In Loco Parentis

by Phoenixstrike

Summary:

HP/DM slash. Five years ago Draco Malfoy and his wife were kidnapped, and nothing has been heard or seen of the pair since. It's been so long that Draco is presumed dead. Harry dotes on Draco's son, Scorpius, with whom he has been living. But when it turns out Malfoy isn't quite as dead as everyone assumed, Harry's life is turned upside-down. Set after Deathly Hallows and ignores epilogue.

Notes:

Harry Potter and all identifiable characters and plots are owned and copyrighted by JK Rowling and various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoat Books and Warner Bros. This fan fiction makes no money and no copyright infringement is intended.

 

As yet I don't know how long this story will be, although novella length seems likely.

Please note there is non-graphic descriptions of rape in the prologue.

This story was written as a response to a prompt by one of my Facebook friends who wanted a Harry Adopts Scorpius fic. I hope this does her plot bunny justice.

Chapter 1: Prologue

 

August 2001

Draco Malfoy winced as the anonymous wizard slapped him around his face, yet he uttered no sound of pain. He refused to give his captors the satisfaction of hearing his despair. A laugh from one of the hooded men ran through the dungeon of… wherever he had been taken. He was chained, naked, to the dungeon wall, the shackles gripping his wrists tightly. With no wand, and an Anti-Disapparition Jinx in place, Draco’s chance of escape was negligible.

A loud scream of agony drew his attention away from his stinging cheek, and Draco’s breath failed him. He searched across the room until his grey eyes found the cobalt orbs of Annalisa; the normally brilliant-blue irises dulled with resignation of her fate. Tears leaked from the corners, as a wand belonging to one of their masked captors slashed her naked chest, leaving a deep wound across her right breast.

“You’ve chosen well, Malfoy,” jeered another kidnapper. “She’s awfully pretty. A shame she’s about to whore herself out to me.”

“No!” Draco shrieked in realisation of what the man intended to do, but his shout was drowned out by the cry of terror coming from his wife. He vomited up bile as he witnessed, helpless to intervene, the bastard who had taunted him open the front of his robes and force himself into Annalisa’s body.

“You’re a fucking traitor, Malfoy,” the voice mocked, as he began to thrust.

“Please, please leave her alone,” Draco begged.  “She’s nothing to do with any of this. Take me, but let her go. Please!” But he knew it was pointless. With a final thrust, the man grunted and stiffened as he released himself into Annalisa’s broken body.

“Well, my pretty little thing,” the man said, as he ran a bony finger across the woman’s cheek whilst he withdrew from her. “That was fun. But do you know what would be even more entertaining? Making your poor excuse of a husband here watch you die.”

Annalisa turned white whilst Draco sobbed. He sobbed so loudly he never heard the incantation for the Killing Curse leave their captor’s lips, but he saw the jet of emerald-green light eject from his wand and hit Annalisa squarely above the heart. Draco stared numbly into the horrified face of his wife, her unknowing blue eyes staring unseeingly into the face of her murderer, the terror etched on her features being the last expression it would ever show. He screamed. Draco continued to scream as the man trained his wand on him this time and uttered another unheard incantation, and then Draco Malfoy’s world went black.

****

August 2002

“Harry, I need to see you in my office, please. Immediately.” The usually-imposing stature of Kingsley Shacklebolt seemed deflated somewhat, and his face was sombre.

Harry put down the report he was writing and, with a confused look to Ron, followed Kingsley out of his Auror office and into the Minister for Magic’s. Kingsley closed the door behind him.

“Take a seat, Harry,” he said quietly. Harry sat down, and gave Kingsley a puzzled look.

“There was a development in the Malfoy disappearance case last night,” Kingsley began, “and unfortunately it is grave news. As you know, it was the anniversary of the kidnapping of Draco and Annalisa Malfoy yesterday. Well, those who carried out the kidnapping were obviously aware of the date as well as last night they made a fresh attempt on the life of Scorpius Malfoy, despite the heightened security at the time. They managed to bypass the Aurors on guard at Malfoy Manor.”

Harry took a sharp intake of breath, and realised the fingers of this right hand that were gripping the edge of Kingsley’s desk had turned white.

“They headed for the nursery, but Narcissa Malfoy was able to contact the Aurors before they could get in. However, Harry, Mrs Malfoy was killed trying to protect her grandson. It was the Killing Curse. Thank Merlin, however, that Scorpius was unharmed. I journeyed out to Azkaban earlier this morning to inform Lucius Malfoy of his wife’s death.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered closed and he sighed deeply.

“Scorpius… who’s looking after him?” he asked.

Scorpius Malfoy had only been three months old at the time of his parents’ disappearance. Now, at fifteen months, he was the same age as Harry himself was when he lost his family. It connected them; a bond that two people should never have to share, yet Harry felt an overwhelming need to keep young Scorpius safe. He couldn’t help but feel protective towards the boy.

“That’s one of the main things I need to talk with you about,” Kingsley continued. “As you know, we still believe the kidnapping and killings are the work of rogue Death Eaters with a vendetta against the entire Malfoy family. Scorpius is now a number one target. Harry, it is vital he receives top-level security, and has very little in terms of any living family, all of whom are unsuitable to take him on. There’s his grandfather who is in Azkaban, his great-aunt Andromeda Tonks who was still estranged from her sister and has had no contact with the Malfoy family for three decades, and his mother’s sixteen-year-old sister in France who has not yet finished Beauxbatons. That is it. Therefore his safety has fallen to us.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and wouldn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes. “Harry, what I’m about to ask you goes well beyond the call of duty, but I have no one else I can trust enough to ask. As you’re the lead Auror on the Malfoy case, and are able to offer such a level of security, I’m asking you to take Scorpius Malfoy into your home and become his guardian.”

Harry gaped. He cared for the boy, but to look after him full-time, to be a dad to him, to the son of the man whom Harry had hated for so long at Hogwarts? There was no way he could do that. He was only twenty-two himself and knew nothing about children.

Then he thought about his own miserable upbringing by people who didn’t want or care for him. He also remembered lying on the Forbidden Forest’s floor, Narcissa Malfoy lying to Voldemort and saving his life. He was indebted to the family. Years ago, Severus Snape had fulfilled his life debt to Harry’s father, a man he, too, had despised, by protecting Harry from harm on numerous occasions; the least Harry could do was offer the same to the Malfoys.

“Of course I’ll do it,” Harry said, mentally deciding to stop by The Burrow for a crash course in toddler care from Molly Weasley on the way home from work that evening. “It’ll be an honour.”

Chapter 2: Harry, Scorpius and... Daddy?!

May 2006

“…Happy birthday, to you!” finished the crowd of well-wishers, and with that a delighted Scorpius blew out the five candles on his Snitch birthday cake, receiving a hug cheer for his efforts. The boy giggled and gave Harry a huge hug.

“Thank you, Harry,” he said, giving his guardian a huge, sloppy kiss. “This is brilliant.”

“You’re very welcome, Scorp,” Harry replied, ruffling the boy’s hair affectionately.

It had been nearly four years since Scorpius Malfoy had arrived to live with Harry Potter full-time. Never once had Harry regretted his decision. Many had thought he was mad at first, Ron included, for taking the boy into his home, but it was plain for anyone to see now just how much Harry adored the youngster. And the feeling was clearly mutual- Scorpius idolised his father-figure.

Harry often thought that looking at Scorpius was like looking at a de-aged Draco; the grey-silver eyes were identical, as was the platinum-blond hair and pointed features. Scorpius even pouted and sulked when he didn’t get his own way in the same manner that Harry remembered an eleven-year-old Draco doing at Hogwarts. He was his father in miniature. But there was none of the arrogance, or the elitism or haughtiness of his father. Everyone who met Scorpius- and the list was, admittedly, limited for security reasons- couldn’t help but love the child. Even Ron.

“Did you have a good birthday, Scorp?” Harry asked that evening, as he tucked the boy up in his bed in Grimmauld Place.

The house was unrecognisable from how it was during its time as headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix. It was clean, light and airy, complete with modern furnishings and pale décor. Bill had used his Curse-Breaker skills to remove Mad-Eye’s curses from the property shortly after Voldemort’s defeat. Walburga Black’s portrait had finally been removed when Harry and Ron took a sledgehammer apiece to the wall and knocked through to the dining room, and Harry had instructed Kreacher to put the house-elf heads in his own sleeping quarters, if he wished to keep them. Scorpius’ bedroom was in pale blue with intricately- detailed dragons decorating the walls. Harry’s own tribute to Scorpius’ father. 

“It was the best, Harry,” Scorpius replied sleepily. He yawned. “Tell me again about my daddy, Harry. Please. Tell me about how he flew on his broomstick.”

Harry smiled and, scooping the kid into his arms for a cuddle, launched into the well-told story of the former Slytherin’s Quidditch skills. Harry always hammed-up Draco’s flying ability for the boy, almost portraying him as a god in the air, when in reality Harry remembered him as a mediocre flyer who had bought his way onto the Slytherin team, and tried on more than one occasion to knock Harry off his broom. But Scorpius loved it. If lying about his nemesis’ skills in the air made Scorpius happy, then Harry was prepared to do it.

“And then your daddy launched into the Wronski Feint! Two hundred feet he must have plummeted before he pulled up, his fingers grazing the blades of grass on the Quidditch pitch, and the Ravenclaw Seeker who was following crashed into the ground. And then-” this was Scorpius’ favourite part and, Harry noticed, the boy was sitting upright and fully alert, eyes shining with excitement despite his tiredness, “- your daddy soared back into the sky at full-speed, and plucked the Snitch out of the air! ‘Slytherin wins!’ the commentator called, and the crowd all cheered, and your daddy was the hero of his house for the rest of the term.”

Scorpius squealed with delight and clapped his hands together, a pink flush of pleasure on his cheeks. Harry kissed him on the top of his head, hoping that the boy would never realise that the story was complete and utter fabrication.

“When I go to Hogwarts, Harry, do you think I’ll be a Slytherin, like Daddy was?” Scorpius asked. Harry pulled him tighter. Honestly, he didn’t know. The boy was only five, after all, and at the moment he could quite easily fit into any of the four houses.

“You might be,” he offered. “Or you might take after me and go to Gryffindor. But I’ll love you whatever house you go in to. Goodnight, Scorp. I’ll see you in the morning.” He waved his wand and extinguished the oil lamps in the boy’s bedroom, and could hear Scorpius’ gentle snores before he’d even crossed the room and reached the door.

Harry closed the door quietly and walked down the stairs to his study, where he dug out the Malfoy case file. He sighed deeply and put his head in his hands. In three months’ time it will be five years. Five years since Malfoy and his wife disappeared, and the Aurors were no closer solving the case now than they were then. Eye witnesses reported seeing the couple in Diagon Alley, before a masked wizard forced them into an alleyway. A terrified woman’s scream had been heard, and then the pair had simply disappeared. The only evidence that had remained at the scene of the kidnapping was a drop of blood which tests had shown was Draco’s. Harry was eternally thankful Scorpius had remained in Malfoy Manor with his grandmother that fateful day.

In 2003, on the second anniversary of the kidnapping, the decomposed body of Annalisa was delivered to the Ministry, with a mocking note attached. The letter had been sealed with the Dark Mark emblem imprinted on it. The body, which by this point was little more than the skeleton and some tissue residue, was even examined by a discreet Muggle pathologist who had a witch cousin for clues, but nothing of any use was revealed.

Nothing had ever been heard or seen of Draco Malfoy since that day back in 2001. His magical signature had not been detected anywhere. That, and combined with the fact his wife’s body had been recovered, meant that in October 2005 he was declared legally dead, and his Gringotts vaults had been transferred to Scorpius. Harry had felt very sad that day, although he managed to hide his sorrow from Scorpius. He may never have liked the git, but he and Draco had saved each other’s lives towards the end of the second war. And without Draco’s wand, the war would have been lost. Harry also had not forgotten the Malfoys’ defection at the last minute from the Dark Lord. It wasn’t enough to save Lucius from a twenty-year sentence in Azkaban, but it did keep Draco out of the place. Harry had even spoken in his defence at his Death Eater trial shortly after Voldemort’s defeat. He laughed sardonically now at the irony that the man would have been better off joining his father in prison after all. But then, of course, there would have been no Scorpius. Whatever had happened to Draco and his wife, Harry would never regret Scorpius being born.

Harry once more pored through the list of known Death Eaters who had managed to escape arrest after Voldemort’s defeat and were still on the run. All the major Death Eaters who hadn’t been killed during the Battle of Hogwarts- the Lestrange brothers, the Carrows, Dolohov, Rookwood, Yaxley- were all serving life terms under maximum security in Azkaban. After Lupin’s death, Harry had shared the Marauder’s Map with Kingsley and the man was so impressed he had immediately ordered a similar map be created of the wizarding prison. This meant it was now impossible for people to escape under the guise of a visitor and leave others in their place, like Barty Crouch had done so many years previously. Those bastards were all still safely locked up, and there were no other suspects who could hold such a grudge against the Malfoy family. It was a huge mystery and, with no leads or evidence, the case had gone cold. Harry, however, was not the youngest-ever deputy Head of the Auror Department for nothing;  even if it took him another twenty years, he was going to bring Scorpius’ parents’ killers to justice.

He spent another couple of hours reading back through all the case notes, adding to them where appropriate, before deciding to turn in for the night. He called for Kreacher to bring him a hot chocolate in bed, which he drank too quickly, burning his tongue on the liquid slightly. He’d felt uneasy all day, like he was close to a breakthrough. He didn’t know what it meant, but he’d learnt a long time ago to trust his instincts, and the prickling feeling of intuition was hard to ignore. Harry extinguished the lamps in his bedroom and eventually fell asleep, Draco Malfoy’s face dominating his thoughts.

****

“Uncle Ron, that was crap!”

“Teddy! Watch your language! And don’t be so rude.”

“Sorry, Uncle Harry.”

Harry supressed a grin, as he watched his eight-year-old godson pick up the bowling ball and, unlike Ron, bowl it smoothly and accurately down the lane, scoring a strike. Teddy punched the air in triumph and let out a cry of delight. Ron glared, his score of two paling into insignificance in comparison. Harry beamed proudly; surely the boy was going to make Chaser when he started Hogwarts in three years’ time.

Hermione, who was sporting a rather large pregnancy bump, waddled over to the balls and selected the lightest one, before helping her four-year-old daughter Rose bowl it down the lane. The child clapped with glee as she knocked over all the pins. Teddy laughed.

“So, after frame four, Harry’s in the lead, followed by me, then Auntie Hermione, then Scorp, Rose, then Uncle Ron in last place,” he said, glancing at the computerised scoreboard before flashing a smug grin at Ron. The redhead flushed and made to argue, but Harry touched him on his forearm.

“It’s just a game of bowling. Let it go,” he said. Ron scowled childishly but, thankfully, closed his mouth.

The game continued and, to no one’s real surprise, Harry won. Afterwards, the three children complained of being hungry, so Harry and his friends ferried them into a nearby pub which had a huge indoor play area.

After everyone had eaten, the children all ran off to play in the equipment. Harry was always nervous of situations like this; it would be so easy for Scorpius to be taken, even in the Muggle world. Harry, however, was determined not to wrap the poor boy up in cotton wool; he needed to be able to have as normal a life as possible, to enjoy his childhood, despite Harry’s desire to keep him safely behind the Fidelius Charm at Grimmauld Place. Hermione seemed to read his mind.

“I’ll go and watch him, Harry, it’s okay. Have a drink with Ron and relax for once,” she said with a supportive smile, and made her way over to the play area.

Harry watched her go, not noticing when Ron went to the bar. He started slightly when Ron returned and placed a pint of Guinness in front of him, before taking a large sip from his own.

“Get that down you, mate,” Ron said, a moustache of beer foam attaching itself to his upper lip. “And, please, stop worrying about Scorpius for two minutes. I know being in public makes you nervous, but you know Hermione won’t let anything happen to him.”

Harry took a mouthful of Guinness and sighed happily. It was dark, bitter and cold. Delicious. Wizards just didn’t know how to brew a proper stout; they were always far too sweet, and full of bubbles. Muggles really did do some things better, he mused.

“I, er, I saw Ginny yesterday,” Ron said suddenly. Harry felt his tummy give an uncomfortable flip, but he schooled his features into a neutral expression and gave a nonchalant ‘hmmm?’ in reply. Ron wasn’t fooled by either.

“How long are you two going to ignore each other for, Harry? Come on, it’s been nearly six years since you split up, and neither of you can stand to even speak to the other!”

“In case you hadn’t forgotten, Ron, I came home and caught her in bed with the Seeker from the Magpies,” Harry said icily. “Sorry if I’m not overly forgiving about that.” He saw Ron’s crestfallen face and his anger subsided. “Look, I don’t hate her. Not anymore. I was furious with her for a long time, Ron, but now I’m- I don’t know. It’s like I feel nothing for her. Not love, not hatred, not even friendship. It’s just so awkward between us, y’know?”

Ron nodded.

“I know, mate. But I just want to see you happy, you understand? Have you even been on a date since Ginny? Got yourself laid, even?”

Harry felt the blush spread to the roots of his hair. Sex had always been a topic with which he was uncomfortable, and he tried his best to avoid. Even in the Gryffindor dormitory back in his Hogwarts days, the topic had made him squirm. Inwardly he thought it was probably one of the reasons Ginny had cheated on him, as Harry simply had no interest in it. He certainly didn’t miss it. He didn’t even wank that much. He shook his head in reply to Ron’s questions.

“In six years?” Ron asked incredulously. He dropped his voice. “You’ve seriously not had sex in six fucking years? God, Harry, I’d struggle to go more than a week, I think!”

“Yes, well, I have Scorp to consider, don’t I?” Harry responded, which wasn’t a lie. A part of him was getting annoyed he was having to justify his lifestyle to his friend. “I can’t just start dating. I’ve got his safety, his welfare to consider first and foremost. What if I met someone, and they turned out to want to be with me to get to him? Short of asking that person to take Veritaserum, which would show I didn’t fully trust them and would kill anything between us, I can never know for sure. Besides, I don’t really miss it. You know, um, sex.”

“I know you love him, and he clearly love you too, Harry, but, mate, you can’t give up your entire life for him,” Ron replied reasonably. “Just go on a few dates, have a laugh, for Merlin’s sake. You know Hermione and I will look after Scorpius for you.”

“Thanks, Ron, but I really am OK at the moment,” Harry replied, the tone of his voice clearly indicating the topic was closed. Ron sighed with exasperation but didn’t push it.

They finished their pints in friendly but somewhat forced conversation. Harry was toying with the idea of another when Scorpius came running towards him in tears, with a guilty-looking Teddy behind him.

“I didn’t do it, Uncle Harry!” he said, instantly causing Harry to wonder exactly what it was Teddy had done.

“H…he p…pushed me over,” Scorpius sobbed into Harry’s shoulder, whilst Harry made soothing circles into the boy’s back with his palm. “I h…hurt my arm, look!”

He thrust a slightly reddened forearm at Harry. Harry rubbed it better whilst he chastised Teddy for playing too rough, the desire for another drink completely extinguished.

“We’d better get going, actually,” Harry said to Ron and Hermione, after checking his watch. “Andromeda is picking Teddy up at six.”

It was a pleasant evening, very warm for mid-May, and so everyone decided to walk back to Grimmauld Place. Scorpius and Teddy had made up, and were running alongside the adults with Rose, laughing and joking. Harry had not once taken his eyes off the boy, which was normal for when they were outside together. Even Muggle London wasn’t completely safe.

Hermione was holding on to Harry’s arm for support, as walking was not the easiest of tasks for her any more. Harry was happy for his best friends; he knew Hermione had been shocked when she discovered she was pregnant with Rose, as she was still forging her career in the Ministry. However once the initial surprise had worn off, both she and Ron had excitedly looked forward to parenthood. They were natural parents to their little girl and, in about six weeks’ time, they would be adding a son to their family. Harry had been named godfather to Rose and the pair had already asked him to be godfather to their new baby when he was born, whom they had decided to name Hugo.

They passed an alleyway, and saw a man asleep, curled up inside a box. Harry paid the man little regard, other than to feel a pang of sympathy that people should have to live in that manner, his attention still fully trained on Scorpius. It was perhaps twenty seconds before he realised Ron had stopped, looking like he’d just been Stupefied.

“Harry,” he called urgently. “You really, really need to come and see this. Right now.”

Puzzled, Harry let go of Hermione’s arm, who rounded up the children and gave him a quizzical look, and doubled back the few metres he’d put between them when Ron had stopped.

“Call me insane, mate, but doesn’t that really fucking look like…”

But the rest of Ron’s words thundered through Harry’s brain in a loud, incomprehensible swirl of noise as it tried to process the sight in front of him. For Harry could quite plainly see now, why Ron had stopped. The man who, now Harry examined him closer could see, looked emaciated and half-dead, curled up and shivering despite the warm weather, was unmistakably Draco Malfoy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3: Malfoy?

 

Harry felt both freezing and boiling at the same time, as the world began to swim in front of his eyes. He felt himself clutch the wall for support. The man on the floor was far too thin, his hair filthy and matted to his head, his clothing dirty and torn. But the pointed, aristocratic features, and the slight magical presence coming from him left Harry in absolutely no doubt that after five years of being presumed dead, Draco Malfoy had been found alive. He felt his body begin to tremble violently.

“Harry, what did...?” Hermione began, but the words died in her throat when the ashen face of Harry turned towards her. “Oh my goodness, it’s him, isn’t it?” she said, her voice quivering. Harry could do nothing except nod numbly.

“Hermione, sweetheart, can you take the kids please?” Harry heard Ron ask his wife in a shaken voice. She nodded quickly and managed to hurry the three children into a nearby café.

“Oh fuck,” Harry heard himself say, as he ran a hand over his face. He was unsurprised to find it was wet with perspiration. “Fuck. We need Kingsley here, now. Ron, can you fetch him please?” He heard the pop which signalled Ron’s Disapparition, then he sank to his knees in front of Draco. The man appeared to be in a deep sleep, and hadn’t stirred once, despite Harry’s and Ron’s raised voices. Harry’s heart was thundering in his chest as he drew his wand and began to siphon off some of the thick grime that had become impacted on Malfoy’s face.

Minutes later, Ron Apparated back into the alleyway, with Kingsley Shacklebolt in tail. Harry glanced up, and didn’t think he had ever witnessed the Minister for Magic looking so dumbfounded.

“Oh my God, it really is him,” Kingsley said as he took in the image in front of him, his eyes wide with shock.

“I don’t think he’s well at all, Kingsley,” Harry replied. “We’ve been talking loudly, there’s been an Apparition crack, and he’s not even moved a single muscle. He’s far too thin and his colour is totally wrong, plus his breathing sounds laboured. He needs to see a Healer as soon as possible.”

“We’d better get him to St Mungo’s then,” Ron said. “C’mon.” He pulled out his wand, as if to cast Levicorpus on the motionless body of Draco, but Harry put his hand on Ron’s wand arm.

“No. I’m taking him to Grimmauld Place.”

“Are you mental?” Ron retorted. “Look at him, Harry! He needs Healers!”

“And he’ll receive them,” Kingsley answered. “But Harry’s right, Ron. Can you imagine the pandemonium it’ll cause if Harry Potter and the Minister for Magic turn up at St Mungo’s with Draco Malfoy of all people? It’ll be in the Prophet by the end of the day. Until we know what has happened, we need to make sure no one knows he’s been found. It could be vital in the kidnapping case. Harry has Healers he knows and trusts, and who have been given the address of Grimmauld Place. We’ll take Draco there and then summon some help.”

Ron slowly nodded his head. “All right, Harry. You and Kingsley do that. I’ll get Teddy home then bring Scorpius back for you.”

It was a sign of how desperate the situation was that Harry agreed to the plan. Normally he wouldn’t leave Scorpius alone outside, even with people he’d trust with his own life. Ron disappeared into the café that Hermione had taken the children to, whilst Kingsley gently tried to wake Draco by shaking his arm. When this received no response, Harry drew his wand, aimed it at the motionless figure, and murmured, “Rennervate.”

Draco made a noise that sounded like a wounded cat in as he came to. He was obviously in a great deal of pain. His hand shot up to cradle his forehead, revealing the faint outline of the Dark Mark that had once burnt so brightly on his arm. He looked first at Kingsley, then at Harry, his eyes showing no signs of recognition.

“Why did you wake me up?” he asked, but his voice carried no trace of the arrogance or authority it did at Hogwarts. In face it sounded hollow and resigned.

“Long time, no see, Malfoy,” Harry said, ignoring Draco’s question. He saw the blond’s eyes widen in surprise and, Harry thought, fear.

“How… how do you know my name?” he whispered, as he drew his knees up to his chest and cradled them. Harry gave him a questioning look.

“Draco?” he asked softly, chancing a glance at Kingsley. A moment of silent communication passed between them. The man had no idea who they were. Draco Malfoy may not have existed in the wizarding world for half a decade, but he would not have forgotten what Harry Potter and the Minister for Magic looked like simply due to the passing of years. Draco’s problems were evidently a lot worse than they had initially thought. Harry looked on as Draco hugged his knees closer into his body, clearly terrified.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Kingsley said kindly. “We’re going to help you. But before we do any of that we need to get you out of this filthy alleyway and into a proper bed with some food and some potions. When was the last time you ate, Draco?”

“I… I don’t remember,” Draco responded. He was still guarded but Harry noticed some of the fear had left his eyes. “Perhaps a few days ago.”

“Okay, Malfoy, read this and memorise it,” Harry said, extracting the receipt from his pub dinner from his wallet and jotting the address of Grimmauld Place down on the back with a biro. He was unwilling to say the address aloud for fear of being overheard. He handed the narrow strip of paper to Draco, who read it quickly and nodded.  Harry held out a hand to help Draco to his feet.

“Who are you?” Draco asked. Harry noticed his legs were shaking with the effort of holding his body upright.

“I’m Harry Potter, and is Kingsley Shacklebolt,” Harry replied patiently. “We’re going to take you somewhere safe and comfortable now. We’ll talk more once you’ve been fed. You don’t look like you’ve had a decent meal for weeks.”

Draco still had the haunted look on his face, but there was something else, too. Relief. Harry relaxed inwardly slightly.

“Hold on tight, Malfoy, and don’t be scared,” he instructed. He took hold of Draco’s arm, and Disapparated.

****

They arrived in the hallway of Harry’s house safely behind the Fidelius Charm, followed seconds later by Kingsley. Wordlessly, the pair helped a very shocked and confused-looking Draco upstairs and into the guest room. Draco looked around with caution, before all but collapsing onto the bed. He opened his mouth to say something, but Harry held up a hand to stop him.

“We’ll talk soon,” Harry promised the blond. “But right now what’s important is getting you well. How does a hot bath and some food sound?”

The first hint of a smile Harry had seen on Draco’s face appeared. “That… that sounds fantastic,” he rasped. Harry returned the smile.

“Kreacher!” he called, and the house-elf Apparated into the bedroom. Draco’s eye’s widened.

“Ha…Harry, what on earth is that animal-thing?” he asked, his face showing disbelief, as he pointed at Kreacher, who looked severely affronted by Draco’s rudeness. Harry’s blood ran cold. Draco’s memory problems ran much deeper than just forgetting names and faces. Draco seemed to have no knowledge of the magical world at all. Harry had just Apparated with the man- no wonder Draco had looked thoroughly astounded upon arriving at the house. He ignored Draco’s question for now, not knowing how best to answer.

“Kreacher,” Harry said, “can you prepare some broth with bread for Draco Malfoy here, and a large jug of pumpkin juice? And whilst he’s eating I would like you to prepare a hot bath for him, please, and make sure you add the healing salves I keep in the cabinet.”

Kreacher looked over to the figure on the bed properly for the first time.

“Mistress Narcissa’s son? He is being alive, Master Harry?” the elf croaked in his deep, bullfrog-like voice. Harry nodded.

“We found him about twenty minutes ago,” said Harry. “Please, Kreacher, he requires nourishment. And don’t take offence to anything he says. He’s not well. I’m going to firecall St Mungo’s. He desperately needs a Healer.”

Harry had just pulled out of the fireplace after asking his Healer to pay an urgent visit when the wards buzzed and Ron Apparated into the house.

“Alright, mate?” he asked Harry. Then, in response to Harry’s panicked expression, “Scorpius is fine, Harry. He’s at my place with Hermione. Teddy’s home safely too. Hermione and just didn’t think Scorpius should be here tonight, given his dad has just turned up back from the dead, but if it’s a problem I’ll fetch him right now.”

