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Chapter Text

It took exactly three hours for the reckoning to arrive at Malfoy Manor.

Draco didn’t even wait past the first knock. He apparated to the front door, inwardly sighing at the resounding boom that shuddered over marbled hallways before flicking his wand so that heavy wooden doors opened slowly.

“My goodness,” he drawled as a greeting. “If it isn’t Harry Potter. I am so very surprised by this sudden, unexpected appearance. Whatever could you be here for?”

Potter, as expected, glowered at him.

“I’m not in the mood, Malfoy.”

Malfoy raised a brow. The man looked awful. Granted, he usually looked that way. Draco had yet to decide if his hair ever had a fighting chance of being anything other than a pile of wild curls plopped onto his head. His clothes were in disarray - reminding Draco of every time he had emerged from whatever nonsense he had been involved in during their end-of-the-year activities in school - and there was a blossoming bruise on his cheek.

“I see that,” he commented and tucked his wand away. “My regards to whatever deviants you’re chasing after these days.” Draco turned, leaving the doors open so that Potter could follow inside. There was a low sigh behind him, but for the sake of making this an uneventful visit, he didn’t comment.

“Just tell me where he is, Malfoy,” Potter said, sounding exhausted as the door thudded shut behind them. “I’m not interested in-”

Whatever else Potter might have said paused. Draco peered over his shoulder, summoning himself a cup of tea to see Potter frowning, looking around as if puzzled by the surroundings. It took Draco a few seconds to realize why.

“I’ve done some redecorating since the war,” he said, smiling wryly. Potter pursed his lips but said nothing.

It had taken quite some effort to redo most of his home over the years. Draco had, admittedly, considered moving altogether. There were too many memories buried deep in the walls. Screams trapped in carpets and sobs painted into the stone. Astoria had been the one to sway him into keeping it, helping him rip almost everything out and replacing it all with new memories for Scorpius to grow up in.

Still, he couldn’t erase everything. Perhaps living with the ghosts was part of his penance.

“Where is my son, Malfoy?”

Maybe Albus Potter was part of his penance, too. When Draco sent his son off to Hogwarts last year, he fretted over how Scorpius would cope. Astoria had been on the precipice of death for months, and it was only after their son was on the train to school that Draco’s wife let herself finally rest for good. Her death was hard enough, but the reveal that Scorpius had somehow befriended his childhood enemy’s son was... not ideal.

Alas, here he was... with Harry Potter in his home.

Draco rolled his eyes as he entered the living room, finding his favorite armchair and collapsing in it. His book was still open on the side table, marked with a green ribbon. He grabbed it before flicking his wand so his voice echoed over the manor.

“The unfortunately named Albus Severus Potter is being requested in the living area. If you could please hurry, that would be greatly appreciated. I repeat, this announcement is for the tragically named Albus Severus Potter. Your presence has been requested by the Chosen One himself. Thank you.”

Potter remained unamused. “Next time my son comes here, I would appreciate it if you would inform me,” he said coolly.

Draco scoffed, opening his book before fixing him with an incredulous look. “Perhaps,” he said, taking out his bookmark, “and I do mean this politely, Potter, but perhaps you should be the one to keep track of your children.” He flipped a page. “As a friendly suggestion.”

Potter’s nostrils flared. Before he could reply, the door creaked open.

“...Mr. Malfoy?” Albus’ voice called, and in popped what appeared to be a carbon copy of a younger Harry, minus the glasses and atrocious clothes. Unfortunately, he had inherited his father’s hair, though Albus had done a decent job in keeping his own curls defined and neat rather than the frizz fiasco his father had. Albus’ hair was actually quite the inspiration… and proof that Potter’s own hair was only a disaster because he let it be.

“Good evening, Albus,” Draco said and jutted his chin towards Potter. “You have a visitor.”

Albus’s gaze flicked to his father with wary resignation. He shuffled further into the room, a sliver of Scorpius appearing behind him. “Dad,” he greeted. Potter’s expression stiffened for a moment before forcing it into something more relaxed.

