for films. Blanket forts. Maybe some biscuits if the kitchen likes us.”
Draco blinked slowly. Reached down and fished for his pacifier like his hands weren’t entirely awake yet. He shoved it in and mumbled around it, “Film?”
It was casual. Almost too casual, like he didn’t want to look too interested. Harry nearly laughed from the force of his own relief.
“Mhm. With animals. Or dragons, if you want.”
Draco frowned. “D’wagon eat people.”
“Some do,” Harry said, “but these ones don’t. These ones are nice. One of them’s clever. Sort of like you.”
Draco pulled his pacifier out to say, “Clever,” like it was a test. Then he squinted. “Little?”
Harry bumped their foreheads together. “Littlest dragon in the whole nest.”
Draco giggled—short and startled like it slipped out—and immediately turned his face away, pressing it into Harry’s shirt like he was embarrassed to be happy.
Harry grinned into his hair and held him tighter.
Harry stood, still holding Draco like he might vanish if set down too fast. He didn’t. He just flopped a little heavier against his chest and tucked Lolo under his chin like he was done with the world for now.
The living room had already been transfigured. Not because Harry was efficient, but because he couldn’t sleep last night. And making a blanket fort at two in the morning was better than pacing holes into the kitchen floor.
The couch was buried under cushions, throws in too many colors, and one extremely questionable pillowcase from Harry’s Hogwarts years. It looked like a nest. A warm one.
Draco blinked at it like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to like it yet.
Harry set him down gently. Lolo got a place of honor beside him, obviously. A tray of snacks floated in a second later—soft fruit, tiny crackers, and the warm apple juice in his blue sippy cup with the stars that changed color when shaken.
Draco looked at that one for a second too long. Then pulled it close like he didn’t want Harry to notice.
He didn’t say anything when Harry draped the starry blanket over him. Just leaned in and let his head find Harry’s side like it belonged there. Like it remembered.
“How to Train Your Dragon” started with loud music and clouds. Big sweeping sky. Bright colors.
Draco didn’t blink for the first two minutes. Probably forgot how.
When the dragons showed up, he sat a little straighter. Clutched Lolo to his chest like he thought something might happen. Like he’d have to pick sides.
He didn’t speak much. Barely moved.
But when Hiccup flew for the first time—up into the clouds and down again like falling wasn’t real—Draco gasped. Small. Involuntary. His whole face went soft, stunned.
Harry didn’t even pretend to watch the film after that. He was too busy watching Draco. The way his brow furrowed when Toothless got hurt. The way he stopped sucking his pacifier whenever someone shouted. The way he flinched when something exploded—but didn’t run.
Toothless stuck his tongue out like a cat.
Draco laughed.
Not a snort. Not a giggle. A laugh. Sudden and loud and real, like it didn’t ask for permission.
Harry turned so fast he nearly knocked over the snack tray. “Was that—did you just—was that a real laugh?”
Draco stared at him, startled, pacifier hanging from his mouth like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to laugh again. Then he gave this shruggy little shoulder-hunch, like oops and don’t make it a thing, and buried his face in Lolo’s mane.
Harry grinned. Big and stupid and so warm he thought his bones might melt.
“Oh, that’s it,” he said. “We’re watching this one a hundred times.”
Draco didn’t argue.
Didn’t say anything, actually—just melted against Harry again like he’d used up his words for the day. Eventually, he climbed into his lap without ceremony, Lolo squashed between them, his thumb rubbing circles on Harry’s sleeve like that could keep the world quiet.
And honestly? It kind of did.
There were still a few flinches. Loud sounds. Fast movements. Draco startled easy. But each time, Harry just curled his arm around him tighter, pressed a kiss to his temple, whispered soft things like: it’s alright, baby. Just the film. I’m here. Got you.
And after a while, Draco stopped bracing for pain. Stopped looking around for whoever would yell first.
He just… watched.
Halfway through the credits, still blinking at the screen, Draco turned his head and whispered around his pacifier, “Can we watch ‘gain?”
Harry looked down at him. “You liked it?”
Draco nodded. “He didn’ go ‘way. He st’y.”
Harry’s throat closed up. Hard.
“That’s right,” he said, voice rough. “They stayed together. Just like us.”
Draco didn’t answer. He just tucked himself under Harry’s arm, small and warm and completely still.
And for once, he didn’t ask if he was allowed to belong there.
He just… did.
Lunch was late. Not out of rebellion—just the kind of late that happens when no one wants to move.
Harry made grilled cheese sandwiches and used a star-shaped cutter on a whim. He didn’t think Draco would care, but when the plate was set in front of him, the boy blinked at the shapes like they were magic.
Carrot soup came next. Draco gave it one long suspicious noble stare, then turned to Harry with a face full of doubt.
Harry made a show of tasting it first. Dramatic sigh. Eyes rolling back. “Oh no. I’ve been poisoned with deliciousness.”
Draco snorted. A tiny puff of sound through his nose. Still not a laugh, but close enough to count. He accepted the spoon after that, though he held it like it might try something.
Harry helped him with a few bites. There was also another bottle involved somewhere in the chaos—Draco insisted on holding it himself but kept looking at Harry like he wanted backup in case the bottle got ideas.
By the time they finished, Draco’s eyes were drooping.
“Someone’s a sleepy baby, huh?” Harry murmured, already brushing fingers through his hair.
Draco shook his head stubbornly. Then climbed into Harry’s lap. And closed his eyes. Harry leaned back on the couch, one arm around the soft heap of boy and plush and blanket, and watched the fire flicker. He kept his other hand moving slowly up and down Draco’s back, careful and constant.
Tomorrow was Gringotts. Tomorrow everything would change.
Harry tried not to spiral. He didn’t need to. Draco was here. Safe. Asleep on his chest like he didn’t know how to be scared anymore. That was enough. That was everything.
Draco woke up warm and squinty and rubbing at his eyes like he wanted a refund on waking up at all.
Harry leaned down and murmured, “How about we play a little before dinner?”
Draco, still 75% puddle, nodded.
“Blocks, Hawy” he said into Harry’s shirt.
“Blocks it is.”
They set up in the living room again, blanket fort still standing guard. This time Harry didn’t lead. He just watched, cross-legged on the floor while Draco stacked one wobbly tower after another like the fate of the world depended on alignment. It might’ve been a house. Or a castle. Or a duck. Harry wasn’t sure. Didn’t matter. Draco was trying.
And more than that—he wasn’t flinching at every clack of falling wood. He still startled when the big tower crashed, but it was small, and when Harry didn’t scold him, didn’t move at all, Draco let out this weird little breath like he’d been holding it all day. Then picked up the pieces and started again. That was new.
Dinner was shepherd’s pie—soft, mild, warm. Harry mashed everything into one smooth blend when Draco avoided anything that wasn’t a pea. Draco didn’t complain. Formula followed, and a bit of apple juice, and somewhere in the middle of chewing a carrot like it had personally offended him, Draco let his head lean against Harry’s shoulder. Not sleepy. Just settled. Then came bath time. Bubbles. As usual. Draco had started liking the water. Sort of. It had taken days—long, slow ones full of Harry cupping water in his hands instead of pouring it, of spells that warmed the bath just right, of bubble wands charmed to puff out sleepy lavender foam. Now Draco kicked his feet splashed a little. Still gave the shampoo bottle a look like it might betray him, but didn’t fight.
Harry let him be a menace. Towel-wrapped him like a burrito when it was done. Fresh onesie tonight—pale blue with tiny hippogriffs embroidered into the sleeves. Draco poked at one sleepily like it might move. Back to the couch. Fire crackling. Stars blinking outside. And Harry’s planner spread open on his knee, just behind Draco’s very drooly pacifier.
“We’ve got a big day tomorrow,” Harry said softly. “Gringotts in the morning. But after that…”
He tapped a thin bit of parchment with his wand, letting the ink arrange itself into a neat schedule.
“We’re going to the toy shop.”
That got Draco’s attention.
“To see?”
Harry smiled. “Not just to look. To choose. Whatever you want.”
Draco frowned hard enough to summon clouds. “I got twains, Hawy…”
“You do,” Harry said, nodding. “But you didn’t pick them. Right? Someone else gave them to you.”
Draco didn’t answer. Just pulled his pacifier in and turned away like the conversation had gotten too big. Harry pressed on. Gentle, like coaxing a scared kneazle out from under the bed.
“This time you get to choose. Plushies. Maybe a wand rattle. Or one of those spinning music things.”
Draco mumbled something around his paci. It might’ve been “Bu’ I hav Lolo?”
Harry grinned. “You do. But Lolo’s gonna need friends.”