Ron was right, Harry knew, but it still made him uneasy to have Scorpius away from him. Still, the wards on his friends’ house were very strong. He nodded his head reluctantly.

“So, how’s Malfoy?” Ron said.

Harry opened his mouth to answer but suddenly his Floo was ablaze with emerald flames and Healer Morgan stepped through them. She shook Harry’s hand.

“What is the emergency, Mr Potter?” she asked cordially. Harry took a deep breath and gestured for her to sit down.

“You’re not going to believe this…”

Ten minutes later, Harry and a very shocked Healer Morgan had ascended the staircase and entered what was, for the time being, Draco’s room. He had just finished eating and already Harry thought the man looked healthier than he had just the hour before.

“Draco, this is Healer Morgan. She’s my named Healer and is here to help you. Don’t worry, this is all strictly confidential. I’ll put a Warming Charm over your bath for now while she carries out her checks,” Harry said despite Draco’s blank expression to his words, and disappeared into the bedroom’s en-suite. He returned to find the Healer with her wand drawn, casting a series of diagnostic charms.

“Well, Mr Malfoy,” she said eventually. “I think you’re extremely lucky to be alive.” She reached into her small bag and pulled out several vials of potions, so large that Harry was certain the woman had an Undetectable Extension Charm placed on the bag. “But there is nothing that cannot be treated here in Harry’s home. I’ve cast a few healing spells on your minor injuries, and everything else can be treated with these. The red-coloured vial is a Blood-Replenishing Potion. You’ve not suffered any significant blood-loss recently that I can tell but you are severely anaemic and we need to boost your haemoglobin levels. Take that now, please.” Draco obediently un-stoppered the bottle and downed its contents, wincing at the taste. “This one here is a Grand Pepperup Potion. You’re very feverish, Mr Malfoy, and I suspect a nasty chest infection. This will help cure that. This vial-” she pointed to the vial of purple liquid she’d placed on the nightstand- “is a Sleeping Draught. It will guarantee at least twelve hours’ undisturbed rest to aid your recuperation. Take this just before retiring for the night.”

She continued to list the potions Draco was required to take, explaining their colours and properties to him. Harry cringed inwardly at the irony; next to Hermione, Draco Malfoy had been the top Potions student in Hogwarts. Now he couldn’t even recognise the Strengthening Solution in front of him, a potion Harry had seen him brew perfectly during their fifth year.

Five minutes later, Healer Morgan had completed her examination. Kreacher had taken Draco into the bathroom for his bath, and Harry had led her, plus Kingsley, into the living room, where Ron was still seated. He stood up as they entered.

“So, what’s the damage?” Kingsley asked cautiously. “Has he been Obliviated?”

“I’m certain he hasn’t,” replied Healer Morgan with a small smile. “In fact, there is some positive news. The diagnostic spells on his brain revealed no spell damage whatsoever. His memory-loss has not been caused by a Memory Charm, extended exposure to the Cruciatus Curse, or any other magical source that I can see.”

Harry must have looked as confused as he felt, however, as the Healer continued. “He does, however, have a very fractured and damaged mind. All his memories are there, but his brain cannot access them at present. The best explanation I can come up with for this is Mr Malfoy has suffered such extreme torture that his mind has simply shut down temporarily to protect itself. I’d say that Mr Malfoy had suffered with severe posttraumatic stress disorder some point after this torture ceased; the memory-loss is a physiological response to that. Anything that occurred prior to, and during, his torment has been temporarily hidden.”

“You mean he’s done it to himself?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Mr Potter, but not intentionally. This is simply his body’s way of coping whilst his mind recovers. It doesn’t have a magical source; in fact, some Muggles have been known to cope with severely upsetting events by blocking them entirely from their minds. However, due to Mr Malfoy’s magical strength, it does seem the memory-suppression is deeper than it would be in a Muggle patient. Mr Malfoy’s case is rather extreme.”

“You said, ‘temporarily’,” Kingsley noted. “So Draco should regain all his memory? How long will it take?”

“Impossible to say I’m afraid, Minister,” replied Healer Morgan. “Magic cannot speed up the process, and even if it did I would advise against it. From my experience, patients will recover their memories naturally only when their minds are sufficiently healed to able to deal with the memories they contain. However, keeping familiar things from their past around their environment- objects, people, that the patient once took pleasure in- help speed up the healing process. Usually there is a trigger that causes the person to recall a specific memory, which then acts as a catalyst and they normally recover their full memory shortly afterwards.”

“And he’s definitely not faking it?” Ron asked half-heartedly. The Healer shot him a dirty glare but otherwise gave no indication she had heard.

“He also has had several breakages to both his arms and ribs which were not healed with magic or Muggle medicine,” she continued. “The bones have set wrong. I will need to administer a course of Skele-Gro once Malfoy is stronger, but the injuries are old and not currently causing pain. They can wait. It’s extremely fortunate you found him when you did, Mr Weasley. He was dehydrated, severely malnourished and suffering from a number of other ailments that were rapidly becoming life-threatening. However he should be physically recovered within a few days; it’s the mental trauma that will take time.”

****

Harry said goodbye to both the Healer, who left with an appointment to visit Draco for the following day, and Kingsley, then he collapsed into the armchair closest to the Floo and put his face in his hands. He realised he was fighting back tears.

“Ron,” he said after a few minutes, when he felt he could trust his voice not to crack. “Go and get Scorpius, please. He should be at home.”

Ron opened his mouth to protest but Harry gave him a firm look. He sighed, resigned, and threw a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace. A second later he disappeared, and Harry couldn’t stop a few tears from falling.

He was of course delighted that Draco had turned up alive, that Scorpius had not lost his father in the same way his mother and grandmother were taken from him, not to mention that this would bring them a huge step closer to bringing the kidnappers to justice once Draco regained his memories, but the small, selfish part of him was terrified. When Draco regained his memories- and the Healer was confident he would- what role would Harry still have in Scorpius’ life? The idea of Draco taking the boy away from him made Harry feel physically sick. It was a thought that had been at the back of his mind ever since the ex-Slytherin had arrived at Grimmauld Place. He didn’t have a long time to draw on his maudlin thoughts, however, as once again Harry’s Floor roared into life, and Ron stepped through with Scorpius in his arms. Scorpius immediately wriggled free from them and ran to Harry, practically throwing himself at him.

“I missed you, Harry,” Scorpius said, as he nuzzled closer into the embrace. Harry took a deep breath and held the boy he couldn’t love any more if he were his own flesh and blood flush against his chest.

“Missed you too, Scorp,” he replied shakily.

Ron seemed in that moment to pick up on the reason for Harry’s anxiety. He placed a supportive hand on Harry’s shoulder before promising to visit again the following day, and Flooed back to Hermione and Rose, giving Harry some much-needed time alone with his ward.

Eventually, Scorpius’ eyelids began to droop and he inserted his thumb into his mouth. Harry idly wondered what Draco would say if he knew his son was a thumb-sucker; probably a lecture about buck-teeth, and how it was important for a Malfoy to have a perfect smile.

“Come on, Scorp, bedtime,” he said, with forced cheerfulness. He picked the boy up and carried him up the stairs, thanking Merlin that Draco’s room was on the next floor up, and helped Scorpius change into his pyjamas. He climbed into Scorpius’ bed and lay beside him.

“What story do you want tonight, Scorp?” Harry asked.

“Tell the one about how you, Uncle Ron and Auntie Hermione broke out of Gringotts and rode on the back of a dragon,” Scorpius asked. Harry retold the much-loved tale, which required no elaboration to make sound exciting, and by the end Scorpius’ eyelids had finally closed. Harry lay next to Scorpius for many minutes longer, just watching the boy’s chest rise and fall easily and evenly, before reluctantly extinguishing the lights and leaving the room.

After a quick check on Malfoy and setting wards across the ex-Slytherin’s door that would alert Harry if Draco decided to go for a late-night stroll, despite the fact he’d taken a Sleeping Draught, Harry crawled in to bed; even though the hour was still relatively early, the evening’s events had left him feeling exhausted. Yet his mind whirred with thoughts and refused to allow sleep to claim him. Draco was back. He, Harry, was going to have to explain to a small child that Daddy wasn’t dead after all. There was a strong chance he was going to lose the boy when Draco’s memory returned. Harry hadn’t felt so scared since he believed he was walking to his death when he entered the Forbidden Forest eight years ago. He finally gave in to the emotions that had been close to the surface for the past couple of hours and wept.

Chapter 4: The Trigger

Three weeks had passed since Harry and Ron had discovered Malfoy alive and brought him to Grimmauld Place. Draco had mainly recovered physically, though he remained quite weak, and he still had no memory from any time before or during his kidnapping. Harry had taken the decision to keep Draco’s existence from Scorpius for the time being; to find out your dad isn’t actually dead is shocking and confusing enough, Harry reasoned, without the added complication that he would actually have no idea who you are. He didn’t want Scorpius any more upset and confounded than he was going to be already.

Harry had visited Malfoy Manor the day following Healer Morgan’s diagnosis with Kingsley and Ron to retrieve a number of artefacts belonging to Draco, in an attempt to help him regain his memories. The Malfoy signet ring he’d warn as a teenager, a music box that played a lullaby sung in his mother’s voice, a photo of the Slytherin Quidditch team in which he was the Seeker, and the dress robes he had worn at his wedding were amongst the more personal items that now adorned Draco’s room. He had looked at each item with curiosity, particularly the music box, yet his face had shown no trace of recognition or emotion at the sight of anything. Harry kept reminding himself that Draco had suffered immensely and it was going to take a long time for him to recover fully. However he couldn’t help but wish for a quick return of Draco’s memories; keeping him hidden from Scorpius was proving a strain, not to mention the guilt Harry felt at withholding the information from the boy.

The end of May approached. Kingsley had granted Harry an extended period of paid leave from the Aurors, giving him assignments he could complete at home for the time being, in light of his unique situation. And, until that afternoon on the last Friday in May, everything was working out relatively well. Harry knew he should have realised it was all too good to last.

He had told Draco not to wander around the house between the hours of seven in the morning and seven at night, but to remain on the third floor, which had a small library as well as a large bathroom in addition to the small en-suite in his room that Draco could use. Harry had made that point absolutely crystal clear. Yet Draco had, on that one idiotic occasion, chosen to ignore him. The wards surrounding the third floor staircase that informed Harry if the man tried to come downstairs vibrated, and Harry leapt to his feet, flinging the case notes he was reading through onto his desk and darting out of his study. He was too late. There, walking down the stairs and heading for the ground floor was the figure of Draco. And standing in the doorway of his bedroom, staring at the figure with wide eyes, was Scorpius. His bottom lip trembled as he looked at Harry in confusion.

Harry closed his eyes briefly, taking in a few calming breaths. Shit.

“Scorp, can you stay in your room for a few minutes please? I promise I’ll be up again in just a minute,” Harry said, his voice filled with a false calmness he certainly didn’t feel. “I won’t be long,” he said again, this time more sternly, when Scorpius didn’t move. Scorpius didn’t say anything but turned and entered his room. Harry noticed the boy’s face was white.

“Oh God,” Harry muttered to himself, as he went down the stairs to see why the man had taken to wandering around outside of his allowed hours. He found Draco in the kitchen obviously trying to make a hot drink but having no clue how to heat the water.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Draco?” Harry yelled, causing Draco to start, spilling water from the saucepan in his hand all over the stove he couldn’t light. Harry saw his face was pale and frightened, but he took no notice. “It’s five in the afternoon. You’re supposed to be on the third floor. I’ve told you you’re not a prisoner here, you’re a houseguest until you’re well again, but for reasons I cannot explain to you yet, you must not come downstairs until seven in the evening. If you need anything you’re to call for Kreacher. What are you doing?”

“I…” Draco’s voice trembled. “I just wanted a coffee. I forgot. I’m sorry.”

His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and Harry’s anger instantly dissolved. It wasn’t really Draco’s fault. He sighed deeply.

“Okay. Just, please, in future, call for Kreacher if you need anything,” he replied, his voice softer. He reached out an arm and patted Draco’s shoulder lightly. Go back up. I’ll have Kreacher bring you a cup of coffee upstairs.” He gave Draco a weak smile. “I’ll even get him to throw in a packet of chocolate biscuits for you.”

He followed Draco out of the room and up the flight of stairs, then turned left on the landing and opened Scorpius’ door. He felt a small stab in his chest when he saw the boy curled up on his bed, looking upset. Harry crossed the room in a heartbeat, and threw up a Locking Charm on the door. He scooped Scorpius into his arms and held him tightly.

“Who was that man, Harry?” he asked in a tiny voice. Harry noticed Scorpius’ eyes were fixed on the photograph of Draco and Annalisa with a newborn Scorpius curled fast asleep in his proud father’s arms that took pride of place on his bedside table. He’d clearly noticed that the man on the stairs bore more than just a resemblance to his supposedly-dead father. Harry realised his own hands were shaking slightly.

“Scorp, do you remember the day after your birthday? When we went bowling?” Scorpius nodded his head. “Well, on the way home your uncle Ron and I found, um, something, didn’t we, and Auntie Hermione took you back to her house for a bit. Well, we found something really, really special. We found your daddy. Scorp, that man you saw on the stairs earlier is your daddy. He’s been living here.”

“But you said Daddy was dead, and that once someone is dead they can never come back,” Scorpius whispered. He screwed his eyes tight and his bottom lip trembled.

“We thought he was, Scorp. He’d been missing for so long, and no one knew where he was, or had heard anything from him. I promise you no one lied to you about that. He’s been very poorly so we brought him here to get better,” Harry said. He heard a loud sniff, and then the front of his t-shirt became damp with Scorpius’ confused tears. “Oh, Scorp, please don’t. Please don’t cry,” he soothed, as he rocked the boy in his arms.

“Doesn’t Daddy want to see me? Is that why you hid him from me? Doesn’t he love me anymore?” Scorpius asked, and Harry felt his heart break a little.

“Your daddy loves you very, very much,” Harry replied, his voice thick with emotion. “But the bad men who took your mummy and daddy did some very cruel things to him. He can’t remember things at the moment, Scorp. He’s forgotten who I am, who Auntie Hermione and Uncle Ron are, and he’s even forgotten about you. But the Healer says he’ll remember again one day. I wanted to keep him a secret until I knew he’d remember you, as when he gets his memories back he’s going to want you so much.”

“Why doesn’t he have any memories at the moment, Harry?” Scorpius asked.

“You know when you fall over and hurt your knee, your body needs time to heal?” Harry said, thinking up the analogy on his feet and hoping Scorpius would understand it. “It takes time for the skin to knit back together and for it to become the same as it was before. This is what’s happened to your daddy’s mind. His mind is hurt at the moment, and it will take time for it to knit back together how it was before. We don’t know how long it’ll take, Scorp, but I promise you that your daddy wants you and loves you with all his heart.”

“Will my mummy come back too, like Daddy did?” Scorpius asked hopefully. Harry felt a very unpleasant dropping in his stomach. Annalisa Malfoy’s badly decomposed body was delivered to the Ministry three years ago and there was no doubt at all she was dead. How was he going to explain this in an appropriate way to a five-year-old child?

“No, Scorpius. I’m very sorry, but we know your mummy died. We, um, we know where she is. Do you remember that time in February on her birthday when we went to France and put flowers on her grave? That’s where your mummy is, Scorp.”

Scorpius’ bottom lip wobbled violently before he gave in and began to cry in earnest. Sobs shook his tiny body.

“I… I don’t u…understand, H…Harry,” he wailed. Harry kissed the top of Scorpius’ head.

“I don’t either to be honest, Scorpius,” he replied.

****

It had taken well over an hour, four stories and a mild Calming Draught that Hermione had brewed specifically for young children before Scorpius fell into an uneasy sleep at around seven that evening. He’d refused the supper that Kreacher had served him in his room, and refused to let go of Harry. Once Scorpius was asleep, Harry set a charm around his bed that would let him know if Scorpius stirred, and placed a large, squashy plush dragon under his sleeping arm. He always knew that conversation was going to be one of the most difficult he’d ever had, and he felt completely and utterly drained because of it.

He entered his kitchen, where Kreacher served him supper. Harry picked at his food, not really tasting what he was eating.

After his meagre supper, he went into Draco’s room to talk with him, which he had been doing every night since Draco had recovered enough to talk. Harry had worked out that Draco had been living rough in London for about six months, if the time from what Draco could remember was when he did indeed end up on the streets. This meant he had been imprisoned for over four years.

Harry visited Draco’s room to discuss the past, as he hoped that, combined with being surrounded by his possessions, would help his memory more than it would if they sat in the living room. Draco had been astounded to learn he was a wizard, and that magic existed, despite the evidence of it he had seen since his arrival in the house, including his own terrifying Apparition with Harry.

“So, that’s Crabbe there, and that one is Goyle?” Draco questioned, as he studied the Slytherin team photo. “And they were my friends?” Harry nodded, choosing not to mention how Crabbe had nearly managed to kill both him and Draco, and killed himself in the process. “And who’s that boy here?”

That’s Adrian Pucey. He played Chaser,” Harry said, then flushed. “The Gryffindor team used to nickname him ‘Pussy’. It was Oliver Wood, our captain, who started that one, after Pucey called him a ‘Scottish pug-faced bastard’ after he saved one of Pucey’s shots.”

Draco began to laugh. It was the first time Harry had heard him do so since his arrival and the sound was almost alien coming from such a sad figure. However Harry couldn’t help but notice it transformed Draco’s face and temporarily removed the lines of stress from his features. It made Harry chuckle too.

“And what about you, Harry? Did we get on at school?” Draco asked, and Harry instantly sobered.

“Um, not exactly, no,” he replied sheepishly, and began to explain his and Draco’s rivalry to him.

“He actually turned me into a fucking ferret?” Draco probed an hour or so later, and Harry couldn’t help but marvel in the look on Draco’s face. It was arrogant, indignant, and so… Draco. It gave Harry hope. He was praying he could be the trigger, the catalyst, to help Draco regain his memories.

“Yep. An amazing, bouncing ferret,” Harry responded, deadpanned. “It was your own fault for trying to hex me whilst my back was turned. Of course, that was nothing compared to how Ron and I, and a few of Ron’s siblings, left you on the Hogwarts Express after you insulted us on the journey home after our fifth year. ‘Slug’ is perhaps the best description I can give.”

“And I can really do this, Harry? This magic that you talk about? It’s not a joke?” Draco asked. Harry could see the hope flickering behind his eyes.

“No joke, Draco,” he said seriously. Suddenly he had an idea. He pulled out his wand and offered it to Draco, who stared at the length of holly in awe. “Go on, take it.” Draco reached out his hand and grasped the wand in his fingers. “What would you like to do?”

“Um, can I lift that cup off the nightstand?” Draco asked, his voice full of doubt. Harry laughed.

“You certainly can,” he replied. “Hold the wand like this, then with a swish and flick movement- yes, exactly like that- you have to say, ‘Wingardium Leviosa’. And make sure you make the ‘gar’ of Wingardium nice and long. Go on, try it.”

Draco pointed Harry’s wand at the cup. “Wingardium Leviosa!” he said clearly and, to his utter astonishment, the cup floated gracefully into the air. He was so shocked he dropped the wand, causing the cup to fall to the ground and shatter. Harry grinned.

 “That was great, Draco. You can do that, and so, so much more,” Harry said encouragingly as he took his wand back, cast a quick Reparo at the broken cup and pocketed his wand. “And soon, when you’re better, you’ll be back to hexing my arse off for your own amusement in no time, I’m sure.” He checked his watch. “Ah, it’s nearly two. We’d better get some sleep. Goodnight, Ferret.”

“Fuck off, Harry,” Draco replied good-naturedly. “And sorry again, about earlier. When I went downstairs.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said stiffly, as he opened the door, and thinking that, actually, it was anything but fine. “See you tomorrow.” He crossed the hallway, descended to the first floor where his and Scorpius’ bedrooms were located, and entered his room. He’d have to tell Draco about Scorpius. Soon. Yes, definitely soon. But not quite yet.

****

The following morning brought some unexpected but certainly happy news. Ron’s Jack Russell terrier Patronus bounded into the living room, its tail wagging, and Ron’s voice spoke out clearly,

“Mate, I’m a dad again! Hugo was born at twenty-past four this morning. Mum and baby are both doing well. We’re coming home this afternoon, and Hugo wants to meet his godfather!”

Harry beamed at his friends’ wonderful news, and quickly sent his own Patronus back with his congratulations to the pair, and confirmation he would visit later. The baby hadn’t been due for another three weeks, but it was typical of Hermione, Harry mused with a wry smile. She was always in such a hurry to get things done.

At four that afternoon, Harry informed Draco he was going out for a couple of hours and Draco had access to the house. He Flooed with Scorpius to Andromeda’s to collect his godson Teddy, then Flooed to Ron and Hermione’s cottage in Ottery St Catchpole.

He stepped out of the Floo with the children and into a sea of Weasleys. Ron smiled broadly as Harry shook his hand in congratulations, before being accosted by Mrs Weasley and scooped into an awkward hug. He said a quick hello to the rest of the Weasley clan whilst Scorpius and Teddy disappeared to play with Rose, and George and Angelina’s three-year-old son Fred, and Bill and Fleur’s daughter Victoire. He even managed a polite ‘hello’ to Ginny, before turning quickly away from her. Finally he spotted Hermione, curled up in a fluffy dressing-gown and pyjamas on the sofa, a small bundle of blankets cradled in her arms. He leant down and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“He’s beautiful, Hermione. Just like his mum,” Harry said, staring at the tiny baby swaddled in a blue shawl. She smiled and yawned as she handed Hugo to Harry for his first cuddle.

“Tell Ron to perfect the art of masturbation,” she said, her eyes closed but a wry smile on her lips. “Because if he comes anywhere near me ever again, I’ll castrate him.” Harry spluttered, and gazed down at the small bundle with fiery red hair in the blankets.

Ten minutes later, Rose burst into the living room.

“Muuuuuuuuum,” she yelled, in that bossy voice small girls possess, “Scorpius is telling lies.”

“I am NOT!” came Scorpius’ angry retort, as he chased his honorary cousin into the room. “My daddy really is in my house with me and Harry!”

The room fell silent, and every adult turned to stare at Harry, who felt himself pale. He answered their unasked question with a nod of the head, and instantly Ron began ushering his surprised family towards to Floo. Finally, and after a lot of protesting, he’d managed to convince them all to leave. As soon as Percy’s body disappeared from the fireplace, he shut off his Floo.

“Scorpius is not telling lies,” Hermione said to her daughter sternly. “His daddy is living with Uncle Harry and him. Now go back and play, the grown-ups need to talk.”

“Bugger. I didn’t think to tell him not to tell anyone,” Harry said softly, once the children had returned upstairs.

“I’m surprised he knows, Harry! Weren’t you dead-set against telling him?” Ron asked.

“Scorpius spotted Draco as the git decided to take a walk through the house outside of his allowed hours,” Harry replied. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes with his right hand. “I pretty much told him everything last night. He’s hurt and confused and doesn’t understand why his daddy can’t see him yet. In other words, it’s all a total cock-up.”

“Well, I think it’s a good thing,” Hermione said, as she retrieved a fussing Hugo from Harry’s arms and began to feed him. Harry averted his eyes, his cheeks flaming. She tutted at Harry’s embarrassment and continued to feed her baby. “You know you couldn’t keep it a secret forever, Harry.”

“Draco doesn’t know yet,” Harry replied, causing both Ron and Hermione to gasp. “Look, what’s the point in telling him? It’s not as if he’s going to recognise Scorpius, is it?”

“You know why,” Ron said. “If anything is likely to be the trigger, to help Malfoy get his memories back, it’s going to be his son.”

“Maybe not,” Harry retorted. “Maybe I can be the trigger. You know I’ve filled his room with memorabilia from Malfoy Manor. I’m talking to him every night about the wizarding world and Hogwarts, and last night I even got him to perform some magic. Just a simple Levitation Charm but he managed it. If I can get through to him, without having to involve Scorpius, then I will.”

He saw Ron and Hermione exchange a knowing glance and felt his temper began to rise. He forced it back down, unwilling to have an argument with his friends on the day they became parents for the second time.

“Harry, now, don’t take this the wrong way, but Ron and I both know you’re worried that if Draco regains his memory, he’s going to want to reclaim custody of Scorpius,” Hermione said, in a slightly high-pitched voice that Harry knew meant she was nervous. “You do want Draco to get better, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Harry spat. “How can you even think that? No matter what my personal worries are, I’m hardly going to be so selfish as to deliberately try and sabotage his recovery, am I?”

His friends looked suitably reprimanded, Harry was pleased to note. New baby or not, he wasn’t going to take that from them. “The only reason I’ve not introduced Scorpius yet is in case it doesn’t work. Do you know what that will do to Scorp? It’ll destroy him.”

“We’re sorry, mate,” Ron said. “But you know that, when Malfoy does get his memory back, he won’t take Scorpius away from you. You’ve had him for years, Harry. You’re the only family he’s ever known.”

A lump formed in Harry’s throat. He swallowed it down quickly.

“I’m sorry this came up this afternoon,” he said thickly. “It wasn’t the right time for this discussion at all. I should have realised Scorpius would say something. I’ll leave you both to rest now.” He said his goodbyes, collected the boys from upstairs and, after returning Teddy to his grandmother’s, Flooed home.

****

Draco put down his copy of David Copperfield as Harry entered his room. The Black library had a surprisingly large collection of classical Muggle literature in addition to its various wizarding tomes. Harry smiled at him and handed him a heavy box, wrapped in silver wrapping paper.

“Happy twenty-sixth birthday, Draco,” Harry said. It was a week since his visit to Ron and Hermione’s home and he’d decided it was finally time to tell him the truth.

“It’s my birthday?” Draco replied, surprised. Harry simply nodded. Draco tore open the paper to reveal a large album, with the words, ‘Scorpius, aged two to five’ written on the front. Draco turned the cover curiously, and Harry heard his breath hitch.

“Harry, this boy…” Draco began, his voice full of wonder as he fingered a large portrait of Scorpius as a toddler, his chubby face laughing and trying to get away as Harry pointed the camera at him. “He looks just like me.”

Harry sat on the edge of the sofa Draco was seated in, and folded his hands in his lap.

“Draco, that boy is called Scorpius. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.” He saw Draco jump at the mention of the surname.  “He’s your son, Draco.”

Draco’s eyes widened in pure shock, as he continued to trace the images on the photograph, so like his own, with an index finger. “I have a son?” he whispered hoarsely. Harry nodded.

“And, Draco, that’s not all. He lives here, with me. He’s the reason you’ve only had limited access to the house. He’s been through a lot in his short life and I couldn’t risk upsetting him further. Do you remember what Healer Morgan said, about a trigger?” Draco nodded. “I hoped I would be able to trigger your memories for you. You and I have… well, a volatile history. I hoped your feelings towards me would be enough. But they’re not. I think Scorpius might be able to help.”

“Does he know about me?” Draco’s voice was shaky. Harry confirmed he did. “When can I see him?” he asked, his eyes still fixed on the pictures. This time it was of a four-year-old Scorpius covered in chocolate.

“This morning, if you like. Why don’t you join us downstairs for breakfast?” Harry suggested. Draco beamed.

“I’d like that,” he said.

****

Harry had Kreacher prepare a special breakfast of tropical fruits and pastries that he knew both generations of the Malfoys enjoyed, as well as a pot of freshly-brewed coffee and orange juice. He had told Scorpius that Draco would be joining them for breakfast that morning, and the boy had not been able to contain his excitement. Harry had reminded him that, although Draco now knew who Scorpius was, he still didn’t remember him.

Draco entered the room, dressed in a black t-shirt which revealed the faded Dark Mark, and a pair of blue denim jeans. He stopped dead when he saw his son.

“Um, hello, Scorpius,” he said uncertainly. Scorpius stood up and hurtled towards Draco, throwing his arms around Draco’s waist. Draco was startled for only a second before hugging the boy back just as tightly, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ to Harry, who could only nod his head in acknowledgement. He thought if he spoke now he was sure to cry.

Breakfast was a roaring success. Scorpius talked continuously and needed to be reminded to eat as well as chat, telling Draco all about his life with Harry and the stories Harry told him about Draco. Halfway through the meal he disappeared to his room, bringing back the photo of him with both his parents. As Draco looked at it, Harry was certain he saw a flicker of recognition cross his features. He’d briefly told Draco what had happened to Scorpius’ mother, but this was the first time Draco had looked truly saddened by the mention of her.