“Albus,” he smiled. Draco let his eyes fall back to his book, hearing two sets of feet click further into the room. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over here. Your mother has been worried.”

“Would you have let me come over if I asked?” Albus asked, tone defensive. There was a brief pause. “I didn’t think so.”

“I didn’t-” Potter began, but Albus had already turned, facing Draco.

“Thank you for having me, Mr. Malfoy,” he said. Draco glanced up from his book, considering. Scorpius was looking anxiously between them all, hands twisting behind his back. Inwardly, Draco sighed again.

“You’re welcome anytime, Albus.” Draco closed his book once more and brought out his wand. A new book came from one of the top shelves of the bookcases surrounding them and drifted down. Once Draco caught it, he held it out. “Since you finished the last one,” he offered.

Albus’s eyes brightened as he eagerly reached for the leatherbound cover, breath hitching as he saw the title.

“What is that?” Potter asked, askance filling his voice as he leaned over to try and also see the title. Albus gave him an irritated huff and held it away.

“An autobiography on Gonçalo Flores,” Draco said, a little amused at Albus’ indignance.

“Oh,” Potter said, nodding. “The Brazilian chaser, of course.” He looked at Albus as if hoping to get an enthusiastic response. “You know we haven’t been to a match in a while. We could-”

“Scorpius and I are going to say goodbye outside,” Albus cut in. Draco almost winced in sympathy. He may not like Potter, but even he couldn’t help but feel that sting as Albus grabbed Scorpius’ arm and nudged him out the door. Potter watched him go with a helpless look.

Draco considered not saying anything at all. After all, he kind of wanted to relish in the fact that, out of the two of them, he so very clearly was winning at fatherhood at the moment… then again, he had heard Albus had once been very close with his father. Draco couldn’t help but think he shouldn’t tempt fate by mocking him, lest he and Scorpius ever be found in a similar position.

“It might help if you invited Scorpius over from time to time.”

Potter’s eyes snapped to him so fast that Draco almost raised his hands in feigned surrender.

“Excuse me?”

“Scorpius,” Draco repeated dryly. “The one who looks like me. He’s twelve. About this big-”

“I’m well aware of who your son is, thank you, Malfoy,” Potter muttered, running a hand over his face. “And you would want your precious son in my household?”

Draco grimaced. He didn’t know much about where Potter lived, but he pictured it akin to a lavish barn with screaming children and mismatched decor. The thought made him shudder. Potter rolled his eyes.

“That is entirely up to Scorpius. I will not be attending unless you somehow cause him injury, in which case, I will not only be there to rescue my son, but to burn your home to the ground.” Draco opened the book again.

A pause followed.

“You’re really okay with this?”

Draco groaned and shut his book again.

“Okay with what?” he asked. He waved Potter away before he could answer. “I know you haven’t had the presence of a parent before, Potter, but from my experience, you can’t force them to be identical to you.”

“I don’t want him to be identical to me. I want him to be a decent person,” Potter snipped back. Draco raised a brow. “Sod off. I’m not worried about the Slytherin thing. I’m worried about you. He’s coming over and reading your…” he gestured around. “Your pureblood propaganda-”

“Merlin, help me.”

“-being served by house elves you probably treat badly,”

“I genuinely hate you.”

“-and probably hearing you regale in Death Eater stories that you made up.”

“Ah, yes,” Draco said, tossing his book to the side. It was bold of him to think reading was ever in the cards with Harry Potter in his home. “My favorite pastime. You should hear the one where there was this massive orgy. Absolute blast. I had Severus’ tongue fully down my throat. Tell Albus he was named after someone who could really snog,” Draco quipped back, ignoring the look of disgust that passed on Potter’s face.

“Hilarious.”

“You forget,” Draco said, getting up and walking over to a teapot sitting in the center of the room. “I am a reformed man. I took a class and everything.”

Potter snorted. “Yes, right. That mandatory Muggleborns-Are-People-Who-Shouldn’t-Be-Murdered class. How could I forget? That makes everything you’ve done okay!”