That got him. A blink. Slow and startled. Like the concept had never occurred to him—that toys could want company. Harry let it sit. Let the silence stretch. Then he marked down their appointment, tucked the parchment away, and leaned back into the cushions. Draco squirmed once, found his favorite spot again, and stopped moving. Pacifier. Lion. Blanket with twinkling stars. Harry wrapped both arms around the small bundle against him and held on.
Tomorrow would be everything. But tonight? Tonight was this. Soft breath. Steady heart. Warm skin and tiny fingers curled into his sleeve.
Harry whispered into Draco’s hair, “I’ve got you, baby. Always.”
And this time, Draco didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide. Didn’t ask if it was true. He just slept. Peaceful. Safe. Loved.
Notes:
Hello Little loves,
How have you all been? Its been long enough since the last chapter, so here we are with new chapter and quite shy little laughs from Baby Draco and cuteness overloaded. Let me know your thoughts i love reading all your comments, makes me want to write more. What do you think about this chapter? My writing style has changed a bit. I would love to hear your thoughts on my style as well. If i am overdoing something or missing something, you can let me know. Just please be gentle. I have a life being hard enough on me, would rather my readers be a little gentle towards meSee yall later
Your lovely Author 💕
Chapter 12: Socks, Sobs, and Something Like Home
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry was already running late when he stubbed his toe on the edge of the changing table and swore under his breath.
He winced, not just from the pain but from the sudden realization that his very small, very impressionable Little was definitely still asleep and very much within hearing range. “Brilliant,” he muttered, limping toward the bed. “Brilliant start to the day.”
The sun was up—too up. It was already nearing eight, and they were supposed to meet Ron and Hermione in an hour. The bottle wasn’t warmed yet. The nappy bag wasn’t packed. He had no idea where Draco’s shoes were. And Draco? Still a lump under the quilt, only the tiniest patch of pale blond hair visible at the top of the blanket mountain.
Harry crouched beside the bed and gently ran a hand through the soft hair sticking out.
“Draco… baby, time to get up.” No response. “Come on, little bug. We’ve got a big day. Remember? Shopping trip? You get to pick your own toys. Lolo’s going too.”
The lump shifted. Then a tiny voice mumbled, “Mmmno.”
Harry sighed. “Sweetheart, please. We’re already late—”
A small hand emerged from the blanket and waved him off with the world’s tiniest shrug. Harry blinked. “Did you just… shrug at me?”
Draco peeked one bleary eye out, pacifier stuck firmly in his mouth. He didn’t respond. He just shrugged again. Harry flopped back on his heels, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. “Merlin, save me.”
Eventually, Draco was up—but he refused to let go of the blanket. Harry had to physically wrap him in a warm jumper, manoeuvre him into the bathroom, and convince him through what felt like a hostage negotiation to brush his teeth.
“Why?” Draco asked, frowning at the toothbrush like it had deeply offended him.
“Because we don’t want yucky dragon breath.”
“Why?”
“Because people will faint when they talk to you.”
“…Oh.”
He brushed. But slowly. After Harry wrestled Draco into the soft blue onesie and the white overalls (with Why’s and shrugs from Draco about everything), Harry quickly put on a blanket in the kitchen and laid Draco on top and started making breakfast for both of them. He threw together toasts and marmalade and some blueberries for Draco and some scrambled eggs with toast for himself.
Once the breakfast was done, Draco absolutely refused to let go off the train toy and insisted to have the breakfast all by himself, Harry caved and gave the formula bottle first and then left Draco to his own devices and went to pack the nappy bag.
Harry was late.
Not the “five minutes and a dash of floo powder” kind of late. The catastrophic, “we’re supposed to be meeting Hermione in ten minutes and I haven’t packed a single thing” kind of late.
“Draco, come on, love, we’ve got to go—where are your shoes?” Harry’s voice was already halfway to a shout as he rifled through the nappy bag. Formula bottle? Not warm yet. Clean pacifier? Where did it roll off to? Extra jumper? Not the one with food stains—
He turned around. Draco was sitting on the floor, must have crawled behind Harry to the living room from kitchen, one sock on, the other crumpled beside him, poking at a leftover bit of breakfast toast with intense curiosity, the toast was smushed in his hand and crumbs were all over the floor, a clear trail from kitchen, and the toast looked an abhorrent blue colour, neabibg he has smashed some blueberries together too.
“Draco,” Harry said, trying to breathe through his nose. He has to clean Draco up. Again. “Shoes. Please.”
Draco blinked up at him and said, perfectly pleasant, “Why?”
Harry froze. “Why what?”
“Why shoes.”
Harry stared. “Because we’re going outside, baby.”
Draco squinted. “But… I got socks.”
“You also need shoes,” Harry said, dropping the nappy bag and kneeling down. “Come here, please, I’ll help—”
Draco, rather impressively, shrugged and shoved the concoction of a toast in his mouth.
Harry counted to three. Then ten. Then seriously considered screaming into a tea towel. He finally managed to wrestle Draco into his coat after cleaning him again (with three more “Why?”s and one very slow motion flop onto the floor that delayed them another full minute) and scooped him up, grabbing the half-packed bag with his free hand.
Draco wiggled. “Where goin’, Hawwy?”
“Shopping,” Harry said through clenched teeth. “Remember? We talked about it?”
“Mmhm.” Draco nodded seriously. “Can I ride the trolley?”
“There aren’t trolleys in Diagon Alley.” Harry ran back to the kitchen to pick up the pacifiers and the bottle.
“Why?”
“Because—”
Harry stopped mid-sentence, his blood ran cold. He stood there witnessing the potion cabinet wide open and most of them dripping and a few bottles shattered. When had this happened?
“Draco,” he said slowly. “Did you touch the green bottle on the second shelf?”
Draco blinked. Swallowed. “It was glowy.”
“Draco.” Harry set him down too fast, panic spiking. “That was a shrinking draught—what if you—no, no, no—stay there—don’t touch anything else—”
His voice was too sharp. Loud. Not loud like angry, but loud like scared. But Draco still flinched. Full body. Like a whip crack. Harry whipped around just in time to see it—the way Draco’s small form folded in on itself, face going pale, hands balled at his sides like he was bracing. Like he expected to be punished.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said instantly, hands raised. “No—baby, no, I didn’t mean to yell. I was scared. That bottle’s dangerous—sweetheart, I’m not mad—”
But Draco wasn’t listening. He stood there, tiny chest heaving. The sobs started slow—little shaky gasps, lips trembling around the pacifier still dangling from his jumper.
And then—
He cried.
Not the silent kind, not the kind where tears slipped down and he bit them back. These were real sobs. Quiet but sharp, his little body shaking as he cried into his sleeves, trying to make himself small. Harry dropped to his knees, guilt slamming into his chest. “Oh, love—no, no, no—come here, I’ve got you—please—”
Draco backed up half a step, like he wasn’t sure. Like his brain hadn’t caught up to what his heart wanted.
“I didn’t mean to yell,” Harry whispered, voice cracking. “I was scared. I would never, never hurt you, baby. You scared me, that’s all.”
Draco whimpered, eyes squeezed shut.
“I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” Harry whispered again, moving closer on his knees. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t.”
Draco finally took a step forward. Then another. Then all at once, launched himself into Harry’s arms with a hiccupped gasp.
Harry caught him, heart breaking.
The little one burrowed into his chest and sobbed there, body trembling, fists clenched into Harry’s jumper like he was afraid he’d be pushed away. But Harry just rocked him. Over and over. Hand on his back, cheek against his hair.
“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”
“I didn’ mean!” he hiccupped. “Didn’ know—didn’—s-sowwy!”
“No, no, sweetheart, no one’s mad,” Harry whispered, sitting down hard on the edge of the bed with Draco clinging to him. “I shouldn’t have yelled. That was my fault, love. I scared you, I’m so sorry.”
Draco’s face pressed into his chest, wet with tears, trembling like a leaf.
Harry rocked him, guilt twisting through every nerve.
He’d snapped. Just for a second. But it had been enough. He pressed his nose into Draco’s hair, breathing him in, holding him tighter.
“I’m not perfect,” he whispered. “I’m learning too, bug. But I’ll never, ever hurt you. And I’ll never let anyone else hurt you either. You’re safe.”
He didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Long enough for Draco’s sobs to fade into little gasping hiccups and snuffles.
The fireplace roared green.
Hermione stepped out, followed by Ron, both immediately stopping dead at the sight of Harry sitting on the floor, holding a crying Draco and looking like someone had punched him in the gut.
“Harry?” Hermione said softly, instantly stepping forward.
Harry didn’t look up. He just kept rubbing Draco’s back in slow, steady motions.
“He touched the wrong bottle,” he said hoarsely. “I panicked. I yelled.”
Ron winced. “Shite.”
Draco hiccupped. Hermione knelt beside him. “Is he okay?”
“I scared him.” Harry pressed his eyes shut. “He flinched. Proper flinched. Like I was gonna—” His voice cracked again.