Afterwards, as Kreacher cleared the kitchen and Scorpius entered his room to begin his morning study, Draco caught up to Harry in the hallway.

“I’ve not thanked you yet for looking after my son, Harry,” Draco said. “He’s a remarkable young man, and I couldn’t have done a finer job bringing him up myself if none of this happened. I, er, I just wanted you to know that.” Draco’s voice broke on the final word and he disappeared quickly back to his own quarters, making it plain he desired to be alone, leaving Harry stunned on the landing.

****

It was another week before anything significant happened. Harry had noticed that Draco was far more positive after his initial meeting with Scorpius, which had only grown with each subsequent contact. It seemed to have fuelled him with a renewed determination. But it was seven days after the breakfast meeting that saw a dramatic breakthrough in Draco’s memory-loss.

Harry had just finished putting Scorpius to bed, when he heard crying coming from Draco’s room. Draco hadn’t left the room all day, and Kreacher had said he’d been refusing meals. Harry tentatively knocked on the door, and opened it a fraction when he received no answer. Draco was lying on the bed, curled up on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest. The photo album Harry had given him for his birthday was lying open next to him. Harry noticed his face was ashen, and tears were dripping from his nose.

“Oh, Harry,” Draco sobbed. He stood off the bed and walked towards Harry, as Harry made his way to him, too. To Harry’s utter surprise, Draco clasped him in a massive hug.

“They told me they’d killed him,” Draco sobbed into Harry’s shoulder. “I thought my son was dead. They said his throat had been slit after they cast the Killing Curse on my mother.”

The revelation that Draco remembered something left Harry gobsmacked. He stared at Draco with questioning eyes.

“Yes, Potter, I’ve got my memories back,” Draco replied. “And now I fucking know why my mind was hiding them from me. How am I ever going to even begin to get over this? My mother, Annalisa… It’s all my fault.” He began to weep again.

“Bits and pieces started to come back after breakfast last week,” Draco said in raspy breaths. “You were right. Scorpius was the trigger. I needed to remember him more than I needed to forget everything that happened, I think. However everything was fuzzy, like waking up from a dream. But this morning I woke up with a whole head of crystal-clear memories that I don’t fucking want. And I don’t quite know what to do.”

Harry crossed the room to Draco’s shelf where his prescription potions were kept, and withdrew a small phial of Calming Draught. Draco uncorked the flask and downed its contents in one.

“They said that to try and break you,” Harry said, as soon as the Draught had kicked in. “Your mother died protecting Scorpius. She managed to hold the attackers off long enough for the Aurors to arrive, and then the attackers fled before they got a chance to get to him. She died a complete and utter hero. They told you they got him to taunt you further. I promise that’s him, Draco. He came to live with me as there were no family, and this house is under the Fidelius Charm. He’s completely safe here, as I’m the only Secret Keeper now. He’s had a good, happy life, Draco. He’s not suffered.”

“And Annalisa? What happened to her remains?” Draco asked. Harry grimaced.

“Her body was delivered to the Ministry on the second anniversary of your kidnapping. She was buried next to her parents in Rouen. We took her home, Draco.”

There was a long pause where Draco did nothing except stare at the photo album again. Harry was thankful for the Calming Draught Draco had taken.

“I understand if you can’t talk about this yet,” Harry said, “but I’m the Auror leading the kidnapping case. And I’ll confess, we have nothing to go on. Anything you can give me will be useful, Draco. Your wife’s killers deserve a lifetime stretch in Azkaban for this, and I intend to make sure they go there.”

Draco walked back over to his bed and sat down, his head in his hands. Eventually he looked up and gestured for Harry to join him.

“You’d better sit down, Harry. This is going to take a while.”

Chapter 5: Draco's Tale

16^th August 2001

Diagon Alley was packed, which, combined with the blistering summer heat, was making for a very unpleasant shopping trip indeed. With just over two weeks to go until the start of the new Hogwarts year, it was crammed with students shopping for their school supplies as well as regular shoppers. Draco placed a supportive arm on his wife’s slim shoulders and guided her through the crowds to the quieter south side where the Alley’s more exclusive shops were located. They both sighed in relief as the air became instantly cooler as the number of bodies decreased. Annalisa paused to salivate over a beautiful set of dress robes that were on display in Twilfitt and Tatting’s, and Draco nipped her affectionately on the ear, a grin sliding up his face. Neither noticed a cloaked figure, dressed far too warmly for the balmy August weather, staring at them.

“Do we have time for a drink, darling?” Draco asked his wife, indicating a table outside a café surrounded by hanging baskets of beautifully-scented roses. She shook her head regretfully.

“We should be getting back for Scorpius,” she replied in a heavy French accent. “He is due a feed soon. And this is the first time we’ve left him; he’ll wonder where we are if we’re hours.” Draco reluctantly agreed, and turned to leave, guiding his wife past the row of shops that led close to the entrance to Knockturn Alley.

The first clue that Draco had that something was terribly wrong was the feel of a wand jarring him between his shoulder blades. He attempted to turn round but found the figure had pressed himself flat against his back, and something told Draco to keep as still as possible. Draco could feel hot breath on his neck, and the sound of raspy, rapid breathing. A rustle of fabric and surprised gasp coming from his wife informed him that whoever was threatening them had just removed Annalisa’s wand from her robe pocket. They were helpless. He winced when he felt the breath next to his ear, before an unfamiliar voice whispered, “Any sudden movements, Malfoy, and I will kill you and your charming wife on the spot. Hand over your wand now, and let’s not make a scene, shall we?”

With shaking hands, Draco reached into his pocket and withdrew his wand, a handsome length of red oak with unicorn tail core purchased after Voldemort’s defeat, and surrendered it to the unknown man.

With his wand fully trained on Draco’s back, the cloaked figure roughly shoved Annalisa into the deserted alleyway.

“Please, we have gold, if that’s what you want. But let us go, we have a baby,” she cried desperately. The figure laughed.

“I don’t want your stinking Galleons. And I know all about your son, pretty. Shame you didn’t bring him with you today. I’d quite like the whole Malfoy set at my disposal. Still, there’s always tomorrow,” he mocked. Annalisa made a sudden movement forwards at the mention of the threat to her son, and received a sharp backhanded slap across her face. Draco, powered by adrenaline, went to grab their attacker’s wand arm, but missed. The attacker swung his arm back and brought it squarely into Draco’s nose, shattering the cartilage and causing blood to drip sickeningly down the front of his robes and onto the alleyway floor. Annalisa took one look at her husband’s broken nose and let out a scream; in the next instant the hooded figure grabbed them both by the wrist and turned on the spot, Apparating away.

 

September 2001

Draco awoke slowly, lying on the cold stone floor of the cellar he was imprisoned within. He was shivering; his captors offered nothing in the way of bedclothes, and he only had a tatty threadbare robe covering his far too thin body. As with every time he woke (if he ignored the hard, bare floor digging in to his skin), he had a second to pretend that this was all just a ghastly nightmare, that he hadn’t been forced to witness the rape and murder of his wife, and that Annalisa would be bringing a fresh pot of coffee and the Prophet into his bedroom at any minute.

The fantasy only ever lasted the briefest of moments. The pain that flooded his body and the cruel voices coming from the other side of the room reminded him sharply that he was trapped, with no hope.

“Good morning, Malfoy. Sleep well?” one of the voices taunted. Draco ignored him, instead dragging himself off the floor and walking with as much dignity as he could muster to the corner of the room, where sat a filthy bucket that posed as his toilet. He relieved himself, using his scrap of a robe to provide as much privacy as it could, before eating the paltry scraps his captors offered for breakfast. The measly rations were just enough to keep him from starving to death, but not enough to sustain him; Draco estimated he had been in the cellar for about four weeks now, and he had lost a large amount of weight in that time.

He finished eating and drained the goblet of water that accompanied his breakfast, extending his tongue to ensure every drop of moisture was consumed. His breathing was raspy and he felt feverish but he knew better than to expect any potions would be offered.

“What do you want?” he breathed, for perhaps the hundredth time. Maybe even the thousandth, who knew. Not that he expected an answer; all he ever received was a cruel laugh as way of response. He was unsurprised to hear how defeated he sounded. Two words, he thought inwardly, just two little words, a stroke of a wand and a flash of green light my hell will end. He knew that no such mercy would be offered to him.

He was at a loss as to who his captors were, although after a few weeks in captivity he was certain they were using Polyjuice Potion, and their features were not their own. Acutely aware of his family’s last-minute desertion of the Dark Lord, his own wand being the one to finally vanquish Voldemort, and his mother’s role in saving Potter’s life, he had considered rogue Death Eaters, but there were very few left free in Britain, and none of them belonged to Voldemort’s inner circle. Any Death Eater capable of this crime was in Azkaban, and Draco had heard nothing of a breakout from the place. He was sure the Aurors were considering Death Eater activity too. His stomach gave a severely uncomfortable lurch when he realised it was the wrong path.

He was roused out of his thoughts violently by a sudden hex to his back; grunting in pain, he raised his eyes rebelliously to stare at the caster and spat in his face, knowing he would pay dearly for his defiance. He would not give the man the satisfaction of breaking. He would find a way out of this purgatory. Only a couple more weeks, he told himself, as he screamed and writhed in agony from the resulting Cruciatus Curse that was his punishment for expectorating, a month at most, and he would be free.

 

Christmas Day 2001

Draco wept softly as he thought of his son, now seven months old, without his parents for Christmas, not even caring that he was being watched. That little boy, the light of his life, was the only reason he hadn’t completely given up; the hope, no matter how slender, that he would one day be reunited with Scorpius was what kept him going and kept him sane. Not a minute passed when Draco didn’t think of his son. He hoped his mother had managed to give Scorpius a happy first Christmas, despite the circumstances.

Draco had rapidly discovered months ago that his prison cell was heavily warded and, without a wand, he had no chance of escape. He never had been able to perform wandless magic, and he was now so weak that he wouldn’t be able to summon the strength needed to do so. He unfolded one arm from his lap, and gasped as he did so; it had been broken some weeks before and the bone had not set properly. It hurt every time he moved the limb, and was set at an unnatural angle.

His guard left after a period of time, leaving Draco isolated and thoroughly alone in his warded cell. It was bitterly cold in there, being December, and Draco could see his breath in the dim light that filtered in through the bars of his cell. He trembled violently with cold, and curled up on the floor, drawing his legs to his chest in an attempt to warm himself. Eventually his abused body gave in to sleep, his shuddering breaths evening out, but even sleep did not aid his rest. He slept fitfully and was plagued with nightmares, and woke in the early hours of the morning with a scream.

 

17^th August 2002

“Well, I thought I’d give you a little anniversary gift, Malfoy,” his captor said. Draco didn’t even raise his head from his knees in response, the news he had been held a prisoner for three hundred and sixty-five days coming as no surprise to him. He jumped slightly when a heavy gold bangle was thrown at his shoulder, and opened his eyes to gaze at it, his breath catching when he recognised it. He picked it up and rotated the jewellery between his fingers. The Malfoy and Black coats of arms were intertwined around the bangle, and small diamonds were studded along the length. It was unmistakably his mother’s, and it was a piece of jewellery he had never seen her remove.

“Sorry it’s a day late, but we wanted to mark the occasion properly,” the man said. “So yesterday we took a little trip over to Malfoy Manor. Your mother, right annoying old bag she was. Trying to stop us from getting what we wanted. Oh I did enjoy her screams as she fell to my Killing Curse.”

Draco closed his eyes and breathed deeply in an attempt to rein in some control from the monster that wanted to burst out of his chest. His mother… was dead. He fought back the tears that threatened to fall and glared at his kidnapper through watery eyes. Then another thought occurred to him, and terror filled his heart. If his mother was dead, then…

“Scorpius,” he rasped, his eyes screwed tightly shut.

“Your brat is dead. Severing Charm to the throat,” was the reply. “Oh, his tiny body did crumple. Not so much as a whimper left him. But then again, we did slash his jugular. I’ve never seen so much blood. Still, don’t grieve, Malfoy. He’s reunited with your worthless mother and your whore of a wife now.”

But Draco had heard nothing past the fact his son had been killed, and inside his mind he began screaming, whilst his exterior remained eerily silent. For an entire year he had fought, desperately trying to escape. It was Scorpius, that little boy who Draco had only had for three months, that had kept him going. Finding out his son had been killed took the last drop of fight from Draco, and in that moment he no longer cared if he died. In fact, he welcomed death as there was nothing left to live for. That was the moment when Draco Malfoy was finally defeated.

 

Sometime in late 2003

Days, weeks, months- they meant nothing to Draco any longer, and he longer had the slightest clue as to how long he had been held captive, although he was aware, by the shift in temperature, that it was coming up for his third winter in captivity. He existed merely as a shell, barely noticing the curses and hexes fired at his broken body on a daily basis. A period of time ago- Draco had no idea how long- he had begged, pleaded with his captors for death; a plea that was met with merciless laughter and a jinx. He now realised why he had been left alive when his wife was killed almost immediately. Death was too good for him; his suffering was what his kidnappers wanted.

Feeling suicidal, he had attempted to starve himself to death on more than one occasion, but proved impossible. He was immediately placed under the Imperius Curse, which he was nowhere near strong enough to resist, and forced to eat. He wished for a wand, or some other method where he could just make everything stop, but there was nothing. For the first time in his life, he realised fully why people went mad in Azkaban, even without the presence of Dementors.

Draco remained lucid enough, however, to still consider who had taken him and destroyed his family in the first place. He began to obsess over it, giving his fractured mind something to work on rather than torturing himself with the deaths of this son, wife and mother. He had ruled out Death Eaters rather quickly. This was far more personal than his family’s defection, which didn’t affect the outcome of the war too much (even with Potter shouting his mouth off in the Great Hall about Elder Wands, and true masters, and using Draco’s length of hawthorn against Voldemort in the final duel, very few people had known about his mother’s lie to the Dark Lord whilst Potter lay presumably dead in the Forbidden Forest, and they were all either dead or rotting in Azkaban). No, Draco had concluded, this was personal about him; the kidnapping and murders were all a result of something he had personally done to someone, and this was their revenge. The destruction of his family was targeted specifically to devastate him. His family were all dead, and it was his fault.

His mind cast back to April 2001, just a month before Scorpius’ birth. He had been in deep negotiations over a lucrative but not-strictly-legal business opportunity worth over two million Galleons. It had fallen through at the last minute, with the person with whom he was negotiating accepting the offer of another negotiator instead. Although Draco never knew the name of this other person, and they didn’t know his, his stupid stubborn Malfoy pride was at stake. He wasn’t going to lose out on the deal. The fact that his potential business partner had opted to accept the offer of the other person as their family had been left virtually destitute following the war was of little consequence to him; Draco Malfoy was not well-known for his empathy and he wanted the deal as a matter of principle now, rather than to increase the contents of a Gringotts vault that was already overflowing with gold. So when he just happened to stumble across the man in an extremely compromising position with someone who, firstly, certainly wasn’t his wife, and secondly, not even female in a well-known Muggle red-light district, of course Draco took photos. And if he then used those images for blackmail, leading to him securing the contract after all, then that was just tough for the other negotiator. After all, they wouldn’t know it was him.

Except it appeared the victim of his blackmail had blabbed his name, and that anonymous third party was now a very real, terrifying nightmare, hell-bent on revenge. Draco’s own selfishness and arrogance had cost him literally everything. It also explained why the Aurors had not caught up with the captors yet, as the deal was extremely secretive, with all negotiations having taken place firmly behind closed doors. It was all speculation on his part, of course, but Draco was certain he was right. It just fit. The theory gave him a slither of something to work for. To get out of this, see his captors brought to justice. And once he had seen them sentenced to an imprisonment of their own… then he would be free to join his son. This thought consumed him. He needed justice for his family. He couldn’t achieve that lying dead or broken in a cellar somewhere. He owed it to them all to do this, to atone for his own mistakes. The beginnings of a plan started to form.

 

October 2005

Draco never had shown any ability in wandless magic. Indeed, it had taken him several weeks just to be able to Summon a small stone to his hand from the floor of his cellar to him when it was lying only a couple of feet away. He was unpractised in spells in general, having not had a wand for years, and the rush of magic felt unfamiliar to him. Only the thought of securing justice for his son gave him the strength to carry out the task. However, it also left him exhausted, both physically and magically, and he required a few days’ rest every time he made progress. Therefore it was no surprise that it took him nearly two years of solid practice when he was left alone in order to formulate his plan.

The morning of the day in October when Draco deemed himself competent enough in wandless magic to carry out his plan started just as any other morning did in this purgatory. He awoke on his cold floor, relieved himself in his makeshift toilet, and received his breakfast scraps which he consumed in silence. He spent the day forcing himself to rest as much as possible, and not antagonising his guard. He couldn’t afford to take a hex and have his plans ruined.

Evening fell, and the light failed to almost total darkness. Draco lay down on the floor, feigning sleep. As always at this time of night, he heard the Unlocking Spell cast upon the lock on the door and the dismantling of the wards surrounding his cell, as his captor paid their final visit of the night. Draco opened his eyes fractionally, allowing the darkened silhouette of the man to become visible to him. As always, the man was twirling his wand through his fingers as he examined Draco, making sure he’d not managed to succeed in killing himself in some way yet. Draco’s heart began to pound in his chest; a failed attempt and he would be severely punished. His captor would also be on the lookout for an attack in future. This was his one and only chance.

Wishing he had managed to command non-verbal casting in addition to wandless, Draco summoned all the magical energy he could, and whispered, “Accio wand!”

To his utter relief, the wand in his unsuspecting captor’s hand jerked free and flew into his own, which was outstretched and waiting. The feeling of the length in his hand after so long was unfamiliar, yet he instantly felt complete. His captor recovered from having his wand taken and lunged at Draco, who quickly Stupefied him, grinning in grim satisfaction as the spell rendered the man unconscious.

Even two simple spells learnt by all Hogwarts children well before OWL level left him utterly drained, and as much as he wanted to hex the living daylights out of the man, he knew he would be unable to. He couldn’t even levitate the now unconscious form of his captor out of the building as he had intended to. It was far more important to get some help before the man came to following his Stunning Spell.

He ascended the huge staircase leading away from the bowels of the building and blindly made his way through it as fast as he could, his legs and wasted muscles protesting at the longest distance they’d been required to cover in years, trying to commit to memory anything that could help him identify the place. There was nothing.

He finally found the entrance to the property, and shoved open the huge oak door. The cold, fresh air smacked his exposed face, and his poorly-clad body began to shake violently in the Autumn night air, but neither could stop the fleeting surge of pleasure that Draco experienced when he took a gulp, breathing in the outside scents and sensations for the first time in nearly half a decade.

There was no way he was prepared to attempt Apparating, knowing he would Splinch himself if he tried. Surviving on adrenalin alone, he began to run through the streets of what he thought to be London. He knew both the Ministry and The Leaky Cauldron were in London, but he didn’t know how to get to either from the Muggle world, especially when he had no clue in which part of the capital he was. He began to panic.

Sheer exhaustion forced Draco to stop after a while, and he slid, panting, onto the floor, desperately trying to create some warmth from his ragged clothing. His earlier elation at being outside had long-since subsided and been replaced with desperation; the Stunning Spell would wear off very soon, if it hadn’t already, and even if Draco could get help in time, he had no idea where the house was. Hot tears began to fall down his face. He had failed. Yes, he was free, but he had not managed to bring anyone to justice. His family’s deaths would remain unavenged. Draco wanted to scream, but no sound would come out of his parched mouth. He attempted to drag his body up and plough on in the vain search for help, but he didn’t have the strength. He closed his eyes. Just two minutes, he told himself, as the tears began to dry, fusing his eyelashes together. Two minutes, then I’ll get help. He attempted to stay awake but his effort was in vain; even the sound of the traffic roaring through London was not enough to prevent his body falling into a deep sleep.

He awoke at dawn, wondering why he was outside and freezing, and with no memories beyond his own name.

****

June 2006

Draco finished his tale and Harry realised he had wrapped his arms around the other man and was holding him tightly to his chest. He wasn’t sure when, exactly, he had done that, but judging by the tears that were falling from his own eyes he guessed it was around the time of Scorpius’ supposed death, the recount of which had caused heaving waves of nausea to overcome him.

“That morning,” Draco continued, after taking a couple of violent, shuddering breaths, “I awoke with the wand in my hand. I wondered what it was, and threw it away. I had his wand, this vital, wonderful piece of evidence, and I fucking tossed it away.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Harry soothed, stroking Draco’s hair. “You weren’t to know, Draco.” He looked at his watch. “I hate to leave you, but I really need to owl Kingsley. I think you’re right, about it being a vendetta as revenge. The Death Eater angle didn’t make any sense to me, but it was literally all we had. I looked into all your business activity, of course, but this one obviously never came up.”

He reluctantly untangled himself form Draco and quickly drafted a letter to the Minister which he sent with his owl, before returning to the bedroom. Draco had changed into a pair of pyjama bottoms and a loose t-shirt, and had washed his face. He looked completely drained.

“You must hate me,” Draco said softly. Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “The business deal. Now you know it’s my fault they killed Annalisa and my mother. They’re dead, because of me.”

“No,” Harry replied firmly. “They’re dead because of him. You were a selfish, hard-hearted git about stealing the deal, but you did not deserve that level of retribution.” He crossed to the shelf where Draco kept the potions Healer Morgan had prescribed, and retrieved a purple phial. “You don’t need nightmares tonight, Draco,” he said firmly, handing the Sleeping Draught out to him, which Draco accepted gratefully. “We still have a huge amount to discuss, but it can wait until morning.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Draco whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said. He watched Draco get into bed, un-stopper the phial and down its contents, falling rapidly into a deep, peaceful sleep, before lying next to the blond. Draco’s recount had been harrowing at times, but he had come through it alive, and had been reunited with his son.

He lay awake for a long time, listening to Draco’s calm, even breathing, his mind processing everything he had heard that evening. It was going to take a lot to help Draco heal. But Harry intended to make sure he was there to help- every step of the way.

Chapter 6: Getting Closer

Harry sat in the chair in the corner of Draco’s room, watching the other man sleep peacefully. He was nursing a mug of coffee which had long-since gone cold in his hands, which he noticed had finally stopped trembling.

Draco’s story, and particularly his reaction to Scorpius’ supposed murder, had been harrowing; to hear that Draco had felt suicidal and had fully intended to take his own life once he had avenged his family’s killings had knocked Harry for six. Draco had been so open, so candid with him, and he had allowed Harry to witness him at perhaps the most vulnerable he had ever been, his kidnapping aside. Harry didn’t know for definite what he had done to earn Draco’s absolute trust when he was certain to trust so few, given their history, although he was confident it was Scorpius’ doing. Draco could see that Harry had raised his son, given the boy a happy life and loved him as his own, and Harry knew for that Draco would always be indebted to him.

Harry had tried to sleep, but around midnight Kingsley had returned Harry’s owl, asking for access to Grimmauld Place. Checking Draco was still in his potion-induced slumber, Harry had agreed, and the two men had talked long into the early hours of the morning, where Harry relayed most of Draco’s tale to him, including his theory about who carried out the kidnapping.

“All this over a business deal that Malfoy stole?” Kingsley had asked, the disbelief evident in his voice. “Two people murdered- which would have been three if they’d managed to get their hands on Scorpius- and Draco held prisoner for over four years, and all because of money?”

“I know,” Harry had replied. “Whoever did this is one cold-blooded sick bastard. And cunning, too, to manipulate the Aurors like this, making us think it was the work of pissed-off Death Eaters. I’m impressed Draco managed to work it out really. Such a shame he doesn’t have names.”

“You told me in the beginning you didn’t think it was Death Eaters,” Kingsley had said. “I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you. But all the evidence- the brutal killings, the Dark Mark sealing the note we received- it all pointed to Voldemort’s supporters.”

“It was all intended to send us on a wild Hippogriff chase,” Harry had replied. “A red herring. And it worked. Merlin, they must have been laughing so much at the Auror Office.”

Kingsley had left around three in the morning, asking Harry to owl him any further information Draco gave about his supposed business deal, and with a promise to send a team of Aurors to search for the kidnapper’s wand Draco had inadvertently tossed away. Harry had returned to Draco’s room and attempted to get a couple of hours’ sleep himself, but his mind was wide awake in contrast to his weary body, and refused to shut down and rest. Eventually giving up on any idea of sleep that night, he had made the coffee then returned to Draco.

I still don’t know who did this, Harry thought, as he closed his exhausted eyes and rested his head on the back of the soft tan leather armchair, but when I find them I’m going to make them regret every single thing they’ve ever done to Draco and Scorpius. Those sick fucks are going to pay.

****

The following few days were difficult. Harry had asked Draco, gently, for further information about the business deal- the type of deal, the names of people involved, but Draco revealed he had been placed under the Tongue-Tying Curse which prevented him from being able to reveal any details. Harry hadn’t pressed the issue; Draco’s frustration at not being able to help further had caused his wild magic to flare and smash a window in the drawing room, which led to a frightened Scorpius flinging himself into Harry’s arms, whilst Harry hastily cast Reparo on the window.

Harry saw the pain on Draco’s face at this, and found that Scorpius’ need for Harry rather than his father for comfort when distressed didn’t bring him the sense of relief he thought it would. Instead he just felt bad for Draco.

“It’s going to take time,” Harry told Draco that night, when Scorpius was asleep. “I’m the only thing he’s had for years- he’s used to me being the one he turns to when he’s upset or scared. He’s so, so happy to have you back, Draco, don’t let that dishearten you.” He flushed, before deciding to voice his biggest fear to Draco- after all, Draco had been completely honest with him. “I, er, I was actually worried that he wouldn’t need me anymore, once you were healthy again. Or that you’d decide my role in Scorpius’ life was complete. It’s terrified me, really.”

Draco raised his eyes to meet Harry’s, and they were softer than Harry had ever seen. A small, gentle smile tugged at the left corner of Draco’s lips.

“Harry,” Draco began, “I’m not a complete monster, you know. I know I was a total arsehole in school, and I was ruthless in business after Hogwarts, but I don’t have a heart of stone. Nor am I blind. I will always be eternally grateful to you for what you’ve done for me and Scorpius, despite your personal dislike of me. You’ve saved us both, Harry, and I will never, ever take him from you. I don’t know what is going to happen in my future, but I do know that you are going to play a big part in it.” He reached out and stroked Harry’s forearm, causing a small shiver to inexplicably run through Harry’s body. “I cannot even begin to thank you, Harry, for everything. I love my son more than anything else in this world, and I desperately want him to love me as much in return, but he needs you. He’s always going to need you. You’ve been a father to him for nearly all of his life, and I’m not going to be the one to take his parents from him. That bastard did that enough to him for one lifetime. He’s not losing a parent again. As much as I never in my wildest imagination thought I’d be raising my child with Harry bloody Potter, it seems that I am.”

Harry could have wept with relief. Instead he managed to utter a “thank you” and Draco seemed to understand the emotion behind it.

“You’re wrong about something though, Draco,” Harry said after a couple of minutes. Draco’s eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. “I don’t dislike you. I haven’t for a very, very long time. Hogwarts, the war- it was all such a long time ago now. At first, after your kidnapping, I just felt bloody sorry for you, and I don’t have it in me to hate someone who went through what you did, or someone I thought was dead, like I did you. But since you’ve been here- I don’t know. You don’t just have my sympathy any more. You also have my friendship, um, if you want it.” And with that, he extended his hand to Draco.

The irony of the gesture was not lost on Harry, and he knew Draco could easily reject his hand just as he had done Draco’s fifteen years previously. But instead of the snub Harry was half-convinced was coming, Draco’s face broke into an even, genuine smile and he firmly grasped Harry’s hand in his own.

“Friends,” he agreed.

****

“You’re doing well, Mr Malfoy. I’d like to keep you on a course of low-dose Calming Draughts whilst your mind continues to heal and you come to terms with everything, but your progress has been marvellous,” Healer Morgan told Draco at his latest check-up. It was now the last week of June, and two weeks had passed since Draco had regained his memories. Harry had to admit Draco was coping very well, both with his abuse and also the guilt he was feeling, despite Harry’s repeated assurances that this was not his fault. And if Harry ended up sleeping with Draco on the nights that Draco needed the comfort (which was a few nights a week), well, he was being a good friend to the blond.