“That’s the spirit!” Draco said, pouring more tea into his cup. “Now, please take your son and leave. I have to resurrect the Dark Lord in an hour.”

Potter sneered, turning with a flourish that Draco was almost impressed by before slipping out the door. Draco shook his head. Fool.

“You really don’t do yourself any favors acting like that.”

Draco swore loudly, almost spilling his drink. Scorpius had reappeared, somehow sneaking back into the room without Draco noticing. He turned, fixing his son with a questioning look.

“Have you even tried to show people you’ve changed?” Scorpius asked. Draco sighed. He hadn’t hidden his past from his son. It would be hard to with how often his parents liked to bring up their disappointment in his ‘lost ideals.’

“My beliefs are my business,” Draco told him and swished his wand to clean up the mess. Scorpius looked unconvinced. “Scorpius, even if I walked out there and donated all of our money to muggles and got on my knees and screamed that I am a changed man, nobody would believe it.” He held out a cup of tea for Scorpius to take. “And I don’t need the approval of everyone else to think differently.”

“...you kind of do, though, right?” Scorpius asked. Draco frowned. Despite the fact that he and his son resembled one another greatly, there was always a bit of Astoria in his face that Draco relished in finding from time to time. The cut of his nose or curve of his cheeks, perhaps. Today it was the words in his mouth… which were not as welcome at the moment.

“How so?” Draco sighed.

Scorpius grabbed himself a cup of tea, putting an unsavory amount of sugar in it before pouring in an equally ridiculous amount of milk.

“It just seems like you’re being a little prideful by not admitting you were wrong and part of the problem,” Scorpius said and sipped his decidedly non-tea concoction. Draco bit his tongue. “And you and Mom were both still purebloods. How much can you really know about muggles and muggleborns if you don’t talk to them?”

….Draco hated having an intelligent child.

“I talk to muggles.”

“Name one.”

“A muggle?”

“Yes, Dad. Any muggle.”

“James Bond.”

“A real muggle.”

“Is he not real?” Draco asked, a little bewildered. Scorpius grinned at him. “Why do they keep going on about him then?” he mumbled and lifted his tea to his lips. “Oh,” he said before he could take a sip. “Granger’s parents. They’re muggles.”

Scorpius tilted his head. “...do you know their names?” he asked.

Draco stared at him. Scorpius stared back. A beat of silence followed.

“Go to your room.”

Scorpius snorted and put his hands behind his head in victory as he began to walk backwards out of the room, sticking his tongue out as he went. He paused by the door.

“Seriously, Dad. Can you at least try to make an effort so that Albus can come over more? He can say we’re nice all he wants, but it isn’t helpful if you’re just sarcastic all the time.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. Why him? Why Potter of all people? Why did Scorpius have to pick a Potter to like so much? He opened his eyes and saw Scorpius looking at him with an almost desperate gleam.

“I don’t have any other friends,” he added, a plea entering his tone.

Draco felt his willpower crumble. “...very well,” he relented. Scorpius brightened. “Though you can make other friends, Scorpius.”

“I don’t think that’s true. Nobody likes me much,” Scorpius sighed. Draco wanted to object to that - but paused. He looked at his son again. Draco may search for Astoria in him often, but nobody else in this world would, save maybe Daphne and her parents. To most, they would look at Scorpius and see Draco.

He got the feeling it was the real reason his son didn’t have many friends. It was a remarkable kindness that Albus Potter of all people showed - looking past their name. Draco never showed such wisdom at that age.

“You are wonderful,” Draco said, putting his tea to the side, next to his unread book. “And I will try harder to be more… approachable to the public. To the Potters especially.”

Scorpius smiled at him - Astoria’s smile - and gave him a nod, spinning out of the room with a small skip.

Draco sighed. Perhaps he had copped out on this reformation process. It wasn’t like he and Astoria were taking muggle classes on the down low all of these years. Scorpius knew more than they ever did combined. All Draco did was encourage him to accept the differences and explore without doing any of the exploring himself.

He picked up his tea and book.

It would be fine.

He could handle this.

“Minister.”

God, he hated his life.