Hermione put a hand on his arm. “You didn’t.”
“But I felt it. The frustration. Just—just everything. The socks. The toast. The ‘whys.’ I’m not—” He exhaled. “I’m not cut out for this.”
“Harry,” Hermione said, soft but firm. “You are. You had a moment. That’s all. You didn’t hurt him. You never would.”
Ron crouched beside them. “Okay, let me handle the little champ, and watch the little dragon and you can get ready by yourself. Right Draco? Did you choose what to wear? You look like a Prince! Harry has the most atrocious fashion sense ever. Even I dress up better. He might accidently dress you as a Hippogriff?!!” Ron gasped dramatically clutching his chest. Draco let out a watery giggle “Merlin, the atrocity!! No we can’t have that we have to come up with a aplan to only buy best stuff for you. Come here, little mate. Let’s go make a plan” Ron tried to lift the baby out of Harry’s lap, Draco sniffled loudly at that. Still hiccupping. Still holding tight.
Harry finally looked down and met the little one’s red, watery eyes. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Draco blinked at him. Then mumbled, thickly, “No yell.”
“I’ll try really, really hard not to,” Harry promised.
“Pwomise?”
Harry nodded. “Cross my heart.”
Draco sniffled again. “M’okay now.”
“Yeah?” Harry said, brushing his hair back. “Are you sure?”
Draco leaned in and rubbed his snotty face against Harry’s shirt like a cat.
“Lovely,” Harry muttered. “This was clean.”
That got a tiny smile. Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before one of us drinks poison or explodes something.”
“Are you okay, Harry?” Hermione broached once Ron had taken the baby out of earshot.
“No. I mean—yeah, he’s okay, I think. But I—I don’t know if I can do this. I love him. I do. But I’m tired and I’m scared I’ll mess up, and I’m just… I don’t know if I’m good enough to be someone’s daddy, what if I mess him up more?”
Hermione knelt beside him and put a hand on his arm. “Harry. You are tired. But you’re doing it. You’re not perfect—but no one is. You love him. You show up. That’s what matters. And you are doing everything you can to help him. You can never mess him up.”
Harry looked down at the little boy in his arms. Draco had gone quiet, thumb back in his mouth, Lolo squished under one arm like he needed him to keep breathing.
“I yelled,” Harry said again. Quieter. To himself.
“And you comforted him right after,” Hermione replied gently. “You didn’t shame him. You didn’t walk away. That’s more than most people would’ve done.”
“You need a break. That’s what. We’ll help. You’re not doing this alone.” Hermione continued after a pause.
Harry looked at them her and then at Draco and Ron, and his chest eased a little. His chest eased. Just a little. “Thanks.”
Hermione smiled. “Let’s get you dressed up too. We’ve got shopping to do.”
Ron, true to his word, had Draco perched on his hip and was loudly explaining why no respectable wizard should ever wear orange socks with green robes. Draco, for his part, looked mildly fascinated and deeply confused.
“Right,” Harry said as he stepped into the entryway, finally clean, dressed, and carrying the nappy bag with a fresh bottle packed. “I’m ready. I think.”
“Miracles happen,” Hermione muttered with a smile.
Draco reached for Harry the second he walked near. His pacifier bobbed gently in his mouth as he leaned into Harry’s chest, thumb clutching at the edge of his new cloak. It was pale grey with little silver stars—Hermione had picked it out—and it looked far too regal for someone currently wiping snot onto Harry’s robes. Harry didn’t mind. They were already late anyway.
“Alright,” Harry murmured, rubbing his back. “Ready, baby?”
Draco gave the smallest of nods, cheek still mashed against Harry’s collar.
Ron opened the Floo with a dramatic wave of his wand. “All aboard the chaos train.”
“Please don’t,” Hermione muttered, already stepping through.
Draco stiffened a little as the flames whooshed around them, but Harry held him tight and whispered, “Got you.” Just like always.
They landed at the top of Diagon Alley, near the shaded edge where a series of Little-friendly shops had been recently opened. There were soft carpets, muted colors, and gentle charms to keep the noise down.
Harry could feel the tension in Draco’s body as they stepped out onto the cobblestones. Diagon Alley was busy today—parents and their Littles moving in and out of shops, a pair of toddlers chasing a flying ball down the street while their Carers trailed behind.
Draco didn’t make a sound. But his fingers clutched Harry’s sleeve like a lifeline. Hermione leaned over with a gentle smile. “You’re doing amazing, sweetheart. Just stay close to Harry, okay?”
Draco gave a tiny nod, pacifier still firmly in his mouth.
The first stop was Bundles & Babbles, the largest Little outfitter in London. The window display shimmered with floating mobiles, plushy dragons that blinked lazily, and a mannequin dressed in a ridiculously cute onesie shaped like a puffskein. Draco stared at it.
“Don’t worry,” Ron said, grinning. “We’re not making you wear that. Unless you want to. Then we’ll buy two.”
That got a faint snort from Harry and the ghost of a smile from Draco. Inside was quiet and warm. The lighting was soft, the floors padded, and a faint lullaby played from somewhere near the ceiling. Rows upon rows of onesies, blankets, sleep sacks, plushies, and enchanted bottles filled the room, all charmed to hover or chime softly as customers passed by.
“Alright, baby,” Harry whispered. “This is all for you. We’re going to pick things you like. But you tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”
Draco nodded. They started in the clothing section. Hermione pulled down a soft yellow onesie with moon patches stitched on the knees. “This would look adorable.”
Draco peeked at it. Then up at Harry.
“You can touch it,” Harry encouraged.
Draco inched forward, dragging Lolo behind him like a security blanket, and pressed one hand against the fabric. Soft. Really soft.
He didn’t say anything, but his fingers stayed curled in it even after Hermione gently offered it to him. Harry added it to the basket without a word.
After that, it got a little easier. A pale green footie sleeper with tiny brooms on the toes. A starry nightshirt with matching mittens. Draco even picked a pair of socks with wings on them after Ron loudly announced, “These will make you go faster.”
Draco pointed. Then shrugged. Which, for Draco, basically meant yes. Then came the accessory aisle—pacifiers, bibs, booties. Draco was less certain here. Harry knelt beside him, brushing a hand through his hair. “See anything you like, baby?”
Draco looked at the wall of pacifiers. Slowly, he reached toward one shaped like a sleepy moon, pale blue with a gentle twinkle charm.
“Good choice,” Harry whispered. “That one’s got sleepy dust built in.”
Draco blinked up at him like he didn’t believe that could be real, then tucked it under his arm alongside Lolo.
Ron, meanwhile, had found a bib that read “Quidditch Captain” in sparkly red letters.
Harry vetoed it immediately.
“I was going to say future Cannons MVP,” Ron grumbled.
“You’re not branding him for your team.”
“Who said anything about branding? It’s just team pride!”
“He’s not even three.”
“Start young,” Ron muttered, dropping it back on the hook.
In the furniture showroom, the emotions hit a little different. The cribs stretched along the far wall like something out of a catalog—lavender-painted frames, white lacquered wood with gold trim, enchanted mobiles floating above each one. The center crib was huge, softly curved like a nest, with a hand-carved headboard shaped like a rising moon. Draco’s eyes locked on it instantly. He didn’t move. He just stared. Harry moved slowly beside him, crouching low.
“You like that one?”
Draco said nothing. But his hand slipped into Harry’s. Not tugging. Not asking. Just holding.
They bought the crib. And the simple one for Harry’s room. And a pram stroller with matching blanket charms and a toy bar that Ron promptly got tangled in while “testing for durability.”
“Merlin’s socks—this thing bites!”
“It doesn’t bite, Ron, you kicked the dragon plush—”
“It bit me!”
“It squeaked.”
“Same thing!”
Draco watched with wide eyes. Then a snort escaped. And then—just barely—a shriek of laughter. It came fast, high-pitched and startled, like it had leapt out without permission. Draco clapped a hand over his mouth like he hadn’t meant to let it out. But the grin remained. Harry’s heart squeezed. He reached over and ruffled Draco’s hair.
“That was a laugh, bug.” Draco ducked his head.
“Not funny,” he mumbled.
“Sure wasn’t,” Ron agreed. “Very serious biting pram. Extremely deadly.”
Draco giggled again. A little less shy this time.
Next was the plushie aisle. They saved it for last. Harry wanted him to choose. The wall stretched long, with all manner of creatures—sleepy dragons, baby phoenixes that chirped when squeezed, even a flobberworm plush that wiggled when tickled. Draco’s eyes were huge. Harry lifted him into his arms and held him steady.
“Whichever you want, baby.”
Draco reached toward a small gray puffball with enormous eyes.
“Is that… a pygmy puff?” Harry blinked.
Draco nodded. “Looks like me.”