He saw Healer Morgan to the Floo, made a quick firecall to Ron and Hermione to say hello, keep them up to date with Draco’s progress, and check how baby Hugo was, then returned to Draco’s room. Scorpius was already in there, curled into Draco’s lap as the pair sat in the leather armchair, and Draco was reading to him from the latest edition of The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Both he and Scorpius looked up and gave Harry identical smiles as he returned to the room, causing Harry to do a double-take. Scorpius was ever so like his father.

“I was never allowed this comic as a child,” Draco said. “Father said it was unbecoming of a Malfoy to read such poorly-written fiction, aside from the Muggle content. Instead I was educated in classical literature and French and Latin as well as Ancient Greek, which, in all honesty, was rather tedious as a boy. I’m glad Scorpius has had these, Harry. They’re fun!” He continued to read, and Scorpius giggled at the funny parts, and held out a hand gesturing for Harry to come and join them. Harry felt the knot of unease that he usually felt in his stomach when Draco and Scorpius were bonding loosen, as he made his way to the chair and perched on its arm. Draco wasn’t taking Scorpius away. He was instead joining Harry’s and Scorpius’ lives. Harry found he was perfectly OK with this.

He took Scorpius to bed shortly after the comic whilst Draco showered, and praised the boy as he read passages from his reading book to Harry, needing hardly any help with the words.

Harry travelled downstairs and found Draco dressed in clean blue pyjamas and a black dressing gown, his damp hair darkened from the shower, holding a box of matches and trying in vain to light the oil lamps in the drawing room. Realisation thundered through Harry, and he couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to him before now. Draco was without a wand, and he had told Harry about his inability to perform wandless magic. He made a small noise in the back of his throat which drew Draco’s attention to him. Draco instantly dropped the box and stared at the floor, a flush creeping up his cheeks.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t think,” Harry said. Draco looked at him quizzically.

“Why should you? And, anyway, not like I can march into Ollivanders and pick up a new one, is it? A wandless Summoning Charm is the limit of my ability,” Draco said bitterly. He slumped into the armchair and put his head in his hands.

“Wait here,” Harry said, an idea suddenly occurring to him, and he disappeared into his study. He unlocked a small drawer in his desk and retrieved a green velvet case, before carefully locking the drawer behind him and returning to the sitting room. He crouched down next to Draco and, with a smile on his face, handed the case over. Draco accepted the case, opened it cautiously, and let out a gasp. He reached into the box and retrieved the length of hawthorn and unicorn hair within it with trembling fingers, as he held it up to the light to examine it. His eyes were alive and sparkling.

“It’s time you had that back,” Harry said quietly, the smile never leaving his face. “That’s a fucking good wand, you know. Vanquisher of Voldemort, and all that.”

Draco turned to Harry and beamed. He pointed it at the oil lamps and, in a voice much louder than was required, as if he was trying to summon his confidence, cried, “Incendio!”

The lamps were immediately aflame with light. Harry gave a sideways glance to Draco and noticed the light from the lamps was reflecting on his cheeks; Draco had begun to shed tears, and Harry realised that a lump had formed in his own throat. Suddenly he felt two arms thrown around him and Draco’s body pressed against his own.

“Thank you,” Draco whispered in his ear. “Thank you.”

“You’re… you’re welcome,” Harry stammered, momentarily stunned, then returned the embrace thoroughly. He found himself strangely disappointed when Draco pulled away, but couldn’t stop himself from laughing as Draco proceeded to cast numerous spells around the room, for the sheer joy of having a wand of his own at his command for the first time in five years. Firstly he Transfigured a vase Luna had given him into carriage clock, then he changed the colour of Harry’s curtains. He flicked the lamps on and off so quickly they almost produced a strobe effect, before turning his attention to the walls, portraits and carpet. Finally, ten minutes after he began redecorating the drawing room, Draco whispered a Finite, turned the room back to its original condition, grinned wickedly at Harry and Disapparated with a pop, and Harry heard laughing coming from the third floor. He decided to give Draco a few seconds to himself and ascended the stairs without magic.

Despite Draco’s jovial mood, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for Harry to share Draco’s bed that night.

****

July arrived, and, with it, the marking of a month since Draco regained his memories. Harry found himself enjoying Draco’s company more than he ever thought he could. They shared fun stories, and Harry found he made a wonderful shoulder to cry on when Draco was distressed. He, in turn, shared some of his more vulnerable moments, such as the loss of Sirius, with Draco. It made both of them feel better to know that the other knew how they felt.

Harry returned to the office on a part-time basis, concentrating mainly on Draco’s case, allowing for some much-needed time alone for Scorpius and Draco. The search for the missing wand had, predictably, not turned up any evidence. Nor had Harry’s investigation into Gringotts vaults, looking for any that had received any abnormally large deposits over the last half a decade, or his questioning of Ollivander, when he enquired about all wand purchases in the last nine months. Harry had ordered his Aurors to investigate wandmakers on the Continent, and he was now trying to narrow down the area of London in which Draco may have been held captive; all he had to go on from Draco’s description was the area was highly affluent, and that pointed to a lot of potential locations. He chose to focus firstly on Holland Park, but a search of the three wizarding properties registered in the area revealed nothing and no other magical signatures were detected in the area. He was in the process of organising a search of the properties in Notting Hill next, a popular area with the oldest and wealthiest pure-blood families. After talking with Draco, Harry had discovered that Draco hadn’t at any point in the months since his escape and his discovery in Islington crossed the Thames, meaning Harry was concentrating his search north of the river. He felt a small prickle of hope that something would turn up, and clung to his very small lead.

Harry returned from work late, one evening in mid-July. Scorpius was already in bed, and Harry could hear Draco reading him a story from a book by a Muggle children’s author that Harry knew the boy enjoyed. He opened the door and peered in discreetly, not wanting to disturb either of them.

“Mrs Twit waited until Mr Twit had eaten the whole plateful,” Draco read, his face screwed up in distaste, and Harry knew why, having read this book countless times to the boy. He bit back a laugh and carried on listening, as Draco ploughed on. “Then he said, ‘You want to know why your spaghetti was squishy?’ Mr Twit wiped the tomato sauce from his beard with a corner of the tablecloth-” Draco winced again, much to Harry’s continued amusement, but persevered with reading anyway–“’Why?’ he said. ‘And why it had a nasty bitter aftertaste?’ ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Because it was worms!’ cried Mrs Twit, clapping her hands and stamping her feet on the floor and rocking with horrible laughter.”

Draco closed the book as the chapter ended, whilst Scorpius shook with laughter, both at the book and his father’s reaction. “Honestly, Scorpius, does this Roald Dahl write anything less revolting that you might enjoy instead?”

“Certainly not,” Harry replied, and both Draco and Scorpius jumped and turned towards the door. “Honestly, Draco, this is the sort of literature five-year-old children want, not A Hundred and One French Verbs or Homer’s The Iliad, or whatever it was you had to read.”

“Can you tell me a story now please, Harry?” Scorpius asked. “Now Daddy is here too, you can both tell me the flying story! About how Daddy played Quidditch at Hogwarts!”

Harry blanched, and Draco raised his eyebrows and cast Harry a sideways glance. “Tomorrow,” Harry said firmly, deliberately avoiding Draco’s gaze. “You’ve just had loads of The Twits and it’s way past your bedtime.” Scorpius opened his mouth to protest, but he emitted a huge yawn instead, and conceded defeat. Harry and Draco both kissed him goodnight, and Draco extinguished the lamps with a flick of his wand. They exited the room and entered the drawing room on the ground floor. Draco’s face was still unreadable. Harry poured them both a shot of Firewhisky and sat down.

“What did you tell him?” Draco asked mildly, but the accusation in the tone and his piercing stare still stung Harry. Draco obviously thought Harry had told Scorpius all about his cheating father, his grandfather’s bribery, how he lost every time to the Gryffindor Golden Boy, etc. Harry sighed.

“I told him stories about how fantastic you were in the air. In fact, I’m pretty sure Scorp thinks you’re some kind of demigod or something on a broomstick,” Harry replied, his lips curled in amusement at the thunderstruck expression on Draco’s face.

“But why?” Draco pressed earnestly, “why did you tell him all those things, when you and I both know that whilst I can fly quite well, I was a passable Quidditch player at best?” Harry sighed and knocked back his Firewhisky, replacing the empty glass on the table.

“Draco, what do you know about my upbringing? Before I came to Hogwarts, I mean?” he asked. Draco shook his head.

“I know you were raised my Muggles. Snape told me once. He told me about your mother’s sister, or something.”

“Yes. Well, they were the sort of Muggles that make the rest of them look bad. The stereotype of a Muggle that Voldemort wanted everyone to believe. They hated magic- well, my Uncle Vernon did anyway. My Aunt Petunia- that was my mum’s sister- was just jealous and had a massive case of sour grapes. Anyway, for whatever their reasons, they both spoke about my mum and dad as if they were vermin. Coincidentally, I was the same age when I went to live with them as Scorpius was when he came to live with me. I never heard either of my guardians have a single kind word to say about my parents. All I ever heard from them was that they were freaks, and my dad was a worthless layabout who wouldn’t even get a proper job.” He paused, taking a few deep breaths. Even after all this time, he still felt immense anger towards them. Even when Petunia had made contact a couple of years ago to tell Harry that Vernon had dropped dead from a heart attack, he couldn’t feel forgiveness towards the man.

“I longed to hear stories about them,” Harry continued. “Anything. I didn’t even know what they looked like until our first year at Hogwarts, or which of my features came from which of my parents. How many times have you heard someone tell me I’m the image of my dad, except for my eyes? That I have-”

“-Your mother’s eyes,” Draco interrupted. “Many times. Even everyone in our world knew their faces, Harry. Do you really mean you didn’t have a clue, about anything?”

“No, nothing. And, like I said, what I was told about them painted them in a really negative light, and was a complete and utter pack of lies anyway. So when I took Scorp in, I vowed to never, ever be like that with him. My personal feelings towards you at the time were unimportant. What was important was Scorpius’ happiness. He deserved to hear some wonderful things his dad did, what a hero he was, even if it was total bollocks.”

Draco’s lips twitched into a smile then, but Harry could see sadness in his eyes.

“That was an amazing gesture, Harry, and I really do appreciate you giving Scorpius some stories about me. I just wish you had some tales of actual heroics, rather than fabricated ones,” he said wistfully. “Somehow, ‘your dad was a servant of the most insane megalomaniac of recent history, tried to kill the headmaster of Hogwarts, almost killed your Uncle Ron with poisoned mead and even attempted to cast an Unforgivable on me in a bathroom’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it.”

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Harry said sternly. “You were a terrible Death Eater, you’ve never killed, and you saved my life back in your Manor. I know full damn well you knew it was me, and your actions bought us enough time to escape. Without you, Draco, we would have lost the war. Now, if that’s not fucking heroic, I don’t know what is. I haven’t told Scorpius that purely for the reason he is a boy of five and I didn’t think he needed to know about Voldemort yet. But I always intended for him to know that his dad showed immense courage and defied one of the most evil people who have ever existed. Yes, I have actual stories of your bravery to tell him. It’s one of the main reasons I kept your wand; I was going to give it to him when he was old enough.”

Draco was stunned into silence. Harry instinctively reached over and took Draco’s hand in his.

“I know you’re not, what did you call yourself, ‘a complete monster’,” he quoted. “Vain- yes. Arrogant- certainly. But you’re a wonderful, loving father, and you have shown courage beyond anything the last few years. Never think you don’t have amazing qualities as well.”

Draco gave a small cough and swallowed. He glanced down at their joining hands, and Harry noticed he licked his lips.

“Ok,” Draco said finally, as he reached for the bottle of Firewhisky and refilled their glasses, before handing one to Harry. Harry received the glass gratefully and took a sip. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant. Your love life.”

Harry spluttered on his Firewhisky and felt himself turning red.

“Well, that’s going to be a very short conversation,” he mumbled, inwardly wondering why everyone seemed obsessed with who he was seeing or sleeping with, but deciding to just get on with it as he knew Draco wouldn’t give up as easily as Ron. “Kissed Cho Chang in fifth year of Hogwarts, went out with Ginny Weasley in sixth year, got back together with her after Voldemort died, broke up a couple of years later when she slept with someone off her Quidditch team behind my back. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Draco sounded incredulous and Harry suddenly wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. “One girlfriend and one snog?” He seemed to ponder something, before his expression became more serious. “Harry- Scorpius- is he the reason you’ve not dated?”

“Partly,” Harry admitted. “I mean, his safety has been my number one priority since the moment he came to live here. But I could have gone out on dates and things. I trust Ron and Hermione absolutely, and they would have looked after Scorp any time I wanted to go dating, but to be honest, I’ve just not been interested.” He finished his drink and held his glass out lazily to Draco for a refill. “I’ve never cared much about sex or anything. I certainly don’t miss it.”

“You don’t miss sex?” Draco asked, and Harry shook his head.

“I read an article in one of Hermione’s magazines once on asexuality. I’m pretty sure that’s what I am. Didn’t care about having it when I was in a relationship, don’t miss it now I’m single. I think that’s why Ginny cheated on me actually, my lack of interest in a physical relationship.”

“Even in that fucking cell I missed sex,” Draco said, as he poured himself and Harry another generous measure of the fiery spirit, then, in response to Harry’s raised eyebrows, he added, “what? I’m a red-blooded male! I’m not saying it was at the forefront of my mind, but occasionally, when I was alone in the dark, I wouldn’t have minded someone there to fuck.”

The Firewhisky was warming Harry from head to toe now, and he felt his inhibitions slip slightly, although he was a long way from intoxicated.

“Quick-fire questions, then,” Harry said. “And you have to tell the truth. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

“Fifteen,” Draco replied. “I guess you want to know who? Pansy, of course. My turn. Same question.”

“Eighteen,” Harry said. “My eighteenth birthday actually. Ginny, obviously. Number of people you’ve slept with?”

Draco started counting on his fingers, and Harry let out an alcohol-induced giggle, earning him a mock-glare in response.

“Twelve,” Draco finally declared. “Four women, eight men.”

That threw Harry. “Men?” he said, and realised his voice was far too high-pitched.

“And women,” Draco clarified. “Although, with the exception of Annalisa, all the females were in Hogwarts. Let’s just say that over the years I developed a strong preference for my own sex.”

“But… but you were married! To a woman!” Harry exclaimed, their game forgotten.

“I’m aware of that,” Draco replied dryly, clearly amused. “And she was fully aware of my… desires. Annalisa was a wonderful person.”

“Do you want to talk about her?” Harry asked, the fog clearing from his head.

Draco appeared to be battling with himself in his head. Eventually the part that did want to talk about his late wife won, because he nodded his head.

“We were married at just nineteen,” he said. “On the day of the solar eclipse. Her family- the Sauvageau family- are a very old, wealthy pure-blood family in France; the French equivalent of the Malfoys here, if you like. My mother was a childhood friend of Annalisa’s mother. She would spend summers at the Sauvageau mansion in Rouen as a girl, and they had kept in contact until Annalisa’s mother died in 1995. I’d known Annalisa since we were both infants. I won’t say our marriage was arranged- we certainly had a say in it- but it was definitely encouraged. From the Malfoy point of view, she was from good aristocratic stock and from a family that had played no part in the war with Voldemort.

“I told her about my sexuality right from the beginning, way before we were married. We agreed that if we were both discreet we could have our affairs on the side. I loved her dearly, and she loved me- but we weren’t in love with each other. She was more like my best friend, and she felt the same way about me.”

“I don’t understand how you can marry someone you’re not in love with,” Harry replied. “And have a child with them. It’s… it’s not right.”

A flash of irritation crossed Draco’s face, which he evidently fought to control.

“Harry, you’re not a pure-blood. You don’t understand the culture. All children of wealthy pure-blood families grow up knowing their role in life is to produce the next generation of pure-bloods. The Potters had done it for centuries before your father married your mother. But although we didn’t love each other in a sexual way, please never think I didn’t adore that woman. She was a wonderful person.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean to judge you. And who am I to judge others’ relationships anyway, when I’ve been so successful with my own.” He downed yet another shot of Firewhisky, and had to admit the alcohol was definitely affecting him now.

“So, getting back to the game.” Draco was trying to lighten the mood again and Harry was more than happy to allow it. “My number is twelve. Care to explain how your number is just one?”

“Like I said, I just don’t desire sex,” Harry said, the Firewhisky allowing him to talk more candidly than he would normally do on the topic. “I just don’t care about it. Sex with Ginny was fine when we had it, but that’s about the highest compliment I can give it. As I said, I think I’m asexual.”

“Well, what do you think about when you wank?” Draco asked. And even with the alcohol flowing in his system, the question turned Harry’s cheeks scarlet.

“I… um, I don’t. Not really,” he replied. “Perhaps a couple of times a month at most. And when I do, I don’t really think of anything. It’s more a response to a physical need, if that makes sense. See? Asexual.”

Draco seemed to study Harry’s face for a long moment as in appraisal, his gaze flickering from Harry’s own orbs, down to his lips, then back to his eyes again, before making a, ‘hmmmm’ sound. He moved closer to Harry on the sofa.

“I don’t think you’re asexual,” he said, looking Harry straight in the eye this time, and was Harry imagining the smile he could hear in the tone of Draco’s voice? “I just don’t think you’ve found what you need yet to light your fire.” And suddenly, so quickly Harry barely saw him move, Draco closed the small gap between them and pressed his mouth firmly against Harry’s.

Harry let out a small gasp of surprise, momentarily frozen to the spot. Draco took advantage of Harry’s slightly-parted mouth and licked his bottom lip, sending an intense buzz of pleasure shooting through Harry’s spine. Before Harry knew what he was doing, he let out a muffled moan, and in an instant, he let his eyes fall closed and began to kiss his former nemesis back, letting his empty Firewhisky glass fall to the floor with a clatter, and wrapping one arm around Draco’s waist whilst the other snaked into his hair. He felt Draco’s hands mimic his actions, burying themselves in his unruly black locks, and Draco tugged slightly, not enough to cause pain, but enough to awaken every nerve ending on his scalp, making Harry shiver delightfully.

Oh, the only lucid portion of Harry’s brain that was still working helpfully supplied, right! I see now why people like to do this. Harry vaguely wondered what the fucking hell he was doing, but at that moment he decided he didn’t care; all that mattered was Draco kept kissing him. He parted his moist lips further, and Draco instantly slipped in his tongue, which caressed Harry’s. Harry heard a guttural, animalistic groan coming from somewhere before working out it had come from his own throat, but he was enjoying what Draco was doing to him far too much to feel embarrassed. He realised he was rock-hard, actually hard, something he couldn’t remember being for a very long time indeed, and his erection was straining in his trousers, pushing against the material and causing a delicious friction. The unfamiliar thrill of arousal thundering through him was almost as powerful as Draco’s kiss itself.

Harry was unaware how long he and Draco spent lost in the moment together kissing, himself pressed into the corner of the sofa with Draco virtually on top of him, their chests flush together, a hardness that Harry was quite sure belonged to Draco digging wonderfully into his hip joint. Just as he was about ready to declare that Draco was the greatest human being in the history of humanity, and succumb fully to either of their desires, however, Draco broke the kiss, planting a series of chaste but equally spine-tingling kisses along Harry’s jawline and up to his ear. Harry could hear his raspy, desperate panting, and felt cool breath caress his over-heated cheeks.

“Did that light your fire?” Draco whispered hoarsely, then nibbled on Harry’s earlobe, before finally breaking contact and standing off the sofa, rearranging his somewhat untidy clothing. Harry was satisfied to note that Draco looked how he himself felt- ruffled, aroused, and slightly disorientated.

Harry brought a thumb up to his kissed-swollen lips and ran it slowly across them; they were still tingling from Draco’s touch. He glanced up at Draco through what he was sure were wide, glassy eyes, and simply nodded dumbly, unable to make his mouth form a coherent sentence. Draco smirked, the cocky smirk Harry remembered from school and had been so absent from his features in the two months since Harry had rescued him.

“Good,” he replied, obviously more coherent than Harry was at that precise moment. “Something for you to, ah, think over, perhaps.” Its double-meaning was clear in Draco’s voice. He leant forwards and placed a final kiss on the patch skin where Harry’s ear joined his head. “Goodnight, Harry. What we do about this is up to you, but I think I’ve made my feelings clear. The Quaffle is in your court now.” Without a second glance backwards, Draco exited the room, leaving a very dishevelled and thoroughly confounded Harry rooted to the sofa with a raging hard-on, unsure he would ever move again.

---

Draco is reading The Twits, by Roald Dahl. It is not my story.

Chapter 7: Together

Harry’s head was pounding almost as much as his heart by the time he eventually made it into his room. It had taken him several minutes to gather the equilibrium needed to peel himself from the sofa and put one foot in front of the other to actually carry him up the stairs to his bedroom. Harry wanted to barge into Draco’s room, pull the man flush against him and continue the kiss. He wanted Draco to touch him, to run his hands all over Harry’s goose-pimpled body. He wanted Draco to-

Fuck. He wanted Draco.

Harry realised he had some urgent self-discovery to undertake, but that could wait a few more minutes; the single-most important thing at that moment was dealing with the erection still throbbing in his trousers and stubbornly refusing to deflate. ‘Something for you to, ah, think over,’ Draco had said to him, as he left the room. Well, Harry fully intended to take Draco up on his suggestion. He let out an involuntary gasp as his hands brushed over his shaft as he undid his trousers in record speed, sliding them down to his ankles and kicking them off into a heap impatiently, which was swiftly followed by his underwear, before erecting an Imperturbable Charm around his room.

He sank into his mattress and took himself furiously into his hand, replaying the events of the last half an hour in his mind as he did so. The recollection of the tingling sensation of Draco’s lips pressed against his, a thick hardness pressing so seductively into Harry’s hip, and the sound of Draco’s deep, masculine groans in his ear sent Harry sailing over the edge quicker than he ever remembered coming before. He came with a loud moan, and possibly Draco’s name on his lips, as a fiery intensity he’d rarely experienced before spread from his groin and engulfed him wholly, and left him panting and breathless.

Harry recovered from his orgasm and quickly cleaned up the evidence, before entering his bathroom and splashing cold water all over his face. He looked into his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Draco had asked him earlier if the kiss had lit his fire. Harry laughed dryly; that was the understatement of the century. He was a fucking inferno. His skin was almost feverishly hot, and his eyes were ablaze with a sparkle he’d not seen in them before; despite his dishevelled appearance, poleaxed expression and his post-climax glow, Harry couldn’t deny his face looked more alive than it had done in years, and he couldn’t stop the silly grin from spreading.

Grabbing a towel off the rack and placing it near to his shower cubicle, Harry turned his shower on and let the water get as hot as he could bear it, before removing the few clothes that had remained on Harry’s body due to his earlier desperation, and he stood underneath the spray and letting it fall all over his skin. His immediate sexual desire somewhat satiated, Harry was able to turn his attention to the Bigger Question- what this meant for his sexuality. He soaped up his hair and body, quickly rinsed, and shut off the water. He quickly dried himself and threw on some clean pyjamas, before re-entering his room, retrieving some parchment and a Muggle ballpoint pen, and propped himself up into a comfortable seating position on his bed with his pillows.

My Sexual Identity Crisis, he wrote across the top of the sheet of parchment, then put the pen down on the bed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes, before calling for Kreacher to bring him some coffee. A few minutes later and, with a large cup of strong black coffee in one hand, he picked up his pen again in the other, and began to add his rather confused thoughts and points to address to the parchment.

One kiss does not make me gay, he wrote. It’s just been so long since I was kissed; I over-reacted and got caught up in the moment.

Bollocks, his brain argued. You’ve never been kissed like that, and you know it. It has nothing to do with time. You’ve never reacted to a kiss like that before in your life.

I’ve never looked at men in that way before, Harry’s next point stated.

You’ve not exactly looked at women, either, his brain once again retorted. Two teenage crushes whilst you were still in school and a relationship that ended six years ago does not amount to a vast bank of heterosexual experience.

Harry put his pen down. He wanted to argue further with himself, but the evidence was stacking up before his eyes. His non-existent interest in dating the many women with whom Ron tried to set him up. His awkwardness in his relationship with Ginny, and his lack of interest in sex. The toe-curling, gut-wrenching arousal that Draco had drawn from him with just a kiss.

Part of him was furious with himself. He was twenty-six years old in just under two weeks’ time. Not a teenage boy caught up in a hormonal whirl of desire and wanting to shag anything that moved. How could this be something he was only considering now? His brain seemed to have the answer ready for that, too.

You loved Ginny. That’s not in question. You were happy with her. You thought she was what you needed. Throughout your youth, your mind was fixated on Voldemort and just staying alive during a period when other people your age were thinking of relationships and discovering who they were. Dating wasn’t a high priority. The war ended and it was the most natural thing in the world to fall back into a relationship with her, support her and her family through the loss of Fred. Then when you split up you threw yourself into your career. Ginny hurt you and you vowed to stay away from dating for a while. And then Scorpius entered your life, and he took priority over every other single thing in it.

Harry couldn’t deny that was the truth. Hermione had said to him, shortly after he and Ginny separated, that he was ‘sexually naïve.’ At the time he had felt offended but now he had to admit she had been right. He couldn’t ever remember spending any time trying to discover who he really was, or what he wanted.

There was no doubt in his mind that Draco’s kiss alone would have been enough for Harry to act, had it not been for Scorpius, even if it was just experimentation. But Harry was more than aware that he owed it to that little boy to not ruin what friendship he and Draco had formed over the past few weeks, for the sake of lust, if that was all this could ever be. If Harry was going to do this- and he was still far from sure that he was- it had to be because he was thinking with his heart, not his penis. He needed to make sure this wasn’t a whim or just sexual, and he had no idea how he felt about pursuing a relationship with another man. Fuck, he wasn’t even sure he was gay, and if he was, he still didn’t know how he felt about Draco. It surely took more than one heart-stopping kiss (followed by a spectacular wank over said kiss) and a few self-probing questions to redesign a person’s sexuality, didn’t it? As Harry lost the battle with his exhausted brain and slipped into sleep, he thought that he wasn’t so sure; things suddenly made a lot more sense to him. And that night, it was of Draco that he dreamt.

****

Harry rose early the following morning despite his late night, dressing quickly and headed to the kitchen where he was joined by Scorpius minutes later. The boy greeted him how he always did, with a huge bear-hug and a sloppy kiss. Harry took a few seconds to relish in the normality of the situation. And then, of course, the inevitable happened. Draco entered the kitchen and Harry caught his breath. He also felt himself blush, as Draco flashed him a dazzling smile, so genuine that the previous night flooded back to Harry in a rush, not that it had been far from his thoughts in the first place.

Draco was simply dressed in Muggle high-street attire, yet he managed to make it look like a designer outfit. The black short-sleeved t-shirt clung to toned but nor overly-muscled arms, and the dark blue denim jeans were a perfect fit, showing off the contours of his arse- not that Harry was looking, of course- to perfection. His hair was freshly-washed and he had dried it roughly with a towel, leaving it to fall messily around his face, which reminded Harry of how it had looked not even twelve hours’ previously when his fingers had been buried deep within it. His skin looked pink and healthy, and there was no trace of the deep purple circles that had surrounded his eyes for the past couple of months. In fact, Harry mused, it was the healthiest he had seen Draco look since the start of the ex-Slytherin’s ill-fated sixth year at Hogwarts.

He suddenly realised he was staring at Draco with a gormless expression on his face and his half-open mouth hanging open in a slack gesture, and quickly shut it, before standing too quickly and disturbing the table, causing a flagon of orange juice to fall over. Swearing under his breath, he withdrew his wand and cleaned the juice up, whilst Scorpius laughed at him. Harry hastily put another couple of slices of toast in front of him and busied himself with the task of filling the kettle. He lit the stove with his wand, then turned round, not knowing whether to feel relieved or disappointed that Draco was paying him no mind, instead greeting Scorpius and asking him about his plans for the day. He said the ball was in your court, Harry reminded himself. And Scorpius is sitting right there. What are you expecting him to do, exactly? A sudden mental image flooded Harry’s brain of Draco pushing him against the kitchen worktop, attacking Harry’s mouth with his own, then snaking his hand down between Harry’s thighs and grab his-

The kettle on the stove whistled, rousing Harry from his daydream with a jolt, which was just as well, as he had felt the beginnings of arousal stirring in his groin. Not a good thing to happen with his five-year-old ward in the room. He hastily made a pot of fresh coffee, poured a large amount into a mug to which he added cream and sugar before handing to Draco, and poured himself a black one, which he gulped despite its heat.

