Carried by the wind

by Perth9355

Summary:

Harry and Draco have built something fragile, a quiet kind of happiness.
Their home is full of laughter and the soft chaos of a family learning to heal.
But the past is patient.
The truth about Scorpius’ origin still lingers unspoken.
And with Hogwarts approaching and whispers in the press growing louder, Draco knows: time is running out.
Harry wants forever.
Draco still isn’t sure he’s allowed to believe in it.

A story about love, legacy, and the quiet strength it takes to stay. Part two of "my little dandelion".

Notes:

Welcome to part two of "My little dandelion" <3
I am so happy you are back and I hope you'll enjoy.

Chapter 1: Flicker

Flicker - a brief moment of light that makes you wish it would last forever

Wand Back in Hand: Draco Malfoy Sparks New Outrage

27 December 2005
by Brenda Blight, Daily Prophet Senior Correspondent

The scandals surrounding Draco Malfoy, once a convicted Death Eater, now the man at Harry Potter’s side, show no signs of stopping.
Seven years after the war, the moment many in the wizarding world have feared has finally arrived: Draco Malfoy, chin held high, expression unreadable, has re-entered the Ministry of Magic. After an appointment in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Malfoy left the building carrying a wand - his wand.
Most shocking of all? He was spotted speaking to none other than Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger inside the Ministry walls.
Though the return of his wand was technically part of his 1998 sentence- granted under strict conditions- the backlash has been swift and intense.

“It’s outrageous,” said one witch outside the Ministry. “Someone like Malfoy, just walking around with a wand again? I don’t believe in all this reintegration nonsense!”

She refers to the Reintegration Act, a post-war policy intended to support young witches and wizards in returning to society after serving time for war-related crimes.

“So what if he was underage?” commented an anonymous Ministry official. “So were a lot of the people who died. Where’s their second chance?”

This controversial return to wand ownership is only the latest in a storm of scandals surrounding the disgraced Malfoy heir.
Earlier this year, the wizarding world was shaken by the revelation of Draco Malfoy’s relationship with Harry Potter and even more so by the appearance of a child. Later confirmed to be named Scorpius Malfoy, the boy’s origins remain shrouded in mystery.
In last month’s feature, we speculated on the identity of the child’s mother- a question still unanswered by either Malfoy or Potter. Based on his appearance, some claim the child must have been conceived immediately following Malfoy’s release from Azkaban. One reader even asked:

“Was this how he passed the time after prison?”

Malfoy has never confirmed a birth date. There are no public records nor hospital entries.
Even Pansy Parkinson, a known close friend of Malfoy’s, refused to comment.
“Bugger off,” she said when approached.
Public reaction to Potter’s new relationship remains sharply divided. While a handful praise the pair for their “symbolic reconciliation,” many others are less charitable.

“Harry’s always had a saviour complex,” said one supposed ‘close acquaintance’ of the former Auror. “It’s no surprise he’d fall for a broken man.”

Some question whether Potter’s relationship is connected to the tragic death of his former (Auror) partner, Jackson Phillips, in 2004 (see our March issue). Others point to Potter’s recent withdrawal from public life—and the Auror force—as troubling signs.
Adding fuel to the fire: Potter was seen leaving the office of Mind Healer Norbert Wilson, sparking fresh concern about the mental stability of the wizarding world’s once-great hero.
And let’s not forget the incident in Diagon Alley this spring, when Potter allegedly physically confronted Daily Prophet reporter John Greaves during a public interview request. Violence against the press? From The Boy Who Lived?
As always, we will continue to follow these developments closely.

 

November 2010

The hallway smelled like vanilla and chocolate.
Harry stepped inside quietly, closing the door with a soft click behind him. The November air still clung to his coat, cold and damp, but the warmth of their home pulled at his chest like an embrace. Somewhere down the hall, the faint ticking of the old clock mixed with the soft sound of jazz coming from the kitchen.
He followed the smell.
Draco stood barefoot by the counter, his sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy, a smudge of flour on his temple. A cake floated mid-air in front of him, slowly spinning as Draco directed a gentle charm at it, the frosting trailing behind his wand in perfect spirals. His brow was furrowed in concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth.
Harry paused in the doorway and just watched.
“You’re home early,” Draco said without looking up.
“Therapy ended sooner than expected,” Harry replied, shrugging off his coat. “He didn’t want to talk about childhood trauma today, so we settled on seasonal depression.”
Draco huffed a soft laugh and finally turned. “Sounds productive.”
"Looks great," Harry said, nodding at the cake that was still slowly spinning.
Draco wrinkled his nose. "I don’t know. Why football? I had plans, Harry. I was going to make a little Snitch. And he wants a football cake?"
He clicked his tongue and turned around, placing a small fondant ball on the green icing.
Harry laughed and stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Draco’s slim waist and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.
"You know how much he loves it."
Draco sighed and cast a disapproving look at the muddy football boots sitting by the back door.
"I know, I know."
Harry leaned his chest against Draco’s back and inhaled deeply. "Mhh. You smell good."
Draco glanced over his shoulder. "I’m trying to finish the cake, Potter."
"Oh, 'Potter', is it?" Harry grinned and pressed closer against him.
"Scorpius is gone for the whole night, yeah?"
Draco nodded, and Harry smiled against the warm skin of his neck. "Perfect."
Then he pulled back slightly.
Draco shook his head, flour still dusting his hair. "You’re insatiable. It’s honestly appalling."
"Oh yeah? That’s not what you were saying the other night - 'Oh, Harry, please, yes, right there- ’" Draco turned and flicked him on the forehead, a faint flush rising on his cheeks. He rolled his eyes, but one corner of his mouth twitched. "Make yourself useful. I need another shoe."
He nodded towards the kitchen island, where a fondant football boot was taking shape.
Harry raised his wand, but Draco slapped his fingers. "Handmade, Potter. Put in some effort."
With a sigh, Harry slid his wand back into its holster and started rolling out the black fondant for the laces. “Scorpius has a match on Sunday,” Draco said.
Harry tilted his head. “I know. In Chestfield, right?” “Hmm. He’s insisting on inviting Susan.”
“And?” “I don’t know… You know how Susan’s mum is with Muggles. I’d like to remind you of the vacuum incident.” Harry burst out laughing.
“But this is football. No hoovers in sight.”
Draco rolled his eyes.
“No, just footballs, goalposts and currywurst. It’ll end with someone getting Obliviated, I’m sure.”
“Oh, don’t worry. Once Scorpius is at Hogwarts, he’ll start his own football team. It’ll become famous among young wizards, just you wait.” Harry was still grinning as he looped the fondant into a curl. But next to him, Draco just drew in a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the green cake. His shoulders tensed as he began piping a little “11” in icing.
With a curse and a flick of his wand, the number vanished again, and Harry turned to him.

“Everything alright?”
Draco gestured vaguely at the cake, his brows furrowed.
“Yeah, yeah. It was just… crooked.”
He brought the piping tip back to the surface, but his hands were trembling.
“Draco?”
Harry reached for Draco’s hand, and the blond man glanced up at him.
“He’s really turning eleven. Next year…”
Draco bit his lip and looked back down at the cake. Harry reached for his hand and gently took the piping bag from his fingers. With his other hand, he brushed lightly over Draco’s pale cheek.
“Have you thought about it?” he asked softly.
“About what?”
Harry let his thumb draw small circles. “You know what I mean.”
When Draco didn’t answer, Harry sighed. “About coming to see Wilson with me.”
“Harry…” Draco pulled back a little. “I told you- I don’t need that.”
“It’s just… he could help you talk to Scorpius-”
“I don’t need help talking to my son, thank you.” Draco’s voice was sharp, just like every time the topic came up.
Harry sighed again. “I know. It’s just that... well, because-” He shrugged helplessly.
Draco shot him a glare before turning away.
“Because the press will have a field day the moment he’s enrolled in Hogwarts? Or because then the whole world will know that I-” He stopped, swallowing hard. Harry could see him blinking rapidly.
“I don’t need to talk to Wilson about that.” He said the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Don’t be like that, Draco.” Harry rested his head against Draco’s shoulder.
“Oh? What exactly am I being like?”
With trembling fingers, Draco grabbed the piping bag again and drew a shaky line on the cake.
“Shit,” he muttered and wiped a hand across his face.
“Let me,” Harry said gently, taking the bag from his hand once more.
Draco let out a loud breath and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching Harry’s movements. For a moment, silence settled between them, Draco’s face still tense, until something softer crept into his eyes, loosening the hard mask just a bit.
“He asked me today if his… if he was in Slytherin, too,” Draco said quietly. “If that’s where we met.”
“Oh, Draco…” Harry stepped closer and placed a hand on Draco’s chest.
Draco didn’t meet his eyes. His hand moved almost instinctively to rest on his stomach, gently brushing over it.
“Having two fathers is already… I mean, even for us, it’s…” he began, and Harry laid his hand over Draco’s.
“But he took it well, didn’t he?”
“Yes, because he thinks his other father is just… somewhere. That he—” Draco stopped and swore under his breath. “Fuck, Harry. You know it’s going to destroy him.”
“He’s stronger than you think.”
“You know what’s going to happen once his birthday…” Draco trailed off again, taking another deep breath as he looked at the little number eleven on the cake. He shook his head.
“Never mind. Tomorrow we celebrate. And then… well. Once the letter comes… then…” Harry leaned sideways and pressed a soft kiss to Draco’s temple.
“Did you bring that weird coffee?” Draco asked, louder now, and Harry, who could tell he was desperate to change the subject, smiled faintly. “Of course. And spelt milk.”
Draco snorted. “Honestly, I don’t even know why Scorpius insists on inviting Finn.”
“He likes him.”
“Yes, but…” Draco pulled a face. “The kid is strange, Harry. Creepy. And his mother…” He raised his eyebrows and tilted his chin upward in dramatic disapproval.
Harry laughed. “Finn’s alright.”
Draco looked at him skeptically. “I bought soy yogurt for that boy, and he called it ‘hormonally questionable.’”
Harry burst out laughing. “Okay, he’s… particular. But Scorpius enjoys playing with him. And Finn’s mum…” He shrugged helplessly. “At least she’s always entertaining.”
“For you, maybe. At the last parent evening she said our relationship was ‘so progressive’ in front of everyone.”
“That’s… nice?”
“Nice,” Draco repeated, incredulous. “You’re welcome to come with me to the next one and experience the drama for yourself.”
Harry’s heart thumped faster in his chest. He took a step closer and wrapped his arms around Draco.

“Oh yeah? Joining the parent evening now, am I?”
“Well, Ms. Applegate would be delighted. ‘Oh, is Mr. Potter picking up Scorpius today?’ ‘Oh, but it’s just so lovely how Mr. Potter treats him.’”
Draco scoffed and Harry laughed again, pressing his nose against Draco’s cheek.
“Jealous, are we?”
Draco shot him an offended look. “Jealous?!” he repeated, shaking his head.
Harry grinned and kissed the spot just below Draco’s ear - the one that always made him shiver.
“Don’t worry, I’m not running off with Ms. Applegate. Although, I have to admit, her chili con carne at the autumn fair was top notch.”
Draco’s eyebrows pulled even tighter together as he gave Harry a light shove against the chest.
“One more word, and you can start cooking your own dinners.”
“Oh no! What would I do without your broccoli stew?” Harry asked in mock horror, and Draco gasped.
“You know very well that green vegetables are essential for growth! And broccoli is full of vitamins—something both you and Scorpius could use more of. Ready-made lasagna is not a proper meal!”
“Okay, Finn’s mum,” Harry replied, and Draco flicked him on the forehead again.
“Take that back!”
Harry laughed and grabbed Draco by the waist to lift him onto the kitchen counter.
Draco squeaked and pushed against Harry’s chest.
“Potter! Everything’s covered in flour!”
Harry just grinned and pressed his lips to Draco’s. Draco let out a noise of protest at first, but then melted into the kiss, his lips soft against Harry’s.
Harry’s hands slid gently down Draco’s sides, enjoying the warmth of his body, the way Draco shuddered slightly when Harry’s fingers brushed across his chest.
“Think the cake can wait a few minutes?” Harry murmured against his lips.
Draco rolled his eyes. “A few minutes, huh? You really know how to seduce someone, Potter.”
Still, he leaned into him, letting his hands slide into Harry’s hair.

 

The sunlight slipped gently through the white curtains, casting soft golden stripes across the sheets.
Harry stirred beneath the covers, stretching slowly as he blinked against the light. The space beside him was already cold, the duvet folded back neatly. Draco was up.
A familiar sound reached him through the half-closed door: the clinking of bowls, the rustle of packaging, the faint hum of music - something jazzy, of course.
He smiled to himself and sat up, raking a hand through his hair. His shirt from the night before lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, flour still clinging faintly to the fabric. He pulled it on anyway and padded barefoot through the hallway, guided by the scent of vanilla, lemon zest, and something faintly buttery.

Draco was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up again, wand hovering just above a pile of parchment. He didn’t look up when Harry stepped in, but his voice carried, calm and focused.
“Don’t even think about touching the cake.”
Harry grinned. “Not even a crumb?”
Draco glanced over his shoulder. His hair was already doing that slightly chaotic swoop it always did when he was too focused to care. There was a smear of jam on his forearm and a butter knife floating lazily next to him.
“Who’s supposed to eat all this?” Harry asked, amused, eyeing the strawberry-topped muffins lined up neatly next to the cake on the counter.
Draco gave him a skeptical look.
“Pansy’s bringing cake pops, whatever those are, and my mother considered baking something as well and- ”
Harry laughed. “Draco, we’re not feeding an entire village.”
“No, just eight ten-year-olds. Do you not remember last year? Angie nearly started eating the rabbit treats.”
“Next week it’ll be fewer, right?” Harry asked, stealing a strawberry.
Draco slapped his hand away.
“Yes. Just Susan and Bernie.” He frowned slightly. “Scorpius wanted everyone to come at once, but with Bernie’s magic outbursts…” He shrugged. “A sleepover next week will have to do.”
Harry nodded. “Makes sense. Scorpius handles it well, though. The whole separation between magic and Muggles, I mean.”
“Hm. But I think it’ll get harder once he goes to Hogwarts. He already told Angie he’s going to a boarding school. She was… less than thrilled.”
“They can still see each other during the holidays.”
Harry looked at the strawberries again, but one glance from Draco made him reconsider.
“So, what else do you need me to do? Scorpius comes back at eleven, right?”
“Yes, with Angie. The other kids will arrive at one. Did you wrap the presents?”
“Yeah, all done. I’ll put up the banner in a second.”
“Good. Did you bring up the treasure chest from the cellar?”
“Yup. And filled it, too.”
For a moment, Draco looked almost surprised.
“What?” Harry laughed.
“Well, you’re not completely useless.”
“Thank you, Malfoy.”

When the doorbell rang, Draco flinched slightly, cast one last glance around the kitchen, and hurried to the front door.
“Oh, my birthday boy!” he greeted as Scorpius stood grinning wide, flanked by Angie and her mother.
“Papa!” Scorpius shouted, his blond hair a mess, and nearly launched himself into Draco’s arms.
“You know, Angie’s mum made pancakes this morning, and then we watched a cartoon and it was so cool and then Angie gave me her present but I’m not allowed to open it yet and—”
Scorpius babbled excitedly, and Harry, standing behind Draco, grinned and mouthed a silent “Thank you” to Regina, who just waved it off.
“Hi Mr Harry!” Angie chirped, waving cheerfully as she stumbled into the hallway, leaving wet footprints behind her.
“Angie!” her mother scolded, but Draco shook his head.
“This place’ll probably need renovating by tomorrow anyway,” he said, still half-holding Scorpius, and Regina laughed.
“True enough. I’ll be back with Tim at one, alright?”
Draco nodded and gave her a quick wave before closing the door.
“Hi Harry!” Scorpius beamed and let go of his father to hug Harry tightly.
“Hi Scorp, happy birthday! You’re getting so old already.”
Scorpius giggled, freckles still glowing on his cheeks despite the winter.
“Something smells really good!” he said, tugging Harry’s hand as he pulled him toward the kitchen.
Angie skipped along beside them.
“Wooooah!” Scorpius gasped as he saw the cake.
“That cake looks peng!”
“Looks what?” Draco asked, visibly confused.
Angie giggled. “It means really cool, Mr Draco!” she explained, admiring the little fondant football boot. “Did you make that yourself?”
“Mhm,” Draco said. “With Harry.”
“Really?” Scorpius asked, reaching out to touch the fondant football.
“Thanks, Papa! Thanks, Harry! Oooh, and strawberries!”
He lit up as he spotted the muffins. “Can I have one? Pleaaase?”
Draco shook his head.
“You just had pancakes. We should wait until the other guests arrive. I can cut you an apple.”
Scorpius scrunched up his face and rolled his eyes in a very Malfoyish way - something Harry had noticed happening more and more often.
Draco raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, smiling.
“No apple?”
“I do want one, Papa, but you don’t have to cut it. Because I’m eleven now.”
“Ohh. Right. So we don’t cut apples at eleven anymore?” Draco asked, picking up an apple.
As Scorpius reached for it, Draco quickly pulled it back, grinning as his son grabbed at thin air.
“Paaapaa.”
Draco held out the apple again, and Scorpius looked first at his father’s face, then at the apple, suspiciously.
“Go on then. I’m being nice today- it is your birthday after all.”

Angie giggled beside them and hopped onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.
“You too, Angie?”
“Oh no, thank you. But maybe a banana?” she asked politely, tapping her fingers lightly on the wood. “And then can we play a bit of football in the garden?” Scorpius asked, his mouth full of apple. “I want to show Angie the new goal we got last week!”
Draco glanced out the window, clearly unimpressed.
“It’s freezing out.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Scorpius declared and took another loud bite.
“Alright. But you’re wearing the brown coat.”
Scorpius groaned but nodded. “Fine. Harry, will you play with us? You just can’t be the keeper, ‘cause you’re too wide.”
“Excuse me?” Harry asked, mock-offended, and Angie giggled again.
Draco snorted, clearly amused.
Scorpius shrugged apologetically. “I mean- the goal is tiny!”
“Charming as ever, Scorpius,” Harry said, grinning. “Alright, I’ll play. But this time we’re setting the goal away from the garden shed.”
Scorpius nodded and gave Angie a conspiratorial look.
“I accidentally hit the shed and scared Nibbles and Gerald.”
Angie nodded solemnly. “Ohhh.”
Draco shook his head.
“Gerald will survive anything. That rabbit’s going to outlive us all.”
He cast another wary glance out the window.
Scorpius grinned. “Angie’s mum says it’s the good care!”
“Of course it is,” Draco said dryly.

 

Snow was starting to fall in soft, lazy flakes by the time they made it outside. The grass was hard with frost, the air bit at their cheeks, and Scorpius looked thrilled.
Angie ran straight to the new goalpost with a shout of “I’m striker!”
“No way,” Scorpius called back. “I’m striker- it’s my birthday!”
“You can take turns,” Harry offered, already regretting the whole thing as he pulled his scarf tighter.
The match began with wild enthusiasm and absolutely no rules. Scorpius darted past Harry with surprising speed, kicked the ball with force - and missed by inches.
The ball skidded across the frozen grass and thudded against the garden shed.
Inside, two rabbits, Nibbles and Gerald, sat in their hutch, calmly chewing on carrot sticks as if nothing had happened.
Draco leaned out the kitchen window, arms crossed, a mug of tea in one hand.
“Don’t hit the shed again!” he called.
Harry turned toward him, breath misting in the air. “Come join us, you coward!”
“In this weather? You’ve lost your mind.”
Scorpius intercepted a pass, spun dramatically, and scored -well, sort of. The ball bounced off Harry’s shin and rolled gently over the line.
“Goal!” he shouted, arms raised in triumph.
Harry groaned. “Brilliant. I’m being outplayed by ten-year-olds.”
Angie grinned and gave him a thumbs up.
Draco snorted. “Don’t you dare come crawling in tonight moaning, ‘I can’t help clean up, my back hurts!’” he called, and Harry stuck his tongue out at him.
“Mature as ever, Potter,” Draco replied, shaking his head as he closed the window.

“Okay, now you get to be striker!” Scorpius announced, kicking the ball toward Angie, who darted past Harry before he could react and sent it flying straight into the tiny goal.
She high-fived Scorpius triumphantly.
“Why are both of you on the same team against me? And why does no one want to be the keeper?” Harry asked, feigning indignation.
Scorpius just laughed, bright and clear, before launching the ball again.
Harry exhaled deeply, rubbed his hands together, and ran after them.
“Alright then! Show me what you’ve got!”

 

Twenty minutes later, Harry stood beside Draco in the kitchen, utterly frozen and defeated, a steaming cup of tea in his hands. He stared out the window, watching the two children laugh and chase each other across the frost-covered garden.
“How are they not freezing?” he murmured, shivering and blowing into his tea.
Draco leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder.
“We’re old, Potter.”
“Ugh. Please don’t remind me.” Harry shivered again. “I don’t feel thirty.”
“Well, sometimes I think you reached twelve and just… grew taller after that,” Draco said dryly.
Harry gave him a mock-offended look, then grinned.
“Well, and what does that say about you? Me, with no chance at all - and you, who chooses to spend time with me?”
Draco didn’t even blink.
“About me? Oh, that one’s easy.” He sipped his tea, then smirked. “I’ve always been a bit masochistic.”
Harry huffed a laugh, bumping his shoulder lightly against Draco’s.
Outside, Scorpius whooped with delight as the ball hit the goal again.
Inside, Draco didn’t move from where his head rested against Harry’s shoulder.

 

“Auntie Pansy!” Scorpius shouted as the doorbell rang again and Pansy stepped in, wrapped in a black coat and a scarf larger than she was, shivering as she entered.
The noise from the children in the living room had already turned into a kind of white noise in Harry’s ears, and he grinned at the dark-haired woman as she shot a skeptical look toward the chaos.
“Hey champ. Happy birthday,” she said, giving Scorpius a soft hug.
“Oooh! You smell good!” Scorpius exclaimed, burying his nose in her wool scarf.
“Dior, darling,” she replied with a grin, smoothing down his hair before pulling a small package from her bag.
“Thaaank you!” Scorpius beamed and snatched the gift from her hands. “Come in! Papa made cake with Harry. And muffins!”
Pansy handed Harry a foil-wrapped package.
“Cake pops,” she explained, and Harry nodded.
“Sugar-free,” she added in a hushed tone, nodding conspiratorially.
Harry laughed. “Finn will love that.”
“I strongly doubt it. Did you know there’s something called agave syrup?”
Shaking her head, she brushed a few snowflakes from her coat and hung it by the door.
“Where’s Draco?” she asked, then more quietly: “Is he alright?”
“As far as I know. I think he’s talking to Hermione.”
“Ah.” Pansy nodded.
As Harry turned to head into the living room, she caught his hand.
“Can I have a word?”
Harry blinked, then nodded. “Sure. Let’s bring this to the kitchen.”
The scent of coffee greeted them as they entered, and Regina smiled warmly.
“Would you mind unpacking that, Regina? Pansy and I need to talk about something.”
“Oooh, birthday secrets? Sure thing.” She winked at them, and Harry and Pansy stepped out onto the terrace.

“Urgh. I should’ve kept my coat on,” Pansy muttered, crossing her arms tightly.
“Sorry. I just… didn’t know where else to talk.”
Harry’s breath formed little clouds in the cold air. Pansy stared past him at the sky.
“So what’s going on?” he asked eventually, and she ran a hand over her forehead.
“I think I saw Greaves nearby.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “What? Again? I told the Prophet-”
“I know what you told them.” She sighed. “They don’t care. You know that. He probably followed Granger or Weasley. I don’t know. But if he sees the balloons on the door…”
She trailed off. “I’m not even sure it was him. Maybe I’m just paranoid.”
Harry waited.
“I’m just worried,” she said finally. “Probably nothing. Potter… Harry. I…”
She glanced toward the door and lowered her voice further.
“Has he agreed to come to Wilson with you yet?”
Harry shook his head. “You know how he is. He won’t talk to a stranger about this.”
“Well, he should.”
A beat of silence passed between them.
“It’s going to be hard. For him. For both of them. Hell, for all of us. And with the new law, it might get even-”
“New law?” Harry asked, confused.
“You really don’t read the paper, do you.”
Harry snorted. “Hermione tells me if something... relevant gets printed. Otherwise I avoid it. Draco too. It just upsets him.”
Pansy scraped the toe of her shoe over the snowy ground.
“Well, they’re trying to reform Azkaban.”
“And? Isn’t that… a good thing? I mean, Draco’s told me stories…” He trailed off, shoulders tensing.
“It is,” she said. “But reform means resocialization too, doesn’t it?”
Harry tilted his head. “I suppose. And?”
“Merlin, Potter. I’m afraid that… he- you know who- might gain more freedoms.”
“You mean…?” Harry blinked.
“I know Draco doesn’t talk to you about it.”
“He doesn’t want anyone to know who did it to him. Merlin, I’ve tried to get him to tell me.”
“I want that bastard to suffer. I want him to rot in hell.”
“So… he’s still in Azkaban?” Harry asked more quietly, spotting Finn’s mum through the door.
“You know nothing about him, do you.”
Harry shook his head.
“Well, yes. He is.”
Harry let out a relieved breath. “Good. That’s… good. I was afraid he- I don’t know.”
“Believe me, so was I.” She looked at him seriously. “If he makes a claim…”
“A claim?” Harry repeated, incredulous. “He has no right to anything.”
“Oh, Potter. You know how the world works.” She bit her lower lip, exhaled, and shivered. “There’s just… a lot. In my head. I can’t imagine how Draco feels.”
“He’s holding up.”
“He’s performing.”
Harry shook his head. “No. He talks to me. I mean, yes, sometimes there’s still that mask- but he trusts me.”
“I know he does. But trust or not, the birthday, Hogwarts next year, the press- and now Azkaban? He can only carry so much. I just want him to be okay.”
“So do I.”
“He has to see Wilson. Or someone else. I could talk to Mayleen- she works at St. Mungo’s.”
“Draco isn’t exactly a fan of St. Mungo’s,” Harry said carefully.
Pansy snorted. “He knows Mayleen. He trusts her. If she recommends someone… well.”

“What are you doing out here?”
Pansy and Harry both flinched as Draco opened the door. He crossed his arms over his chest, the thin green shirt doing nothing against the cold.
Pansy gave him a practiced smile.
“Oh, just chatting.”
“Just chatting, right,” Draco repeated, casting a skeptical glance between the two of them.
Tiny snowflakes clung to his pale blond hair, shimmering almost white. His winter skin looked even fairer now, with a faint red flush across his nose and cheeks.
Harry stepped toward him and brushed his fingers gently over the small birthmark on Draco’s cheek.
“We were just about to come back in,” he said softly.
Draco, still skeptical, gave a slow nod.
“Scorpius is looking for you, Harry. And Pansy- he told me to tell you the football cakepops are ‘proper sick.’”
Pansy laughed, and Draco tilted his head.
“Who’d you bribe to make those for you?” Pansy placed a hand on her chest, feigning offense.
“Please, Draco. What kind of woman do you take me for? I slaved over them all night.”
Draco snorted. “Sure you did.”
“Well, maybe Daphne owed me a small favor.” She winked and slipped past them into the warm kitchen.
Harry smiled and moved to follow her, but Draco caught his arm.

“What’s going on?” he asked, eyes scanning Harry’s face, too quickly, like he already knew there was something.
“Everything’s fine,” Harry said gently, but Draco shook his head.
“You know I hate that. I’m not a child.”
Harry sighed and wrapped his hands behind Draco’s neck.
“She’s just worried about you. So am I.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the tip of Draco’s cold nose. “Let’s talk tonight, alright?” he asked softly.
Draco’s jaw tightened, the muscle flexing beneath his skin but then he nodded slowly.
“You look beautiful,” Harry said softly, pressing another kiss to Draco’s nose.
Draco’s muscles slowly relaxed, and he leaned forward just enough for their foreheads to touch.
Harry kissed the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then his temple, breathing in the scent of his hair as the pale strands tickled his nose.
“God, I love you so much,” he murmured.

From somewhere behind them came Scorpius’s voice, loud and clear:
“Can you please kiss later? The cupcakes are almost gone!”
Harry looked up, startled. Scorpius stood in the kitchen doorway, hands on his hips, muffin crumbs on his jumper, eyes bright.
“I like it when you’re happy and all,” he added, “but you’re gonna miss the football cakepops!”
Draco let out a short laugh, and Harry grinned as they stepped inside.

 

The living room was buzzing. Children ran back and forth between gift piles, paper streamers dangled from the curtain rods, and someone had balanced three muffins on a toy fire truck.
Harry stood near the door with a paper cup of lukewarm tea, trying to blend into the wallpaper.
It didn’t work. Finn’s mother appeared beside him like a specter in beige.
She was holding a plate of carrot sticks.
“I just thought, you know, something fresh might be nice for the children. They’ve had so much processed flour today already.”
Harry blinked. “Oh. Thank you.”
She set the plate down like a sacred offering. “Finn’s digestive system is incredibly delicate. I assume you didn’t use sunflower oil in the cupcakes?”
Harry opened his mouth. “I… don’t think so?”
She sighed. “Oh well. He knows he’s only allowed a quarter portion. It’s about self-discipline.”
Harry nodded slowly, casting a desperate glance toward the hallway. Draco was nowhere in sight.
Coward.
“I’ve noticed your decorations are quite bold,” she continued. “Primary colors can overstimulate sensitive children. Pastels tend to encourage calmer group dynamics.”
“Oh,” Harry said, “I’ll… mention that to the balloons.”
She didn’t laugh.
“And of course, I brought Finn’s own juice. No added sugar, cold-pressed, filtered. Would you mind putting it in a separate glass so there’s no cross-contamination?”
Harry gave her a pained smile. “I think I need a juice too.”
Just as she opened her mouth again-
“Grandma!” Scorpius’s voice cut through the room like a battle cry.
The front door had barely opened before he ran at full speed toward Narcissa Malfoy, who stood framed in the doorway.
“You’re late!”
“I’m never late,” she replied calmly, brushing a snowflake from her shoulder as if it had personally offended her.
She stepped inside with the elegance of a queen, removed her gloves with slow precision, and gave the room a brief, chilly once-over. Her eyes landed on Finn’s mother, just briefly, and then moved on. Finn’s mum straightened slightly.
Harry raised an eyebrow as she cleared her throat beside him.
“How lovely that she could make it,” she said, nose wrinkling slightly. “We had such a nice conversation about Scorpius last year.”
“I’ll bet you did,” Harry replied, barely keeping a straight face.
She gave him another smile, too polite, before drifting off into the kitchen.

As if summoned by fate itself, Draco appeared at Harry’s side, grinning.
“You absolute traitor,” Harry said. “You disappear every time that woman opens her mouth.”
“You call it betrayal, I call it intelligence,” Draco replied smoothly, taking the cup from Harry’s hand and drinking deeply. “Urgh. What is this?”
Harry shrugged. “Herbal tea?”
“Herbal tea,” Draco repeated, staring at the cup like it had insulted his bloodline.
“I need coffee. Will you get me one?”
Harry stared. “But… Finn’s mum is in the kitchen.”
Draco smiled, sweet as sin, already heading toward his mother. “You’re a darling, Harry. Thank you so much,” he sang over his shoulder, blowing him a kiss as he went.

 

Harry was immensely grateful when he spotted Hermione and Ron in the kitchen.
Hermione was busy refilling the coffee machine, while Ron stood stiffly beside her, staring blankly at Finn’s mother, who was saying something about lupin-based coffee substitutes.
Ron blinked helplessly at Harry as he entered, and Harry just grinned, leaning against the counter next to Hermione.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey yourself,” she replied with a smile. “Lovely party.”
Harry hummed in response, casting a glance toward Ron, who mouthed a desperate help me just as Finn’s mother walked to the window and began complaining about the weeds in the garden.
Harry smiled innocently and turned back to Hermione.
“Did you hear about… Azkaban?” he asked, voice low enough that she had to lean closer.
She paused mid-movement, brow furrowing slightly. “Well… yes. I was actually involved. It needs to be reformed, Harry.”
Harry tilted his head a little. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I wasn’t sure you wanted to know. I mean… you’ve seemed a lot happier since you stopped reading the Prophet and obsessing over Ministry updates.”
Harry glanced down at his shoes.
“True,” he muttered. Then he hesitated. “Pansy’s worried that…”
He trailed off, glancing at Ron, who now had his head resting on one hand like a man awaiting rescue.
“Later,” Harry finished quietly, and Hermione nodded, her expression serious.
Harry set down his cup with a polite smile. “Oh, I think they’re serving the second round of cake now. With the fondant topping.” He added casually, “Scorpius said he wants everyone to have a slice.”
Finn’s mother blinked, like someone had just sounded an internal alarm.
“Oh dear, I… I should check on Finn!”
She turned sharply and swept out of the kitchen. Ron immediately collapsed onto a chair with exaggerated relief.
“Bless you, mate,” he muttered.

"I'm actually just here to get Draco a coffee," Harry said, shaking his head. "I know how he always manages to avoid Finn's mother. He just keeps sending me in instead."
Hermione laughed. "And it works every single time." She glanced at the machine, which was quietly gurgling. "Still a few more minutes. So, what exactly is Pansy worried about?"
Harry leaned back against the counter again. "Oh, just... everything. And I get it. So am I." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe we can talk about it again next week. We're still on for Friday pub night, right?"
Ron nodded eagerly. "Finally! I miss Gustav."
"You miss the bartender?" Harry asked, amused.
Ron shrugged. "Or maybe just his beer. Who knows. Is Draco coming?"
"I'm not sure yet. Scorpius already spent the night somewhere else yesterday, and Draco doesn’t really like being away from him too often these days."
Hermione nodded in understanding. "We could also just meet at our place? Then Scorpius can come too."
Ron raised his hands. "But Gustav!"
Harry laughed. "No, it's fine. I want to talk with you anyway. And I think Draco would actually like an evening alone with Scorpius. He won’t say it, but..."
Harry shrugged and grabbed one of the cookies from the counter.
"Then they can watch that film they’ve been wanting to see. Merlin, I miss Beauty and the Beast. Scorpius is really starting to like all those weird films Draco watches."
"Weird films?" Hermione asked, amused, as she took the coffee pot from the cupboard.
"Well, you'd probably like them," Harry teased, grinning, and she rolled her eyes.
"The last one was called The Railway Children or something? There was a lot of polite tea-drinking. Scorpius and Draco were discussing the costumes and the ‘visual language’. It was a terrible night," Harry explained, and Hermione put her hands on her hips.
"That’s a classic, Harry!"
"So is Garfield!" Harry replied, and Hermione gave him a look that very much questioned his intelligence.
Hermione handed him a cup of hot coffee. “You’re impossible.”
“Two hours of black-and-white films is impossible,” he countered, and she wrinkled her nose.
“Well, I think it’s lovely that Scorpius is interested in that sort of thing.”
“Mini-Malfoy,” Ron muttered with a shrug, taking a sip of his coffee. “Argh. Hot!”
He licked his bottom lip and looked at Hermione sheepishly.
“You two are idiots,” she said, exasperated.

The second round of cake was served with loud cheers and sticky fingers. Even Finn's mother had reluctantly accepted a tiny sliver – though she ate it with the kind of caution usually reserved for dangerous potions. The living room buzzed with soft music and the rustling of wrapping paper
Draco sat on the floor with one leg stretched out, holding a balloon steady while Tim tried to draw a face on it. Scorpius had his arms slung around Draco’s shoulders, laughing at something only the two of them understood.
Harry had forgotten his own slice of cake while watching Draco. Glitter clung to Draco’s face, along with something suspiciously frosting-like.
“He looks happy.” Hermione’s voice made Harry blink.
“He does.” Harry exhaled deeply and gave her a wistful smile. “Sometimes I wish I could freeze the moment.”
Hermione placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze.
Draco’s laughter pulled Harry’s gaze back to him. Tim had started climbing on Draco while Scorpius squealed and began to wrestle with him.
“Wait, wait!” Draco protested, laughing, as Scorpius clung to his back. With a shriek, Angie leapt onto her brother and onto Draco, who fell to the side, three kids piled on top of him.
“Stop, stop!” he cried, reaching behind to tickle Scorpius, who squealed even louder.
“How do you stand this every day?” Pansy had appeared beside Harry and shook her head before taking a noisy sip of her coffee.
“He’s not this loud when he’s alone, you know that,” Harry replied, and she gave him a doubtful look.
“The last time he stayed over at mine, Persephone hid in her scratching post all night.”
“Persephone hides when you breathe too loudly,” Harry retorted, and Pansy huffed.
“Well. She’s sensitive.”
Scorpius had started planting wet kisses on Draco’s face as Draco pulled him halfway onto his chest. Angie and Tim were playing tag, darting around the adults’ legs and the couch where a few kids had settled down with cookies.
Scorpius squealed as he sprawled completely over Draco, who brushed the pale hair from his flushed, excited face.
“I want this forever,” Harry said, though he had only meant to think it.
“I should hope so,” Pansy replied beside him, though her voice was soft.
Draco lifted his head as if he had heard Harry’s words. His smile softened, and he gave a quick wink before whispering something into Scorpius’ ear. Scorpius turned his head and beamed at Harry over his shoulder, then leapt up and ran toward him.
“Come on, Harry!” He grabbed Harry’s hand. Harry quickly shoved his plate into Hermione’s hands before letting Scorpius drag him along.
“What are we doing?” Harry asked, laughing, as Scorpius pulled him onto the carpet and gestured for him to sit beside Draco.
Harry sank onto the soft floor and gave Draco a questioning look.
“Break time for me,” Draco whispered, and Harry yelped as Scorpius half-pounced on him and began to tickle him.
“Draco!” Harry laughed, scolding, as the blond made a move to get up. But Scorpius let go of Harry and grabbed at his father’s sleeve.
“No, you’re staying too!”
The room was a blur of giggles and bouncing limbs. Angie and Tim were leaping over sofa cushions, one of them had somehow found Scorpius old mini keyboard, and Scorpius was climbing back onto Harry's lap, still breathless with laughter.
Draco gave up on getting up. With a soft huff, he dropped back down beside Harry and let himself fall sideways, his head resting against Harry’s shoulder. His laugh, bright and unguarded, vibrated through Harry’s skin.
Harry turned his head just slightly, just enough to see Draco’s smile up close. The kind of smile he only wore when he forgot to be careful. When he forgot to be Malfoy.
And it hurt. Gods, it hurt, how much Harry loved him.

Chapter 2: Contained

Notes:

Posting this one a little early because next week is chaos™ and I didn’t want to risk disappearing entirely 😅
Fingers crossed I’ll manage to post the next chapter on time, if not, you know why!
Thanks for all the love and support 💛

Contained - the quiet art of holding yourself together

Scorpius looked so small beneath the heavy blanket that Harry’s heart swelled in his chest as he brushed the boy’s hair from his forehead, half-standing on the ladder of the bunk bed.
"Did you have a good day?" he asked softly, and Scorpius nodded eagerly.
“Yes! And tomorrow I’m taking the muffins Grandma baked to school and Papa said I can bring cookies too!”
“Oh really?” Harry asked with a smile, and Scorpius pushed himself halfway up.
“Yeah! So we can celebrate during break, and everyone will sing, and when it’s someone’s birthday we’re even allowed to blow out a candle. Only not a real one, not since Ms Applegate nearly set the table on fire.”
Harry blinked a few times, then laughed. “Sounds exciting.”
“Yeah! Is Papa taking me tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Harry replied, and Scorpius glanced thoughtfully toward the door before leaning in slightly and whispering,
“But when I’m at Hogwarts… I will go on my own.”
“Don’t worry,” Harry said gently. “You’ll have lots of friends to go with. And you already know Professor Longbottom, don’t you?”
Scorpius chewed on his lower lip a little, then nodded.
“Do you think I’ll be in Slytherin like Papa? Or Gryffindor like you? Or maybe I’ll be in the house my other father was in—but I don’t know which one that is, and Papa didn’t tell me, and do you know?”
Harry felt a painful tug in his chest, but forced a smile. “No, I don’t.”
Scorpius cast another quick glance at the half-open door.
“Harry?”
“Yes?”
“I mean… even though I’m eleven now, and even if I’m going to Hogwarts soon… can we still read a book together before bed?”
Harry gave him a soft smile. “Of course. Which one would you like to read?”
“Where’s Papa?”
“In the bathroom, I think.”
“Then we’ll have to wait a bit,” Scorpius decided, then threw back the blanket and gently nudged Harry off the ladder before climbing down himself and standing in front of the bookshelf.
“What about Sir Snail and the Quest for Speed?” Harry suggested, and Scorpius tilted his head.
“I don’t know.”

They heard footsteps in the hallway, and Scorpius lit up instantly.
“Papa!” he called, and seconds later, Draco stepped into the softly glowing room, his hair still damp.
“Which book should we read?” Scorpius asked seriously.
Draco grinned as he stepped beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Harry suggested Sir Snail, but I thought maybe we could read more of Quentin’s adventures. What do you think?”
Scorpius craned his neck to look up at his father.
Draco sighed. “That book gives you far too many ideas,” he grumbled, yet still pulled The Unbelievably Loud Adventures of Quiet Quentin from the shelf. On the cover, Quentin wore an ecstatic expression while behind him, a potion cauldron steamed and looked half-exploded.
Scorpius giggled and tugged on his father’s hand to sit with him on the mattress beneath the bunk. He snuggled into the thick down blanket, rested his head on Draco’s chest, and closed his eyes as Draco began to read in a soft voice.
Harry watched them for a moment, Scorpius already half-asleep just minutes later, and whispered,
“Seems the day was more tiring than expected.”
Draco looked up briefly and smiled, revealing dazzling white teeth.
“That’s just the sugar wearing off.”
Scorpius stirred a little, and Draco continued reading quietly:
“- and the library ghost covered its ears as Quentin accidentally bumped into the tall bookshelf, which toppled with a loud thud, spilling several books.”
Scorpius giggled softly again, then cuddled closer to Draco, his breathing evening out.
After a few minutes, Scorpius smacked his lips softly in his sleep, his hand sliding slightly off Draco’s chest. Draco quietly closed the book.
“Should we lift him back up?” Harry whispered, but Draco shook his head, his gaze never leaving his son. “No. Just a few more minutes.”
He began gently stroking Scorpius’ back, and Harry nodded.
“I’ll head to the bedroom, alright?”
Draco didn’t look up as he nodded, still watching Scorpius’ relaxed face - with so much love and worry in his eyes that Harry had to blink several times.
„Just a few more minutes.“

“So, what did you talk about?” Draco asked directly as he stepped into the bedroom twenty minutes later, pulling the cardigan from his shoulders.
Harry patted the blanket beside him. “Come here first,” he said quietly.
Draco snorted but let himself sink onto the white duvet. Harry leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Draco’s shoulder.
“She’s just worried about you.”
“You said that. I’m fine.” Draco sighed and leaned back against him.
“I know this is hard for you,” Harry whispered into the curve of Draco’s neck, and Draco turned his head slightly.
“He’s so big.”
“He’s still your little boy.”
“Mhm.”
“Pansy thought she saw Greaves,” Harry said then, and Draco turned sharply.
“Where? Here? Merlin, you’d think that man would be afraid of you by now. Do you think he saw the balloons? Did you go outside?”
“She wasn’t sure. Maybe it was nothing. But, Draco, we know it could happen. And it might… soon.”
Harry slid a hand over Draco’s stomach and gently pulled him back against his chest.
“Talk to Wilson,” he whispered.
Draco tensed in his arms immediately. “Not this again.”
His voice was cold now, annoyed, and Harry kissed him again.
“You should talk to Scorpius before it ends up in the papers,” he murmured.
Draco pulled away to look at him, his expression hard.
“Do you think I don’t know that?” he snapped, and the grey of his eyes turned several shades colder.
Harry opened his mouth, but Draco shook his head.
“I just want a few more... I just want a few more weeks,” the blond said, staring past Harry toward the wall, where a large drawing of Scorpius hung - Harry, Draco, and Scorpius all grinning wildly, hair a mess, and beside them, as little round blobs, Gerald and Nibbles.
“I know,” Harry said softly, watching the way Draco’s jaw clenched under his skin.

Harry frowned, thinking of the new law. He opened his mouth a few times to say something, but closed it again and simply leaned forward.
“Are you coming to the pub on Friday?” he asked instead.
Draco slowly shook his head. “I think I’ll stay here. With Scorp.”
His voice wavered slightly before he cleared his throat.
“We should go wand shopping soon. I thought we’d go to Thistletorn.”
“Thistletorn?” Harry asked, surprised. “Isn’t that in Edinburgh?”
“Where else would we go? Ollivander’s? I don’t think so.”
Draco scoffed and bit the inside of his cheek.
“You know Ollivander would serve Scorpius.”
“I’m not setting foot in that shop, Harry,” Draco said, shaking his head as he pulled back the covers and slid underneath.
“Not after…” he began, curling his legs up to his chest. The blanket crinkled softly with the movement.
“And anyway, Thistletorn is just as good. I suppose.”
Draco turned his back to Harry and switched off the bedside lamp with a soft click.
Immediately, the room was bathed in bluish-white moonlight, casting a glow over Draco’s hair that made it almost shine.
Harry sank into his pillow and gently placed a hand on Draco’s back.
Draco didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Harry traced small circles over the soft fabric of his grey undershirt, sliding a little closer, listening to his breath, light and shallow, like he didn’t want to be noticed.
“Draco?” he asked quietly.
He felt the blond tense under his touch. “Hm?”
“Can you turn around?”
Harry heard him take a deep breath before Draco shifted, one hand tucked under his cheek as he faced him.
“What?” he whispered, grey eyes half-lidded, but Harry saw the way the light caught in them, just a little too bright.
“I just want to look at you.”
“I want to sleep, Potter. I still have to pack the cupcakes in the morning, and Scorpius’ favourite jumper is still in the dryer - which, as you know, is acting up again - and no, you are not allowed to dry it with magic unless you want it to fit his dolls again,” Draco murmured.
Harry huffed a quiet laugh and placed his hand gently on Draco’s cheek.
“You’ve barely slept the past few nights - do you want me to take Scorpius tomorrow?”
“No,” Draco said too quickly, then added more softly, “No, it’s fine.”
Harry shifted closer, pressing his forehead gently against Draco’s.
“Can you sleep like this?”
He looked into Draco’s eyes, now fully open.
“I suppose,” Draco replied, distant as ever - but he inched closer, and his breathing deepened, steady and calm, as his eyes slowly drifted shut.
It took Harry a long time to fall asleep himself.

The air was cold against Harry’s nose as he walked through the streets of London.
After Draco had left the house with Scorpius, Harry had dressed quickly and Apparated to Diagon Alley.
The white stone of Gringotts gleamed in the cold winter sun, and Harry pulled his scarf tighter around his face as he stepped into the small shop next door.
“Morning,” the witch behind the counter said without looking up, and Harry mumbled a quiet “Morning” in return, before he reached for the top copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Gold for Goodness: Walden Thatch Donates 1 Million Galleons to Reconciliation Fund.”

The headline nearly glowed with self-importance, but it was the photograph that made Harry’s jaw tighten. Three men in polished robes, all smiles and stiff posture, shaking hands in front of a glimmering banner:
“From War to Wisdom – Investing in Unity.”
In the centre, Walden Thatch, spotless robes, gleaming grin, held a ceremonial cheque like a trophy, while the Ministry official next to him looked as though he’d rehearsed that handshake in front of a mirror. Harry stared for a second, the cold creeping up his spine.
Of course.
Thatch, who had vanished during the worst of the war and reappeared just in time to be generous, donating millions of galleons to different funds in the years after the war.
Buying redemption in front of cameras. He almost put the paper back.
But then, in the bottom corner, he saw it.
“Azkaban Reform Passed by Narrow Vote – Full Report, Page 2.”
Harry froze mid-movement, then placed the Daily Prophet on the counter.
His eyes scanned the front page once more, and for a brief moment, he was relieved not to see his own name - or Draco’s. Or worse, Scorpius’.
“That all?” the witch asked flatly, finally glancing up from her magazine.
Her eyebrows lifted slightly when she recognised him, but she said nothing.
Harry gave a small nod as he placed the Sickles on the counter and grabbed the paper.

Harry crossed into Muggle London without really thinking about it - he just kept walking, the newspaper folded under his arm, until the magic of Diagon Alley fell away behind him.
He bought a coffee from a small cart, the paper cup warming his cold fingers, then found a bench in a quiet park near Russell Square. The trees were bare, their branches reaching out like ribs against the sky. A dog barked in the distance. Somewhere, a bus hissed to a stop.
Harry sat.
He took a sip of his coffee, exhaled into the steam, then unfolded the Daily Prophet.
The front page was still as infuriating as before: Thatch and his golden cheque, grinning under the words “Investing in Unity.”
Harry turned to page two.
There it was.
Azkaban Reform Passed by Narrow Vote
His eyes scanned the lines quickly, chest tightening.
Increased visitation rights. Expanded magical therapy. Pathways to reintegration. Early release considered in low-threat cases.
He read the words twice. Then a third time.
He knew exactly who might be considered “low threat.” He just hoped it wouldn't be... well.
He folded the corner of the page sharply, staring down at it, not really seeing. His stomach twisted.
Then, just as he turned to the next section, something loud and stupid slapped him in the face.

DRAMA IN PARADISE?!
By Midge Huberts, Prophet Gossip Section
While the magical public continues to adjust to the unexpected pairing of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, not all seems well behind closed doors.
Sources claim tension is brewing — and our latest photo seems to agree!
Spotted in Diagon Alley last week, Malfoy was seen looking less than thrilled during a brief exchange with Potter outside Flourish & Blotts.
What caused the cold glare? Are cracks forming in this golden couple?
More on page 11.

Next to the text was a grainy photo, clearly snapped in passing.
Draco, arms crossed, eyebrow slightly raised.
Harry, mid-sentence, holding two shopping bags and definitely trying to explain something.
Harry stared at it in disbelief.
That wasn’t a glare. That was just… Draco.
He let out a slow, tired sigh and took another long sip of coffee.
“Cracks forming,” he muttered. “He was annoyed because I forgot the reusable bag.”
He flinched when a dog barked loudly beside him.
“Sorry!” said a young woman, tugging gently at the leash.
The Jack Russell wagged its tail enthusiastically and barked again - this time directly at the Daily Prophet. Harry quickly tucked the moving photographs behind his back and waved it off.
“It’s fine.”
The woman gave him another apologetic smile before jogging off down the path.
Harry watched her go, his stomach still faintly knotted.

The Ministry atrium smelled just like always - a little like parchment, a mix of perfumes, and burnt coffee.
Harry had pulled his scarf high around his face, but it didn’t stop the whispering as he made his way briskly to the lift.
He ignored a distant “Oh, Mr Potter!” just as the doors closed behind him and leaned back against the mirrored wall inside.
He was grateful no one else stepped in.
The doors creaked open again on the second floor.
It felt strange to be back.
From the room to the right, Harry heard someone curse, followed by the crash of a cup hitting the floor.
“Harry?”
He turned away from the door and smiled as he saw Ron standing in the hallway, balancing a dark mug and several folders under one arm.
“Hey, mate,” Harry said, pulling him into a quick hug.
“What are you doing here?! I mean, I’m not complaining, but - how long’s it been since you showed up?”
“Not long enough,” Harry muttered.
Ron snorted. “You here to see Hermione?”
Harry shrugged. “Guilty.”
“Oh, I see how it is. You come all the way down here and it’s not even for me.”
Ron grinned, and Harry gave an apologetic shrug.
Ron’s eyes flicked to Harry’s coat.
“Is that the Daily Prophet? Oh mate, I thought- ”
“I know, I know. I wasn’t going to look. I was going to talk to you both on Friday, but…” He exhaled. “I just wanted to ask Hermione a few things.”
Ron eyed him skeptically and wrinkled his nose.
“She’s in with Williams, I think. I’ll send her a memo. Want to come back to the office? I’ll even make you coffee.”
“Ministry coffee. What a treat,” Harry said dryly, but followed him anyway.

Their footsteps echoed off the stone floor as they passed rows of office doors.
People looked up. Some waved, others raised their eyebrows.
Harry kept walking.
Ron’s office was at the end of the corridor.
His colleague, Robin - a grumpy-looking middle-aged wizard - had his head resting on his hands as he grumbled at a letter.
“Did you see the memo from Robards? It’s completely- oh. Hello.”
Robin gave Harry a polite nod.
Ron scribbled a quick note for Hermione and sent it off with a flick of his wand, then turned to the battered little coffee machine.
Robin glanced between them and sighed. “I’m going out for a sandwich. Want anything?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, just grabbed his coat and left.
Ron shook his head. “Grumpy bastard,” he muttered, leaning against the desk.
“So,” he added, tilting his chin toward the folded newspaper peeking out of Harry’s coat, “what did you read that got you all worked up?”
Harry let out a sigh and sat down in Ron’s chair, spinning lightly from side to side.
“Azkaban.”
“Ah. Yeah. Hermione’s done a lot to get that through. The meetings with the Director really wore her down.”
“Hm.” Harry made a vague sound. “Is there much backlash?” he asked eventually.
Ron nodded and floated a mug of coffee toward him.
“When isn’t there backlash when Hermione does something?” he said with a crooked grin.
“I remind you of the Merpeople Assistance Act.”
Harry grimaced. “Was that the one where someone threw coffee at Kingsley?”
“No, that was the Centaur Housing Regulation.” Ron shuddered. “Truly cursed week.”