Granger looked up, suitably bewildered by his appearance. He had told her secretary he was someone else entirely, and then confounded the man since Draco was so easily recognized. It was a little concerning how easy it was to get through her security, but he would maybe bring that up to someone else at a different time.

“Malfoy,” she said, and let her hand fall to where her wand would be. Draco ignored the movement, taking in the office. It wasn’t as lavish as he might have thought. It was bigger, sure, with oak furniture and plush seats, but ultimately it was filled with piles of paperwork and family photos strung about. Draco picked an empty chair in front of her desk and threw himself in it. “...this is a surprise.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, wishing he were anywhere else. “I know you’re busy, but I need a favor and am struggling to find anyone else to go to.”

Granger blinked. Slowly, she lowered her hand and then interlocked her fingers together, placing them on top of her desk. She had aged well, all things considered. Draco had secretly always thought she was pretty - in that strange Gryffindor sort of way.

“You broke into my office in the middle of a workday to demand a favor?”

“Ask for a favor,” Draco corrected. “I suspect you’ll tell me no, but figured it was worth a shot.”

Granger stared at him for a few more minutes. “This has got to be some favor,” she finally said and leaned back in her chair. “Go ahead.”

“I need to know about muggles,” Draco started with. Granger’s brows raised. “I’ve been reading books – none really make sense to me, and they contradict one another sometimes. I don’t quite know where to go, and my inner circle is,” he shook his head, thinking of his father’s reaction when he informed him of his new quest. “...unhelpful.”

Granger nodded to herself before tapping the table. “This is a joke.”

“No.”

“You want something?”

“I do,” Draco agreed. Granger gave a soft ‘ah’ under her breath. “My son has pointed out that I am lacking in my self-improvement. It is detrimental to him. I need to fix it.”

“So you don’t really care about muggles?” she clarified. Draco considered. That was actually an interesting question.

“I’m… not sure,” he admitted. “I believe I was wrong. I believe my ideals were wrong. My family even… and after all I’ve seen, I do not want to see that type of violence again against anyone but… I’m not sure caring is the right word.”

It was clearly a disappointing answer for her, but not one unexpected. Draco didn’t see a reason to lie. His motivations were still purely in his own interest - and Scorpius’s.

Granger tapped her desk a few more times before bringing out a piece of paper and scribbling something down.

“Here are some books that will be helpful. Use muggleborn authors. I suspect you read pureblood books, which is why the information you’re getting is confusing. They don’t know what they’re talking about,” she said, sliding it over to him. Draco picked up the piece of parchment, pocketing it with a nod. He gave her his thanks before standing up. “My parents are also visiting.”

Draco paused by the door, bewildered as he tried to process that last bit. “Your… parents?” he repeated, turning to stare at her. “I thought they were around the bend now?”

Granger took a long breath, rubbing her temple with a scowl set on her face.

“Their memories are back after I oblivated them. Modern magic is wonderful,” she said tersely. “They are visiting me now, and you may go speak to them if you’d like to learn more.”

Draco hadn’t expected her to even help him, let alone all of that. His confusion must have shown because she grimaced and brought out a new piece of parchment to start writing on.

“I don’t owe you any kindness, Malfoy. I am only offering this because I can see what Albus’s friendship with Scorpius means to him. If this eases this tension…” She pressed a finger to her temple. “If this gets Harry to stop going on about it… I will help you,” she breathed out. Draco was almost amused by her clear exasperation on the topic.

“Thank you, Granger. I will-”

“Be very bloody polite to my parents,” she said, voice lowering into a threat. “You will speak to them with Ron there, and I swear to whatever pureblood god you believe in, Malfoy… If you upset them, I will hit you again.”

Well then. Draco sniffed.

“It barely hurt the last time.”

“You wouldn’t be able to tell from your wailing,” Granger threw back. Draco dusted himself off, despite his robes being immaculate, and gave her an indignant scowl.

“Yes, well, you were second in class for potions,” he said, and opened the door. Despite facing forward, he could feel her mouth drop as a quill was slammed against the desk.