“So,” he said eventually, breaking the silence. “I’m going to Ron’s and Hermione’s this morning. It’s been ages since Scorpius played with Rose.”

“We’re going to see the baby?” Scorpius asked, suddenly excited. Harry nodded.

“You’d better go and put some clothes on, Scorpius, if you’re going out with Harry soon,” Draco told him. Scorpius scarfed the rest of his breakfast and dashed out of the kitchen to get dressed, leaving Harry alone with Draco. Harry could feel Draco’s stare boring a hole into his head.

“Er,” he said, as he studied the pattern on the tablecloth in meticulous detail and felt his face flame. “I, er….” He closed his mouth again, feeling stupid. Draco chuckled lightly.

“I hope you thought about us last night,” he said seductively, clearly less uncomfortable than Harry felt. “I know I did.” Harry’s head snapped up at this, and he gazed into Draco’s eyes, warm and inviting, rather than the steely grey he’d come to think of Draco’s eyes as. Draco’s double entendre was obvious to Harry, and once more he felt the flush creep up his cheeks. He nodded his head to confirm what Draco obviously knew anyway, drawing what could only be described as a satisfied smirk from the blond.

“I’m thinking about it, Draco. About us, I mean.” He decided to be honest. “I’ve done nothing but think about it since it happened. You know exactly what you did to me last night, and you know full damn well I’d be lying if I said it didn’t have a massive, um, effect on me. It’s just a lot to take in, and everything has happened so suddenly. It wasn’t something that even crossed my mind before, that I could, you know, be attracted to blokes, I mean, and last night kind of flicked the switch in my brain, if you get that metaphor? I’m far from adverse to the idea, if that’s what you were wondering.”

Draco smiled again- the same smile he had flashed Harry as he entered the kitchen. Harry felt something flutter pleasantly in his stomach as Draco did so.

“That’ll do for now,” Draco said softly. “I like you, Harry. I trust you, and I’m attracted to you. And I hope you feel the same about me. If you do, then it’s a good start. The rest, well, we can work it out as we go. But I think we could have something incredible.”

Yes! Harry’s brain was screaming out. That’s good enough! On impulse, Harry laid his hand on top of Draco’s that was still gripping his coffee cup. “Draco…” he began, unsure what to say. He realised he was leaning in slowly towards the other man. “Draco, I….” He parted his mouth and tilted his head, his lips just inches from Draco’s who had mimicked his actions. Just a couple more seconds and their mouths would meet…

“Ready, Harry!” Scorpius shouted as he bounded into the kitchen. Harry and Draco sprung apart, both looking flushed. Harry coughed nervously and finished his coffee, then checked his watch.

“I have to go,” Harry said to Draco. “I still have a lot to think about, OK? We’ll talk later.” He shepherded Scorpius towards the Floo, forcing himself not to turn around, but thinking Draco’s final sentence to him may well be true.

****

“Are you going to tell us what’s on your mind, Harry?” Hermione asked, once lunch had been devoured and Teddy, Scorpius and Rose were all happily playing upstairs once more. “You’ve been distracted all morning.” She handed Hugo, who was finally asleep, over to Ron, who placed the infant in his crib and set it to rock gently with a spell. Harry cursed inwardly; Hermione had always been perceptive. Too perceptive, sometimes, he thought wryly. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, he said to himself, and took a deep breath.

“What would you say if I told you I was up until the early hours of this morning trying to figure out if I’m gay?” he asked them cautiously. Their responses were predictable; Ron burst out in raucous laughter, whilst Hermione reached over and took Harry’s left hand in her own.

“Did something happen with Draco?” she asked, that knowing look on her face. Ron immediately stopped laughing.

“You’re- you’re serious, mate?” he asked. Harry nodded.

“Draco kissed me last night,” he admitted, as Ron gasped and Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. “We had a bit to drink- not that I can blame the alcohol, neither of us were drunk. Tipsy, perhaps, but we were both still totally in control of ourselves. We got talking about relationships, I mentioned how I’ve not been with anyone since Ginny, and didn’t miss it, he basically told me that he was gay despite his marriage, and the next thing I know he’s giving me the kiss to end all kisses.”

“You liked it then, Harry?” Hermione probed gently. Harry smiled at her.

“It was fantastic,” he said, aware that he had the silly, dreamy expression that was more suited to Luna Lovegood than himself back, but was unable to do anything about it. “And every time I think about it, and, believe me, that’s been a lot in the last twelve hours, my tummy flips. It was only a kiss, we didn’t take it any further, but… if he’d initiated anything more then, yes, I more than likely would have slept with him.”

To Ron’s credit, and Harry’s relief, the redhead didn’t rant or shout, and he managed for the most part to keep the shock he was clearly experiencing off his features. Instead he ran a hand over his face. He looked up and gave his best friend a small smile.

“Look, Harry, I just want you to be happy, mate. You’ve spent your whole life doing what is right, what’s best for other people. It’s okay to do something for yourself, you know. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if you think he can make you happy, then go for it. You’ve both had hard lives, and I think you’re both overdue some happiness.”

Harry stared at Ron. Being married to Hermione really had gone a long way to helping Ron to grow up. Harry had to admit he was expecting the usual slurs about the ‘Slytherin wanker’ and ‘ex death Eater scum’ that he had heard Ron use to call Draco more than once in the past- and Harry had to admit that Ron was justified in his dislike of Draco. Ron’s acceptance now, when he must have been feeling very uncomfortable, meant the world to Harry, and he hoped the hug he captured Ron in conveyed those sentiments clearly. They were both smiling when the hug broke, anyhow. Harry turned his attention to Hermione.

“How do you feel about this?” he asked gingerly. “After all, he’s said some vile things to you over the years.”

“Well, I can’t say I ever saw you ending up with Draco,” she said, “even after you and Ron found him alive. But I agree with Ron. Yes, he was an arse to us all at school, but that was all a long time ago now. He must have changed for you to see something in him and, frankly, Harry, this is the happiest I’ve seen you in a very, very long time. But I cannot lie and say I’m surprised that you think you’re gay. I’ve thought it for years.”

Well. That, Harry wasn’t expecting. He opened and closed his mouth a few times like a guppy out of water, before finding his voice again. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he said, his voice high and squeaky, and extremely unlike his own.

“I thought you knew!” Hermione replied. “It seemed obvious to me. I didn’t say anything because, well, your sexuality is your private business and I thought you’d tell us when you were ready. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by bringing up something I thought you didn’t want to discuss. It didn’t even occur to me you might not realise it yourself.” She reached over and took Harry’s hand in hers again. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

Still stunned, Harry merely nodded. He felt even more idiotic now. Hermione had known something deeply personal about himself that he hadn’t even worked out yet. And, as the day had worn on, Harry had become surer he was gay. Or, ‘Dracosexual’ at the very least, because he couldn’t deny his attraction to the blond.

“It’s not as simple as that, though,” Harry said. “There’s Scorpius to consider. Draco and I are getting on brilliantly as friends, but do I want to rock the boat? What happens if we take it further, it goes tits up, and we can’t stand to be around each other anymore? I will not have that boy disrupted and hurt again. And Draco and I spent so many years hating each other, after all.”

“No couples have a guarantee, Harry,” Hermione said gently. “And you’ll never know if you don’t give it a go, will you.”

“Hermione’s right, mate,” Ron said. “You’re a Gryffindor after all. You’ve always followed your instincts. If they’re telling you to go for it, then go for it.”

“I can’t believe I’ve just told you both I think I’m gay, and contemplating a relationship with Draco Malfoy of all people, and you’re both encouraging it,” Harry quipped, unable to stop the laughter from escaping. “But honestly, you guys, your support means the world to me.” He checked his watch. “I’d better go. Thank you both so much. I love you both, you know.”

“Fancy some drinks tomorrow night, Harry?” Ron said hopefully. Harry momentarily froze, the automatic ‘no’ ready on his lips. It had been an extremely long time since he and Ron had gone out drinking together. Then he changed his mind. Scorpius was safe, Draco was there, and he really wanted to spend the night with his best mate.

“I can’t tomorrow as I’m in the office Friday morning and I don’t want to feel like shit with a hangover,” he said, and saw Ron’s disappointed but resigned face fall. “But what about Friday night? The Slug and Lettuce in Islington Green OK? Say eight?” Ron’s delight was obvious. He beamed.

“Looking forward to it, Harry,” he replied.

Harry noticed Hermione sniff back a tear. “Oh, it’s just blasted postnatal hormones still,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “They make me overly emotional at times. I’m just very happy to see you coming back to us, Harry. We’ve missed you.”

Harry rounded up Scorpius and Teddy, said his goodbyes to his best friends, and returned home. He still wasn’t ready totally to talk to Draco, but the talk with his Ron and Hermione had definitely helped him think things over in his mind.

****

“Remember, what sound does a and r make together?” Harry said patiently to Scorpius that evening, it being his turn to put the youngster to bed.

“Ah, yes, I remember,” Scorpius replied, and returned to his book. “’Stop barking at my sheep!’ says the farmer,” he read. Harry gave him a huge smile.

“Perfect, Scorp,” he complimented. “Your reading is brilliant!” He reached over to the nightstand and picked up The Twits, where he continued to read from where Draco had left off the previous evening. Had that only been twenty-four hours ago?

He finished reading, laughing at the coincidental name of the monkey, Muggle-Wump, as he always did, and prepared to put out the lights.

“Harry,” Scorpius said sleepily as he snuggled contentedly into Harry’s arms, “I’m glad you and Daddy are friends. He always smiles when he’s talking about you.” Scorpius’ words put a huge grin on Harry’s face.

“How about we all go to the park tomorrow, Scorp?” Harry suggested to the now half-awake boy. “We could go to Highbury Fields. Take a picnic lunch? I’m sure your daddy would like to get out of the house for a bit.”

Draco had indeed agreed to a day in the park with enthusiasm. True to his word, he didn’t bring up the kiss again that evening, and Harry didn’t either, although he went to bed that night pretty sure of his decision.

Kreacher had packed the trio a scrumptious picnic and bid ‘Masters Harry, Draco and Scorpius’ a wonderful daytrip. Something about being addressed in that manner- as if the three were a single unit- gave Harry a warm fuzziness inside.

They walked to the park, Scorpius holding both Harry’s and Draco’s hands in his. Draco seemed to be marvelling in being outside, and the park brought out yet another side to the man that Harry had never seen before. Scorpius explained the basic version of the rules of football to his father, then the trio spent a wonderful hour kicking the ball around the park, with Scorpius scoring the majority of the goals past Harry who was playing goalkeeper. Draco laughed, and frolicked, and chased his son around the park, and then Harry had run for his life when Scorpius and Draco both chased him, the pair of them giggling madly. By the time they all paused for lunch they were sweating in the hot July sun, and Harry poured them all tall tumblers of chilled apple juice, which had been kept cold with one of Kreacher’s spells.

“Can I go on the swings now please, Harry and Daddy?” Scorpius asked, the second the last bit of chocolate cake disappeared from his mouth. The adults both nodded, and Harry could tell that Draco had been delighted that Scorpius had sought his permission as well as Harry’s. The usual tug of unease that Harry felt when Scorpius was out of grabbing distance prickled on his skin, and he subtly cast a few specialist Auror charms that would allow him to detect a magical presence within a hundred metres of the park. He relaxed once they were in place, although he noticed that neither he nor Draco took their eyes from Scorpius.

Harry was acutely aware of Draco’s presence next to him, and realised the pair were sat extremely close to one another on the picnic blanket. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to reach out and take Draco’s hand in his, which he did, holding it tightly. He heard Draco’s breath hitch, and then the pressure was being returned on his own hand. Neither said anything to the other; there was no need for words. But its meaning was clear.

Apart from when Scorpius fell off the slide and cut his knee, which Draco healed with his wand whilst Harry made sure none of the Muggles were watching, the day was perfect. Harry and Draco kept exchanging small smiles and touching each other’s hands; each time Draco’s fingers brushed Harry’s palm, Harry experienced what felt like a small electric shock surging through his body. The urge to throw Draco onto the ground and kiss him senseless was hard to supress.

As wonderful as the day with Scorpius had been, Harry couldn’t wait for the boy’s bedtime to arrive. Draco took him for his bath and put him to bed, and Harry found himself pacing the drawing room, clockwatching and fidgeting, waiting for his return. His heart skipped a beat when he heard Draco’s footsteps descending the stairs, with nervousness, or anticipation, Harry didn’t know. What if his memory had made the kiss into more than it was?

Draco entered the room, looking far better than anyone had the right to in just a short-sleeved button-down shirt and cotton chinos and having spent the day in a park. And- there is was again- that smile, that dazzling grin that completely lit up Draco’s face and, Harry thought, quite possibly had hypnotising effects. He realised his mouth had turned extremely dry and he swallowed. Draco was so close to him now.

“Draco, I-” was all Harry managed to get out before Draco’s lips were on his once again and ohmyfuckinggod, yes, it was every bit as good as Harry remembered it. His fingers grabbed Draco’s hipbones and pulled him even closer to his own body and, yes, there was that defined rigid length digging into him again, immediately causing Harry’s own semi erection to fully harden.

“Harry,” Draco whispered between kisses, before returning to his mouth and drawing those delicious sensations form Harry once more. Harry moaned softly, and walked Draco backwards to the sofa, where they both sank down, Draco in a sitting position and Harry straddling Draco’s thighs. He broke contact with Draco’s mouth and began to kiss across his collarbone, wondering vaguely when he had undone his shirt.

“If you don’t… oh, god… stop that soon, I won’t be able to stop at all,” Draco rasped, and suddenly Harry realised just how close he was to losing all control and tearing Draco’s clothes off there and then on the sofa. Which would be a bad thing, a very bad thing, should Scorpius choose that moment to come down the stairs. With a self-restraint he didn’t know he possessed, he stopped kissing Draco’s collarbone and grinned sheepishly at him, before pulling off his lap and took the seat next to him instead.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve just wanted to do that to you for the past two days.”

Draco laughed. “It’s not a problem, Harry. Believe me. I just didn’t want you to take this faster than you were comfortable with.”

Harry thought slowing things down a bit might not be a bad thing, and asked Kreacher to prepare dinner for the two of them. They ate in the little-used dining room, and Harry was amazed at how easily the conversation flowed between them.

“You were such a git!” Harry said, as Draco laughed.

“You were the ones trying to sneak a fucking dragon out of Hogwarts. I was merely looking out for the welfare of my fellow students and applying the rules of the school,” Draco replied, deadpanned, causing Harry to laugh again.

“Well, it backfired on you anyway, didn’t it,” said Harry. He paused to put a forkful of gnocchi in his mouth. “Okay then, what about those ‘Potter Stinks’ badges from fourth year? Faking that injury with Buckbeak and managing to reschedule an entire Quidditch match? Face it, Draco, you were a right tosser in school.”

“I’m not a bad tosser now,” Draco replied smoothly as he looked Harry straight in the eye. His face was impassive, but Harry could see a fire in his eyes, that shone of pure want. Harry felt his cheeks redden both in embarrassment and arousal at Draco’s double entendre. His clever and witty retort was lost, and Harry settled for a “nug” instead, causing Draco to snigger lightly.

They took coffee into the drawing room after they’d finished eating, and Harry was amazed at how comfortable he was with Draco; they had simply slipped into a bubble of contentment. Neither said much but the blond was leaning casually against Harry’s chest whilst Harry played Draco’s hair, twirling the locks around his fingers before letting it fall back again, eliciting a satisfied hum from Draco. Soon the pair were kissing again- less fiery than their earlier kiss, but still just as toe-curling as far as Harry was concerned. Draco checked his watch once the kiss ended, and gave a small sound of surprise.

“It’s gone eleven. I didn’t realise it was so late.” He looked at Harry, and suddenly there was a hint of uncertainty on his face. “Will you sleep with me tonight?”

Harry’s surprise must have shown clearly, for Draco stuttered. “I- I meant actual sleep! Merlin! I’m not- I mean, I want to- but not until you’re- I just- oh, sod it. Harry, please share my bed tonight. We don’t have to do anything, but I would really like you to be there. We’ll just sleep, I promise.”

Harry kissed the corner of Draco’s mouth as he felt his pulse race yet again.

“Actually, Draco, I think I’d quite like sex,” he replied, then took Draco by the hand and led him up the stairs to Draco’s room.

****

Draco closed his bedroom door, erected a charm that would stop Scorpius from hearing or being able to enter the room (but they could still hear him if needed), then forcefully slammed Harry against the wall, grinding his erection into Harry’s. Harry responded immediately, grabbing the back of Draco’s head and pulling his mouth to his own. He panted into Draco’s mouth when the other man changed the angle of his hips slightly which increased the pressure, which caused the pleasure Harry was experiencing to escalate sharply.

“Draco,” he murmured, as Draco began to suck lightly on Harry’s neck, “if you want this to go further than a quick frottage session up against the wall than you need to stop that now.”

Draco took the hint and broke contact. Instead he slipped off his shirt, and began unfastening his trousers, whilst Harry quickly followed suit.

It was when Draco was standing in front of Harry, naked, erect, flushed from arousal, and looking completely and utterly gorgeous that the last lingering doubts in Harry’s mind about whether he was gay disappeared. Whether he’d only been questioning his sexuality for a couple of days or not, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had never wanted anyone so much in his life as he wanted Draco right now. In the past, with Ginny, he had always felt uncomfortable and self-conscious with being naked in front of her, but right now it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Draco gave an appreciative sigh when Harry slipped off his boxers, and the next thing Harry knew Draco was pushed flush against him and he was being walked backwards to the bed.

When the back of his knees made contact with the mattress, Harry sank down, pulling Draco with him. They were kissing each other everywhere they could reach- their lips, necks, ears, shoulders, all the while making small moans, and gasps of pleasure. Harry noticed that Draco’s deep, masculine almost-growl when Harry nibbled on his ear went straight to his cock, which gave a jerk of anticipation and impatience.

Draco broke contact with Harry, reached over to the bedside table for his wand and cast a quick charm; suddenly a cool slickness appeared on Harry’s hand, and, he noticed, on Draco’s too. The next thing he knew, Draco’s hand was on his erection, and his was on Draco’s, and it was the most incredible thing in the history of the universe. Draco’s shaft felt amazing in his hand; slick, thick and rigid. Knowing it was himself that had coaxed it into that state was a thrill in itself for Harry, and he began to wank Draco enthusiastically, receiving a series of enthusiastic moans from him in response.

“How… oh fuck, Harry… far do you want this to go?” Draco asked, as he ran his thumb over the sensitive head of Harry’s erection. Good Question, Harry thought to himself.

“Whatever you’re prepared to offer, I want,” he replied, and he meant it. Draco smiled at him, his cheeks reddened and forehead covered in sweat.

“Excellent,” he replied, and began a trail of kisses over Harry’s chest, pausing to lap at his nipples, before continuing his journey south. “Trust me,” he said. Harry knew what Draco was going to do, but it still didn’t stop him gasping in shock and bucking off the bed when Draco finally took him into his mouth.

Ginny had done this to Harry, and it had felt nice, but ‘nice’ didn’t even come close to describing the sensations Draco was drawing from him at this moment. Harry felt like the pleasure was engulfing him, consuming him, and he didn’t know whether he wanted it to last forever, or if he wanted it to explode right now in orgasm. Both seemed equally appealing. All too soon, however, the decision was made for him; Draco dipped his tongue into the slit of the head of Harry’s rigid shaft and that was it. He let out a string of expletives, intertwined with a warning for Draco that he was about to come. Draco took Harry even further into his mouth then, and Harry lost it. He fisted the sheets and arched his back, letting a drawn-out groan escape his lips as his orgasm hit. His balls tightened, and his cock twitched, and suddenly he was coming, shooting down Draco’s throat, as a fire he had never before experienced started in his stomach and spread rapidly through every single nerve cell in his body was suddenly alight with wonderful sensations, as he suddenly felt boiling hot and freezing cold, and incredibly light-headed. The blood thundered through his brain and his hearing buzzed, and he was vaguely aware of himself all but chanting Draco’s name repeatedly. His entire body convulsed in spasms. By the time he came back to himself he was drenched in sweat, his heart was racing and his breathing was erratic. Draco pulled off his softening erection and came back up the bed so they were face to face again. He looked unsure if Harry would kiss him after what he’d just been doing, so Harry took the initiative. He leant forwards and poured all his emotions into the kiss, tasting his own semen in Draco’s mouth, which wasn’t nearly as repulsive as he thought it would be.

“Understand now why people like sex?” Draco asked cockily, once the kiss ended. Harry didn’t reply; his reaction to the unbelievable blowjob was all the confirmation Draco had needed. He snaked his hand between Draco’s legs where Draco’s still-erect shaft was begging for attention, but Draco pulled his hand away.

“I’m not done with you yet, Potter,” he breathed into Harry’s ear. “First I’m going to get you hard again, and then I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to fuck you deep, and slow, until you no longer remember even your own name. I’m going to watch you come for me again, and I’m not going to come until you do.”

Harry moaned. He couldn’t stop himself. And despite the fact he had just come, he felt the definite stirrings of renewed arousal in the pit of his stomach. He’d never come twice in one session before, but he had the suspicion that was about to change.

“Roll onto your front, Harry,” Draco ordered. “And trust me.” Harry heard Draco cast two spells; one conjured a small phial of massage oil, and the other-

“What was that?” Harry yelped, as the magic crackled on his skin and he felt a jolt in his stomach.

“Cleansing spell,” Draco replied, but didn’t elaborate. Harry felt himself blush as he realised what the spell did, but this was instantly forgotten when Draco rubbed a small amount of oil, warmed perfectly to body temperature, into his shoulders, causing him to shiver. Draco massaged every muscle in his back, leaving Harry totally compliant, as he enjoyed the feel of Draco’s erection poking him suggestively every so often as the massage continued.

By the time Draco began to massage Harry’s buttocks, Harry’s member was already at half-mast again. And then, when Draco parted the cheeks and brushed a lubricated finger over the flesh within, his erection returned with full force, and Harry noticed he was instinctively pushing back on Draco’s finger, silently begging for more contact.

“Not yet,” Draco said, although his voice was cracking with want. “Soon. I promise.”

Draco continued the massage to Harry’s arse, and was kissing the small of his back as he did so.

“On your knees,” he said huskily to Harry suddenly, and Harry shifted his position, any moment of self-consciousness at being so exposed eradicated by the need to know what Draco was going to do next, and rested his chest and shoulders on the pillow. Draco continued the massage, but this time when he parted Harry’s cheeks, it was his tongue and not a finger that graced the skin within.

“Oh my fucking god,” Harry moaned into the pillow, and he heard Draco’s satisfied chuckle from behind him. “don’tfuckingstopohfuckthatsgood.”

Draco continued to flick his tongue across Harry, before pushing in just the smallest of fractions and swirling his tongue round in a circular motion. Harry could feel his muscles begin to relax as his arousal grew, and he could hear himself making all sorts of noises of approval. All too soon, Draco withdrew his tongue, and asked Harry to return to his back. Harry’s disapproval at the loss of contact didn’t last long, however, for Draco replaced his tongue with a freshly-slicked finger and slipped it inside Harry, all the whilst kissing his neck and chest, but refusing to allow Harry to touch him.

The initial discomfort Harry felt at having a foreign body inside him quickly morphed into pleasure as Draco crooked his finger and grazing against something inside Harry.

“That’s your prostate,” Draco said throatily. “And that is what makes bottoming so fucking incredible.” He added another finger, and continued to massage Harry’s sweet-spot, and Harry wondered if he could come from this alone, before Draco had even managed to enter him. Never in his wildest imagination had he imagined sex could feel this exquisite. But then again, Harry mused, he’d never contemplated sex with Draco Malfoy before, either.

“Are you ready?” Draco asked finally, and Harry nodded his head rapidly, not trusting himself to speak. Draco coaxed him onto his left side and lifted Harry’s right leg, placing it over his hip. “This burns at first, but it doesn’t last long.” He paused momentarily to slick his own erection again, then ever so gently pushed the head of his cock into Harry.

Draco was right, it did burn, and Harry hissed in pain. Draco instantly soothed him with a series of kisses to Harry’s neck and shoulder, licking on the spot behind Harry’s ear, as he pushed in further, pausing to allow Harry to adjust. Soon Draco was fully inside Harry, and the burning eased somewhat.

“How does that feel?” Draco asked. Harry felt his face flame.

“Um, it feels like I need the toilet, to be honest,” he replied, wondering when the prostate thing would come back into this and take away the discomfort and partial embarrassment. And then, Draco moved. Every so gently he pulled out of Harry as far as he dared before pushing back in, grazing that sweet spot once more, and Harry completely forgot about pain and awkwardness. His groan was all the encouragement Draco needed as he found his rhythm, his fingers gripping Harry’s hip tightly as he continued to press kisses to Harry’s back, shoulder and neck. Harry could hear his raspy panting in his ear and he knew this wasn’t going to last long for either of them.

He suddenly felt Draco’s rhythm speed up, and Harry knew Draco was close. Draco reached round with his hand and grabbed Harry’s erection, pumping it frantically in time with his thrusts. The combined stimulation to cock and prostate was too much and for the second time that night Harry’s world exploded in ecstasy, his entire body trembling as he came. Seconds later Draco’s thrusting faltered, he released a groan of his own as he, too, reached climax.

The two men lay together, panting and fighting for breath, for many minutes before Draco withdrew from Harry.

“That was unbelievably good,” Harry managed to say, although his voice still had a slight wavering to it.

“Agreed,” Draco replied. He reached over for Harry and the pair shared a long kiss- it was without heat and desperation, but it was long, slow and sensual. Everything a post-coital kiss should be, Harry thought. He felt his eyelids drooping, and was vaguely aware of Draco cleaning them both up with his wand.

“It’s nearly one. You should sleep, Harry. You have work in the morning,” Draco reminded him. Harry made a noise of displeasure at the realisation he had to get up in five hours’ time, but it dissolved immediately as Draco extinguished the lights and cuddled Harry close to him.

Yep. Completely and utterly, one-hundred percent gay, he thought to himself as he fell asleep, Draco’s light snores in his ear, and a huge grin on his face.

When he thought back to this night several weeks later, he thought he should have known his happiness was too good to last.

Chapter 8: Déjà vu

Harry awoke far too early as far as he was concerned the following morning to his alarm clock, and he was so warm and content it was a huge struggle to move. The memory of the previous night flooded back to him and he smiled, as he leant over the bed and placed a series of kisses on the still-sleeping Draco’s neck.

He crept out of the the bed as quietly as he could, and winced slightly as a stabbing pain shot through him, but grinned wildly at the memory of what caused the pain in the first place. He considered healing himself, but then decided to leave the ache. A reminder that the incredible night before really did happen, and wasn’t just a magnificent dream. He checked on Scorpius, who was still snoring, showered and dressed in his Auror robes quickly, downed a cup of coffee, and Apparated to the office.

Ron was absent today, being on field assignments all day, but Harry didn’t mind. He was looking forward to having a night out with him that evening, something the pair had not done for a very long time indeed. It was only now that Harry realised how much he’d missed it. His day was filled with updating Kingsley on Draco’s case, meetings, paperwork, and a visit to an apothecary in Knockturn Alley which Harry believed had been trading in illegal mind-altering potions. He was delighted to find his suspicions had proven fruitful, although the owner of the apothecary wasn’t too pleased when Harry arrested him.  

If any of Harry’s colleagues noticed Harry’s unusually buoyant mood, they didn’t say anything to him. Harry finished up as quickly as he could that evening, ensuring he left on time in order to spend a couple of hours with Scorpius and Draco before heading off to meet Ron. He Apparated home quickly, throwing his Auror robes over the back of the sofa as he arrived.

The sight of two identical blond heads and grins greeting him as he returned home melted Harry’s heart. Yes, he could definitely get used to this, he thought to himself, as he bent down to receive Scorpius’ embrace of welcome.

“I missed you today,” Draco purred into Harry’s ear once Scorpius was out of earshot, as his hand grazed Harry’s arse. The tone of the blond’s voice and the suggestive touch caused Harry to flush delightfully and shiver slightly at the memory of the previous evening. “As soon as you’re done with Weasley tonight it’s going to be your turn to pound me into the mattress.”