They chatted idly - about Quidditch, how much Ron hated his new colleague, and how Scorpius had managed to glue a book to the dining table with something labelled “non-magical but everlasting”. “Draco nearly hexed the table legs off,” Harry said, and Ron laughed so hard he nearly spilled his coffee.
A knock at the open door cut through the warmth and Pansy Parkinson stepped into the room, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched.
She didn’t wait for an invitation.
“Well, well. What are you doing here?” she asked, stepping further into the office with her usual theatrical flair. Then she waved her hand dismissively.
“Harry Potter, back in the Ministry? It’s already spreading like wildfire.”
She smirked and, without hesitation, hoisted herself up onto Ron’s desk, legs crossed at the ankle, arms propped behind her.
Ron opened his mouth. Closed it.
“Do people… normally just sit on desks?” he muttered to no one in particular.
Before Pansy could retort, the door behind her swung open again.
Hermione entered, parchments in hand, eyes already scanning the room.
“What’s going on in here?” she asked, suspicious. “Some kind of intervention?” “Yes, for your weird love for gingers,” Pansy said sweetly, twirling a pen she’d stolen from Ron’s inbox. “Very funny, thank you, Parkinson,” Hermione replied, though her voice held no real hostility either. A few strands had come loose from her bun, and she brushed a tired hand across her eyes.
“Didn’t go well with Williams?” Ron asked cautiously.
Hermione groaned. “That man is unbelievable,” she said, waving her hands in frustration.
‘No, Mrs. Granger, we don’t see a public awareness campaign as necessary. No, Mrs. Granger, we can’t afford bad press,’” she mimicked in a high-pitched voice, then grabbed Ron’s coffee right out of his hand and took a deep sip.
Ron opened his mouth, thought better of it, and accepted the loss of his coffee in silence.

“Anyway. So, Harry- Ron said you wanted to talk to me? Must be serious if it brought you all the way back here. Wasn’t it last time you said you’d never set foot in this place again?”
She gave him a small smirk.
“That was taken out of context,” Harry said vaguely, pulling the Daily Prophet from his coat. Hermione’s expression darkened.
“I haven’t looked at it today. Is there something about you two again?”
“About us? No. Just that there’s ‘trouble in paradise,’ even though Draco was just angry about shopping bags. Merlin, it's been years,” Harry said dismissively.
There was a pause.
“Shopping bags?” Ron asked, baffled.
“Never mind.” Harry flipped to page two, and Pansy leaned forward, biting her lip.
“I already told you,” Hermione said, eyeing Harry, “Azkaban needs reform.”
Harry wrinkled his nose.
Pansy took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “The thing is…” She glanced at the door. “Potter and I- we’re worried the law might affect... Scorpius’ biological father.”
Hermione’s face grew serious. “He’s in Azkaban?”
“Hm,” Pansy hummed.
“Who is it?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.
Pansy shot him a look. “You know I’m not going to tell you that. I’m not even supposed to know myself and- ”
She exhaled sharply. “I wouldn’t even be bringing this up, but… if prisoners are granted access to outside media, and he finds out about Scorpius…”
“He can’t make any kind of legal claim!” Harry protested.
But Hermione didn’t answer right away. Her gaze flickered. “Well… that’s not entirely true.”
“What?” Harry said, his voice rising.
She tilted her head. “As long as there’s no formal conviction, no charges… if he claims it was consensual, then-yes, there was still illegal smuggling of potions into Azkaban, but… he would be legally recognised as the father.”
“Bullshit,” Harry said, too loud. Then, quieter: “As if anyone would believe Draco chose to have a baby in Azkaban at eighteen.”
Silence followed for a beat.
“And besides-we could verify the memories, use Veritaserum, we could-”
“You know that’s only allowed under strict conditions. And do you really think Draco would want those memories seen?”
“He would do anything to protect Scorpius,” Harry said firmly.
“A trial is the last thing he needs right now,” Pansy said softly. “And Scorpius… it would be…”
She shuddered.
“As long as I don’t know who it is,” Hermione added quietly, “I can’t tell you whether he’ll be affected by the new law.”
“There are pardons too, aren’t there?” Harry asked, his brows furrowing.
“For minor offenses, yes,” Hermione said. “Where rehabilitation is considered possible.”
“But how can you possibly know what some of these people did in there? Draco was beaten. He was-”
Harry stopped himself, too agitated.
Hermione sighed. “Harry, the law is also meant for people like Draco…”
“You can’t possibly know who’ll be let out!” Harry snapped.
Hermione blinked, clearly hurt. “You sound just like the people who never wanted to give Draco a second chance. They’re not just releasing criminals, Harry—this is about making Azkaban a place that doesn’t destroy more lives.”
“If that man gets released,” Harry said bitterly, eyes fixed on the article, “he’ll wish he was back in Azkaban.”

“Does Draco know?” Ron asked carefully.
Harry shook his head.
“He’s got enough on his mind with Scorpius preparing for Hogwarts and… well, the talk he still needs to have with him. He doesn’t want to speak publicly, understandably, but once Scorpius’s birthday becomes known, the press will only need to put two and two together. He wants to tell him before they start tearing him apart.
And especially before he goes to Hogwarts.”
“Draco barely leaves his side lately,” Harry added, his voice quieter. “He’s worried it’s going to be hard… there. And he's scared that someone from the press might wait for Scorpius somewhere.”
“And Scorpius?” Hermione asked gently. Harry gave a faint smile.
“As cheerful as ever. He doesn’t care what people say. But… if he’s surrounded by this nonsense all day at Hogwarts…” He trailed off.
There was a long pause.

“I spoke to Mayleen,” Pansy said softly then, and Harry looked up.
“She knows a Mind Healer she trusts. Has an office at St. Mungo’s, but she does house visits too.”
Harry shook his head almost immediately. “Draco doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”
“We just have to get him to agree to one session,” Pansy continued, her voice steady but gentle. “One. He doesn’t have to commit to anything. Just meet her. Mayleen said the healer can talk to him without it feeling like therapy.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t know Draco like I do. He’ll smell it from a mile away.”
“He’s not the only one in this,” Hermione said softly. “And maybe if he won’t do it for himself… he’ll do it for Scorpius.”
Harry exhaled slowly through his nose, his jaw tightening.
He didn’t disagree.
“I could go with him,” he muttered. “I’ll talk to him first, maybe. In a quiet moment.”
Pansy gave him a look. “You do realise there are no quiet moments in your house anymore, right?”
Harry huffed a laugh despite himself.
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Harry suddenly glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. “Shit.”
“What?” Ron asked.
“Draco was supposed to be back from school drop-off and shopping ages ago,” Harry said, standing up abruptly. He was already pulling on his coat.
“I told him I’d be back by ten.”
Ron glanced at the clock. “It’s almost noon.”
“Yeah.” Harry was already halfway into his coat. “He’s probably back, done unpacking, and halfway through reorganizing the spice rack out of passive-aggressive spite.”
Pansy grinned. “And if he started folding laundry to cool off, you’ve really done it.”
“Brilliant,” Harry muttered, grabbing the Daily Prophet. “Dead man walking.“

 

Harry lingered for a moment, breathing in the scent of salt and snow, before slipping the key into the door and being greeted by yellow walls.
The flat was quiet, but he could hear soft classical music playing from the living room.
He toed off his shoes and padded quietly into the next room, where Draco lay on the sofa, half-covered by a wool blanket, one arm draped over his eyes.
The television showed a concert, and Draco’s deep breathing was only just audible.
Harry smiled softly as he took in the half-folded laundry beside him, some of it slipping off the couch and onto the floor.
Scorpius’s neon pink jumper stood out like a flag.
Gently, Harry sank down onto the couch beside him.
Draco sighed in his sleep and stretched out a little more.
Harry placed his hand on Draco’s knee, stroking it softly.
“Hm?” Draco murmured, lifting his arm from his eyes and blinking against the light.
“Oh, damn.” He sat up quickly, rubbing his forehead. “I just wanted to-” He gestured vaguely toward the television.
“It’s fine,” Harry said quietly. “Do you want to go lie down upstairs for a bit? I can make lunch.”
Draco stretched. “No, no.”
But he looked so tired that Harry tilted his head.
“Did you sleep badly again?”
“Mm. A bit.”
“Nightmares?”
Draco looked thoughtful for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Strange stuff.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” Draco blinked again and glanced at the clock.
“Where were you? I thought you were just picking up a few things?”
His eyes flicked past Harry, probably looking for shopping bags.
Harry hesitated. He wanted to tell him; about the Ministry, about the law, about the healer Pansy had mentioned. He wanted to tell him how scared he was, how it felt like everything was moving too fast, how the thought of Scorpius getting hurt made his chest ache.
But then he thought of Draco’s voice from the night before.

“I just want a few more weeks.”

And he couldn’t do it.
Not now.
Not with the way Draco looked, rumpled and tired, curled up in the soft golden light of their living room like he’d finally let himself breathe.
Harry exhaled slowly through his nose and leaned back against the couch cushions, letting the moment pass.
“I just needed a bit of fresh air,” he said lightly. “Got a coffee. Walked around a little.” Draco cracked one eye open, suspicious.
“You walked?”
Harry gave him a crooked smile. “Don’t look so surprised. I do that sometimes. For my health.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Did you at least remember the oat milk?”
“I… may have forgotten. But I did get coffee. So technically I met the caffeine quota for the day.”
“Brilliant,” Draco muttered, flopping back down with a sigh. “You know they don't sell that stuff here.You’re lucky I’m too tired to scold you properly.”
“Lucky me,” Harry replied, starting to massage Draco’s foot.
“Mmh. That’s nice,” Draco said, closing his eyes.
“Yeah?” Harry pressed his thumb firmly into Draco’s sole and relished the way Draco sighed, the tension slowly leaving his body. Draco stretched out a little more, and Harry grinned.
“You’re like a cat,” he said, and Draco snorted.
“Although, not even you can compete with Persephone’s elegance,” Harry added, and Draco propped himself up on his forearms. “Excuse me? That cat is a menace.”
Harry laughed and began stroking Draco’s shin, then his thigh. Draco blinked at Harry’s hand, then back at his eyes. The grey had darkened slightly, and he licked his lower lip.
“What’s this, Potter?” he asked, voice low.
“Hm? I just want you to relax,” Harry said innocently, running his thumb along the inside of Draco’s thigh. Almost automatically, Draco’s legs shifted further apart, and Harry grinned.
“What’s this, Malfoy?” he echoed, teasing now – and instead of answering, Draco grabbed Harry’s jumper and pulled him forward until Harry could feel his breath against his face.
“I should be folding the laundry,” Draco murmured.
Harry nodded. “Mhm. And I should be unloading the dishwasher.”
“We should also cook,” Draco added, just before pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s lips.
“True. And the bedsheets need washing too.”
Draco grinned against Harry’s mouth as Harry pressed closer to him.
“This place is a mess,” Draco mumbled – and Harry kissed him again, this time deeper, hungrier. Draco laughed softly against Harry’s mouth, pulling him a little closer and threading his fingers through his hair. Harry braced himself over him, heart pounding, but he took his time — kissed Draco’s cheek, then his chin, then the spot just below his ear, where Draco’s breath hitched slightly.
“We’re being terribly unproductive,” Draco murmured, though his hands beneath Harry’s jumper said he had no intention of being anything else.
“Terribly,” Harry agreed, kissing him again before letting out a long sigh and sinking back down on top of him.

Harry was late.
He broke into a light jog as the school bell rang in the distance and children came streaming out onto the snowy pavement.
“Oh hi, Mr. Harry!” called Angie, climbing into her mum’s car.
Harry grinned and scanned the crowd, spotting Scorpius’s white-blond hair.
“Scorp!” he called out.
The boy turned, waved, and said, “Hi, Harry!”
He said a quick goodbye to the boys he’d been chatting with and ran over.
“You look funny,” Scorpius declared, pointing at Harry’s messy hair.
Harry ran a hand through the wild black strands and gave him a crooked smile.
“Did you just wake up?” Scorpius asked with a giggle.
“I did not,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “How was school?”
Scorpius stomped into a puddle of melted snow.
“Cool! We built a volcano. But maths was stupid. I got my test back and I got a C.”
He pulled a face.
Harry waved it off. “A C is still fine.”
“Hmm. Papa says good grades are important.”
He bounced a little as they walked down the quiet street, the sound of the sea in the distance.
“You’ll have totally different subjects at Hogwarts anyway,” Harry said, holding out a hand to steady Scorpius as he slipped.
“Yeah? Papa says maths is still important. But I don’t think he can even do fractions.”
Scorpius looked so serious that Harry burst out laughing.
“Well, your papa had private tutors growing up.”
“Boring,” Scorpius declared. “You didn’t, right?”
“Nope, I went to a regular school.”
“That’s cooler. Just learning at home is boring.”
Harry thought of oversized hand-me-downs and Dudley’s friends’ stares but just smiled and brushed a snowflake from Scorpius’s hair.
“Probably. But your papa learned a lot of things. Piano, for one.”
“Yeah, and French. But I can do that too,” Scorpius said proudly. “Do they teach French at Hogwarts?”
“No, but there are other cool subjects. Astronomy, for one. You’ll love that.”
Scorpius puffed out his chest. “I know loads about stars!”

The warm air of the flat hit them as they opened the door, bringing the smell of roasted potatoes and onions. Draco poked his head out of the kitchen.
“Hi, Papa!” Scorpius called cheerfully, kicking off his shoes and leaving them in a heap in the hallway.
Harry nudged them aside with his foot.
“You know,” Scorpius began, “Angie said today that she wants to be a scientist, then George said that’s boring, but that’s not true, and he said he wants to be an astronaut, but I don’t think so, ‘cause you have to be smart for that, and George is pretty dumb.”
Scorpius flopped onto a chair and Draco gave him a warning look.
“Scorpius.”
Scorpius hunched his shoulders. “What? He is!” he said defensively.
“George also said it’s stupid that Angie’s mum is a teacher just because his dad works at the bank, and then I said it’s not even cool to work at a bank, and that my dad was a policeman, and then-” He stopped and blinked a few times.
There was a sudden silence.
Harry could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart.
Draco had frozen mid-stir, the spoon still in the air.
“I mean…” Scorpius tried, looking nervously at Harry.
Harry blinked. “It’s okay, Scorp,” he said, and his voice sounded thick and uneven.
Scorpius bit his lip, then gave him a small smile.
Harry stepped forward and pulled him into a tight hug. Over Scorpius’s shoulder, Harry caught Draco’s eye - his eyes were shimmering suspiciously before he turned back to the pan.
Harry pressed his nose gently to Scorpius’s shoulder and hugged him tightly for a moment before pulling back, beaming at him, his own eyes burning now too.

“So, it’s definitely not that cool to work at a bank, right?” Scorpius asked then, and Harry laughed as he let go of him.
“Not really, no. And what will you do after you finish Hogwarts?” he asked, settling down on the kitchen island next to him. Scorpius furrowed his brow in thought.
“Probably something with animals,” he said eventually, shrugging. “I could look for species that disappeared. Or help animals get better at home. We could build another floor onto the garden shed.”
“Merlin help us,” Draco said from the stove. His voice still sounded thick, but he smiled at Scorpius over his shoulder.
“What would you do, if you could do anything, Papa?” the boy asked then, tilting his head.
Draco frowned slightly. “I used to want to work with Potions. I suppose I’d have gone into research.”
“So a Scientist, like Angie!” Scorpius said proudly.
“Can’t you still do something with Potions now? I mean, I’m already big, and soon I’ll be at Hogwarts, and then you’ll have lots of time! And people don’t hate us so much anymore, right?”
He said it so casually that Draco flinched.
“People don’t hate you,” Harry said automatically, but Scorpius just shrugged again.
“And what job did my other father have?”
The kitchen went very quiet, and Harry saw Draco’s shoulders tense.
“I…” He cleared his throat. “He didn’t work,” he said finally, and Scorpius tilted his head.
“Didn’t work? Not ever?”
“No.”
Draco looked back into the pan.
“Was he rich? Like Harry?” the boy asked, and Draco’s eyebrows pulled together.
“Scorpius.” His voice sounded unbearably tired, but Scorpius didn’t seem to notice.
“Did he not even have a Muggle job?”
“That’s enough,” Draco said, colder than Harry had ever heard him speak to Scorpius.
“But-” Scorpius began, and Draco turned sharply, eyes flashing.
“I said that’s enough! Just stop it!” he snapped, loud and harsh, and Harry leaned forward slightly.
“Draco,” he said gently, and Draco blinked several times, his eyes flicking between Scorpius and Harry, before he turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen.

Scorpius sat very still.
His legs, which had been swinging moments before, now hung motionless, and his small hands were clenched tightly in his lap.
Harry watched him for a moment, then slid off the stool and crouched down in front of him.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Scorpius blinked, his face scrunched in confusion and something else—something heavier.
“I didn’t mean to make him angry,” he whispered.
“I know,” Harry said, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on his knee. “He knows, too.”
Scorpius looked toward the doorway Draco had disappeared through.
“He never yells at me,” he said quietly. “Not like that.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Harry agreed. “And I think that’s why it scared you.”
Scorpius gave a tiny nod, eyes a little too wide.
Harry took a slow breath.
“Sometimes grown-ups get overwhelmed. Not because you did something wrong, but because something inside them hurts. And they try really hard to keep it all in until it just spills out.”
Scorpius looked at him carefully, like he was trying to understand something just out of reach.
“Did I say something bad?”
Harry shook his head. “You asked a question. And it was a fair one. But… some questions bring up hard memories. Especially when we’re not ready for them.”
Scorpius leaned forward suddenly, resting his forehead against Harry’s.
“I hate it when he's sad.”
Harry closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around him.
“Me too.”
Scorpius exhaled softly against Harry’s neck, then whispered,
“Was my father a bad person, Harry?”
Harry froze for a moment and pulled back just enough to look into his eyes - wide and grey, filled with more worry than any just eleven-year-old should carry.
“Whenever I talk to Papa about him, he gets all weird. I don’t want him to think I don’t like him anymore! Or you! I just…”
For the first time in a long while, Harry saw tears gather in Scorpius’s eyes, and he instinctively pulled him in tighter, his hand warm and steady on the boy’s back.
“Hey. Shh. It’s okay. Your Papa doesn’t think that. And I don’t either.” Scorpius sniffled once and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes.
“I asked Aunt Pansy about him once,” he said after a pause. “Just... if she knew anything. She looked really angry. Not at me,” he added quickly, “but, like... really angry. She didn’t say anything. Just said I should talk to Papa.”
Harry’s heart twisted. He could picture the way Pansy must have looked - jaw tight, hands clenched, trying not to explode.
Scorpius looked up again, eyes uncertain. “Why does everyone get weird when I ask about him? I don’t even want to meet him. I just want to know.”
Harry was quiet for a moment, brushing a hand through Scorpius’s hair.
“Some stories are hard to tell,” he said gently. Scorpius sniffled once more, then looked toward the doorway. “Where did he go?”
Harry turned his head as well. “Probably just to the bedroom for a minute.”

The smell of something burning distracted him. “Oh, damn.”
He rushed over to the stove and stirred the pan quickly. The potatoes had turned black, and smoke was rising.
“Shit,” he muttered, and Scorpius giggled, wiping the tears from his cheek.
Harry glanced down at the charred mess and sighed.
“Can’t you just magic them back?” Scorpius asked, and Harry grinned.
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that. Bloody hell, I think those were the last potatoes,” he groaned, crouching to check the cupboard under the sink.
“Three swear words in under a minute in front of my son. I’m impressed, Potter.”
Harry spun around and saw Draco leaning in the doorway. His eyes were a little red, but he wore a small smile.
Scorpius jumped up. “Sorry, Papa, I-”
“Shh,” Draco said softly, leaning down a bit and pressing a kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry, okay?”
Scorpius placed a hand against Draco’s cheek.
“Well,” Draco sighed, standing again, “looks like we’re having frozen lasagna.”
Scorpius cheered, his grin fully returned.

“That was the best meal ever!” Scorpius declared, and Draco rolled his eyes.
“Thanks a lot.”
Scorpius grinned. “No, your food is yummy too,” he added, giving Draco’s hand a vaguely pitying pat.
Draco just shook his head. “Have you done your homework?”
“Not all of it. I’m going upstairs. But I might need help with maths.”
Draco pulled a face and threw a look at Harry, who just shrugged helplessly.
“Alright, try it on your own first, and if you need help one of us – Harry - will come up,” Draco decided with a grin in Harry’s direction.
“Great, thanks!” Scorpius said and jumped up. Seconds later, his quick steps echoed on the stairs.
“You do know I have no idea how to do maths?” Harry asked.
Draco shrugged. “You think I do? I hated Arithmancy.”
Harry snorted. “I didn’t even take Arithmancy. Let’s just hope he figures it out on his own. I don’t want to explain why I can’t do fractions.”
“Do what?” Draco asked as he loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, and Harry laughed.
“Exactly.”
For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, and Harry rubbed his knuckles.
“You know-” he started, just as Draco said, “You know-”
They looked at each other and smiled.
“You first,” Draco said with a small gesture.
“Sure?”
“Potter.”
Harry leaned back in his chair a little.
“I saw Pansy today,” he began, and Draco didn’t look up from the dishwasher.
“Hmh,” was all he said, and Harry chewed on his lip.
“She thinks, well, we think it might be a good idea…”
He waved vaguely in the air and sighed.
“You talked about my mental state, didn’t you?” Draco asked, still not looking at him.
“I know you hate it when we talk about you, but- ”
“I shouldn’t have yelled at Scorpius,” Draco interrupted, and Harry looked at him in surprise.
“You didn’t yell.”
Draco turned to face him, arms crossed.
“I was so angry, Harry. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d been alone with him and he kept asking.”
His eyes flicked down to his forearm, like they hadn’t in a long time, and Harry got to his feet.
“Nothing would have happened, Draco.”
Draco ran a finger over the long scar that crossed the dark mark, and Harry reached for his hand.
“I don’t want to scare him,” Draco murmured, lifting his eyes. “I want him to never be afraid.”
“I know - and he’s not afraid of you. But we can’t stop him from ever being scared. We can’t protect him from everything - and we don’t have to. He’s strong, he’s confident. And do you know why? Because of you.”
Draco was silent for a moment, then pulled up one corner of his mouth.
“Well, not just because of me… ‘Dad.’”
Harry felt his eyes sting again and nudged Draco’s chest.
“Stop it, I can’t cry now, what if I get summoned into maths hell any second?”
Draco laughed, then gently tugged on Harry’s hand and rested his hands on the back of Harry’s neck.
“So, what exactly have my best friend and my boyfriend been discussing about me?”
“Pansy knows someone - her name’s Mayleen, she said… you know her.”
Draco tensed slightly, then nodded. “Right. She was… my Healer.”
“Oh, you mean when Scorpius was born?”
“Yes. And before, and after... for some time.What about her?”
Harry blinked, suddenly uncertain.
“Just- please hear me out before you hex me,” he said, pulling Draco closer.
“She knows someone, a mind healer. Wait, let me finish- she does house calls too. No commitment, just… talking. I know you don’t want to go to Wilson or to any outside therapist, but we thought…” He trailed off, searching Draco’s face, but the blond didn’t say anything.
“Well… maybe she could just come here sometime?”
“I suppose I should be angry that you’ve been talking behind my back again. You know I hate that,” Draco finally said, and Harry nodded.
“I know,” he said. “But we weren’t trying to plan something without you, we were just-”
“Worried,” Draco finished, a little too sharp.
Harry said nothing. He let the silence stretch.
Draco rubbed a hand over his mouth, then shook his head. “It’s not like I haven’t tried this before.”
“She’s not like the others,” Harry said softly. “Pansy trusts her.”
“I don’t want to sit in a room while someone dissects me like I’m broken.”
“You’re not,” Harry said immediately. “But… I think it could help. Just talking. Nothing more.”
Another pause.
“Does she know about me?” Draco asked.
“No. Only what Pansy told her- that someone she cares about is struggling.”
Draco’s expression twisted, defensive and tired all at once. “I’m not struggling.”
Harry didn’t argue.
“I’m just… tired,” Draco added after a moment.
“I know.”
Draco’s eyes flicked toward the stairs, then back to Harry.
“Can she come while Scorpius is at school?”
Harry nodded quickly. “Definitely!”
Draco’s brow was furrowed, then he let out a defeated breath.
“But you’re sitting next to me, Potter. I’m not doing this alone,” he said at last.
Harry leaned in dramatically to kiss him, pressing him against the counter.
Draco squeaked, then laughed into Harry’s mouth.
“You act like I just agreed to marry you,” he said, amused.
Harry’s heart leapt in his chest. He opened his mouth, but a groan interrupted him, and he turned to see Scorpius’s miserable face in the doorway.
“What’s the distributive law?”

 

Harry stared at the worksheet in front of him like it might bite.
“The distributive… thing,” he muttered, resting his chin in his hand. “Yeah. Right. Easy.”
Scorpius tilted his head. “You do know what it is, right?”
“Of course,” Harry said confidently. “It’s just… I need a second to remember. Been a while.”
“Did you have that in school?”
Harry blinked. “Er- probably. Once. Briefly. I think I might’ve skipped that class.”
Scorpius narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“Do you at least know what this means?” He pointed at the equation:
3 × (4 + 2) = ?
Harry squinted. “...14?”
Scorpius looked deeply concerned.
“Okay,” Harry said quickly. “That was a joke. Definitely a joke.”
“Was it though?”
“Yes.”
Scorpius crossed his arms. “You’re worse than Papa.”
Harry gasped. “How dare you.”
Footsteps approached, and Draco leaned into the doorway, holding a steaming cup of tea.
“I heard panic. Is everything alright in here?”
Scorpius sighed dramatically. “Harry doesn’t know what the distributive law is.”
Draco blinked. “I mean… fair.”
“You don’t either!”
Draco took a sip of his tea. “Correct.”
Harry pointed at him. “Thank you.”
Scorpius groaned and flopped back on the mattress. “I’m doomed. I’m going to fail and then I’ll never get into Hogwarts.”
“Pretty sure Hogwarts doesn’t care about distributive laws,” Harry said gently, ruffling his hair.
“Still. What if they do?”
“They don’t.”
Scorpius clutched a pillow dramatically to his chest. “But Mr. Jones said ‘Math is the most important subject’ – how are you two even alive without it?”
“We’re doing quite well, I’d say,” Draco replied dryly, lowering himself onto the mattress beside his son. Scorpius stared at his tea. Draco rolled his eyes and handed him the cup.
“Thanks!” Scorpius blew into it with such force that some of it sloshed over the rim before he took a big sip. “Urgh. No sugar. That's disgusting,” he said, scrunching up his nose.
Draco snorted, before he leaned back a little. “Well, Mr. Jones is right, of course. Maths is important.”
He threw a look at Harry, who nodded quickly. “Mhh. Very important. Absolutely.”
Scorpius narrowed his eyes and looked between them like he was being conspired against.
Draco reached out a hand to Harry. “Give it here. How hard can it be?”
Harry handed him the worksheet and watched as Draco’s brow furrowed slightly.
“So… multiplication before addition, right?” Draco muttered.
“No, it’s brackets first,” Harry said.
“That’s what I said.”
“You said ‘multiplication before addition.’ That’s not the same thing.”
“Well, that’s how I learned it.”
“But there are brackets!”
“Yes, but what do brackets mean, Potter?”
„You know, the mnemonic -‘Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally?’“
Draco looked offended. „Who is Aunt Sally?“
Scorpius let out a long, theatrical groan and flopped onto the mattress.
“I’m asking Angie. You two are hopeless.”

Chapter 3: Softness

Softness - the quality of being open to emotional pain or fear

 

“You don’t have to clean under the sofa, Draco,” Harry said for what felt like the fifth time, ignoring Draco’s exasperated glare. “We’re not expecting a visit from the Queen.”
Draco raised his hands in protest, the broom in his right hand swinging dangerously.
“No, but what if she sees the dust and writes down ‘emotionally unstable’?”
“Draco, that’s ridiculous,” Harry replied with a laugh, but Draco looked at him seriously.
“She might think the environment isn’t suitable for Scorpius.”
Harry gently reached for the broom. “Please. She’s not here to conduct a hygiene inspection. Besides, it’s cleaner here than it ever was at my place.”
“That’s hardly an achievement, Potter.”
With a flick of his wand, Draco vanished the dust from the television.
When the doorbell rang, Draco groaned.
“Early, of course… Here, take this.”
He shoved the broom into Harry’s hands and disappeared muttering down the hallway.
Harry leaned the broom against the wall with a shake of his head and followed him.
Outside, snow was falling, and cold air swept into the house.
A young woman, no older than them, stood smiling at them. Her light brown hair was twisted into a wild bun, and her black coat was speckled with snowflakes.
“Mr. Malfoy?” she asked politely, holding out a pale hand.
“Healer Fournier,” she introduced herself, and Harry immediately caught the strong French accent.
Draco shook her hand quickly and gestured her inside, a little stiffly.
“Come in, it’s cold.”
The healer nodded politely, her eyes scanning the yellow hallway.
Draco followed her gaze nervously. When his eyes landed on the broom, he shot Harry a poisonous look.
“It’s very lovely here,” Ms. Fournier said, motioning toward the coat rack. “May I?”
“Of course.”
She slipped off her coat and smiled again.
“You can leave your shoes on. We’ll go into the living room,” Draco said, sounding a little nervous as he gestured toward the archway.

Once they were seated at the table, Harry noticed how Draco was kneading his hands.
“Would you like something to drink? Water, tea, coffee… lupin coffee?” he offered, and Harry reached over to squeeze his hand.
“No, thank you,” the healer replied with a quick laugh, then turned to Harry. “And you must be Mr. Potter. A pleasure to meet you both.”
“Yes, thank you. You too,” Harry said politely, gently stroking Draco’s cool skin with his thumb.
“And you know Mayleen?” Draco asked, and Ms. Fournier nodded.
“We were at Beauxbatons together. And when Mayleen moved to England- well, I followed not long after.”
“Ah.”
There was a brief pause, filled only by the sound of Draco’s leg bouncing under the table.
“Mayleen told me a friend of yours reached out to her?”
“That’s right, yes. We…” Draco scratched at his collarbone, leaving red marks behind. “She thinks it’s important that I speak with you.”
“I see. And what do you think?” the healer asked, raising her eyebrows slightly.
Draco gave Harry a quick glance. “I said I’d give it a try,” he answered flatly. “I once tried... well, I talked to someone a few years ago. It wasn’t successful.”
“I understand,” she said calmly, her eyes scanning the room again. “And now you feel the timing is better?”
Her blue eyes were warm and steady, and Draco exhaled slowly.
“What does ‘better timing’ even mean? It’s… I suppose it’s an appropriate time, yes.”
“I see. And you live here with your son, yes?”
“My son, Scorpius, yes.”
“And how old is Scorpius?”
Draco furrowed his brow slightly and shifted in his seat. “Eleven.”
“Ah, then puberty is just around the corner,” she said with a small laugh.
Draco’s features relaxed a little. “Most likely, yes.”

There was a moment of quiet.
“Would you mind telling me a bit about why you wanted to meet with me today?” the healer asked gently.
Draco gave a half-shrug. “Well, because Harry and Pansy apparently deemed it necessary-” he began coolly, then stopped himself, shaking his head and pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You’re bound by confidentiality, correct?”
“Of course, Mr. Malfoy. And if it makes you feel more comfortable, we can sign a magical confidentiality contract before we begin.”
“I… Yes, I think that would help,” Draco said honestly, and Ms. Fournier nodded with quiet understanding as she opened her dark leather case.
“No problem. Here- have a look.”
She placed a parchment on the table, and Harry leaned in slightly. Ms. Fournier smoothed the parchment with one hand and drew her wand with the other.
“It’s a standard magical confidentiality agreement,” she explained, tapping the top of the parchment with her wand. The ink shimmered slightly, revealing delicate, swirling text.
“I’ll read it to you, if that’s alright.”
Draco nodded wordlessly.
“In accordance with the Magical Confidentiality Act of 1856,” she began, her French accent soft but precise, “I, Healer Éloïse Fournier, hereby swear not to disclose any information shared by Mr. Draco Malfoy during the course of our meetings - be it written, spoken, or inferred - to any third party, unless given explicit permission by Mr. Malfoy himself.”
Draco’s eyes followed the shimmering text, his jaw tight.
“This contract is magically binding and will remain in effect indefinitely, unless terminated by mutual consent. Violating this agreement will result in immediate loss of magical licensure and legal prosecution by the Department of Magical Health and Ethics.”
She looked up. “Once signed, the contract seals itself. Only you can unlock it, Mr. Malfoy.”
Harry watched Draco’s throat bob as he swallowed.
“It’s entirely your choice,” Ms. Fournier said, setting the wand down beside the parchment.
Draco reached for the quill. He hesitated, his fingers hovering just above it. Then he pulled his hand back.

“If I… if I were to tell you something,” he began, eyes fixed on the parchment, “something that might, technically, fall under criminal law…”
He trailed off, then glanced up at her. “What happens then?”
Ms. Fournier studied him quietly for a moment before replying, her voice calm and measured.
“It depends,” she said. “If you are at risk of harming yourself or someone else, I’m required to intervene, or at least to notify the appropriate channels for protection.”
Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line. He shook his head quickly.
“No. Not me. I mean- ” He looked away, jaw clenched. “It’s not… I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
Ms. Fournier tilted her head slightly, her expression softening.
“Then what you choose to share remains between us,” she said gently. “The law protects your right to speak freely in a therapeutic setting, Mr. Malfoy. Unless someone is in immediate danger, nothing leaves this room.”
Draco gave a small, tense nod, still not looking at her. His fingers returned to the quill, trembling slightly.
“And you won’t report it?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
“Not unless you ask me to,” she said.

For a long moment, Draco stared at the parchment, then finally pressed the tip of the quill to the signature line.
His name appeared in elegant silver script, and the parchment curled gently at the edges before sealing itself with a soft glow.
A quiet click echoed in the room, like a lock sliding into place.
Harry let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Perfect. And just to be clear, by signing this contract, you haven’t committed to beginning therapy, Mr. Malfoy,” Ms. Fournier said gently. “You’re free to simply tell me what’s on your mind. Even without Mr. Potter- ”
“No,” Draco interrupted sharply, then cleared his throat. “I mean; can he stay? I want him here.”
His face suddenly looked a lot younger and more tired than before, and Harry instinctively squeezed his hand.
“Of course. That’s no problem,” Ms. Fournier said, leaning back slightly with a patient smile.
Draco bit his lower lip, then cleared his throat again.
“Can’t you say it?” he asked, turning to Harry.
Harry’s brows rose in surprise. “Draco, I… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’m with Mr. Potter on that,” Ms. Fournier said calmly, folding her hands on the table. “We can start with something easier, if you’d like.”
Draco scoffed softly and resumed bouncing his leg.
“Scorpius is going to Hogwarts soon, you know?” he said finally.
She nodded. “That can be a beautiful but also difficult moment.”
Draco huffed. “Mostly difficult, if you’re the son of a Malfoy.”
He looked at her directly for the first time.
“You know what my family… You know who I am, don’t you?”
“I know you were convicted and served your sentence,” she replied simply.
Draco shook his head. “The official one, yes. But people… it’s not easy. It’s not going to be easy for Scorpius either. I’m worried about how others will treat him at Hogwarts. I worry he’ll get homesick,” he said, eyes on the grain of the table. “He says he’s ready. Excited, even. But I know what it’s like to… pretend you’re not scared.”
Ms. Fournier nodded, saying nothing.
Draco rubbed his thumb along the edge of his cup.
“I wonder which House he’ll be sorted into,” he went on, voice tight. “Part of me thinks Slytherin. He’s clever, determined. But he’s also kind, and brave in a way that… doesn’t look like mine.”
Harry glanced sideways at him but didn’t speak.
“And then I think: what if they don’t accept him? What if the name is too heavy?” Draco continued, his leg bouncing faster now. “If they start digging around again, printing things- ” He stopped.
Ms. Fournier leaned forward slightly, still silent.
“I try to protect him. Every day, I try,” Draco whispered. “I don’t even want him walking to school on his own. His friends live in the other direction, he’d have to go alone and I don’t like that thought. Especially with the press still lurking around.“ He stopped for a second. „We kept our lives quiet. We moved here. We stayed small. We don’t even take him to Diagon Alley unless we absolutely have to.”
He took a breath, unsteady and shallow. His eyes flicked toward the parchment still faintly glowing on the table. Then he leaned back slightly, his hand dragging down his face.

“So, yes. It’s… a bit much at the moment.”
He didn’t look at either of them.
Ms. Fournier waited a moment, then gave a small nod. “That makes sense,” she said softly. “It is a lot.”
Draco pressed his lips together and nodded, once, almost reluctantly.
Harry let out a quiet breath beside him but didn’t say anything.
“No one expects you to explain everything all at once,” Ms. Fournier added. “You can take your time. We can just talk.”
Draco glanced briefly at her, then at Harry, then away again.
“I’m not very good at that,” he muttered.
“You’re doing just fine,” she said, and her voice was so matter-of-fact that Draco actually huffed a laugh, dry and tired.
“I always just wanted to…” Draco rubbed his eyes again. “I always just wanted to protect him. He was so quiet as a baby. I mean – I hadn’t expected that, I thought babies cried all the time. But Scorpius… he often just stared. I didn’t know how to hold him. He was so small. It was so cold when he was born. I didn’t know how to…”
He shrugged helplessly, and the healer nodded.
“I remember thinking, how am I supposed to take care of something that tiny? How am I supposed to give him anything?”
He shook his head.
“And you were alone with him?” she asked gently, and Draco shifted in his seat.
“Well, Pansy was there – and Mayleen, in the beginning. And when we moved here… he was always hungry. He started babbling, and I’d often just lie next to him and…”
His voice broke and he cleared his throat.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Mr. Malfoy,” the healer replied, and Draco nodded, lips pressed tightly together.
“Well, when he learned to walk- he was so fast.”
Draco let out a short laugh, though it sounded bitter.
“You know, he was here, there, everywhere – he’s always been curious. A clever child, but reckless at times. I suppose it’s a good thing he… that he dared to explore the world, isn’t it?”
“Pansy helped us,” he went on after a pause, “even… well, financially, when things were hard. But at some point, when Scorpius was a bit older… when I started working again, leaving him here alone, well with Pansy, that was…”
He made a vague, dismissive gesture.
“And are you working at the moment?” the healer asked.
“Right now? No. Harry…”
He glanced sideways.
“Well, he’s here now too. He supports us. And my mother – my mother does as well. It was hard to keep working. I… after I got my wand back, I wanted to do something else, but… I think I’ll try to find a job again once Scorpius goes off to Hogwarts. That’s probably for the best.
I can’t live off other people’s money forever.”
Harry shook his head. “You know I don’t mind.”
Draco tilted his head. “But I do.”

Ms. Fournier offered a patient smile. “I think it’s good to have something of your own, a task or a focus, especially once Scorpius is at Hogwarts.”
“I just can’t imagine him being gone. I mean… he’s always been there. It’s always been the two of us, hasn’t it? Sending him into that world, that…“
He buried his face in his hands, covering his eyes.
Harry gently placed a hand on his back, drawing soft circles, and felt Draco’s breath tremble beneath his fingertips.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Draco murmured into his hands.
“What would hurt him?” the healer asked.
Draco exhaled audibly into his palms. Harry could hear the pounding of his own heart in his chest – loud and aching.
“If he… learns things. About me, I mean,” Draco said vaguely, lowering his hands from his face.
“You mean your past?”
“Mhm.”
Draco’s gaze met Harry’s, and Harry tried an encouraging smile – but Draco looked away and pressed his lips together.
“I mean, he knows a few things. I’ve tried to explain what I used to be. He knows that I hurt people. But there are things that…”

The room fell quiet after that, before the healer folded her hands on the table.
“I work with many parents who’ve made mistakes. Like we all do. Some have hurt others, some have hurt themselves. But not a single child ever grew stronger because they were protected from the truth. They grew stronger because they knew: I am loved. In spite of everything. And I’m certain- when I hear the way you speak about your son, and when I look around here,” she added with a smile, casting a glance toward Scorpius’ colourful drawings on the wall, “that he knows he is loved. And he’ll know it, too, when he’s off to Hogwarts. He’ll know it when he has his first fight with someone, his first heartbreak, when he misses home.You can’t protect Scorpius from being hurt forever. And you don’t have to. He can and should have his own experiences, especially if he knows he can come back to you, and you’ll be there.”
Draco blinked rapidly a few times before he abruptly stood up.
“Sorry, I-”
He cleared his throat and turned away, leaving the room with quick steps.

Harry watched him go, then said, “He just needs a moment to himself.”
“He’s already said more than I often hear in a first session,” the healer replied kindly.
Harry glanced at the door again.
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting it either. He usually keeps things to himself,” he said quietly. “But it’s weighing on him.”
“Yes, that’s clear. And how are you, Mr. Potter?”
Harry blinked, surprised. “Me? I mean- fine, I think.”
He wrinkled his nose slightly, then exhaled deeply.
“No. Not fine. I’m worried. I mean, I’ve been seeing Healer Wilson as well- maybe you know him- and it helps, talking to him, but… I wish I could do more here. You know, be more… present?”
“I think you’re already doing quite a lot. Mr. Malfoy trusts you. And Scorpius has accepted you, hasn’t he? Into his life. It’s very good that you’re speaking to a healer, too. You’ve been through a lot. And only when you’re stable yourself can you be a steady partner- and a steady father.”
“Oh, I’m not- ” Harry bit his lip. “I mean, not really.”
She smiled. “No? And what makes someone a real parent in your eyes?”
“Well, I guess… that you…”
He paused for a few seconds, thinking of Scorpius and the way the boy looked at him with bright, trusting eyes.
His own eyes began to sting, and he smiled.
“I don’t know exactly,” he said, “but I think… Scorpius sees me that way.”
There was a look on his face like he could barely believe it himself.

The floor creaked softly as Draco stepped back into the room.
His posture was tight, his eyes slightly red, the colour in his cheeks faded. He didn’t speak at first, just stood there for a moment, gaze flicking between Harry and Ms. Fournier.
“I think…” he said eventually, his voice low and worn, “that’s enough for today.”
Ms. Fournier nodded immediately. “Of course. Thank you for what you’ve shared.”
Draco rubbed the back of his neck, his hand shaking slightly. He glanced at the clock, then at the teacup on the table, and finally back at her. “Would it be… possible to maybe schedule another session? At some point, I mean.” He didn’t look at Harry when he said it.
Harry’s heart stuttered in his chest.
He blinked, caught off guard, then quickly looked at Ms. Fournier.
She didn’t smile widely or make a fuss, she simply nodded, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
“Of course,” she said calmly. “We can look at times that work for you. There’s a morning slot next week, same time as today, but you don’t have to decide right now.”
Draco hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly on the back of his chair. “I’ll… think about it,” he said. Harry exhaled, a soft breath of quiet relief, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

 

“That’s not fair!” Scorpius protested, staring in disbelief at the “+4” card Harry had just played with a triumphant grin.
“Oh yeah? How so?” Harry asked, amused.
“You must’ve enchanted the cards!” Scorpius accused, shaking his head.
“Oh, so now I’m a cheater? Well then, I choose… blue.”
Scorpius groaned and grumbled as he drew a card.
“Can’t play,” he muttered, and Harry laid down a card.
“Last card.”
Scorpius looked at the five cards still in his hand and rolled his eyes.
“Unfair,” he repeated and reluctantly drew another card from the pile.
He glanced from Harry to the nine on the discard pile and then at his own cards, pressing his lips together before placing a card.
Harry watched his face closely, then looked at the pile.
“That’s a six, Scorpius.”
“No, it’s not!” Scorpius insisted, shaking his head and holding the obvious six next to the nine. “See?”
“Yep, I see a six.”
Scorpius let his head fall back with a dramatic sigh and picked up his six again.
“Can’t play,” he said, defeated, and Harry dropped his last card with a grin.
“Uno.”

“Why do you ALWAYS win?” Scorpius asked as Harry ruffled his hair, which the boy responded to with a grumble.
“I don’t always win. Just at Uno. Your papa says it’s because I’ve got outrageous luck.”
“Well, he’s right!” Scorpius said and began tossing the cards into the box without much care.
“Scorpius,” Harry said, nodding toward the mess. “Next time we want to play, we’ll have to sort the cards all over again.”
“Doesn’t matter, because we’re never playing again!” Scorpius declared - but still started tidying up the cards properly. He looked at the box for a moment, then at Harry.
“But I will beat you at chess!” he announced.
Harry laughed. “That you will. You’re even giving your papa a run for his money.”
“Don’t say that too loud!” Scorpius whispered conspiratorially, then burst out laughing.
“Papa gets sooo dramatic when he loses.”
“Oh really? Sounds familiar.”
“That’s completely different!” Scorpius insisted, even though it was exactly the same, and Harry nodded. “Oh, of course it is.”
Scorpius got up and put the box back in the cupboard. “So, what do we play next?”
“Uh-uh. Now it’s bedtime.”
“What? Already?”
Scorpius glanced at the clock. “Ohh. That went fast.”
“We can play more tomorrow. How about Cluedo? Your papa will be thrilled.”
Scorpius laughed and nodded eagerly. “Papa’s a good detective. Better than you, and you were an Auror.”
“Hey!” Harry said, nudging him playfully up the stairs.
The upstairs hallway smelled faintly of shampoo and shower gel, a warm steam drifting from the open bathroom door.
“Alright, go get changed and brush your teeth, yeah?”

Harry gently opened the bedroom door, and the scent of Draco’s cream hit him immediately.
“Hey, Scorpius is in the-”
He stopped when he saw Draco, standing in front of the mirror wearing only a white towel around his waist, hair still damp. Their eyes met in the reflection.
“Well, hello there,” Harry said, stepping closer.
Draco only lifted the corner of his mouth before turning back to the mirror, examining himself critically.
Harry placed his hands on Draco’s hips. “What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it ironic?” Draco said without meeting his gaze. Harry rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder.
“What is?”
“Well, I used to call you Scarface. And now-” He gestured vaguely to his torso with a crooked smile. “Tables have turned, haven’t they?”
Harry rolled his eyes and ran a hand over the faint lines on Draco’s chest.
“You’d still call me Scarface if Scorpius weren’t around.”
“Please, Potter. I’ve evolved,” Draco said with a soft snort.
He grinned a moment longer, then guided Harry’s hand down to the red scar beneath his navel.
Harry kissed his shoulder, fingers trailing over the soft skin.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered. Draco met his gaze in the mirror but said nothing.
Harry stroked the fine blond hairs on his stomach, the other hand sliding over Draco’s shoulder and arm- until he paused just before reaching the forearm, eyes questioning.
Draco gave a small nod, and Harry let his fingers glide over the long scar cutting through the black skull.
“I wish…” Draco began, then turned to face Harry, eyes lowering to his hands.
“I know,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Draco shook his head. “I should’ve cut deeper. So it wouldn’t be recognizable.”
He smiled, but the pain in his eyes made Harry kiss him again.
“Don’t say that.”
“It wouldn’t change anything anyway. Everyone knows who I am.”
“Only a few know who you really are. And that’s enough, isn’t it?”

Draco gave a faint smile and touched his nose to Harry’s.
“I love you,” he said- and Harry’s heart leapt in his chest.
Draco rarely said those three words, almost never. But every time he did, it filled Harry with a warmth he’d never known before.
“I love you too,” Harry whispered back. “And I’m proud of you. You really did well today. I know how hard that first therapy session can be… after Jackson died, it took me a long time to even mention it to Wilson. I started by talking about other things, too.”
Draco furrowed his brow slightly and pressed his palm to Harry’s.
“I couldn’t say it today, Harry.”
“No, no! I know. That wasn’t a criticism. You did say a lot. I meant it- I’m proud of you.”
Draco stepped into his pajama bottoms and ran a hand through his damp hair.
“It wasn’t awful,” he said finally. “She didn’t ask any stupid questions. And she didn’t mention mindfulness exercises.”
“That’s a start,” Harry said, chewing a little on his lower lip. “Do you think she can come back?”
Draco shrugged. “We’ll see. I’m thinking about it.”

The bedroom door creaked open, and Scorpius- now in blue pajamas- poked his head inside.
“Harry just happened to have exactly the cards he needed. Again! Can you believe that?”
Draco shook his head, mock scandalized. “Again? I told you. Something suspicious is going on.”
“You’re probably right,” Scorpius said, grinning as he stepped into the room. “Can we talk for a bit? Before I go to bed?”
Draco pulled a shirt over his head and then patted the bed beside him. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”
Scorpius flopped down on top of the blanket, waving his hands in the air.
“The day after tomorrow, Susan and Bernie are coming over, and I thought maybe we could play football, but it’s still snowing, and Bernie doesn’t like snow.”
Harry sat down beside him. “Well, you could always play something indoors. Can Susan and Bernie even play football?”
“A bit. But Bernie also got his first magic kit, and he said he’s bringing it.”
“Oh no,” Draco said, narrowing his eyes. “No more magical experiments. I know Professor Longbottom says ‘practice makes perfect,’ but do you remember last time?”
Scorpius waved a hand dismissively. “The stain came out!”
“It was painted over,” Draco replied. “That’s not quite the same as gone.”
Scorpius just giggled. “Maybe you should lay down some tarps.”
He rolled onto his side. “Do you think Susan and Bernie and I will still be friends? Even though I’ll go to Hogwarts before them? And what about Angie?”
“Of course you will. They’ll be at Hogwarts next year. And you'll see Angie during the holidays. You can also write letters to her and we can give them to her.”
“Hm,” Scorpius murmured, thoughtful for a second. Then he lit up again.
“But Teddy’s already there and maybe we can hang out more!”
Harry smiled. “I’m glad you two get along so well. Teddy really liked you right away.”
Scorpius beamed. “He’s cool. And he already knows how to do Alohomora. Did you know that?”
“Oh, I know,” Harry said, grinning. “He’s told me more than once.”

He glanced over at Draco, who had straightened up a bit. His smile had faded ever so slightly.
Scorpius didn’t notice and kept talking, but Harry caught the way Draco’s gaze lingered on his own hands, then shifted sideways.
Andromeda. Harry knew that just the thought of her still weighed on Draco more than he let on. Her visits were rare and brief, never hostile, but… distant.
Harry could only hope Teddy and Scorpius would forge something lighter than the history that stood behind them.

“And do you think I’ll get good grades?”
At that, Scorpius gave his father a sheepish look.
“I haven’t told you yet... I got a C in maths.”
He wrinkled his nose, and Draco tilted his head.
“What was it about?”
“Fractions.”
Draco nodded like he completely understood.
“I’m sure it’ll go better next time. Did Angie help you with the homework?”
“Well, actually, it was totally easy.”
“Ohh, if that’s the case.” Draco grinned.
“But I like English more. We’ve got Book Week coming up! I wish I could bring a book from Diagon Alley- that would be so cool,” Scorpius said, resting his chin in his hands.
“But there are cool Muggle books too. Maybe we’ll get to dress up again this year!”
For a moment, he smiled, then pulled a face. “But I don’t know if I actually want to dress up.”
Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Why not? We spent a small fortune on that Sherlock costume last year.”
“Well- ” Scorpius began, shifting into a cross-legged position, “because George said it’s for babies.”
“George with the banker dad?” Harry asked, and Scorpius nodded.
“But you don’t even like him, do you?”
“No, he’s dumb.”
“Then why do you care what he says?”
Scorpius looked down at his hands, thoughtful. “Well, because Angie likes him.”
He shrugged.
“Ohh,” Harry said softly, wrapping an arm around Scorpius’ shoulders. Scorpius added quickly, “I mean, she just laughs at his jokes sometimes. I think they’re dumb. But maybe they’re not dumb if she thinks they’re funny?”
He glanced between them. “Maybe I should try to be a bit more like him. Just… you know, a little bit.” Draco made a face.
“Scorpius Malfoy, if you ever start quoting George, I will personally ban you from the living room.”
Harry laughed. “Don’t worry, Scorp. You’re already way cooler than George. And you like books. That’s an unbeatable combination.”
Scorpius smiled at that. “Yeah… I guess Sherlock was kind of cool.”
“Exactly,” Draco said. “And besides- Angie likes you. She shared her crisps with you last week.”
Scorpius grinned. “She did! Paprika.”
Harry made a dramatic face. “Well, that’s practically a declaration of love.”
Draco snorted. “Better than what I got at that age. Someone threw a dungbomb at me behind the greenhouse.”
Scorpius burst out laughing. “Did they like you?”
“I certainly hope not,” Draco muttered.

December crept in quietly.
The snow kept falling, soft and persistent, layering the world in white. Scorpius began counting days – not until Christmas, but until they could visit Diagon Alley.
“Just to look at the books,” he had insisted, eyes wide, already dreaming of spells and school corridors.
Draco had rolled his eyes. “Merlin, he’s going to be a Ravenclaw, isn’t he?” But the warmth in his voice had betrayed him.

Ms. Fournier visited again, once.
Harry stayed in the kitchen this time, sipping lukewarm tea while Draco spoke in the other room.
He couldn't hear the words, but when Draco emerged afterwards, he looked exhausted – and lighter.
He still hadn’t spoken about the real weight he carried, not yet.
But he was talking.
That was something.
Harry, meanwhile, had taken to checking the Daily Prophet every other morning.
Azkaban was mentioned less and less. Nothing new, no lists, no names. Still, he kept looking.
Hermione had explained that the implementation would simply take some time, which didn’t ease Harry’s nerves.
Quite the opposite. He wanted to talk to Draco about it but the Christmas decorations, and Draco’s smile, finally a little more relaxed, kept him from doing so.