“I was top of class for everything else-”

“Potter was top for Defense Against the Dark Arts, right?”

“- and you probably cheated!” she hissed.

Draco gave a light laugh as he left. He didn't cheat. And, much to his delight, he knew that she knew it too.

Chapter Text

The next day, Draco did end up at Granger’s house. It was a dire sight, indeed. The Minister lived in the Minister’s Mansion, which was a beautiful home not too far from Draco’s own estate. Unfortunately, Weasley looked like he had gotten his grubby hands all over it. There wasn’t a hint of proper decorum in sight. Despite the elegance of the architecture, it still, somehow, looked like a cottage.

The other part of this tragedy was that he was face-to-face with one of his least favorite people.

“Malfoy.”

Ronald Weasley.

“I presume your wife told you I was coming?” Draco asked, trying very hard not to wrinkle his nose. He had a beard. This man had a beard, and Draco was expected to keep his thoughts to himself? It was ridiculous.

“She did,” Weasley informed him, but didn’t move aside. They just stood there.

Draco raised a brow. “Those robes look new,” he commented, unable to help himself. “I must congratulate you on no longer buying anything second-hand.” His eyes flicked to the inside of the house. “...for the most part.”

Unsurprisingly, the door slammed in his face. Was it worth knocking again? Just as he considered leaving, someone cleared his throat behind him. Draco closed his eyes. Please don’t let it be a child, please don’t let it be a child-

“Mr. Malfoy.”

Fuck it all to hell. Draco turned to find a little girl sitting there with two large books in her arms.

“Weasley,” he greeted. “I presume you are the daughter of…” He jerked his head towards the door.

The girl tilted her head. She had her father’s hair, but the rest of her so clearly came from Granger. She jutted out her chin, looking Draco up and down with consideration.

“Is it true you were a Death Eater?”

….okay.

“Yes,” he said. “Is it true you’re annoying?”

“Yes,” the girl said without missing a beat. “Is it true you’re Scorpius’s dad?”

“Yes. Is it true you don’t like him?”

“No,” she said and brushed past him to the door. “I don’t care enough to like or dislike him,” she told him. “I’m Rose, by the way. Rose Granger-Weasley.”

“I don’t care enough to remember,” Draco said.

For some reason, that made her smile as she opened the door, struggling to keep her books from falling from her grasp. She paused in the doorway, looking at him expectantly. “Well?” she asked, and jerked her head. “Come inside. Before my father hexes you.”

“Your father once tried to hex me and then coughed up slugs for an hour afterwards,” Draco informed her, but did step inside.

As someone who survived living in the house with the Dark Lord, this house was decidedly the most terrifying building he had been in. The walls were that awful Gryffindor red and gold, blinding any poor fool who walked inside. Photos hung across the wall, most of its occupants looking horrified to see him, while the Muggle photos stood frozen.

Most bewildering of all, however, was a tiny woman directly in his path.

“Oh,” Draco said as he took in the oddly dressed stranger who looked strikingly like Granger. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, strands of gray falling into her wrinkled face as she blinked up at him. “Hello,” he greeted uncomfortably. “You must be-”

“Helen,” the woman said, holding out her hand. Draco stared down before slowly reaching out to accept it. In the back of his mind, his mother gave a horrified scream that he’d condemn himself to a squib life for touching a muggle. Firmly, he reminded himself that everyone in this house would have touched muggles and all of them were fine…. Physically, anyway. “You would be the fascist that Hermione told me was coming, right?”

“The… the what?” Draco asked, genuinely taken aback.

“The one who believes all muggles are scum and is perhaps changed, but most likely has not?” she clarified.

Uh-huh. Draco blinked, a little intrigued by the directness.

“Yes,” he said, because he had no other way to respond, really. “That would be me.”

Helen clapped her hands together. “Marvelous. Could I get you some tea?” Draco shook his head, not knowing really what to do or say. He didn’t imagine most muggles would greet him like this. He’d always figured they’d either be very much afraid of him or very much angry. Helen seemed… oddly at ease despite knowing what he was – or had been.