Draco’s words had the desired effect on Harry, who stuttered, and wanted to suddenly cancel his plans and just drag Draco upstairs, but what sort of friend does that, and, besides, Harry really was looking forward to drinks with Ron that evening. Still, just the thought of being inside Draco was enough to drive him to wank desperately in the shower whilst Draco put Scorpius to bed that evening, before stealing a toe-curling kiss full of promises as he disappeared out the door to head to the pub.

He pushed open the door to The Slug and Lettuce and immediately spotted Ron’s fiery hair sitting at a table close to the bar. Harry had learnt soon after Voldemort’s defeat that if he was to ever have a fun, uninterrupted night out with friends, then it had to be in the Muggle world. Ron beamed at his friend as Harry approached, and immediately shot up to the bar. He returned with Guinness, which was quickly followed by spirits, as the pair chatted and laughed together as the evening wore on.

“My round. Another vodka?” Harry asked as he stood up to head to the bar. Ron nodded enthusiastically, his freckly cheeks bright red now from the alcohol which clashed violently with his hair. Harry swayed slightly on his way to the bar. Both men were quite tipsy now.

Harry put the double measure of spirits in front of Ron, then yawned loudly, not managing to stifle it in time. He grinned apologetically at his friend.

“Sorry,” he said. “Had a late night last night.”

“Does this ‘late night’ have anything to do with the funny way you’re walking and the fact you’ve winced every time you’ve sat down this evening, mate?” Ron replied, his eyebrow raised and his mouth pulled up in a crooked smile.

Harry felt himself turning scarlet, and tried to offer some words in his defence, but Ron interrupted him, amusement twinkling in his blue eyes.

“You know, Harry, when I told you that you needed to get laid, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Harry looked into Ron’s face for a couple of seconds, before the pair both burst out laughing.

“Did… you really let Malfoy do… that… to you?” Ron asked, once the laughter had subsided. Harry nodded, the usual awkwardness he felt when discussing sex absent. Whether due to the alcohol or the fact that the conversation didn’t involve female parts for once, he didn’t know, but suspected it was probably both.

“And it was incredible,” Harry replied. He downed the rest of his vodka and Coke. “I’ve never felt anything like it during sex. It just felt so, I don’t know. ‘Perfect’ is such a pathetic sappy word for it, but it really was. And the absence of a naked female helped immensely too.”

Ron turned slightly pale then, whether it was because he was imagining Draco with his cock up Harry’s arse, or Harry shagging Ron’s little sister; either was equally likely to be a source of awkwardness for the redhead.

Ron disappeared to the bar once more, returning with another double-measure of spirits for each of them. Harry took his drink gratefully.

“Have you ever had a prostate massage? You know, um, fingering?” he blurted out suddenly, causing Ron to inhale his drink and begin to splutter in a very undignified manner. Once he’d regained some control he looked at Harry with wide eyes.

“What the fuck? Of course not, Harry! I’m straight!” he replied in a high voice unlike his own. Harry chuckled.

“You don’t have to be gay to have your prostate touched, you know. You just have to be male. I didn’t even know it could feel good during sex, but honestly, Ron, you should get Hermione to give you one. It’s amazingly good. It’s so much more intense, and spreads through the whole of your body. I nearly came just from that alone, before Draco even got in me.”

“Who are you and where the fuck is the real Harry Potter? Do I need to check for Polyjuice?” Ron answered, although he couldn’t keep the laughter at bay. “You, talking about coming, and finger fucking, when you used to blush if anyone so much as mentioned sex!”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had somewhat of an epiphany,” Harry quipped in response. “And the ‘epiphany’ just happens to be male, blond and gorgeous, gives unbelievable blowjobs and made me come twice in the space of half an hour last night.”

“You know, Harry, I never thought you might be gay. I mean, you never acted it. I still wasn’t sure, even after you came to see us the other day. But after listening to you talk tonight, there’s no room for doubt, is there?” Ron said rhetorically. Harry looked at his best friend, and saw that he was being serious.

“No. No doubt. As for not acting it- how does a gay person act, exactly? Do you mean poncing around in leather calling everything ‘fabulous’ and wanting to fill their home with sparkly scatter cushions? Because that’s a piss-poor stereotype you know.  I acted extremely gay last night, Ron, and it was the best night of my life. I wish I’d worked my sexuality out sooner, but as your lovely wife said to me once, I’m sexually naïve. I got there in the end, though. I hope Draco is my future, but even if it doesn’t work out with us, it’ll be men and not women I’ll be dating.”

“You’re shagging Draco Malfoy, and I’m jealous of you. What is the world coming to?” Ron exclaimed, knocking back nearly a full double vodka and mixer in one. In response to Harry’s raised eyebrows, he added, “I’m not jealous of you together! Merlin, no! I mean-” he lowered his voice so only Harry could hear, ignoring the table of young women dressed in skimpy skirts and far too much make-up who appeared extremely interested in their conversation- “I mean of the sex. Hermione and I have not had sex since Hugo’s birth, and not for the two months before it, either, and I’m getting rather desperate. There’s only so much wanking a man can do!”

“Well, it’s normal after a baby, isn’t it? For couples to have less sex, I mean?” Harry replied. Ron nodded grumpily.

“It was the same after Rose was born, but Hugo’s a much easier baby than she ever was. He only wakes once a night for a feed, so we’re not nearly as tired as we were after Rose’s birth. But Hermione’s terrified of getting pregnant again, I think. After all, the contraceptive potion failed once for us, didn’t it? In addition to that, firstly there was the lochia, then she’s still sensitive from where she tore when Hugo’s head emerged-”

“Oh Ron, please shut up!” Harry said loudly, shoving his fingers in his ears. “Homosexual friend here, remember?” Ron laughed at that.

“If I have to listen about how Malfoy’s fingers up your arse almost brought you off then you can hear about the horror of your godson’s birth. Don’t play the ‘gay man can’t bear to hear anything about the female anatomy’ card with me. And I thought you didn’t fit any gay stereotype,” he said, good-humouredly.  He looked at his watch. “Fuck. It’s eleven thirty. Hermione will be wondering where I am, and I don’t want to keep you from banging the ferret any longer than necessary. I’d best call it a night, mate.” He reluctantly stood up to leave. Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

“Just so you know, Ron, I do appreciate the way you’ve accepted Draco. It can’t be easy for you, after what he’s put you and your family through over the years. And for accepting me. It means the world to me, you know.”

Ron smiled sincerely at him. “Harry, you’re my best friend. You have been for fifteen years. That will never change. I can learn to tolerate him if he makes you happy, and he obviously does. Sickeningly-sweetly so. Nor do I think you’d shack up with him if he was the same prick he was at school so he’s obviously changed a lot. I trust your judgement, mate.”

“I’ve had a brilliant time tonight, Ron. Thank you, again. For everything.” Harry said, pulling his friend into a bear hug, before the pair slipped out of the pub and Disapparated to their houses. Due to the alcohol affecting his concentration, Harry misjudged the jump slightly, landing clumsily in the bushes outside Grimmauld Place instead of on his doorstep. Swearing under his breath, he hauled himself out of the hydrangea bush and made his way to the house. Draco laughed at him when he arrived through the front door covered in leaves and mud, apparently having witnessed the entire thing through the drawing room window.

“Time to get you out of those filthy closes, Potter,” he murmured seductively into Harry’s neck as he kissed it tenderly, running a hand over Harry’s inner thigh. Harry fully agreed with him.

****

The following two weeks passed in a sex-filled blur of happiness for Harry. In fact, he thought he and Draco had had more sex in the past fortnight than he and Ginny had in their entire relationship. He had discovered very quickly that he was versatile when it came to sexual positions, enjoying both equally- much to Draco’s delight.

On the eve of his twenty-sixth birthday, after yet another bout of mind-exploding sex, Harry cuddled up to Draco, stroking the sweat-dampened blond hair from his face, waiting for their breathing to return to normal.

“When shall we tell Scorp about us?” he asked Draco. “I don’t want to have you sneaking back to your bedroom every night in case he comes in and finds us cuddled up asleep or something.”

Draco rolled over so he and Harry were face to face, and pressed his lips to Harry’s own affectionately. “In the morning, over breakfast if you like,” he replied. “I agree it’s time.”

Harry was surprisingly nervous the following morning. He poured Scorpius a glass of orange juice and buttered him a couple of slices of toast, which he set down in front of the youngster, before turning to his own.

Draco entered the kitchen and Harry’s heart fluttered. What if Scorpius thought they were disgusting? Or reacted badly in another way? He took a deep breath and a large swig of coffee to calm his nerves.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Draco said warmly. Harry had already had his ‘birthday present’ in the shower that morning, given Draco couldn’t get to a shop to actually buy him anything. He saw Draco whisper in Scorpius’ ear, and the boy laugh, before tearing off out of the room. He returned with a card he’d made for himself, with ‘To Harrie, luf from Scorpius’ written on the front and a drawing of what Harry thought was a goat wearing a crown, but didn’t want to ask in case he hurt Scorpius’ feelings. Inside it said, ‘dear Harrie, your the best, hapie berfday, luf from Scorpius and Daddy’ in Scorpius’ five-year-old writing. Draco had charmed the card to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ in Scorpius’ voice. It was the best card Harry had ever been given.

The trio sat down to breakfast, and once Scorpius had finished eating, Draco cleared his throat.

“So, Scorpius, there’s something Harry and I would like to talk to you about this morning,” he said seriously, and Scorpius’ face fell slightly.

“Am I in trouble, Daddy?” he asked, his voice small. Draco smiled and shook his head.

“No, sweetheart, you’re not,” he replied. “But there is something important we would like you to know. Scorpius, Harry and I are romantically involved with one another.”

Scorpius looked blankly at his father, and Harry rolled his eyes at Draco’s choice of language. “He means, I’m your daddy’s boyfriend,” he amended. He saw Draco’s own roll of the eyes but chose to ignore it.

“Does that mean you love each other?” Scorpius asked, in all his childhood innocence. Harry gaped slightly and uttered a pathetic-sounding “er,” but Draco simply replied, “We enjoy spending time with each other and seeing where it takes us.”

“Oh. So is that why you sometimes sleep in the same bed?” Scorpius continued, and Harry felt his cheeks flush and wondered when Scorpius had seen them, but managed a “yes.”

“How do you feel about that, Scorp?” he added cautiously. Scorpius looked at both Draco and Harry carefully.

“I love you both, and I know you both love me. So if you love each other too, then we can all be a family who love each other, can’t we? Which I think is a good thing. Can I go and play now?”

Draco nodded numbly, and Scorpius climbed down from the table and ran to his room. Harry and Draco looked at each other, both relieved Scorpius was pleased with them together, but neither wanted to bring up the ‘L’ conversation.

“So,” Harry said, somewhat awkwardly, “Scorpius seemed happy, and appeared to take it in his stride. I guess the idea of two men together only seems strange if you’ve been taught it’s wrong. Children aren’t born with prejudice and bigotry, after all.”

“We could all stand to learn a few things from a child,” Draco agreed. “Homophobia is acquired, not congenital. If adults stopped filling children’s heads with nonsense about it being dirty or immoral then maybe there wouldn’t be so many children bullied or driven to depression because they’re gay.”

“I’ve got to get to work,” Harry said suddenly, checking the time and realising he should have been in the office five minutes ago. “I’ll see you here tonight for the ‘surprise party’ I don’t know I’m having.” He kissed Draco quickly on the cheek and headed to the Ministry, Scorpius’ words in his mind. Did he love Draco? He certainly felt very strongly for him, but did that mean love? The thought distracted Harry all morning.

He Apparated home at five and, as expected, his adopted family and friends were crammed inside Grimmauld Place. They all shouted ‘Happy Birthday!’ as he entered, and Harry did a passable job of feigning surprise, which a quick scan of his guests showed only Hermione hadn’t bought. He was pleased to see Draco was downstairs joining in and not hiding in his room; the Weasleys all knew he was living at the property, of course, but Harry had informed his other closest friends a few weeks after the former Slytherin had arrived. This was the first time everyone was together, and, whilst there was some awkwardness, most people were making the effort to chat with him. Indeed, Harry let out a chuckle when he spotted Draco backed into a corner, wide-eyed and trying not to laugh, as Luna mentioned something about a Lesser-striped Humperdingle that she and her fiancé Rolf had apparently discovered in Madagascar the previous April.

“Hey, Harry.” Harry spun round and George thrust a bottle of Butterbeer into his hands. “Happy Birthday. Just thought you’d like to know, Scorpius is over there telling my mum and dad that you and Malfoy are boyfriends and sleep in the same bed.” He burst out laughing at Harry’s obviously horrified expression. “So it’s true, then? I was ready for you to deny it, but you never were a good liar.”

“Fuck,” Harry replied. “Why do five-year-olds feel the need to mouth off everything to anyone who will listen? Yes, it’s true. We’ve been together a couple of weeks, but only Ron and Hermione- and now you, and your parents, know. We told him this morning. Bugger it, I’ll just have to tell everyone this evening, before the rumour spreads round.” He saw George’s sad eyes through his smile. “Are you OK, George?”

“Yeah,” George replied sadly. “It’s just… Fred always said he thought you were gay. I told him you were obviously sweet for our sister and to not be so naïve. We made a bet. I owe him ten Galleons.” Harry swallowed thickly, gave George a supportive touch on his arm and went to find Draco, who had managed to give Luna the slip.

“Your son is blabbermouthing about us again,” he said in an urgent whisper. “He’s already told Molly and Arthur Weasley that you’re my boyfriend and we sleep together, and George overheard.” Draco’s mouth fell open in shock. “Yeah, I was surprised, too. I don’t know why now, in retrospect. So, how would you feel if my birthday party became Harry Potter’s Coming Out Party instead? Are you OK with that? I know it’s a bit sudden, but I’m not ashamed of who I am or who I’m with, and I want people to hear this from me, rather than through hearsay.” Draco’s shock turned to one that Harry could only describe as joy in an instant.

“Of course it’s okay,” he replied, leaning in and capturing Harry in a searing, and very conspicuous, kiss. Harry heard several gasps nearby, which he thought sounded like Neville and Seamus,
and grinned against Draco’s mouth. He broke the kiss and turned to his friends, who were wearing equally surprised faces.

“That explains a lot, mate,” Seamus said dryly, as Neville’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. Harry looked uncertainly at his two friends, receiving smiles in response.

“He makes you happy.” It wasn’t a question. “Therefore this is a good thing, yes? Odd, but good.” Seamus grinned at Harry and Draco, Neville offered a coy, embarrassed smile, and the disappeared into the small crowd, no doubt keen to gossip about what they’d just seen.

After that, the coming-out was rather uneventful. Word spread to all the guests who hadn’t overheard Scorpius or witnessed the kiss, and within ten minutes everyone at the party knew Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were a couple. Harry was surprised no one had anything negative to say (at least not to his or Draco’s faces, anyhow), despite the obvious dislike and distrust many of the guests had for Draco; he figured his friends had been so worried about him that they were just glad to see him finally happy.

It was Molly Weasley’s reaction that had surprised him the most. The slightly-domineering Weasley matriarch, who Harry had once envisioned as his mother-in-law and had been so desperate to see him and Ginny married, had pulled him into a hug and told him firmly that she was glad Harry was finally happy, Harry would always be a part of her family, and that she loved him like a son, as much as she always had. Harry had hugged her back, relieved that she could finally, after more than half a decade, let go of the ridiculous idea that he and Ginny would be getting back together and that they just ‘needed time to get over their silly argument’.

The party wound up around ten, and Harry carried a yawning Scorpius who was still protesting he wasn’t tired up to bed. He read him a quick chapter of George’s Marvellous Medicine, the latest in the Roald Dahl collection, and was just telling Scorpius that in the wizarding world there were real potions that could do things to people with similar effects as George’s medicine had on Grandma and that his daddy could probably brew one, when Draco came up the stairs. He wasn’t smiling.

“Scorpius,” he said firmly, in a tone that left no room for ambiguity as to his mood, “the next time Harry and I tell you something private, you are to keep it to yourself unless we have given you express permission to share it. Am I making myself clear? Your behaviour tonight was embarrassing for Harry and me. Think about what you say before you speak, in future.”

Scorpius’ bottom lip trembled but he nodded his head. Draco returned the nod with a curt jerk then left the room again, without so much as saying goodnight to his son. Harry held the boy as he began to cry.

“I… I’m s…sorry, H…Harry,” he sobbed. “I didn’t kn…know I w…was being b…bad. I was just ex…excited I was g…getting a proper f…family.”

Harry’s heart broke a bit for the kid. He’d not meant anything by his actions, and Draco’s frosty behaviour had surprised him. “It’s okay,” he replied soothingly. “Just next time, ask first, before you tell people things, OK? Although it’s also our fault. We didn’t tell you to keep it a secret, so you weren’t to know that you weren’t supposed to say anything. I’m sorry too, Scorp.”

He stayed with Scorpius stroking his hair away from tear-streaked cheeks until the youngster’s breathing became deep and even in sleep, then he went to find Draco.

“You were a bit harsh, weren’t you?” Harry said sharply, as soon as he entered the drawing room, where Draco had ordered Kreacher to tidy up. “You just broke that boy’s heart.”

“He has to learn not to blab to everyone,” Draco replied. “Honestly, when I was his age-”

“When you were his age, Draco, you were studying from boring ancient texts in extinct languages and being forced to grow up prematurely,” Harry interrupted.  “He’s only five. He was excited that he’s finally getting a proper family- his words, not mine, by the way- and wanted to share the news with the people he’s closest with. And you left him crushed.”

A flicker of something Harry thought was guilt crossed Draco’s features. He ran a hand over his face.

“All right,” he conceded, after a moment. “I’ll apologise to him in the morning. I guess I did overreact somewhat.”

Harry suddenly laughed. Draco cocked an eyebrow in response.

“Sorry,” he said through his giggling. “It’s just we have had a disagreement, spoke like civilised human beings to one another to address the issue, reached a mutually-agreeable solution, and neither of us hexed the other, nor reduced to name-calling. We’re growing up finally.”

The corners of Draco’s mouth twitched in amusement, then the mouth was doing something far more useful as far as Harry was concerned, as Draco leant in to kiss him deeply.

“Bed,” he rasped, breaking the kiss. Draco flashed Harry that smile which always turned his knees to jelly, and Apparated them both to Harry’s room.

As he lay in Draco’s arms forty minutes later, satiated and happy, Harry couldn’t help but think that sex was a much better way of working out their differences than fighting ever was.

****

The sweltering heat of July didn’t relent as August arrived, the summer of 2006 being exceptionally hot for Britain. The continuing high temperatures were leaving the inhabitants of Grimmauld place short-tempered and snappy with one another, despite the many cooling charms in place in the property. Draco spent the eleventh of August in a foul mood, leaving Harry feeling bemused and hurt, until he remembered that it was Draco’s and Annalisa’s wedding anniversary. Harry felt ashamed of himself; Draco had been doing so well recently coming to terms with everything that had happened to him that Harry almost forgot at times that the blond was still very vulnerable- a fact that Healer Morgan reminded him of sharply after Draco’s latest check-up and decided not to reduce the dose of potions Draco was prescribed. She also warned that as the anniversary of the kidnapping drew closer, Draco was likely to withdraw into himself and would be prone to emotional outbursts and could possibly say some hurtful things he wouldn’t mean- all his way of coping.

The sixteenth of August- the fifth anniversary of Draco’s kidnapping and Annalisa’s murder- started off normally, although Draco was extremely quiet and withdrawn that day, refusing Harry’s comfort and choosing instead to hole himself in his room. He had warded the door which Harry knew he could break in seconds, but respected Draco’s wish to be alone and left the wards in place.

Draco finally emerged from the room in time for dinner, looking pale and with red-rimmed eyes. He picked at the quiche and salad that Kreacher served him, instead choosing to criticise everything from the quality of the bacon in the quiche, to the fact the cucumber was sliced rather than cut into batons, to the pattern on the tablecloth, to the material of Harry’s t-shirt. Harry took them all, knowing Draco was snapping simply in order to release some tension, and it was helping him. The one person Harry would not allow Draco to take his emotions out on, however, was Scorpius. Anniversary or not, Scorpius was blameless in this and Draco’s acid tongue would hurt the boy. So Harry saw red at the first insult.

“Pigs eat with their mouths open, Scorpius. Unless you’re now a member of the porcine family, and watching you eat like an uncivilised animal I wouldn’t be surprised, I suggest you shut that over-sized mouth of yours whilst you’re chewing,” Draco snapped. Harry took a deep breath.

“What’s a wrong with a simple, ‘please close your mouth whilst you’re eating, Scorp?’ Why do you have to be so venomous?” he replied. Draco rolled his eyes in a sulky, insolent manner which did nothing to calm Harry’s temper. He forced himself to remember the date, to remember that Draco was grieving, but it was not Scorpius’ fault.

“He my son, Harry, not yours, and I shall speak to him however I wish,” Draco said. Harry again reminded himself that Draco was just lashing out and he didn’t mean it, but the remark still felt like a slap in the face. He blinked at Draco.

“Don’t do this,” he said quietly. “You’ll hate yourself for this later. I know today is hard, but-”

“Don’t pretend you understand how I feel,” Draco replied, his voice raised now. “You have no fucking idea.”

“Watch your language around Scorpius!” Harry shouted, his patience snapping completely. Draco scowled at Harry, then stood up and abruptly left the room, leaving his meal relatively untouched. Scorpius looked at Harry with huge, worried eyes. Harry managed a smile.

“Don’t worry, Scorp. Even grown-ups get angry and say hurtful things sometimes. He didn’t mean them,” Harry replied. Scorpius returned the smile and went back to his dinner.

As soon as Scorpius was finished, he went to play, and Harry went to speak with Draco. He knocked on the door, and when he received no answer, he dismantled the wards and entered anyway. Draco glared at him.

“You know something, every second of May I spend the day mourning my lost family and friends,” Harry said, as he entered the room, “but I’ve so far managed to not take my hatred out on those who love me the most. Don’t you dare tell me I don’t know what this feels like.”

Draco acted as if Harry wasn’t in the room, which did nothing to improve Harry’s mood.

“I know you’re hurting, and you can take your emotions out on me as much as you like,” he continued icily, “but leave Scorpius out of it. He’s done nothing to deserve to be spoken to the way you just spoke to him.” Draco sneered, transforming his face, and suddenly he was Malfoy from fifth year at Hogwarts again.

“As I said to you downstairs, Potter, Scorpius is my son. My flesh and blood. This is nothing to do with you,” he spat.

Harry lost it. Forgetting Draco didn’t mean it, forgetting that Healer Morgan had warned Harry that Draco would lash out at those closest to him and to ignore it, his fiery Gryffindor temper overruled his common sense.

“Oh, back to ‘Potter’ now, are we? Well, Malfoy, you may be Scorpius’ biological father but I have in loco parentis! He is my- MY- legal responsibility, not yours, and that hasn’t somehow ended just because you’ve returned from the dead. That responsibility was given to me by the Minister for Magic himself, after Scorpius’ father managed to get himself locked up in some cellar somewhere for four years because of his own fucking selfishness!”

The second the words were out of Harry’s mouth he regretted them and he wished desperately he could take them back. He watched Draco whiten and his eyes filled with tears.

“Draco,” Harry began, his own voice cracking now. “Draco, I’m so…”

But his apology was cut short. Draco pushed past Harry and flew down the stairs to the front door. Harry followed, calling his name repeatedly.

“Please, don’t go! I’m really sorry! Look, stay, and we’ll talk it through, okay?” he said desperately, grabbing Draco by the arm. Draco threw him off.

“Fuck off, Harry,” he said, refusing to look at his boyfriend. He threw the door open, stepped through, and allowed it to slam shut in Harry’s face.

****

He wasn’t clock-watching. He wasn’t. Draco was a twenty-six-year-old adult, Harry told himself; if the git wanted to go for a walk alone then that was just fine with Harry. Except it was now nearing midnight, Harry realised as he checked his watch yet again, and Draco had left just after seven. It was time, Harry thought, to admit to himself that he was extremely worried about Draco, all earlier anger at him long-since abated. And, if he was honest with himself, he was more than a little ashamed of his behaviour.

Half an hour later Harry jumped up from his armchair (where he had been seated pretending to read a book he was unable to concentrate on) when he heard the front door open, and felt relief when he saw Draco standing stoically in the doorway. He crossed straight to the other man and pulled him into a hug which wasn’t returned.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said quietly, before Draco could say anything. Draco just nodded curtly, but Harry continued. “Look, what I said- I was very wrong, OK? I still hate the way you spoke to Scorpius, but blaming you was awful. You needed me today, and I wasn’t there for you. I fucked up.” He paused, assessing Draco’s somewhat frosty reception. “Does this mean you’re speaking to me again now, or did you just get fed up walking around Islington for the best part of the night?” he asked nervously, all-too aware that Draco had refused to return his embrace.

Draco had a somewhat forced smile on his face which didn’t make any attempt to reach his eyes, which left Harry feeling uneasy. A feeling that intensified when he made to kiss the blond, who looked startled and pulled away. Harry paled slightly.

“I’m not angry, er, Harry,” Draco replied stiffly, and Harry noticed his given name was strained on Draco’s lips. He swallowed thickly. “You did hurt me, yes, but I know it was just a stupid argument. I’m tired, and not in the mood to fight. I’m going to bed. I’ll talk to you in the morning, OK?”

“Are you sleeping with me tonight, or do you want to be alone?” Harry asked cautiously. Draco seemed to be thinking this over.

“Oh! Um, with you, I guess. Lead the way.” There was that forced smile again. The unease in Harry’s stomach was growing, but he decided to swallow it down. He knew Draco was a stubborn bugger, and Harry had been harsh. He probably just needed to sleep on it. Everything will be alright in the morning, he said to himself, as Draco returned from the en-suite already dressed in his pyjamas, sank onto the bed next to Harry, extinguished the lights with a flick of his wand and rolled onto his side as far from Harry’s body as he could get without actually falling off the mattress and with only the small, barely audible, “goodnight”. He stared into the dark for a long while before falling asleep, and when sleep did finally arrive it was an uneasy slumber.

A couple of hours later Harry woke so abruptly and completely it was as if a gunshot had been fired next to his head. Harry had no idea what had woken him but he had the strangest sense of dread in his stomach- like something was about to happen. He automatically reached out to Draco, but found his side of the bed empty and cool to the touch. His instincts prickled; this didn’t feel right at all. Harry rose out of bed and grabbed his wand quickly, before dashing to Scorpius’ room. His heart missed a beat when he saw the door was wide open; Harry and Draco always closed it.

“Lumos,” he whispered, shining the wand light in the direction of Scorpius’ bed. It was empty. Panic rose violently through Harry as he dashed down to the ground floor. His heart thundered painfully in his chest when he saw the front door to Grimmauld Place was also wide open.

Harry hurtled himself down the steps and into Grimmauld Place’s square, frantically searching in all directions for a trace of platinum-blond hair shining almost ethereally in the moonlight. After about fifteen seconds of desperate searching he found his target- there was Scorpius, about two hundred feet from him, further down the square and next to a row of cars. The the sight offered Harry no respite from the excruciating, constricting crush in his chest, however; he was rigid and unmoving which led Harry to believe he was being held by a Body-Bind Curse, and holding on to him was a man, dressed in Draco’s blue pyjamas but certainly not Draco, one hand grasping the boy tightly around his waist, and the other clutched around an object that Harry couldn’t immediately identify, but could guess easily enough what it was. His worst fear was confirmed when the object suddenly began to glow blue in the man’s hand, indicating the object was, indeed, a Portkey. Harry had just seconds to get to Scorpius or he’d risk losing the boy. Knowing he’d never make it by running, he Disapparated with a loud crack, not giving a flying fuck if his Muggle neighbours could hear or not, and reappeared not a nanosecond too soon; the bastard who had taken Scorpius barely had time to register his shock at Harry’s sudden arrival let alone prevent the furious ex-Gryffindor from making contact with the Portkey. Harry threw out an arm, got barely a fingertip to the bright azure object, and immediately felt the familiar hook behind his navel before he and Scorpius were harshly whisked away into the unknown.

 

 

Chapter 9: Retribution

Harry landed with a sickening thump on a hard surface, but barely even noticed the searing pain flowing through his knee joint. He saw the captor had loosened his grip on Scorpius during the landing, and with the reflexes of a Seeker he reached out and snatched the boy, pulling him behind him. He heard the cry of, “Expelliarmus!” ring right through the… wherever it was he was, and immediately threw up an advanced Protego, taught during Auror training to its recruits. The Disarming Charm ricocheted harmlessly off Harry’s Shield, leaving his wand safely in his hand.

Now Harry was livid.