Scorpius was standing in the living room, bundled up in a thick coat, a wide grin on his face as he watched Draco levitate a golden star onto the top of the tree.
“There,” Draco said, sliding his wand back into its holder.
Scorpius bounced a little on the balls of his feet. “Can we go now?”
“I told you, I wanted to finish this first,” Draco replied.
“I knooow,” Scorpius sighed. “But now you are finished!”
Draco rolled his eyes and glanced at Harry.
Harry just smiled encouragingly. He knew that any trip to Diagon Alley with Scorpius meant stress for Draco – but seeing it all dressed in holiday magic, the scent of hot Butterbeer, the floating lights – he couldn’t help but feel excited.

Draco bent down to lace up his boots, then stood, brushing an invisible crease from his coat before slipping it on. He wrapped his scarf with practiced ease, adjusted his hat, and turned slightly to glance back into the living room. His eyes landed on the star atop the tree – hovering just a little off-centre – and his brows furrowed the tiniest bit. Harry watched from the doorway, trying not to smile too obviously. It was absurdly endearing how seriously Draco took even the position of a floating Christmas ornament. The critical purse of his lips, the small tilt of his head, the way he paused for just a second before nodding to himself – as if granting the tree a temporary reprieve.
There just general was something about him in winter. The layers, the flushed skin, the way his breath curled in little clouds when he huffed.
It made Harry’s chest ache in the softest way.
He looked beautiful like this.
“And Aunt Pansy’s coming too, right?” Scorpius asked, as they left the door.
"Just for a bit – she said she wants to see her favorite child," Draco said, grinning as they walked down the street.
Scorpius rolled his eyes but grinned as well. “She doesn’t like a single other kid,” he remarked, and Draco adjusted Scorpius’s hat.
“All the more of an honour, then, that she likes you.”

The path already felt more familiar now, almost like home, and Harry noticed that Draco didn’t glance around as often anymore, that his face seemed a little more relaxed.
Scorpius had accepted this new world from the very beginning – just like he did with almost everything.
Confidently, he pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron, grinned at Tom behind the bar – who smiled back – and waited impatiently in front of the brick wall until Draco pulled out his wand.
Diagon Alley looked – for lack of a better word – magical.

Colourful, glowing lanterns floated in the already dark afternoon sky, crooked house walls were covered in strings of lights and shimmering tinsel, and sweets and gifts were piled high in the shop windows.
Snow blanketed the rooftops, and the air smelled of butterbeer, hot cocoa, and faintly of the smoke curling like fog from the chimneys.
“Woah!” Scorpius breathed, the sparkling colours reflecting in his grey eyes and on his pale skin. He stuck out his tongue and caught a snowflake.
“So?” Harry asked, amused. “Do snowflakes taste different here than they do at home?”
Scorpius tilted his head thoughtfully and smacked his lips, like a little wine connoisseur.
“Hm. Nope. Same,” he decided, and Harry laughed.
He glanced over his shoulder at Draco, who had stopped just behind the wall, his head slightly tilted toward the sky.
He was watching one of the lanterns, its light flickering from blue to red to yellow, before he blinked several times and his gaze met Harry’s.
“You alright?” Harry asked, and Draco gave him a faint smile.
“It looks beautiful.”
“It does.”

“Woah!” Scorpius said again, pressing his face almost against a shop window.
From inside, a small owl blinked back at him, and Scorpius raised his hand.
“Papa- ” he began, but Draco shook his head.
“No. Not yet. We’ll come back here soon to buy things for school- then we can talk about it.”
Scorpius pulled a slight face but nodded.
“Can we go in here?” he asked, already halfway through the door of the quill shop.
A witch stepped out at the same moment, and they almost collided.
Draco instinctively raised a hand to pull Scorpius back protectively, but the boy simply stepped politely to the side and said, “Excuse me, miss.”
The witch gave him a soft smile and waved it off.
“All good. Nothing happened. Happy holidays.”
She gave another polite nod in Harry and Draco’s direction, and Draco slowly lowered his hand again as Scorpius stepped into the shop.
“Let him go in,” Harry said gently, and Draco frowned.
“But- ”
“We can see him from right here. Look.”
Harry pointed at the window, where Scorpius’ green hat was clearly visible.
The shop was empty except for him, and he stood with curiosity in front of a few shimmering ink pots, seemingly unaware of the adults outside.
“I… okay.”
Draco stared tensely through the glass – Harry could see the way his jaw was clenched.
He placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder and pulled him a little closer.
Scorpius turned around at that moment, glanced behind him, then looked briefly in the other direction, confused – until he spotted the two of them outside.
He waved cheerfully, then turned his attention to the feather quills in front of him.
Draco shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, his chin tucked deep into his scarf.
“He’s getting so independent,” he murmured, more to himself than to Harry.
Harry stepped a little closer, his shoulder brushing Draco’s.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
Draco didn’t answer right away.
Above them, lanterns cast golden light onto the cobbled street, which crunched softly under the shoes of passing witches and wizards.
“Of course it is,” Draco said eventually, his eyes still fixed on Scorpius inside the shop. “It’s just… hard.”
Harry nodded. Draco pulled his shoulders up slightly.
“There’s this voice in the back of my head, every time we go somewhere, asking: what if I miss something? What if I’m not fast enough?”
He shook his head a little.
“And then he apologises to a stranger and handles it better than I would have at twenty-three.”

Harry let out a quiet, fond snort.
“He’s brilliant. And that’s because of you.”
Draco didn’t respond, but Harry saw the way his expression softened.
“You know what I saw?” Harry went on. “You didn’t pull him back. You started to. But then you stopped. That’s... not nothing, Draco.”
Draco let out a low, bitter laugh. “How very ambitious of me. I didn’t interfere with my perfectly capable child.”
“It’s not about ambition. It’s about trust,” Harry said gently. “And growth. Yours, too.”
The shop door opened with a soft creak, and Scorpius pulled his scarf higher over his face as he stepped outside.
“Did you know they have blue quills?” he asked, shaking his head as if it was the most unbelievable thing. “Can we have hot chocolate now? When is Aunt Pansy coming?”
“She wanted to meet us at Florean Fortescue’s at five,” Draco replied. “So we’ve still got a bit of time. Should we wait and have hot chocolate with her?”
Scorpius nodded as they continued walking down the street.

“I definitely need to look at some books. And maybe a new game. And we need more chocolate.”
“Oh yeah?” Harry asked with a grin.
“What happened to the ten chocolate bars that were in the drawer in the living room?” Draco asked.
Harry pointed innocently at Scorpius just as Scorpius raised his finger and pointed straight at Harry.
“Perfect,” Draco said flatly, rolling his eyes- though the corner of his mouth twitched.

They let Scorpius wander a little ahead, still keeping him in sight as he skipped from shop to shop, pausing at nearly every window display.
“Books, quills, sweets, snow globes- he’s going to want everything,” Harry murmured, amused.
“I’m shocked,” Draco said dryly, hands in his coat pockets.
Scorpius stopped suddenly, head tilted, eyes locked on a narrow shop squeezed between two larger ones. He turned to glance at them briefly - then pushed the door open without a second thought.
Draco’s breath caught.
“No - Not in there!” he said sharply, already stepping forward.
The little bell above the door tinkled as Scorpius slipped inside. Draco followed quickly, his steps instinctively faster than necessary.
Harry hurried after him, brows slightly furrowed.
The air inside was dust and polished wood and something more elusive, something old. Ancient, even.
Scorpius stood frozen in place, staring up at the shelves stacked with narrow boxes.
Then a voice drifted from the back of the shop.
“Ahhh. Mister Scorpius Malfoy.”
Soft and precise.
“A little early for a wand, wouldn’t you say?”
Draco stopped in his tracks, Harry saw his spine stiffen.
Ollivander emerged from the shadows, older than before, his silver hair thinner, but his gaze still unnervingly sharp.
Harry saw Draco’s face tense, saw the way his eyes fixed on the old man, unmoving.
But Ollivander’s voice remained calm, almost gentle.
“Still,” he said, stepping closer, “there’s no harm in starting early, if your father and Mr. Potter don’t object.”
Scorpius turned to them, eyes wide with awe.
“Can we? Please?”
Harry exchanged a glance with Draco, but Draco didn’t answer immediately. He was still staring at Ollivander.
Then, slowly, Ollivander gave him the smallest of nods.
Something passed between them.
And after a beat, Draco nodded once in return.
“Alright,” he said quietly.
Scorpius let out an excited breath.
“But you won’t be allowed to use it until school,” Harry added quickly.
“I know, but - still!” Scorpius beamed and stepped closer to the counter.

Ollivander’s eyes followed him with soft curiosity.
“I already have a few ideas for you,” he murmured, then reached for a purple box and placed it on the dusty desk.
Scorpius craned his neck to get even closer.
Inside lay a dark, straight wand – simple and unadorned.
Mr. Ollivander gently lifted it and placed it into Scorpius’ hand.
Immediately, Scorpius gave it an eager wave but nothing happened.
“Hm... no. No,” Mr. Ollivander said, snatching the wand back.
Scorpius turned his head, puzzled, to glance at his father.
But Draco only nodded encouragingly, and Scorpius smiled again.
“Let’s try this one!”

A green box was opened, revealing a light brown wand with delicate carvings.
Without hesitation, Mr. Ollivander placed it into Scorpius’ hand.
He gave a little wave - and the dust on the desk exploded into a wild, swirling mess.
“No, no, no. Not quite,” Mr. Ollivander muttered, leaving the open box behind as he reached for a black package from a higher shelf.
Harry glanced at Draco, who was watching his son with a look of quiet wonder.
His lower lip trembled slightly, and Harry nudged him gently with his shoulder.
Draco blinked, then smiled softly, just as Mr. Ollivander returned.
This box was smaller than the others.
Dark in colour, with a faint, almost silvery pattern etched along the edges, barely visible unless the light caught it just right.
Mr. Ollivander placed it on the counter with care.
“Applewood. Unicorn hair,” he said softly, almost reverently.
“A wand for loyalty, gentleness… and quiet strength. Rare, and not often chosen by those who seek power. But quite devoted to those who seek meaning.”

Scorpius’s eyes were wide. He stepped forward slowly, drawn in by something he didn’t fully understand.
He reached out, and the moment his fingers brushed the wood, the wand lifted slightly, as if it had been waiting.
A golden shimmer bloomed from the tip, light, soft and warm, not dazzling, but gentle.
Dust from the counter rose in delicate spirals, floating around them like snowflakes caught in sunlight.
For a second, the whole shop seemed to hush.

Scorpius stared at the wand in his hand like it had whispered something only he could hear.
Harry felt the back of his neck prickle.
He looked to Ollivander, who was already nodding, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes. That’s the one.”
Draco hadn’t moved. He was still staring at Scorpius - his son, standing in a pool of quiet gold, the wand steady in his small hand.
There was something unreadable on his face. Awe and fear. Pride and grief.
All of it, and none of it.
Scorpius turned to him with a light in his eyes that hadn't been there a moment ago.
He lifted the wand just slightly, as if to show him.
“It’s perfect,” he said.
Draco swallowed hard and nodded.
“Yes. It is.”

Chapter 4: Grief

Grief - the echo of pain from what was taken

 

They had another appointment with Ms. Fournier that afternoon.
This time, Draco had asked Harry to come with him again, his face and shoulders tense. At first he talked about nothing and everything, glancing at Harry every few seconds, before finally taking a deep breath. Harry could feel the nervousness radiating off of him.
“I mean... the real reason, the actual…” Draco shook his head, and Harry saw how he was chewing the inside of his cheek before he lifted his gaze and set his jaw.
“Are you familiar with pregnancy potions? I mean- you’re a Healer, of course you’ve heard of them.”
He let out a short laugh. It was dry and bitter and not really a laugh at all.
“In Azkaban… my family had turned against the Dark... against Voldemort, at the end of the war. And even before that we were…” He paused. “Well. There wasn’t much left of the Malfoy family’s honour, was there?”
He smiled again, but Harry saw the way he trembled, the way he swallowed hard.
“Ironic, isn’t it? Hated by the right side. Hated by the wrong one. Belonging nowhere.”
He let out a sharp breath.
“In Azkaban, there was no right side. There were just a lot of angry people. People who knew that I- ” His voice cracked. “That I was going to be released. That I was getting a second chance. Somehow. Even if I didn’t- ” He cleared his throat. “Didn’t deserve it.”
“There was a group. Of others. One in particular…”
He stopped. Shook his head again, like he’d gone too far into something he hadn’t meant to revisit.
“I wasn’t supposed to get a new life. I was supposed to remember. And he made sure I would.”
Draco stared down at his lap. Then looked up again.
“He made sure it wouldn’t end with me. That it would become part of our story. Part of Scorpius’ story. And I-”
His voice trembled.
“I never wanted that. I never wanted it to reach him. But I also… I don’t want to take his life away. His chances. His joy. I don’t want that man to win.”
Draco rubbed the back of his neck, fingers trembling slightly.
“For a long time, all I could feel was pain,” he said quietly. “Not about Scorpius- never about him. But about… how it happened. What it meant. What it said about me.”

He paused, swallowing hard.
“I swore he would never feel that. That I would keep that part away from him. That I could carry it alone.”
His voice wavered, but he didn’t stop.
“But he’s getting older. He asks more questions. I mean, he has his wand now. That little boy who used to fall asleep on my chest now holds a piece of magic in his hands. And it hit me. He’s becoming his own person. He’s ready to grow- and I can’t protect him forever... It might be time.”
Ms. Fournier nodded slowly, her gaze warm and steady.
“It’s incredibly brave, what you shared with me today,” she said softly. “And maybe that same courage will guide you when it’s time to speak to him.”
Draco blinked a few times, lips pressed together.
Ms. Fournier tilted her head just slightly, her voice gentle: “And how was it for you… seeing Scorpius with his wand?”
“It was a special moment. It was… beautiful. Really beautiful,” Draco said, but his voice sounded sad, and he looked past the healer toward the yellow wall.
“It was beautiful,” he repeated. “But- shouldn’t it have stayed beautiful longer? I mean - shouldn’t it have...”
He stopped, as if confused by himself, and furrowed his brow.
“Maybe I’ve been unhappy for so long that I forgot how to be happy.” He cast a quick glance at Harry. “No- not unhappy, just…” He rubbed his eyes. “That makes it sound like I was never happy. I am happy, I’m grateful, I’m… It doesn’t make sense.”
He smiled briefly, that cold, fake smile that made Harry instinctively reach for his hand.

For a moment, it was quiet, until Ms. Fournier leaned forward and smiled at Draco encouragingly.
Draco frowned, a few strands of hair falling into his face, and licked his lower lip. “I mean, maybe I’ve worried for so long that I just can’t stop now?” he said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“It does,” Harry said softly and squeezed Draco’s cold fingers.
The healer nodded slowly. “Sometimes, when we’ve spent so long in survival mode, it can be hard to enjoy things, to relax. Then small moments can feel like: ‘how long will this last?’, ‘is this even real?’ and even… ‘am I allowed to be happy now?’”
Draco still didn’t look at her as he lifted one corner of his mouth. “Of course I am. I should be. Right?” he asked, but it was the kind of question that needed no answer.
He looked at their hands, Harry’s darker fingers standing out against Draco’s pale skin, small scars and stories on both of them, and shook his head again, but his thumb drew small circles on the back of Harry’s hand.
“Mr. Malfoy, what you’ve been through leaves marks. Your body, your mind, they were in fight mode for years. You developed strategies that helped you survive. After surviving… it can be hard to learn how to live again.” Ms. Fournier’s voice was soft and quiet in the room, and Draco blinked to look at her.
“Living - letting things come, stopping the need to control- those were things that used to mean danger for you. And for a long time, protecting Scorpius was your task, your purpose- letting go of those patterns, being able to release them, takes time. And you’ve already made big steps, don’t you think? You’ve built a long-term partnership, you have a son who loves you. You are already living a life- but your mind and body need a bit more time to adjust.”
“It's been years,” Draco said just as quietly, pressing his lips together.
“But years that you’ve gotten through so well. I mean…” Harry began and leaned his shoulder against Draco’s. “I mean, you can be proud of yourself.”
“I don’t want to be proud of myself, I want to…” Draco began, but then broke off, frustrated.
“You’re allowed to be angry too, Mr. Malfoy. Angry that you had to go through all that. You’re allowed to be tired, you’re allowed to be frustrated - and you’re allowed to be proud.” Ms. Fournier leaned forward slightly. “Scorpius is lucky to have you as a father.”
For the first time, Draco’s whole face moved- his mouth twisted, his lower lip began to tremble, and Harry saw tears welling up in Draco’s eyes. Draco pulled his hand from Harry’s and buried his face in both hands, and seconds later Harry heard the first sob, deep and honest.
“I don’t want him to think- I don’t want him to find out that I didn’t want him.”

“I’m sure Scorpius has never felt that his existence brought you pain. I’m sure he feels every day that he is wanted.”
Draco shook his head. “He senses that something is wrong with me. He knows I’m sad, he knows that I…”
“That you’re human?” Ms. Fournier asked and smiled again.
“I think, as a parent, you don’t have to be perfect- you shouldn’t be perfect. Just real. From what you’ve told me about Scorpius, he sounds like a happy, sensitive child who can recognize and name emotions. A child who learns that people have good and bad days- and stay anyway. Don’t you think that’s what really matters?”
She paused for a moment. “I know that conversation will be a big challenge for you. And I don’t want to downplay it: it will be a difficult, emotional talk, one that might trigger questions in Scorpius, strong feelings, maybe even fear or pain. But helping him through that, showing him that you’re still a family, even with sorrow and grief, that’s worth something, Mr. Malfoy.”
“Maybe he’ll think something is wrong with him,” Draco said weakly and wiped his eyes.
“Then show him that it’s not. He’s not to blame. And neither are you.”
Draco shook his head again, his lip still trembling, but he reached for Harry’s fingers again and looked up.
“If I talk to him… will you be there afterward? I mean… for both of us.”
“I’m always there.”
And for the first time in all those years, Draco pressed himself tightly into Harry’s arms, clutching the fabric of his jumper-
and cried, and cried.

 

"Have you seen the brown sugar?" Draco asked, noisily opening one of the drawers in the kitchen.
Harry yawned. "Next to the white sugar, no?" he asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "Or gone? Didn't you use the rest for the waffles?"
Draco put his hands on his hips and looked around the kitchen. "I wanted to make pancakes."
Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and kissed his cheek. "Use the white sugar. Or that weird syrup."
"It's not weird syrup, it's a healthy sugar alternative," Draco replied, running his fingers through Harry’s messy hair.
Harry kissed the corner of his mouth. "Scorpius is already pretty late. He’d probably be fine with just some toast."
Draco sighed and nodded. "Probably – he’s obsessed with that awful spread lately."
Harry pulled Draco a little closer- Draco, in his grey sweatpants and slightly crumpled t-shirt, hair undone- and Harry’s heart skipped a beat.
"I love how you look in the morning," he said, pressing a kiss to Draco’s sharp cheekbone.
Draco gave him a crooked smile, and Harry held him even tighter. "This is literally the least glamorous I’ve ever looked. And yet here you are, obsessed," Draco said, and Harry laughed.
"Oh, I love the ‘I’m-a-rich-dad’ look, but the ‘I’m-just-a-tired-dad’ look really does it for me."
He pressed his lips to Draco’s, enjoying the warmth of his skin.
"How are you?" he whispered then, and Draco wrinkled his nose slightly before leaning his forehead against Harry’s.
"Good, I think. It was… it felt good to talk about it, didn’t it?"
Harry nodded. "It was very good, I think."
He leaned back just a little.
"Do you know when you… well, when you want to talk to Scorpius?"
He regretted the question instantly, because Draco tensed, and the cheerful glimmer vanished from his grey eyes.
But he didn’t pull away from Harry- instead, he simply placed his hand on Harry’s chest and gently stroked the fabric.
"No. Not yet."

Footsteps thundered down the hallway, and a moment later Scorpius skidded into the kitchen, hair still sticking up in all directions, one sock missing.
"Has anyone seen my trainers? The blue ones, not the ones with the weird squeak. I swear I put them right next to the radiator- "
He stopped, opened a drawer, closed it again, then wandered over to the bread box and pulled out a single slice of bread. He didn’t bother to toast it, just dropped it on a plate and reached for the jar of Marmite. "I’ve got sports today," he added with a groan, dragging a knife through the brown spread with exaggerated misery. "But I really don’t feel like it. Coach makes us do push-ups outside if we don’t run fast enough, and Sam always cheats and says he’s allergic to grass."
He took a dramatic bite of his floppy Marmite toast and made a face.
„You don't even like that.“ Harry said and smiled in his coffee. Scorpius took another bite of the bread, still looking pretty disgusted. „I do! It's interesting.“
„Interesting. I would't want my breakfast to be interesting.“
„Well, I do!“
Scorpius turned to head back to the hallway, then froze mid-step, his eyes fixed on the garden window. "Oh!" he said, pointing. "There’s an owl out there!"
Draco didn’t even turn around. "Undoubtedly for you, Harry."

Harry got up with a sigh, stretching lazily as he wandered toward the window. The owl sat perfectly still on the garden fence, her feathers ruffled slightly in the morning breeze. He opened the window and offered her his hand, stroking gently along her wing before untying the letter from her leg.
He frowned. The parchment bore the golden seal of the Ministry.
"Strange," he murmured, then turned the envelope over.
His hand froze.
"...It’s for you," he said, glancing back at Draco.
Draco froze mid-movement before all but snatching the letter from Harry’s hand.
Scorpius craned his neck, trying to peek at it, but Harry gently stepped between them.
"Go find your shoes, Scorp."
Scorpius muttered something under his breath but ran up the stairs without protest.
"Why would the Ministry write to me?" Draco asked, staring at the handwriting on the envelope as if the name might still change.
"I don’t know. Just open it," Harry said, trying to sound casual, though he could feel his own heartbeat getting louder in his chest.
With trembling fingers, Draco tore open the seal and pulled out the parchment. The envelope fell to the counter, forgotten, as Draco’s eyes scanned the letter at lightning speed.
His face went even paler.
"What is it?" Harry asked quietly.
But Draco only shook his head and pressed the letter into Harry’s hand.

MINISTRY OF MAGIC
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Azkaban Review & Reintegration Committee

Classified Correspondence – Attendance Required

To: Mr Draco L. Malfoy
Date: 21.12.2010
Subject: Witness Summons – Azkaban Reintegration Review

Dear Mr Malfoy,
Under the provisions of the Azkaban Reform and Reintegration Act (ARRA), the Ministry of Magic is currently conducting mandatory review proceedings concerning the possible reclassification and reintegration of former Azkaban inmates.
You have been identified as a relevant witness whose prior experience may inform the Committee's decisions.
In accordance with Section 3, Subsection D of the ARRA (Witness Cooperation Clause), you are hereby formally summoned to provide testimony before the Review Committee. Attendance is compulsory and will be legally documented.
Details of your session are as follows:
Date: 07.01.2011
Time: 1pm
Location: Room 3B, Level Seven, Ministry of Magic
Failure to appear without valid justification may result in legal penalty.
Please bring any relevant documentation or written statements you wish to submit for the record.
Sincerely,

Elric Vance
Senior Coordinator
Azkaban Review & Reintegration Committee

Harry read the words over and over again, his mouth dry. He swallowed hard before looking up at Draco, who stood by the window, eyes wide, staring out at the snow.
"This is..." Harry began, but Draco’s gaze snapped to him.
"What are they even talking about? What reform? Why do I have to testify again? I have nothing to say, I-"
He let out a frustrated groan and snatched the letter back from Harry’s hand.
"Mandatory," he spat. "What a joke. I served my time. I did everything they asked of me. I-"
He slammed the letter onto the table and turned back to the window, his lips pressed into a thin, white line.
Harry stayed silent, a lump rising in his throat.
Draco's eyes flicked quickly over the white garden, unfocused.
"What is this even about?" he asked again, arms crossing tightly over his chest.
Harry cleared his throat, once, twice, then took a cautious step forward.
"Well, the new law is supposed to-"
"Wait."
Draco’s head turned sharply, his forehead furrowed.
"You knew about this?"
"I... I read something in the Prophet a while ago, yes. And then I spoke to Hermione, she’s involved in drafting it and-"
Draco raised his hand, cutting him off. His eyes searched Harry’s face.
"You knew I’d be summoned?"
"What? No! Of course not! I... Draco, listen, the reform is meant to loosen some of Azkaban’s... restrictions. I just didn’t want you to worry. I mean...with everything else going on..."
Harry had expected Draco to raise his voice. To leave the room.
But instead, Draco just looked at him for a few long seconds- silent, and not angry, but hurt.
"You didn’t tell me," he said quietly, "because you thought I couldn’t handle it."
He gave a bitter smile.
"I mean, I guess I get it. I don’t exactly act like someone who-"
He stopped and rubbed his eyes.
Above them, Scorpius’ footsteps echoed loudly across the ceiling.
Suddenly, Draco looked very, very tired.

"There’s just so much right now," Harry said, gently placing a hand on Draco’s shoulder, "and I didn’t want to burden you with this too- before we even knew anything for sure."
Draco sank back against the kitchen counter, his arms limp at his sides, teeth pressed into his lower lip.
"What am I even supposed to say?" he asked, voice thin.
Harry straightened his shoulders slightly.
"Well, I mean... if you... I know it’s hard for you, and you don’t want to, but-"
Draco cut him off.
"No. I’m not going to talk about it, Potter. You know I won’t. Do you know what that would mean?"
His voice dropped, and he cast a glance toward the hallway.
"It would mean a trial. A trial, right before Scorpius goes to Hogwarts. Right after he finds out about... No."
Harry lowered his voice too, checking for footsteps before speaking again.
"I just think- well, we don’t know if he’ll be affected by the reforms..."
Draco flinched, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him before. His face turned a sickly shade of pale.
"He won’t be released," he said weakly. "He... he did too many things during the war."
Harry exhaled. "That’s good. That’s something. But... I’m more worried about access. If he’s allowed media, or if he-"
"Reads about Scorpius," Draco finished tonelessly, his fingers brushing over his mouth.
He swallowed hard.
"I feel sick. I need air."
Draco stepped out onto the terrace and closed the door behind him.
He pressed his hands against the railing and stared out over the snow-covered garden, trying to breathe past the nausea rising in his throat.
Inside, Harry stayed still for a moment, watching the door.

Then came the sound of Scorpius’ feet on the stairs.
"Look," he said, stepping back into the kitchen. He was holding one shoe in his hand and chewing the last of his Marmite toast. "Is everything okay?"
Harry turned, trying to smile.
"Yeah, just... official stuff. Ministry owl."
Scorpius narrowed his eyes a little, then looked past Harry to the glass door. "Is Papa okay?"
Harry hesitated. "He just needed some fresh air."
Scorpius didn’t look convinced.
Before Harry could say anything more, the terrace door opened again.
Draco stepped inside, his cheeks pink from the cold, his eyes red-rimmed.
But his voice was steady.
"Hey, sweetheart."
Scorpius blinked. "Are you-"
"Would you rather stay home today?" Draco interrupted softly, already crouching down in front of him. "We could have a film day. Something silly."
Scorpius looked surprised. "But it’s Tuesday."
Draco smiled faintly. "Sometimes Tuesdays are movie days."
Before Scorpius could answer, Draco pulled him into a tight hug.
His arms wrapped around the boy’s thin shoulders, one hand cupping the back of his head like he was still five. Scorpius hugged him back with that gangly awkwardness of a child caught between sizes, but he didn’t let go. And neither did Draco.

Harry heard the soft sound of the television as he kicked off his shoes and padded into the living room in his socks.
Draco had his arm around Scorpius, who was half-lying on his chest. On the screen, two women in medieval clothing were arguing in black and white.
“See, Papa? I told you that wouldn’t work out,” Scorpius said, lifting his head to look at Harry, who was now standing halfway beside the sofa.
“Harry, Mrs. Greenwood betrayed Amber. Can you believe that?”
Harry looked at the screen, then back at Scorpius, and shook his head in mock shock.
“Unbelievable,” he said, and Scorpius nodded firmly before letting his head fall back onto Draco’s chest.
Harry walked a few steps around the sofa and gently ran his fingers through Draco’s hair. „Did you have a nice walk?“, Draco asked quietly and Harry nodded.
“I was thinking of heading over to Hermione and Ron’s- so you two could have some time together,” he said quietly.
Draco licked his lips. “Hm.”
Harry noticed the way Draco’s shoulders tensed. He pulled his hand away, but Draco caught it and looked up at him.
“Stay,” he mouthed, and Harry blinked a few times before Draco slowly sat up and gave him an almost pleading look.
“Sure,” Harry said softly. “I just thought-”
Draco rubbed his eyes.
“Scorpius. Sweetheart,” he said then, and Harry could hear the tremor in his voice. His heart started pounding in his chest.
Scorpius turned his head, those wide grey eyes immediately locking onto Draco with childlike curiosity- until a small crease formed between his brows, so much like Draco’s own.
“Are you okay, Papa?” he asked, straightening up.
Draco’s eyes flicked quickly over Scorpius’ face, his skin even paler than usual. He sat up as well, reached for the remote, and paused the film, then hesitated. His lips parted, but no words came out.
Scorpius’ gaze was unwavering, but there was something almost nervous in it too, like he knew something important was coming, but didn’t yet know if he wanted to hear it.
“You look tired,” he said eventually, his voice soft. “Did you not sleep?”
Draco gave a breathy laugh. “Not much,” he admitted, and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Is it because of the owl?”
Harry and Draco exchanged a glance. Then Draco nodded. “Yes. A bit.”
There was a long pause.
“I wanted to...” He cast a helpless glance at Harry, who quickly circled around the sofa and sat down on the carpet in front of them, reaching for Draco’s long, slender fingers.
He tried to give him an encouraging look, even though his stomach was churning with nausea.
“It’s... almost Christmas and I didn’t really want to...” Draco exhaled shakily.
“I haven’t even talked to Harry about the timing and-”
“Draco, it’s alright,” Harry said, squeezing his fingers.
Scorpius looked very concerned now, his small face suddenly older, and Draco tried a smile.
“I want to talk to you about something,” he said gently. “Something important. Before you go to Hogwarts.
It’s... hard for me, but I-” Draco hesitated again.
“It’s hard to talk about. I’ve thought about this conversation for so long, but now that it’s here, I… I don’t know where to begin.”
Scorpius reached out and took one of Draco’s hands, small fingers curling tightly around it.
Draco’s eyes were shining faintly as he ran his fingers through Scorpius’ fine hair.
“Do you remember when I told you I made a lot of mistakes when I was younger?”
Scorpius nodded and pushed his bottom lip out slightly.
“Do you remember what I said?” Draco asked then, brushing from Scorpius’ hair down across his forehead and to the tip of his nose.
“You said that during the war you were still really young and on the wrong side, and that’s why people were angry with us. And you said you weren’t very nice at school and that you believed in a lot of wrong things,” Scorpius recited, almost like something he had memorized- words that still didn’t quite make sense to him.
Draco nodded and smiled again. “Exactly. And that I was punished, right?”
“Mhm. You said you were in front of a court and then you got a punishment, and then you didn’t have your wand anymore.”
“Yes, that’s right. I was in front of a court, and then I had to go to prison for a year.”
Draco leaned forward a little and placed his fingers against Scorpius’ cheek.
“You’ve asked a lot of questions about your other father,” he said gently, and Scorpius blinked in confusion, pulling his head back slightly. He searched Draco’s face, opened his mouth, then closed it again- like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.
“And you know I don’t really like talking about him. It’s…” Draco swallowed hard. “When I was in prison, something bad happened to me. Someone hurt me,” he said softly, and Harry felt his own eyes sting as he watched Draco’s tear-filled gaze from the side. Draco’s hand was cold and damp in his, trembling almost imperceptibly.
Scorpius looked at Harry in confusion, then back at his father.
“I didn’t want to tell you about it,” Draco continued, “because I didn’t want you to know that something bad happened to me. But I know you’ve had a lot of questions, and I know it’s been on your mind. And when you go to Hogwarts, it’s possible that... that people might find out.”
Scorpius slowly shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he said, and Draco stroked his hair again.
“Your other... father. He hurt me very badly, you know?”
“Why?” Scorpius interrupted, and Draco gave him a sad smile.
“He was angry that our family switched sides at the end of the war, you know? And in prison… there were a lot of people there who still supported Voldemort. Who wanted to punish those who had turned against him.”
“And that’s why he hurt you?”
“Exactly.”
“But... didn’t anyone protect you?” Scorpius asked, wrinkling his nose slightly.
Draco smiled again, faintly. “No, sweetheart. Not back then. Prison was a difficult place, my little dandelion. And your... other father, he wasn’t a good man. But he gave me you. Even though he meant to hurt me, you’re the greatest gift he could have ever given me.” Scorpius was quiet for a long time. His eyes were wide, but his mouth had gone small, his lips pressed into each other like he was trying to hold something in.
He looked at Harry, then quickly back at Draco.
“But... if something bad happened...” he began, eyes drifting thoughtfully down to his fingers. “And then I came... and if my father isn’t a good person...”
Draco squeezed his shoulder.
“You don’t even need to finish that thought. Scorpius, you are everything good in this world. You’re mine. And I love you. So, so, so much.”
Draco’s voice cracked a little as he leaned forward.
“I’ve been afraid for a long time, I was scared so often… and I want to be brave now. I want to be there for you. I want to answer your questions.”
“But you are there for me,” Scorpius said, confused, pressing his hand to Draco’s cheek.
His brows drew together, and he looked down at his lap, his fingers picking at a loose thread on his pyjama shirt.
“I thought about him,” he mumbled after a moment. “Sometimes. Like… what he might be like. If he liked books. If he had freckles. If he ever wanted to meet me.”
He glanced up, his voice quieter. “But now I don’t know why I ever did.”
A single tear rolled down Draco’s face, and he slipped his hand out of Harry’s grasp, placing both hands gently on either side of Scorpius’ head.
“I want you to be able to talk to me,” he whispered. “About everything. About this, too. If you ever have questions, or want to know something- anything.”
Scorpius shook his head firmly.
“If he hurt you, then I don’t want to know anything about him,” he said defiantly, pushing his bottom lip out before throwing himself into Draco’s arms, wrapping his arms around his father.
“You’re my papa,” he said then, his voice muffled.
Draco’s eyes flicked to Harry, his cheeks now wet with tears, and he reached out a hand to pull him closer.
Harry shifted onto his knees and wrapped an arm around Draco’s back, resting his hand over Scorpius’ small fingers, still tightly folded together there.

"He fell asleep," Scorpius whispered, gently pulling away from his father.
The next part of the film flickered quietly across the screen. Draco’s head had slumped against Harry’s shoulder, and Scorpius watched him for a moment before reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from his forehead. Draco murmured something in his sleep, and Scorpius quickly pulled his hand back, turning to look at Harry instead.
Harry shifted, carefully, so as not to wake Draco, and pulled the blanket up around him.
"Good," he whispered, adjusting Draco’s head so it rested against the armrest of the sofa. Even in sleep, Draco looked tense – but his breathing was steady, slow.
"Are you alright, Scorpius?" Harry asked softly.
Scorpius shrugged, eyes still fixed on Draco’s face. He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he blinked at Harry, leaned in a little, and lowered his voice even more.
"Can you help me with something?"
"Of course – what do you need?" Harry asked, surprised.
Scorpius stood, careful not to make a sound. "Come on."
He led Harry upstairs, the quiet flicker of the television following them faintly into the hallway. Once they reached Scorpius’ room, he closed the door behind them.
The desk was covered in schoolbooks and pens. Scorpius swept the notebooks aside, sending one of them sliding onto the floor with a thud.
"Oops," he muttered. Then, raising a finger to his lips: "Shhh."
He paused, listening - but there was no sound from downstairs.
"Maybe you should tidy this desk one day," Harry said, amused.
Scorpius scrunched up his nose. "It is tidy."
"Ah."
Harry folded his arms as Scorpius pulled out a small wooden box and placed it carefully on the desk. He glanced at Harry seriously.
"Do you have your wand?" he asked, in a conspiratorial whisper.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "What are we doing?"
Scorpius shook his head. "You’re not allowed to ask. I just need one tiny spell that Aunt Pansy forgot to do. Okay?"
He opened the box and pulled out a few small jars of shimmery paint.
"Look - here." He handed Harry one of the jars, filled with luminous yellow pigment. "Aunt Pansy already prepared them so they won’t peel, but it says right here that you have to cast a preservation charm right before you open them. And you said I can’t use my wand before school, and I need it tonight, and Pansy said -"
"Okay, okay," Harry interrupted, holding up a hand to slow the flood of words. "What are you painting, anyway?"
Scorpius narrowed his eyes. "Nope. You’re not allowed to ask. It’s a surprise."
"Right. Sounds serious," Harry said, studying the label on the jar. "Where did you get these?"
Scorpius shifted on his feet. "I saw them in Diagon Alley, and Aunt Pansy bought them for me."
"Real little artist," Harry murmured with a grin.
Scorpius shrugged again. "So... can you help? These three still need it."
He handed Harry the rest of the jars. Harry read the spell instructions on the back, nodded, and gently set the box down on a cleared corner of the desk.
He drew his wand from its holster and waved it over the paints, murmuring the charm.
"How do we know it worked?" Scorpius asked, peering at the jars.
Harry lifted one and tilted it toward the light. "Here. See this? The shimmer changes slightly – that means it’s stabilized."
He held it up in front of Scorpius, who squinted at it with a frown.
"So I can use it now?"
"You can."
Scorpius nodded. "Thanks, Harry. Just... don’t tell Papa, alright?"
Harry smiled. "I know nothing."
For a moment, Harry watched as Scorpius carefully took the paints out of the box, one by one. Then the boy turned around and gave him a small, tired smile.
“Scorpius…” Harry said softly, “I just... How are you feeling? You were really brave earlier. But if you want to talk, you know you can come to me, right?”
Scorpius looked down at his feet.
“If you have questions... if you feel confused or sad...” Harry continued gently.
Scorpius looked up and wiped his nose with a quick, rough gesture.
“Is it okay if I just... don’t want to talk about it right now?” he asked, biting his lip.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Harry said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “That’s okay too.”
Scorpius nodded and leaned slightly into Harry’s touch.
“I had a lot of questions. About my other father, you know?”
“I know. That’s perfectly normal.”
“I probably still have questions. Even if I can’t think of them right now. But... I used to think he was a kind person. That he just had a fight with Papa. I thought maybe he was somewhere, waiting, or wanting to meet me or-”
He broke off, pressing his lips together, then shook his head.
“Or that he used to love Papa. But...”
He shrugged again and looked up at Harry.
“But you love Papa. And sometimes, when I think about my other father... I think about you instead. Even though I’m not really your son and-”
“Oh, Scorpius.”
Harry leaned in a little and shook his head gently.
“You are my son. Not in the same way you’re your Papa’s. Not in blood. But yes - you are my son.”
Scorpius blinked at him. “Really?”
“Of course. And I love you very much. I love your Papa very much. Both of you. We’re a family.”
Scorpius furrowed his brow for a second, then nodded quickly - and wrapped his arms tightly around Harry. “Papa loves you a lot too. And so do I.”
Harry held Scorpius a little longer, then kissed the top of his head and pulled back, just enough to look at him.
“How about we go see the rabbits?” he asked softly.
Scorpius blinked. “Now?”
“Mhm.” Harry smiled. “So your Papa can rest a bit longer.”
Scorpius glanced toward the door, as if picturing Draco still asleep on the couch, curled beneath the blanket.
“Okay,” he whispered.

They sat on the floor of the shed, knees tucked in, coats pulled over their pyjamas. Nibbles and Gerald hopped around them, noses twitching, investigating the pile of herbs on the old cushion between them.
Scorpius handed Gerald a bit of parsley and scratched behind his floppy ear.
Then he asked casually: “Why don’t you get married?”
Harry blinked. “Me?”
“You and Papa.”
Harry shifted slightly. “Oh. I don’t know. I guess…”
He reached for some kale and gave it to Nibbles, watching the way the rabbit nibbled on it like it was the best thing in the world. “It’s never come up at the right time.”
Scorpius raised an eyebrow. “It’s so obvious that you both want to.”
Harry looked over at him. “Oh yeah?”
Scorpius gave him the kind of unimpressed look only eleven-year-olds can manage. “Duh.”
Harry laughed, covering his mouth with his hand to keep from being too loud.
“Okay,” he said, nudging Scorpius with his elbow. “I’ll tell you a secret, then.”
Scorpius straightened slightly.
“I’ve thought about it,” Harry said. “Asking him. I really have. I even… well. I imagined it a few times. But I don’t know if right now is the right moment. Things have been heavy lately.”
Scorpius frowned. “When would be the right time, then?”
Harry didn’t answer at first. He scratched gently at Nibbles’ back, eyes distant.
“I guess… I just want to wait until things feel a little calmer,” he said eventually.
“There’s been a lot going on.”
“Hm,” Scorpius said, stretching a little. “But if things are hard… isn’t it even more important that something is nice?”
He shrugged, and Harry looked at him for a moment before letting out another quiet laugh.
“That’s very wise.”
Scorpius nodded seriously. “Aunt Pansy told me the other day I should stop sharing life advice with her. But I only said she might not complain so much if she just lay down and took a nap more often.”
Harry gave him a look. “I’m sure she absolutely loved that.”
Scorpius made an innocent gesture. “What? It’s true! Papa gets all grumpy when he hasn’t slept.
And Aunt Pansy spent ten whole minutes ranting about one broken egg in the carton.”
“I remember how grumpy you were on the first day after the holidays when you had to get up early,” Harry said teasingly.
Scorpius nodded again. “That’s exactly why I know how hard it is! I’ve learned from experience.”
Harry snorted in amusement. “It was definitely a memorable morning - two grumpy Malfoys.”
Scorpius looked at him with something close to pity before bursting into laughter.
“And when you burned the waffles, Papa’s eye did that… thing again.”
“The twitch?”
“Yes! The twitch!” Scorpius exaggeratedly twitched his right eye.
“Just like that time I accidentally spilled the Potions kit on the carpet.”
“That time?” Harry asked. “That was two weeks ago.”
“No, I mean the time before that!” Scorpius clarified, offering Nibbles another leaf.
Nibbles devoured it with great enthusiasm.
“Papa says Nibbles is fat.”
“He’s been saying that for years. I think Nibbles has a perfect roundness,” Harry replied, giving the bunny a gentle poke.
Nibbles gave him a brief look of judgment before continuing to munch the leaf.
Meanwhile, Gerald had climbed onto the old cushion and was helping himself to the herbs.
"Do you think Papa's still asleep?"
"Probably. Otherwise, he would’ve come looking for us by now."
Scorpius glanced out the small fogged-up window.
"Then let’s stay a little longer."

 

Harry startled awake as a sudden weight landed on his chest. He blinked up, straight into Scorpius’s excited face. Draco groaned beside them.
“Good morning!” Scorpius said far too loudly, still wearing pillow marks on his cheek, and flopped onto Draco with great enthusiasm.
“Ah- what’s happening?” Draco lifted his head in confusion, then let it fall back with a sigh.
Scorpius perched happily on his stomach, beaming.
“Do you know what day it is today?” he asked in a sing-song voice, while Harry reached for his glasses and leaned back against the headboard.
Draco had his eyes squeezed shut, clearly trying to ignore the morning entirely. But Scorpius wobbled on his stomach, undeterred.
“The Day of Presents!” Scorpius declared proudly.
Draco opened his eyes in defeat and gave him a pained smile.
“Right. The Day of Presents; not the Crack-of-Dawn Attack of Presents.”
Harry chuckled. “As if you didn’t use to wake up at seven sharp to unwrap your new broomstick made of solid gold.”
Draco shot him a long, unimpressed look.
Harry just grinned. “He’s your son.”
Draco sighed. “Unfortunately, the resemblance is becoming harder to deny.”
Scorpius was still beaming as he pressed a loud, wet kiss to Draco’s cheek.
“And do you know what else happens every year on this very day?” he asked with wide, sparkling eyes. Harry kept grinning, watching Draco’s pained expression with clear amusement.
“Wish. Muffin.” Scorpius declared, bouncing a little on Draco’s stomach for emphasis.
“Ow- Scorpius!”
But Draco was smiling now too, hands coming up to cup Scorpius’ cheek. “May I go to the bathroom before I’m forced into the kitchen? Or is that forbidden under today’s royal decree?”
Scorpius looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment, then gave a solemn nod. “You may.”
“How generous,” Draco muttered. “Considering you are currently sitting directly on my bladder, child.”

Scorpius was watching Draco’s hands intently as he stirred the batter.
“Scorpius…” Draco said, shooting him a look.
“What? Why are you allowed to look and I’m not?” Scorpius asked, indignant.
Harry snorted from the background. The kitchen smelled like cardamom and apples, and his stomach gave a hopeful grumble.
“Because I’m the one making the muffins, Scorp. Don’t worry-I’ll shuffle them afterwards, like always, so no one can cheat.”
Scorpius still looked suspicious.
“But what if one of them looks different and you notice, and then you pick it right away?”
“If that were true, I’d win every year, wouldn’t I? And when’s the last time that happened?”
“Three years ago,” Scorpius muttered.
Still unconvinced, he backed off and sat down next to Harry at the counter, though he kept craning his neck to see.
“Are you putting the nut in now?” he asked eagerly.
Draco stepped between him and the muffin tray. “Stop peeking.”
Scorpius groaned and turned to Harry with exaggerated exasperation.
“He’s cheating. I know he is.”
Harry just laughed and tapped him on the nose. “You’re too impatient.”
“I’m not impatient!” Scorpius huffed. “I’m protecting fairness!”
Draco slid the tray into the oven and closed the door. “Ten minutes. And then they need to cool.”
Scorpius peered into the oven’s warm glow.
“Can I open presents while we wait?”
“No, you know we’re doing that this afternoon when your grandmother arrives.”
Scorpius dropped his head dramatically onto the counter. Harry patted him on the back.
“You could go get dressed. That’ll give you something to do.”
Scorpius threw one last longing glance at the muffins before trudging toward the door.
“Okay. But no cheating!”

Once his footsteps had disappeared upstairs, Draco tilted his head.
“You’d think he’d be tired of this by now.”
Harry grunted. “Please. He gets to pick the Christmas movie. There’s no way he’d skip a chance to torture us with Scrooge again.”
“That is a good film!” Draco said defensively.
Harry shrugged. “Sure. Once. Also, whoever finds the nut gets to pick dessert too. You think he’d pass up the chance to make us eat Marmite toast?”
Draco made a face. “That would be worse than the year we got nothing but gummy bears for dessert.”
“I liked the gummy bears,” Harry replied, and Draco just stared at him.
“Of course you did.”
Harry stood and slipped his arms around Draco’s waist. Draco, wrapped in that dark red, velvety dressing gown Harry had once dared to make fun of, met his eyes with that quiet kind of depth that always stopped Harry’s thoughts for a second. Then Draco reached up and rested his hands against the back of Harry’s neck.
“Is he alright?” he asked softly.
Harry nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to Draco’s cheek.
“He’s alright. We’re alright.”
Tiny lines formed at the corners of Draco’s eyes as he smiled.
“I’d be a bit more alright if I didn’t have to bake muffins at seven in the morning.”
Harry laughed and pulled him closer. He smelled like toothpaste, cardamom, and something that was just Draco - and Harry kissed his temple.
“You love the wish muffin just as much as Scorpius. Admit it. You’d secretly love it if I had to watch White Christmas with you tonight.”
Draco grinned, brushing his fingers through the fine hairs at the nape of Harry’s neck.
“The musical version is a dream.”
“Yes - a nightmare.”
“Please. I hope you don’t win. I can’t watch Home Alone again.”
“That film is a masterpiece, Draco.”
Draco rolled his eyes and touched his nose to Harry’s.
“I just hope Scorpius doesn’t end up in a complete sugar rush and goes to bed early,” he murmured against Harry’s lips.
Harry felt the hair on his arms rise. “Oh yeah?”
“Mhm.” Draco pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Then we could have a bit of time to... celebrate Christmas on our own.”
He moved his lips over the stubble on Harry’s jaw, and Harry shivered – could feel Draco’s smirk against his skin, his breath hot.
“You need to stop,” he whispered.
Draco leaned back slightly, eyes glinting. “Oh?”
“Yes. I’m only wearing pyjama bottoms,” Harry said, glancing down.
Draco followed his gaze with a wicked grin and kissed him again.
“Mhm. Then the rest will have to wait until tonight.”
He stepped away, and Harry immediately missed his warmth, his scent.
Then Draco placed a hand against Harry’s cheek and smiled that rare, soft smile he wore only when they were alone.
“I’m sorry the past weeks… months… years…” He pulled a face. “Well. I’m sorry,” he said finally.
Harry furrowed his brow, but Draco continued.
“I know I’m not easy. I know it’s a lot.”
His finger traced along Harry’s cheekbone, and Harry leaned into the touch.
“You don’t have to apologise for being human with me,” Harry said softly.
“That’s what I fell in love with.”
Draco blinked a few times, then leaned in and kissed him again - this time, slowly and deeply, like he had all the time in the world. Harry melted into it with a sigh, one hand sliding into Draco’s hair, the other pressed between them, resting over Draco’s chest.
There was something steady in the way their mouths met, something old and certain. And yet Harry still felt the quiet awe of it, still felt his heart stutter every time Draco kissed him like this, like he meant it. When he finally pulled back, just slightly, Draco was looking at him, really looking at him, like he hadn’t in days.
Harry exhaled, stunned by how much he felt.
“You’re mesmerizing,” he said, before he could stop himself.
Draco huffed a quiet breath, amused and red in the cheeks. “Oh, shut up,” he murmured, but didn’t look away.
The loud ring of the kitchen timer made them both flinch.
Draco laughed, resting his forehead against Harry’s once more.
“Muffins,” he said, pulling back slightly.
Harry pouted a little, lips still tingling.
Draco grinned. “Imagine he comes downstairs and they’re burnt. It’d be a Christmas scandal.”
Harry reluctantly let his hand drop and leaned back against the counter.
“You’re right. We wouldn’t get a moment of peace. He’d accuse us of tampering with the wish muffin on purpose.”
“He’s going to accuse us of that anyway if he doesn’t win.”

Scorpius watched Harry like a hawk as he reached for another muffin.
“Wait,” Scorpius said, holding up a hand. “That one looks suspicious.”
Harry blinked. “Suspicious?”
“Yes. It’s got that… look.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “It looks like a muffin.”
Scorpius leaned across the table, inspecting it as if it might contain an explosive. “It looks too muffin.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Harry said cheerfully- and took a massive bite.
CRACK.
Scorpius froze. His soul visibly left his body.
Draco didn’t even look up from his tea. “Well.”
Harry blinked, chewing carefully, then pulled the tiny nut from between his teeth. “Oh.“
Scorpius sank into his chair like he’d just been personally betrayed by the universe.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he whispered. “Again?”
Harry examined the nut with exaggerated slowness. “Well, would you look at that. Guess I’m picking the Christmas film and dessert.”
Scorpius pointed an accusing finger. “There’s no way! You were watching him the whole time, right?” he demanded, looking to Draco.
“I was,” Draco said blandly. “But I wasn’t paying attention.”
Scorpius groaned and dropped his forehead to the table. “This is rigged. Rigged!”
Draco sipped his tea with a sigh. “Please tell me you’re not picking Home Alone again.”
“I absolutely am.”
Scorpius let out the most theatrical noise of suffering known to wizardkind.
Harry gasped. “You’re a child! How do you not love this movie?”
Draco raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Scorpius mirrored the look exactly.
Harry looked between them. “…Okay, wow. You really are related.” Scorpius sat up again and threw his arms out dramatically. “Can’t we just watch something good? Something normal?”
Harry looked personally offended. “Home Alone is good! It’s a classic!”
“So is the Black Plague,” Draco offered dryly. “Doesn’t mean I want to relive it every year.”
Harry choose to ignore them and just grinned, holding the nut aloft like a trophy. “You’re both wrong and clearly have no joy in your hearts.”