And to Draco’s bewilderment, she kept talking, leading them through messy rooms, telling him about how the architecture compared to the kind where she was from. She chattered nonstop, reminding Draco very much of her daughter when they were young.

“I must admit I’m surprised,” she said when she led them into what might have been the third library in the house. Draco tilted his head. “You raised such a well-mannered boy.”

“You know Scorpius?”

“As well as I can, given my family’s distaste for yours,” she replied, pulling a ladder over and climbing up to reach some of the books on the upper shelves. This library looked different than the others. There weren’t any leatherbound books or the smell of ink. The books were all hardcover or paperback, with muggle pens littering oak desks and drawings pinned to the walls. “I take it he’s not much like you?”

Draco snorted. He kind of liked Helen in a strange way. “Thankfully, no. He takes after his mother.”

“Was she also hateful?”

Nevermind. He no longer liked Helen. Then again, he supposed it was a fair question. Helen didn’t love Astoria like he did. Why should she tiptoe around the memory of a woman who sided with those who harmed her daughter?

“No,” he decided. “No, she just…” He trailed off. A better man would defend his dead wife. Would argue her virtue because between the two of them, Astoria had some. But the memory of her face swept by him, and suddenly he found the words unable to form.

Before he could try again, a yelp came from above. Because, naturally, an old lady on a ladder wasn’t the best idea. Draco watched in horror as her foot slipped, yanking out his wand to slow her fall. Honestly, the last thing he needed was to be found alone with a muggle with a broken neck... who was the minister’s mother at that. Diving forward, he gripped under her arms to keep her steady as the spell faded. Helen stumbled back against him, a book clutched against her chest.

“Thank you,” she breathed out. Draco kept a hand on her, frowning as he studied her face to make sure she wasn’t actively dying. “That is still so strange,” she mumbled. “The…” she waved her fingers.

“Still?”

“I lived forty years of my life believing magic was a tale for children,” Helen said, dusting herself off. “And when I was told my daughter was a witch, the magic I saw was quite limited. It will remain strange to me until I die, I think.”

Fair enough. Draco stepped back now that she was steady again, only for her to toss the book she had been reaching to get at him. He caught it, flipping it over to see that it was one of the ones that had been on Granger’s list for him to read. Helen walked over, plucking more off the shelves.

“So what exactly are you looking for?” Helen asked, reaching up on her tiptoes for another book. This time, Draco walked over and grabbed it for her. “Hermione says this is some ploy for your son to be better liked?”

He would love to tell her it was just that, but that also defeated the purpose of his actual intention.

“My beliefs have changed,” he admitted. “Though I cannot claim I have done the work needed beyond anything superficial. For the sake of my son, I’m trying to push my pride aside and show others I am not…” He ran a hand over his face. “What I once was.”

A hmph came at that as Helen turned, handing him more books.

“I suppose I can’t fault a father loving his son,” she said, looking him up and down. “I’d imagine your parents love you?”

“Very much,” Draco agreed.

“Which would make it hard to see them as faulted people, I’m sure,” she mused. Draco looked away. That had been an old discussion with Astoria. Their first real discussion, actually. Draco sitting in a hallway next to her in the Ministry – both waiting for hearings to determine their futures.

Neither had spoken for the longest time.

Then, out of nowhere, Astoria turned to him.

“Our parents aren’t evil,” she had said. Draco remembered blinking at her — tired and confused. “Mine love me. Evil people don’t love.” She turned back to stare at her shoes, looking like the most exhausted 16-year-old Draco had ever seen. “At least… I didn’t think so,” she whispered.

To this day, it remained Draco’s most eye-opening discussion. The realization that being capable of purposeful love didn’t exempt you from purposeless hate. And of all the people to have that moment with, he would forever be grateful it was Astoria who had been brave enough to speak those words into the air between them.

“Well,” Helen said, bringing him back into the present. “You’re far too old to pin your behavior on your parents. It is good you’re setting yourself straight now.” She handed him more books. “But I warn you, this will be a long process. No conversation with me, my husband, my daughter, or any number of books will be enough.” She pointed a finger at him. “You are lucky I have the kindness to humor this.”