 He raised his wand, ready to send a Stunning Spell, when the flicker of a second person in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Instead of the offensive spell, he threw up another Shield Charm, making sure the still-Petrified figure of Scorpius was included behind it.

“What’d you bring ‘Arry bleedin’ Potter with you for?” a voice called out angrily, before a jet of red light coming from the direction of the speaker hit Harry’s shield.

“Like I meant to,” was the icy reply, and Harry was sure he vaguely recognised it from somewhere. “Bastard got to the Portkey before I had a chance to bring Scorpius Malfoy to his father.”

“Well, it complicates matters,” the second man said angrily, as he stepped closer to the first man. He was much older than the man who had taken Harry and Scorpius, whom Harry thought to be around his own age; perhaps in his late forties or even his fifties. He was large and rotund, and Harry could tell even in the dimmed light that his face was rather red and his hair line had receded violently. Harry noticed the man was sweating, his dirty white shirt transparent around the armpits. “We’re goin’ to have to change our plans now. Then again, it’s two on one here- we can take Potter together. He can’t fight us without dropping that shield, and he won’t do that; he’s trying to protect the boy. But it’s only a Shield Charm, they’re not indestructible. As soon as that shield is down, the kid is dead, and he knows it. He’s a sitting duck. Malfoy’s in no fit state to help him at the moment. Once we’ve taken care of Potter we can go back to the plan. ‘Cause the Malfoys die today.”

Harry’s blood ran cold. Draco was here too. He’d been recaptured as well, and, from the sound of it, was in a poor condition. He quickly scanned the room but saw no sight of his boyfriend, but did notice an open door built into the brickwork. Draco must be being held through there. Harry saw both men aim their wands on him, and the larger of the two begin to utter some incantation.

“Stupefy!” Harry called, not dropping his Shield. Good job I learnt how to cast that one wandlessly a few years ago, he thought to himself. The Stunning Spell slammed into its unsuspecting target, causing the older man to fall to the unyielding stone floor like marionette puppet whose strings had just been severed. Harry let out a laugh at the incredulous, frightened expression on the one remaining captor’s face, who seemed now to realise his plan was going hideously, dreadfully wrong. Never in Harry’s life- including immediately after losing Sirius when he confronted Bellatrix Lestrange- had he wanted to perform the Cruciatus Curse more than on this fucking bastard who was trying to take everything away from him-who was planning the murder of Draco and Scorpius. He only barely suppressed the urge. He would not allow Scorpius to see him behave in that manner, plus it was more than his career was worth to perform an Unforgivable on a suspect.

“I guess it’s one against one after all,” Harry snarled, still not dropping the shield that was protecting Scorpius, “fancy your odds now?” He smiled an unpleasant, feral grin as the blood thundered through his ears. That thought seemed to have occurred to the kidnapper, too, because he began to cast an onslaught of jinxes and curses in the direction of Harry and Scorpius- none of which were successful in so much as making a dent in Harry’s Shield Charm.

If he’s so much as hurt a hair on Scorpius’ or Draco’s head I’m going to annihilate him, Harry thought wildly, calling on his Auror training by biding his time and preparing to strike at the optimum moment. He sensed his attacker was becoming desperate and chose his moment. With all the skill of a highly-trained Auror, he raised his wand, dismantled the Shield, and threw a Body-Bind at his opponent, all within a fraction of a second. He then quickly Disarmed the man, surprised when Draco’s length of hawthorn flew into his waiting hand along with the kidnapper’s wand.

For good measure, Harry bound the man, then Levitated his still-unconscious partner in crime, until they were next to each other. Harry bound him in magical ropes, too, before quickly relieving him of his wand. Only once he was sure both men were fully incapacitated and disarmed did Harry allow the events of the last half an hour to overcome him. Shaking, he crossed to Scorpius. Scorpius’ eyes were huge and terrified, and his cheeks were stained with tear tracks, although he was completely motionless and silent. Harry gently removed the Body-Bind Curse from his tiny body, then held the child tightly in his arms whilst the boy sobbed uncontrollably.

“I-I knew you’d come and save me, Harry,” he wailed. “I knew you wouldn’t j-just leave me and let the bad man take me. You’re just like Superman.”

Harry let out a small chuckle at this, his own tears threatening to fall now.

“Of course they weren’t going to get you. You know I’ll always do everything I possibly can to keep you safe.” He sniffed and took a breath to help gain some control of his emotions again. “Your daddy is here somewhere too, Scop,” he said. “I need to find him, then speak to your uncle Ron and Mr Shacklebolt, OK? Then I’ll get you home. Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.”

He cast two Patronuses, knowing their presence would help to calm Scorpius, and relayed the same message to each- telling them what had happened, and to follow the Patronuses back to find them. He then sent one to Ron, and the other to Kingsley. Once the two ethereal stags had disappeared into the night, Harry lit his wand and began his search for Draco.

It didn’t take long. As Harry had suspected, Draco was being held in an almost pitch-black cell- the same cell, Harry imagined, that he had spent the larger part of the twenty-first century incarcerated within. He was unconscious and naked, his pyjamas having been stolen by the kidnapper. Harry shone his wand closer to Draco, never once letting go of Scorpius’ hand, and saw that Draco had a purple bruise under his left eye. There was some dried blood around his nostrils, and he perhaps had a cracked rib or two, but the injuries were all relatively minor and not life-threatening. Harry quickly healed Draco’s ribs with an Episkey, then siphoned off the blood from Draco’s face and cast a minor glamour over the bruise so as not to scare Scorpius when he saw his father’s face. He also conjured a t-shirt and shorts pyjama set for him, before pointing his wand at the unconscious blond and muttering, “Rennervate.”

Draco let out a long groan as he returned to consciousness. He spotted the cell he was lying in and immediately began to panic; his breath came in short gasps and he let out an anguished cry of despair.

“Draco! It’s OK! They’ve not got you, we’re all safe,” Harry said urgently, and for the first time, Draco realised Harry and Scorpius were there with him. He sagged when he saw they were both unharmed, and Harry stood, free, with four wands in his possession.  He stared, wide-eyed, before collapsing into Harry’s arms, drawing Scorpius in tightly too, as the realisation that Harry had rescued him and his son dawned on him.

“Oh, thank Merlin you’re both OK,” he rasped, as he quickly pulled on the pyjamas and Harry handed him back his wand. Where are they?”

“Bound, wandless and immobile through there,” Harry replied.

Draco exhaled in relief. “Thank God. Look, Harry, the men. I know who they are. It’s-”

But he suddenly stopped talking at the emergence of a sudden bright light entering the cell, causing all three of them to jump. Harry relaxed instantly, however, when he saw it was Kingsley’s lynx Patronus.

Ron and I are coming. We’ve traced your location from your Patronus, boomed out Kingsley’s deep voice. Harry sighed in relief.

Minutes later the unmistakable crack of Apparition could be heard from outside, then a couple of minutes later Harry heard the voices of Ron and Kingsley hurrying down the stairs.

“Bloody gits have an Anti-Apparition Charm up,” Ron said. “Had to Apparate outside then come and find you. Alright, Harry?”

“Yes. Don’t worry about me,” Harry answered. “We’re all fine. Kingsley, we’ve finally got them!” A smile came across his weary face. “I wish it hadn’t have been this way, and I’ve never felt so scared in my life as I did when I realised Scorpius was missing, but we’ve finally got them.”

He walked over to the men, studying them properly for the first time. Draco came to join him.

“Recognise this one, Harry?” he said bitterly, indicating the younger of the two, who was looking at Harry now with panicked eyes. And now Harry got a close, proper look at the face… it was eight years older than the last time he had seen it, and was even more slender than he remembered, but with a jolt he realised he recognised the figure.

“Theodore Nott?” Harry asked, his voice filled with surprise. Draco nodded grimly. “As in, your former friend? Quiet, studious Nott who used to sit by himself in the library, and probably said about five words to anyone outside of Slytherin in his entire life? Reduced to this?”

“The one and only,” Draco replied, his face white with shock. “Bastard. I came to for a few minutes earlier tonight and saw him. Right before I was kicked in the ribs and knocked unconscious again. I knew the war had cost him a lot, but I never knew he’d be capable of this.”

“And who’s this one?” Harry asked, indicating the larger, unknown man. Draco shook his head.

“The one I told you about. The business owner I blackmailed. I can’t tell you his name because of the Tongue-Tying Curse. But it’s him, all right. He and Nott are obviously in league with one another to try and get their revenge.”

“Harry, we need to get these two to the Ministry,” said Kingsley. “And as lead Auror on this case I need you to come in to interview them in your official capacity, if you think you can manage that without your personal feelings becoming too involved?”

Harry nodded. “Can you and Ron take them in? I want to get Scorpius and Draco home. I’ll be there soon.” He waved his wand and dismantled the Anti-Disapparition Jinx and prepared to leave. “Where are we, anyway?”

 “Montpelier Square, Kensington,” Kingsley replied. He smiled at Harry. “You were so close with your investigation. C’mon, Ron, it’s half past four in the morning and I’m sure Scorpius would like to go to bed now.” Harry watched as the Minister and Ron hauled their prisoners up by their armpits, and Disapparated away. He bent down and picked up and exhausted Scorpius, settling him on his hip, before he felt the comforting squeeze of Draco’s hand in his own. He squeezed back tightly, his heart lifted, and turned on the spot, welcoming the suffocating sensation of Apparition as he returned his family to their home.

****

Harry explained what had happened that evening to Draco as he finished administering the paediatric Sleeping Draught to Scorpius, and laid the snoring boy in Draco’s bed, unwilling to put him back in his own room that night. He barely had time to look at Draco, however, before the blond was kissing him furiously, and Harry was kissing him back, and it was a kiss of thanks, and relief, and full of ‘I’m sorry’, and forgiveness from both of them.

“We’ll talk later,” Draco said quietly, once the kiss had ended. “But, Harry, what I said earlier- about you not being his flesh and blood. None of that matters. You are every bit as much Scorpius’ father as I am- more so in a lot of ways. What you did this evening- if that doesn’t prove it, then nothing will. Merlin, if you hadn’t have gotten there in time… I don’t even want to think about it.” Harry realised Draco was crying. Harry wiped the tears away with his thumbs.

“What I said was terrible, too,” Harry replied. “I didn’t mean it. I was hurt and angry, and lashed out. I never have, and never will, blame you for any of this.”

Just then they heard Harry’s Floo come to life in the drawing room, and ran down the stairs, wands drawn, only to pocket them in relief when they saw a very tired-looking Ron step through the emerald flames. He grinned at Harry.

“They’re in custody. Kingsley is going to question them under Veritaserum as soon as you get there. I’ve been sent here in my official capacity to stay with Malfoy and Scorp whilst you’re at the Ministry. Hermione’s coming over too, in a minute. I’ve managed to get Mum to come and sit with Rose and Hugo for a couple of hours.”

Harry looked reluctant to leave. Draco smiled at him reassuringly.

“We’re going nowhere, Harry. I promise,” he said. “I’m not hurt, other than a bruised orbital bone, and Scorpius is sleeping. We’re fine.” He kissed Harry on the lips briefly and ran a finger down his cheek. Harry took a deep breath, nodded in resignation, and disappeared upstairs to get dressed, figuring a ratty t-shirt and shorts set wasn’t appropriate attire for interviewing his suspects. He returned after a few minutes dressed in his formal Auror robes. He stepped into the Floo, which would allow him to arrive directly in Kingsley’s office rather than just the Apparition point inside the Atrium, and threw in a handful of Floo powder. He didn’t remove his eyes from Draco’s face until he was whisked away by the flames.

He arrived in Kingsley’s office and quickly made his way to the suspect interrogation room, which was three doors down. Harry smiled to himself; Kingsley may be the Minister, but his heart would always belong with the Aurors. He only had to look at how personally involved Kingsley was in Draco’s case to see that. The man even had is office in The Department for Magical Law Enforcement.

He entered the door, erecting the standard wards behind him, and sat down at the desk. Nott was being interviewed first. Good, Harry thought. I have rather a lot to say to that bastard.  He cast the surveillance charm that would record the interview for evidence- Muggle tape recorders and video equipment unable to function at all, even adapted, inside the Ministry- and nodded to Kingsley to show he was ready. Kingsley administered the Veritaserum. He checked his watch, giving the potion the required time to work.

“Interview commenced at five seventeen am, on the seventeenth of August 2006,” Harry began, “Auror Harry James Potter and Minister Shacklebolt interviewing Theodore Nott, arrested on suspicion of kidnap, false imprisonment, torture, rape, murder, and plotting to kill. Mr Nott, please confirm your name, age, address, and describe wand for me.”

Nott gritted his teeth, but the Veritaserum forced the answer from him.

“Theodore Nott, twenty-six years old, seven Montpelier Square, London, SW7. Hazel and dragon heartstring, twelve inches,” he replied, extremely reluctantly. Harry removed the two wands he had claimed from the men earlier, handing the hazel wand over to Kingsley.

“Your wand will be checked and is subject to extensive Prior Incantato examinations. Mr Nott, are you responsible for the kidnapping of Draco and Annalisa Malfoy, on the sixteenth of August, 2001?” Harry asked.

“N-yes,” Nott snarled, his face ashen. Harry barely suppressed the urge to punch him. Instead he balled his hands into fists and clenched so tightly his knuckles turned chalk-white.

“Who aided you in the kidnapping?” he probed. Nott stuttered.

“I cannot tell you his name. He cast the Tongue-Tying Curse on myself and Draco Malfoy. But it’s the other man you arrested tonight,” Nott replied. Harry had expected that answer.

“Why did you initially kidnap Mr Malfoy and his wife?” Kingsley asked.

“I wanted revenge,” Nott replied. “After Potter here killed the Dark Lord, my family had nothing. My father was a Death Eater. He gave the entire contents of the Nott vault to the Dark Lord to aid his campaign. If the Dark Lord had won, my family would have received riches beyond our wildest dreams due to my father’s faithfulness. Of course, the Malfoys defection didn’t help our cause one bit. So I already hated the family for that. When my father died during the Battle of Hogwarts we literally had nothing left to salvage the Nott name. Both my parents were dead, and no one would employ the child of a Death Eater. I was desperate.

“And then I close in on the deal of the century, and it would have given my family prosperity again, made the Nott name worth something once more. And then Malfoy, the selfish, selfish bastard, took it from me for no other reason than he doesn’t like to lose. The money meant nothing to him. If he took what meant the world to me away, I’d take away the only thing he’d ever given a shit about- his family.”

“Did you rape Annalisa Malfoy?” Kingsley continued, aware that Harry was having a hard time controlling his emotions.

“No. P-he did,” Nott replied. Harry felt sick.

“Did you kill Annalisa Malfoy?” Harry demanded. Again, Nott shook his head.

“No that was also- him. Straight after he raped her.” Harry thought he might actually be sick now. He bit back the nausea which threatened to rise in his throat.

“What about the murder of Narcissa Malfoy on the sixteenth of August 2002? Was that you?” he said. Nott clamped his mouth shut, trying desperately to prevent the words from coming, but the Veritaserum forced them from him.

“That was both of us. Thanks to my childhood friendship with Draco, I knew of several secret passages into Malfoy Manor that the Aurors and even Narcissa Malfoy were unaware of. It’s how we managed to get past the guards.”

“And who was your intended target that night?” Kingsley asked, also looking grim.

“Scorpius Malfoy,” Nott replied. Harry knew this- it was four-year-old information, but hearing it first hand, from his would-be murderer, was almost too much to take. He stood up and took some deep, calming breaths, reminding himself that Scorpius was fine, we was healthy and at home with Draco.

“Did you kidnap Draco Malfoy on the evening of the sixteenth of August 2006, and return, later, and kidnap his son, Scorpius Malfoy?” Harry continued, once he’d managed to regain some composure. Again, Nott confirmed that he had.

“Tell me how you found out where Draco Malfoy was residing,” Harry ordered.

“I overheard Percy Weasley talking about him last week,” Nott replied. “Until then I didn’t even know Draco was still alive. I was here at the Ministry and heard him talking about you and Draco living together with his father. He didn’t mention that the two of you are in a relationship. That took me by surprise. I never had Malfoy down as a pouf, let alone our Boy Hero. I was just thankful you’d obviously been fighting that night and I had a perfect excuse not to have to get too close to you. I’m not sure I could have kept up the act if I was expected to fuck you.” Harry blushed furiously with both anger and embarrassment and Kingsley glared menacingly at Nott. Nott coughed nervously. “Anyway, everyone knows where your house is. During the second war the Death Eaters staked it out, as I’m sure you’re aware. It’s just no one can actually see it. It was just a case of staying in Grimmauld Place and waiting it out for an opportunity to get him alone, and by coincidence it happened to be the anniversary of the first kidnapping. I thought it was some kind of sign. Anyway, I followed him to Highbury Fields, Stupefied him and Portkeyed him to Montpelier Square.”

“So you kidnapped Draco and brought him to your home where you locked him back in the cellar. That doesn’t explain how you managed to get past my Fidelius Charm,” Harry said, realising suddenly with a panicked jolt that his home might not be as secure as he thought. “I’m the only Secret-Keeper for the house and I definitely didn’t tell you the address. Tell me how you broke in to my property.”

“I stripped him naked as an act of humiliation,” Nott replied. “But something slithered out of the back pocket of his trousers as I pulled them off. A wallet. I had a look through, and something interesting in there caught my eye. It was a slip of paper with your address written on it.”

Realisation rushed over Harry like ice water. Back in May, when he and Ron had found Draco, he had written the address down for him to prevent anyone overhearing. Draco must not have thrown it away. The slip of paper would have given anyone who read it the address of twelve Grimmauld Place. He inwardly cursed Draco’s stupidity for not destroying the slip of paper, before chastising himself, remembering Draco’s state of mind at the time when he brought him to Grimmauld Place. Draco wasn’t to know its significance at the time, and must have forgotten about it.

“So a new plan formed in my mind,” Nott continued. “I put on Draco’s clothes, snagged a couple of his hairs, and added them to a phial of Polyjuice I had ready. You see, before, when he was our prisoner, we always Polyjuiced ourselves before dealing with him. Never anyone important- just random Muggles- but it stopped him being able to identify us at all. We were going to do the same this time. But instead I Polyjuiced into Malfoy, put on his clothes, and paid you and Scorpius Malfoy a visit.”

“Why did you leave Auror Potter unscathed?” Kingsley asked. “You’ve proven you don’t mind hurting innocents. Why did you leave a man, who was unarmed and asleep, alone?”

To Harry’s surprise, Nott laughed.

“Isn’t it obvious? The Dark Lord himself fired the Killing Curse twice at him, yet he’s rotting in his grave and Potter stands here healthy and whole. If You-Know-Who can’t harm Potter then what chance do any of us have? No one in their right mind would try and attack Potter. He’s some sort of freak. As soon as I realised he’d Portkeyed in with me tonight I knew everything had gone wrong.”

Harry thanked the gods that had kept the real reasons behind his survival a secret from Nott, as that may well have saved the life of Draco and Scorpius that night, as well as his own. “What were you planning this evening? Tell me what would have happened if I had not made it to the Portkey in time,” he said.

“We were going to kill the Malfoy brat in front of Draco,” Nott replied, and Kingsley had to actually hold Harry back this time. “So Draco knew this time that we weren’t bluffing. Then we were going to kill him, too. We couldn’t risk another escape.”

Harry turned incredibly white, and he knew his face must have shown the hatred he currently felt, for Nott looked at him this time with definite fear.

“Interview suspended, six thirty-three am,” Kingsley suddenly said, noticing Harry’s reaction. He took a glass phial from the pocket of his robes. “Finite Incantatem.” Something silvery resembling a Pensive memory soared into the waiting bottle, and Kingsley quickly stoppered it. “Harry, the surveillance charm is down. I’ll give you a few moments alone with our prisoner.” He winked at Harry meaningfully and left the room.  Harry clenched his fist and turned his attention to Nott, who was even paler than before, his eyes wide and fearful.

“Potter, please,” he began, but that was all he managed to get out before Harry punched him full in the face, shattering the bone and cartilage in Nott’s nose with a satisfying crack, causing Nott to howl in agony.

“If it wasn’t for the fact you’re going to be spending the rest of your miserable life in Azkaban, I would kill you for what you did to the Malfoys,” Harry snarled, as Nott cupped his nose, his hands rapidly turning crimson with his blood. “I just want you know that.”

He left the room, relishing the dull ache in his right hand caused by its collision with Nott’s face, and found Kingsley outside.

“Thank you for that,” he replied, leaning against the wall and offering a weak smile to the former Auror.

“For what, Harry?” Kingsley replied, his face a picture of innocence. “Look, go home. Your team can finish up with Nott when they arrive this morning. I’ll interview our other guest. By the way, he’s Alistair Parkinson. I believe you and Draco knew his daughter, Pansy, at school. He just told me whilst you were in there, er, finishing up with Nott.”

Harry nodded wearily in agreement, desperate to get home to Draco and Scorpius, and began to walk back to Kingsley’s office. He turned when Kingsley called his name one more time.

“One more thing before you go. I take it Mr Nott requires some sort of Memory Charm to erase the last three minutes from his recollection?” Kingsley said in a low voice. Harry smiled again and nodded. “Good. I’ll do it, and fix anything obvious. Don’t want his defence getting wind of this. I’ll talk to you later, Harry. Oh, and tell Ron to take the morning off, too.”

****

Harry arrived through the Floor shortly before seven in the morning, and found Ron dozing on the sofa with Hermione reading a book, curled up in an armchair. He greeted his friends warmly.

“We’ve got a full confession from Nott,” Harry told them, just as Draco entered the room, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist. “Kingsley is going to interview Alistair Parkinson- Pansy’s dad, who was working with him- but there’s enough information stored in the surveillance charm to ensure they both receive life sentences in Azkaban.” He quickly filled them in on the main details, such as how Nott had got through the Fidelius Charm, before Hermione reluctantly announced that Hugo would need a feed and she had to go. Harry told Ron Kingsley didn’t expect him until lunchtime, which the redhead appreciated, then the pair Flooed home.

“Bed?” Draco asked quietly. Harry didn’t respond. He simply leant into Draco’s body and allowed himself to be be escorted to Draco’s bedroom. He quickly changed back into his pyjamas and lay down on one side of the bed, whilst Draco took the other side, with Scorpius sound asleep between them.

“I was thinking when you were gone,” Draco said. “What if they had managed to go through with their plans? The last words I’d have ever said to you and Scorpius was to call him a pig and tell you that you weren’t a proper parent to him.” Harry realised Draco’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. “I am so utterly, completely sorry, for the things I said yesterday, and storming out. I nearly got us all killed.”

Harry reached across Scorpius and rubbed Draco’s arms soothingly. “All couples fight, Draco,” he replied. “And none of them get kidnapped just because they leave the house for a few hours to calm down. It’s their fault, Draco, Nott’s and Parkinson’s. And they’ll never hurt us again.” Draco leant over and kissed Harry; a delicate, chaste kiss, but it still threatened to overwhelm Harry. He stroked a finger down Draco’s cheek.

“I was completely bloody terrified when I realised they had Scorpius,” Harry continued. “More frightened than I’ve ever been in my life. More so than even when I faced the Basilisk, or fought Voldemort. When I realised they had you, too, and I didn’t know what they’d done to you- Draco, I felt the same terror. I just can’t lose you.” He looked into Draco’s grey eyes and saw his own emotions mirrored in them. “I love you, Draco. I really, really love you.”

Harry watched as Draco’s face transformed from haggard and exhausted into one alight with pleasure. He couldn’t keep the smile off his own face which mirrored the delighted grin Draco was now giving him. And then Draco was leaning over the still-sleeping Scorpius, and was kissing him so fiercely that Harry had to remind himself that getting an erection whilst lying next to his son was simply not acceptable behaviour. All he could do was submit to Draco’s mouth, pressing his lips against the blond’s as their tongues joined together, relishing in the shivering sensations such a simple thing as a kiss were drawing from him. He moaned softly and parted his lips wider, grasping the back of Draco’s head to pull the blond closer to him. All too soon Draco pulled away, causing Harry to protest. Draco chuckled.

“I only wanted to tell you I love you too, you impatient git,” Draco said good-naturedly, and then captured Harry’s mouth once more, the kiss picked up from where it had left off. It didn’t progress to anything more- both men were fatigued, and emotionally-drained from the night’s events, but it didn’t matter; Harry loved Draco with all his heart, and was loved just as much in return, and that knowledge gave him just as strong a buzz as sex had ever given him. He finally drifted off to sleep, his arm tightly around Scorpius and Draco, thinking it was finally over. Nott and Parkinson were where they were meant to be, and would be shipped to Azkaban very soon. Draco and Scorpius were finally free, and so was Harry.

Chapter 10: Here is your Happy Ending, Harry Potter

Notes:

This is the final chapter. There will be a short epilogue to follow this. Thank you to everyone who has left a comment/kudos or bookmarked the story. Now let the fluff commence!

September 2006

The owl tapped the window, impatiently demanding to be let in. Harry groaned as he opened one groggy eye, before climbing out of bed, opening the window a fraction, and granting entry to the feathery beast. He removed the Prophet from the owl’s beak, handed over the Knuts required to pay for the newspaper, and turned to face the bed, where he noticed Draco had been awake the whole time throughout this. Wondering why Draco didn’t get up, then remembering it was because Draco was a Slytherin and therefore would always work a situation to his own advantage, Harry gave him a warm smile as he crawled back into bed and opened the paper. Predictably the front page carried a huge picture of Harry’s two most hated people on the planet, looking dishevelled and broken as they were led from the court late last night. He began to read.

DAILY PROPHET SATURDAY 9^th SEPTEMBER 2006

VERDICT REACHED IN MALFOY KIDNAPPING CASE- NOTT AND PARKINSON SENTENCED TO LIFE IMPRISONMENT

In what ultimately was a unanimous verdict from the Wizengamot, Theodore Nott (26) and Alistair Parkinson (49) were late last night both sentenced to life terms in Azkaban without parole, for murder, kidnap, false imprisonment, and rape, in what has become infamously known throughout our world as ‘The Malfoy Murders’. Upon passing sentence, the Chief Warlock, Mr Basil O’Shaughnessy, called the men ‘dangerous monsters’ who ‘would never be allowed into the public domain again for the rest of their natural lives.’ The pair were escorted to Azkaban in the early hours of this morning to begin their sentences and their wands were destroyed.

As a trail that was filled with drama came to its conclusion, Draco Malfoy punched the air in delight before collapsing into relieved sobs as the verdict was read out. He was seen to be comforted by Harry Potter, whose Auror team had led the investigation. Eyewitnesses described the interaction between Mr Malfoy and Mr Potter as intimate and tender, leading many to speculate that the nature of their relationship is one of more than just friends.

Both the media and public interest in this case has reached levels not seen since Potter’s now legendary defeat of You-Know-Who in 1998, capturing the interest of virtually every witch and wizard in Britain. However Harry Potter gave a brief statement as he and Mr Malfoy left the courtroom, asking for privacy. He said, ‘Draco and his son have been through enough. I request that the media and the public leave them alone now to get on with the rest of their lives in peace.’

Harry finished reading the newspaper and handed it to Draco to read, but he just tossed it onto the floor instead.

“I’ve had enough of thinking about the fucking trial,” he said, and Harry could hear the weariness that had nothing to do with their late night the previous evening in his voice. “I want to move on now. Nott and Parkinson are where they deserve to be and will rot in there. It was hard enough to listen to all the evidence over the past three days again; I don’t want to spend a rare morning alone in bed with you with those bastards on my mind.”

Harry agreed, relieved Draco felt that way. He had to admit, however, it was very bizarre not having Scorpius in the house. He had begged to be allowed to sleep at his “bestest cousin’s” house now that “I’m a bit more free” and Harry and Draco (whose relationship with Andromeda was healing) had thought it was a good idea, especially as they knew they were going to be home very late from the Wizengamot yesterday.

“I’ve been thinking, Harry,” he said, after a few minutes of uninterrupted silence. “About the Manor. I’m going to sell it.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. Draco looked at him. “Don’t be shocked,” he continued. “Neither of us is ever going to want to live there. It was the scene of Hermione’s torture from Bellatrix, residence to Voldemort, and where my mother was murdered. I don’t want it anymore.”

“But it’s been in your family for centuries!” Harry replied. “Hasn’t it?” Draco nodded.