Chapter 5: Weight

Weight - the heaviness you carry, even when you pretend it isn’t there

 

Narcissa sat on the couch more relaxed than Harry had seen her in a long time, mostly only at Christmas. Her legs were elegantly crossed, and she was watching Scorpius with a soft smile as he showed her the new decorations on the tree, steam curling from the teacup in her hand.
“That one’s got a snowman on it,” Scorpius explained proudly, pointing at a small ornament he had painted himself. “Even though I haven’t built one this year yet.”
He looked thoughtful.
“Harry, will you build a snowman with me?”
Harry grinned. “We can do that tomorrow, before we go to Andromeda’s, yeah? I think your father might have a heart attack if we tramped through the garden right now and came back in covered in snow.”
Right on cue, Draco appeared in the doorway and nodded.
“Exactly. Besides... I thought the gift exchange was about to start?”
Scorpius’s eyes went wide, and he quickly plopped down next to his grandmother on the couch. He eyed the presents under the tree - wrapped in every colour imaginable - and tapped his fingers on his knee.
Draco sat down on the other side of Narcissa, who instinctively smoothed a stray strand of hair behind his ear.
“All right, the youngest starts, right?”
No sooner had Draco said the words than Scorpius jumped up, scanning the pile eagerly.
He grabbed a small, awkwardly wrapped package with far too much tape and handed it to Narcissa with a grin.
“For you, Grandma!”
Narcissa raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh? I get to go first?”
“Mhm! It’s from me, you know,” Scorpius said proudly and scooted so close to her that she had to lean slightly to the side to unwrap it. She carefully peeled off the tape, eyeing the wrapping paper decorated with little gingerbread men.
“Very nice paper,” she praised.
Scorpius nodded. “Right? I picked it out with Harry!” He beamed over at Harry. “But I wrapped it all by myself!”
Narcissa unfolded the first layer carefully, only to find another layer underneath. Her mouth twitched.
“Very thoroughly wrapped,” she said, and finally pulled out a small box. She opened it carefully.
“Oh!”
She lifted out a delicate silver necklace.
“It’s beautiful, Scorpius.”
“You have to look inside!” Scorpius said eagerly, pointing at the pendant.
Narcissa unclasped the tiny locket with elegant fingers – and a small photo of Scorpius smiled up at her.
“Look!” Scorpius said proudly, mimicking the grin from the picture.
Narcissa blinked a few times and pressed the necklace gently to her chest.
“That is a wonderful gift,” she said and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
“Thank you.”
Scorpius nodded and gestured to the remaining presents.
“Now you have to pick one! But not for me, because I just got to pick.”
Narcissa tilted her head with an amused smile.
“Fair enough.”

She stood, setting her teacup down with a soft clink, and eyed the presents thoughtfully before selecting an elegant, flat box.
“This one’s for both of you,” she said, handing it to Draco and Harry.
It was wrapped in cream-coloured paper and tied with a thick ribbon. Draco gave Harry a sideways glance, and Harry grinned, shifting closer.
“I know how much you love unwrapping things. Go on, you do it.”
Draco wrinkled his nose slightly but reached for the package.
“If you insist,” he said, and Harry rolled his eyes affectionately.
Inside the small box was a thick piece of folded paper. Draco opened it.
“Oh. Mother,” he said softly, and Harry leaned in to read.
“What is it?” Scorpius asked excitedly, craning his neck.
“I’ll be staying here with you for a few days soon, so Harry and Draco can go on a little trip,” Narcissa explained, smoothing a hand over Scorpius’s hair.
“Oh! A trip, where to?”
“Paris,” Draco said weakly, then looked at his mother with quiet gratitude.
“Thank you.”
“The hotel is lovely. You’ll enjoy it. You deserve a bit of time for yourselves.”
“Well, once Scorpius is at Hogwarts, we’ll have more- ” Draco began, but Narcissa cut him off.
“Draco. A few days in Paris will do you good.”
Draco looked down at the paper again, then nodded.
“Thank you, Mother.”
“Thank you, Narcissa.”
“Now you have to pick something!” Scorpius said, then tilted his head.
“But now it’s both your turns at the same time.”
“No problem. We’ve got a gift for you that’s from both of us anyway,” Draco said, nodding toward the largest box.
“You’d better open that one over there.”
Scorpius’s eyes grew huge.
“That’s for me?!”
He stood next to the box - which reached past his waist - and immediately began tearing the dark green paper away with zero finesse.
Beneath the last layer of wrapping paper was a large box made of polished wood, with ornate carvings on the sides and delicate golden hinges. Scorpius stared at it, wide-eyed, as if it might contain a treasure chest.
Draco knelt beside him and unlatched the clasp. With a quiet creak, the lid opened, revealing a beautiful owl cage inside. It was silver, with fine detailing along the top and bottom bars, and a soft straw nest already placed inside.
Scorpius gasped. “A cage? For-?”
He trailed off, already spotting the small piece of parchment tied with a red ribbon that was sitting in the middle of the straw.
He reached in carefully and untied it, then opened the folded note. His eyes scanned the words and then lit up like fairy lights.
“‘We’ll pick your owl together - just the three of us.’”
His voice cracked with excitement.
“Really?! I can get my own owl? A real owl?”
Harry smiled. “Well, I think it’s about time, don’t you?”
Draco brushed a hand down Scorpius’ back.
“We’ll go next week. We’ll find the perfect one.”
Scorpius threw his arms around both of them at once.
“This is the best Christmas ever!”
He was practically vibrating with energy as he scrambled back to the tree.
“Okay okay okay - can we just open everything now? Please? I can’t wait anymore!”
Draco arched a brow. “We were going in turns, remember?”
“I know, but it’s too exciting! Look how many there are! I want to see everything you get too!”
He bounced in place like an over-caffeinated Puffskein.
Harry laughed and looked at Narcissa, who gave a regal nod of approval.
“I suppose we can break tradition just this once,” she said, lips twitching.

 

Scorpius was sitting cross-legged on the floor now, completely surrounded by shredded wrapping paper, ribbons, and half-open boxes. His face was flushed with excitement as he inspected a new set of enchanted sketching quills, a woolly green-and-silver scarf (from Draco – purely for inspiration, of course), and a box of Chocolate Frogs almost as big as his head.
The adults, meanwhile, remained on the sofas with warm mugs of tea in hand. Narcissa sat poised as ever, a faint smile on her lips as she watched her grandson with quiet affection. Draco leaned back against the armrest, one leg tucked beneath him, and Harry sat beside him with his hand wrapped loosely around a cup, shoulder pressed comfortably to Draco’s.
Ever so often, Scorpius would hold something up with a gasp, and they’d murmur praise and encouragement, but mostly, they just watched him, quietly happy.
Until, quite suddenly, Scorpius froze mid-unwrapping and looked up at them with wide eyes.
“Wait a second,” he said, as if realizing a great injustice.
“You haven’t opened anything!”
Draco sipped his tea. “We were letting you have your moment.”
“But it’s Christmas!” Scorpius said, scandalized. “You have to open stuff too!”
Narcissa chuckled softly and gestured toward the pile of remaining gifts.
“Well then. I suppose we should obey the Christmas tyrant.”
Scorpius beamed and pointed at Harry and Draco. “You two first. Come on! You have presents!”
Harry placed his mug on the table and got to his feet, brushing his hand over Draco’s shoulder as he passed behind him.
“I suppose we do,” he said, and reached under the tree. He pulled out a flat, carefully wrapped box in deep emerald paper and walked back toward Draco with a soft smile.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, offering it with both hands.
Draco looked up, a flicker of something warm and wary in his expression, then took the box and set it in his lap. His fingers traced the fold of the wrapping paper – slow, precise.
“You didn't wrap this yourself, did you?”
Harry grinned. “What gave it away?”
“It’s too neat.”
Draco peeled back the tape and opened the lid to reveal a carved black box. Inside sat a sculpted candleholder in the shape of a curled dragon – elegant and winding, its wings forming a cradle for a tea light. Along the base, in delicate script, were the words:

Ton nom est ma lumière.*

Draco inhaled quietly. His thumb brushed along the lettering.
Harry shifted beside him, suddenly a little shy.
“You said the light was too harsh in the bedroom,” he mumbled. “So I thought… this might work better for the nightstand.”
Draco didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at the gift, and then at Harry, and something in his expression softened until he looked like he might crack.
Then, carefully, he leaned over and kissed Harry on the cheek.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, voice low. “Thank you.”
„Your turn!” Scorpius called from the floor. “Papa, give him yours!”
Draco stood, returned to the tree, and pulled out a perfectly wrapped gift, sharp corners, satin ribbon, the kind of elegance that looked like a magazine ad.
Harry took one look and said, “Show-off.” Draco just grinned, as Harry started unwrapping.
Inside was a sleek, beautiful wristwatch - modern, understated, with just a touch of silver at the edges. He turned it over and saw the engraving:

For all eternity.

Harry blinked. His fingers closed around the watch, and for a moment he didn’t say anything.
“So,” Draco said with a smirk, “you’re late to everything. Now you have no excuse.”
Harry burst out laughing. “Romantic and passive aggressive. I should’ve known.”
Draco lifted one brow. “Is it really a Malfoy gift if it doesn’t come with just a hint of judgment?”
Harry leaned in and kissed him deeply, until Draco pulled back.
“Shall I put it on for you?” Draco asked, and Harry nodded silently as Draco’s elegant fingers fastened the watch around his wrist.
Harry watched Draco’s face, so close to his own, the freckles on his nose almost invisible in winter, his eyes soft with tiny creases at the corners, the little line between his brows, and Harry leaned in and kissed his cheek, his nose, his forehead.
Draco huffed. “Potter, I’m trying to put this watch on you!” he complained, but Harry only grinned and kissed the corner of his mouth.
Draco turned his head just enough until the clasp clicked shut.
“There,” he said proudly, lifting Harry’s wrist slightly. Narcissa nodded approvingly.
“It suits you,” Draco added, but Harry didn’t take his eyes off his face.
Draco frowned slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that? It’s just a watch, Potter.”
Harry opened his mouth, closed it again, licked his lips.
“Marry me.”
For a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Even the crinkling of wrapping paper from Scorpius fell silent.
Harry held Draco’s gaze, whose eyes flicked between his as if searching for certainty.
“I mean- I don’t have a ring right now, and it’s the middle of the gift exchange, and it’s not elegant or hidden in a pastry or anything…” Harry stopped himself and brushed his thumb across Draco’s cheekbone.
“But I want this. Merlin, I want this. I want to be with you forever. With both of you. I…”
Draco parted his lips slightly, and Harry could feel his heart pounding in his chest, hear the rush of blood in his ears.
Then Draco leaned in, still silent, and pressed his lips to Harry’s.
“Is that a yes?” Harry whispered against Draco’s warm skin, and Draco’s mouth curled into a small smile as he kissed him again.
“Yes, you idiot.”
Harry let out a choked laugh and threw his arms around him, pulling him close, kissing his temple and his hair.
“God, I’m going to buy you the most beautiful ring, I-”
He broke off as he felt Draco laughing against his neck.
“Ahh!” Scorpius exclaimed, standing up and half-throwing himself onto both of them, arms flung wide, wrapping them in a squishy, joyful hug.
Behind them, Narcissa smiled.
Scorpius squished himself between them, one arm around each, beaming so hard it looked like his face might split in half.

Then he gasped. “Wait! Waitwaitwait- don’t move!”
He scrambled away, nearly slipping on wrapping paper, and dove behind the tree.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Merlin help us.”
Harry chuckled. “He’s forgotten us already.”
But then Scorpius returned, carrying a large, flat package that had been hidden behind the armchair, wrapped in star-patterned paper and held together with at least five different pieces of tape.
“This one’s for you,” he said, slightly breathless. “Both of you. I made it.”
He looked suddenly bashful, which was rare for him. “I hope it’s good.”
Harry and Draco exchanged a look and sat back as Scorpius carefully handed over the present.
Draco let Harry open this one, and Harry tore the paper gently, revealing a framed painting underneath.
It was them- Harry and Draco, sitting close together on their couch, exactly like now.
Harry’s hand rested on Draco’s knee. Draco’s head leaned slightly against Harry’s. A warm golden glow surrounded them, soft and dreamy, and the room was filled with tiny magical sparkles that shimmered subtly in the paint.
It wasn’t perfect, Scorpius had clearly worked hard on it, but some details were slightly askew: Harry’s glasses were lopsided, and Draco’s nose might’ve been a little too pointy. But it was beautiful.
“You painted this?” Harry asked softly.
Scorpius nodded, chewing his lip. “With the enchanted paints Aunt Pansy bought me. It took me three days.”
He hesitated, then added, “Look, it shimmers!”
Draco blinked several times in rapid succession.
Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly thick.
“Well,” Draco said eventually, clearing his throat. “I suppose we need a very prominent spot to hang this.”
Harry nodded. “Living room wall?”
Draco shook his head, voice soft. “Bedroom.”
Scorpius practically glowed. “You really like it?”
Harry reached out and tugged him into his lap. “We love it.”
Scorpius hugged them both again, wrapping around them like he never wanted to let go.

The days between Christmas and New Year’s felt like a film Harry wanted to watch over and over again.
Draco seemed happy, almost at ease, as he baked cookies with Scorpius. The house constantly smelled of spices and sweets, and Draco smiled more than he had in a long time.
Scorpius used the quiet days between the holidays to read books for Hogwarts and tell them all about it, and more than once he tried to convince them to let him try the wand “just for a moment.”
On New Year’s Eve, he lit rockets with Harry, and with a hiss they soared through the black night sky, while Draco leaned against the doorframe, eyes following the bursts of colour.
Harry reached for his hand and pulled him further into the cold night, and when their lips met at midnight, Harry pressed a hand to Draco’s chilled cheek and his heart beat so loudly it nearly drowned out the fireworks Scorpius was setting off.
“Just a few more quiet days,” Draco whispered against his lips, and Harry wrapped an arm around his waist to pull him closer.

The day of the hearing came faster than they would’ve liked.

Draco was bouncing his knee nervously until Harry placed a hand on it.
“Do you think they’ll let you come in with me?” Draco whispered for the third time, eyeing a Ministry employee who walked past without so much as a glance in their direction. His knee started bouncing again.
“We’ll just ask, Draco,” Harry said, also for the third time, and Draco began gnawing at the skin on his lip.
“And after that we’ll go shopping, yeah?” Harry added soothingly, nudging Draco with his shoulder.
Draco shook his head. “I don’t know, Harry.”
He flinched as the office door to their left opened, but the woman who stepped out merely nodded politely and walked away across the dark stone floor.
“Urgh. It’s already three minutes past one,” Draco muttered, exhaling deeply. Then he let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling, until the door opened again.
A vaguely familiar face to Harry stepped out – a Slytherin who had been a few years above them at Hogwarts. He threw Draco a cold glance, and Draco frowned slightly before the man walked past without looking back.
Draco followed him with his eyes. “That was Higgs,” he said, glancing at Harry in confusion. “Why
would they be speaking with Higgs?”
Harry shrugged. “Maybe he gave a statement too?”
Draco wiped his hands over his face.
“Draco Malfoy?”
A young woman poked her head out the door and offered them a polite smile. Draco stood up quickly, adjusting his coat, his face a perfect mask. Harry rose as well.
“Oh! Mr. Potter!” the woman said in surprise, and Harry smiled, doing his best to look relaxed.
“Hello. I was wondering... would it be possible for me to accompany him?”
The woman looked between the two of them, tilting her head slightly. “I’ll need to check with the team lead. One moment, please.”
The door closed again, and Draco began pacing lightly.
“What if they don’t let you?” he hissed.
Harry gripped his wrists. “Then I’ll wait right out here.”
“What am I even supposed to say?”
“Just answer their questions, Draco.”
Draco gave him a doubtful look and turned around just as the door opened again.
“Potter.”
“Oh, Auror Robards. Hello,” Harry said and extended his hand, which his former superior shook firmly.
“Why do you want to accompany the interview?”
“Well, I-” Harry began, but Draco cut in.
“I’d simply prefer it if he were with me.”
Robards studied Draco for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Very well. But you’ll need to sign a confidentiality agreement, Potter.”
“No problem!” Harry said quickly, following Draco into the large meeting room.
Harry recognized a few of the people present – and was surprised when Hermione smiled at him. Draco froze briefly, then composed himself and sat down in the offered chair.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, only the rustling of papers filling the air, and Harry felt uneasy under the many eyes watching them. He could only imagine how Draco must be feeling. Draco rubbed his knuckles and swallowed so audibly that Harry could hear it beside him.
With a sigh, Robards dropped into his chair and opened a thick file.
“Please confirm the following details, Mr. Malfoy. Name: Draco Lucius Malfoy. Born June 5th, 1980, in Wiltshire. Currently residing in Whitstable. Correct?”
Draco nodded, cleared his throat, and then said, “Correct.”
“Very well, Mr. Malfoy. Do you know why you’re here today?”
Draco shifted uneasily in his seat. “To be honest, not really, no. I... don’t really keep up with politics anymore.”
Robards furrowed his brow slightly, then nodded.
“Ms. Granger, perhaps you could explain the purpose of Mr. Malfoy’s presence?”
Hermione gave Draco a kind smile and began, “First of all, Draco, are you okay with me being here for this? I know it can be hard when someone you know personally is present during something like this.”
“Well, he brought Potter,” Robards cut in, and Hermione shot him a mildly annoyed look.
“You know perfectly well that’s not the same, Garwain.”
She turned back to Draco, who shrugged uncertainly.
“I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to talk about.”
Hermione nodded gently. “If you decide you want me to leave, just say so, okay? But either way, everything you say will be treated confidentially. And just so you know – this isn’t a trial. You’re not in trouble. We’re just gathering information about certain Azkaban inmates – their behaviour, their potential for rehabilitation. We’re speaking with a number of people who’ve had contact with them. Also about the conditions in the prison itself.”
Draco grimaced. “I don’t understand why I HAD to appear in person. I have nothing to say.”
“You can refuse to testify – but we’ll need to document that, too.”
Draco seemed to consider this.
“And what are these... rehabilitations?”
“Well, as you know, Azkaban’s conditions have been extremely poor for a long time-”
Draco snorted.
“We’re aiming to give people with shorter sentences or lesser offenses a real chance at reintegration into society. And for those serving life sentences, we want to offer a more humane existence – things like recreation, therapy, job opportunities, and renovated cells,” Hermione explained, then added, “And also more protection.”
Draco’s face paled slightly, though his expression remained blank as he nodded.
Hermione slid a list across the table.
“These are some names. Would you take a look? You can decide yourself whether there’s anyone you’d like to comment on.”
Robards cleared his throat. “Though it is strongly encouraged.”
Hermione looked like she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes.
“You can decide,” she repeated, and Draco looked at her for a long moment before lowering his gaze to scan the list.
Harry watched his face closely and saw his features gradually relax as he exhaled slowly. His shoulders dropped a little.
“I know many of them vaguely,” Draco said eventually. “From before... Azkaban. Friends of my father. Followers of... Voldemort. But unimportant people.”
He looked up. Hermione smiled at him again.
“And in Azkaban? Did you have closer contact with any of them?”
Draco looked down again and swallowed.
“Farley,” he said. “Not close, but we talked a few times.”
“Gemma Farley?” Hermione repeated, and Draco nodded.
“Yes. I knew her from Hogwarts. We might have spoken once or twice when we were allowed in the yard. She... well, she kept to herself.”
“Hmm,” Hermione murmured, jotting something down. “How often were you allowed in the yard?”
Draco started picking at his fingernails. “Don’t remember. Occasionally,” he said vaguely.
“And were you supervised while there?”
Draco picked more vigorously, and Harry suppressed the urge to take his hands.
“Sometimes.”
“Were there any activities in the yard?”
“Activities?” Draco repeated coldly.
Hermione tilted her head. “Could you do any sports? Play chess?”
Draco let out a bitter laugh. “No, Granger. We didn’t play sports. And we definitely didn’t play chess.”
Hermione hesitated, then noted something down.
“And did you eat together or alone?”
Draco glanced at Harry. “I don’t know why I’m being asked this.”
Harry gently placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder, and Draco exhaled.
“We usually had food brought to our cells. Meat rock and rice. If we had to eat together... the Dementors supervised us. Wasn’t exactly a pleasant dining experience.”
“Not the guards?”
Draco didn’t reply. He simply chewed on the inside of his cheek.
Harry and Hermione exchanged a brief look.
“And... what were the cells like?”
Draco stared at the table.
“I would think Ministry employees are capable of visiting Azkaban and forming their own impressions, don’t you?”, he asked, almost mockingly.
Hermione tapped her pen against the table.

“We’d still like to hear the experiences of former inmates,” she said, her voice sounding almost automatic.
Draco closed his eyes for a second, then looked straight at her.
“They were cells. Made of stone. That’s it. What were the cells like? They were cold and damp. Dark. Some people got lucky and had a mattress. Some had straw. We had a bucket. That’s it.”
Harry felt a wave of nausea rise in him. Hermione gave Robards a brief look, and one of the other officials began biting their lip.
"The conditions were extremely harsh," the ministry employee said, also casting a glance toward Robards. "We've also heard multiple reports of physical altercations that were not addressed. Did something like that happen to you as well, Mr. Malfoy?"
She almost sounded concerned, and Harry noticed Hermione's shoulders tense slightly. Her eyes flicked to Draco.
"I have nothing to say about that," Draco said coolly.
"But Mr. Malfoy, the purpose of these interviews is to help us better assess these individuals and-"
"I have nothing to say on the matter. That’s my right, is it not?" he asked, looking at Hermione, who nodded slowly.
"Of course. Yes."
A moment of silence followed. Then, the employee drew a sheet of parchment from the folder.
"Well, perhaps if you take a look at this list, maybe there’s someone in particular-"
Hermione reached across the table and pulled the sheet back.
"If Draco... Mr. Malfoy doesn’t wish to comment, we have to respect that, Agatha," she said sharply.
But Draco was already looking. "What is that?"
Hermione turned the sheet face-down. "It’s a list of inmates serving longer sentences who may be eligible for therapy or recreational programs," she explained.
Draco frowned. "I want to see it."
"Draco, it’s not necessary, you don’t have-"
"I want to see it."
Hermione exchanged a long look with the employee - Agatha - before she slowly turned the list around and carefully slid it across the table toward him.
Draco took a moment to compose himself before looking at the names.
His eyes slowly scanned the page, and Harry exchanged a worried glance with Hermione. The room was so quiet that Harry could hear his own breathing, far too loud. Draco’s brows were slightly furrowed, his teeth digging into his lower lip, and his eyes seemed to keep returning to the same spot on the page.
Harry leaned forward slightly- but Draco flipped the parchment over with a loud rustle.

“This meeting is over,” he said, his voice almost robotic, and stood up so quickly that Harry flinched.
“Mr. Malfoy-” Robards began, but Draco was already pulling on his coat. His skin had taken on a faintly greenish hue, and Harry stood up as well, taking a step toward him.
“Draco- ”
“Don’t touch me,” Draco snapped, his eyes flashing wide with panic for a moment before he shook his head, as if trying to clear it. Then he turned to the others, who looked at him with varying degrees of concern and confusion.
“I’m leaving now,” he said, but his voice had a strange, uncertain edge to it, almost pleading.
Hermione nodded gently. “We can end the meeting,” she said firmly, cutting off Robards with a sharp look when he opened his mouth. She offered Draco a soft smile. “Thank you for coming, Draco.”
She extended a hand toward him, but Draco only looked at it, then at the door.
“I’m leaving,” he repeated, and without another glance, walked past Harry and threw open the door with a loud clack.
Harry hesitated for a second.
He looked at Hermione, whose brow was furrowed deeply now, concern written all over her face. Then his gaze dropped to the paper still lying on the table and he felt something tighten in his chest.
He turned on his heel and rushed after Draco.

The corridor outside was quiet, but Harry could hear the soft ding of the lift echoing down the hallway. He jogged, then broke into a full run, dodging a startled intern and muttering an apology as he skidded around the corner; just in time to see the lift doors slide shut.
Draco stood inside, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes fixed on the floor. He didn’t look up.
“Draco!” Harry shouted, but the doors sealed with a soft click, and the lift began to descend.
“Shit,” Harry breathed, and without thinking, he turned and bolted for the stairs.
Three floors down, he burst into the atrium, scanning the room frantically.
For a moment, he saw nothing.
And then, just for a heartbeat, he caught a glimpse of pale blond hair near the edge of the apparition zone.
“Draco- !”
But it was too late.
With a soft crack, Draco disappeared.
Harry came to a halt, chest heaving, the echo of the sound ringing in his ears.

Harry apparated straight to their front garden, heart still pounding, the cold winter air biting at his skin. He sprinted up the path and flung the door open.
“Draco?” he called, already halfway into the house.
Nothing.
The hallway was quiet. The sitting room was empty. So was the kitchen. He checked the bedroom last, even though he already knew what he wouldn’t find there.
No sign of him.
“Shit,” Harry muttered again, running a hand through his hair. He stared at the bed for a second too long, then turned and apparated again - this time straight to Pansy’s flat.
It was warm inside, filled with the smell of something sugary and burnt.
“Harry?” Pansy appeared in the doorway, a flour-dusted dish towel over one shoulder. “You’re- oh. What’s wrong?”
Harry blinked, forcing his face into something close to neutral. “Is he here?”
She frowned. “Draco? No. He said he was going to pick Scorpius up by dinnertime. Said you wanted to go shopping? Is everything alright?”
Before Harry could answer, Scorpius ran into the room.
“Harry!” he shouted, flinging himself at him. “Look! Aunt Pansy let me use edible glitter and now the biscuits are all shiny!”
Harry caught him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s brilliant, buddy.”
Scorpius held up a star-shaped biscuit, glittering gold. “This one’s for Papa.”
“Yeah?” Harry said softly, brushing Scorpius’s hair back. “He’ll love it.”
Pansy raised an eyebrow, but Harry shook his head just a fraction - not here. Not now.
“Hey,” he said gently, crouching beside Scorpius. “Why don’t you show me the rest? I bet they’re amazing.”
Scorpius nodded enthusiastically and tugged him toward the kitchen, still chattering. But Harry’s eyes found Pansy’s again over his shoulder, and this time, she looked truly worried.
“Where’s Papa?” Scorpius asked, chewing on one of the biscuits.
“Oh, he just had something to take care of,” Harry said gently. “That’s why I came by a bit early.”
“Ah,” Scorpius replied, smearing some icing on his finger. “When Aunt Pansy picked me up from school, George said she looked really cool.”
Pansy smirked a little at that, but her eyes were sharp with worry.
“Scorp,” she said lightly, “do you want to grab your new book and show it to Harry? But wash your hands first, yeah?”
“Ohh. Yes! One second!” Scorpius said, already bolting from the room.
As soon as he disappeared down the hall, Pansy turned sharply to Harry.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice low and urgent. “He just said I should pick up Scorpius because you two had something at the Ministry. Then you were going shopping afterward, what’s going on?”
“I think- ” Harry rubbed his forehead, suddenly exhausted. “I think the name was on the list.”
Pansy frowned. “What name? What list?”
Harry lowered his voice even further. “They had these lists of prisoners who might be eligible for new rehab programs or... therapy options or something. I think, Merlin, I think Scorpius’ father was on it.”
Pansy went still.
“He just - Draco just stood up and left. He apparated right out of the Ministry building. Didn’t say a word.” Harry exhaled shakily. “I thought maybe he’d come here. Or go home. But he’s not anywhere.”
Pansy bit her lower lip and furrowed her brow even deeper. “Did you try sending him a Patronus?” she asked eventually, and Harry tilted his head.
“Good idea, yeah. I mean, it’ll find him, won’t it?” he murmured more to himself, glancing toward the guest room before the silver stag burst from his wand and trotted through the wall.
Harry sank onto the bar stool and raked a hand through his hair.
“And what if he doesn’t reply?” he asked, and Pansy hesitated for a moment before resting a hand on his shoulder.
“He will. Scorpius is here. Draco’s had… phases before, where he needed some time to himself. But he always comes back.”
Harry glanced at the dark grandfather clock just as he heard Scorpius’ footsteps approaching and quickly plastered on a smile.

 

It was nearly seven.
Scorpius was starting to fidget. He'd built a sugar cube dragon, eaten two biscuits, half-decorated a third, and had begun pacing between the kitchen and the sitting room.
“When’s Papa coming?” he asked, for the third time in the last half hour.
Harry exchanged a glance with Pansy. “Soon,” he said gently, “I think he just got caught up somewhere.”
“But he said he'd come before dinner.” Scorpius’s brow furrowed, and he pressed his face to the window, trying to peer down at the street. “Maybe he got lost.”
“He didn’t get lost,” Harry said softly. “He’s probably just taking a bit longer than planned.”
Scorpius turned back around, clearly unconvinced. “I’m gonna wait by the door.”
Pansy opened her mouth, but Harry stood quickly. “No - hang on. If someone knocks, I’ll go check first, alright?”
Scorpius looked reluctant but nodded. He sat down on the floor by the coffee table and resumed poking icing onto the sugar dragon’s tail with a little too much force.
Then came the knock, sharp and sudden and not particularly polite.
Scorpius sprang up instantly. “Is that- ?”
“I’ll check,” Harry said firmly, already heading for the door.
Draco was leaning slightly against the frame, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, and the collar of his coat askew. He didn’t speak, just looked at Harry with a crooked, tired sort of smile.
“You’re drunk,” Harry said quietly, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.
Draco shrugged. “I had a few. I’m not falling over, am I?”
“Where the hell were you?”
Draco looked past him, toward the closed door, then ran a hand through his hair. “Walking. Then... drinking. Then more walking.” His voice was too casual.
Harry exhaled. “You scared me.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“You just left. No word, nothing. I didn’t know if- ” Harry stopped himself, jaw tightening.
“I needed time,” Draco muttered, “and I knew Scorpius would be safe here.”
Harry crossed his arms, keeping his voice even. “I think we should let him stay here tonight. Just in case you need- ”
“I am capable of taking care of my child, Potter. I don’t need your permission to decide what’s best for him.”
His words were sharp and immediate, and they cut deep.
Harry stared at him. “Right,” he said, voice low.
Draco froze, his face contorting as if the words had slapped him. “No. No. Merlin, I didn’t mean it like that.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, visibly shaken. “I- Harry, I’m sorry. That was- fuck, that was awful.”
He looked down at his feet, then back up, the anger gone, replaced by guilt. “I didn’t mean it.”
Harry looked at him for a moment, then said, “He’s been asking about you all afternoon.”
Draco ran a hand over his face. “Fuck, yeah, I know, I…” He licked his lips. “Let me in, I’ll talk to him.”
He took an uncertain step forward, but Harry shook his head.
“You need rest. And sleep.”
Draco’s eyes flashed again before he suddenly looked incredibly tired. “I’ll tell him, okay? I’ll tell him he should stay here tonight.”
“You smell like alcohol. And cigarettes,” Harry said and pulled out his wand. The scent-masking charm washed over Draco, who blinked several times.
The hallway now smelled faintly of peppermint, and Draco looked a little green.
Harry gave him one last long look, then opened the door.

Scorpius immediately burst through and into Draco’s arms. Draco staggered slightly but then pressed his nose into Scorpius’ hair.
“You smell nice!” Scorpius said with a giggle, looking up at Draco before frowning. “Where were you?”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I got... held up.”
Scorpius looked at him thoughtfully, and Draco smiled. Then he looked past him to Pansy, who was leaning in the doorway.
“How about you sleep here tonight?” he asked, looking at her for confirmation. Pansy, her brow furrowed, gave a small nod and forced a smile.
“Then we can still eat the cookies. What do you say? And tomorrow I’ll take you to school.”
Scorpius didn’t look thrilled. “But why should I sleep here?”
Draco licked his lips, then smiled- but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I thought I might take Harry out tonight. After a long day. Would that be okay?”
Harry felt his chest tighten as Scorpius hesitated, then returned the smile and looked to Harry. Harry forced his own mouth into a smile.
“Do you want to see the cookies we made?” Scorpius asked, and Draco blinked.
“You know what? Maybe you can show them to me tomorrow. What do you think?”
Scorpius looked disappointed. “Are you leaving right away?”
“Yes, that would be best. So we can... still get a table.”
“Hmm.” Scorpius stuck out his bottom lip. “Wait, I’ll get yours, okay?”
Without waiting for a response, he dashed back into Pansy’s flat.
Pansy said nothing, just looked at Draco silently.
As soon as Scorpius was out of sight, Draco sagged slightly, eyes half-closed, and Harry took a step forward- but then Scorpius’s footsteps echoed down the hall again, and Draco straightened up, blinking rapidly.
Scorpius held the star-shaped cookie up to him.
“Look! I made this one for you!”
Draco reached out with trembling fingers for the yellow cookie.
“Oh, that’s... very pretty. Thank you, my little star.”
Scorpius shook his head. “I’m not little.”
Draco was still staring at the cookie, eyes glossy, before he looked up.
“You’re right. My big boy.”
He pulled Scorpius into another hug and kissed the top of his head.
“So, I’ll pick you up from school tomorrow, yeah? Don’t eat too many cookies and listen to Auntie Pansy.”

“Can you Apparate?” Harry asked as the cold evening air hit them.
Draco leaned into him slightly. “Side-along?”
Harry didn’t wait for confirmation, his hand was already on Draco’s arm, and the unpleasant pull of Apparition took hold.
They landed with a soft crack in the garden behind the house, near the shed. Draco bent over, clutching his stomach, and dry-heaved.
“Come on,” Harry said, wrapping an arm around him.
The warmth of the house hit them like a wave, cinnamon and roasted chestnuts still lingered in the air. Harry guided Draco to the sofa and helped him down. Draco let out a breath and threw one arm over his eyes.
“Water?” Harry asked quietly.
Draco nodded without removing his arm.
Harry returned a moment later with a glass. Draco took it with a slightly trembling hand, sipped, then leaned back with a quiet, “Thanks.”
Draco took another sip of water, staring at the fireplace even though it wasn’t lit.
Harry sat back on his heels, silent.
After a long pause, Draco said quietly, “I didn’t mean it.”
Harry didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely interlaced.
“I know,” he said at last. “But you still said it.”
Draco winced and looked away.
“But now’s not the time to talk about it,” Harry said quietly.
But Draco turned to him, eyes shining, gaze steady. “You’re his other father, Harry. You are.”
He reached up and placed a hand gently on Harry’s cheek. “And today, you were more of a father than I was.”
Harry shook his head slowly, then raised a trembling hand to brush Draco’s hair back from his forehead.
The soft strands were damp, clinging slightly to his skin, and Harry swept them aside with care.
“You saw his name,” Harry whispered.
Draco’s shoulders tensed as he gave the smallest nod. “Yes. I did,” he said, barely audible.
Harry didn’t meet his eyes when he asked, “Who is it, Draco? Do I know him?”
“What difference would it make?” Draco murmured, letting his hand fall away.
“If I know who it is, I can make sure he never gets any leniency. That he never finds out about Scorpius. That he never dares to come near him. Near you.”
Draco reached for Harry’s hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers. “I’m tired, Harry.”

Harry let go of his hand and gently nudged Draco aside to lie down next to him. He pulled the velvet blanket over both of their bodies. Their noses were almost touching.
“You haven’t had anything to drink in a while,” Harry said softly.
Draco closed his eyes and draped an arm over Harry’s waist.
“I know. I just… It was a bit much. Talking about it. With that many people. You understand?”
“I do, yeah.”
Draco sighed and pulled Harry closer.
“You’re warm,” he murmured, burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck.
And even though his heart ached, Harry smiled and gently scratched Draco’s back. His shirt felt damp and clammy, and Draco was trembling slightly.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, so quietly Harry could barely make it out, Draco said:
“I don’t know if you know him. Probably. Maybe by name, at least, yeah. He’s unimportant. Insignificant.”
Harry didn’t breathe. He just kept running his hand slowly over the tense muscles in Draco’s back.
Draco’s voice was muffled and tickled Harry’s neck, and he sounded like he was about to fall asleep.
“He was at Hogwarts with my father. Not close friends, never were. Especially not after my mother fell in love with my father. But he was loyal to… well, you-know-who.”
Draco lifted his head just slightly and kissed Harry’s nose.
“I’m tired, Harry,” he repeated.
And Harry pulled him even closer, so close not even a sheet of parchment could have fit between them.
“Sleep,” he whispered, even though there was nothing he wanted more than for Draco to keep talking, to finally say the name.
But he only kissed Draco’s cheek.
“Sleep.”

Notes:

*Ton nom est ma lumière. - your name is my light

Chapter 6: Trust

trust - the certainty that someone will catch you when you fall

 

Harry woke when the cold winter sun hit his nose. His back ached from the awkward position he’d slept in. He was now lying on his back, Draco’s head resting on his chest, blond hair tickling his chin. Draco was breathing slowly and deeply, and Harry tried not to move too much.
But as if sensing he was awake, Draco stirred, grumbled quietly, and lifted his head. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his eyelids were half-lowered like the light was hurting him.
“Urgh,” he muttered, propping himself up on his arm and blinking several times.
“Water?” Harry offered, reaching for the glass on the floor next to the sofa.
“Please. Feels like something died in my mouth.” Draco’s voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat a few times before taking a deep sip and flopping back into the pillow.
“Well, we’re not eighteen anymore,” Harry said, taking the glass from him. “Remember the summer party two years ago?”
He grimaced at the memory. Draco’s mouth twitched faintly.
“How could I forget? You were quite touchy that night.”
“Yeah, and half-dead the next morning.” Harry gave a tired smile and reached up to brush Draco’s fringe from his forehead. “So... aside from the hangover, how do you feel?”
For a moment, Draco kept his eyes closed, then blinked.
“Shit,” he said honestly, letting out a long breath. “I was a complete arse. I’m sorry you had to worry. I’m sorry Scorpius didn’t know what was going on. And I’m sorry for what I... said.”
“You remember everything?” Harry asked, and Draco nodded.
“I didn’t drink that much, Potter,” he said grimly, then wrinkled his nose. “Well. Maybe I did. But yes. I remember.”
He opened his eyes again, pale grey flashing toward Harry, and something twisted in Harry’s gut.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Draco looked almost angry as he sat up.
“Well, you should. You should mind it,” he said sharply, his brow furrowing. “You have to deal with it constantly, my... moods, this whole thing. It’s like a curse hanging over everything. Hanging over me, and I can’t- ” His voice cracked, and he looked down at his hands.
“It’s hanging over us, isn’t it? It’s not just my thing. It affects you, and it affects Scorpius, and I’m not facing it. I’m making you fix my problems- ”
“Draco,” Harry said, gently cupping his face. “That’s not true.”
“It is true, Potter. You could be happy, and instead you’re here.”
Harry shook his head. “I am happy.”
“How?” Draco asked, his voice suddenly sharp enough to sting, and Harry leaned back slightly.
“You constantly have to take care of me, protect me, deal with the press, because I’m not strong enough- ”
“Stop,” Harry said firmly, pressing his hand a little tighter to Draco’s cheek. Draco’s gaze snapped back to him.
“Just stop.”
Draco pressed his lips together. His eyes were glassy.
“Look at me. I’m the one who hurt you. Hurt us. And still, it’s all about me again. Me, me, me.”
He pulled his head from Harry’s hands and let it drop back onto the cushion, eyes shut tightly.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing – Draco’s shallow and fast – before Draco spoke again.
“You’re too good.”
“Stop it, Draco. I don’t want to hear that,” Harry said softly, laying his head beside Draco’s and gently exhaling against his cheek. “No more of this ‘I don’t deserve you’, ‘I’m not good enough for you’. Alright?”
Draco seemed to think for a moment before turning his head to look at Harry, doubt flickering in his eyes.
“You have a hero complex,” he said, voice lighter this time, and Harry rolled his eyes.
“And you have a guilt complex. So I guess we’re a match made in therapy.”
That earned a snort from Draco. “Look at us go,” he murmured, though sadness still clung to his voice.
Harry patted his shoulder. “So. Settled then. I’m not leaving, sorry to disappoint, and I’m now going to force you into the shower because you stink.”
Draco gasped, scandalised. “If I stink, it’s only because your scent-masking charm was utter shite,” he said, and Harry raised an eyebrow.
“There’s only so much a charm can do. Get up.”
Draco stood, slowly, like someone a hundred years old, and Harry heard his joints pop.
“Don’t say anything,” Draco muttered, not looking at him.
“I’m not saying anything. Grandpa.”
“You sound like Scorpius.”
“Well, the boy’s got brains.”
Draco stretched once, wincing, and looked so pitiful that Harry couldn’t help but laugh.
His skin was pale, and he swallowed hard.
“I feel sick,” he mumbled, sinking back onto the couch.
Harry looked at him for a moment.
“I don’t think we have any hangover potion left. Want me to go get one?” he offered.
But Draco shook his head.
“It’s fine. My own fault.”
Harry opened his mouth, but Draco gave him a half-smile.
“I don’t think I should shower alone though. Too risky.”
Harry snorted. “You just said you felt sick.”
“Exactly. That’s why I shouldn’t be left alone. What if I fall? Or if I’m too weak to lather properly?”
Harry rolled his eyes, but held out a hand. Draco took it with a smug little grin, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

 

“–but then she said we’d have to watch the rest next time, which was so unfair, because it wasn’t even late!” Scorpius’ voice echoed down the hallway before the door closed with a soft thud, and Harry poked his head out of the kitchen.
“Hey, champ,” he said.
Scorpius, pulling off his hat, waved at him but kept talking, gesturing wildly with his hands as Draco unwound his scarf and nodded along.
“Anyway, now I don’t even know what happens at the end!” Scorpius finished, stepping into the kitchen and craning his neck to peek past Harry. “What are you making?”
“Bolognese,” Harry replied, and Scorpius inhaled dramatically.
“Smells amazing!”
Harry flinched as the coffee machine suddenly gurgled to life, and Draco grinned at him.
“So,” Scorpius asked eagerly, “can we finish the movie tonight?”
“I thought Aunt Pansy wanted to watch it with you next time,” Draco said, and Scorpius pouted.
“But that’s ages away!”
“Patience is a virtue,” Draco said in an overly wise tone, winking at him.
Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Harry, come on, back me up here.”
Harry held up both hands. “I have no idea what movie you’re even talking about. I’m out.”
Scorpius groaned and started rummaging through his backpack. “Here, can you sign this, Papa? We’re going on a field trip.”
He pulled out a slightly crumpled sheet of paper and gave Draco a sheepish look. “I forgot to put it in the folder.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Draco murmured, smoothing the page out with his hand before starting to read.
Scorpius leaned on the kitchen counter and looked at Harry. “What did you have for dinner yesterday?”
Harry blinked. “Oh. We didn’t, really.”
Scorpius frowned. “But you were going out to eat, weren’t you?”
Draco looked up a little too quickly. “Ah, well, we just went for a little walk instead. And then we ended up on the couch.”
“But you said you needed to get a table!” Scorpius said, frowning deeper.
Draco rubbed his eyebrow, clearly trying to buy himself a second. “Well, I was really tired yesterday, so we changed our minds.”
Scorpius narrowed his eyes at him. “Why were you so tired? What did you do yesterday?”
Draco cleared his throat and looked back down at the paper in his hand. “I... had to take care of something at the Ministry. It was a bit exhausting. That’s why I just wanted a quiet evening with Harry.”
He offered Scorpius a small smile, then shifted the topic. “So, you're going to the museum? Sounds lovely.”
Scorpius didn’t look entirely convinced. “What did you have to do at the Ministry?”
Draco blinked. “Oh, just some paperwork. Boring grown-up stuff.”
He folded the paper and tapped it lightly against the counter. “You wouldn’t want to hear about it.”
Scorpius tilted his head. “Was it about me?”
Draco paused for a fraction. “No,” he said, too quickly. “No, of course not. Just routine things.”
Harry looked over then, offering a light smile. “Your papa had a very full day. That’s all.”
Scorpius didn’t answer right away, but he nodded slowly, his eyes drifting between the two of them.
“I’m not stupid,” he said then, and Draco let out a short laugh, until he blinked and noticed Scorpius’s still furrowed brows.
“Of course you’re not,” he said, blinking again. “Why would you say that?”
Scorpius shrugged, his face tight. “Because you’re not telling me the truth.”
Draco’s eyebrows shot up. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, before trying once more.
“I’m not lying to you.”
“Yes, you are,” Scorpius shot back. “Because you think I’m small. And that’s why you lie. You said you were going out to eat with Harry, but you didn’t. You were gone all day, and you won’t even tell me why you were at the Ministry, and -”
He was spiraling now, and Draco placed his hands on Scorpius’s shoulders, gently cutting him off.
“I’m not lying to you,” he repeated, but his voice sounded uncertain, thin.
“But there are just some things that- ”
“I don’t care!” Scorpius shouted, his lower lip jutting out, face scrunched with frustration.
Harry also placed a calm hand on Scorpius’s shoulder. “Hey. Easy,” he said softly, and Scorpius blinked rapidly, his large grey eyes shimmering.
“You both think I’m small and that there are things I’m not allowed to know,” he accused, and Draco leaned down slightly, reaching for his cheek.
“I... we just want to protect you. Some things aren’t very nice. They’re hard. And they’re not important.”
“But it is important!” Scorpius burst out. “Because you are really sad, and you won’t tell me why!”
He pulled away from Draco’s hand and, for a heartbeat, the room was silent. Then Scorpius grabbed the paper from the counter and stomped out of the kitchen, his footsteps sharp.
Draco didn’t move. He just stood there, frozen.
Harry reached for his arm. “Let him go.”

Draco chewed on his lower lip for a moment before letting himself drop onto the barstool and burying his face in his hands. He sighed heavily, rubbed his eyes, then looked at Harry with tired eyes.
Harry stirred the sauce once and tried to offer him an encouraging smile.
Draco sighed again.
“Do you know what it means? That he’s on that list?” Draco asked then, and Harry turned fully to him. Before he could answer, Draco shook his head and stared past him at the wall, his expression hard. “It means that I… if I don’t want him to- ”
Draco wrinkled his nose and lowered his voice.
“It means there’ll be a trial. Before Scorpius goes to Hogwarts. Do you know what he’ll go through at school?”
He took a deep breath, clenched his hands, then blinked and looked at Harry.
“I had hoped so much that he wouldn’t be on that list. Merlin, I hoped he was dead. Or rotting in some forgotten cell.
But these reforms... I know there’s a real possibility. A very real one. That he’ll find out about Scorpius. About us. And that he- ”
He took another breath and let it out loudly.
“That’s why I couldn’t do anything yesterday. Because I know what this means for me, Harry. For Scorpius. I always knew it was a possibility staying in England. Even if these reforms didn’t exist, there was always the chance he’d somehow find out. I knew that. But seeing his name. Right now. At this point in time. It’s…”
He shook his head again, then tilted it back to stare at the ceiling.
Harry felt a lump rise in his throat as he watched Draco’s Adam’s apple move with a heavy swallow.
“You know how these trials go, Harry. You know what they’ll ask me to do. What people will see.
And it’s not fair. It’s not fair that Scorpius has to suffer for it.”
There was a pause before Harry said quietly, voice hoarse: “No. It’s not fair.”
Draco looked ahead again, his eyes tired.
“That’s what I always tried to avoid.”
He gave a sad smile, and Harry blinked.
“I’m sorry that- ” Harry began, but Draco interrupted.
“No. Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

Upstairs, they heard Scorpius’ footsteps, loud and quick.
Draco pressed his lips into a thin line.
“We could talk to Hermione. Beforehand, I mean.” Harry leaned on the kitchen counter, just in front of Draco. Draco didn’t move. Just kept staring past him.
“I mean… as a friend. For advice? Before you…”
Harry gave a helpless little shrug, then reached for Draco’s cold hand. Draco flinched slightly, as if he’d forgotten for a moment that Harry was still there.
Harry opened his mouth to say something, to explain, to convince him, but Draco was already nodding. Weakly, almost uncertainly.
Harry blinked in surprise. “You mean... should I invite her over?” he asked carefully.
Draco tilted his head to the side, and his neck gave a loud crack before he ran both hands down his face again. He glanced once more toward the hallway, his grey eyes deep and thoughtful, then nodded again, this time more firmly.

The hours passed slowly.
Scorpius hadn’t left his room since lunchtime and when Harry had knocked, there’d been no answer. Just the soft rustle of paper from behind the door.
Draco was sitting on the sofa, picking at the peeling skin near his thumbnail, when Hermione was let in by Harry. She gave Harry a warm smile, one that immediately loosened the tight knot in his throat, before stepping into the living room.
“Good evening, Draco.”
Draco glanced up briefly, returned a polite smile, then looked back down at his hands. He patted his knees and stood up.
“Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the dining chairs.
There were papers scattered across the table, he quickly pushed them aside.
“Sorry, that’s- ”
“All good,” Hermione waved it off. “You should see my desk. Total chaos.”
“Hard to believe,” Draco said, his voice a little lighter now, and sat down next to Harry, across from her. Hermione sighed.
“That’s what happens when you share a workspace with Ron.”
Her tone was amused.
“I’ve lost count of how many case files I’ve found wedged between my own notes.”
She let out a brief laugh, and Draco gave a small huff of amusement, before his expression grew serious again and he resumed picking at his thumb.
Harry gently took his hand and gave it a small squeeze.
“Thanks for coming,” Harry said, and Hermione nodded.
“Of course, no problem. And thank you, Draco, for being at the Ministry yesterday.”
Draco let out a sharp breath before lifting his gaze. “Well, I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”
Hermione tilted her head slightly. “You could have declined to testify.”
Draco shook his head and waved a hand dismissively.
“It would’ve been... ‘noted’.”
His voice was bitter.
Hermione nodded.
“That only means it would be documented. No consequences. I know Robards can be... intimidating. But the statement was voluntary. You’re no longer a convicted prisoner, Draco.”
There was a moment of silence.
Draco looked at her, almost searching, before nodding.
“Alright. Well, I’m... On the one hand, I’m glad the conditions are changing, of course. But on the other…”
He trailed off, and Hermione nodded gravely.
“That’s how we all feel, I think. But even prisoners have human rights- and your case, being sentenced so young, shows how important rehabilitation really is. It’s- ”
“I think maybe we shouldn’t get into the policy debate,” Harry interrupted gently.
Hermione gave him a surprised look.
“Oh. Right. Of course. You wanted to talk.”
“Well… actually, Draco did,” Harry said.
Draco shot him a slightly startled look. “Uh. Right.”

He cleared his throat.

“Yes. I had some questions,” he said, brushing a strand of blond hair from his forehead.
“Of course. Go ahead.” Hermione leaned back a little, and Draco bit his lower lip briefly.
“That list... the second one. It means that those... people will get more freedom, right?”
His voice was almost casual.
Hermione nodded.
“Well, depending on how you interpret it. The conditions in Azkaban are changing in general, not just for those on the list. Things like new cells, visitation rights... more in line with Muggle prison standards. And those on the list might also receive work options, therapy offers, and reintegration programs.”
Draco looked at her for a long moment, then nodded, though he said nothing.
After a pause, he added:
“You know why I’m asking.”
“Yes,” Hermione said softly.
Draco nodded again.
“Things will change for him, even if he’s not on that list.”
It wasn’t a question. Hermione nodded once more.
“Yes. The reforms affect all of Azkaban.”
“So inmates will have more access to the outside world.”
Another quiet observation. Another confirming nod.
Draco fell into pensive silence.
“But that’s not right!” Harry suddenly said.
“I mean, some people just shouldn’t- ”
He lifted his hands helplessly, and Hermione frowned.
“Shouldn’t have human rights?”
“Well, maybe some people don’t deserve them,” Harry muttered, though even to his own ears, the words sounded wrong.
But then he looked at Draco, the dark circles under his eyes, and anger burned in his chest.
“He shouldn’t have the right to- ”
“Harry.”
Draco shot him a sharp glance, his expression blank.
“The only way he’ll be punished for what he did, the only way I can make sure he never comes near Scorpius, is if I report him.”
He looked uncertainly at Hermione, who gave him a sad smile.
She didn’t need to answer.
Draco let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling.
Above them, Scorpius’ footsteps could be faintly heard.
Harry shook his head.
“That Draco even has to do this, that’s not fair.”
Hermione opened her mouth, but Draco was still staring ahead.

“Mulciber Jr.”
The words came quietly, like he was saying them through grit teeth.
Harry froze mid-movement.
“He’s the one who…” Draco swallowed hard, as if nauseous, but his gaze was steady.
“He raped me.”
The air in the room seemed to still.
Harry felt bile rising in his throat, saw the flash of the Death Eater in his mind, cold smile in the Department of Mysteries, colder eyes,
while Draco continued, his voice nearly pleading:
“Tell me what I have to do to make sure he never sees Scorpius. Tell me what I have to do to stop him from ever saying he has a right to see him.”
His grey eyes shimmered, and Harry could see the muscle in his jaw twitching.
Hermione’s eyes were damp as well, and her voice trembled slightly when she answered:
“I can arrange a meeting with Robards. Maybe with Kingsley, too.”
Draco looked back up at the ceiling, then ran a hand over his face.
“The reforms... are they being implemented now? There’s no chance they’ll be delayed until after September?”
Hermione shook her head sadly.
“We’ve already started. That doesn’t mean he’ll hear anything, or find out. But... the contact with the outside world...”
Draco pressed his head into his hand. “I can’t do that to him.
A trial, right as he’s preparing for Hogwarts. I can’t take that joy away from him, this new beginning, and...”
Hermione reached out and placed her hand on his.
Draco blinked at her, surprised.
“Maybe you should talk to him,” she said quietly.
Draco frowned.
“Tell him what’s going on. Include him. I think... he’d want you to.”

Harry hadn’t said anything for a while.
Hermione was talking now, her voice soft and steady, her hand still resting lightly on Draco’s.
Draco wasn’t crying, but he looked like he might at any moment.
He was staring straight ahead, jaw tight, eyes unfocused.
Harry’s own hands were clenched beneath the table.
He wanted to protect them both. He wanted to burn the whole bloody Ministry down.
And then , a flicker. Just the faintest shadow, visible through the crack beneath the hallway door.
Harry’s breath caught.
He glanced up. The staircase was silent. No creak, no footsteps. But the light had shifted.
He looked at Hermione, then at Draco, who hadn't noticed.
And something in his chest tightened.
Scorpius was listening.
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat as Draco ran a hand over his forehead and sighed.
“And you think Robards will… do something? I mean, I’m-”
Hermione interrupted him. “Draco, something terrible was done to you. Of course he’ll take you seriously. I know he can be a bit...”
She looked to Harry for help, wrinkling her nose. “But he didn’t get that post for nothing. He’s got a good heart. He helped found the initiative for better prison conditions.”
“But he... I know Bellatrix… she killed his best friend-” Draco began, but his voice broke, and his eyes darted to the living room door. His gaze narrowed slightly, and Harry felt the lump in his throat loosen. He gave Draco a meaningful nod and whispered, “I think he’s listening.”