Harry stared at it. “…I don’t see how.”
“Tiny.”
“…Fair enough.”
They added it to the growing pile. Harry was half-convinced the little guy was going to collapse from choice fatigue, but he surprised them all by tugging Hermione’s sleeve and pointing shyly at a sleepy kneazle with droopy whiskers and a patchy ear.
“This too?” he whispered.
Hermione smiled so wide it looked like it hurt. “Absolutely.”
When they stepped outside into the late afternoon sun, Harry could feel the shift. Draco wasn’t curled tight against him. His head was still tucked into Harry’s shoulder, yes—but he wasn’t trembling. He was tired. But not scared.
Hermione guided them to a small cafe tucked near the edge of the Alley, warded and quiet, where they took the booth in the corner and charmed the walls for extra privacy. The late afternoon light poured in through the enchanted café windows, casting warm golden puddles across the little round table where they’d all finally settled. Draco was tucked into the booster seat beside Harry, still clutching his new pygmy puff, its tufty fur sticking up in all directions. Lolo rested in his lap like a royal guard, while the sleepy kneazle plush sat propped on the table, blinking lazily with every soft magical pulse.
Ron immediately ordered chips, Hermione got tea and sandwiches. Harry ordered mild toddler friendly food hoping Draco would eat the whole thing ordered for him. But when the waiter brought out soft potato bites and buttered bread and tiny slices of pear, he leaned forward, pacifier hanging from his collar, and poked the food suspiciously.
“Taste?” Harry offered, handing him a spoon.
Draco nodded. He took one bite. Chewed thoughtfully. Then looked at Harry with the world’s most serious face. “S’good.”
Harry bit back a laugh. “I’m glad.”
Draco had eaten slowly, cautiously at first. He sniffed each bite like it might turn into a beetle. But eventually, he accepted Harry’s quiet coaxing and let himself be fed a few pieces. Then, halfway through, he’d insisted on holding the spoon himself. Harry let him, which meant a lot of pear on his jumper and one potato chunk ending up in Ron’s lap (“It attacked me!” “It fell.” “Viciously!”). Draco fed Ron one pear slice by accident, prompting a full ten-minute dramatization about being “forcibly pear-fed by a gourmet toddler.”
Hermione had gotten through half a cup of tea without spilling, and that was considered a success. Ron, meanwhile, had made it his personal mission to keep Draco entertained—juggling sugar packets with exaggerated sleight of hand, pretending the spoon was a broomstick, and narrating a full-on battle between his teacup and a biscuit.
Harry didn’t have the heart to call him out. Not just because Draco giggled—softly, behind his pacifier—but because Harry suspected Ron needed it just as much.
Still, Draco, even at his age, was clever. He tilted his head once or twice as if trying to figure out why Ron was acting so silly. But instead of shying away, he simply reached out and plucked the sugar packet out of Ron’s hand with the kind of unimpressed dignity only a Malfoy could manage.
Ron gasped as though mortally wounded. “Betrayal!”
Draco giggled again.
By the time dessert arrived—three delicate sugar fairy cupcakes, one each for Ron and Hermione, and a small one for Draco and Harry to share—the little boy was starting to fade. Warm. Full. Safe. Sleepy.
Harry looked down at him, at the pacifier now hanging by its charm clip, the way Draco’s eyes fluttered heavier with every blink, and how he leaned in without a word—tucking himself against Harry’s side like he belonged there.
Harry chewed slowly on his bite of cake, not tasting it. His chest was full of something too big, too wide to name.
Because after this—after the last crumbs were brushed from the table, after they bundled Draco up in his soft cloak and headed into the goblin-run halls of Gringotts—it would be real. Permanent. He’d be Draco’s guardian. His father, in name and in magic. And suddenly, Harry’s heart was hammering.
What if he wasn’t enough? What if this sealed something he couldn’t live up to? His hand twitched under the table. Then something warm touched it. Draco had reached out. He didn’t say anything—didn’t even glance up. Just laid his small, blueberry-stained fingers over Harry’s.
Harry looked at him. Draco blinked back, eyes soft and slow, and a little smile curved at the corners of his mouth—quiet and trusting. Not perfect. Not without shadows. But real. And for once, Harry didn’t try to chase the doubt away. He didn’t have to. This little boy—this brilliant, brave, broken soul—had found a way to laugh today. He had chosen a toy. Sat at a café. Reached out first. He was healing. And Harry? Harry was here.
That was enough. More than enough. Harry leaned down, pressed a kiss to Draco’s fine blond hair, and whispered against it, “Thank you, baby. For choosing me back.”
Draco’s eyes drifted shut, and Harry just sat there, holding onto his hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world. They had one stop left. And then Draco would be his. Officially. Magically. Forever.
Notes:
Hi my little loves,
Here i am back with another chapter, late again. But its a lovely chapter. i hope so? Also please respectfully point out if there is any error that i made. It too late at night at my place here. So i havent edited it to perfection.
So i read all your comments and they make my day everytime i get the mail saying one of you commented. Please keep commenting. Let me know how did you find this chapter. I know i am probably going slow. But i am trying to do justice to the trauma that Draco had gone through rushing the plot here would not seem as true as i want it to. But please feel free to let me know if you guys prefer plot heavy chapters? Or is this pace good enough? the plot will pick up quite soon within a couple chapters max. But yeah i do get lost in writing the scenes of Draco. I would love to hear any specific thing you might be looking for in this story.
Thank you, Keep leaving kudos!
your exhausted sleep deprived author.P.S. Im sorry if this was a ramble!!
Chapter 13: In Ink and Blood and Love
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry stared at himself in the mirror.
He was already redressed as much as possible in the Café bathroom—robes straight, hair marginally tamed, wand holstered, everything in place. And yet his reflection looked pale. Tight around the mouth. His collar sat too heavy at his neck, his skin too warm, like he couldn’t quite breathe properly.
His hands were shaking.
Not enough to be visible, maybe. But enough for him to feel it.
He gripped the edge of the sink and leaned in, forehead nearly touching the glass. The bathroom was quiet—just the steady drip of a faucet and the soft hum of the silencing charm that kept Draco from hearing him as he was waiting right outside the door with Ron and Hermione.
Today was the day. Today he went to Gringotts and made it official. Today he became someone’s parent. Not today. Now. In minutes, he’d be Draco’s Guardian forever.
His knees almost buckled at the thought.
He should be happy. He was. Somewhere deep beneath the swirl of panic, he knew this was what he wanted. What he’d chosen. What he’d desired.
But right now? Right now all he could hear were the fears.
What if he was doing it wrong? What if he messed this up and Draco paid the price? What if he couldn’t protect him, couldn’t understand him, couldn’t give him what he needed?
What if all of this—every soft smile, every sleepy cuddle, every small, brave giggle—was borrowed time? What if one day Draco stopped reaching for him?
Harry pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. His chest was tight, the pressure building so fast he thought he might snap in half.
“You’re not panicking,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re not panicking. It’s just a big moment. Just nerves. That’s all.”
But it wasn’t just nerves. It was terror. It was the weight of a name he hadn’t earned yet. Draco hadn’t said it—not once. Not even by accident. Not like that. Not Daddy.
And maybe Harry didn’t deserve it. Maybe he never would.
A knock came at the door. Soft. Hesitant. Harry froze.
Then a tiny voice, muffled by the wood, whispered, “Hawwy?”
He blinked. Straightened. His hand shook as he opened the door.
Draco stood there, clutching Lolo in one hand and his other hand in Ron’s. He had been changed. Hermione had picked out a new robe—a soft slate blue with tiny gold snitches embroidered into the trim. His curls were a little flattened on one side from the new pram— where he had napped in the café while they had the rest of the food. His pacifier bobbed on its charm clip against his chest. But his eyes…
His eyes were clear. Wide. Watching.
“You ‘kay?” Draco asked softly. He spoke around the pacifier, but the words came out full anyway. Curious. A little concerned.
Harry’s heart cracked. He crouched. Reached out. Smoothed a hand over Draco’s hair.
“I’m okay, baby,” he whispered. “Just got a little nervous, that’s all.”
Draco tilted his head, then stepped forward and wrapped both arms around Harry’s neck.
It wasn’t a tackle. It wasn’t even hard. Just a soft, certain hug. A little warm body pressing close, the weight of trust curling into Harry’s chest like a balm.
He buried his face in Draco’s shoulder and inhaled.
“Thanks, Bug,” he murmured. “I needed that.”
Draco patted his hair. As if that was the most normal thing in the world.
Gringotts was colder than he remembered.
Not unpleasantly so—but sharp. Like the building itself wanted you to remember that it was older than your country, and that goblins didn’t care much for sentiment.
Hermione had done all the pre-work. Their file had already been passed through the Department of Magical Family Affairs. All that remained now was the magical signature: a goblin-sealed binding that marked Draco as Harry’s ward in every magical and legal sense.