“Since the time of William the Conqueror. The land the Manor stands upon was given to my ancestor, Armand Malfoy, by King William after Armand helped him with the invasion of England in the eleventh century, so just under a thousand years. But it’s not what it once was. It was once a proud, gracious Manor, a symbol of nobility and riches in wizarding Britain. But now it’s just a reminder of a series of macabre events from the past decade.”

“Who’s going to want to buy it, though? I mean, like you said, headquarters of Voldemort’s campaign and all that,” Harry replied gently. “Not to mention there are very few wizarding families with the sort of money.” Draco gave him a grim smile.

“I’m going to sell it to Muggles,” he said. “My father would kill me if he knew what I was going to do, but I don’t care anymore. The house is dead to me. It’s not the home I grew up in and was proud of anymore. I’m going to remove the wards and charms and all the other obviously magical artefacts from the building and list it in Muggle estate agents. I have done the Galleon to pound conversion and think I can probably get in the region of twenty-five million pounds for the entire estate including the land, as there’s miles of it. More than enough money to set Scorpius up for life. And-” he bit his lip, and Harry thought he looked slightly nervous- “we could buy somewhere together. I mean, I know we’ve been living together, but it’s because we’ve had to. And I want to live with you. In a house that’s ours, that we picked together, with our son. If, ah, you want to. You’re my future, Harry.”

Harry’s heart leapt with joy. He leant over the bed and kissed Draco furiously, a kiss that was enthusiastically returned. Harry felt the familiar pool of fire in his belly begin to burn, and he moaned softly.

“What time is it?” he gasped, as Draco’s lips began to suck the sensitive flesh of Harry’s neck.

“Early still,” was Draco’s vague reply. “Scorpius won’t be back from Andromeda’s until midday. He will be having a wonderful time with Teddy, enjoying his first sleepover. We have plenty of time.” Then he rolled onto his back, pulling Harry with him until the darker man was lying on top of him, their obvious mutual arousals pressing together. Even after two months of frequent sex, Harry had not yet got used to the overwhelming desire he felt for his boyfriend, and he succumbed quickly. Both men were dressed only in boxers anyway and these were quickly removed, causing their breathing to hitch as they felt the feelings of skin on skin.

“Mmm,” Draco hummed appreciatively as Harry began to first kiss Draco’s jaw, then his chest. He thrust slightly into Harry’s stomach as Harry’s kisses started to travel lower. Harry chuckled.

“Keen, aren’t we?” he teased, and swiped his tongue across Draco’s nipple, causing the flesh to protrude instantly and his body erupt in goose pimples. Draco’s only response was a hitch in breath and a beautifully- pink flush of arousal appearing on his cheeks. Harry stroked a hand up and down Draco’s side, enjoying the squirm the touch created, then ever-so-lightly traced his fingers over Draco’s erection before returning to his side, all the while kissing the blond everywhere his mouth could reach. Draco was putty in his hands, the control he liked to exert completely forgotten.

“Please,” he gasped, the sound of which shot straight to Harry’s groin. Having the usually composed, sharp-tongued Slytherin writhing and begging, looking rumpled and dishevelled underneath him, and knowing it was he, Harry, which had coaxed him into that state, was a massive turn-on for Harry. He smiled to himself, leant down and took Draco into his mouth, receiving a series of grateful gasps and sighs in response.

Harry continued to caress Draco with his mouth, and slipped his right hand around and placed it on Draco’s leg. He stoked Draco’s inner-thigh, then moved onto his buttocks, before slipping a finger between the cheeks. He heard Draco mutter a spell and found his fingers were covered in lubrication. He gently pushed in with a slickened digit, all the while continuing to work Draco with his mouth, searching for that spot that he knew would have Draco seeing stars.

“Fuck, Harry,” Draco gasped, as he pushed down on Harry’s finger. “That’s- oh, wow.”

Encouraged by Draco’s enthusiastic response, Harry slipped in another finger, before Draco began babbling that it was enough, he was ready, and Harry needed to stop very soon anyway before he came down Harry’s throat. Harry pulled off Draco’s erection, removed his fingers and slickened up, before positioning himself. He leant forwards to kiss his lover deeply as he began to enter him, meeting little resistance as he did so.

“God, Harry,” Draco whimpered, as Harry began to move, making sure he hit Draco’s prostate with every stroke. Slowly at first, but Harry quickly lost control and his thrusts sped up, hurtling them both towards orgasm.

“Fuck,” he muttered through clenched teeth. He tried in vain to regain his lost self-control as Draco’s fingers dug vice-like into his back, his own deep groans of pleasure not helping Harry to calm himself in the slightest. This wasn’t going to last much longer for either of them, and he knew it. He balanced his weight on his knees and left arm, and reached between Draco’s legs with his right, taking his erection in his hand, which he began to stroke in time with his thrusts. It only took about fifteen seconds of pumping before Draco began to tremble and his breathing turned erratic; he arched up off the bed, muscles clenched, and came, Harry’s name noiselessly exhaled on his lips as he hit his climax. The rhythmic contraction of the muscles surrounding Harry, combined with watching Draco come, sent him, too, over the edge; with a final deep thrust Harry stiffened and let out a groan into Draco’s neck as the wonderful sensation of orgasm overtook every other sense for those few seconds. Both men were panting for several moments afterwards, before Harry finally withdrew gently and rolled off Draco.

“Not a bad attempt at topping- for a rookie, I suppose, Potter,” Draco quipped. Harry chuckled at the huge juxtaposition of Draco’s words and his current appearance; Draco was still slightly panting and his words had come out breathless, looking every inch like someone who’d just had the time of their life.

“Only ‘not bad’, huh? You’ll have to show me how it should be done,” Harry replied, playing along. Draco smiled.

“Give me half an hour; I can’t even move, let alone find the energy to fuck you at the moment,” he said. Harry thought he’d settle for a kiss instead, so he leant forwards and captured Draco’s mouth with his own, their tongues intertwining. It was a long, luxurious kiss, and Harry thought he could just lie in bed all day snogging. In fact, that was his amazing new plan, until he heard the excited voice of Scorpius calling, “Daddy! Harry! I’m home! Are you both still in bed?” followed by Teddy’s snigger and Andromeda’s sharp, “Scorpius! Come back down those stairs at once!”

Harry and Draco leapt apart, jumped out of bed and began to throw on some clothes. “Midday they’d be back, you said!” Harry hissed, as he buckled up his jeans and pulled a crumpled-up black t-shirt over his head.

“It’s eleven forty-five,” Draco replied. “I may have exaggerated slightly when I said it was early. If I’d told you it was eleven earlier when you asked, you’d have panicked that we wouldn’t have enough time and refused to do anything. And I really needed a shag this morning. And we did have enough time, just. But in my defence they are still early.”

Bloody manipulative Slytherin, Harry thought to himself, and vowed that, in future, he’d always insist on receiving an actual time when he asked, but he couldn’t supress a smile as he descended the stairs, and suddenly he had an armful of Scorpius. Draco followed a few seconds later, hair a state (so was Harry’s, but as this was normal for him it went mainly unnoticed), and caused Andromeda to give the pair a knowing look. Harry flushed a bright scarlet in response.

“Nice morning, you two?” she asked, her mouth pulled up into a crooked smile. Harry was pleased to note that even the usually unfazed Draco blushed at her words.

“I had a well cool time with Teddy!” Scorpius said, and Draco bit his lip, evidently forcing himself not to comment on the boy’s grammar. “We stayed up late playing. Auntie Andromeda has bought Teddy a Crup puppy. It did a poo in Auntie’s shoe! Teddy’s called it Ron because it’s ginger, farts a lot and doesn’t stop eating.”

Both Harry and Draco burst out laughing at this. Teddy looked a bit sheepish, but soon joined in, and Harry vowed to tell Ron as soon as they were both at work on Monday that he had a canine namesake, as he busied himself making tea for the adults and pouring milk for the two boys.

“Can Teddy stay for lunch?” Scorpius asked when Harry returned with a tray of drinks, and Teddy sat next to his grandmother looking hopeful. Harry looked at Andromeda, who gave him a ‘it’s fine with me if it’s OK with you’ expression, and Harry agreed. Both boys disappeared instantly upstairs, and Harry could hear them playing noisily together in Scorpius’ room.

“Invitation extends to you, too, Andromeda,” Harry said. “But feel free to have the afternoon off.”

“Those boys didn’t go to sleep until one this morning,” Andromeda replied. “Then they got up at seven, demanding breakfast. I’m exhausted and I don’t know where they get their energy from. An afternoon off sounds wonderful, if you’re sure?” She turned her attention to Draco, before pulling him into a tentative hug. “I was delighted with the trial result,” she said gently. “Justice for Annalisa and my sister. Narcissa and I may not have been close for years, but I always loved her. She can rest in peace now, Draco.” She broke the embrace and called a goodbye to Teddy, before Apparating home.

****

After lunch Scorpius and Teddy grew restless and irritable, so Harry suggested they went to the park. However when he disappeared upstairs and returned with two broomsticks, the boys’ faces lit up in delight.

“About time we all had a proper fly, I think,” Harry said. “There’s a park in Hogsmeade that allows flying. Who fancies a two-on-two Seeker game?”

Both boys jumped up and down in uncontained excitement. Even Draco had a hungry glint in his eye, betraying the nonchalant expression on his face. He scooped Teddy into his arms, whilst Draco did the same with Scorpius, and they Apparated to a park on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, which was visible to magical folk only.

“Teddy and me against you and your daddy, Scorpius,” Harry said. He mounted his broom, and held it at just the right height for Teddy to mount too, whom was practically vibrating with anticipation. Harry had taken both boys flying before, but only for short flights; they’d never played Quidditch together. It had always been too much of a risk to Scorpius’ safety, having him in such a vulnerable position.

Once Teddy was seated securely in front of Harry and gripping the broom tightly, Harry kicked off from the ground, and a second later Draco and Scorpius did too, and both broomsticks shot high into the air. The squeals of delight coming from both boys put a huge smile on Harry’s face, as did the familiar thrill of freedom that flying had always given him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Snitch. He looked at Draco, who gave him a massive grin.

“Scared, Potter?” he asked, and Harry burst out laughing, remembering their duel from their second year at Hogwarts. He released the Snitch.

“You wish, Malfoy,” he replied. “Hold on tight, Teddy!” He leant forwards on the broomstick and it shot towards the released Snitch at speed. Harry could feel Draco and Scorpius on his tail, and pushed the broomstick further, but the Snitch abruptly shot upwards and disappeared. Harry pulled the broom up and slowed down.

“Keep looking, Teddy,” Harry instructed, and began to fly expertly around the pitch, clearly determined to ensure Teddy enjoyed every single second of this.

“There!” Teddy called after about five minutes, and Harry was glad he’d finally seen it; he himself had spotted it over a minute ago. A quick glance at Draco let him know that Draco had, too, and was also waiting for the boys. The two men grinned at each other, Draco quirked his eyebrows and Harry nodded. Then suddenly both men pelted towards the Snitch at full-speed, whilst Teddy and Scorpius each gave a roar of delight.

“Hand out!” Harry yelled as he approached the Snitch. Teddy stuck out an arm, and from his peripheral vision, Harry could see Scorpius doing the same. The two broomsticks were neck-and-neck now. He pushed harder; the Snitch was just a few feet away now from both boys’ finger tips. Just a couple more seconds…

“YES!” Teddy cried in triumph, as his fingers curled tightly around the tiny golden ball. Harry gave a shout of victory, then flew to the ground.

Draco and Scorpius were wearing identical petulant pouts by the time the four had left the brooms and were seated on the grass. Harry had to stifle a laugh. “Afternoon’s not over yet, you two,” Harry said cheerfully. “Although, your dad’s never beaten me to the Snitch yet!”

The four played Quidditch with the Snitch all afternoon. Harry’s team caught it every time, although Teddy and Scorpius took turns to be with him. Both boys declared the afternoon the ‘most fun ever’, and by the time they returned to Grimmauld Place, Teddy and Scorpius both looked as if they were about to fall asleep on their feet. After Harry dropped Teddy back with Andromeda, and Scorpius was in bed and was snoring soundly, he teased Draco good-naturedly about his zero percent catch record.

“Yes, well,” Draco replied shortly, obviously not enjoying the teasing, “you try getting buggered in the morning then spending three hours sitting on a fucking broomstick in the afternoon. It bloody well hurts.”

“Want me to kiss it better?” Harry said, before realising what he’d implied. He blushed. The teasing suddenly didn’t seem so funny, especially when he heard Draco’s breathing hitch, then Draco grabbed Harry’s face between his hands and pulled his mouth to his own. They kissed messily for a few moments, and Harry could feel Draco’s erection pressed firmly against his thigh, before he grasped Draco firmly and Apparated them both to the bedroom they now both shared.

Their lovemaking was fast and furious. Harry was on his back whilst Draco rode him, frantically fisting his own erection whilst Harry slammed up into him. Having fucked less than twelve hours previously had not dampened either man’s desire for the other; in fact, Harry rather suspected he was becoming addicted to Draco. The more he and Draco did this, the more he craved.

Draco faltered and stiffened, emptying himself onto Harry’s stomach as his face contorted in pleasure, which triggered Harry’s own release; with a hoarse cry he came, his fingers digging into Draco’s hip.

“I love you, Harry,” Draco said softly, stroking a lock of sweat-dampened hair from Harry’s face. “Even if you do always fucking beat me at Quidditch.”

“Always have, always will, Draco,” Harry replied with a chuckle. “Just accept it. And I love you too. So much.”

“I’m topping next time. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” Draco quipped.

“Deal,” Harry said, and yawned loudly. He fell asleep quickly in Draco’s arms, thinking there was nowhere else on Earth he’d rather be.

****

“We need a holiday,” Draco announced over breakfast the following morning. “So much has happened this year- I just think the three of us need a week or two on our own to relax and enjoy ourselves. We could go to the Amalfi Coast, or to Sardinia, or maybe Crete, or-”

“Disneyland! I want to go to Disneyland!” Scorpius interjected excitedly. Harry snorted into his coffee whilst Draco blinked at him in confusion.

“Scorpius, we can’t go to made-up places,” he told his son patiently. “There’s no such place as Disneyland.”

“Yes there is!” Scorpius replied loudly, whilst Harry burst out laughing. “It’s where Buzz Lightyear lives!” He got down from the breakfast table and ran to his bedroom. Draco turned to Harry.

“What is our son talking about, Harry? And who is Buzz Lightyear?” he asked, and Harry put his cup of coffee down, trying to ignore the wonderful fluttering sensation in his stomach he always got when Draco called Scorpius ‘their’ son. Harry opened his mouth to reply, but just then Scorpius returned with a ten-inch long doll, dressed in bizarre clothes. Draco took the doll from Scorpius.

“Is this a Bubble-Head Charm?” he asked quizzically, looking at the contraption around the doll’s head. Scorpius looked angry.

“It’s his space helmet so Buzz can breathe in space,” he replied. “Buzz is a spaceman.” As if to prove his point, Scorpius pressed a button on the front of the doll, and Draco nearly dropped it in surprise when it cried out, “To infinity and beyond!”

“And this ‘Buzz’ lives in Whatsitland?” Draco asked.

“Disneyland,” Harry corrected. “And, technically, he doesn’t live anywhere as he’s a character from Toy Story.”  Harry then explained about the films, Walt Disney and the theme park. He noticed Draco became paler and paler the more Harry talked.

“Please can we go, Daddy? Please?” Scorpius asked. Draco sighed.

“Fine,” he said, defeated. “America it is then. Let’s go to California and to this Disney place and mix with Muggles for a fortnight. And afterwards we’re going to have a proper holiday, somewhere peaceful and cultured, and without six-feet-high mice walking around.”

Scorpius’ eyes lit up and he beamed. He gave Draco a massive kiss, then ran off, shouting, “I’m going to Disneyland!” repeatedly at the top of his voice. Harry laughed.

“You’ve made him incredibly happy, Draco,” he said, talking Draco’s hand and holding it tightly in his.

“I know,” Draco conceded. “It’s just… I never imagined I’d be doing any of this, you know? When Annalisa was still alive, I mean. I assumed we’d be living at the Manor, and Scorpius would be educated in the classics and etiquette, and pure-blood culture. Instead he reads disgusting Muggle literature about men who eat worms, speaks with appalling grammar at times and we’re off to some hell hole in America called Disneyland to meet a fictional character called Buzz Lightyear. This is so far away from the upbringing I imagined my child receiving all those years ago.”

Harry froze. Was Draco disappointed? But then Draco’s face broke out into a huge, genuine smile.

“You’ve given him a childhood, Harry,” Draco said, and Harry exhaled the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “All this- he’s been allowed to be a child. There are still a lot of elements from my background I want him to learn, but you’ve given him a life I never would have been able to. And- and he’s extremely happy. Thank you, Harry. For teaching me, too; not just for bringing him up. You have done an amazing job with him.”

To Harry’s horror he felt his eyes prickle. His grip on Draco’s hand intensified.

“I love that kid with everything I am and all that I have,” Harry replied. He was pleased his voice sounded steady. “I had such a fucking miserable childhood. No kid in my care was going to go through what I did.”

“He’s never going to be miserable with us,” Draco said. “We’re quite the odd little family, aren’t we?”

Harry’s heart soared. He was buying a house with Draco, the man he was head-over-heels in love with. Draco had just called them a family, and they were off to Disneyland with their son. Nott and Parkinson were where they belonged, and would never be able to hurt them again. Harry was not naïve enough to think there wouldn’t be struggles in the future; Draco still had ‘bad days’ and was still under the care of a medical team at St Mungo’s, and their mutual stubbornness would no doubt lead to some spectacular fights at times, but for the first time in Harry’s life he felt complete. He thought back to that day in May, when he found Draco on the streets of London, and thought that what he cared about most in the world was going to be taken from him. Harry couldn’t have been more wrong. Instead he got everything he’d ever wanted. Harry finally had his happy ending.

Chapter 11: Epliogue- Six Years Later

Notes:

So this is it, the end. Thank you so much for reading.

1^st September 2012

“Now, Scorpius, do you definitely have everything packed in your trunk?” Draco asked, for what was the seventeenth time. Scorpius rolled his eyes at his father, and Harry sniggered.

“Yes, Dad; once again, everything is packed. Except this. I didn’t pack this.” Scorpius was displaying his wand, a beautiful length of hawthorn and phoenix feather- a combination which had both shocked and delighted his fathers when he’d received it from Ollivanders for its combination of their wands. Harry still felt a jolt of pride every time he saw it.

“So you have your spell books, your robes, your-”

“If it’s on Professor McGonagall’s list, it’s in my trunk.” Harry could hear Scorpius’ exasperation as he interrupted. “You packed it with me, Dad, so you should know what’s in there. Now chill out, will you?”

If Harry hadn’t have known how worried Draco was about Scorpius leaving their home and starting Hogwarts, he probably have rolled his eyes, too. But as it was, neither men had slept much the previous night. Draco’s over-fussiness was his way of dealing with his anxiety. Whilst Draco had come on leaps and bounds in the last six years, his anxiety remained high; he and Harry and learnt together to deal with the panic attacks that Draco still suffered, despite coming off his potions for depression nearly five years’ previously.

“Scorp, can I have a word please?” Harry asked, and Scorpius nodded and followed him into Harry’s work study. Harry closed the door behind him.

“Are you OK, Harry?” Scorpius asked. Harry smiled.

“Yes, Scorp. There’s just a couple of things I think you need to add to your trunk before you go.” He opened the largest drawer on his desk and removed a large piece of shimmering fabric. Scorpius’ eyes widened.

“Harry! That’s your-”

“No, Scorp,” Harry interrupted. “It’s yours now.” He held the Invisibility Cloak out for Scorpius, who reached out and took it, his eyes still huge and disbelieving. “It’s always been passed from father to son. It was my dad’s before it was mine, and his dad’s before then, and, well, you get the idea, but for a thousand years it’s been passed down. You’re my son- it’s time for you to have it.”

Scorpius’ bottom lip trembled for the merest of seconds, before he seemed to remember that eleven-year-old boys didn’t cry. He settled instead for hugging Harry tightly.

“There’s something else I want you to have, too,” Harry continued. He opened another drawer and pulled out a seemingly sheet of blank paper. “Your dad doesn’t even know about this. It’s our little secret, okay?” Scorpius looked at the parchment, obviously confused. “Take your wand out, tap it, and say, ‘I solemnly swear I’m up to no good’.”

Scorpius looked at Harry, tapped the parchment with his wand, and repeated Harry’s words. Harry looked on as Scorpius’ face transformed from confused to delighted, as he realised what he had in his hands.

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. The Marauders,” Harry said. “Prongs was my dad. Moony was Teddy’s, and Padfoot was Sirius. They made this Map. So you need to share this with Teddy. But I will be most disappointed if the pair of you are not back at Christmas filled with tales of near-misses with Peeves and Filch’s cat. To wipe it tap it again and say, ‘mischief managed’, OK?” Harry added. “Use it wisely, and by ‘wisely’ I mean, ‘in a way in which your father would disapprove”.

“Our little secret,” Scorpius repeated, beaming at Harry. Harry returned the smile.

“I’m really going to miss you,” Harry said, his voice thick. He noticed Scorpius’ eyes were unnaturally shiny.

“Me too. Harry, I know Dad is my dad, but you are too, you know. I love you. And thank you, for the Map and the Cloak.”

“I love you too, Scorpius,” Harry replied.

By ten o’clock, Draco was so agitated that Harry decided they should travel to King’s Cross Station early. He shrunk Scorpius’ trunk and secured Mercury, Scorpius’ eagle owl, into his cage, whilst Scorpius said a goodbye to Eric the cat.

The trio stepped outside of the large, beautifully-maintained five-bedroom Tudor cottage in the Dorset countryside Harry and Draco had bought together a few years ago, and Apparated to London. Harry was hit with overwhelming nostalgia as they approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten; suddenly he, too, was a small boy of eleven, off on his first Hogwarts Express journey.

“Take the barrier at a run,” Harry heard Draco tell Scorpius, and Scorpius took off at speed, a determined expression etched on his face, before he disappeared. He and Draco looked at each other.

“Race you,” Draco said, and both men ran. Draco got there first, disappearing onto platform nine and three-quarters and re-joining Scorpius a fraction of a second before Harry. All three were panting slightly and laughing.

The platform was already busy. There were nervous-looking first-years, and huge, confident seventh-years, standing around with trunks and owls in cages very similar to Scorpius’. With a shout of delight, Scorpius noticed Teddy with Andromeda, and ran to meet him.

“Hey, Teddy,” Harry said as they caught up to Scorpius. “Ready for another year?”

“Yeah,” Teddy grinned. “Going to be weird with you there this year too, Scorp!”

Teddy was about to start his fourth year at Hogwarts. He had, to no one’s surprise, taken after his father and was was Sorted into Gryffindor when he started Hogwarts three years’ previously. He was also on the Quidditch team, playing Beater. Harry had bought him his broomstick when he made the team in his third year, as a way of saying congratulations.

Thick steam poured out of the scarlet Express’ chimney, and it made a loud hissing noise. Harry checked his watch; it was five minutes to eleven. He swallowed thickly and took Draco’s hand.

“You’d better get on the train,” he said reluctantly to Scorpius. He was just loading Scorpius’ trunk onto the carriage when a harried-looking Ron and Hermione, followed by Hugo and Rose, ran up to the train.

“Couldn’t have you going off to Hogwarts without saying goodbye now, could we?” Ron said breathlessly, and he gave Scorpius a hug. It was testament  to how far he and Draco had come in the last six years that the blond didn’t even so much as flinch. Scorpius chuckled.

“You’re all acting like I’m not coming back!” he quipped.

Harry heard the guard’s whistle, and hurried Scorpius onto the train, where he took a seat in a carriage with Teddy, Teddy’s best friend Jacob Wood, and a boy he knew from his private tuition lessons who was also starting Hogwarts for the first time that day. The doors were all slammed shut, and the guard blew his whistle a final time. The Hogwarts Express lurched into life, slowly at first but quickly gaining momentum, as it pulled out of King’s Cross Station. Harry and Draco watched it until it disappeared. Harry noticed Draco’s grip on his hand had become almost unbearably tight.

“Right. We’d best be off then,” Harry said. “Neville is expecting us in Hogsmeade for lunch.” Ron laughed.

“I can’t believe you’re going to spy on Scorpius’ Sorting, Harry!” Hermione said. “Just to settle this childish bet between the two of you a day earlier than it would be if you just waited for an owl.” But she said it with a smile on her face.

“Come on, Hermione, there’s got to be some perks to having the head of Gryffindor house as one of your closest friends,” Harry replied.

Harry stopped to say a quick hello to Oliver Wood, Jacob’s father, before making his way to the Apparition point in the station, where he and Draco Apparated to Hogsmeade. As arranged, Neville was waiting for them in the Three Broomsticks.

It was very weird being back at Hogwarts, Harry thought later, as Neville led them through the castle’s wards and to the Great Hall. He stared at the plaque on the floor, which was set into the stone. It read simply, on this spot on the second of May 1998, Tom Riddle, known as Lord Voldemort, fell. Harry was grateful to Professor McGonagall for not including his name on it.

Before long he and Draco could hear chatter which indicated the students had arrived. They Disillusioned themselves and stood in the corner, where they were guaranteed to remain unnoticed by anyone. Twenty minutes later Hagrid appeared at the staff table, indicating the first-years had crossed the lake safely. Harry’s tummy was doing somersaults as Neville led them in moment later.

After the Sorting Hat’s song, which was a lot more jovial than it was during Harry’s own time at school, and the applause died down, Neville unravelled his scroll and began to call names. Harry grabbed on to Draco’s Disillusioned arm as the ‘Ls’ were Sorted, knowing who was next.

“Maddox, Eleanor!” Neville called. A small girl with messy blonde hair and glasses sat on the stall and Neville placed the Hat on her head.

“Hufflepuff!” shouted the Hat.

 “I’m going to cry if I hear that next time,” Draco’s voice said. Harry chuckled. No chance of that, he thought. He knew exactly where Scorpius was going. The bet was his.

“Malfoy-Potter, Scorpius,” Neville called. There was a scatter of excited chatter that accompanied this, and reminded Harry of his own Sorting. Scorpius sat down on the stall, and Neville placed the Hat on top of his blond hair. Any second now, Harry thought.

The Hat took a while. Longer than for any other student so far, except a tiny child with red hair that had taken a full three minutes before the Hat had finally chosen Ravenclaw. Harry could hear Draco’s nervous breathing next to him. Then, finally-

“Slytherin!” the Hat roared. Harry heard Draco’s surprised gasp, and couldn’t keep his own smug smile from his face. He only wished Draco could see it at that moment.

They sat quietly then until the Sorting was over, and after ‘Yates, Thomas’ (who was Scorpius’ friend from their tuition sessions) also became a Slytherin, the Feast began. Harry and Draco slipped out of the Hall, unnoticed by anyone, and cleared the school grounds before they dared remove the Disillusionment Charms from themselves. When they did, Harry had a second to stare at Draco’s stunned but delighted face before they Apparated home, to a very empty, huge, silent cottage.

Draco was still beaming when they entered the living room.

“I was so sure he was going to Gryffindor,” he said. “He’s brave, and daring, and he has you, and Teddy, and all the Weasleys, and-”

“And has you as his father, Draco,” Harry interjected. “And as for bravery and daring- you seem to be under the impression that Slytherins cannot have any of those traits. The very fact you’re alive today is proof that Slytherins can be brave, too. And, besides, he’s a cunning little git. It was never in doubt.”

“I’ve never been so delighted to lose in my life,” Draco said. “And you’re not disappointed? That he’s not in your old house?”

“No,” Harry replied honestly. “I told him years ago that it didn’t matter to me what house he went to when he started Hogwarts, and I meant it. Beside, Slytherins are kind of fucking amazing, you know.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and began to kiss a trail from Draco’s lips to his neck.

“I’m assuming you want to call your winnings in now, then?” Draco said, and Harry was satisfied to notice the change in breathing pattern the kisses elicited.

“Yes. On your knees, Malfoy,” Harry replied. Draco smirked and dropped to his knees in front of Harry. Oh yes, Harry thought, as he gave a contented sigh in appreciation of Draco’s talented mouth.

It was going to be odd with Scorpius away at school now- the house was going to be too quiet and far too clean, but he and Draco had each other, and as Harry fisted Draco’s hair and thrust into his mouth, he decided he was never, ever, going to let him go.

~The end~

‘Love hath made thee a tame snake.’- William Shakespeare, As You Like It