Draco blinked a few times, Hermione’s words fading into white noise as he stood quietly. Almost on tiptoe, he walked toward the door and yanked it open.
Scorpius nearly toppled into the room and stared up at his father with wide eyes.
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Scorpius bit his lower lip and looked down. His brows were furrowed with that same deep crease Draco got when he was worried, and Harry watched Draco swallow hard.
“How long…” Draco’s voice was rough and hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Scorpius. How long have you been standing here?”
Scorpius didn’t answer. He kept his eyes fixed on Draco’s shoes. Harry saw his bottom lip tremble and stood up.
“I told you not to eavesdrop,” Draco said, but the words sounded uncertain and hollow. Harry placed a hand gently between Draco’s shoulder blades.
Draco pressed his lips together, then lifted a trembling hand to smooth back Scorpius’s fine hair. The boy glanced up at him, unsure.
“Maybe…” Draco stroked from Scorpius’s hair down to his cheek and under his chin, gently tilting his face up. He looked thoughtful, almost searching, and then said with a steadier voice, “Maybe you should come in. Sit with us. What do you think?”
“Can I?” Scorpius’s voice cracked with emotion.
Draco’s eyes flicked briefly to Hermione before he nodded.
“Can I sit with you?” Scorpius asked, his voice so childlike that it made Harry’s heart ache.
Draco’s expression softened as he nodded, then sat down and pulled Scorpius onto his lap, pressing his nose into the boy’s hair. He closed his eyes for a moment.
Harry quietly sat beside them, not wanting to disturb the moment, and even Hermione only breathed softly.
“You listened because you’re worried,” Draco said gently. Scorpius nodded quickly and looked at him with big eyes.
“And you were angry because you were worried.” It wasn’t a question, but Scorpius still nodded, bottom lip jutting out slightly.
Draco had closed his eyes again, his forehead leaning against Scorpius’s soft hair, as he took a deep breath.
Harry sat beside them, silent, his hand resting on Draco’s back in quiet support. For a long moment there was only the sound of their quiet breathing.
“Do you remember,” Draco began softly, “what I told you? That something really bad happened to me a long time ago?”
Scorpius nodded against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around Draco’s waist.
“And that because of that… that’s how you came to be.”
Another nod, slower this time. Draco pulled him a little closer.
“I was at the Ministry yesterday because things are changing. Laws. Rules about who… who can be released. Who can contact the outside world. And I’m scared.” His voice grew rough. “I’m scared that the man who did that to me might find out about you. That he might think he has the right to see you.”
Scorpius’s eyes widened. “Me?”
Draco nodded slowly. “That’s why… that’s why I’m thinking about reporting him. So he can’t even pretend he has any right to meet you.”
Scorpius didn’t respond. His face was tense, his lip trembling slightly.
“But if you do that… is it hard?”
Draco nodded. “Yes. If I do it, there will be a trial. And a lot of people will find out. About how you were born. And that’s not fair. Because you’re just a kid. And you’re about to go to Hogwarts. And I don’t want anyone…”
He trailed off, visibly struggling.
“I don’t want anyone to look at you funny.”
Scorpius looked down at his hands. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and said quietly, “I don’t want him to know me.”
Draco inhaled sharply, about to speak, but Scorpius lifted his head and looked at him.
“I don’t want him thinking I’m his kid. I’m not.”
“No,” Draco said immediately. “You’re not.”
Scorpius’s voice was suddenly scratchy. “Then he better get punished! I don’t care if people say stuff. He was mean to you. He hurt you! I don’t want to see him. Never ever.”
Scorpius shook his head hard, eyes blazing.
“Because he’s bad and because you’re my papa. And Harry.”
Harry blinked several times. Draco closed his eyes, and Harry watched the way his chest rose and fell, how his hand trembled as it curled around Scorpius’s back.
“Okay,” Draco whispered. “Okay.”
He opened his eyes again slowly and took a deep breath. He rocked Scorpius gently, just like he used to when Scorpius was smaller, then looked up at Hermione.
“Please. Make the appointment with Robards.”

 

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked softly, leaning against the ladder of the bunk bed.
Scorpius was lying on his side, his face lit up by the glowing stars stuck to the ceiling, the dark blue blanket pulled up almost to his ears.
Even through the covers, Harry could see his shoulders shrug.
“Tired,” the boy said eventually, his voice quiet, and Harry nodded understandingly.
“And you?”
Scorpius pushed himself up a little and looked at Harry almost thoughtfully.
Harry smiled and smoothed out the blanket.
“Tired too,” he admitted, and Scorpius nodded.
He glanced toward the door and then leaned in.
“When are you going to marry Papa?” he asked in a conspiratorial whisper, and Harry’s smile widened.
He tapped the blanket lightly.
“I think we’ve got a few other things to sort out first. But don’t worry, you’ll get your wedding.”
Scorpius didn’t look convinced and whispered, “You have to buy him a ring so he doesn’t forget.”
Harry let out a quiet laugh. “You really think he’d forget?”
Scorpius nodded solemnly. “Because Papa thinks about sad things a lot!” he explained, and Harry placed a hand gently against his cheek.
“But he thinks about lots of good things too. Like you.”
“Yes, but if he has a ring, then he can always remember.”
Scorpius nodded again, then grinned, the frown between his brows finally easing.
“Also, you said you’d buy a really expensive ring. And even if Papa won’t admit it, he likes expensive things.”
Harry returned his smile. “I know.” He winked. “I think you know even better than I do what your Papa likes. So, what do you think- should we go pick a ring out together?”
Scorpius’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
Harry nodded seriously. “Oh yes. You’re the expert. I’ll need help.”
Scorpius fell back into his pillow, nodding excitedly. “I know what he likes.”
“You do,” Harry said warmly, just as he heard Draco’s footsteps in the hallway.
Draco smelled faintly of his face tonic as he entered, and Harry took a deep breath.
Scorpius giggled.
“What are you two talking about?” Draco asked, seeing Scorpius’s eager face.
“Nothing,” they both said at the same time.
Draco looked at them suspiciously, then smirked slightly. His eyes looked tired, but his features were soft.
“Hi Papa!” Scorpius said as if he hadn’t seen Draco in days, and Draco rolled his eyes fondly.
“Whatever you did, Potter, you managed to make our child not tired anymore.”
Harry’s heart gave a little leap at the word our, and he blinked several times as Draco peered through the slats of the bunk bed.
Scorpius giggled again and reached a hand through the wooden gap. Draco took it and gently stroked the pale, thin fingers.
“Think you can sleep?” he asked softly, and Scorpius shrugged.
“You don’t have to worry,” Draco whispered.
“You don’t either,” Scorpius replied firmly, and Draco smiled and kissed his fingertips.
“If you say so.”
He let go of the hand. “Right then. Time for bed.”
Harry stepped down from the ladder and wrapped an arm around Draco’s shoulders, kissing his temple.

Chapter 7: Vulnerability

Notes:

yeah okay i should be asleep but i wanted to get a chapter out this week, so here we are.
thanks for reading, y’all are the best <3

Vulnerability - when love makes you brave enough to speak

 

“Do you need anything else?” Harry leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Draco’s cheek.
Draco was leaning against the doorframe, watching Scorpius struggle with the zipper of his jacket. Draco raised one corner of his mouth.
“Need help?” he asked, and Scorpius shook his head vigorously, lips pressed together.
With what looked like a good deal of force, he finally managed to pull the zipper up.
There was a ripping noise, then silence.
He looked down at himself with satisfaction. “See? Just a bit stuck.”
He smiled brightly at his father, and Draco eyed him doubtfully.
“You’re never getting that jacket open again.”
Scorpius waved him off, and Draco rolled his eyes before turning to Harry. “I don’t need anything, no. Just don’t forget the cucumbers, yeah? But not those...” He made a dismissive wave of his hand. “Yes, not the cheap ones, I know,” Harry sighed and grinned, then kissed Draco again, this time on the nose.
“Try to enjoy the quiet a little, yeah?” he asked softly, and Draco gave him a doubtful look, wrinkled his nose and exhaled deeply.
“The kitchen’s a mess, I need to-”
“Rest,” Harry said firmly, and when Draco opened his mouth, he raised a finger.
“What is your papa supposed to do, Scorpius?”
He grinned over his shoulder at Scorpius, who also raised a finger. “Rest!”
Draco looked at the two of them, half annoyed, then pushed off the wall.
“Fine. You’ll find me on the sofa later. Don’t complain.”
“We wouldn’t dare. Enjoy your documentary about baroque still life or whatever it is you watch to relax,” Harry said with an exaggerated grin, and Draco shot him a venomous look.
“It was about the Renaissance, Potter,” he replied simply, brushed past Harry, ruffled Scorpius’s hair, and disappeared into the living room.

Harry winked at Scorpius conspiratorially as they stepped out the wooden door into the cold winter air. Scorpius bounced a little excitedly as they walked.
“We have to hurry!” he said, and Harry smiled fondly.
“It’s fine. Your papa will be asleep in twenty minutes.”
They stopped in a quiet corner, and Harry looked around. “Ready?” Scorpius nodded quickly, and with a loud crack, they were gone.

Scorpius looked a bit pale and swayed slightly as they landed in the side alley.
“Urgh,” he groaned, wrinkling his nose.
“I know,” Harry replied as they slipped through the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron.
“I never really got used to it. Apparition’s not my favorite way to travel. But it’s practical.”
“Hmm.” Scorpius looked around the smoky pub like he always did, eyes wide.
When they stepped into the courtyard, his breath formed little clouds in the cold air.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said seriously. “Papa has that bracelet from you. The silver one?” he added, and Harry nodded. “The ring should probably match it! Because he wears it a lot.”
Harry blinked. “That’s... yeah, that’s a good idea.”
“Hmm. Here.” Scorpius pulled a small bundle from his pocket. “I brought it so we could compare,” he explained, and Harry raised his eyebrows.
“Oh. Well, I mean... good thinking.” He looked at the boy thoughtfully. “Glad I brought you along.”
Scorpius tucked the bracelet back into his pocket, clearly proud.

The alley was quiet, patches of untouched snow still on the ground, and Harry ignored the few witches and wizards passing by. Scorpius didn’t stop, heading straight for the small jeweller’s shop, its windows glittering with rings and necklaces. He yanked the door open. A soft chime announced their arrival, and warm air enveloped them.
Harry’s glasses fogged up immediately, and Scorpius giggled as Harry frowned and wiped them on his jumper.
“Good thing Papa’s not here,” the boy said with a grin. “‘Ohh, that’ll scratch the lenses, Potter!’” he added, doing a perfect Draco impression.
Harry grinned too as he pushed the glasses back onto his nose. “Well, he’s not wrong, you know?” he said, just as a shop assistant appeared around the corner.
“Oh, good morning!” she said, dusting off her hands and stepping into the room. “Sorry, I was just rearranging a few things.”
Harry waved it off. “We just got here.” He looked at the glass case to his right. “So, we’re looking for-” he began, but Scorpius interrupted him excitedly: “The BEST ring you have! And the most expensive one.” Harry raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, I mean- ” he began, but Scorpius gave him a sharp look that made Harry fall silent.
The saleswoman laughed. “A ring, then. Special occasion?”
Harry glanced around briefly and lowered his voice.
“I’d really appreciate it if I don’t read about this in tomorrow’s Prophet,” he said sheepishly. “An engagement ring.”
If the woman was surprised, she didn’t show it. She only smiled politely.
“Of course, Mr. Potter. Congratulations.” She sounded sincere, and Harry relaxed a little. Only now did he realise he’d been holding his shoulders tense.
Next to him, Scorpius dug through his pocket and pulled out the bracelet. The woman’s eyes flicked to him.
“Oh. You bought that here.”
She gently took the delicate piece and smiled.
“So the ring has to match,” Scorpius explained and squinted at the rings in the display case.
The saleswoman let the bracelet catch the light for a moment before placing it on the counter.
“Well, we have rings from that collection. Whether they're the most expensive ones we have...” She grinned at Scorpius as she unlocked the lower cabinet and pulled out a little box.
“Hmm,” Scorpius said thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose it can be the second most expensive one.” Harry sighed. “How generous.”

The shop assistant opened the small box containing several rings of varying widths and carefully set it down on the counter. Scorpius immediately leaned forward with a focused expression, inspecting the rings critically. Harry exchanged an amused glance with the assistant before leaning in himself, tilting his head slightly.
“This one,” the woman said, pointing to the middle ring, “is from the same collection as the bracelet. And of course, it can be enchanted with the usual engagement charms. Do you have anything specific in mind?”
Harry blinked, overwhelmed. “Uh.” He glanced once more at the elegant silver ring.
She gave a patient smile. “Engagement charms. You can choose from several. For example, Amare Vicinitas, the ring becomes gently warm when your partner is nearby. Pax Aeternum, a light protective charm. Engraving charms – inscriptions that only appear in special moments. Those are the most common. What do you think? Does one of them speak to you?”
“Uh,” Harry said eloquently. “I mean… all of them? They all sound nice.”
She smiled even more. “Of course, we can do that. Do you like the ring? And you, young man?”
Scorpius held the bracelet next to the ring. “Can I take it out?” he asked, and the woman nodded. “Of course, just a moment.” She let her wand glide over the ring, and it lifted smoothly out of the box.
Harry leaned in further. A simple silver ring with a fine engraved line that wound softly through the material.
For a moment, no one said anything.
Then Scorpius nodded, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Pretty,” he said, and threw a glance at Harry with his wide grey eyes. “What do you think?”
Harry’s mouth felt suddenly dry as he imagined the ring on Draco’s slender, elegant fingers, his smile with those perfect white teeth, the little crinkles around his eyes.
He blinked a few times and cleared his throat. “Yeah. Very pretty.” His voice was a little hoarse. He pictured the way Draco always absentmindedly tugged at his bracelet when he was thinking. How his fingers moved when he turned pages in a book, when he brushed Scorpius’s hair out of his eyes. How he gestured when he was annoyed, sharp and elegant.
And suddenly, Harry wanted nothing more than to see that ring there, to know Draco had chosen him, that he’d said yes.
He blinked a few times and cleared his throat.
Scorpius watched him for another moment, then turned back to the ring.
“And... is there also a charm so he knows Harry's thinking of him?” he asked softly, without looking up.
Harry looked at him in surprise, but the assistant nodded at once, as if she'd been waiting for that exact question.
“Cordis Sonus would be perfect. A very soft, calming hum that only the wearer can feel. Like a heartbeat. When you think of him, the ring sends it out.”
Scorpius nodded slowly. “That’s good.”
He looked over at Harry, who still seemed a little speechless.
“You think of him a lot, don’t you?”
Harry’s smile was crooked, his voice rough.
“Always.”

“Shhh,” Harry whispered, pressing a finger to his lips as they opened the door. The soft sound of the television reached them, and Scorpius grinned as he tiptoed down the hallway and peeked into the living room. “Sleeping,” he mouthed, and Harry gave him a look that clearly said told you so. The shopping bag rustled quietly as he set it down on the side table and took off his shoes.
He waved Scorpius over. “Will you hide this for me? In my nightstand?” he whispered, handing him the small ring box. Scorpius nodded solemnly and clutched the box to his chest like a treasure before sneaking upstairs in his socks.
Harry stepped quietly into the living room. From the television, a deep voice drifted toward him:
“...the dissolution of form in late Impressionism does not allude to chaos, but rather to the subjective dissolution of linear spatial perception in service of-”
Harry snorted, rolled his eyes in amusement, and looked over at Draco, who lay curled under the blanket, breathing softly. Carefully, he sat down beside him and placed a hand on Draco’s warm shoulder. “Hey,” he whispered, and Draco stirred slightly but didn’t open his eyes. Harry smiled softly and ran his hand down Draco’s arm, making the fine pale hairs rise. Draco mumbled something and buried his face deeper into the pillow. Harry reached for the remote.
“I’m watching that,” Draco said, muffled, and Harry laughed.
“Of course you are. I can see how engaged you are.”
Draco opened one eye and gave him a critical look. “I was just resting my eyes. Briefly.”
“Hmm,” Harry said, watching Draco’s mouth twitch as he rolled onto his back.
“I’d probably fall asleep too after two minutes if I had to watch that,” Harry added, and Draco snorted.
“Philistine,” he replied, but he was smiling as he reached out his arms toward Harry. Harry half-sank onto him, and Draco kissed his forehead.
“Did you remember the cucumbers?”
“Of course. The good ones. And that weird cream cheese.”
“Very good, very good,” Draco yawned. “Where’s Scorpius?”
“Already went upstairs.”
“Hmm.” Draco laced his fingers behind Harry’s neck.
“Hermione wrote. The day after tomorrow...”
He swallowed hard.
“The day after tomorrow we’ll go see Robards. She’ll be there too. And... Minister Shacklebolt.”
He made a face. “That’s... I mean, the Minister?” he said, and Harry nodded.
“It’s a big deal, Draco.”
“But not that big.”
“Kingsley’s a good man.”
“I don’t doubt that, Harry. I just mean -it’s only this big deal because I’m with you.”
He looked up quickly.
“That’s not a complaint. But, I mean... do you think the Minister would make time for me if I…”
He trailed off and smiled. “Never mind. Forget it.”

Harry shook his head. “I can’t tell you what it would be like otherwise. But it’s not important. Is it?”
Draco was silent for a moment, the doubt in his grey eyes slowly fading as he nodded.
“Well, probably not,” he said, not entirely convinced.
“You have this support, Draco. You can use it. I understand why you’re conflicted, but - sometimes it’s okay to just accept help. Don’t you think?”
Draco pulled Harry a little closer and sighed.
“Probably, yes. I should be grateful I’ve got such a famous boyfriend,” he said with a grin.
Harry rolled his eyes and pressed his nose against Draco’s pale cheek.
“Oh, yes, wonderful. Chased by the Prophet, photographed while drinking coffee - it’s a dream.”
Draco laughed quietly.
“I actually thought the picture of us shopping for shoes was kind of nice.”
Harry gave him a doubtful look. “I looked awful in that picture.”
“Hm. But I looked great,” Draco replied, lifting his chin a little.
Harry gently pinched his cheek, and Draco laughed again, this time louder. The sound made Harry’s heart beat faster, and he pressed his nose into the crook of Draco’s neck, inhaling deeply.
“Hmm,” he hummed, and let himself sink fully onto Draco.
Draco patted his back. “You’re crushing me, Potter.”
Harry nuzzled in even closer. “You don’t usually complain,” he murmured with a grin against Draco’s skin, feeling the spot where his pulse beat.
“Well, that’s because I’m usually… distracted,” the blond replied, and Harry lifted his head.
“Oh, is that so?”
“Hmm.”
Harry leaned in and pressed his lips gently to Draco’s, feeling his breath against his slightly damp skin. Draco sighed into the kiss, and Harry’s heart pounded against his ribs as Draco’s hand slid down his back, fingers brushing over each of his vertebrae.
“You’re so beautiful,” Harry whispered, pulling back just a little to look into Draco’s tired eyes, to take in the way his pale skin flushed so easily.
“God, I love you,” he said, and kissed him again, pressing in closer, relishing the way Draco’s muscles twitched beneath his fingers. Draco’s fingers tightened slightly in Harry’s shirt, pulling him closer, and Harry didn’t need a second invitation. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, one hand sliding into Draco’s hair, the other still resting over his heart. Draco made a soft noise in the back of his throat and opened his mouth to him without hesitation.
It was slow, unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.
Harry shifted to straddle Draco properly, careful with his weight, and kissed him again and again, like he was trying to memorize every angle of his mouth. Draco’s hands moved to Harry’s hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles through the fabric of his shirt, and when they finally paused to breathe, their foreheads rested together, lips still brushing.
“Urgh.”
The sound made them both jump, and Harry whipped his head around to see Scorpius standing in the doorway with a critical look on his face.
There was a moment of silence.
“I just wanted to ask if I could take the pack of biscuits upstairs,” Scorpius said, as Draco and Harry sat up, Draco’s cheeks now decidedly red.
“The biscuits,” Harry repeated blankly, and Scorpius raised an eyebrow.
Draco ran a hand over his face and then grinned. “Take the biscuits. And maybe… make a bit more noise when you come down next time.”
Scorpius gasped, scandalised. “I live here!” he said, then shook his head like a disappointed professor and snatched the biscuit packet from the side table before stomping up the stairs extra loudly.
Harry and Draco looked at each other for a second, then burst into laughter. Draco leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder.
“Oh no,” he said, half laughing, half mortified, and Harry bumped him gently with his shoulder.
“No harm done.”

„But why can’t I come with you?“
It was the fourth time he’d asked.
Scorpius stood with his arms crossed, chin tilted up in quiet defiance. Pansy was already leaning casually in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, and Harry stood a few steps behind, quiet, but watching.
Draco adjusted the hood of Scorpius’ jumper, tugging at it as if that might buy him another second to find the right words.
“We’ve talked about this,” he said gently. “It’s not because you can’t handle it. It’s just- this is something Harry and I need to do. Together.”
Scorpius didn’t answer, but the way his lips pressed into a thin line said enough. Draco sighed softly and let his fingers linger on Scorpius’ shoulder.
“I’ll tell you everything. Tonight.”
Scorpius still looked skeptical, but then he extended his pinky. Draco gave a faint smile as he hooked his own pinky around it.
“Pinky promise.”
Scorpius nodded and hugged his father one more time before stepping toward Pansy.
“Thank you for taking time off,” Draco said, and Pansy nodded.
“Of course. I just have a few files to go through, but I think we’ll manage to keep you busy.”
She ruffled Scorpius’s hair.
“I could’ve stayed home alone,” he said, lifting his chin again.
“But that would’ve been boring,” the dark-haired woman replied with a grin before giving Draco a gentle look.
“See you later.”
Draco nodded and tugged at his collar.
“See you later.”

The apparition point at the Ministry was crowded when they arrived. Busy-looking witches and wizards bustled through the atrium, the air filled with murmurs and snippets of conversation. Harry reached for Draco’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as they approached the lifts.
Draco hadn’t said much since the day had begun. The deep line between his brows hadn’t faded, and his lower lip was red from chewing.
Harry had offered words of comfort, praise, soft reassurances whispered like a mantra, and Draco had squeezed his hand in return, which had been enough.
Just like silence was enough now, as the lift creaked into motion and Draco’s skin looked pale under the artificial light. Draco’s breath sounded too loud in the small space, echoing faintly off the lift’s metal walls. He blinked a few times, then turned to Harry.
“Do you think they’ll… believe me?”
Harry frowned slightly and gave his hand a firmer squeeze. “Of course, Draco. Of course they will.”
Before Draco could reply, the lift jolted to a stop with a loud clang, and the gate creaked open.
Hermione was already waiting for them; the corridor leading to the Minister’s office was noticeably quieter. Their footsteps echoed against the dark tiles until they reached the thick carpet, which seemed to swallow the sound.
Draco’s hand was damp, and his index finger kept tracing fast, nervous patterns on the back of Harry’s hand.
“Robards is already here,” Hermione said quietly as she opened the heavy door to Kingsley’s office.
Draco hesitated.
“How much do they know?” he whispered.
Hermione paused.
“Not much. Just that you want to speak about something that happened in Azkaban.”
Draco took a deep breath.
“I feel sick,” he said, and Harry let go of his hand to wrap an arm around his shoulders.
“I know,” he said gently.
Draco gave him a last glance before following Hermione into the antechamber.
Kingsley’s secretary, Jonas, looked up briefly, nodded politely when he saw Harry, then turned his attention back to the stack of files on his desk.
After just a few steps, they reached the office.

The door closed softly behind them, and for a moment, the room seemed to breathe.

Kingsley’s office was tall and spacious, the windows framed by long, half-open curtains. The light streamed in at an angle, touching dark wood, gilded details, and the polished gleam of an old desk.
A portrait in the background discreetly turned away.
Robards was already seated, as stern as ever, fingers interlocked, expression neutral. Not cold—but not friendly either.
Draco lowered his head slightly but continued forward. Harry stayed close to him.
“Mr. Malfoy. Harry,” Kingsley said calmly, rising from his chair. His voice was deep, full of weight, but not harsh.
He held out his hand to both of them. Draco hesitated for a moment, then shook it.
The chair offered to him was upholstered, old, covered in burgundy leather. Draco didn’t touch it.
“Would you like to sit?” Kingsley asked with a polite smile.
“I… I’d rather stand. Thank you,” Draco replied, his voice surprisingly steady. Only his hands betrayed him; clenching the sleeves of his coat.
Harry placed a hand on his shoulder, and Draco licked his lips, glancing around the room before looking back at the Minister.
Hermione sat down on one of the chairs and offered an encouraging smile.
There was a moment of silence. Then Robards cleared his throat.
“Well. Ms. Granger said you wished to speak with us. After our last conversation, I wasn’t sure I’d see you again about this.”
He didn’t sound reproachful, but Draco’s expression grew even more tense.
“Yes, I- ” His voice was hoarse.
“It was all a bit... much,” he said vaguely, then took another deep breath.
“Maybe... I should sit after all,” he added, almost like a question, and gave Harry a look, his cheeks nearly white.
“Yeah, of course.”
Harry pulled two chairs close together and sat right beside Draco.
“Would you like some water?”
Without waiting for a reply, Kingsley handed him a glass, and Draco took it with trembling fingers, drinking deeply and gratefully.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Kingsley began, his expression softening with a familiar warmth that always put Harry at ease.
“I imagine this is a very serious matter you wish to discuss. Take your time.”
Harry saw Draco fumble in his pocket and start turning something small between his fingers.
His heart ached when he recognized the tiny yellow button; one from Scorpius’s old baby clothes, something Draco had kept.
Draco glanced at it briefly, then sat a little straighter and placed the glass back on the desk with a quiet clack.
“Thank you for seeing me. And also... thank you for being here,” he added with a polite nod to Robards.
“It’s about... well, my son.” He blinked. “Or, rather, his... the way he...”
Helplessly, he ran a hand down his face before his expression grew more resolved.
“I told him I would do this,” he said, almost to himself.
Kingsley watched him patiently.
“You asked me if I’d been physically assaulted in Azkaban,” Draco said, turning to Robards. “Your colleague asked me that.”
The Head Auror gave a solemn nod.
“Well, the answer is yes... I withdrew from the wizarding world because... In Azkaban, someone gave me a potion and my son, Scorpius, he doesn’t have a mother. Do you understand?”
He looked uncertain, and Harry saw Kingsley’s eyes flash for just a moment.
Only breathing filled the room for a beat.
“I understand, yes,” the Minister said quietly.
Draco blinked rapidly and then gave a desperate smile.
“I never wanted to file a report. I just wanted to forget. But... well, Azkaban is changing. The world is changing. I’ve... changed. And now that Scorpius, my son, now that he’s growing up, and there’s the possibility that this... man might try to claim some sort of right... I can’t allow that.
And I know the only way... the only way to find justice... is to talk to you.”
He looked down at his knees for a moment, then continued,
“And I know what that means. That I have to make an official statement. That there’s a chance my memories... might be requested.
But I’ll do whatever I can to protect Scorpius.”
“You saw his name,” Robards said, leaning forward slightly.
“The name of the man who did this to you.”
Draco nodded. “I did, yes.”
He held the Head Auror’s gaze for a moment before turning back to Kingsley.
“Mulciber Jr. I... This man must never have any contact with Scorpius. Do you understand?”
His voice was strained, desperate, and Kingsley exchanged a glance with Robards before nodding. Dracos chest rose and fell quickly, as if the words had taken more air than he'd had to give.
For a moment, no one spoke, before Kingsley leaned forward slightly.
“I think it’s very brave of you to be here, Mr. Malfoy.”
Robards nodded as well. “Indeed it is. I will take your statement, Mr. Malfoy. Do you have legal representation?”
“Legal-? I...”
Draco blinked, clearly caught off guard, then shook his head.
“Not at the moment, no. But- ”
“Even as a plaintiff, you should have a solicitor. Going through a trial is much easier with professional support.”
Robards’ eyes were serious as he continued.
“I can’t promise that your memories won’t be requested. If the defendant objects, the other side can file to obtain them. That’s why it’s important to have your own legal counsel from the start—someone who will protect your rights as much as possible. Especially with regard to the press.”
Draco swallowed hard.
“If… if they request them, my memories, does that mean… many people would see them? Watch them? I mean the Wizengamot and…”
Robards nodded solemnly.
“Only those involved in the case. But yes. That is a possibility.”
Draco’s hands trembled again. He looked at Harry, eyes wide.
“Would you… would you see them?”
Harry didn’t hesitate. “No.”
He turned to Robards. “They won’t be played in open court, right?”
Robards nodded quickly. “Correct. The memories are reviewed in a private room. Not in the courtroom itself.”
Hermione leaned forward slightly.
“I have a friend. A solicitor. She’s very good, I’ve worked with her several times. If you want, I can reach out to her.”
Draco looked a little overwhelmed, but he nodded.
“That would… yes. That would be good.”
“I’d record your official statement once you’ve had a chance to speak with her,” Robards said gently. “Unless you want to give it now, of course—that’s entirely up to you.”
Draco shook his head quickly.
“No, I… I don’t feel well. I…”
Kingsley leaned in, his voice calm and warm.
“You’ve already done more than enough today. Believe me when I say: we’re here to support you.”

Chapter 8: Survival

Notes:

TW: This chapter contains detailed depictions of sexual violence, abuse of power, emotional trauma, and pregnancy resulting from assault.

Please proceed only if you feel emotionally safe and ready!

Survival - not just making it through, but choosing to live

 

Ruby Carson was a slender, older woman with a strict bun and, in contrast, gentle laugh lines around her dark eyes.
The scent of her coffee filled the interrogation room, one Harry had seen many times before, though usually from the other side of the table, and Draco nodded barely visible while the lawyer whispered something in his ear.
Robards took a loud sip of his own coffee, then tapped the quill against the parchment and slid the document toward Harry.
Harry blinked only once at the familiar Ministry Confidentiality Agreement form and signed it without a word beneath the clauses he himself had copied countless times.
“All right,” Robards began, adjusting his tie and clearing his throat. “Mr. Malfoy- ”
Before he could continue, Carson raised her hand. Her smile was polite, but didn’t reach her eyes.
“Before we begin, Auror Robards...”
Harry could see Robards resist the urge to correct her to Head Auror, lifting his eyebrows instead.
Mrs. Carson pulled a document from the folder that read ‘D.L. Malfoy’ in elegant handwriting and slid the paper noisily across the table toward Harry’s former boss.
For a moment, the two of them stared at each other across the table, and the air was so tense Harry wondered what cases they might have worked on together. He exchanged a quick glance with Draco, who had raised an eyebrow.

Robards glanced at the document, at the perfect, delicate script, and rolled his eyes.
“You know Mr. Malfoy’s information will be treated as sensitive,” he said, and Carson kept smiling.
“My client and I discussed in detail what he expects from this proceeding. I trust you’ll take a moment to read and consider his wishes.”
Robards clicked his tongue, then sighed deeply and lifted the paper. His eyes scanned the contents, and his brow furrowed.
“A bit excessive, don’t you think? He’s a witness, not a defendant.”
Ruby Carson’s smile grew thinner.
“Exactly. And he should be treated as such.”
She folded her hands on the table.
“My client has the right not to be judged for past mistakes, especially not while taking part in a procedure that demands everything from him. This addendum simply ensures that no one digs up irrelevant matters that have nothing to do with today’s statement.”
Robards huffed softly.
“Clause three… no questions about past allegiances without prior approval from legal counsel? That’s not exactly standard.”
“Perhaps not,” Carson replied coolly. “But we’re speaking about a former Death Eater giving testimony about abuse in Azkaban.
If we want victims to speak, we have to show them they won’t be put on trial for it.”
There was a pause. Then Robards signed the document with a short, annoyed stroke.
“Ruby, honestly, this is- ”
“Thank you,” she said, snatching the paper from his hand and sliding it back into the folder.
Draco had grown paler during their exchange, his shoulders tight. Harry tried to offer him a small, reassuring smile, but Draco stared straight ahead.
“All right. Can we begin?” Robards asked then, and the lawyer turned to Draco, waiting.
Draco swallowed hard and gave a shaky nod.

“Mister Draco Lucius Malfoy, born- ”
Robards’ voice became a dull hum in Harry’s ears as he watched Draco bite his thumbnail, then run a hand through his hair more than once.
“…also present as a support person, Harry James Potter.”
Harry blinked when he heard his name and looked up at Robards.
“Uh, yes,” he said, and Robards gave a brief nod.
The Quick-Quotes Quill scratched loudly across the parchment.
“Well then, Mr. Malfoy.”
Robards made a broad gesture with his hands, his tone softening.
“Start wherever it makes the most sense to you.”
He leaned back slightly, and Ms. Carson gave Draco a calm, encouraging look.
Draco’s voice was hoarse when he began.
“Well, uh…” He cleared his throat. "I am not sure where... I mean..."
For the first time, he looked at Harry, looked him right in the eyes as he spoke.
"I arrived in Azkaban in June." His grey eyes glistened, his skin even paler than usual.
"I was…" He furrowed his brow slightly but kept his gaze steady on Harry, and Harry gave a small nod, encouraging him, letting him know it was okay, even if nothing about it really was. He offered a tiny smile. Draco swallowed and pushed his hand across the table. Harry took it instantly, squeezed the cold, clammy skin. Draco broke eye contact and looked at Robards instead.
"It wasn’t… easy, you understand? From the start. I was... and my family....Well. My father was known to most of them there. I didn’t know all of them, of course. But I knew a few. Many had been regulars at our house… back then. But I didn't know them like my father knew them."
He paused, shaking his head as if collecting himself.
"I had hoped he’d be there too. I hadn’t seen him since- "
Another shake of the head. "Anyway, he wasn’t there. But you know that. You know what happened to him, right?"
He bit his lip. His gaze was beginning to turn blank.
"The others… they’d hoped he’d be there, too. For different reasons than mine. But when the days passed and he didn’t show up, they turned their attention to me. Whenever we… left the cells. There was a system. The strong ones, and… the rest. I was the latter. Of course I was. I was-"
He swallowed so loudly Harry could hear it echo in the quiet room.

"Mulciber knew my parents well. Said I looked like my mother. And that I was as much of a coward as my father."
Harry felt nausea rise and tightened his grip on Draco’s hand. Draco’s eyes were completely blank now, fixed on the cold metal table.
"I tried to ignore him. Spent as much time in the cell as I could. It was dark there, everywhere was dark, but at least I was alone. That was better than the alternative."
He gave a small, sad smile.
"When Rowle got convicted and arrived, word spread fast about my father. That he was dead. Mulciber lost it. Said he had sworn revenge. That was the first time he hit me. Said my family was rotten and had no right to ever- "
He cleared his throat and took a sip of water.
"Sorry."
Robards' brow was furrowed. "If you need a break, Mr. Malfoy- "
"No, please. I… I’m okay."
Draco pulled his hand from Harry’s and pressed himself more firmly into the metal chair.
"It was… December, I think? Some of them had set up a smuggling system. Alcohol was the most popular, but also potions, different ones. I don’t know all that was going around. But I remember it being very cold when Mulciber first came into my cell. I don’t know why it wasn’t locked, sometimes it just wasn’t, and… well, he was angry. I think he’d been drinking. He told me he wouldn’t let me just walk out in a few months. And then he told me to drink something. And I said fine. Because I wasn’t one of the strong ones, you see? It tasted awful, and I know I gagged, and he laughed. Then he… he stroked my hair. Said I was pretty. Said I’d never forget him. That my family would pay. That I…"
Draco hesitated. "I thought he’d… I thought he’d do it, or kill me, I didn’t know. But he just smiled. And left. And then the pain started."
His hand drifted to his stomach, almost unconsciously.

"I know those potions, they’re meant to be taken in small doses, under supervision. But he just gave me the whole thing. And my body..."
He grimaced and pressed his lips together.
"The pain was intense. I screamed. But… the guards rarely came at night. And even if they did…"
He shrugged."I didn’t know what he’d given me, but it made me tired. Eventually, the pain was just a dull noise in the background. One of the guards told me to get up, and I did, because I knew that… We had to go out into the yard sometimes. They searched the cells for Merlin knows what, because the alcohol didn’t seem to bother them. That day, Mulciber watched me very closely. He smiled at me. Told me to come sit with him. He… told the others to look at me. Said how pretty I was. And then he put his arm around me and I just… I didn’t do anything, because I-"
Draco’s voice broke, and Harry could see tears glistening in his eyes.
"Because I was a coward. Like my father. Because I always took the easiest way out. And because I- "
Carson placed a hand gently on his arm, and it was as if he snapped out of a trance. He blinked a few times, his face tightening, and then he nodded.
"Anyway. I sat with that group for a few days after that. Mulciber told the others not to touch me, and honestly… Honestly, I was grateful. They listened to him.
But I hated him. I hated every time he touched my hair. Every time he said I reminded him of my mother. And then… then he started kissing me. Just like that.
He laughed. Told the others I was his. And I didn’t… I didn’t do anything. I probably should have told him to-"
He shook his head slightly.
"But I wouldn’t have stood a chance. And at least they didn’t beat me no more, I suppose."
He paused.
"That went on for a while. Then he started… visiting me. Said things. Touched my stomach. Told me I’d never forget him. And then… the first time happened."
Draco’s voice cracked completely. Harry quickly wiped at his own face as Draco looked up at him.
His cheeks were flushed, his bottom lip trembling.
"I told him no. I said I didn’t want it. It… It hurt. I’d never- " He pressed his lips together tightly.
"I… I feel a little sick. I…" He took a long drink of water.
"I did tell him. At first. But eventually…" He shrugged, and his face went flat.
"Eventually it just became part of it, I guess."

Harry tried to keep his expression in check, swallowing down the fury and helplessness that had formed a tight knot in his throat. Instead, he placed his hand on the table, palm up, close to Draco, offering it, without touching.
Draco blinked a few times before placing his own pale hand into Harry’s, and Harry squeezed gently, trying to offer strength even though he was trembling himself.
Draco took a deep breath.
“And then, as spring slowly came… I noticed something had changed. I was nauseous all the time, I was so tired -more tired than usual- and I… something just felt different.”
He hesitated. “At some point, I saw that there was… I saw it. And Mulciber saw it too. He laughed and told me he’d given me a gift I’d never forget. That’s when it really hit me, I think. What it meant. He said that if the guards found out, he’d kill me himself. And if I ever got out, he wished me luck surviving it.”
Draco looked down. “I don’t think he expected me to… to tell anyone. To find a healer. But even if he had… I don’t think he expected me... to not just survive it, but... to love him. To love Scorpius. I think if he finds out now that we… that we’re happy, then…”
He shook his head slightly. “I can’t let him near Scorpius. Ever.”
“In Azkaban… and when I…” He faltered. “I didn’t feel anything. I was just… empty. And I thought maybe we should die, the thing in my belly and me. And then Scorpius made it. And so did I. And he cried, and I knew…”
He looked up at Harry, voice trembling. “I knew I had to protect him.”
Harry flinched slightly, tightening his grip on Draco’s hand, and Draco gave a tiny shake of his head. “Do you understand?” he whispered. “He was so small and alone. And I… I have to protect him. I have to.”

For a moment, everything was silent, and Harry could only hear the rushing of blood in his ears.
Robards looked down at the document in front of him before clearing his throat.
“Do you believe that fellow inmates or… guards may have witnessed any of these incidents?”
Draco furrowed his brow and shrugged one shoulder.
“Well, at the time… I don’t know. But Mulciber often… touched me. In the yard, during meals. He bragged about me being… about me being his toy. I think it was something of an open secret that at night…”
He wiped a hand across his eyes.
“It was strange, because at first my cell door was locked, but then… it was unlocked more and more often. Sometimes it was wide open when I woke up in the morning.”
The scratching of the Quick-Quotes Quill sounded too loud in the small room, and Robards gave a nod.
“Do you know what Mulciber’s relationship with the guards was like?”
“Relationship? Well, the group he was part of… they were respected. The guards knew that, too. It wasn’t uncommon for… others to be beaten. Nothing ever really happened. Even the alcohol, the potions… there was one guard, I think his name was Philipps, who confiscated alcohol during a cell search. But I saw how the other guards tore him apart for it. He was young – Philipps, I mean – he was kind, most of the time. But Azkaban breaks everyone. Eventually, he was like the others. His eyes… they changed, you know? The Dementors… they do something to your mind. That place… it doesn’t just change the prisoners.”
Robards nodded again, then folded his hands on the table.
“But there are no actual witnesses to the assault?”
When the lawyer opened her mouth, Robards raised his hand.
“That question is not meant to cast doubt on your experience. When witnesses exist, it's often possible to avoid the need for memory examination.”
Carson closed her mouth again and exhaled quietly.
Draco shook his head.
“I don’t know. Honestly. Maybe someone saw something, but… I don’t think anyone would be willing to come forward.”
“And do you believe anyone noticed the… pregnancy?” Robards asked then, and Draco stared thoughtfully at the table before blinking.
“The clothing there… I made sure it didn’t show. And we didn’t get much to eat, so I didn’t really gain weight. But… once, when we were allowed to shower, I saw that… Selwyn - the name means something to you, I assume? I saw him look at me. Just for a moment. And I think… I think he noticed.”
Robards nodded slowly, his brow still furrowed in thought. For a moment, his fingers tapped against the table before he let out a quiet sigh.
“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I know that wasn’t easy.”

He cleared his throat, glanced briefly at the parchment in front of him, then pushed it aside.
“Based on your testimony, we will initiate an official criminal investigation. That means Mr. Mulciber Jr. will be formally informed of the allegations in the coming days. He will be given the opportunity to respond, either personally or through legal representation, should he choose to appoint a solicitor.”
He folded his hands on the table, his voice steady and calm.
“Following that, a decision will be made regarding indictment. Frankly, considering the nature of your statement and the material provided, that is highly likely. In the meantime, Mr. Mulciber will have no access to communication channels, and we will begin identifying any witnesses who may be willing to come forward.”
His eyes shifted to Draco, who remained silent.
“I can’t promise it will be a swift process. But I can promise that your statement is being taken seriously. And that no one, absolutely no one, has the right to harm you or your son.”
He paused. “You will be informed of every step. And when the time comes, there will be an official hearing, closed to the public, if that’s what you wish.”
He glanced briefly at Carson, who gave a firm nod.
“Until then, the confidentiality agreement remains in effect. Only authorized individuals, such as Mr. Potter, will have access. If you have any questions, we’re here to answer them.”

 

Harry heard Draco suck in a shaky breath as they stepped out of the Ministry building.
Carson shook his hand, said her goodbyes, and Draco's hand looked limp and lifeless in hers as he nodded.
For a moment, he and Harry stood in silence before Draco inhaled deeply again, then slowly started walking down the snow-dusted steps.
"Can we walk for a bit?" he asked without looking at Harry, and Harry blinked a few times before falling into step beside him.
"Of course. Are you hungry?"
Draco wrapped his arms around himself, his black coat already dusted with small snowflakes.
"No. No food. I just... I just want a few minutes before we pick up Scorpius, okay?"
"Of course, yeah."
They walked in silence through the busy streets of London, surrounded by hurried Muggles, honking cars, and the Thames, glittering in the bright winter light.
Draco stopped on the bridge, staring down into the water.
Harry watched the way their faces reflected in the slow-moving waves, Draco almost glowing, and gently slipped an arm around his shoulders.
Draco said nothing, but he closed his eyes and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder.
Harry pressed a kiss to his cool, slightly damp hair and inhaled deeply.
"You were so brave," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of tires splashing through slush.
Draco pressed his head tighter to Harry’s shoulder, turned slightly, and wrapped his arms around him.
"Can you take me home?" Draco asked, his voice muffled against the fabric of Harry’s thick coat.
Harry ran a hand over his blond fine hair. "I want to go home, Harry."
"Of course. Of course. Come on. We can apparate just over there."
Harry gently stepped out of Draco’s hold, and leaning close to each other, they crossed the busy street into the quieter side alley.

Their home welcomed them the way it always did - warm and soft, still scented with the bread Harry had baked that morning.
Draco kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.
"I can go pick up Scorpius in a bit, yeah?" Harry asked softly as he sat down beside him, his hand stroking over the soft fabric of Draco’s sweater.
Draco looked up at him with tired eyes, then glanced at the clock.
"School’s not out yet," he said quietly.
"Mh. Can I do something for you in the meantime?" Harry asked.
Draco sank back into the cushions. "Can you just... can we just sit here for a bit?"

They lay down side by side, and Harry pulled the soft blanket over both of them. The only sound was the ticking of the clock, until Draco spoke.
“Did Scorpius tell you he’s going to be a museum guard?”
His voice was tired, but Harry could hear the smile in it.
“Oh yeah, of course. The dinosaurs really left an impression. I think he’ll change his mind the moment he realises he won’t actually get to build the skeletons himself.”
Draco huffed softly. “Last week, he wanted to be a Charms teacher.”
“And the week before that, it was Astronomy. Clearly your influence.”
Harry grinned as Draco lifted his head and gave him a frown.
“Astronomy is an interesting subject.”
“Of course it is. Almost as exciting as History of Magic with Binns.”
Draco inhaled sharply, scandalised.
Harry laughed. “No, no, you’re right. Astronomy can be interesting. I mean, when you talk about stars, I actually enjoy listening. If you’d been my teacher, I might’ve paid more attention.”
Draco huffed again. “Me, your teacher? Potter, you would’ve failed miserably.”
“Oh, I survived Snape too.”
“You’re not seriously comparing me to Severus?”
Draco gave him wide eyes and Harry laughed again.“You’re right. You’re much better looking.”
He kissed Draco’s temple. “But you’re just as terrifying.”
Draco let his head fall back down, seemingly content, and began tracing small circles on Harry’s chest.
“Do you think…” he started, his voice quieter.
“Do you think it was the right decision?” he asked then, a little louder.
Harry reached for his hand and pressed a kiss to Draco’s fingertips.
“Of course, Draco. Yes. It was the right thing.”
He felt Draco yawn against his chest. Harry’s heart ached a little as he pulled Draco even closer, holding his narrow body, his warmth, trying to push away the image of a nineteen-year-old Draco, scared and alone. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Draco’s voice was slurred, barely awake, when he spoke again.
“I love you, Harry.”

 

"But I don’t think Nibbles will hate her," Scorpius said thoughtfully, his hat crooked on his head as he kicked a frozen chunk of ice that skittered across the cobblestones. "But I read that owls eat rabbits?" Scorpius shook his head like he was genuinely confused, and Harry nudged him with his shoulder.
"Well, I wouldn’t put her in the rabbit hutch, no," he said with a smile, glancing at Draco, who was eyeing a shop window as they passed.
"Yeah, okay, but maybe they could meet outside?" Scorpius suggested, tugging on Draco’s sleeve. "What do you think, Papa?"
Draco turned his head, and despite the dark circles under his eyes, one corner of his mouth lifted.
"I think the rabbits stay in the garden house, and the owl stays outside."
Scorpius groaned a little but then kicked the chunk of ice again, watching it bounce down the alleyway. Harry switched the owl cage to his other hand and rubbed his gloved fingers against his coat.
"Hopefully it gets a bit warmer soon," he muttered mostly to himself.
"I like winter!" Scorpius replied, shaking his head.
"I know, but a bit of sunshine would do all of us some good," Harry replied, then added, "Maybe you two will even get a bit of color."
Draco and Scorpius both shot him a skeptical look.
"We’re Malfoys. We don’t tan. We just turn pink," Scorpius said, and Harry snorted.
"And then Papa gets freckles everywhere!" Scorpius grinned, and Draco furrowed his brow.
"Excuse me, I do not have freckles."
Harry and Scorpius exchanged a look, then burst out laughing.

They were nearly at the owl shop when Harry noticed Draco slowing down.
Scorpius skipped ahead a few steps, kicked another bit of ice, and mumbled something about names starting with “W,” but Draco had stopped.
Harry immediately sensed something was wrong. Draco’s jaw was tense, his gaze darting nervously around the alley.
"What’s wrong?" Harry asked quietly, stepping closer.
"They’re looking at us. More than usual," Draco muttered, folding his arms.
"Who?"
"The people. Behind us. In front. Over there. And over there." He nodded ever so slightly. "I- I knew it would happen eventually. I knew someone must’ve heard something, or something leaked. It was too risky-"
"Draco." Harry placed a hand on his back, feeling the tension in his muscles.
"If it’s already in the papers, if they write what I said, if they come after Scorpius-"
"Draco." Harry stepped in front of him, gently but firmly. "You’re safe. Scorpius is safe. Nothing’s happened."
Scorpius had turned around by now, watching them with a frown.
"Papa? Everything okay?"
"Yes, sweetheart. Go on inside, yeah?" Harry waved him in.
Draco was breathing shallowly.
"Let’s just go in, okay?" Harry said. "You’ll see."
They stepped into the shop, the little bell above the door jingling. The warm, hay-scented air enveloped them, and within seconds, the older shopkeeper appeared from the back room.
"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Potter!" he beamed. "Congratulations!"
Draco froze.
Harry blinked. "Oh. Um. Thank you… for what?"
"I read the Witch Weekly, of course! What a lovely ring! So romantic- 'Engaged to Former Death Eater, Adopted Son Overjoyed' - that’s what it said, I think." He winked. "I may have shed a tear, honestly."
For a moment, the shop was completely silent. Draco’s mouth was slightly open.
Harry took a deep breath and forced a polite smile. "Great," he said, sounding more bitter than he meant to, but the shopkeeper just nodded cheerfully.
"So, young man, what can I do for you?" he turned to Scorpius, who stood a few feet away, staring wide-eyed at the owls.
Harry swallowed and lifted his hand.
"Okay, so, this was supposed to be romantic. And I… didn’t want to talk about it surrounded by owl droppings. I mean, I know you already said yes, but I thought, well, a proper proposal and-"
Draco stopped him with a raised eyebrow.
"You bought me a ring," he said, and Harry shrugged.
"Of course. I promised you I would."
Draco looked at him searchingly.
"You really mean to marry me."
Harry frowned. "Of course I do. Did you… I mean, didn’t you mean it?"
Harry bit his lip, heart pounding. Draco still looked thoughtful for a moment before his expression softened and his eyes gleamed.
"I did. I do."
Harry exhaled with relief.
"Good, because otherwise this would be really- I mean, Scorpius and I came here the other day and-"
"And you thought it wouldn’t get out?"
"It was early! The shop was empty! And the sales witch seemed-" Harry started, but Draco’s amused expression stopped him.
"Potter, they once published photos of us buying laundry detergent."
"Okay, that was one time," Harry said, and Draco’s smile widened.
"Thank you, Harry. I’m excited to see the ring."
"I helped pick it out!" Scorpius’s voice startled them. He was grinning from ear to ear. "Because Harry needed help!"
"Oh, I’m sure he did," Draco replied, and Harry rolled his eyes.
"Thanks, Malfoy."

"Look, I want that one!" Scorpius pointed to a dark brown owl that was watching them intently.
"She’s a rescue, and she was treated badly, so we’ll take her and give her a good home," Scorpius explained with a voice that left no room for argument.
"Well, I do have a few questions first," Draco said, but Scorpius waved him off.
While Scorpius tugged energetically on Harry’s sleeve and led him toward the dark brown owl, now calmly perched on her stand, Draco’s voice could already be heard from the back of the shop:
“And how often does she need to be fed, exactly? Are there specific nutrients she requires? I’ve read that some owls don’t tolerate cold well - what protective charms are used here at night?”
The shopkeeper, still smiling, looked a bit overwhelmed but did his best to keep up.
“Well, she’s a sturdy long-eared owl, very adaptable, but of course, you’ll receive a full list of recommendations, feeding schedules, flight patterns, care tips- ”
“Excellent. And about the flight, what’s an appropriate distance for her? I don’t want her overexerting herself. We live outside of London, it’s quite a stretch. Is she used to that sort of range? Are there any training protocols? Especially with Hogwarts in mind?”
Harry glanced over his shoulder and had to suppress a grin before turning back to Scorpius.
Scorpius carefully reached out his hand, and the owl tilted her head before slowly moving toward him.
“See? She likes me!” he whispered in awe.
“I think you’ve impressed her,” Harry said softly, watching how the owl studied Scorpius with large amber eyes.
Scorpius gently stroked the soft feathers on her chest with one finger.
“I have a name list at home,” he announced, and the owl puffed up slightly. “Can we decide tonight which one fits?”
Harry glanced at Draco, who was now eyeing the shopkeeper critically, then nodded with a grin.
“I think we can, as soon as your father finishes working through his interrogation manual.”

Chapter 9: Home

Home - not where you began, but where the darkness ends

 

Draco had been quiet over the past few days. Even when he smiled, Harry could see the thoughts circling in his head.
He saw it when Draco stared a moment too long into his steaming cup of tea in the morning, when he paused mid-motion while packing Scorpius’s lunch, his gaze fixed on the cold garden outside, and when he seemed to forget to blink for an entire minute.
Harry had thought about sending a message to Healer Fournier, but Draco didn’t seem ready to talk, he only smiled in silence and moved through the daily routines almost mechanically.
Only at night, when he was curled up in bed, could Harry ease the deep line between his brows, kissing him, holding him, stroking his back, breathing in the scent of his hair until Draco's breathing slowed and evened out.
When the weekend arrived, Harry woke to the sound of clinking dishes.
Draco had wrapped himself tightly in the blanket during the night, knees pulled to his chest, and even in sleep, his face looked tense.
Carefully, Harry slipped his hand out of Draco’s, kissed his temple, and crept downstairs.
A glance at the clock told him it was only seven.