There were no lines in this part of the bank. No velvet ropes or wand scanners. Just a pair of tall iron doors with filigree charms that pulsed with ancestral magic and a goblin escort in ceremonial bronze armor, who barely blinked when Draco clung to Harry’s neck like a barnacle.
“This way,” the goblin said crisply, and they followed him down.
The Adoption Chamber wasn’t grand. Not like the vaults, not like the main halls.
It was quiet. Circular. Stone walls charmed to shimmer faintly with goblin runes. A pedestal stood in the center with a blank scroll resting atop it. The ink would only appear when the magic was completed.
Harry’s palms were sweating again.
The goblin gestured. “Stand there, Mr. Potter. The child beside you.”
Draco was silent. Still pressed close.
Harry adjusted him gently on his hip, heart in his throat.
“The Ministry confirms the match?” the goblin asked, formal.
“Yes,” Hermione said beside him, her voice level.
“Witnesses?”
Hermione and Ron stepped forward.
The goblin nodded once.
Then he stepped back and tapped his staff against the floor. The chamber shimmered. The scroll unfurled on its own.
Draco turned his head into Harry’s robes, thumb finding his mouth again.
Harry’s breath caught as magic surged in the air—thick, old, laced with laws he couldn’t name. The pedestal glowed softly, and gold script began to write itself across the page.
A voice—not the goblin’s, not anyone’s—rang out from the walls.
The name lingered, neither spoken nor heard, but known—as though the castle’s very stones had whispered it into existence.
"You stand before the old magic, the deep magic, which has slept beneath these floors since the first wards were laid. "
A draft stirred, though no window stood open. The torches burned suddenly still, their flames frozen mid-flicker, as if time itself had paused to listen.
"To bind yourself as guardian is to weave your fate with another’s—to let his sorrows be your sorrows, his battles your battles. The path is steeped in shadow, and the cost is paid not in gold, but in blood and breath and years unwritten."
The air tasted of iron and myrrh, thick with the weight of unsealed vows.
"Do you, Harry James Potter, knowing full well the gravity of this oath, accept the mantle of guardianship over the Little named : Draco Abraxas Malfoy?"
A silence, vast and echoing, stretched between heartbeats.
"Speak now."
Harry’s throat closed. He looked down.
Draco was watching him.
Not scared. Just… waiting.
Waiting to see what Harry would do.
Harry’s voice shook. “Yes. I do.”
Magic rippled through the floor.
“Do you vow to protect, nurture, and care for him as your own, for as long as you both shall live?”
Harry didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
Another surge. The scroll glowed brighter.
“Do you understand that your magic will now be tied to his safety? That he shall bear your crest, your name, and your protection for all time?”
“Yes.”
The final question rang out like a bell.
“And do you choose him?”
Harry’s breath caught.
He looked down at the boy in his arms. The pale hair. The small fingers curled in his collar. The soft, waiting eyes.
“I do,” he whispered.
The scroll ignited in gold light. Words bloomed in fire. A soft hum filled the chamber as the goblin stepped forward and held out a small ceremonial dagger.
Draco stirred slightly as the goblin stepped forward, parchment and dagger in hand.
Harry felt the small body in his arms tense. Draco’s thumb popped into his mouth almost on instinct, his other hand curling into Harry’s robes. When he caught sight of the gleam of silver, he froze.
“Wha’s that?” he asked quietly, his voice thin and scared.
Harry’s heart ached. He turned, shielding Draco a little with his body. “It’s okay, love. Just a tiny prick. A small drop of blood, and then we’re all done.”
Draco shook his head, his whole body trembling now. “No… don’ wan’ pokey…” He curled tighter against Harry’s chest, eyes wet and wide. “No pokey, p’ease, I be good…”
“You are good,” Harry said immediately, brushing a hand over his hair. “So good, baby. This isn’t a punishment. I promise, I’d never let anyone hurt you.”
Draco didn’t move.
Harry cupped his cheek and looked into his eyes. “I’ll go first. I’ll show you it doesn’t hurt. You can hold me the whole time, alright?”
Still shaking, Draco gave the smallest of nods.
Hermione knelt nearby, not too close. “It’s very fast, sweetheart,” she said gently. “Just a little dot. Like a mosquito bite. And then it’s all over.”
Draco glanced at her, then at the goblin, then tucked his face into Harry’s neck.
“’kay,” he whispered.
Harry nodded at the goblin, holding Draco with one arm and extending his hand. The prick was done in a blink—barely more than a sting—and the scroll shimmered with gold as the drop of Harry’s blood sank into the parchment.
Then it was Draco’s turn.
Harry cradled his small hand in both of his and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “You’re so brave, bug. I’ve got you. Look at me.”
Draco peeked up, eyes watery but trusting.
The goblin reached forward—slowly, carefully—and pricked Draco’s thumb with the softest touch of the blade.
Draco yelped. It wasn’t loud, just surprised, more from fear than pain. Then his face crumpled, a sob escaping as he buried himself in Harry’s robes again.
Harry held him tightly, rocking just a little. “All done, baby. That was it. You did it. You were so brave.”
The parchment glowed gold. The bond sealed itself with a pulse of magic that warmed the air around them like a heartbeat. Draco’s name on the scroll changed to Draco Abraxas Potter.
Harry felt the moment the magic snapped into place. Like a string inside him had been tied tight, gently but irrevocably, to something small and soft and precious.
His magic curled around Draco’s like ivy. Protective. Sure.
It was done.
Draco Malfoy was now, in every magical and legal sense, his.
His Little. His baby. His Draco
Harry didn’t know when his knees hit the floor.
He didn’t notice the way his face crumpled until Hermione touched his back and said softly, “You did it.”
Draco looked at him with wide eyes. “Hawwy?”
Harry laughed through the tears. “Still here, baby.”
Draco leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. A quiet moment. Gentle. Real.
Ron cleared his throat. “Right then. We should probably… er, go before I cry.”
Draco’s head perked up immediately. “Why cry?” he asked, voice small and puzzled, his tear-flushed face blinking between Ron and Harry. “Why you cry?”
Ron froze mid-step. “Uh—well…”
Draco twisted in Harry’s arms to look at him instead. “Hawwy, why you cry?”
Harry sniffed, still trying to get his face under control. “Oh, baby—these are happy tears.”
Draco frowned, unconvinced. “Tea’ls mean sad.”
“They can,” Harry said, brushing his thumb under Draco’s eye, where the last of his tears had dried. “But sometimes, when people are really happy or relieved or… full, they cry a little too.”
Draco tilted his head. “Why full?”
Harry stumbled. “Er… like when you’ve held something in for a long time and it’s finally out. Or… when your heart gets too big to keep quiet. That sort of full.”
Draco just squinted harder. His brows were furrowed so tight, Harry could practically hear his little thoughts trying to work it all out.
Ron leaned in with a grin. “He has your thinking face now.”
Harry gave him a look.
“I don’ get it,” Draco almost whined, fingers playing with the hem of Harry’s collar. “Why all cry for scroll? Scroll’s not scary.”
Hermione knelt down next to them, her eyes gentle. “It wasn’t just a scroll, sweetheart.”
Draco looked at her, blinking slowly, thumb slipping into his mouth halfway before he changed his mind.
Hermione smiled. “That scroll said you belong to Harry now. Forever. Just like you wanted.”
Draco went very still.
She softened her voice further. “It means no one can take you away. It means Harry is your guardian. Like a papa or daddy. All the way through.”
Draco stared.
Then slowly turned to Harry again. His lower lip trembled.
“F-Foweber?” he whispered, eyes wide.
Harry nodded. “Yes, baby. Forever. Always”
Something broke. It started as a hiccup. Then a sharp little gasp. Then Draco began to cry. Not the quiet, controlled tears from before. Not the silent breakdowns Harry had grown used to.
This was wailing.
Big, loud sobs. Full-bodied and cracked wide open, his little arms flung around Harry’s neck as though the moment he let go it would all vanish.
Harry panicked.
“Draco? Baby—what—? You’re okay, love, shhh, you’re alright, I’ve got you, I’ve got you—”
“Tank you!” Draco choked between sobs, squeezing him tight. “Fank you, fank you—”
Harry’s chest cracked clean in half. “Oh, baby—”
Hermione’s hand touched Harry’s back gently, but her eyes were shining too. Ron had gone very, very still.
“Draco,” Hermione said softly, “can you tell us what you’re feeling?”
Draco hiccupped. “I—I d-don’ hafta go?”
“No,” Harry whispered. “Never.”
“Not even if m’messy? Or—or break stuff?”
“Not even then.”
Draco’s eyes were red and wet and overflowing again. “Not even if I cry?”
