Chapter Text
“I love you,” Harry said, stroking Lily’s ringlets from her face. “Can you say I love you, Lily?”
“Dada,” Lily giggled, handing him a block. He took it dutifully and added it to the tower she’d knocked down twice already.
“Okay, that’s a good one,” he praised. “Love that. Definitely my favorite. But how ‘bout I love you?”
“Yiyi?”
“Closer. That’s you. Lily. Love you?”
Lily stared at him, processing. Then: “Yiyi.”
“Eh. Love—“
“A better man would consider this cheating,” came Draco’s voice from the doorway.
Lily whipped around, scrambling to her feet with a shriek of, “Papa!”
Draco bent to catch her and kissed her cheek soundly once he straightened. “Hello, my darling,” he almost crooned, carrying her to sit on the sofa. She giggled wildly with her arms slung around his neck.
“It’s not cheating,” Harry protested, starting to pick up stray toys and tossing them in the general direction of the box they belonged in. Each one swiftly found its mark. “You want her to talk, don’t you? That’s how she’ll learn.”
“Oh? And this has nothing at all to do with our little wager?” Draco asked airily as Lily babbled at him, her hands cradling his face to keep his attention.
Harry sucked his teeth and hoped she was sticky. Drool-sticky. Jam-sticky. Unidentified toddler goo-sticky.
Probably not, as Draco smiled at her like she’d hung the moon, completely unbothered. “Isn’t that interesting, Lillian? Daddy’s a dirty rotten cheat.”
“Dada,” Lily echoed.
“Dirty cheat,” Draco supplied.
“Draco,” Harry snapped.
Draco’s smile twisted into something conspiratorial. He leaned in, brushing his nose against Lily’s. “Oh dear, now Daddy’s a cross cheat.”
Beaming, Lily chirped out a brisk, “Teat!” and Draco threw back his head with a howl.
-
Despite the fact that it was utterly hilarious, Harry hadn’t been amused with his daughter calling him a cheat—and Draco only dug himself deeper when he so helpfully clarified, “Technically, she called you a teat.”
It wasn’t a punishment to put Lillian to bed, of course—but knowing his husband was showering without him was. Harry’s own brand of, “go think about what you’ve done.” As if Draco wouldn’t drudge up the memory of “Teat!” each time he had to bite his tongue during an argument. Little victories were still victories.
He thought of water cascading over tanned shoulders, sighing. And little losses were still losses.
No matter. He had his daughter dozy-warm in his arms, freshly bathed and smelling of lavender with one little hand fisted in his shirt (scrubbed clean, because she’d been unreasonably sticky earlier). Harry’s protective magic pulsed sweetly around them. The fluttering above rippled into incandescent constellations; Orion, Cassiopeia, Lyra, his own—he closed his eyes.
It couldn’t get much better than that.
Draco hummed, fingers drifting through downy-soft black curls. “I love you, Lillian.”
“I ya’yu,” Lillian mumbled, sleepy.
Draco froze, eyes snapping open. “Oh, Merlin,” he breathed once he remembered how. His heart was fit to burst, and he had to stop himself from squeezing her, lest he tug her back from the edge of sleep. Still, he couldn’t help but brush a kiss to her little nose, watching her face scrunch briefly before it smoothed out.
“My darling,” Draco then murmured, looking down at her—Harry in miniature. “Thank you. You’ve just won me ten galleons and given me the greatest gift of all.”
He stroked her velvet cheek, marveling at the silky touch; and though he was smiling, there was a wicked twist to it.
“Bragging rights.”