Scorpius stood in the kitchen, holding a mug and spooning far too much cocoa powder into it.
Harry leaned against the doorway and watched him for a moment.
Scorpius was humming quietly, standing on tiptoe to reach the sugar jar from the cupboard, and mixing an equally large amount into the mug.
Steam rose from the pot on the stove.
Harry grinned.
“There’s not going to be any room left in that cup.”
Scorpius jumped and spun around, eyes wide.
“You scared me!” he said accusingly, then grinned and shrugged.
Harry stepped closer and peeked into the green mug, which was already half full.
“Merlin, Scorpius, you’re going to give yourself a sugar shock.”
Scorpius shook his head and stirred the hot milk with a fork.
“That new cocoa Papa bought tastes weird unless you add loads of sugar,” he complained, and Harry laughed.
“I think that was the point. He bought it because it isn’t so sweet.”
Scorpius frowned.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said, and stirred again.
The fork scraped across the metal.
“You do know we have spoons, right?” Harry asked, amused.
“I already had the fork because I was eating those melon slices from yesterday. Why make more dishes dirty? I’d have to clean them too!”
“We have a dishwasher.”
“Yeah, but you still have to put it in the dishwasher,” Scorpius replied, sticking out his tongue as he poured the milk into the mug.
“Compelling logic,” Harry said dryly. “One extra spoon is a lot of work.”
Scorpius scrunched his nose and stirred the milk-cocoa-sugar mess again.
“Do you want some?” he asked, licking the fork.
“Why not? But maybe with a little less of... everything.”
Harry sat down at the kitchen counter while Scorpius filled a second mug and shoved the cocoa tin toward him.
“Here. You don’t know what’s good.”
He took a big sip and smiled happily before glancing into the pot.
“Oh.”
He scratched his head and held the pot up to Harry. The milk had burned.
Scorpius pulled a sheepish face.
Harry snorted. “Did you turn the heat up too high again?”
“No! I did it just like Papa showed me,” Scorpius said defensively, then glanced into the pot again.
“Well... maybe a bit hotter. It takes forever otherwise,” he admitted, and Harry laughed.
“Nothing a spell can’t fix. Just leave it in the sink, I’ll take care of it.”
“Is Papa still asleep?” Scorpius dropped onto the barstool beside Harry and took another loud sip. Cocoa clung to his upper lip.
“Mhm. It’s only seven. Why are you up?”
“I don’t know! I woke up and was hungry. Then I saw the milk in the fridge and...” He shrugged and grinned. “Did I wake you?”
Harry yawned and ruffled Scorpius’s hair.
“Yes, but it’s fine. I was planning to make breakfast for you two anyway. Maybe I’ll bring your Papa something in bed.”
“Oh! Yeah, he likes that.”
“He does?” Harry stood up and switched on the coffee machine, which gurgled to life.
“Hey, what about your cocoa?” Scorpius asked, and Harry grinned over his shoulder.
“Cocoa is for enjoyment. Coffee is a necessity.”

He turned around, leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
Outside, rain lashed against the windows.
“Shame. I was hoping we could go out for a bit today.”
“Where to?” Scorpius asked.
Harry glanced toward the stairs before stepping closer and lowering his voice conspiratorially.
“Your Papa already knows about the ring, but I... I haven’t given it to him yet. I still want it to be special. I thought we could do it together. Originally at the sea, but...”
He glanced critically out the window.
“Papa likes rain.”
“Well, he likes light rain, not a full-on soaking.”
“We could take an umbrella! Or... that spell you did the other day.”
“Yeah? You think? You don’t think your Papa will complain if we drag him out in this weather?”
“Papa always complains,” Scorpius replied, but he grinned as he said it.
Harry tilted his head. “Fair point.”
His gaze softened. “Yeah... I thought doing something nice could do all of us some good.
There’s... a place I’d like to take you both. It’s really beautiful there.”
Scorpius nodded enthusiastically, before he took another big gulp of his cocoa, which now sloshed over the rim of the mug, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
Then he slid off the stool, walked to the window, and leaned over the large cage that stood on a white stool beside it.
The owl wasn’t asleep, her round, amber eyes were half open, and she tilted her head slightly as Scorpius whispered:
“We’re going to the sea today. I think you’ll like it. But it’s super windy, you might get a cool wind hairstyle.”
The owl let out a soft, croaky huhrrk, almost like a skeptical chuckle.
Scorpius grinned.
“Your father’s going to love that we’re bringing the owl,” Harry said dryly.
Scorpius nodded as if he hadn’t noticed the sarcasm.
“She’ll think it’s awesome! Yesterday she flew sooo far, I couldn’t even see her anymore.”
He fished an owl treat from the tin on the counter and pushed it through the bars.
“It’s kind of lame for her, being stuck in this cage,” he said, and Harry stepped beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“True. But that’s just for now. Remember what the shopkeeper said?”
“Mhm. That she needs to get used to us first and shouldn’t stay outside at night yet,” Scorpius said, gently stroking her soft feathers.
Then he looked up at Harry. “But it’s morning now. She can go out, right?”
Harry cast a doubtful look outside, where the rain was now falling so hard he could barely see the garden shed.
“I doubt she wants to go out. But yeah, you can try.”

No sooner had he spoken than Scorpius lifted the cage and nudged the garden door open with his foot. It was loud under the porch roof, and Harry stayed in the doorway.
Scorpius opened the cage eagerly and looked at the owl with expectation.
She fluffed her feathers slightly - and didn’t move an inch.
“Come on! You can fly!” Scorpius declared.
“I think she’s aware of that,” Harry said, amused.
The owl closed both eyes.
Scorpius frowned and looked up at Harry.
“Told you.”
“I guess... maybe she doesn’t want to come to the sea,” Scorpius said, then sighed and hauled the cage back inside.
“Apparently not.”
There was a brief pause before Scorpius peeked outside again.
“But I’m going to check on Nibbles and Gerald. It’s probably super loud in the garden house! Are you coming?”
Just then, the coffee machine made a final gurgling sound.
“Ah, no. I think I’ll go wake your Papa,” Harry said, and Scorpius pulled a face.
“Good luck.”

Harry balanced the tray carefully as he pushed the bedroom door open with his shoulder.
The coffee mug wobbled slightly, but the spoon stayed put, and the scent of cinnamon and oat milk filled the room almost immediately.
Draco groaned from under the blanket.
“Peace offering,” Harry said brightly, setting the tray down on the nightstand. “Exactly how you like it. One and a half sugars. Stirred, not charmed. Froth level: unnecessarily extra.”
A suspicious tuft of blond hair appeared from under the blanket.
“Mm.”
Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to brush a strand away from Draco’s forehead.
“I come bearing gifts and good intentions,” he said. “Well. Mostly good intentions.”
Draco squinted at him with one eye open, then turned his face into the pillow.
“Please don’t say you made plans.”
Harry smiled innocently.
“Nooo, not made... more like… imagined... loosely constructed a vague idea...”
“Potter.”
Harry picked up the mug and held it out in both hands like an offering to a grumpy spirit.
“There’s a warm coat involved. And possibly a thermos.”
Draco didn’t move.
“It’s somewhere beautiful,” Harry added. “And we all really need it.”
A moment passed.
A violent clap of thunder shook the windowpanes.
Draco lifted his head, gave Harry the flattest look he could muster, and then glanced toward the rain-streaked glass.
“Beautiful.”
Harry bit his lip.
“Okay, yes, the timing is a little dramatic. But I swear, it’s worth it.”
Draco didn’t reply right away. He just looked at the coffee in Harry’s hand, then at Harry, then back at the coffee.
“I put cinnamon in it.”
A long pause.
“…Fine,” Draco said, reaching for the mug with an exaggerated sigh.
“But only because I pity you and your delusions of romance.”
Harry grinned.
“I knew you'd say yes.”

Draco took a careful sip, then leaned back against the headboard with the blanket still around his shoulders like a disgruntled emperor.
“If I get cold,” he warned, “you’re legally obligated to keep me warm.”
“I accept the terms,” Harry said solemnly, already standing up to go find the extra scarves.
“Do I also get kissing rights?”
Draco gave him a sideways glance over the rim of the mug. “We’ll see.”
Harry grinned at him over his shoulder.
“You look absurdly beautiful ,” he said, half-serious and winked.
Draco rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it might hurt.
“You’ve already convinced me. What does Scorpius say? Oh, wait, why do I even ask. Of course he wants to head straight into the storm.”
“Scorpius said - and I quote- ‘Papa likes rain.’”
Draco cast another skeptical glance at the window.
“Rain, yes, but…” He sighed and took a long sip of coffee before closing his eyes again.
“Where are we going?”
“Ah-ah. Surprise,” Harry said, settling down next to him on the bed.
He snatched the mug from Draco’s hands and took a sip.
Draco gasped in outrage, but Harry only grinned and kissed his cheek.

“How are you today?” Harry asked then, quieter now, his voice softer.
Draco’s expression shifted. The sharpness faded.
He looked past Harry, gaze distant.
“I’m... okay, I think. I’m still waiting, every day...”
He took a deep breath.
“For the letter. For whatever comes next. Whether I’ll have to... see him again.”
Harry blinked, caught off guard by Draco’s honesty. He reached out and took his hand. “And you?” Draco asked, looking at Harry again.
Harry tilted his head slightly.
“I’m worried too, of course. But today... let’s just do something good. Something beautiful, yeah?”
He leaned in, and Draco pressed his nose briefly against Harry’s cheek before taking the mug back from his hand and sipping.
“Fine. I’ll go shower. Even if I’ll be soaking wet again in half an hour.”
With that, he stood up, grabbed a piece of bread, and shoved it into his mouth, setting the mug down with a soft clink.
Harry remained seated for a moment longer, eyes drifting to the door,
then, quietly, he opened the nightstand drawer and let his thumb glide over the velvet box inside.

 

The rain was relentless. Not soft or romantic - relentless.
It lashed sideways in sheets, soaking the path and painting the horizon in shades of grey and steel.
Scorpius ran ahead in his bright yellow raincoat, a tiny streak of sunshine darting across the wet grass. His laughter carried even over the sound of wind and waves, high and unbothered.
Draco stood still for a moment, arms crossed, hood up, the lower half of his face hidden by his scarf. Then he looked at Harry with narrowed eyes.
“You’re a madman,” he said flatly, as if just now realising it.
Harry grinned and adjusted his hood. “Guilty.”
They started walking the narrow path that led up the cliffs, the ground slick beneath their boots, the air thick with salt and thunder.
Scorpius was already halfway up, jumping from rock to rock like a mountain goat, completely undeterred by the weather.
Harry reached for Draco’s hand as they climbed.
When they finally reached the top, the view opened up like a breath held too long.
The sea stretched out endlessly before them, wild and roaring and magnificent.
White spray exploded against the cliffs below, and clouds rolled low over the waves like smoke.
Draco stopped.
His lips parted slightly, his breath visible in the cold air.
He didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stared at the horizon.
Harry stepped closer and quietly cast the warming charm. The rain still drummed on their hoods, but a soft heat settled around their shoulders.
For a moment, despite the wind, the cold, the noise, it was beautiful.
Truly beautiful.

“I came here once with Ron and Hermione,” Harry said quietly. “We…”
He trailed off for a moment, then wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist from behind, their soaked jackets sticking together.
“We were traveling for a long time back then. It was…”
He exhaled deeply and rested his head on Draco’s shoulder.
“And even though it was hard, really hard, and we wanted to give up so many times… we stood here once, just like this. And for a moment, it was good. You know?”
He whispered it into Draco’s ear, the words carried and distorted by the wind.
“It’s so loud here, but somehow… everything else feels quieter.”
He let out a soft laugh.
“I know, I sound like I’m trying to be poetic again.”
He pressed his nose to Draco’s cold cheek and breathed in deeply.
“I stood up here once… and for a moment, it was just good,” he repeated softly.
He felt Draco nod gently, his eyes still locked on the crashing waves below.
Harry slid one arm free and carefully reached into his jacket pocket as he continued,
“I want to be here with you forever. I want to be with you forever.”
Fumbling with cold fingers, he pulled the ring from its box. The metal was freezing, even against his chilled skin.
With trembling hands, he reached for Draco’s, resting just atop his own, and slowly slipped the ring onto his finger.
Draco blinked several times, then looked down as the metal warmed softly against his skin.
“You’re all I want,” Harry whispered, catching a blur of yellow in the corner of his vision, Scorpius, running through the rain.
“You’re both all I want.”

Draco slowly lifted his hand, long elegant fingers glistening with rain, and stared at the ring now resting there.
Then he turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder at Harry, grey eyes as wild as the sea below and the storm above.
The yellow blur approached, and Scorpius came to a stop beside them, his hair soaked and face flushed.
“Well?” he called over the wind. “Do you like it, Papa?”
Harry gently let go of Draco, whose eyes were still locked with his, unreadable.
Then Draco looked back down at the ring.
“It’s warm,” he said finally, and Harry nodded, his mouth dry.
Draco narrowed his eyes a little, examining the fine lines etched into the silver.
“You have to look inside, Papa!” Scorpius added eagerly.
Draco blinked and carefully slid the ring off to read the inscription.
His eyes began to shine. Harry saw the way he swallowed, hard.
“My dandelion,” Draco read quietly.
And finally, finally, his whole face shifted.
He all but threw himself into Harry’s arms.
His sobs were swallowed by the wind and the waves, and Harry wrapped his arms tightly around him, gently stroking his back.
Scorpius watched them with wide, glowing eyes, then pressed in from the side and wrapped his arms around them both.
The wind howled on, but for a while, they stayed like that, just the three of them, tangled together against the storm.
Harry felt Draco's heartbeat through the damp layers of fabric. Fast at first, then slowly settling.
Scorpius pressed his cheek against Harry’s arm, his little hands still wrapped tightly around them both.
No one spoke.
Eventually, Draco pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes red-rimmed, but clear.
He gave Harry the smallest, most genuine smile he’d ever seen on him.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For this. For... everything.”

Harry leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then turned to Scorpius and brushed a wet strand of hair from his face. “You’re cold,” he said softly.
Scorpius shook his head with exaggerated determination. “I’m fine!”
Harry smiled, then gently pulled out his wand and cast an extra warming charm on him.
Scorpius giggled, warmth blooming across his face, then turned to look over the edge of the cliff.
“Can we go down there?” he asked suddenly, pointing.
Draco followed his gaze warily to where the waves were crashing, his expression skeptical.
But Scorpius quickly clarified, eyes bright with excitement. “No, I mean there!”
He pointed to a narrow strip of beach nestled safely between the rocks.
His face looked so hopeful, so filled with light, that Harry’s heart swelled in his chest.
He glanced at Draco, and saw him take a deep breath, something unspoken passing between them.
Then Draco nodded.
“Alright. A few minutes,” he said, his voice low but kind. “Before one of us ends up with pneumonia.”

Down on the beach, the sound of the waves was nearly deafening, and Scorpius took off running, eager to inspect the shells and stones scattered across the sand.
Draco looked at one of the wet rocks for a moment before sighing.
“I’m already soaked,” he muttered, and sank down onto the stone.
Harry grinned and sat beside him, his heart pounding in his chest.
Draco tilted his head back, face tilted into the rain. His hood slipped, revealing pale blond hair that immediately darkened and clung to his forehead.
He closed his eyes for a moment, the furrow between his brows barely visible now.
Harry watched him, smiling softly, then turned his gaze to Scorpius, who was holding up a shell and waving excitedly. Harry waved back.
“I didn’t think I’d ever live long enough to feel like this.”
Draco’s voice startled him, and when Harry turned, Draco had his eyes open again, though he was still looking at the sky.
“At some point I stopped thinking about the future. My future. I think it was when he burned the Mark into my skin.”
He blinked, then looked at Harry, not sad, not broken. He was smiling.
“I lived first for my parents’ protection. Then for a while... well.”
He gave a small shrug. “Then for Scorpius, right? If I had been alone, I would’ve tried again. And this time, I would’ve succeeded.”
He blinked again and ran his fingers over the scar that began at his wrist, the one Harry knew ran through the Dark Mark.
“For the first time... I mean, since I’ve had you, I feel like I’m living for myself again, you know? Like there’s meaning beyond what I do.
I was a son. Then I was a father. But who was I outside of that?”
He looked out at the crashing waves, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
“With you, I’m not just a partner. I’m... I’m my own person. You make me feel like I am something. Even if nothing else remains. Even if I can’t- ”
He broke off, swallowing hard, then reached for Harry’s hand.
“Do you think love can undo what fear has done?”
His voice was barely more than a breath.
“I do. Now I do.”

 

The nearby village was nearly silent.
Rain pattered against the cobblestones, thunder rumbling overhead in lazy, rolling waves. The narrow street wound between crooked stone cottages and shuttered shops, all dark behind rain-blurred windows. Not a single person was in sight.
Harry walked beside Draco, their hoods pulled up, coats soaked through at the hems. Scorpius trailed just ahead, hopping in and out of puddles like it was a sport.
Draco exhaled loudly and looked around.
“This is absurd,” he said, but there was no bite to it. “This place looks like it hasn’t seen a human being since the 1800s.”
Harry glanced sideways at him.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Draco huffed. “I say that like I’m cold, wet, under-caffeinated, and walking through what appears to be a ghost town.”
Another crack of thunder echoed through the clouds.
Scorpius let out a delighted squeal and darted toward a corner. “There’s something here!”
They turned and found a small, slightly leaning shopfront tucked between a post office and a souvenir shop. The sign hanging above the door was barely legible under layers of peeling paint:
Bessie’s Bites & Brews.
The window was fogged from the inside, but a warm, golden light glowed behind the glass.
Draco peered at the door, then at the sign, then at the sagging window boxes full of rain-drowned pansies.
He gave a single, dramatic sniff.
“Good enough.”
He yanked open the door, and a little bell above it let out the saddest ding imaginable.
Inside, the café looked like it had been decorated entirely from mismatched garage sales. No two chairs matched, the cushions were wildly floral, and the tables were all slightly wobbly in different ways.
But it was warm. So warm. And it smelled like cinnamon, vanilla, and strong coffee.
Harry blinked at the sudden coziness.
Scorpius beamed and tore off his raincoat.
Draco lowered his hood and looked around slowly, then let out a small, surprised hum.
“Not terrible.”
A woman appeared from behind the counter, wearing a knitted jumper with sheep on it. She smiled as if she’d been waiting just for them.
“Take any seat you like, loves. Tea? Coffee? Bit of cake to warm up?”
“Yes,” Draco said immediately. “All of the above.”
Harry grinned and shrugged off his coat.
Scorpius was already bouncing on the sagging floral cushions of a faded pink armchair.
Draco sat down in a creaky wooden chair with peeling paint and looked far too elegant for the entire establishment.
He glanced around, then gave Harry a small, rare smile - one of those 'I'm not saying I like it, but I clearly do' smiles.
Their coats steamed gently on the backs of their chairs, while Scorpius balanced a spoon on his nose and Harry tried not to laugh.
Draco had gone from storm-drenched to dignified in record time. His hair was still damp, but he'd managed to look composed, elegant and just the right amount of smug.
When the waitress arrived, notepad in hand,Draco straightened a little.
“I’ll have a black coffee. Strong. Bit of sugar,” he said. As he reached for his wallet, he very subtly rotated his left hand, fingers slightly splayed, letting the silver ring catch the warm café light.
Harry noticed immediately.
So did Scorpius.
They shared a glance across the table.
Draco, of course, pretended not to see. He was busy inspecting the dessert case from across the room. The waitress smiled warmly. “Anything else for you?”
Draco gave a tiny, deliberate pause.
“Cake,” he said. “Something with lemon, if you’ve got it.”
“Of course! Coming right up.”

As she turned away, Draco leaned back with the satisfied air of a man who'd just completed a successful business deal.
Harry leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.
“You’re being subtle,” he said dryly.
Draco didn’t look at him. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Scorpius kicked Harry gently under the table and whispered with barely concealed glee,
“Papa’s showing off.”
Draco lifted his cup the moment it arrived, ring shimmering against the dark porcelain.
“Oh,” he said softly, almost too casual. “Did I mention we just got engaged?”
The waitress gasped. “Oh, how wonderful! Just now?”
Draco nodded, eyes on Harry.“A few minutes ago. Up on the cliffs.”
He glanced down at his ring again. The waitress shot Harry an amused look.
“Congratulations! How romantic, up there. But pretty cold, wasn’t it?”
She eyed the ring a little longer, clearly curious.
“It’s silver. Argentium,” Draco said helpfully, turning his hand just enough for the light to catch it again.
Harry gave her a faintly apologetic look, but she only smiled wider.
“It suits you,” she said kindly. “You both look really happy.”
Draco gave her a surprisingly soft smile in return, then took a slow sip of his coffee, utterly smug.

The waitress turned to fetch the cake, and as soon as she was out of earshot, Scorpius leaned over the table, whispering:
“This isn’t even the worst it’s been.”
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
Scorpius nodded solemnly, cocoa moustache and all.
“Remember that time you got Papa that bracelet and Papa and Pansy were cooking, and she was carrying that fancy dessert? And Papa just happened to stretch his arm right in front of her face-”
“It was hot, I was warning her not to-” Draco began, but Scorpius was already miming the scene.
“- and she got startled and dropped the whole tray!” Scorpius threw his arms in the air and nodded vigorously. Draco shook his head.
“I was trying to warn her,” he repeated.
Scorpius pulled a face. “You rolled up your sleeves and everything.”
“Lies,” Draco said, but he was smiling, and Harry felt him gently nudge Scorpius under the table with his foot.
Harry felt it like a warm ache in his chest. Like his whole heart tilted toward that one smile.
Merlin, he was beautiful. Even now, with damp hair and a sarcastic streak. Especially now.
And Harry thought, not for the first time, and certainly not the last,

I get to have this. I get to keep him.

Chapter 10: Dread

Notes:

After the last soft chapter… here comes one of the hardest. 😅
I know it’s probably too early to post again, but I’m really proud of this chapter and honestly just too curious to see how it lands. So… here we are.
Please take care of yourselves while reading.
This chapter includes mentions and depictions of grooming, coercion, and sexual abuse (non-explicit).

Dread – a deep and persistent fear of something inevitable

 

The day the letter arrived was the first warm one in weeks. Sunlight streamed through the window, making the grass outside sparkle and lighting up the wooden table where Harry was sipping his coffee. Draco was flipping through a magazine, brows slightly furrowed, eyes still tired from sleep. Upstairs, Scorpius was stomping through the hallway when the owl let out a loud, croaking caw. Draco looked up and leaned back to peer into the kitchen just as the sound came again.
“Scorpius,” he called, and when there was no answer: “Your owl is making noise.”
Seconds later, loud footsteps thundered down the stairs, and Scorpius appeared in the living room, hair tousled, toothbrush in his mouth.
“Her name is Berta,” he said, mouth full, and Draco rolled his eyes.
“That’s a terrible name. I refuse to call her that.”
Scorpius just grinned, toothpaste dripping from his mouth onto his jumper, before running into the kitchen, sliding over the tiles in his socks.
Moments later, the sound of spitting, then the water running in the sink.
Scorpius whispered something to the owl before sliding back into the living room.
“There’s another owl outside! Berta saw her,” he announced, and Harry noticed Draco’s fingers tighten slightly around his cup.
“I’ll get it,” Harry said and followed Scorpius into the kitchen.
There, outside the window, sat a black owl, a letter clutched in its beak.
Berta hooted again as Harry opened the window. The room immediately filled with the scent of spring, and Harry stroked the majestic creature’s feathers once before gently taking the letter.
Scorpius craned his neck to read what was written, but the only thing on the envelope was Draco’s name, elegantly handwritten in sweeping script.
Harry turned it over, and a dark blue wax seal gleamed up at him.
“What is it?”
Draco’s voice made Harry jump. He was standing in the doorway, blanket draped over his shoulders.
“I think it’s...” Harry shrugged and handed Draco the letter.
Draco stared at the seal for a moment before tearing the side of the envelope and pulling out a sheet of parchment. He didn’t open it right away.
“Can you... would you read it?” he asked quietly, pressing his lips into a thin, white line before glancing at Scorpius.
“You need to get ready, you’ll be late,” he added weakly, handing Harry the letter.
Scorpius looked between them, biting his lip, then nodded slowly and disappeared from the kitchen.
“Are you sure?” Harry asked, and Draco gave a small shrug.
“I doubt this letter will be good news. He... he’s not going to just admit everything.”
“Come on, let’s read it together, yeah?” Harry patted the kitchen counter beside him, and Draco took a deep breath before leaning against it.
With slightly trembling fingers, Harry unfolded the fine parchment.

Williams & Avery LLP
Specialist Law Firm for Magical Justice
18 Fawley Rd
London

To Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy
Private address (redacted)

Re: Testimony to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Our client: Mr. Ignatius C. Mulciber Jr.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,
We are writing on behalf of our client, Mr. Ignatius Cassian Mulciber Jr., regarding the statement you recently provided to the Auror Office of the Ministry of Magic.
Our client categorically denies the allegations made against him and explicitly reserves all legal rights.
To our understanding, your statement forms the basis of an ongoing investigation. In this context, we strongly remind you that any public comment, whether directly or indirectly related to these allegations, may be considered an attempt to influence an active legal procedure and could carry legal consequences. We urge you, in the strongest terms, to refrain from any further comment outside official channels.
Our client will provide his own statement to the Ministry in due course. A formal request for access to case files has already been submitted. Once an official response has been issued, you and your legal counsel will be notified immediately.
We therefore request that you refrain from making any additional accusations at this time.

Should further unfounded or defamatory statements about our client be made, either by yourself or third parties associated with you, we reserve the right to pursue all appropriate civil and criminal legal action.

Please forward this letter to your legal representative, Ms. Ruby Carson, to avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings.

Sincerely,

Aldric M. Williams, Esq.
Senior Partner
Williams & Avery LLP

There was silence for a moment. Harry could hear the blood rushing in his ears.
“This is just…” he began, crumpling the letter slightly in his hand, “…‘reserves the right to take legal action’? What the bloody hell?”
He shook his head, anger flaring. “How dare he?”
He looked at Draco, rage in his stomach, but Draco only looked tired.
“Of course he would,” Draco said quietly. “Did you really think he’d just confess?”
“No, but... I mean, how can he even afford a lawyer like that? Who defends someone like him?”
“You mean a Death Eater?” Draco said flatly, and Harry rubbed his eyes.
“That’s not the same, Draco.”
“Isn’t it? I think there are people who see it differently.”
Draco gently took the letter from Harry’s hand and read it again.
“He’ll request access to the memories, I know it. He’ll say I... that I agreed to it, and then I’ll have to prove that I didn’t,” he said weakly, folding his arms.
Harry placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I know... that won’t be easy. But this way, it can be proven quickly,” he said gently.
Draco scrunched his nose.
“I don’t know. Maybe I should’ve fought back more. Or... maybe... I could’ve refused the potion, or not sat with them, or- ”
“Stop. Draco. No.”
Harry put his other hand on Draco’s shoulder and looked him squarely in the eyes.
“You are not to blame. You were young, you were scared, you were threatened. Everyone will see that. You are not to blame. Do you hear me?”
Draco continued to look at him tiredly, then gave a small nod.
“Let’s hope the Wizengamot sees it like you do.”
His gaze drifted past Harry.
“I don’t care what they think about me. I just care that he never sees Scorpius.”

Scorpius came padding softly back into the kitchen, still in his socks, hair damp from washing and sticking up in all directions. He hesitated for a moment in the doorway, then looked at them, eyes wide and uncertain.
“Was it a bad letter?” he asked.
Harry opened his mouth, unsure what to say, but Draco had already straightened slightly, setting his coffee down.
“Yes,” he said, simply. “It wasn’t a very nice one.”
Scorpius glanced at Harry, then back at Draco, inching closer.
“Is it from… him?”
Draco nodded once. “His lawyer, actually.”
Harry watched closely, the way Scorpius’s brow furrowed, how his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his jumper. He wanted to step in, to shield him from it all, but then Draco shifted, leaning forward a little so he was at eye level with his son.
“He says things that aren’t true,” Draco said quietly. “And sometimes, people do that when they know they’ve done something very wrong.”
Scorpius’s eyes darkened slightly. “Is he lying?”
Draco’s voice was steady and calm. “Yes. But we’re not going to let him get away with it. That’s why I talked to the Ministry. So the truth would be heard.”
Harry’s chest tightened as he watched them, the strength in Draco’s voice, the weight of it. He could almost see the words settling over Scorpius like a heavy coat and then the way his little hands balled into fists beside him.
“I’m glad you did,” Scorpius said. “He should get in trouble. He should never hurt anyone again.”
Draco didn’t respond right away. His hand reached out, brushed Scorpius’s hair back from his forehead then cupped the back of his neck, gently pulling him into an embrace.
Harry blinked fast.
“I’m really proud of you, Papa,” Scorpius mumbled into Draco’s jumper.
Draco held him tightly, his eyes closed.
“And I’m proud of you,” he whispered.

After they had dropped off Scorpius at school, they Apparated straight to London.
The street leading to Ms Carson’s office was busy, the air thick with exhaust fumes, and the sunlight made the dust in the air shimmer.
Draco had slipped the letter into the pocket of his coat and kept reaching for it now and then, as if to reassure himself it hadn’t disappeared.
Despite the sun, Harry felt cold and buried his hands deeper in his pockets. Draco didn’t look upset, much less than Harry had expected, instead, there was something else in his eyes that Harry couldn’t quite place. Determination, perhaps.

The steps up to the inconspicuous building were slightly damp, and Harry placed a hand on Draco’s back as they climbed. The entrance hall smelled musty and looked grey, but as they opened the door to the solicitor’s area, the air grew clearer, the temperature warmer.
The assistant looked up from a piece of parchment and smiled politely.
“Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter. A pleasure to see you. Are you here to see Ms Carson? Do you have an appointment?”
Draco stepped forward and leaned slightly over the desk.
“No, no. We were hoping she might still have a moment for us.”
The assistant, Judith, looked down at the calendar in front of her and nodded slowly.
“Let me go and ask.” She smiled politely once more before walking off briskly across the stone floor, her shoes clicking as she opened the door to the solicitor’s office.

For a moment, only muffled voices could be heard before Ruby Carson stepped into the foyer.
“Good morning.” She smiled kindly. Her hair was tied back into a tight bun that made her look older.
“I had a feeling you’d come to see me. Please, come in.” She gestured toward her office, and Draco took a deep breath before following her.
Ms Carson motioned to the red, modern chairs in front of her glass desk.
Draco pulled the letter from his coat pocket and handed it to her. She scanned it quickly.
“Hm,” she said, and Harry leaned forward.
“This is outrageous,” he began, but Draco placed a hand on his knee.
“Harry.”
Harry shook his head, but Ms Carson only smiled calmly.
“It’s legal speak. Nothing I didn’t expect. I was already informed by the Ministry that Mr Mulciber intends to submit a statement, supported by- ”
She paused for a moment and looked at Draco thoughtfully.
Draco frowned.
“A memory will be submitted by Mr Mulciber. I don’t have any information yet about its content. But I’d like to ask you not to worry just yet. Such memories are often rejected if it becomes clear they were tampered with or if they don’t contribute anything of value to the case.”
Draco shifted uneasily in his seat.
“A memory? But…”
“Well, Mr Mulciber has the right to submit anything he believes could help prevent an indictment.”
Harry clenched his hands in his lap.
“What kind of memory could he possibly have that contradicts-”
Ms Carson raised her hand gently.
“I will inform you in more detail soon. I’ve already requested that the memory be submitted to us as well, should it be deemed legitimate by the reviewing Aurors.”
“Probably some kind of manipulation. I’ve seen how easily memories can be altered,” Harry said, a tight anger forming in his chest that made him feel nauseous.
Ms Carson nodded. “And you also know how thoroughly such memories are examined. Don’t worry. Whatever Mr Mulciber submits, we have more. If your memories are requested, Mr Malfoy, the Wizengamot will see the truth. And Mr Mulciber… is not exactly held in high regard at the Ministry.”
“Neither am I,” Draco said weakly, but Ms Carson dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand.
“But you have more evidence. And that’s what matters in the end.”
She paused, her tone softening.
“I won’t lie to you; it won’t be easy. I’ve handled many cases involving sexual assault.”
Draco flinched slightly, and Harry reached out, gently brushing his wrist.
“The accused often try to twist the truth, to paint themselves as innocent. Or make it seem like nothing ever happened. That won’t be possible in this case, there is a piece of evidence no one can overlook.”
“Scorpius,” Draco whispered, so quietly it was barely audible.
Ms Carson nodded.
“And if your ability to consent is ever called into question, well, that’s what I’m here for. Don’t carry this all by yourself, Mr Malfoy. I know that’s easier said than done. But you’ve done everything right. Now, let me take over some of the responsibility. Alright?”

 

It was raining again when Draco’s head came to rest on Harry’s chest. He traced small circles on Harry’s shirt with his fingers. Harry had his arms folded behind his head and stared at the patterns the moon cast on the ceiling. The room was eerily quiet, broken only by the soft pattering of rain against the window and the too-loud thud of Harry’s heartbeat. He listened for any sound from Scorpius’s room next door, but all was still.
Draco shifted slowly against him, sighed, and then lifted his head gently.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked, and Harry blinked several times before pulling one hand from under his head to run it through Draco’s hair.
“No,” Harry said quietly, and Draco pressed his chin to his chest, looking up at him almost searchingly.
“You’re worried,” he observed, and Harry gave a faint smile.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Me too.”
Another moment of silence passed before Draco moved up a little, so close now that his nose nearly touched Harry’s.
“I keep wondering what exactly he’s going to show.”
Harry exhaled softly, the breath brushing Draco’s nose.
“Mulciber?”
Draco nodded.
“I mean… I remember some things, and others not at all. Some scenes flash up out of nowhere, others are just… blank. Fog.” He closed his eyes briefly. “But he’s submitted something. Something meant to make him look better. And me worse. And if they allow it…”
Harry said nothing. It was hard to find the right words when someone you love is doubting themselves so deeply.
Draco went on.
“I keep wondering if I… smile in it. Or if I don’t contradict him. Or if I maybe even…” He faltered.
“Draco.”
“I know what you’re going to say. That it doesn’t matter. That I was overwhelmed, that I was afraid. But if I… if I looked at him, if I said anything that, anything that seems like consent, then-” His voice broke. “What if that’s all they need?”
“Then we’ll show them what it really was. And even if you had smiled, there’s a difference between laughing because you want to and laughing because you’re scared to die. And they’ll see that too, believe me.”
Draco looked into his eyes for a long moment, then gave a weak nod.
“They hate me, Harry.”
“Rubbish.”
Draco lifted a corner of his mouth. “Rubbish? You know they do. I…” He wrinkled his nose. “I remember what it was like, sitting there… on the defendant’s bench and- ”
“But you’re not on the defendant’s bench, Draco. And you’re not alone.”
Harry lifted his head slightly to press a kiss to the tip of Draco’s nose, then wrapped his arms around his partner’s slender body, his Draco, until he could feel his heartbeat pounding against his own chest, as if it were his own.

“It's been deemed admissible,” Harry said doubtfully, arms crossed over his chest.
Ms. Carson looked at him matter-of-factly.
“It was accepted, yes.”
Draco, seated beside them, was chewing his lip until it was dark red.
“And who reviewed it?” Harry asked, more forcefully than he intended. Ms. Carson gave a thin smile.
“Believe me, Mr. Potter, the memory was reviewed by multiple parties and made available to us. That’s why I’ve invited you. I’d like us to view it together.”
She looked over at Draco, who blinked several times.
“Have you seen it?” he asked hoarsely, and Ms. Carson shook her head.
“Not yet, no. It’s a memory that concerns you, Mr. Malfoy. You may view it alone first if you prefer.”
“No,” Draco said quickly, then cleared his throat. “No, please. I want you to be there. And… and Harry, if that’s possible?”
He glanced at Harry uncertainly, then shook his head.
“No, I mean- I don’t want you to see me like that. I don’t know what you’ll see, I- ”
Harry leaned over and pressed his hand.
“Either is okay. I can handle this with you.”
Draco frowned and rubbed his eyes.
“What if it shows him…?”
He swallowed hard and looked at Harry with doubt.
“You don’t have to see that. It’s going to be awful and- ”
“And you had to live through it. So I’ll endure it too, either with you inside the memory, or after.”
“Harry…”
They looked at each other for a long moment before Ms. Carson cleared her throat.
“Of course it’s your decision, but I must tell you, these memories can trigger intense reactions. Even in partners.”
She looked at Harry expectantly, but he nodded.
“I’ll do whatever you want, Draco.”

Draco stared thoughtfully at the glass table before speaking again.
“If it… if it gets too bad, can we stop?”
“Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I’ll be present in the memory. If you can’t go on, just give me a signal and we’ll return. I will watch the rest alone if necessary to prepare for the trial.”
Draco nodded slowly.
“Did they say anything? Anything about what’s in it?”
Ms. Carson was silent for a moment, looking down at the document in front of her.
“Well, according to Mr. Mulciber’s attorneys, the memory is supposed to prove your consent and render charges unnecessary, which is, of course, nonsense and a pitiful attempt. No matter what’s in this memory, we’ll proceed with the charges unless you wish otherwise.”
“Consent…” Draco said faintly, brushing a hand over his eyes.
Ms. Carson folded her hands and looked back and forth between them.
“I want you to understand that in defense, especially in cases like this, it’s common to use certain strategies. It’s not unusual to construct what we call ‘consent narratives.’”
Draco frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It’s about portraying the situation in a way that appears consensual from the outside,” she explained calmly. “Perpetrators present memories in which the victim is silent, doesn’t run, doesn’t cry, or agrees. Sometimes under coercion. Sometimes under the influence of potions. Or, as often happens, after repeated psychological manipulation.”
Harry’s jaw clenched.
“And that’s enough to be seen as consent?”
“Not necessarily,” Ms. Carson said firmly. “But it’s meant to sow doubt. And that’s often enough to delay trials or pressure the victim. It’s about control, Mr. Potter. Not justice.”
Draco stared down at his hands.
“I was quiet. I didn’t scream, later. I might’ve even…”
He trailed off.
Ms. Carson leaned in slightly.
“Mr. Malfoy. Silence is not consent. A blank stare is not an invitation. And the will to survive is not a choice.” She held his gaze for a moment, then looked at them both.
“I won’t lie to you. I am sure, this memory will hurt. But whatever it shows, it won’t stop the charges as long as you’re willing to keep going.”
Draco slowly raised his head.
“I’m ready.”
Harry reached under the table to take his hand.
Ms. Carson rose quietly and walked toward the Pensieve in the middle of the room. The light had grown soft, almost golden. Draco followed her in slow, uneven steps, and Harry felt the tremble in his hand as he reached for it.
“I don’t know what I’m going to see,” Draco murmured, almost to himself.
Harry squeezed his fingers. “You don’t have to see it alone. I’m with you.”
Draco nodded, but his gaze had drifted.
“If I can’t do it…”
“Then we’ll bring you back.”
They stood together before the basin. The silvery swirl of the memory shimmered like murky water. Draco closed his eyes for a heartbeat.
And then he drew in one last deep breath, and they leaned forward.

Harry blinked several times as he entered the memory. Draco beside him looked cold and pale, and Ms. Carson remained quietly in the background.
The damp, icy air crept into Harry’s bones instantly. The stone walls were dripping, and it was so silent that Harry could hear his own breathing, far too loud. Only the moonlight flickered through the cracks in the wall, and Harry glanced over at Draco, who was staring across the room with shock-frozen eyes. Harry turned his head and swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat.
There, lying on wet, brown hay, was Draco. He looked so thin and pale, it was almost inhuman. And beside him, pressed up far too closely, lay Mulciber. Rage bubbled up inside Harry, cold and poisonous, making his skin burn. He forced himself to breathe deeply. Again. Again.
“Shhh.”
Mulciber’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. Harry saw his Draco flinch, while the Draco in the memory remained motionless, staring blankly ahead.
Mulciber let his hand glide down Draco’s bony arm.
„My pretty boy.“
Harry shivered and looked at Mulciber, whose dark eyes were almost black.
“You’re lucky, you know,” he said softly, greasy, dark hair stuck to his forehead, voice dripping with sickly sweetness as he leaned in and pressed his nose to Draco’s cheek. “Merlin, you smell so good. Always so good.”
He inhaled deeply and then grinned. “Do you know why you’re lucky?”
Draco didn’t answer, still staring forward without blinking, his eyes fixed on a crack in the wall.
“Because you have me,” Mulciber whispered, smiling wider now, showing rows of yellow teeth. “I take care of you. I give you my food. I tell the others they’re not allowed to touch you. I protect you, right?”
There was a pause. And then Draco’s weak voice broke the silence.
“Yes.”
Mulciber stroked his chest, then his stomach. “And I do that even though I have every reason not to, don’t I? But still, I protect you. And you want me to protect you, don’t you?”
Draco blinked slowly. His pupils were so wide that the grey of his eyes had nearly disappeared.
“Yes.”
Mulciber slid his hand beneath Draco’s shirt and pulled him even closer.
“Maybe I'll even get you a mattress. I’m good to you, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
“And you’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you? Because I’m kind to you.”
“Yes.” Draco sounded husky and hoarse.
Mulciber licked his lips, then pressed a wet kiss against Draco’s shoulder.
“Good boy. You know nothing will happen to you as long as youre mine, right? And you are. You are mine. Aren't you?”
“Yes.” Draco’s voice was barely a breath. Mulciber’s fingernails dug deeper into his pale skin.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.“
“Look at me,” Mulciber growled, and immediately Draco turned his head, their eyes locking.
“You’re so quiet tonight. So soft. I like that.”
Mulciber grinned again and brushed Draco’s damp hair back from his forehead before tilting his chin up.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“And you want to be mine, don’t you? You want it.”
“Yes.”
Mulciber’s voice lowered to a whisper as he cupped Draco’s cheek, thumb dragging slowly over the hollow beneath his eye.
“And you want to stay mine forever, don’t you?”
Draco nodded slowly, like a puppet pulled by invisible strings.
“Yes.”
Mulciber smiled, all teeth, predatory, and leaned in close enough for their foreheads to touch.
“You don’t ever want to forget me.”
A beat of silence.
“You won’t forget me. Will you?”
“No.” Draco’s voice cracked. “I won’t.”
“Good boy,” Mulciber murmured, pressing his lips softly, almost tenderly, against Draco’s temple.
“My pretty boy.”
His fingers dragged lazily down Draco’s arm as he muttered,
“My poor little boy. With a failure like Lucius for a father.”
He clicked his tongue softly, mockingly.
“And still… look at me. I’m the one who takes care of you.”
Draco didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, just lay there, breathing shallowly.
“I’m the one who feeds you, keeps you safe. Not them. Me.”
Mulciber leaned in again, his breath damp against Draco’s ear.
“You should be grateful. You are grateful, aren’t you?”
“…Yes.”
“There’s my good boy.”
Mulciber’s voice dripped with twisted affection as he nuzzled against Draco’s temple.
“No matter where you came from, you belong to me now.”
He pressed one last kiss to Draco’s hair and whispered,
“Not even your father could keep you safe. But I can. I do.”
For a moment, just a heartbeat, Draco’s brow twitched, a slight furrow, almost confused, but then it smoothed again, and when Mulciber turned him onto his back, Draco didn’t resist.
His limbs followed without resistance, a doll in someone else’s hands.

When the memory ended, silence remained.
The light returned to the room, flickering and cold. Harry needed a moment before he could breathe properly again. Beside him, everything was motionless.
Draco stood completely still. His gaze was empty, fixed on the floor in front of him.
“That was- ” Harry began, his voice too loud, too sharp for the small room. “That was not real.”
Ruby Carson barely lifted her head. “Mr. Potter.”
“No, Ms. Carson. I’m sorry, but that- that was abuse. That was clearly abuse! How can anyone seriously claim that was consent? He wasn’t even conscious properly!”
“The question will be,” Ruby said calmly, “whether the Wizengamot acknowledges the influence of potions or magical coercion. If they don’t, then it- ”
“Then what?!” Harry stood, his heart pounding in his throat. “Then it counts as consent if someone completely broken says yes because he thinks he’ll die otherwise?! Merlin, did you see what he looked like?”
Ms. Carson remained composed. “Mr. Potter. I know. Believe me, I’ve seen worse memories. I know how this works. But we have to stay focused legally. Emotion won’t help us here.”
“Won’t help us?!” Harry hissed. “He’s lying there like a child! And that, that bastard touches him,
kisses him, forces him to say he belongs to him- and that is submitted as evidence? That’s sick.”
Ms. Carson looked at him, completely calm. “We will tear it apart. I promise you.”
Harry was about to respond when he noticed the movement next to him. Or rather, the complete lack of movement.
“Draco?” he asked quietly.
Draco was still standing exactly the same. He didn’t blink. His gaze was frozen on a spot on the floor. His lips slightly parted. There was no reaction in his face. No trembling or sound. Just that complete, icy stillness.
Harry’s fury collapsed like a house of cards. He gently placed a hand on Draco’s arm.
“Hey… hey, I’m here.”
No reaction.
Ms. Carson stood. “I’ll get some water.”
Harry now placed both hands on Draco’s arms.
“You’re not there. Do you hear me? You’re with me. Here. That was just the memory. It’s over.”
He saw Draco’s shoulders shift just slightly, saw him taking a shaky breath. Then another.
“Draco, you’re safe. You’re with me. There’s no one here but us.”
Harry’s voice was barely more than a whisper now.
When the lawyer returned with the glass, she saw what had happened and said nothing.
After a while, Draco whispered,
“I said it.”
“What did you say?”
Draco swallowed dryly. “I said yes.”
“You weren’t yourself,” Harry said instantly. “You were… you were probably drugged, Draco. You were afraid. That wasn’t you.”
Draco raised his head, looked at him, and in his eyes was something Harry couldn’t quite read. Something between horror and self-loathing.
“But I said it.”
Draco’s voice was quiet now, more to himself than to Harry.
“And that’s all they’ll hear.”
Harry wanted to argue, to scream that it didn’t matter - but Draco’s face had already closed off again.

 

Harry hadn’t been inside St Mungo’s in a long time. He hadn’t missed it.
The cold lights flickered uncomfortably in his eyes, and the hard metal chair ached against his back. He had tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling.
Sixteen small cracks in the white concrete.
He took a deep breath and leaned forward slightly.
Healers and mediwitches rushed past him, but the sounds blurred into white noise. He picked at a piece of skin on his finger and counted the cracks again.
“Harry!”
Hermione’s voice startled him, and before he could react, she was already in his arms. She cupped his cheek with one warm hand, looking at him with deep concern.
“Are you alright?”
Harry looked past her to Ron, who stood just behind with a tense expression.
“I... Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Sorry, I just didn’t... I was alone, and the waiting is driving me mad and-”
He stopped when Hermione shook her head and gently stroked his cheekbone.
“Harry, it’s alright. We’re here. How’s Draco? What happened?”
She sat beside him and reached for his hand. Only now did he notice how cold his fingers were.
“We... we watched a memory, and it was-” He stopped and swallowed down the anger in his throat. “He didn’t take it well afterwards, so I thought... I thought maybe if he could talk to Healer Fournier, and... I called Pansy to watch Scorpius and brought him here and now no one’s telling me anything and it’s been ages and-”
“Mate.”
Ron’s voice was calm as he sat down on Harry’s other side. “Breathe. It’s alright.”
Harry nodded several times and bit his lip.
“I just mean, he’s been in there for over an hour and I-” He broke off and rubbed his burning eyes.
Hermione let go of his hand and slowly traced circles on his back.
Harry pressed his palms into his eyes, but the sob forced its way up from his throat as if it had been stuck there for hours.
“Merlin, Hermione, that memory... it was, I...”
He broke off and buried his face in his hands. He sniffed and looked at her helplessly.
“I don’t know how he’s supposed to make it through this trial. To relive all of it. I don’t know...”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, audibly.
Hermione’s brows were drawn together and her hand kept moving in steady circles.
“I want to kill him,” Harry said, staring at the ceiling, bitterness in his mouth.
“Harry...”
“No, Mione, I want to kill him. If I saw him, I’d-” He shook his head.
“I want to hurt him. I want him to suffer. I want him to bleed, do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered, and Harry closed his eyes.
“But he’ll be punished, Harry.”
“Oh yeah? In Azkaban, where he had the freedom to do this in the first place?” he asked doubtfully, and she tilted her head.
“Well, under the new regulations, the guards will-”
Harry snorted. “The guards. Fuck the guards.”
He stood up and began pacing, agitated.
Hermione had started biting her thumbnail, and Ron was staring at the floor past Harry’s shoulder.
“Fuck the guards, fuck the new rules, fuck-”
Harry groaned in frustration and stopped when the hallway door opened behind them.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw Healer Fournier’s light brown hair.
He scanned for Draco, but the healer was alone.
“Mr Potter.”
“Yes. Where’s Draco? Is he alright?”
The healer gave a gentle smile and nodded.
“Please, Mr Potter. Mr Malfoy is resting. Everything is alright.”
Harry frowned and looked past her again.
“Can I see him?”
The healer tilted her head and motioned to the metal chairs. Hermione and Ron stood up.
“We’ll grab a coffee, yeah? Be right back.”
Harry sat down again, restless, and the healer took a seat beside him.
“Mr Malfoy needs some rest. The memory affected him deeply.”
“Yeah, understandably. What that bastard did-”
“Mr Potter,” the healer interrupted softly, and Harry paused. “I understand that you’re upset. You have every right to be. But right now, what matters is what the two of you need.”
“The two of us? I mean-”
“Yes, the two of you. I believe the memory was very difficult for you as well.”
Harry didn’t answer and stared at his hands.
“With the upcoming trial, you’ll be facing the past more than you’d like. It won’t be easy.”
“I just want...” Harry said quietly, “I just want to be there for him.”
“And you are. But you need to look after yourself, too. Are you still seeing your healer?”
Harry scrunched his nose. “Inconsistently,” he said sheepishly, scratching his neck.
She gave him a look, and he sighed.
“Alright, it’s been a while. But I’m fine, really-”
He stopped when her expression didn’t change.
“Okay. Maybe I should book an appointment.”
“That would be good, yes. And Mr Malfoy and I agreed to meet regularly as well, to prepare him for the trial as best as we can. I can also prepare an expert statement, which may be important in court.”
“Okay. Yeah, okay.”
Harry glanced back at the door.
“Can he come home now?”
“I think it would be good for him to stay the night. To rest a little. What do you think?”
“I mean... what does he think?” Harry said helplessly, and she smiled.
“Mr Malfoy is already asleep.”
“Okay, I mean, okay, but... can I see him? I’d like to see him,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair.
The healer nodded. “Alright. You can make sure he's doing well.”

Before she had even finished speaking, Harry was already on his feet.
The hallway beyond the door was dark and quiet. Their footsteps echoed in Harry's ears. Healer Fournier quietly opened one of the white doors, and Harry slipped past her into the room.
The curtains were drawn, the air cool and clear.
Draco lay beneath one of the white hospital blankets, his pale hair spread out on the pillow like a halo.

He looked like an angel.

His chest rose and fell slowly, his face calm, his forehead a smooth, white surface.
“He’s had a mild calming draught,” the healer said quietly, and Harry nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. With trembling fingers, he brushed across Draco’s forehead, over his eyebrow and temple, through his soft hair, until his fingers came to rest on the pillow beside him.
Draco stirred slightly, turned his head a little, and exhaled deeply.
Harry lifted the blanket and tucked it a little higher around Draco’s shoulders.
“It’s okay,” Harry said, and his voice sounded choked.
He leaned forward and kissed Draco’s forehead.
“It’s okay,” he repeated, and Draco mumbled something in his sleep.
Harry blinked against his tears.
“Sleep well, my light. You’re safe.”

Chapter 11: Draco's chapter

Notes:

This is by far the darkest and heaviest chapter of the story. It’s a look back into Draco’s past and the years before the main plot begins. Please know: you do not need to read this chapter to follow the rest of the story. If the themes are too much for you, feel free to skip it, the plot will still make sense without it. For those who want a deeper understanding of Draco’s struggles, this chapter provides that background.

Content Warnings (please read):

Suicide attempt / suicidal thoughts

Self-harm (cutting, blood)

Violence

Sexual assault

Pregnancy (mpreg)/ birth

Please read the notes and warnings!!!

 

It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sun that my dreams confuse it with fire.

 

His ankles ached. The pulling sensation joined the dull pounding behind his eyes, the tingling in his fingers, and the cold sweat on his forehead.
It hadn’t been warm in a long time.
The sun never reached the damp interior of his cell, and even the yard was shielded from any direct, warming light.
Water dripped from the ceiling, always in the same spot, and the puddle, which now covered half the floor, continued to grow.
With a groan, Draco rolled onto his back and stared up at the dark ceiling. It had been quiet all morning - or was it evening? - and he pressed his eyes shut, desperate to hear any sound other than the maddeningly steady drip, drip, drip.
After a few seconds, he opened his eyes again, releasing the breath he’d been holding.
Almost without thinking, his hand drifted to his stomach, feeling the slight, probably far-too-small curve there, the skin warm and taut.
For a moment, it was as if he could feel movement, and he quickly snatched his hand away, bile burning in his throat.