Harry kissed his forehead, his voice shaking. “You can cry every day if you need to, baby. I’ll still be here.”
Draco looked down at his hands. His fingers twisted in Harry’s robes. “I tho’t… I tho’t maybe if I was too loud or too messy or too bad… you’d—” His voice cracked. “You’d send me back.”
Ron let out a sharp breath.
Draco’s words were tangled now, slurred through tears and hiccups. “Th-thought maybe ‘cause I’m not good all th’time… you’d not wanna keep me…”
Harry held him tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head. “You’re good. You are so, so good, Draco.”
“But Az’ban—”
“No.” Harry’s voice was firm now. “Never, baby. Never again. You’re not bad. You were hurt. That’s not the same thing.”
Draco blinked up at him. “But I yell sometimes. And make mess. And… and touch bad bottles.”
Harry exhaled, his heart aching. “And I lose my temper. And I get messy. And I yelled once too, remember?”
Draco nodded miserably.
“But we’re still here,” Harry whispered. “Still together. That’s what families do. They love each other anyway.”
Draco’s chin trembled, eyes still brimming.
Ron knelt a little closer, voice gentled down to a warm hush. “Hey, little mate. Can I tell you something?”
Draco peeked at him warily.
“You’re allowed to be messy. Or loud. Or even grumpy sometimes. D’you know that?” Ron asked.
Draco blinked, unsure. “But that’s… bad.”
Harry gently rubbed his back. “No, baby. It’s not bad. Littles cry. Sometimes they throw their toys, or pout, or even shout. That doesn’t mean they’re bad. It means they’re little.”
Draco’s brow wrinkled. “But… I’m s’posed to be good…”
“And you are good,” Hermione said softly from beside them, folding her knees to sit level with him. “You’re very, very good, sweetheart. Being a good boy doesn’t mean never making mistakes. It means learning, and growing, and having someone who helps you when you’re confused or upset.”
Harry nodded. “If something you do isn’t okay, I’ll help you. Gently. I’ll never yell or scare you again, not ever. I’ll just talk to you about it. So you understand. That’s what grown-ups are supposed to do.”
Draco stared down at his fingers, curled in Harry’s jumper. “But they used to say… if I cry or shout or make mess, I’m a bad boy.”
Harry’s heart clenched. He slid a hand under Draco’s chin and lifted gently until their eyes met.
“They were wrong, baby,” he said, voice thick. “So, so wrong. Crying isn’t bad. Being upset isn’t bad. You don’t have to be perfect to be loved.”
Draco’s bottom lip wobbled again, but this time… it wasn’t fear behind it. It was relief. Harry kissed the crown of his head again. “It’s okay, baby. It’s more than okay. You’re safe now.”
Hermione, who had pulled a soft handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbed gently at Draco’s cheeks.
The crying slowed eventually—slow sniffles replacing sobs, small breaths replacing wails. Draco stayed curled in Harry’s arms, thumb back in his mouth now, eyes swollen and heavy, but no longer afraid.
They sat there for a while longer, just holding onto each other. No one rushed. No one moved.
Harry felt the scroll—now warm against his chest, tucked into the folder Hermione handed him—pulse faintly with the sealing magic. Draco’s name was etched beside his now. Protected. Bound. Chosen.
Eventually, Ron cleared his throat. “How ‘bout we head home, yeah?”
Harry nodded.
Draco, his voice hoarse and quiet, said softly, “Go home now?”
Harry looked at him, startled for a moment. Then smiled.
“Yes, baby,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
And for the first time, it truly was.
The house was quiet.
Ron and Hermione had left not long ago with soft smiles and warmer goodbyes, both of them making Harry promise to get sleep himself and not pace the floors all night staring at Draco. He had smiled, promised, and lied. Of course he would watch him. Of course he’d be up. How could he not?
The sky had already deepened to a dark velvet blue, stars scattered like glitter outside the windows, soft and still.
Draco was fussier than usual—tired, but too full of new things to settle. New crib, new pajamas, new mobile spinning slowly overhead with little enchanted stars and tiny floating snitches that winked in and out of sight. It wasn’t the fancy crib from the nursery they'd set up across the hall, the one which was softly curved like a nest, with a hand-carved headboard shaped like a rising moon.
This one was simpler. White wood. Cozy. In Harry’s room, beside his bed.
Because Harry couldn’t let him sleep alone just yet.
Draco didn’t ask why. He just… reached out when Harry brought him in, as though he already understood.
He’d protested a bit when Harry tried to change him into his soft moon-and-cloud onesie, squirming just enough to make it a challenge.
“No jammies,” he mumbled, not even meaning it.
“Yes, jammies,” Harry replied patiently, tickling his tummy once to earn a tiny snort. “Otherwise you’ll freeze and I’ll get arrested for child neglect.”
Draco blinked up at him with a squint. “Wha’s neg’lec’?”
“Big word for not wearing your pajamas,” Harry said seriously.
Draco frowned like he wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but he allowed it. The bottle came next—warm formula in the blue-and-gold one with the constellations that glowed when shaken. Harry sat with him in the rocking chair by the window, Draco half-melted into his chest, his lashes already starting to droop as he suckled slowly.
Harry didn’t say much. Just rocked. Watched. And held him. When the bottle was finished, Draco burped quietly against his chest, more snuggly than usual, more drowsy than anything else.
“Ouchie Hawwy” he mumbled, showing his index finger, where he was pricked for the adoption today.
“I know, baby. We’ll put magic ointment in the morning, yeah?” Harry kissed his temple. “You did a great job today. That was very brave of you.”
“‘M always brave, like Lolo” Draco muttered sleepily.
Harry smiled. “You are.”
He placed Draco gently into the crib, tucking him in with the soft blue blanket and setting Lolo right beside him, Toffle —the new pygmy puff at the other side and Mr. Patch —the kneazle at the bottom. The pacifier found its way to Draco’s mouth automatically, and his tiny fingers curled in the lion’s mane.
Harry stood for a long moment, just watching him. Just breathing.
The glow from the mobile overhead danced shadows across Draco’s face—soft and safe and warm.
He was so small. So impossibly small. And somehow, he had survived everything.
Harry sat on the edge of his own bed, still watching. He didn’t mean to stay long, just until Draco fell fully asleep. But as his head sank deeper into the pillow, his thumb rubbing Lolo’s ear, Draco’s lips parted around the pacifier and—
“...I wuv you, Hawwy...”
Barely a whisper.
Sleepy. Soft. Like it wasn’t meant to be heard. Like it slipped out.
Harry froze.
The room stood still.
His breath caught in his throat, every part of him going still as the words settled into the quiet.
He blinked. “Did you—”
But Draco didn’t answer. His pacifier bobbed gently as his breathing evened, lashes fluttering one last time before they closed completely.
Harry stared. His heart beat too loud.
I wuv you. Draco had said that.
It echoed in his ears, his head, his bones. Not a dream. Not a game. Real.
He rubbed his eyes with both hands, the sudden ache in his chest swelling like a wave. He wanted to laugh, or shout, or maybe just curl up on the floor and feel it properly.
Instead, he let the tears come. Quiet. Hot. Sudden. They slipped down his cheeks as he stared at the crib, his baby safe and warm, breathing softly under the glow of starlight.
“Yeah,” he whispered, voice thick. “I love you too, bug.”
He wiped his face on his sleeve, breathed through the ache, and climbed into bed. Not to sleep. Just to be near. He lay on his side, facing the crib, hand resting just close enough to touch the bars. Watching the rise and fall of that tiny chest. The smallest hand tangled in plush lion fur.
And long after the house had gone still and the stars blinked tiredly outside the window, Harry stayed there. Eyes damp. Heart full. Not dreaming.
Just loved.
Notes:
Hello Lovlies,
How are you all doing?
I'm back with another soft chapter. I hope you liked it. I would love to know your thoughts on them I'm unable to reply back to the comments as I'm swamped with work. So just know that I'm grateful for each and every comment and they never fail to make my day when they arrive.
SO please let me know what you think. About the chapter, my writing style, the plot, the pace. Anything you feel is going not so great. or going great i would want to hear all about it. Even rants —especially rants, about Draco being so adorable or anything.Also, let me know if you want me to keep timeline in the beginning too. I know it feels like it has been forever, but in the story it hasnt been even a week since Draco started living with Harry. So yeah i am at snail pace, but i wanted to capture Draco and Harry adjusting in detail. From now on the story will pick up.
Ill be back in another 10 days with another chapter, Bye for now.
Yours,
Author.
Chapter 14: Always Means Always
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry woke to something warm and wiggly pressing into his ribs.
At first, he thought it was the blankets bunching up. Then a very soft, damp sniffle reached his ears, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone dragging a plush toy across his chest.