“Malfoy.”
He no longer flinched at the sound of the guard’s voice, even though he hadn’t heard his footsteps approach. Slowly, he turned his head toward the man standing in the doorway. The dark eyes studied him for a moment before the man gave a curt nod.
“On your feet.”
Without protest, Draco began to push himself up, turning toward the door.
“I said, on your feet.” The guard’s voice was sharper now, irritated, and Draco forced himself to move faster, though every muscle complained.
“Cell inspection,” the man -Williams- said flatly, drawing his wand as Draco placed his hands against the damp wall.
He had long since stopped asking what they were looking for, what they ever hoped to find, or how - of all people - he was supposed to have obtained anything forbidden. Or anything at all. His gaze drifted to the wall on his left, where the cracks ran deeper and revealed the only bit of color he’d seen in a long time.
The guard’s voice faded into a white noise as Draco stared at the tiny blossom, yellow and defiant, forcing its way through the concrete, daring the stone itself.
“Malfoy!” Williams barked, and Draco blinked several times, looking back at him. The man’s brow was furrowed, his mouth pulled into a hard line. “I’m talking to you. Think you can get cheeky in your last days here, is that it?” When Draco said nothing, Williams yanked one of his hands off the wall, leaving him to stand without support. Draco swayed slightly, muscles cramping, and Williams shook his head in disdain.
“Looks like you could use some exercise. Well, you’ll go to the yard while we deal with things in here.”
Draco thought - though he wasn’t sure - that he saw a glint of satisfaction in the man’s eyes. But he’d stopped dwelling on things like that. He’d stopped begging to be allowed to remain in his cell. He’d stopped complaining about the pain.
Instead, he began to walk. Fourteen steps to the gate that blocked the next corridor. Four seconds until the guard drew his wand and opened it. Thirty-six more steps through the dark puddles.
His trousers were too long, dragging through the foul water, his feet bare. He blinked several times as the muted daylight spilled over him. Williams gave him a light shove, and Draco stumbled across
the cold stone until he stood, surrounded by high walls, in the space they called the yard.

He risked a glance upward, hoping he might catch another glimpse of the sky through the enchantments. And today, faintly, he could - something that might have been a cloud.
“Move,” Williams growled, giving him another shove until he stood beneath the dripping roof. Without another word, the guard turned, threw Draco a warning look over his shoulder, and let the gate clang shut behind him.
The hushed conversations around him gradually resumed as Draco stood frozen, still staring upward, straining to see through the cracks in the roof.
He felt his presence before he saw him - before the cold hand clamped on the back of his neck, forcing his gaze forward.
Mulciber stepped up beside him, licking his lips. “Hello, my beautiful boy.” He sounded amused, more amused than he had in recent days, which was always a bad sign. “How wonderful that we have one last chance to see each other before you walk free, isn’t it?”
He stepped closer, and Draco could smell his rancid breath, feel the hand tightening on his shoulder. When he didn’t answer, Mulciber gave him a little shake.
“I said, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Draco’s voice sounded strange even to his own ears, hoarse and dry, but Mulciber smiled in satisfaction.
“I can’t possibly let you go without a parting gift.” Mulciber’s eyes drifted from Draco’s face to his belly, hidden beneath the oversized, dark-brown shirt, and he grinned. “Well… not without another gift.”
Draco didn’t question him. He let himself be seized by the arm and pulled along, even though the guards would punish him for leaving his assigned area.
It didn’t matter.
Someone jeered as they passed, someone else whistled, but Draco didn’t look around. He simply stumbled through the puddles behind Mulciber, whose nails dug so deep into his forearm that they broke the skin.
Beyond the wall was the corridor Draco had once feared most, before everything had gone dull. The foul stench here was stronger than anywhere else, undercut with the metallic tang of blood. Mulciber smirked arrogantly at one of the men seated along the side before dragging Draco toward one of the darker corners.
“I know you’ll miss me,” he said, lowering his voice as he leaned past Draco to shift a loose stone. Behind it, nestled in a small hollow, sat several vials. “So I thought I’d give you a proper farewell.” His wide grin returned, teeth yellowed and blackened, before he pressed one of the vials into Draco’s hand.
Draco didn’t answer. He never did. He simply held out his hand, the way he always did when Mulciber pressed some potion into it, swallowing without question. It wasn’t worth the trouble to refuse. Whatever it was, it couldn’t make much difference anymore.
The glass was cold against his skin, the liquid heavy inside, a dark, murky green. With his thumb, he eased the cork out. It fell to the floor with a dull thud as he raised the vial to his lips.
But the moment the scent reached him, he froze. Metallic, with the sharp bitterness of herbs, making his eyes narrow. Mulciber’s gaze was bright, almost feverish, as he watched him. Draco blinked again.
“What… is this?”
Mulciber’s smile twitched, slipping for just a fraction of a second before returning. “Don’t trouble that pretty head of yours. Drink.”
His body wanted to obey, automatically, but Draco’s face twisted, and he lowered the vial. Mulciber’s eyes sharpened instantly.
“That smells like-” Draco wasn’t sure when he’d last spoken this many words, but Mulciber’s hand clamped over his mouth before he could finish. The scent burned into Draco’s nose, bringing back memories of old books in the Manor library, of Severus pouring dark green liquid into a narrow bottle.
Mulciber removed his hand and swallowed. “I’ll give you one more chance.”
“That’s Witchbane,” Draco said. Mulciber actually looked startled for a moment, as though Draco interrupting him was the greater offense, before his expression hardened. He slammed Draco’s shoulder into the wall.
“Think you can play the hero now? Think I’ll spare you? Think I won’t kill you just because you walk out tomorrow-”
Draco barely heard the words as he let the vial fall. It shattered with a too-loud crack.

“I can’t drink that,” he said at last, almost helplessly, his free hand instinctively pressing against his stomach, protecting the… the thing inside him, the only thing that ever seemed warm. Mulciber stared at the shards on the ground.
“If it destroys my magic, it will destroy his too-” Draco began, suddenly desperate to explain, because Mulciber had to understand, he had to see that this would hurt his child as well, he had to-
Mulciber let out a sound that was almost animal before his fist smashed into Draco’s nose. Pain flared white, his head snapping back against the wall, dizziness and nausea flooding through him.
“You ungrateful piece of filth, you worthless blood traitor-” Mulciber was in a rage, yanking Draco down by the hair and shoving his face into the muddy liquid now mingling with the puddle on the floor. “You’ll never have happiness again, you hear me? Death is too good for you”
He forced Draco’s face deeper into the water. Draco squeezed his eyes shut. When Mulciber suddenly released him, Draco gasped for air, blinking against the light, only to feel Mulciber’s boot press into his back.
“That matters to you, doesn’t it? Suddenly found yourself some fatherly feelings? How sweet.” He pressed harder, and Draco shoved an arm under his stomach in frantic instinct.
“You don’t deserve a life among wizards. You don’t deserve a life where anything good ever happens to you or anyone from your filthy family-”
The boot lifted from his back, and a second later, slammed into his face. His lip split, the taste of blood mixing with what still poured from his nose. A gurgling sound escaped him, dizziness rolling over him like a tide.
He tried to crawl forward. Mulciber cursed, his voice muffled, distant, like through water. Draco’s gaze caught on another pair of feet beside him, the same filthy brown trousers, but the voice that spoke was not Mulciber’s.
It sounded far away.
He blinked once. Twice.
And the world went black.

 

His bones ached even more when he woke. Without opening his eyes, he reached out beside him, fingers brushing against damp hay. For a fleeting moment, it almost felt like home. He listened, heavy footsteps somewhere in the distance, before slowly letting his eyes open. A grimace pulled at his features as the raw burn of his split lips and nose flared, his trembling fingers seeking the wounds.
The cell was empty but for him, and he exhaled a slow, relieved breath. The door was shut. He didn’t know how he had returned here, only vague fragments; the voice of another prisoner, the smell of metal and herbs, and then nothing but pain. It always surprised him a little, the way his body insisted on living when everything else in him had grown so tired.
Slowly, he pushed himself upright, blinking several times into the ever-present dark before turning his head.
“You’ll outlive this place,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the lone dandelion in the wall.“Maybe I will too.” The thought should have been comforting. Instead, the view before him made his stomach knot. Bitterly, he looked down at himself, his eyes stinging as his hand swept over the taut skin of his belly before dragging it up over his face. The grit on his fingers burned against his eyes, and he clenched them shut in anger as tears slipped free.

The footsteps outside grew louder, his heart pounding painfully. When voices reached him, the tremor in his fingers eased.
Voices meant guards. Voices meant not Mulciber. And whatever punishment they had prepared for him; for leaving his assigned spot in the yard, for getting into a fight; it could never be as cruel as Mulciber’s rotting breath on his skin.
A click, and the door opened. Draco shifted against the wall, tugging the collar of his shirt loose over his chest and raising his gaze.
He blinked in surprise, not at the sight of Williams, but at the man beside him.
The Head Guard.
Robinson was a tall, severe figure, his sallow face hollowed, hair patchy and brittle. This, Draco thought, must be what came from too many years in this place.
Nausea rose in his throat as Williams slipped in behind his superior.
If Robinson was here, the punishment would be severe.
“Malfoy.” Robinson’s voice was as it always was, cold, hard, stripped of anything human. Draco swallowed again.
“Sir,” he breathed, barely audible.
“Stand.”
He obeyed quickly, though the hot burn of bile made him falter. Robinson stepped in, and when Draco was fully upright, a rough hand gripped his jaw, turning his head to examine him. Draco didn’t flinch, not anymore, when the pain shot through his body and his split lip began bleeding anew under the pressure.
“He looks like shit,” Robinson muttered, still holding Draco’s face as he turned toward Williams, who looked almost meek as he stepped forward.
“Sir, Malfoy got into a conflict outside, the guards did everything they could-” Williams began, but Robinson cut him off with a sharp hiss. “For fuck’s sake, Williams, heal him.” He glanced down Draco’s body with open disgust. “And get him a clean uniform, the stench is unbearable.”
Draco blinked in confusion as Robinson released him, and he nearly stumbled forward. Williams drew his wand. The sharp crack of bone resetting echoed in the cell, and the metallic tang of blood began to fade from Draco’s mouth.
“I want him presentable when the Aurors come to collect him. Understood?” Robinson said, already turning away. He didn’t wait for an answer before pushing past Williams, who stared after him for a moment before shifting a bitter gaze back to Draco.

“Come on, Malfoy.”
Williams didn’t check if Draco followed; he knew there was no choice. Draco struggled to match his pace as they moved through the prison corridors. From the other cells came the faint hum of voices, and he noticed, distantly, that all the doors were shut.
Williams shoved open the door to a hallway Draco had never seen before. Here, the floor was less damp, and daylight poured through a narrow window. His eyes caught on the clouds outside, clouds unobscured by enchantments, and the brightness almost stung.
Williams was already ahead, and Draco tore his gaze away to follow. Their wet footprints marked the pale floor behind them.
At the far end, Williams opened another door, giving Draco an impatient look until he stepped up beside him, a stitch stabbing at his side.
He looked inside in confusion, but before he could take in the whole room, Williams had already given him a shove. “There’s new clothing.” He pointed to a stack of a new uniform, also brown, but in a lighter shade Draco only vaguely remembered, then gestured toward the shower in the corner.
“Five minutes. Wash. Dress. Out.” Williams’ voice was clipped and he paused at the doorway, turning back. “Don’t make me wait, Malfoy. You don’t want to test me today.”
The door slammed shut.

Draco’s heart jolted in his chest, his thoughts blurring. He knew release was near; he knew the Aurors would come soon. But standing here, with the preparations so stark before him, made him freeze.
Outside, Williams snorted impatiently, and Draco began to strip. The trousers were so filthy they almost stood on their own, the shirt yellowed and frayed. He glanced again at the clean uniform, brushing his fingers lightly over the fabric before his gaze lifted. He froze.
A stranger stared back at him from the mirror.
He leaned closer, grey eyes sunken, hair matted and greasy, skin with a sickly green cast. Dried and fresh blood marked his face; he brushed a thumb across one crusted streak before a heavy pounding at the door startled him.
“I don’t hear water, Malfoy.” Williams sounded sharper now. Draco tore his gaze from the mirror and stepped under the shower, twisting the tap.
Warm water hit him, warm and clear, not yellow and ice-cold, and he flinched before tilting his head back to let it run over him. He avoided looking down at himself, letting the heat seep into his bones until, with a gurgle, the water turned cold again.
He kept his head bowed beneath the stream for a few more seconds, eyes shut tight, then tried running his fingers through his hair. The knots caught, the fine strands dull and too long. After a few seconds, he gave up, squeezing out the water and drawing a deep breath.
The knock on the door came harder this time, followed by Williams’ sharp voice. “Time’s up.”
Draco dried himself quickly, pulled on the new uniform, still rough against his skin, but clean, and slipped his feet into the cheap brown slippers. They were too big, and the first step felt strange, as though his body forgot how to walk in shoes.

Williams didn’t speak as he led him through the corridors again. The damp smell of Azkaban clung stubbornly, the air heavy with salt and stone. Draco barely noticed when the walls changed from slick stone to a lighter, smoother surface.
And then light hit him all at once. Not the muted, filtered glow of the yard, but blinding, golden light spilling in through a high, arched window. His eyes watered instantly, his steps faltering.
At the final gate, two Aurors waited, eyes sweeping over him like they were inspecting a package.
No greeting, no questions, just a curt nod between them and Williams.
The Aurors turned without a word, and Draco followed because there was nothing else to do.
They remained silent as they flanked him, guiding him toward the narrow dock. The sea stretched out endlessly, a dark, churning mass under a colourless sky. The small boat rocked gently against the wood, but even that movement sent a jolt through his stomach.
One Auror gestured impatiently. Draco stepped in, almost mechanical, sitting rigidly on the worn bench as the vessel pulled away from the jagged silhouette of the prison. He looked once, briefly, at Williams, who didn’t look back, and felt a strange numbness settle over his body. The spray was cold against his face, the wind sharp, but he kept his eyes fixed on the warped floorboards. Each creak of the boat seemed too loud.
When they finally reached the shore, one of the Aurors stepped close, his hand clamping firmly on Draco’s arm. “Hold still. We’ll Apparate from here.”
Draco barely had time to brace before the pull gripped him, violent and suffocating. His vision blurred, pressure building in his skull, the world folding in on itself. When they landed, the ground tilted beneath his feet.
Bile rose hot in his throat. He swallowed it down, head spinning, only to feel the Auror’s hand shove him forward again.

“Come on, Malfoy,” the man muttered, thick with impatience. “We don’t have all day.”
His legs moved, though each step felt unsteady. The familiar marble of the Ministry floor appeared beneath his feet, but everything still felt muffled, the voices around him a single wash of white noise.
One of the Aurors gestured irritably toward a door, and Draco stepped through, instantly blinded by harsh light. The man pointed to a metal chair and Draco sat, eyes half-closed.
There was no moment of quiet, no pause before the Aurors began speaking at once, papers changing hands, clipped voices rattling off instructions. He caught only fragments-“release conditions,” “no wand,” “probation,” “reporting office”,but the words slid over him like water. The world was too loud, too bright, too fast. Boots clicked in the hallway, quills scratched against parchment, somewhere a woman laughed, too sharp, and Draco’s stomach tightened. Every wizard who passed the open door seemed to look at him: curious, contemptuous, some with that too-familiar disgust.
“…Do you understand?”
He blinked at the Auror in front of him, realizing too late a question had been asked.
The man sighed through his nose, impatient. “You know where you can go?”
“Yes.” The word left his mouth before he’d even thought about it. Anything to end this. Anything to be away from here.
A folded file was shoved into his hands, but he didn’t look at it. He simply stood, followed the Auror across the black marble, until they stopped before the great entrance doors.
For the first time, Draco looked at the man properly: dark eyes ringed with laugh lines, thinning hair, a round face. “Welcome to freedom,” the Auror said, half-sarcastic. Draco thought he caught the faintest nod, but frowned, speaking for the first time with intent: “Just… like that?”
As if he wasn’t going back to Azkaban. As if he’d never see his dandelion again. Never crush the meat block with the back of a fork. Never see Mulciber’s face-
“Just like that.” The man pushed the door open.

Outside, rain fell in thick drops from a sky heavy with clouds. Draco lifted his head, stepped forward, and closed his eyes as the water hit his skin. The thin slippers soaked instantly, but for a moment he held his breath, then drew in the scent of wet stone and distant smoke.
A sharp bump jolted him. He opened his eyes to see a witch glancing at him with open disgust before pushing past into the Ministry. Draco turned back once, but the Auror was gone.
He hugged the file closer to his chest, looked down at himself, the Azkaban uniform clinging to his skin, the bold D. L. Malfoy stamped on the cover of the file, and felt suddenly, painfully exposed. The eyes on him were everywhere.
He moved quickly down the steps.

He didn’t know where to go. London’s streets were loud and suffocating, wet from the rain, and he shivered in his thin shirt. Could he return to the Manor? But without a wand he could not Apparate. The Muggles’ metal boxes rushed past, their eyes lingering on him for a moment, confused, until he hugged the file closer to his chest, glancing up at street signs and brushing the damp strands of hair from his face.
Two women pushed past him, speaking loudly, and Draco cleared his throat before stopping. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice still hoarse. One of them frowned at him and replied, “I don’t have any change,” before walking on without another glance. Draco snorted softly and looked around. A man with dark hair stared at a small rectangle in his hand, glancing up the street now and then. Draco cleared his throat again and stepped closer. “Hello, excuse me,” he said, more firmly this time, and the man looked him over once.
“Yes?”
“I’m looking… could you tell me how to get to Pimlico Road?”
The man raised his brows, tilting his head. “Near Belgravia?”
“I… I don’t know. Yes, I suppose?”
“Hm. Best ask the bus driver. I’m waiting for the bus too. The 24 goes to Pimlico, I think.” He gestured with his chin towards a sign next to Draco. Following his gaze uncertainly, Draco blinked. The man studied the soaked brown uniform, the file with its curling, rain-stained pages.
“Got money?”
“Money,” Draco repeated, shrugging slightly. “Not at the moment, no.”
“You could walk, I suppose,” the man said slowly, glancing at the dark grey sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Then, sighing, he dug into his pocket as the bus came into view. “This is my bus. Here.” He pressed a few coins into Draco’s hand. “Take the 24. Should be along in a few minutes.” He hesitated as the bus screeched to a stop and its doors hissed open. “Good luck, yeah?”
He climbed aboard, the doors closing behind him. Draco stared after the vehicle until it disappeared around the corner. He looked down at the coins in his palm and swallowed hard.

A few minutes later, another bus rumbled up, its headlights glaring in the rain. Draco stepped forward uncertainly as the doors opened with a groan. The driver, heavyset and unsmiling, barely glanced at him.
“Pimlico,” Draco managed, voice quiet but steady. “Does this bus go there?”
The driver grunted. “Yeah. Fare?”
Draco stared at the coins, then held out his entire fistful of money, every piece the stranger had given him, palm open. The driver looked at him for a beat, sighed, and plucked a few coins from his hand. “That’ll do. Get on.”
Draco stepped inside, gripping the damp file tighter, and felt the bus lurch forward beneath him. The windows rattled with the rain, and the city blurred past. Draco sat rigidly by the window, the file clutched to his chest, watching the city shift around him. The buildings grew grander, pale stone facades and wrought-iron balconies gleaming faintly even under the rain. White townhouses stood in perfect rows, polished doors with brass knockers shining as though someone had just seen to them.
He knew this kind of wealth, recognised it in every symmetry, every polished step, but from the other side of glass, it felt unreal, untouchable. His reflection in the rain-streaked window looked gaunt, hollow-eyed. He turned away.
The bus slowed, jolted, and finally ground to a stop. The driver threw a look over his shoulder, voice sharp. “End of the line. Out.”
Draco scrambled to his feet at once, almost stumbling in his haste. The file slipped in his grip; he caught it just before it fell, then hurried down the narrow aisle and off the bus. The doors hissed closed behind him, leaving him in the downpour.

The rain was relentless now, hammering against the pavement, soaking through what little dryness he had left. He blinked against it, pushing wet hair out of his eyes, trying to make sense of the street signs. Pimlico Road. He had been here once before, years ago, but everything blurred in the rain.
He squinted at the row of buildings, searching for anything familiar. The facades blurred into one another, pale and elegant, until he found it. A house that tugged at recognition. He swallowed, rain running cold down his neck, and fixed his gaze on it.
He stood still for a moment, heart pounding beneath the weight of his sodden clothes, before stepping off the curb.
Hesitantly, he knocked against the heavy wooden door, waited a moment before knocking again, louder this time, yet the house remained still. His gaze fell to the names beside the door, searching until he found the right one, and pressed his finger against it. From inside, he could faintly hear the ringing. There was silence for several seconds, only his heartbeat in his ears, before the door gave a buzzing sound. Draco flinched, glancing up in confusion, before instinctively pressing his shoulder against it. With a click it unlocked, and he found himself in the dark hallway.
When the light came on he blinked against it, needing a moment to adjust. He drew a deep breath and began climbing the stairs.

Theo looked different.

His dark hair was longer, his figure less slender. His dark eyes showed first interest, then confusion as Draco reached the last step and stood before his door. For a moment they only stared at one another, Theo’s eyes a little wide, his brow furrowed, before Theo stepped out into the corridor.
“Draco?” he asked, almost disbelieving, before his gaze swept over Draco’s figure. Draco opened his mouth to reply, but no sound would come from his throat. Theo moved closer, his eyes falling on the soaked file.
“What… what are you doing here?” His tone wasn’t hostile, only deeply puzzled. Then he shook his head and stepped aside. “Sorry. Come in.”
He gestured invitingly, and Draco dragged a hand across his wet face before stepping inside. The flat looked exactly as he remembered, warm and carrying the faint scent of perfume. Music drifted from another room, and Draco hesitated.
“I don’t want to… I didn’t mean to intrude, but-” He hunched his shoulders. “You’re the only one I knew who lived here.” He avoided Theo’s eyes, which now rested on him with concern.
“Were you released today? Did they just throw you out onto the street?”
Draco shrugged, still staring at a spot behind Theo on the wall. He started when the door to the other room opened and a sliver of light spilled into the hallway. A young man with wild blond hair stepped out, glancing between Theo and Draco.
“Everything okay?” he asked Theo, and Theo nodded.
“All good, Josh. This is… just an old friend.” Theo smiled reassuringly, though it didn’t reach his eyes, and Josh nodded slowly. He stepped closer, sliding an arm around Theo’s shoulders, his gaze critical on Draco.
“Really, it’s fine. He’s just in a… difficult situation,” Theo explained, kissing Josh’s cheek before pulling free from his hold.
“I can see that,” Josh said, though his tone wasn’t dismissive, more concerned.
“Go on into the living room, I’ll be there in a moment.”
Josh cast one last glance between them before nodding and leaving the door open behind him.
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Draco repeated, and Theo gave him an almost apologetic look.
“I met Josh a few months ago, he-”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Draco cut him off, shaking his head.
But Theo tilted his head, shrugging lightly. “After we broke up, I-”
“Really, Theo,” Draco said, sharper this time, before exhaustion suddenly weighed down on him. “I just didn’t know anyone else here in London.”
Theo studied him for a long moment before nodding again. “Do you want something else to wear?” Draco’s eyes flicked down over himself, and only now did he register how much he was still shivering.
“If you have anything spare.”
“Of course.” Theo opened the door to another room, the bedroom, and motioned for Draco to follow.

The walls were lined with pictures: Theo and Josh, Theo with a group of people Draco had never seen before, places Draco didn’t recognise. He caught Theo’s face in one of them, laughing, bright, and Josh pressing his nose against Theo’s cheek, grinning. Draco’s throat tightened.
“Here.”
His gaze snapped back to Theo, who was holding out a pair of grey trousers and a T-shirt. Draco stared at the shirt for a moment.
“Do you have a jumper? I’m… I’m really cold.”
“Oh, sure. One moment.” Theo tossed the clothes onto the bed and pulled a thick hooded sweater from the wardrobe. “This one okay?”
“Mhm.” Draco barely looked at it; all that mattered was that it was wide enough to hide everything.
“Thanks,” he murmured, and for a moment they both fell silent.
“Draco…” Theo began, exhaling deeply. “Where will you go now? I mean… I don’t want to send you away, truly, but-”
“It’s fine. I’ll… I’ll find something.”
“You don’t have any money, do you?” Theo’s voice dropped as he glanced toward the living room. “Do you even have your wand?”
Draco gave a bitter shake of his head.
Theo swore softly. “Fuck.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What about Pansy?”
“I don’t know where she lives. I assume she’s no longer with her father.”
Theo snorted lightly. “She definitely moved, but we… we don’t talk anymore. I…” He hesitated, then said, “I’ll call Blaise, yeah?”
“Call,” Draco echoed blankly, and Theo nodded.
“Well, he has a phone.”
Draco’s expression stayed uncomprehending, and a fleeting smile tugged at Theo’s mouth. “Muggle device. I don’t have a Floo connection, I… Josh isn’t…” He trailed off with a shrug, uncertain, almost wary, as if expecting Draco to hex him even without a wand.
“I understand.”

He hesitated, fingers tightening around the bundle of dry clothes. “Theo… don’t tell Blaise it’s me. Just... just ask him for Pansy’s address. Nothing more.”
Theo studied him for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “Alright. Get changed. I’ll call him.”
Draco stepped further into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. The damp fabric peeled from his skin as he changed, the weight of Azkaban still clinging to him. He could hear Theo’s voice muffled through the wall, calm, casual, as though this was nothing more than a normal conversation with an old friend.
When Draco emerged, Theo was holding a small slip of paper. “She’s in Maida Vale,” he said. “About forty minutes from here. Too far to walk in this weather.”
Draco glanced at the rain hammering the window and pulled the hood tighter around his head. “How... how do I get there?”
Theo exhaled, already reaching for his wallet. He pressed several notes into Draco’s hand, the crisp paper unfamiliar and fragile between Draco’s fingers. “You’ll take a taxi.”
Draco blinked. “A… taxi?”
Theo allowed himself a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A Muggle carriage. Yellow light on top. I’ll call one for you.”
As he spoke, he pulled out his phone, tapping quickly. He slid the phone back into his pocket a few seconds later and looked at Draco for a long moment. Then, without warning, he pulled him into a brief embrace. Draco froze instantly, shoulders stiff beneath the damp hoodie, every muscle braced.
“Take care of yourself,” Theo murmured as he let go. His voice was quiet, final, the kind of farewell that sounded less like see you soon and more like goodbye.
Draco swallowed hard, clutching the money in his hand, and said nothing.

The taxi rattled away, leaving Draco alone in front of the house. He blinked up at it, uncertain.
The building was small, narrow, its brick front unremarkable among the rest of the row.
Nothing about it whispered of Pansy, no grand facade, no polished windows, no carefully tended roses. It was so ordinary that he had to glance twice at the number to believe it was hers.

He raised his hand, knuckles tapping lightly against the door. The sound was almost lost in the rain. After a few seconds, the lock clicked, and the door opened.
Pansy froze in the doorway, her eyes wide, lips parting in shock. For a moment, they only stared at each other. Then she launched forward, throwing herself into his arms.
“Draco!” Her voice broke as she buried her face against his shoulder. “I didn’t know when... no one would tell me anything, they just kept saying soon, soon... Merlin, you’re here-”
Her sobs spilled hot against his neck. Her fingers clutched at the damp fabric of his hoodie as if she feared he might vanish again. Draco stood stiffly, the file still pressed awkwardly between them, until at last he lifted one hand and touched her back in a faltering motion.
She drew back just far enough to look at him, her mascara smudged, tears streaking down her cheeks. “You’re so thin,” she whispered, her voice shaking. Her hand lifted, brushing trembling fingers through his hair. The strands tangled, greasy and matted, and at the touch her face crumpled further. “They let you rot in there. I begged them, I begged them to-” Her voice broke.
Draco swallowed, but no words rose in his throat.
Pansy blinked rapidly, as if waiting for him to answer, waiting for him to tell her something, anything. But his lips stayed closed, his eyes dull, his face unmoving.
Her breathing hitched. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and forced a watery smile. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re here. That’s what matters.”
When his silence continued, she finally exhaled shakily, her arm looping through his as though to anchor him. “Come on, you need to sit down.”
She guided him into the sitting room, urging him onto the sofa. He sank into the cushions without resistance, clutching the file to his chest as if it were the only solid thing he had left. Pansy curled up beside him, her head resting against his shoulder, her hand threading gently into his tangled hair again.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “I thought you’d die there and I’d never see you again.”
Draco leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, unmoving. He felt her warmth against him, heard her soft, broken words, but his body gave nothing in return. His arms remained heavy at his sides, his voice locked somewhere he could no longer reach.
Pansy’s tears dampened the fabric of his hoodie as she clung tighter, but Draco only sat still, staring through the silence. Inside him, there was nothing but the echo of the rain.

 

“You have to eat.”
Pansy’s voice cut through the silence, through the faint hiss of wind, and Draco rolled onto his side to look at her. The circles beneath her eyes had deepened over the last days, and a crease of worry seemed etched permanently into her brow.
“I’m not hungry,” he replied, again, and she sighed.
“Draco.” She stepped toward the bed, crouching beside it. “You’ve barely eaten since you got here. Your body needs food.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Bullshit. You survive Azkaban only to starve to death in my house? I don’t fucking think so.” She fixed him with a stern look before her gaze softened. “I’ve been thinking… should I write to your mother? I mean-”
“No!”
Draco sat up so fast his vision went black for a moment, blinking several times. Nausea surged instantly, rising hot in his throat, and he clutched his stomach through the hoodie he still wore, retching dryly.
Pansy lifted her hand on instinct, laying it over his. Draco flinched back as if her touch had burned him.
Her eyes widened slightly. “Draco,” she whispered, barely a breath. “You should see a Healer.”
“I don’t need a Healer.” He collapsed back against the pillow, his eyes burning. For a moment there was silence before Pansy exhaled slowly.
“I can see you’re in pain. You’re sick all the time, you-”
“It’s…” Draco’s voice caught, a lump rising in his throat. He pressed his palms hard against his eyes.
“Maybe you need medicine, potions,” she said softly.
He tore his hands away, glaring at her with sudden anger. “I don’t need potions. Nothing can get rid of this thing anymore.”
The words were out before he could stop them. Guilt hit instantly, and his hand pressed once more against his stomach.
“What thing?” Pansy’s voice was hoarse. “What are you talking about, Draco?”
He squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again and, slowly, lifted the hoodie.
For a moment she only looked confused. Then her gaze cleared, and widened.
“This is…” Her voice broke. With trembling fingers she touched the small swell of his belly, her eyes wide with shock. “Who did this to you?”
Pansy’s fingers hovered over his skin, trembling as though she didn’t dare press too hard. Her mouth opened, closed again.
“Draco…” Her voice cracked. “You… you have to see a Healer. Right away. This isn’t- this can’t-”
He stared at her, silent, grey eyes unblinking, his jaw tight.
“You can’t ignore this,” she whispered, almost pleading now. “Whatever happened, whatever they did to you, you need help.”
“I don’t,” Draco hissed, his voice suddenly sharp. He tugged the hoodie back down over himself with jerky movements, as if he could erase what she had seen. “I don’t need anyone poking at me, I don’t need their questions, I don’t need their pity.”
“But Draco-”
“No!” His voice rose, rough and ragged, the veins standing out in his neck. “I won’t let them touch me. I won’t let them look at me like I’m...like I’m some...”
His words cut off, strangled in his throat. He turned away from her, fists knotted in the fabric of the hoodie, chest rising and falling too fast. Pansy swallowed, her own tears returning. She took a careful breath, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Then what do you want me to do?”

The room fell silent. Pansy’s hand hovered helplessly in the air, her lips pressed together as though she was holding back everything she wanted to say.
At last, her voice broke through, quiet but firm: “Everybody needs a little saving sometimes, Draco.”
The words hit like a blow. Instantly, his mind betrayed him, green eyes, bright even through smoke, black curls plastered to a sweat-streaked forehead, the searing heat of fire, and the impossible feeling of being pulled free when he thought he would die.
His chest tightened. He forced his gaze away, his voice raw. “Not everybody deserves it, though. Not me.”
Pansy inhaled sharply, but before she could answer, Draco was already lying back, dragging the hoodie tighter around himself. “I want to sleep,” he muttered, his tone final.
He shut his eyes, shutting her out, the images still flickering behind his lids.

 

Weeks passed before he allowed it. Weeks of Pansy’s pleading, her threats, her tears. Weeks of sickness twisting through his body until even he could no longer deny it.
So when Mayleen finally came, Pansy hovered beside him like a shadow, her hand firm on his arm as though he might bolt at any second. The Healer smiled softly, but her tone was professionel.
“First of all, thank you for letting me be here, Draco,” she said gently, setting her bag on the table. “Your body… it’s been forced into this far too quickly. That kind of strain leaves marks. You need proper care now, nutrients, restorative draughts, rest. Otherwise, both you and the child will suffer for it.”
Draco’s lips pressed into a hard line. He didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the window, rain trickling down the glass. Pansy’s grip on his arm tightened, and he only shifted slightly, uncomfortable, but said nothing.
Mayleen continued, undeterred. “I’ll leave you the potions. They’re not optional, Draco. And you need to avoid stress, as much as possible.” Her eyes flicked to Pansy, who gave a quick, earnest nod.
Then Mayleen drew her wand, her voice low, calm. “I’d like to show you something. It might make all this feel… more real.”
Draco lay back against the cushions, his hoodie pushed up, the swell of his stomach no longer something he could hide. His jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, anywhere but the tip of her wand. And then the light bloomed and he couldn't look away any longer.
A shimmer appeared above him, a haze of gold and yellow, shapes shifting until they grew clearer, sharper, into something unmistakable.
His breath caught, his chest rose and fell too quickly, his hand twitching against the fabric beneath him. He couldn’t look away.
Pansy let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “Merlin, Draco…”
He didn’t answer. His face stayed pale, expression caught somewhere between wonder and pain. His eyes stung, though no tears came.
The tiny figure shifted in the image, curled, fragile, impossibly alive.
Mayleen’s voice softened. “Heartbeat’s strong. Growth is where it should be.”
Draco’s hand lifted almost involuntarily, hovering in the air as though he could touch it. His lips parted, but no words came.
A war raged inside him, revulsion, numbness, fear, and beneath it all, something primal, unyielding. The instinct to shield, to protect this thing inside him.
When the image faded, he slumped back, blinking hard.

With the potions, he grew stronger quickly, his cheeks filling out, his appetite returning, and every now and then he left the bed for a few hours to sit with Pansy in the kitchen, where she tried her best to prepare the nourishing recipes Mayleen had recommended.
“You’re real shit at this,” Draco said, and Pansy spun around in annoyance, until she caught the faint grin tugging at his mouth. She rolled her eyes.
“Please, then you try. As if I’ve ever steamed anything before, Draco.”
“Gladly.”
Draco pushed himself up from the barstool, his steps still a little unsteady with the weight of his belly, and stared at the broccoli steaming half-heartedly in too little water. For a moment he only studied the stove before hesitantly reaching for the knobs.
Pansy glanced at him from the side and nudged his shoulder. “Careful, you’ll end up a master chef.”
Draco snorted. “Muggles have the strangest devices.”
“I think they’re practical,” Pansy replied, flicking her wand so the broccoli shifted in the pot. “If you combine both, it’s actually easy.”
“Easy,” Draco repeated, raising his brows at her. “Half your food is burnt.”
She waved him off. “Well, only half, isn’t it?” She grinned, and he felt his own mouth twitch higher. He stirred the pot gingerly with the wooden spoon.
“I was thinking…” Pansy tilted her head. “Maybe we could take a walk. Tomorrow.”
Draco rubbed the back of his neck, not answering.
“I mean, Mayleen said fresh air would be good for you. For both of you,” she added cautiously, as if afraid he might explode.
Draco exhaled sharply. “I think Muggles would be a bit confused if they saw me, don’t you?” he asked, turning the schnitzel that sizzled on the plate beside the broccoli.
“I asked Mayleen, she said a glamour wouldn’t be dangerous for the baby.”
“The baby,” Draco repeated, staring at the bubbles forming in the oil.
“Yes. The baby.”
Draco kept his eyes on the pan, a lump tightening in his throat, before he finally looked at her and shook his head. “I think the garden is enough fresh air for now.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, to push him further, but closed her mouth again and nodded. “But we could invite someone over. Blaise or-”
“Pans,” Draco cut in, suddenly very tired, and she fell quiet at once. Then she smiled softly.
“Alright. I just thought maybe you were getting sick of my company.”
“Always,” he said dryly, and she nudged him again.

 

The last weeks passed painfully, slow and cold. Pansy did her best, cooked Draco the meals she thought he liked most, accompanied him into the garden, brought him books she believed would please him.
Draco felt heavier, slower, as though moving in slow motion, and when he looked at himself in the mirror, he didn’t recognize what he saw. His face was rounder, the bones less sharp, almost soft, but his eyes were empty and cold. He lifted the T-shirt stretched over his stomach. Sometimes he could make out movement, a foot pressing against the skin.
He knew it would be soon. And that the… child, the thing inside him, could now survive without his body.

Draco hoped it wouldn’t have his blond hair, his grey eyes, features that would betray it immediately, even if he wasn’t there, even if it bore another name.
He hoped the wizarding world would take it in gently.

In recent days, Pansy had often smiled at him when he laughed, when he ate more, and it hurt him all the more when she told him how grateful she was that he was getting better.
He lingered in front of the mirror a moment longer before his eyes moved to the small apparatus in the corner. Cans and glass bottles were stacked on the little table, the rope tied to one leg so he could pull if he felt the time had come. Pansy would hear it, she would come upstairs, and the child inside him would live.
He took another deep breath before calmly sitting on the bed, staring at the faded Dark Mark on his forearm. The skull almost seemed mocking as Draco let the blade glide across it for the first time.
The blood was warm, the metallic scent making him dizzy. The pain was dull.
“Nobody’s gonna know you’re mine,” he whispered, casting a quick glance at the letter lying on the dresser. “She’ll make sure of that.”

Black spots danced before his eyes and he slid back a little, gripping the rope in one hand, squeezing his lids shut. When he heard footsteps on the stairs, he forced them open again. Pansy’s voice made him flinch.
“No!” he cried as she knocked, but his voice was weak, gurgling, and Pansy knocked again, louder this time, before the door opened.
“No!” he said again, strangled. “Fuck, go away!” he rasped, but Pansy’s head already appeared through the narrow gap.
“Who bit you, then?” she began, amused, until her eyes fell on the rope in his hand, the bottles and cans in the corner. “What in Merlin’s name-” Her gaze landed on the blood, and she went chalk-white. “No, no, no! What have you done?”
She rushed to him at once. He pulled back, the table crashing to the floor with a loud bang, glass shattering.
“Pansy, go away, go away, it’s too soon, get out!” he cursed hoarsely, black spots blurring his vision, but Pansy had already conjured her Patronus, pressing the bedsheet against his arm.
“Fuck, what are you doing? Fuck, fuck, fuck, Draco-” Through the haze he could see tears running down her cheeks, tears of fury and grief, her nails digging into the sheet as it turned red.
Only seconds later came hurried footsteps on the stairs, and he began to cry as well, trying to wrench himself from Pansy’s grip, refusing to look at Mayleen as she stormed into the room.
“I can’t, Pansy, I can’t,” he pleaded, just as the spell hit and he fell backwards onto the bed.
He felt the skin seal, and his eyes locked on Pansy’s, wordless desperation begging her. She pressed her lips together, then kissed his forehead.
“Draco,” she whispered again and again, like a mantra, while Mayleen’s words blurred into nothing but noise. He saw only Pansy’s dark eyes, almost black, and shook his head.
“I can’t,” he repeated tonelessly.
Pansy smiled through her tears and stroked his hair with frantic tenderness. “You can, love, you can. Shhh.” She kissed his forehead again before tearing her gaze away to meet Mayleen’s.
“His pulse is dropping,” Mayleen snapped, already casting another spell, her hands pressing firm and unrelenting against his arm. “We don’t have time to argue.”
Draco twisted weakly, trying to push her away. “Don’t... don’t touch me-”
A wave of pain ripped through his belly, so sudden, so sharp that he cried out, his hand flying instinctively to his stomach.
Pansy’s face went ashen. “Mayleen-”
“I know.” The Healer’s voice was clipped and controlled, but her wand was already at Draco’s abdomen. “The stress has triggered it. He’s in labour.”
The words hardly reached him. Draco shook his head, chest heaving, his face wet with sweat and tears. “No. No, not now, I can’t-”
“You don’t have a choice,” Mayleen said firmly. “We’re doing this now.”
The next contraction stole the breath from his lungs, tearing through him like fire. He gripped the sheets with white-knuckled fists, his body shaking. Pansy pressed closer, her hand catching his, her lips against his damp temple.
“Draco, listen to me. Breathe. Just breathe. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
But he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. All he felt was pain and the crushing weight of hopelessness, the certainty that he wasn’t meant for this, that he should have died before this moment came.

He closed his eyes, the pain dulling suddenly, hearing Mayleen murmur incantations, feeling the pressure in his lower belly, shaking his head again and again. “Go away, go away,” he whispered, and felt Pansy’s sweat-slick hand on his forehead.
“Shhh,” she soothed, and he felt himself going numb, his body vanishing beneath his neck. He pressed his eyes shut tighter.
“Pansy, keep pressure on his arm, yes? The skin is closed but it needs to knit more firmly. Can you do that?” Mayleen’s voice was professional, steady. He didn’t hear Pansy answer, but her hand left his forehead.
“We really should take him to St. Mungo’s,” Mayleen said then, though he still felt her spells sweeping over him.
He kept his eyes tightly shut, trying to think of something else, yellow dandelions against grey stone, a rose in his mother’s hair, Pansy’s laughter, bright and ringing through Hogwarts’ halls, when a cry forced his eyes open.

Pansy was sobbing beside him, but it wasn’t sorrow.
Confused, Draco blinked at the small being in Mayleen’s arms, pink, blond, and so, so loud, strong. At first there was nothing, no feeling at all, only stark panic, until Mayleen leaned over and held the child right in front of his face.
He couldn’t hear Mayleen’s words, only the crying, crying, crying, and his heart began to race as tears slipped hot and blinding from the corners of his eyes.
Pansy took the child in her arms, holding it still before Draco’s face. He couldn’t speak, only swallow, as fire returned to his lower body, the numbness burning away. Shaking, he lifted his arm.
“Do you want to hold him, Draco?” Pansy asked, her voice breaking.
Him, Draco repeated tonelessly, and Pansy nodded.
“Look at him, Draco,” she said gently.
Draco lifted his hand further until he touched the dark red face, the skin warm, impossibly soft, and the crying softened a little. He shifted higher, eyes locked on him, his son, before he slowly nodded.
“Yes… can you, can you give him to me?”
Pansy nodded quickly, holding the child carefully as she lowered him onto Draco’s chest. The crying quieted further, and then wide, grey eyes blinked open, meeting his own.
Draco’s finger traced the tiny forehead, the nose, until the crying ceased altogether and father and son looked at each other.
The silence pressed in, heavy and fragile, as Draco’s finger lingered against his son’s skin. His chest hitched once, twice, then his eyes rolled, the world tilting.
“Draco-!” Pansy’s voice cracked, clutching the baby close as Mayleen surged forward, wand already moving in sharp, precise arcs.
“He’s crashing. Hold on-” she barked, spells spilling fast and urgent.
Draco barely registered the warmth slipping from his chest, the faint weight being lifted. Darkness swallowed him whole as Mayleen’s magic struck, and the last thing he felt was Pansy’s frantic grip around his hand.

 

“-you’re not even listening to me!” Scorpius glared up at Draco, jutting out his lower lip as he folded his arms across his chest.
Draco blinked a few times before lifting a hand to smooth it through Scorpius’s fine hair. “I was lost in thought.”
Scorpius threw his arms up dramatically. “But I was telling you about Arithmancy!”
“And thats very exciting,” Draco said solemnly.
Harry snorted beside them, eyes still on his magazine. Scorpius shot him a look before pressing closer against Draco.
“Anyway, I read that you have to choose your classes, but I don’t understand why, because surely I could want more than one and-”
“Ravenclaaaw,” Harry muttered without looking up, and Draco’s foot nudged his shin. Harry’s brief grin was answer enough.
Scorpius kept talking, hands flailing with his excitement, and Draco leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead.
Scorpius froze, staring up at him with wide grey eyes. Eyes that mirrored his own, though softer, untouched by the weight of the past.
There was nothing hollow in them, only curiosity, only light.
“Are you okay?”
Draco reached out and gave Scorpius’s cheek a gentle nudge with his knuckles. Scorpius scrunched up his face in exaggerated annoyance, the way only a not-quite-teenager could.
“I've never been better.”

Chapter 12: Warmth

Notes:

Sorry for the delay, y’all, life’s been a bit much lately.
This chapter is mostly fluff & softness because damn we all needed a breather after the last one. Angst will return shortly, don’t worry.
Thanks for sticking around 💕 hope you enjoy!

Warmth - emotional ease in the presence of trust

 

“I don’t think it’s the right time, you know?” Draco said, his face tense as he leaned against the doorframe. Harry was hunched over the suitcase, trying to flatten the pile of clothes with his entire weight so the zipper would move even a little further.
“I mean,” Draco went on, ignoring Harry’s desperate look for help, “I just don’t feel like going on holiday.”
Harry grunted, now tugging almost hopelessly at the zipper. “Draco, what on earth did you pack?”
Before Draco could answer, Narcissa’s voice cut through the room as she entered, her expression almost amused at the sight of Harry.
“It’s exactly the right time, darling,” she said, brushing her hand against Draco’s cheek. “The next months will be hard. A few days away will do you good.”
“I don’t know why everyone insists on acting like-” Draco began, then pressed his lips together, breathed for a few seconds, and gave a small nod.
By now, Harry had given up and started shrinking individual items inside the suitcase until the zipper finally closed.
“But if you read something in the Prophet, or if someone reaches out-”
“Then I’ll let you know.” Narcissa smiled softly, stroking his cheek again and then running her hand through his hair. Draco’s expression shifted, softened, and he nodded once more, looking almost fragile.
“And if Scorpius gets sick or-”
“Draco.” She patted him lightly, still smiling. “I think I’ll manage looking after my grandson for a few days.” She turned to Harry, her pale eyes bright. “And you’ll take care of my son, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Harry said, stepping closer. “Forced into joy,” he added cheerfully, and Draco rolled his eyes before blinking several times in quick succession.
“Oh, I forgot the tea!” he suddenly announced, spinning on his heel.

“Draco, there will be tea there too! I am not opening this suitcase again!” Harry called after him, letting his head fall back in defeat as Draco ignored him. Narcissa laughed quietly.
“He’s only nervous.”
“I know,” Harry admitted, letting out a deep sigh. “So am I, to be honest. We haven’t heard from Ruby since she filed the objection against the memory. Most likely it will still be used in court, and even though Ruby says we’ll dismantle it… Draco… he doesn’t want people to see it.”
Narcissa nodded, her face suddenly shadowed with sadness. “Of course he doesn’t. Who would want that? It’s a disgrace that he has to prove anything at all.”
Harry swallowed down the anger rising in his stomach, nodding as Narcissa continued in a quieter voice: “Have you found any witnesses yet?”
Harry shrugged. “We haven’t heard anything new. Draco’s not confident anyone will talk. Hermione told me the guards are supposed to be questioned.” He sighed.
When Draco’s footsteps echoed on the stairs, Harry straightened and smiled at him- until he noticed the large tin of tea in his hands.
“Draco,” Harry said.
“You’re a wizard, Potter,” Draco replied simply, pushing the metal tin into his hand before poking his head into the next room, where Scorpius was tidying his desk noisily.
With a flick of his wand, Harry shrank the tin of tea, silently praying it wouldn’t get damaged in the process, before stuffing the now pocket-sized container into the side of the suitcase.
He exhaled once more, then stepped into the hallway. Narcissa was leaning against the bannister, her eyes glistening faintly as she looked toward Scorpius’s room. Harry craned his neck to glance inside.
Draco was sitting on the mattress beneath the bunk bed, while Scorpius stood before him, gesticulating wildly as he chattered away.

“-and Aunt Pansy said there are loads of geese in Paris.”
“Geese,” Draco repeated dryly, and Scorpius nodded, eyes wide.
“Thousands.”
Draco huffed and straightened a little. “I’ll report back on how many we spot.”
“Do you think Berta would get along with a goose?”
“We are never owning a goose, Scorpius,” Draco said as he stood and stretched. “Besides, I thought you wanted to come up with a new name for your owl.”
“No, you wanted me to come up with a new name. Harry and I both agree Berta is perfect. Don’t we, Harry?”
The boy turned his head and grinned over his shoulder. Harry glanced between Scorpius’s grin and Draco’s arched brows, then shook his head.
“Nope. Staying out of this one.”
“Coward,” father and son chorused, and Draco let out a soft snort before crouching down again so he was eye-level with Scorpius.
“And you’re sure you’ll be alright?” he asked, his voice gentler now.
“Of course! Grandma’s here.” Scorpius smiled over at Narcissa, who returned the smile softly.
Draco didn’t look convinced, the deep crease between his brows back again, and Scorpius leaned forward, pressing his hands against Draco’s cheeks.
“Just bring me back a present, okay?”
Draco nodded, and Scorpius squished his cheeks together until his father’s face looked completely ridiculous. Scorpius giggled, and Draco rolled his eyes, which was far less impressive with his face all squashed.
Harry chuckled from the doorway.

“I just mean-” Draco began, pulling back his head, “we’ve never…” He glanced at Harry helplessly, then looked back at Scorpius. “This is the longest we’ve ever been apart, isn’t it?”
“Papa, I’ll be fine.” Scorpius gave a crooked grin and then leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Draco. “You’re allowed to go on holiday, you know.”
Draco blinked several times before he returned the embrace. Scorpius grinned up at him from below, then pulled back and pointed at the picture frame sitting on his desk. From the moving photograph, Harry, Draco, and Scorpius smiled back at them.
“See? I can just look at the photo if I miss you. Though maybe I’ll be glad not to watch you two snogging all the time.”
Draco’s brows shot up. “Excuse me? We don’t snog.”
Harry made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh from the doorway, which Scorpius ignored.
“Sure you don’t,” Scorpius said with exaggerated innocence, then suddenly threw his arms around Draco again, holding him tight. “Love you lots, Papa.”
Draco’s throat worked as he hugged him back fiercely. “I love you too, Scorpius.”

 

The Portkey Hall in London was buzzing with the usual chaos, suitcases clattering over the floor, children running around, owls protesting loudly from their cages. Harry was struggling to keep the overstuffed suitcase from tipping over, the wheels screeching in protest.
Beside him, Draco held up a slim Muggle travel guide, gesturing sharply with it as though the fate of the world depended on its contents. His eyes flicked over the pages with an intensity that had little to do with sightseeing.
“These muggle authors,” he muttered, a touch too loud, “do they have any idea that the Catacombs were once used by Sir Bertiebard to advance alchemy? No, of course not. They write about bones and mystery tours as though that’s the point.” He shook his head and swerved neatly around a man with three screeching owlets.
Harry grunted as the suitcase jolted over a crack in the floor. Draco didn’t seem to notice.
“And here, the Eiffel Tower. A ‘technical masterpiece’?” He scoffed, though his voice wavered just slightly. “The thing only stands because of at least three Stabilizing Charms. If they pulled them off for even a moment, well, the whole of Paris would collapse. But do they mention that? Of course not.”
Harry let out a breathless laugh, tugging the suitcase upright again. “You know, you’re not actually angry at the book.”
Draco finally looked at him, lips pressed thin. “I am not angry! Just... they should research better, that’s all. It’s sloppy work.” He flicked the edge of the guide with one finger as though offended on principle, then glanced back at Harry. “I’m fine.”
Harry slowed, watching him for a moment. The way Draco’s grip on the guide was just a little too tight, the way his eyes darted back to the pages again and again.
“We made sure Scorpius has everything,” Harry said gently. “He’ll be fine.”
For a heartbeat Draco didn’t answer, jaw working as though the words had snagged. His hand tightened around the travel guide until the paper crinkled.
“Obviously he’ll be fine,” Draco said at last, his voice pitched a bit higher than normal. He straightened his shoulders, smoothing the cover of the book with quick, fussy movements. “He’s... he’s clever. And sensible. And, he’ll hardly notice we’re gone.”
Harry gave him a look.
Draco sniffed, recovering some of his usual poise. “It’s just a few days.”

Harry knew better than to push, but he also knew exactly why Draco hadn’t looked up from the book since they’d left the house. „And you'll be fine, too.“
He reached over to tug the suitcase out of his own path, muttering, “This thing already has more enchantments than it can handle. We should’ve just brought two.”
Draco blinked, then surprised him by slipping his wand from his sleeve and murmuring a charm that smoothed the protesting wheels. “There. Better?”
Harry blinked at him. “Much. Thanks.” He leaned forward and pressed a light kiss on Dracos cheek. „It'll be alright.“ Draco froze, then let out a soft breath, his shoulders loosening slightly, before he gave a small, lopsided smile, then tucked his guide under one arm as they reached the counter.
The witch behind it smiled warmly, holding out a miniature Eiffel Tower. Draco accepted it between careful fingers, shaking his head with a quiet huff. “A little on the nose,” he murmured, though without real bite.
“Welcome, gentlemen. The Portkey will activate in ten minutes. Please proceed to the designated area.” She pointed to a door leading out to a draughty courtyard, where groups of witches and wizards clustered around an assortment of objects glowing faintly with waiting magic.
“We wish you a pleasant and turbulence-free journey, and a colleague will be waiting to receive you at the Portus Terminal in Paris.”
Harry glanced at Draco. For once, he didn’t look irritated, just distracted, thumbing the little Eiffel Tower.

The air outside was cool, the excited chatter of the other travelers carrying pleasantly on the wind. Draco kept his gaze fixed on the small Portkey, chewing the inside of his cheek, while Harry, one hand steadying the suitcase, leaned forward and blew gently against Draco’s slightly flushed skin.
Draco blinked, his brow faintly furrowed, before the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Mother really did choose an exceptional hotel.”
“Oh yeah?” Harry asked, taking another small step closer. Draco’s pale hair, tousled by the wind, brushed against his nose.
“Well, it’s very central, plenty of amenities,” Draco began, his voice still a little shaky, though something in his eyes flickered with excitement.
“What are you most looking forward to?” Harry asked, eager to keep that spark alive, and Draco tilted his head.
“The most…”
“Hm. The opera? The wine?” Harry teased, and when Draco didn’t answer, he added with a grin, “The Eiffel Tower?”
Draco wrinkled his nose, and Harry laughed.
Draco looked past him, out across the field stretching behind them, and gave a small shrug.
“I think I’m most excited to see the Louvre again.”
Harry blinked. “Really?”
“I like the art.” After a beat, he added: “It’s just… kind of amazing. So many paintings in one place. So many stories.” He shrugged, looking a little self-conscious now.
“It’s different from books or history. It’s all there. You can just stand in front of it. It calms me.“
Once more, he glanced down at the Eiffel Tower in his hand, something almost wistful in his expression.
“That’s what I’m looking forward to,” he said at last, his voice softer, just as the loud bell behind them rang, signaling it was time to prepare.
Harry, one hand still tight on the suitcase, laid his fingers over Draco’s, the cool metal beneath them. He winked at him once more, just before the whirlwind pulled them into the air.

 

Paris stretched out before them like a picture on a postcard.
Hundreds of Muggles streamed past, the rush of French voices spilling through the streets like music, loud, layered, and impossible to untangle. Harry’s suitcase rattled noisily over the cobblestones, but the sound barely reached him.
Draco’s shoulders had eased, his pale hair tousled by the breeze as he glanced back with a grin. And Harry thought, yes, Draco belonged here. In the clean white lines of the buildings, the effortless elegance of the city, he looked as though Paris had been waiting for him. Just as he belonged in a small yellow house by the sea, with salt on the air and the warmth of bread drifting through the kitchen. Both worlds fit him, opposites as they were. Both lived in him, and somehow neither felt out of place.
He moved as though he were part of the crowd itself, gesturing wildly, pointing out landmarks with words Harry couldn’t understand. His voice spilled over the street noise anyway, rich, smooth, and alive. Somewhere nearby, an accordion struck up a tune, and the melody tangled with Draco’s laughter.
Something in his eyes had changed, shimmering beneath the gray Paris sky as he turned and walked backwards for several steps, slipping easily around the oncoming tide of people. Harry’s gaze lingered on his lips, faintly flushed from the chill, the elegant curve of them shaping words. When they parted into a laugh, Harry forgot to breathe.
“You’re not listening to me,” Draco said, but there was no accusation in it, only amusement.
Harry grinned back at him, helpless. “Sorry. It’s just - you, and Paris.” He made a vague gesture at the flawless façades, the street cafés spilling warm air and coffee scent onto the sidewalks, then back at Draco, who rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide his smile.
“Yeah? What about us?” he asked then, and Harry only shrugged.
“I can’t wait to kiss you here under this sky.”
Draco rolled his eyes again before abruptly coming to a halt. The suitcase nearly crashed into Harry’s heels.
“Why wait?” Draco asked, and Harry laughed before leaning in, pressing his lips firmly against Draco’s right there in the middle of the crowd.
Muggles swerved around them, muttering under their breath. A woman with a paper bag full of croissants hurried past, the buttery scent trailing after her; a man cursed softly in French as his umbrella snagged on Harry’s suitcase; somewhere nearby, a car horn blared in irritation. But Harry barely registered any of it. His heart stumbled as Draco lifted a hand to brush his cheek with gentle fingers. The sounds, the smells, the monuments at the edge of his vision, all blurred together. The only thing sharp and clear was Draco.

Draco, Draco, Draco.

Draco tilted his head, his mouth ghosting a smile. “You do know the sky is the same here, don’t you?”
Harry glanced up at the gray clouds, then back at Draco, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah,” he murmured, shrugging, “but this one gets to shine on you in Paris. That makes it special.”
Draco blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching in a half-scoff, half-smile, before he kissed Harry again, slower this time, as though they had all the time in the world.

 

The hotel was – unsurprisingly- expensive and elegant. The large entrance hall was paneled in marble, with grand chandeliers casting warm light across the polished floor.
Draco, of course, looked like he belonged there. The way he held himself reminded Harry vaguely of school days, an eyebrow slightly raised, chin tilted, his shoes clicking confidently against the stone floor.
“Mother has outdone herself again,” he said approvingly, gesturing toward a few armchairs that, in Harry’s opinion, looked absolutely uncomfortable.
“Cassina,” Draco added, almost conspiratorially.
Harry nodded, even though he had no idea what that was supposed to mean.
Draco rolled his eyes. “Expensive,” he said, as if that explained everything.
Harry grinned. “Yeah, I figured.”
“With you, one can never be sure.”
Draco glanced over his shoulder again, his eyes soft for a moment, before they reached the reception desk, and just like that, his expression shifted into the posh, perfectly poised mask that Harry both smiled at and (secretly) adored.
Draco spoke in quick, fluid French, and Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to catch the occasional word.
He glanced again at the leather armchairs beside them and briefly considered sitting down, but they looked so outrageously expensive, he was afraid Draco might hex him if he left a wrinkle in the upholstery.
“-okay?”
Draco’s voice pulled him back, and he looked up to see the keycard in Draco’s hand.

 

Their suite was nothing short of stunning.
Tall windows stretched nearly to the ceiling, framing a view of the Seine that looked like it had been painted just for them. The rooftops of Paris unfolded like an endless sea of slate and light, and in the distance, the Eiffel Tower shimmered faintly through the late afternoon haze. Pale curtains drifted in the breeze from a cracked window, and the entire room was bathed in warm, golden light.
The bed, enormous and perfectly made, stood in the center like a promise.
Harry didn’t hesitate, he let the suitcase drop and collapsed onto it with a groan of relief, arms flung out dramatically.
“Well, this is the part I’m good at,” he mumbled into the cloud-like duvet before turning his head and reaching one hand blindly toward Draco. “Come here.”
Draco didn’t move at first. He stood by the window, one hand resting lightly on the frame as he gazed out over the city, his expression unreadable. The soft wind tousled his hair, and for a moment, Harry simply watched him, heart doing something strange in his chest.
Then Draco turned, one eyebrow raised. “The bed linen has a thread count of at least a thousand,” he said, in a tone that was far too serious for someone talking about sheets. “This is probably the most luxurious thing you’ve ever touched, aside from me.”
Harry snorted into the pillow. “Arrogant.”
“Accurate,” Draco corrected, and finally walked over, toed off his shoes with practiced ease, and sat down beside him.
Harry reached for Draco’s pale arm, his fingers brushing over the soft skin, the nearly invisible blonde hairs rising beneath his touch.
“Come here,” he repeated, and with a quiet sigh, Draco let himself fall back beside him.
For a moment, he simply stared at the ceiling, then turned his head, grey eyes serious as they found Harry’s.
Harry laced their fingers together, his darker skin a stark contrast against Draco’s pale hand, and tugged him closer, until Draco’s hair tickled his face. He breathed in deeply, the scent of Draco’s shampoo, lemon and lime, closed his eyes, and leaned sideways to press a kiss to Draco’s warm temple.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, and kissed him again.
He heard Draco inhale beside him, slow and steady, and when Harry opened his eyes, Draco’s were closed. Propping himself up on one elbow, Harry let his fingers wander across Draco’s face, over the sharp cheekbones, the elegant nose, down to the soft, pink lips.
Draco kissed the tip of his finger, and a shiver shot through Harry’s body. Draco cracked one eye open.

Harry stared at his own finger, still resting against Draco’s lips, and gasped quietly when Draco opened his mouth and pulled the fingertip inside.
His voice came out hoarse. “Weren’t you going to check out the pool?”
A mischievous glint lit up Draco’s eyes as he turned more fully onto his side.
“I don’t think you’re currently in any condition to visit a pool.”
His perfect lips curved into a grin as his gaze slid slowly down Harry’s body before returning to meet his eyes again.
Harry licked his lower lip, then let his hand glide into the nape of Draco’s neck, pulling him in.
Draco sighed into the kiss, and Harry tightened his grip, his hands firm as they eased the tension from Draco’s shoulders. Then he rolled halfway on top of him.
Draco’s breath hitched as Harry deepened the kiss, slow and deliberate, like some kind of promise. His hand slid along Draco’s side, fingers tracing the line of his ribs through the soft cotton of his shirt, and Draco arched into the touch like it was something he’d been craving for days.
The room had gone quiet, just the soft rustle of sheets and the distant hum of the city below. Golden light filtered in through the curtains, painting faint lines across Draco’s throat as Harry pressed gentle kisses along the curve of it.
Draco’s fingers curled into the fabric of Harry’s shirt, holding him close but not pulling and Harry shifted slightly, pressing their foreheads together, his lips brushing Draco’s as he spoke.
“You know,” he whispered, voice barely more than breath, “sometimes I think I waited my whole life just to have this.”
Draco slowly opened his eyes, some kind of uncertainty in them, the kind that Harry now knew by heart. Draco swallowed hard, breath trembling. “You really mean that?”
Harry smiled. “Yeah,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from Draco’s forehead. “I think you were the reason I survived it all.”

“Well, there are a lot of… paintings,” Harry said uncertainly, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the third artwork featuring very naked people.
Next to him, Draco gave a sharp exhale, half amused, half exasperated, clearly gearing up for a lecture. But then he pulled a face and muttered, “Correct, Potter. Many paintings.”
Harry raised his hands in mock surrender and looked around the vast hall. Muggles were scattered in front of the artworks, some deeply fascinated, others looking vaguely lost, and Harry turned back to the one in front of him.
“Interesting, uh, colours,” he offered, and Draco’s face broke into a grin before he rolled his eyes like it physically pained him.
Harry trailed behind as Draco moved with quiet ease, occasionally stopping to look, really look, at certain pieces. Harry watched him more than the art.
They walked slowly through the next hall, and Harry couldn’t help noticing how many of the paintings seemed to involve halos, crosses, or someone dying in dramatic fashion.
“Lot of... Jesus,” he murmured, eyes drifting over yet another depiction of a man nailed to a cross, blood cascading like ribbons.
Draco hummed noncommittally, his gaze fixed on a different canvas, one of a saint being burned alive, if Harry was interpreting it right, which he probably wasn’t.
Harry leaned in a little, arms crossed. “Do you even know who that is?”
Draco didn’t look away. “Do I have to?”
Harry blinked. “Well, I mean, kind of? That’s, uh... Saint somebody. He died for… something.”
Draco finally turned to look at him, expression unreadable.
“I don’t need to know his name to understand what he felt.”
Harry opened his mouth to say something but Draco had already moved on, walking slowly toward the next room, toward something that seemed to pull at him, before he stopped.
Harry nearly walked past him before noticing how still he’d gone, gaze fixed ahead. The room had softened somehow. Yellow light pooled through high windows, falling directly onto the painting.

The Young Martyr.

A pale body, floating in dark water with closed eyes. A faint, golden halo just above her head ,barely visible. Draco stepped closer, so close Harry thought the guards might scold him.
He didn’t say anything, just stared and kept staring.
Harry hesitated, then came to stand beside him.
“She looks…” Harry began, but the words trailed off.
Draco tilted his head slightly. His voice, when it came, was quiet and flat. “She was killed for what she believed in.”
Harry nodded slowly. “A martyr.”
Draco hummed. “But look at how she floats. She's not limp, not twisted or broken or bleeding. As if she’s… still choosing peace. Even in death.”
Harry glanced at him. “You think that’s what it means?”
Draco didn’t answer immediately. His eyes stayed on the girl in the painting.
“She’s calm,” he said. “But there’s grief there, too. In the set of her mouth and in the water around her. It’s not dramatic nor loud.”
Harry watched him carefully.
Draco went on, almost absentmindedly. “Don't you think its funny that People think pain has to scream? Well, maybe sometimes it just… drifts like this, beautiful and quiet, but still there.”
Harry swallowed.
He wasn’t sure if they were still talking about the painting.
Draco’s arms were crossed now, defensively almost, but his voice hadn’t changed.
“And no one will ever really know who she was. Just a face in a frame, a name in a book. Her story’s reduced to a moment. The moment she became something other people could interpret.”
He exhaled softly.
“Even if they get it wrong.”
Harry looked back at the painting, then at Draco and something in his chest pulled tight.
Because suddenly he understood that Draco didn’t just look at paintings, he found pieces of himself inside them.

 

It was already evening when Draco finally agreed to leave the Louvre. Harry's feet ached, but he hooked his arm through Draco’s and gently tugged him along.
“Want to grab something to eat?” he asked, but Draco was looking past him, down the street, blinking a few times.
“We should go in there,” he said, nodding toward a cathedral whose pale stone seemed to glow in the dusk.
Harry tilted his head.
“First Jesus paintings, now you want to visit a church? Have you secretly taken up Muggle religion?” he asked, amused, but Draco had already slipped out of his hold and started walking.
Harry hurried to catch up.
“It’s just a beautiful building, isn’t it?” Draco said as they reached the steps.
Harry shrugged. “All the buildings here are pretty beautiful.”
“Yes, well, did you know it used to be forbidden to build anything in a different style here? One of the Muggle mayors tried, built the Centre Pompidou, the disgrace of Paris.”
“Oh, sure I knew that,” Harry said sarcastically.
Draco waved a dismissive hand. “They changed the law eventually.”
He pressed his shoulder against the large wooden door, which didn’t budge. Draco looked up at the building, annoyed.
Harry glanced down the empty street. “Probably closed by now. We can come ba-”
The click of a lock made him turn, and blink several times when he saw Draco casually sliding his wand back into its holster and pushing the door open.
“Draco!” Harry hissed, quickly hurrying after him.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, slipping inside just before the door swung shut again.
“You can’t just break into Muggle churches!” he whispered, panicked.
Draco didn’t answer. He was staring up at the ornate ceiling, his eyes wide.
The church was mostly dark, the scent of incense still lingering in the air.
“You’ve done worse,” Draco said, trailing his fingers along the dark wood.
“That was-” Harry started, then stopped himself and sighed. “If we get caught, I’m not taking the blame for this.”
“How very un-Gryffindor of you,” Draco replied, glancing back at him with a smile. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Harry paused, listening, only silence filled the air, before Draco continued,
“You sound like Granger.”
“I do not!” Harry said, scandalised.
Draco started walking backwards, grinning.
“Harry, don’t go into the Restricted Section! Harry, don’t go down the forbidden corridor!” he said in a perfect imitation of Hermione’s voice.
Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Those things had reasons, this is just-”
“Fun, Potter?” Draco offered with a wider grin.
Harry snorted but finally gave in, moving forward as well.
Draco tilted his head up, eyes drifting toward the stained glass windows.
Harry watched him in the low light. The way he moved, the way his voice echoed just slightly in the empty space.
Then Draco turned back to him again, arms crossed, that familiar smirk curling his lips.
“You’re still nervous,” he said.
“I’m still trying not to get arrested,” Harry muttered.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, I expected more from the Boy Who Broke Into Gringotts.”

Harry opened his mouth for a comeback but something in him shifted instead.
He glanced at the altar, at the rows of unlit candles stretching into shadow, and without thinking too hard, he took a slow breath.
The air changed.
A single candle flickered to life, then another and another.
Within seconds, the entire church was aglow, hundreds of tiny flames bursting into light, chasing away the darkness like the room had been holding its breath until now.
Golden warmth filled the space. Light danced on carved stone and painted glass, turned shadows into soft edges, made the silence feel holy.
Draco froze.
He turned slowly, blinking, his face lit in amber tones, eyes wide with something Harry couldn’t quite name.
“Oh,” he said.
Harry stood still, his hand at his side, breathing a little harder than he wanted to admit. “Still think I’m boring?”
Draco looked at him for a long moment and then, after a pause, with that familiar tilt of his head and a crooked smile tugging at his mouth, he said:
“That was hot.”
Harry felt a tingle in his belly, smiled back and - blinked. “No, no, Draco, it wasn’t hot, it was-”
He waved his hands wildly. “We’re two gay men in a church we broke into. If Muggles are right, we’re absolutely going to hell!”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Going where?”
Harry looked at him, scandalised. “Hell, Draco. Fire, punishment, eternal screaming, ringing any bells?”
Draco just blinked. “You’ve lost me.”
“And we’re wizards!” Harry hissed. “Oh my God, we’re literally magic-wielding homosexual criminals in a holy Muggle building – Draco!”
Draco looked around the candlelit church, then back at Harry. “And that’s… bad?”
Harry stared at him, deadpan. “Have you seriously never heard of sin?”
Draco shrugged. “I mean, the word, sure. But I thought it was just something Muggles said.“Then he stepped closer, placing both hands flat against Harry’s chest.
“Quite romantic, isn’t it?” he murmured. “The candles, the silence...”
He glanced around the glowing church, then grinned.
Harry caught his hands and gently pushed him back a step.
“Stop,” he said, almost pleading.
Draco pouted slightly, then turned with a dramatic sigh, his shoes clicking against the stone floor as he wandered off.
Harry watched him go, then glanced up and froze.
Above the altar hung a large painting of the Virgin Mary, her face serene and luminous, her hands folded in quiet prayer.
Harry swallowed.
“…Sorry,” he said quietly, mostly to himself.

 

Back at the hotel, Draco kicked off his shoes the second the door closed behind them and collapsed backwards onto the bed with a sigh. He stretched out across the duvet, his arms flung wide, his hair mussed from the wind.
Harry toed off his own shoes more slowly, watching him.
“This is really beautiful,” Draco murmured, staring up at the high ceiling. “All of it. Paris. This… with you.”
Harry smiled.
“But it’s strange without Scorpius,” Draco added, his voice barely above a whisper now. He turned his head to look at Harry, and for a moment the smirk and sharpness were gone, replaced by something raw and boyish. “I miss him. It’s like I’m... I don't know.“
Harry sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. “We could call him, you know.”
Draco blinked. “Call?”
Harry reached into his bag and pulled out the mobile phone. “We got these for a reason. I brought one with me, so you don’t have to just wonder what he’s doing.”
Draco squeezed his hand for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Let’s call him.”
Draco scooted closer, watching as the screen lit up, then, after a few seconds, connected.
“Papa?” came Scorpius’s voice, muffled but full of excitement.
Draco let out a breath like he hadn’t been breathing properly all day.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, smiling so brightly that Harry had to look away for a second. “What are you up to?”
“We just had strawberries, and Grandma put sugar on them and-”
There was a muffled sound as he spoke to Narcissa in the background, and then Scorpius corrected himself:
“No sugar. She didn’t put sugar on them.”
Draco huffed a laugh, but the smile didn’t leave his face.
Harry, still leaning close, glanced at the screen and said casually, “Well, if it makes you feel any better, your Papa broke into a church today, so the whole sugar thing is probably not the worst crime in the family.”
Draco whipped his head around, scandalised. “Harry!”
Scorpius gasped. “You broke into a church?!”
“Allegedly,” Harry said, grinning.
“It was barely locked!” Draco protested, reaching behind him to swat Harry with a pillow. “And it was beautiful, so.. tasteful crime.”
Scorpius was laughing now, loud and delighted through the little speaker.
Harry ducked the next pillow swipe and grinned even wider. “See? He’s not judging you. You’re his role model.”
“I’m hanging up,” Draco muttered.
“You are not,” Harry said.
“I might.”
“You won’t.”
Harry gave a smug little grin.
Scorpius was still giggling on the other end, practically vibrating with joy.

But then, as the laughter faded, Draco leaned a little closer to the phone, his smile softening.
“I really miss you,” he said quietly.
There was a pause.
Then Scorpius replied: “It’s okay, Papa. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m having fun with Grandma.”
Draco bit his lip and nodded, even though Scorpius couldn’t see it.
“You and Harry are allowed to have fun too,” Scorpius continued. “Even if I’m not there.”
Harry glanced sideways at Draco, whose expression had gone still.
“We’ll try,” Draco murmured.
Scorpius paused for half a beat.
“…I hope you don’t get arrested.”
Harry burst out laughing.
Draco closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes, thank you for that.”
“I’m serious,” Scorpius added. “Don’t break into any more churches.”

Chapter 13: Bitterness

Notes:

Hey everyone!
I’m posting this chapter a bit earlier than planned because I'll be spending some time in London (!!!) and won't be able to update while I’m away.
The next chapter will go up once I'm back, thanks so much for your patience and all the love youve given this story so far. <3
See you soon!

Bitterness - deep-seated resentment or pain that remains long after the cause has passed

 

Waking up in Paris was a special kind of feeling.
The sounds of people outside their window, busy and quick, mingled with the soft rolling of the cleaning cart in the hallway. Harry blinked several times against the light before pressing his face deeper into the pillow, inhaling the scent of freshly washed linen and Draco.
He could hear Draco’s gentle breathing next to him, and looked at the strands of blond hair that had fallen across Draco’s face. Draco looked peaceful, his forehead smooth, his bare chest rising and
falling in a steady rhythm.
Harry stretched a little before scooting closer to Draco, whose hand was resting near his cheek. Gently, Harry traced a finger over the warm metal of the ring on Draco’s finger, and felt his heart stutter just slightly as the meaning of that elegant silver washed over him again.
The moment was so calm that Harry squeezed his eyes shut when he heard the knock at the window, as if he could will the world away and keep them undisturbed just a bit longer.
When the knock came again, this time twice in quick succession, and Draco stirred slightly, Harry got up quickly before Draco could fully wake.
The owl on the windowsill was dark brown, perched confidently with a brown envelope in its beak. Harry sighed as he stroked its head and took the letter. He turned the dark paper over in his hands, briefly eyeing the seal of their lawyer.
Glancing at Draco, who had already slipped back into a deep sleep, Harry tucked the letter beneath a stack of brochures on the wooden desk.
Draco deserved a few more minutes of peace.

Harry padded back into their room, carefully balancing a loaded tray. The scent of coffee and croissants filled the spacious room instantly, and Draco stretched his arms as Harry gently settled next to him.
A grey eye blinked open slowly, focusing on the tray, before Draco propped himself up on one elbow.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Harry said, grinning, and kissed Draco on the temple. Draco responded with a grumble, reaching for the coffee.
“Mmh. Strong,” he said with satisfaction, sinking back into the thick pillow with his eyes closed again.
“Sleep well?” Harry asked, biting into a croissant that immediately crumbled. He held a hand under his mouth, trying his best to catch the flakes on the tray.
Draco could get terrifying about crumbs in bed.
“It’s refreshing, at least, not to be woken by a shrieking alarm charm or a son on a desperate search for socks,” Draco muttered, eyes still shut, taking another long sip.
“Well, that’s the one thing I’ve had to learn the hard way these past few years. Sleeping in is more like…well.”
Harry grinned and shrugged as Draco snorted and finally looked at him.
“Now imagine that for the past eleven years,” Draco said, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Let me remind you that Scorpius learned how to climb out of his crib when he was two.”
He shook his head as he spoke, and Harry laughed.
“I would’ve loved to see that.”
“It was horrible, Potter. He was like a monkey. If I didn’t get up fast enough to make his ‘nilla-milk,’ he’d just escape.”
Harry flopped down beside him on the pillow, balancing the tray dangerously, and grinned again.
“I wonder who he gets that from.” He looked at Draco with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Stubborn and spoiled. Hmm. Who does that remind me of?”
Draco rolled his eyes and didn’t respond, and Harry’s grin only widened.
“I bet the house-elves used to line up every morning in a panic to bring you your cocoa, specially made with beans from Argentina.“
Draco looked surprisingly caught off guard as he pushed himself into a slightly more upright position, raising his eyebrows before half-hiding behind his coffee cup.
“I bet you had one of those little bells to summon the house-elves,” Harry continued, grinning, and Draco still didn’t answer.
“You did!” Harry laughed, gently pushing the cup down to see his face.
Draco gave him a poisonous glare before shrugging, cool as ever.
“How else was I supposed to call them? Shout like a barbarian?”
He shook his head so seriously that Harry let out an amused snort.
“Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t immediately get a house-elf when you could again,” Harry teased. But Draco’s expression darkened a little.
“I don’t need a house-elf to raise my child,” he said, and then, softer, “Sorry.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair, about to say something, but Draco beat him to it.
“I just... I didn’t want Scorpius to feel like someone else was there for him more than I was.”
He looked thoughtful, then tilted his head.
“I mean, he comes to you, too, when he needs help, and I love that. But...”
He shrugged, and Harry said quietly, “When he has a nightmare, he still comes to you.”
“Yeah,” Draco replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Then his face softened, tiny creases forming at the corners of his eyes as he leaned in and kissed Harry gently.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he murmured, pulling back with a small smile.
“That’s another thing you learn with children. Loving strong coffee.”
He took an exaggerated sip.
“Mmm. Tastes like 2 a.m. nappy changes and fetching the same audiobook for the fourteenth time at four. Pure bliss.”
Harry grinned, eating another bite of croissant. “Thankfully, we’re past the diaper era,” he said lightly. Draco let out a tired sigh, sinking deeper into the pillows.
“Thank Merlin. I’m not sure my back would survive it again.”
Harry leaned against him, their legs tangled under the covers.
“You know, sometimes I still wish I’d been there,” he said softly. “For the early years. I missed it all, his first steps, his first words, his first dreams...”
Draco didn’t reply at first. Then, voice low and steady, he said, “It wasn’t the kind of beginning anyone would wish to be part of.”
Harry nodded slowly, careful not to push.
But then Draco turned slightly toward him, eyes a little unfocused as he stared at the ceiling.
“I still remember when I thought he wouldn’t survive. He was just... so tiny. There were days I held him and thought: this is all he gets. Just me, no family, no warmth.”
Harry swallowed, his hand brushing against Draco’s beneath the covers. Draco didn’t flinch.
“But look at him now,” Harry said. “He’s everything. Bright, annoying and dramatic. Loved.”
Draco’s lips twitched. “He is dramatic.”
He sighed, then added, “He always was.”
Harry tilted his head, smiling.
Draco gave a short laugh. “When he was about four, he used to make these… potions in the garden. Just mud and crushed-up rose petals, maybe a leaf or two. Called it perfume.”
Harry snorted.
“He gave me a little jar of it and made me promise to keep it in the bathroom. It smelled like wet dirt.”
Harry was grinning now. “Did you actually keep it there?”
“Of course I did,” Draco said. “He checked every single day. Walked in, pointed at it, and said ‘That’s mine. For Papa.’ Like he was some fancy perfumer from Paris.”
Harry laughed, eyes warm.
“He was so proud,” Draco said softly, shaking his head. “I didn’t have the heart to throw it out. I think it evaporated before I ever did.” Harry just leaned forward and kissed him, stroking blonde hair out of his face.

Draco hummed. And then, after a beat of silence, he said, so soft, it might’ve just been a breath:
“Imagine us being grandparents one day.”
Harry froze.
The words hit with unexpected weight, like yellow sunlight breaking through old cracks. He turned to look at Draco, who was still watching the ceiling like he hadn’t just casually ripped open Harry’s entire chest.
“Grandparents?” Harry asked, his voice a little rough. “You mean… like old and wrinkly and… still together?”
Draco glanced at him, amused. “Obviously still together. Who else would put up with you?”
Harry’s heart did something awful and wonderful at the same time.
He laughed breathlessly and shook his head. “You can’t just say that to me out of nowhere. Do you know what that does to me?”
“What?” said Draco, now grinning as well. “The idea of you with grey hair and little children calling you ‘Grandpa Harry’?”
“Grey hair?” Harry scoffed, tilting his chin up. “Excuse me, it’s going to be salt and pepper at worst.”
Draco leaned in and kissed his cheek, laughing as the tray wobbled dangerously.
“Mmm. Sexy,” he murmured.
Harry rolled his eyes but turned his head to kiss him properly. Draco’s lips were warm and soft, and Harry raised a hand to cup his cheek - and the tray tilted. Coffee sloshed over the edge. A few croissant crumbs scattered onto the blanket.
Harry glanced down in horror. Draco followed his gaze, raising a slow, judgmental eyebrow.
Harry groaned.
“No chance you’ll ignore that and just keep kissing me?”
“Nope.”
Harry sighed, equal parts annoyed and amused, and carefully lifted the tray to set it on the nightstand. He looked around for his wand, only to realize with growing irritation that it was across the room. He padded over to the desk, grumbling under his breath.

With a quick flick, the crumbs vanished. Draco smiled in smug satisfaction, but Harry’s eyes had caught the corner of the brown letter just beneath the brochures on the desk.
His hand hovered.
“What is it?” Draco asked, brow furrowing slightly.
Harry took a deep breath.
“I just… wanted you to finish your coffee first,” he said quietly, pulling the letter out and placing it into Draco’s hand.
Draco turned the letter over in his hands a few times, swallowed once, then patted the white duvet beside him.
“Come here?”
It sounded more like a question, uncertain, and Harry sank down gently beside him.
Draco’s hands tensed around the paper, the crease between his brows deepening again, and Harry placed a calming hand on his lower back.

Subject: Next Steps Following the Memory Submission by the Defense

Dear Mr Malfoy,

I hope this letter finds you in a place of rest after what I know has been an extremely difficult experience.
As of this morning, the Wizengamot has officially acknowledged the submitted Pensieve memory by the defense as admissible evidence. This does not, however, mean that the content is viewed as credible, only that it meets the minimum standard for inclusion in the ongoing investigation.
In fact, I believe this development may work in our favor. The nature of the memory, its emotional manipulation, the visible signs of magical coercion, and the deeply disturbing imbalance of power, will be evident to any experienced examiner. We will have the opportunity to challenge the memory’s integrity in court, and I am confident we can do so effectively.
That being said, I would like to propose a proactive step, one that may strengthen your position further.
If you feel ready, it may be in our interest to voluntarily submit one or more of your own memories related to the relevant time period.
This is not a requirement, and I want to be clear that I will never pressure you, but it can be a powerful way to take back control of the narrative before the court mandates disclosure.
A voluntary submission sends a clear message: that you are not hiding, not ashamed, and willing to speak your truth on your terms.
Should you decide to proceed, we will work closely with you to review and select memories that are relevant and safe to share.
Healer Fournier has also agreed to provide an accompanying psychological statement to support the context in which these memories occurred.
If you'd prefer to wait, that is also entirely valid. The timing is yours to decide.
Additionally, I would like to request a private meeting with you in the coming days. There has been a development regarding a potential witness, and I believe it is best discussed in person, to allow you the necessary time and space to process and respond.
Please let me know when you might be available. We can meet at my office or at a location of your choosing, whichever feels safest and most comfortable to you.

With respect and support,
Ruby Carson

Draco was still for a stretch of time that felt like eternity.
Harry’s eyes skimmed the neat, straight script again and again before glancing over at Draco’s profile. He was biting his lower lip, and Harry gently brushed a finger across it.
“Hey,” he said softly. Draco blinked several times, as if he’d forgotten Harry was still there.
He cleared his throat, sniffed, and rubbed two fingers over his temple like he had a headache.
“You don’t have to decide anything today,” Harry said gently, but Draco shook his head.
“I just want to get it over with, you know? Healer Fournier said…” He took another deep breath, running his fingers over the paper.
“We could go through the memories together. I’m just not sure what they… what they’d even want to see. The…” He grimaced. “The assault itself?”
His voice was tight, and Harry pressed his hand more firmly against Draco’s back, trying to loosen the muscles that felt like stone.
“Or… when he hit me? Or the… I don’t know.”
He let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Best of Trauma highlights,” he muttered, and bit his lip again.
Harry opened his mouth, but Draco kept going.
“I mean, I’ve come to terms with the fact that they’ll see it,” he said, though his voice trembled.
Eventually, he looked up, and his eyes were shining.
“I’ve been thinking… maybe you could come with me. To see Healer Fournier. I know you said you didn’t mind seeing the memories, but if it gets to be too much-”
“It won’t be,” Harry said quickly, thankful that his voice came out steady.
He rested his head against Draco’s shoulder and gently pulled the letter from his hands.
“It won’t be too much,” he repeated, and Draco’s breath slowly evened out as he let his head sink into Harry’s hair.
“I know we’re… on holiday,” Draco began again, his voice low, “and I…”
He pulled back a little, just enough to look at Harry more fully.
“But I thought, if we leave a day early and do it then… then Scorpius won’t worry. He’ll still think we’re here. And I’ll have a day to recover, just in case it’s like last time. It really affected him when I had to stay at the hospital.”
Harry gave a small nod, heart aching as he listened.
There was a moment of silence. Then Draco glanced sideways again.
“And… a witness?” he said, the word barely louder than a breath. “Who... who would even…?”
He shook his head and looked down at the letter again, confused and overwhelmed.
“I don’t... who would speak for me?”
His voice cracked on the last word, and Harry reached for his hand beneath the letter, gently entwining their fingers. “You don’t have to figure that out today either,” he murmured.

There was a long silence. Outside the window, the light had changed. The sky had gone pale and heavy, the colour of steel. A gust of wind made the curtains flutter, and Draco pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders without even noticing.
Paris, so warm and golden just an hour ago, now looked grey and distant as if someone had taken a brush to the city and washed all the colour out.

 

The city sparkled beneath them, a thousand golden lights stitched into the dark velvet of the evening. Somewhere below, someone was playing jazz on a balcony, the sound faint but warm, drifting upward like smoke.
They stood on the small terrace outside their hotel room. The air smelled faintly of lavender and rain.
Harry had tried all day. Merlin, he had tried. He’d suggested old bookstores, made bad jokes in front of a particularly pretentious painting at the gallery, even pretended to get completely lost just to make Draco roll his eyes at him. And Draco had smiled. Once or twice. But it never reached his eyes. There was something heavy in his shoulders, something about the way he moved, as if his bones were tired of being carried. It clung to him like mist.
Now, he stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, gaze far away.
Harry leaned against the railing beside him and let his finger brush over his shoulder.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re okay, you know.”
“I’m not pretending,” Draco said flatly. “I’m just... trying.”
“I know,” Harry said softly. “But it’s okay if you don’t want to anymore. We don’t have to keep pretending this is just a holiday anymore.”
Draco’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask you to pretend anything.”
Harry blinked. “That’s not what I meant.”
Draco laughed, bitter. “Of course it isn’t. You never mean anything by it, do you? Always so bloody
reasonable.”
Harry’s chest tightened.
There it was again, that side of Draco, the one that came out when things got too hard, sharp and unfair and biting.
He didn’t do it often anymore.
But when he did, Harry knew, it wasn’t about him.
It meant Draco was scared and overwhelmed. Caught in that spiral again where he thought he was the problem.
Where he started turning all that anger inward and then let it out in the worst way.
Harry kept his voice calm. “Draco-”
“I said no,” Draco cut in sharply, whipping his head around. “It’s your holiday too.”
Harry stayed quiet for a moment. Draco turned away, arms still crossed, like he was trying to hold himself together with sheer force.
“We could leave tonight, if you want,” Harry offered, gentle and easy. “Go straight to St Mungo’s tomorrow. You don’t have to wait, not for me.”
Draco’s head snapped toward him. “I can handle it” he said firmly, too quickly.
Harry blinked once, then said quietly, “Draco, love.”
Draco flinched like the word hurt.
“I know,” he muttered, his jaw tight. “I know. I’m... fuck, I’m being impossible.”
“You’re not.”
“I am,” Draco snapped, then immediately looked away. His voice dropped. “Everything always has to shift around me. Around... this. I’m the weak link. Always.”
Harry felt a familiar ache rise in his chest.
Draco ran a hand through his hair and laughed, sharp and humorless.
“I should be happy. I am here. With you. In Paris. For Merlin’s sake.”
“Stop,” Harry said softly.

Draco’s face tightened again like he was about to say something cruel, just to push Harry further, but then he stilled and finally leaned against him, all tension and guilt.
Harry turned his head and kissed his hair.
“Do you want to leave in the morning?” he asked gently. “We’ll go straight to St Mungo’s, no more waiting.”
Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he pressed closer, pressed himself into Harry like he wanted to disappear inside him, or maybe just stop existing for a moment.
And then the sob came, not loud but sharp and fast, like something breaking.
“I’m so fucking tired of being... this.”
Harry wrapped both arms around him, held him tight, rocked him just barely.
“We’ll go in the morning,” he whispered into his hair. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
And Draco cried.
Not like he had in Rubys office. Not like when memories tore him apart.
This was different, quieter and exhausted.
Grief for the weight he carried, maybe. Or shame that it hadn't yet let him go – that he had not yet let it go.
“I’m sorry,” Draco murmured.
“Stop,” Harry said again, gently, pressing a kiss to his warm hair. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

 

The waiting room at St Mungo’s greeted them with a cold, sterile air. Harry pushed the suitcase beside him with a quiet grunt and sank into one of the uncomfortable metal chairs.
Healer Fournier was still in an appointment and had been informed of their arrival.
With every passing minute, Draco seemed more restless. He bounced one leg, then the other, and hadn’t said a single word since they’d sat down. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and he stared stubbornly at the white wall in front of them, where a painting of an open field hung.
A healer in mint-green robes rushed past them, nodding politely, but Draco didn’t return it.
“Do you want something to drink? Water? Coffee?” Harry asked gently.
Draco just shook his head and rubbed his knuckles. His eyes were dark, and Harry could see how his jaw was clenched tight beneath the skin.
When the door to the ward opened, Draco turned his head, but it was only a mediwitch pushing a cart.
“I hate this,” Draco said suddenly, his voice sharp. “I fucking hate it.”
He let out a long sigh, and Harry leaned over to squeeze his hand. His fingers were cold and damp.
“I know,” Harry said softly.
Draco shook his head, but his expression slowly shifted, his eyes grew softer, more tired.
“We could be eating croissants right now,” he said weakly.
Harry smiled slightly. “Like I said, I could get you a lovely hospital coffee.”
Draco made a sarcastic hum, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Maybe even one of those blueberry muffin teas,” Harry added and Draco looked at him like he’d been personally betrayed.
Harry grinned wider and nudged his nose gently against Draco’s cheek.
“That tea is a crime,” Draco muttered, still eyeing the door.
“Well, Scorpius likes it,” Harry replied, and Draco’s eyes instantly brightened just a little at the mention of his son.
“Scorpius also drinks speculoos tea,” Draco said flatly.
Harry tilted his head. “That one’s good.”
Draco made a face like he was about to be sick.
Harry shrugged. “Not everyone has to be a fan of anise-fennel-hellbrew.”
“It’s called healthy,” Draco replied, lifting his chin slightly.
Harry pressed a quick kiss to his jaw. “Healthy, huh?”
“Yes, nour-ish-ing,” Draco said slowly, like he was talking to a particularly dim dog.
Harry fondly rolled his eyes.
Draco flinched when the door finally opened again.

Healer Fournier stepped out, her hair in a wild bun, faint dark circles beneath her eyes, but a warm smile on her face.
“Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter.”
Draco stood up quickly and offered her his hand.
“Sorry, we know we don’t have an appointment-” he began, but Healer Fournier held up a hand.
“It’s all right. I was in an emergency, but I have time for you now. Please, come with me to my office.”
She was already turning to go, but Draco glanced at Harry.
“Can he come too?”
“Oh, of course. Mr Potter, feel free to join us.”
The hallway beyond the door was brightly lit, the ceiling lights buzzing softly. A few mediwitches and orderlies moved between the white doors, and Harry noticed Draco following them with his eyes before they stepped into the healer’s office.

Healer Fournier’s office was softly lit, the light from the high windows filtered through pale blue curtains. The walls were a gentle cream colour, interrupted by framed drawings, mostly soft watercolours of trees, abstract shapes, and one awkwardly cheerful quote that read: “Healing is not linear.”
Draco sat down stiffly in the chair closest to the window, his posture rigid. Harry dropped into the seat right beside him, their knees nearly touching.
There was a faint scent in the air, something floral and herbal, probably from the small diffuser on the bookshelf behind the desk. Harry couldn’t tell if it was meant to be lavender or chamomile, but it was… a bit much.
A low hum came from a small enchanted water fountain in the corner, designed, no doubt, to be soothing. It mostly just made Harry want to go to the loo.
He glanced around while Fournier closed the door and went to gather some files.

“Our appointment is actually scheduled for Tuesday,” Healer Fournier began as she sat down, though her voice held no judgment. “What brings you here earlier than planned?”
Draco shifted slightly in his chair, his posture stiff. Then, with a small, dismissive wave of his hand, he said, “Well, we were supposed to still be in Paris.”
His jaw tightened for a moment before he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the letter, sliding it across the desk.
Healer Fournier looked at him for a moment, then let her eyes skim over the neat handwriting.
The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Harry caught himself bouncing one leg, then stopped and sat up straighter.
He gave Draco a small, encouraging smile. Draco glanced at him, doubtful, but he raised one corner of his mouth anyway. It looked more sad than anything, but Harry appreciated the effort.
Healer Fournier murmured parts of the letter aloud as she read, her brow furrowing slightly, then pushed the parchment gently back across the desk.
“I see,” she said softly. “That must’ve disrupted the holiday mood.”
It wasn’t a question, just a quiet observation and Draco snorted. “My mother booked the hotel especially for us,” he said, his voice low.
Harry reached over and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
“It’s okay,” he said, trying to smile again. “We’ve still got time for holidays.”
Draco looked at him for a beat, his grey eyes stormy, glossy, then turned back to Healer Fournier.
“You mentioned last time that you could help me choose which memories to submit.”
“I did,” she replied, studying him a little more closely. “But before we get to that… I’d like to check in on how you’re doing right now.”
Draco frowned. “I just want to get this over with.”
“I understand. But you’ll be facing some extremely heavy material. I’d like to talk about your overall state of mind first.”
Draco’s frown deepened, and he gave a vague shrug.
“That seems like a waste of time. This is about the memories-”
He stopped when Harry squeezed his hand again. Draco took a breath and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms tightly across his chest.

“I think you can imagine how I’m doing,” he said bitterly. “Roughly forty members of the Wizengamot, plus lawyers and judges, will get a front-row seat to the most humiliating moments of my life. In full colour.”
He ran a hand over his face, then added, more quietly, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Oh, you weren’t,” said Healer Fournier. “You’re allowed to say whatever you need to here. Anger is a valid feeling too.”
She smiled at him, gently. “We talked about this last time The pressure to keep everything down, it doesn’t make it go away. Feelings will find their way out eventually, one way or another. And when they do, it’s usually messier.”
She paused, then added, “It’s okay to let them out now, here.”
Draco let out a short breath, halfway to a laugh but far too bitter for it. He shook his head.
“I’m just... tired of how much space this takes up. In my head. In my life. I’m tired of planning my days around how broken I might feel.”
Fournier didn’t say anything yet but gave him the silence he needed to keep going.
“I know you said last time – and the time before that - I should be kind to myself. That I should remember it’s not my fault.” He snorted again. “But that doesn’t make it easier. It doesn’t erase the fact that it is my life. That this is who I am now.”
He looked down at his and Harrys hand, then rubbed his fingers hard across his temple, like he was trying to wipe something away.
“I hate that I’m like this,” he said tightly. “I hate that this is my baseline. And I hate that I’m like this because of something someone else did.”
Harry was completely still beside him, his hand still wrapped around Draco’s.
“I know it’s not fair,” Draco went on, quieter now. “But knowing that doesn’t help. It doesn’t make me feel less… fucking pathetic.”
He leaned back in the chair abruptly, arms crossed again and exhaled sharply, like the words were stuck in his throat and had to be forced out.
“You know what's the worst part? I had it under control,” he said, looking at no one in particular. “It wasn’t perfect. But I was living. It didn’t define every fucking second of my day.”
He shifted in his chair again, the leather squeaking faintly under him.
“Sure, there were panic attacks. Nightmares. Bad weeks. But it wasn’t like this. Not constantly hanging over my head like some storm I can’t get out from under.”
His voice got tighter.
“I knew how to cope. I had routines. I knew when to breathe, when to walk, when to make tea. And now...”
He trailed off, his jaw clenching again.
“Now it’s everywhere. I’m thinking about it all the time. Talking about it. Writing about it. Being asked to remember things I spent years trying to forget. And it’s supposed to help?” He scoffed.
“It doesn’t. It just drags it up. Makes it worse. Like picking at a wound, over and over, making it bleed again.”

There was a pause.
Harry squeezed his hand gently but didn’t speak. Draco's eyes darted to the desk, the books, the perfectly placed sand timer next to a half-wilted orchid.
He didn’t look at Fournier.
“I get that it’s necessary. I do. But it feels like I’m drowning in it. Again. And I worked so fucking hard not to.”
He ran his free hand over his forehead again, and Harry noticed the faint tremble in his lower lip. He laughed a bitter laugh. „I know 'all your feelings are valid' and all that shit – sorry.“ He shaked his head and was silent for a few seconds.
“Harry and I-” he began, and Harry felt a subtle jolt at the sound of his name spoken so softly, so openly from Draco’s mouth.
“We want to get married.”
Draco lifted his hand weakly, the silver ring catching the light, and Healer Fournier’s expression softened into something warmer, kinder.
“That’s wonderful news,” she said sincerely.
But Draco didn’t smile. His eyes were wide, almost desperate.
“I just don’t want… all of this hanging over it,” he said, voice low. “I want it to be done by then. I want to be-”
He gestured vaguely with a hand, frustration knotting his brow.
“Fixed. I want to be fixed.”

He pulled his hand from Harry’s and let his head drop into his palms, elbows braced on his knees. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, just sat there, breathing quietly, fingers tangled in his hair.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “That’s what’s on my mind the most.”
He looked up slowly, his eyes red-rimmed and tired.
“The thought that I’ll ruin something good, that I’ll mess it up, just by being like this. Just by… being me.”
Harry moved, just slightly, but didn’t reach for him again. Draco’s voice shook as he kept going.
“I don’t know if I have the strength for this. I don’t know how to sit through it all again. But I have to. Because I want it over with. I want to deal with the memories, go through the motions, do whatever I fucking have to, so I can focus on being a decent father.”
His eyes flicked to Harry.
“And a decent… husband.”
Harry shifted again, lips parting as if to speak, but Draco didn’t let him.
“Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Please.”

Healer Fournier didn’t say anything for a second. She simply observed him, and then leaned forward slightly, her tone noticeably more grounded now, less gentle and more precise.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s focus.”
Draco blinked, caught off guard.
“You want to go through the memories,” she continued, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. “We’ll do that. We’ll structure the session accordingly. I’ll guide you through it step by step. No emotional deep-dives unless they come up naturally. No need for you to explain or justify what you feel.”
She paused.
“This isn’t therapy right now. This is prep. And that means: we keep it clean. We stay focused. Understood?”
Draco let out a deep breath and relaxed visibly. His shoulders dropped half an inch, and he nodded slowly.
“Yes. Please.”
Fournier gave a small nod and reached for her notebook. “Then let’s begin.Tell me the earliest memory that feels relevant.”

 

Even now, after hearing it more than once, Harry still felt the nausea hit him the same way every time.
Draco spoke briefly, in clipped sentences, like he was on autopilot. He described, with cold precision, the first time he was beaten, the nights spent alone - which were cruel - and the nights with Mulciber, which were worse.
He sat upright, his hands folded in his lap, and answered Fournier’s follow-up questions with a detached clarity.
The healer took down some notes, underlining a few of the memories more than once, then let Draco continue.
Draco’s gaze drifted more and more often toward the window, past the pale blue curtains, down into the hospital courtyard below, but his voice didn’t falter.
Harry had to swallow repeatedly against the bile rising in his throat when Draco described Mulciber’s first touch in detail.
Healer Fournier’s eyes flicked to him briefly, then back to Draco.
Harry knew he must look pale.
He pressed his back more firmly against the chair to fight the anger burning in his stomach.
He didn’t speak once, he couldn’t.
His throat was too tight, and the air in the room too still.
It felt wrong, somehow, to breathe normally.
The words shouldn’t come out that easily.
And yet Draco spoke them like he was reading from a script.
Harry hated that he was hearing it, in this room, with Fournier scribbling little notes, calm and professional. With the scent of goddamn lavender still thick in the air.
He hated that he had to sit still while Draco said things no one should ever have to say out loud.
He hated that it happened at all.

He noticed that Draco hadn’t said anything for a while. His eyes were still fixed somewhere near the window, his posture stiff again.
Healer Fournier folded her hands on the desk, her voice calm.
“Mr. Malfoy,” she began carefully, “your lawyer contacted me last week.”
That made him blink and glance up, wary.
“She said you might be open to a psychological evaluation. For the Wizengamot.”
Draco swallowed but didn’t speak.
“It would be a formal report. A professional assessment of your mental and emotional state, both during the time of the assaults, and in the months and years that followed.”
She gave him a moment, watching his reaction.
“I know that’s a lot,” she continued, gently. “And I won’t do anything without your explicit consent. But if you want me to testify or submit a report on your behalf, I need to ask you some questions about what came after. About symptoms. About how you’ve been coping. It might feel intrusive - and I’m sorry for that - but it has to be detailed and comprehensive.”
Draco’s lips tightened into a line, and for a second it looked like he was going to shut down completely. But then he took a breath, shallow and unsteady.
“I want this to be over,” he said. “If it means talking about all of it... fine.”
She glanced at her notes.
“Allright. Thank you. Let’s start with the physical aftermath of the pregnancy. How was your recovery?”
Draco exhaled slowly, his eyes flicking to the window.
“Difficult,” he said flatly. “Pain. Fever. Internal bleeding. My body had been forced too quickly into something it wasn’t made for and it tried to fight back.”
Fournier nodded once, jotting that down.
“And mentally? Right after the birth?”
There was a pause. Draco’s hands curled slightly in his lap.
“I didn’t think about myself much,” he said eventually. “I only thought about Scorpius. For months, really. Everything was just about keeping him safe. Fed. Alive.”
Fournier didn’t interrupt.
Draco’s eyes moved to a spot on the carpet.
“I wasn’t functioning, not really. But he was there. That was enough of a reason to get up.”
“And at the time you moved into the Muggle area, was that connected to your state of mind?”
Draco blinked slowly.
“I didn’t have a wand,” he said. “Probation rules. And I couldn’t stay with Pansy forever. I didn’t want to be around anyone, honestly.”
He shifted a little, his tone cooling further, more defensive.
“My mother would’ve taken one look at him and… I didn’t want that. I didn’t want anyone to know. What he was. How he came to be.”
He looked up, eyes sharp now.
“You’ve seen what it does. The minute people know. What it becomes.”

Fournier gave a small nod, neutral. “And you told me you took Healer Mayleen’s advice to move somewhere quiet.”
Draco nodded once.
“She said it might help. Routine. Simplicity. Less magic around me. I didn’t believe her at first. But she was right.”
“And you kept Scorpius hidden.”
“Obviously.” Draco’s voice turned brittle. “It wasn’t about shame. It was about protection. I didn’t want the papers sniffing around. Didn’t want him to be that child, the one everyone whispers about.”
“It must’ve been difficult. Being alone in a Muggle area,” Healer Fournier said softly.
Draco tilted his head a little and gave a sad smile.
“At first, they didn’t like me much. I think they found me strange.”
He let out a small huff. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? That the people who rejected me were Muggles.”
He smiled again, then shrugged.
“It was a lot. All at once. I didn’t understand their tech. Their… customs.”
He waved a hand vaguely.
“I had no idea what a washing machine was. Or how the hell to use one of those baby bottle sterilizers.”
He shook his head, eyes somewhere far away.
“And I had to learn it all with Scorpius on my arm.”

His expression softened.
“He was a calm baby. I think… sometimes I think he knew I needed peace. He used to just look at me. And his eyes…” Draco’s voice grew quieter. “I didn’t see anything cruel in them.”
Harry blinked a few times, his eyes stinging suddenly. He sniffed, and Draco shot him a quick glance before reaching out and stroking his hand.
“Sorry,” Harry muttered, voice cracking, wiping at his eyes with his free hand.
Draco leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
“Sorry,” Harry whispered again. “It’s just- you lived through it, not me, and I-”
“Shhh,” Draco said, sliding his chair closer and wrapping his arms around him.
Harry pressed his face into the curve of Draco’s neck and breathed in deeply. He could feel his tears against Draco’s skin and pulled back quickly to wipe his face again.
The look in Draco’s eyes was so gentle, so full of warmth, that Harry leaned forward to kiss him.
Draco’s lips were soft and familiar and for one breath, Harry forgot everything else, before Draco leaned back and began to talk again.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Dandelion