Draco. His Little Boy
Harry blinked open, groggy and disoriented, but the weight of the little body pressed half-over his chest was instantly grounding. Lolo was tucked firmly beneath Draco’s arm, and Mr. Patch’s droopy whiskers poked into Harry’s chin. Toffle, somehow, was nestled right under Harry’s neck, making very faint wheezing noises every time he exhaled.
“Bug?” Harry croaked.
Draco blinked up at him, his eyes still puffy with sleep, pacifier bobbing faintly as he sucked in slow, rhythmic little bursts. He didn’t answer. Just wriggled up a bit further and tucked his face under Harry’s jaw like it was the safest place in the world.
Harry’s chest gave a little twist. The new crib—simple white wood situated in his room, sat only a few feet away, unused. Because Draco, with a pacifier between his lips and Lolo tucked under one arm, had crawled into Harry’s bed without a word last night after waking up from a bad dream consisting of biting prams, just a sleepy little tug on Harry’s sleeve and a whisper that had sounded suspiciously like, “Too far.”
“You’re a heavy barnacle this morning,” he whispered, brushing pale hair off Draco’s forehead.
Draco didn’t move. But after a moment, a muffled voice emerged—faint and uncertain like a secret he has to double check he whispered.
“Pwomise no send me ‘way?”
Harry stilled. He turned his head slightly, cheek pressing to the top of Draco’s hair. “Promise, bug. Forever.”
Draco stayed quiet. For a full minute. Then:
“Bu-But wha’ if I spill all juice?”
“You’ll get a napkin,” Harry said calmly rubbing Draco’s shoulders.
“Bu’ wha’ if I waste’ it on you’ books?”
“Then we’ll scold the juice for misbehaving.”
Draco didn’t laugh, but he did let out a soft huff against Harry’s neck. He burrowed deeper, little arms wrapping around Harry’s collarbone, and Harry could feel the slow, cautious unclenching of his limbs.
It was early. Too early, really, for the way the light was still filtering gold and sleepy through the curtains. But Draco was awake, and Harry was very certain he’d never get him back into the crib now.
Not that he wanted to.
He shifted slightly, preparing to sit up. Draco clung harder.
“Nooo,” he whined. “S’ay like dis.”
“We have to make breakfast, sweetheart.”
“No.”
“Bug—”
“No Hawwy,” Draco whined, squinting up at him from the crook of his arm.
Harry snorted. They stayed curled like that for a bit longer before Harry finally groaned and sat up. “Alright, come on. We have to brush your teeth before your teeth run away in protest.”
“Why?” Draco asked, voice muffled.
“Because they told me so. They said if we don’t brush them, they’re moving to Ron’s mouth.”
That earned a very serious, sleepy blink. Then Draco nodded solemnly. “Okay.”
Getting out of bed took a bit longer than usual. Draco insisted on bringing all three of his plushies—Toffle in one arm, Mr. Patch dangling by a limp whisker, and Lolo held in the crook of his elbow. He toddled after Harry with the solemnity of a royal procession, only stopping once to sit down in the hallway and loudly inform Toffle, “We brushin’ now, Toff’e”
*****
The bathroom routine wasn’t without its chaos.
By the time they made it to the bathroom, Draco had three plushies lined up on the counter watching the proceedings. He insisted they were “helpin’,” especially when he poured far too much toothpaste on the brush and then offered it to Mr. Patch.
“No, no, love, Patch can’t brush his teeth. He has fabric gums.”
Draco squinted at the kneazle. “But he eat dirt.”
“He what?”
Draco gave a wide-eyed shrug. Harry looked at the plush and sighed. “Right. I’ll book him a check-up.” Draco beamed.
Breakfast was worse.
Draco insisted on “helping.” Which meant trying to butter toast with the back of a spoon, pouring milk with two hands and his tongue sticking out in concentration (a small lake spread across the counter), and “seasoning” Harry’s eggs with a full three pinches of sugar from the jar.
“Bug—” Harry said, gently removing the sugar pot, “—why the sugar?”
“Make it sweet,” Draco said proudly, holding up Mr. Patch like the kneazle had contributed to the plan.
Harry took one look at his now caramelised eggs and sighed. “Well. That’s breakfast dessert sorted, I suppose.”
Draco giggled into his hands.
Real, bright, full giggles. Like he hadn’t meant to do it. Like it slipped out of his chest before he could stop it. Then he froze. Looked up at Harry, wide-eyed and almost guilty.
Harry crouched beside him and kissed the top of his messy hair. “Still allowed to laugh, love. Even at breakfast crimes.”
Draco blinked. Then ducked his head. But he didn’t stop smiling.
Draco looked at the eggs and the mess he had made. Then back at Harry.
Then, seriously, said: “If I make mess… still stay?”
Harry’s eyes softened kissed Draco’s head. “Still stay.”
They ate on sofa. Or rather, Draco sat in Harry’s lap, holding Lolo with one arm and being spoon-fed eggs with the other, occasionally trying to offer bites back to Harry.
“Here. You eat da duck.”
Harry obediently chomped the toast-duck and made a noise of theatrical delight. Draco giggled, then immediately sobered, biting his lip.
“What if I laugh ve’y loud?”
Harry blinked. “Then I’ll laugh with you.”
Draco frowned. “But wha’ if iss no funny?”
“It’ll be funny to me,” Harry said. “Because I get to hear it.”
A pause. Draco mulled that over. Then nodded and tucked himself closer into Harry’s chest. The formula bottle went back into his mouth. For a long moment, they were quiet—just the rustle of sheets, the faint sound of a pygmy puff wheezing from being slightly too squished, and the soft sucking from the bottle.
Then, quietly:
“What if I get mad an’ say bad words?”
Harry looked down, surprised. “Well… we’ll talk about it. And I’ll help you make it better.”
“You still keep me?”
“Still keep you.”
“…Even if I bite Ron?”
Harry tried not to laugh. “Yes even then. But please don’t bite Ron.”
Draco giggled into his bottle, cheeks going pink. The smallest hint of pride shimmered behind the pacifier.
*****
After breakfast, Harry charmed the plates away and tried—unsuccessfully—to set Draco down to clean up the kitchen. Draco clung with his sippy cub of water in his hand.
“Bug,” Harry said, laughing. “I can’t mop the floor with you attached to me.”
“No mop, then.”
“That’s not how—” Harry sighed loudly and rubbed his hand on his forehaed.
Draco held out a hand and poked Harry’s forehead. And with no words tipped his sippy cup with water, with no cap on Harrys forehead and face.
“You had dirt!” Draco said defensively, already tearing up. “Had brown spot!”
Harry blinked. Then wiped his face. He exhaled slowly. “You were… helping?”
Draco nodded proudly. “Wif water.”
“Of course.” Harry ruffled his hair and sighed again. “What would I do without you?”
Draco grinned. “Be dirty.” Draco said proudly. “Now you pwetty.”
Harry blinked at him. “What if I wasn’t?”
Draco blinked back. Then whispered, almost shyly: “I still stay silly Hawwy.”
Getting dressed was another production.
Draco didn’t want trousers. Trousers were “scratchy.” He didn’t want socks. Socks were “mean.” He didn’t want his blue jumper because “Toffle says it’s sad.”
Eventually, Harry coaxed him into soft cotton footie pyjamas with stars on the toes and layered a little cloak over his shoulders. Draco preened.
“Look like prince?”
“Better,” Harry said, adjusting the clasp. “You look like mine.”
Draco stared up at him, mouth open around his pacifier. “Wha’ if I get dirty?”
Harry smiled, “Then we take a bath with all the bath toys”
Then softly said, “Bu’ wha’ if I loose Lolo?”
Harry paused, crouched down, and tucked Lolo firmly into Draco’s arms.
“We’ll find him. Just like I always find you.”
Draco blinked at him. Something in his expression fluttered, like he almost didn’t know how to hold that kind of promise. But then he buried his face in Lolo’s mane and nodded, small and solemn.
*****
The page had just turned, Mr. Patch’s paw tucked beneath Draco’s foot like a makeshift blanket, and Toffle balanced precariously atop Harry’s knee, when the Floo exploded to life with a burst of green flame and twin shouts of:
“Oi, Harry, it’s a crime to keep a secret Weasley from the rest of us!”
Draco jumped.
The book flew.
Toffle bounced off Harry’s knee and landed in a dramatic roll.
Harry caught Draco before he could scramble backwards, one arm wrapped around his waist, already rocking gently. “It’s okay, baby. Just Fred and George.”
Sure enough, Fred and George Weasley spilled out of the fireplace with matching grins and a mountain of wrapped parcels in a shimmering sack that clinked faintly with whatever dangerous object they’d definitely brought without permission. Draco peeked warily out from the crook of Harry’s arm, thumb slowly making its way toward his mouth. His eyes flicked from one redhead to the other, wide and uncertain.
Fred leaned slightly to the left. George mirrored him right.
Then Fred whispered, loud and conspiratorial, “He’s got the eyes.”
George nodded. “And the pout.”
Draco blinked at them, confused and a little wary, thumb creeping toward his mouth.
Fred immediately dropped into a crouch, lowering himself to Draco’s eye level. “Hello there. We come bearing bribes.”
George followed, reaching into the shimmering bag he’d slung over his shoulder. “Legal bribes, mostly. Although one squeaks when it shouldn’t. All for the new miniature member of our redhead family!”
A plush pygmy puff tumbled out first. Then a wooden puzzle enchanted to rotate its own pieces. Then a baby-safe wand that cast floating bubbles in star shapes.
Draco’s thumb stilled just short of his lips.
Draco furrowed his brows. “I not red.”
“Well then,” Fred said, looking mock-scandalised. “We’ll just have to fix that.”
George nodded. “Get the hair dye, Fred.”
Draco gasped and shrank back into Harry’s shirt. “Nooo.”
Harry chuckled into Draco’s hair. “They’re joking, bug.”
Draco let out the tiniest huff. He squirmed on Harry’s lap and whispered, “They wook like Won.”
Harry smiled. “They do. They’re Ron’s brothers. Fred and George.”
“Too many Wons,” Draco mumbled.
“Oi!” Fred said, scandalised. “We’re nothing like that big oaf.”
“Speak for yourself,” George muttered. “I’m charming. He’s got the emotional range of a teaspoon.”
“Harry has that too,” Draco said cheerfully, understanding no context, repeating Mione, and Harry gasped.
“Traitor.”
Draco beamed.
“Spoken like a true Malfoy,” George whispered, before turning to Harry. “We’re adopting him anyway. Sorry, mate. Should’ve read the fine print.”
Draco blinked at that. “’Dop’ed already,” he said proudly, tugging on Harry’s sleeve like it was a banner. “Hawwy said so.”
Harry smiled despite himself. “I did.”
Fred plopped onto the rug with a theatrical groan. “Fine. We’ll have to settle for spoiling him. We brought you gifts, wee one.”
George added, “The good kind. Not the blow-up-your-toilet kind. Mostly harmless”
Draco blinked. “What if I break it?”
“You’ll get a new one,” Harry said simply.
Draco’s smile faltered. “But what if I break all?”
“Still stay.”
This time, Harry didn’t even hesitate.
Draco watched silently, his thumb still tucked in, as George pushed the toy Niffler toward him. It made a tiny squeaking noise and blinked. Draco reached out. Hesitated. Then touched the soft fur with one cautious finger. The Niffler burbled. Draco blinked. Then whispered, “He eats shinies?”
George nodded. “Shinies. And secrets.”
“Not thcary ones?” Draco asked softly.
“Only the silly ones,” Fred assured.
That earned the tiniest smile.
They stayed like that for nearly an hour, Fred conjuring bubbles that popped into glittery stars, George pretending to lose repeatedly at floating dominoes just to make Draco huff proudly. Draco never left Harry’s side entirely, but he did inch closer to the toys, occasionally plopping down on the rug, Mr. Patch tucked beside him like a bodyguard.
When Fred pretended to get electrocuted by a musical xylophone wand and flopped backward with a dramatic shriek, Draco startled again, but this time he didn’t flinch. He stared. And then giggled.
Fred sat up. “Did he—did he just?”
George gasped. “Sound the alarms. He laughed!”
Draco blushed, curling toward Harry with a giggle he couldn’t quite stop. “You funny,” he mumbled.
“Top praise,” Fred said with a sniff. “We’ve peaked.”
Harry gave a small, quiet laugh, watching Draco glow from the inside.
It was almost enough to forget what the twins were *really* there for. Almost.
Because the second the giggles faded, Fred cleared his throat and nudged George. “That deserves celebration, if you ask me.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Please don’t say you’re throwing a party.”
Fred grinned wider. “Not yet.”
George said innocently, “But we might have a dinner lined up.”
Draco perked. “Dinner?”
Harry tensed. “No.”
Fred blinked. “You haven’t even heard the pitch.”
George leaned in, whispering loudly, “Apple pie, Harry.”
“No.”
“Treacle tart.”
Harry paused. “No.”
George turned to Draco. “You like sweets, don’t you, little mate?”
Draco glanced at Harry first. Always first. Then nodded slowly. “Y-yeah…”
Fred added slyly, “Mum made them just for you. Said, ‘That darling boy with the soft curls better come hungry.’”
“I mean it. He’s not ready.”
“But Mum made your favourite,” George tried.
Harry stood up to gather Draco’s scattered toys. “Doesn’t matter. He just got adopted *yesterday*. He’s had one solid night. We’re not risking overstimulation.”
Fred looked to Draco. “What do you think, tiny prince?”
Draco blinked, still nestled into Harry’s arms. “What’s ‘tim-u-wation?”
George whispered, “It’s when your brain goes all squishy.”
“Mine always squishy,” Draco said gravely.
Fred laughed. “Same.”
Harry exhaled. “Look, I know you mean well. But he gets overwhelmed. He still thinks he’ll be thrown out if he spills something. The last time he saw Molly, he—”
Draco interrupted softly, “Th’ow up.”
Harry’s arms tightened. George knelt beside them. “It wasn’t your fault, mate.”
“Still scary,” Draco murmured.
Harry crouched again, level with him. “I know. And it’s okay if you’re not ready.”
There was a pause. Then Draco whispered, “But you go too?”
“Of course.”
Draco paused, then added, “Then okay. If I hold Lolo.”
Fred gave a dramatic gasp. “He’s agreed! George, fetch the celebratory jam!”
George saluted. “Yes, sir!”
Harry sighed, half-laughing. “This is a bad idea.”
“You’ll thank us after pie,” George said.
“No I won’t.”
Fred leaned in. “Mate. You need the break. You’ve been in this house for days. Let him see people who’ll adore him. He’ll be safe. We’ll be there. And Molly’s already knitted him three sweaters.”
Harry hesitated. Looked down at Draco, whose eyes were still wide, uncertain, but not frightened. Lolo was tucked under one arm. Mr. Patch under the other. Toffle peeking out from under his jumper.
George sprang up. “Victory!”
Fred stood and announced dramatically, “To the Burrow! With our glorious prince and his entourage of soft things!”
Draco giggled again, this time without hiding it and allowed Harry to scoop him up, Lolo under one arm, Toffle tucked into Harry’s coat pocket, and Mr. Patch squished proudly against his chest.
“Can I take Patchy?” Draco asked quietly.
Harry nodded. “Yeah, baby. We’ll take them all.”
Draco settled back into his arms with a quiet sigh.
George stood and declared, “Operation Cozy Chaos: Engage!”
Fred saluted. “To the Burrow, with the littlest non-redhead Weasley!”
Draco scrunched his nose. “’M not Weasley.”
“You are for tonight,” Harry whispered.
As they readied to go—bottles, nappies, extra jumper, comfort toys packed and triple-checked—Draco looked up suddenly from where he was seated on the sofa.
“…What if I hiccup and set something on fire?”
Fred blinked. George whispered, “He’s one of us.”
Harry laughed, heart lighter than it had felt in days. And when the Floo flared again, carrying them all to the Burrow in a flurry of green and soot, Draco whispered into Harry’s ear:
“…Still stay?”
Harry held him tighter. “Always.”
Notes:
Hey Everyone,
I am the most inconsistent author you have ever had the misfortune to read but in my defense my work got hectic and i have been in and out of ER since a couple months. So here i am typing this away at 1 AM. Because i need to post of i don't i will prolly never do. Anyway so here i am with a new chapter. Not entirely structured. Have tried my best with editing with a 101 degree fever, after finishing my work at 10 pm. Yes i am totally vying for sympathy coz im not sure how many grammar errors and how many spelling mistakes ae there.Also i heard a friend say that using em dashes makes my work look like its from AI. Please tell me thats not true. It has spelling mistakes and grammar errors that im still bookmarking!! Also its either em dashes or plain commas or semi colon. I dont like semi colon and em dashes are nice. Every classic writer ever used them! Im totally ranting sorry. Its the sleep deprived me.
Anyway what i was trying to say is im having a tough go at life recently. i really dont want to abandon this work. I will try my best not to. But im having writer blocks. The words just evades me and im not even able to read novels at this point. So expect longer delays between each chapter. I also wanted the burrow scene here. But unfortunately i am yet to write that so im just posting it uptill here. And let me assure you i do have a structure in my head for teh whole story. So if im unable to finish teh whole story, i will definitely give a satisfactory end of sorts and leave it. i wont leave you guys hanging. (I dont think anyone's gonna read thsi longass author's note, so im letting the spelling mistakes here stay. too tired ppl)
Love,
Author
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