Okay, he was back to liking Helen again. Her mixture of kind curtness was refreshing.

“GRANDMA!” somebody shouted down the hall. A comical pause followed as feet slapped against the floor. A second later, the door burst open to reveal a gremlin standing in the doorway. Not the girl one he had met earlier, but the boy one. “Dad says a mean man is going to try to haunt the house with his paleness and not to let him.” Big eyes turned to Draco. “Oh no,” he whispered.

“Boo,” Draco greeted.

“DAD!” the boy yelled over his shoulder. “HE GOT GRANDMA!”

“That is probably my cue to go,” Draco decided, giving Helen a wry smile. He’d read the books she gave him and catch up with her later. It seemed as good a starting point as any. He turned to apparate, but Helen’s hand shot out at an unnatural speed to grab his arm.

“Stay for dinner.”

She might as well have offered to punch him in the throat and beat him with every single book in this awful house.

“Thank you, but I can’t,” he said.

“I insist,” Helen threw back. “We can have your son over. The Potters are coming. I’m sure Albus would be pleased to see him.”

From the doorway, the gremlin’s mouth dropped. “DAD! IT’S GETTING WORSE!” he shouted, but Helen shushed him. It was far too late, though. Weasley appeared a second later, wand out and eyes narrowed.

“Did you seriously come into my house uninvited?” he asked, voice rising, but Helen made a clicking sound with her tongue, waving him away.

“He’s staying for dinner,” she said.

Weasley spluttered. “He-? No!”

“No,” Draco agreed.

“No!” Weasley yelled with a reassuring nod at Draco’s no. “Helen, I’m not sure-” he began, only to go silent when this tiny lady looked at him with eyes that Draco might have seen on a thestral once or twice. A silent conversation seemed to happen, which was actually pretty impressive since there was no way Helen was using legilimency. Finally, Weasley ran a hand over his face. “Whatever,” he finally said. “But I’m not telling Harry.”

Now, there was a very, very strong temptation to just apparate on the spot. Draco had been considering his plans around self-improvement to be… slower. Like, perhaps, this dinner would have been a good consideration in a year. Two years. Ten. Maybe never. Certainly not now.

But what was he supposed to do? Go home and tell his son he had been invited to dinner with his one and only friend and said no because it was uncomfortable?

That kid better not ever claim that Draco didn’t love the shit out of him.

“Do you have floo powder?” he sighed. “I can call Scorpius.”

Helen smiled, looking far too smug as she ushered the gremlin out of the room. Weasley practically catapulted a bag of floo powder at Draco’s face.

How was this his life? What would Astoria say?

Draco could imagine her laughing, leaning against his shoulder to whisper that they’d somehow make a game of this dinner. They’d count how many times Weasley glared at them or something equally mundane.

Part of him hoped Scorpius would also find the whole thing weird and offer him an escape, but Draco had barely gotten the words out before his son threw himself into the chimney to join him at the Granger-Weasley household.

“Is Albus already here?!” he asked, looking around. Draco opened his mouth to tell him no, only for the door to slam open again. Albus Potter stood there, nose wrinkled and eyes suspicious up until he caught sight of Scorpius.

“You’re actually here!” he shouted. From behind him, Potter stood, looking as horrified as Draco felt. He turned to where his wife and Weasley stood. Both gave helpless shrugs.

“Helen,” was all Weasley offered.

Potter grimaced before turning to leave the room. Albus and Scorpius didn’t seem to notice, both already bringing out Chocolate Frog Cards they had been saving to trade with one another. One would think it had been weeks since they’d seen one another rather than two days.

Maybe this dinner was a ploy Granger made with her mother to poison him. Draco wasn’t sure he would really mind it. As long as Scorpius got to live, that might work out for everyone.

Unfortunately, even Granger seemed surprised as Draco dragged himself to the decidedly crowded dinner table. Why was it so small for such a big family? Why did everyone’s elbows have to touch? They had money now! Granger was the Minister of Magic! By God, get these people a proper table!

“Mom,” Granger began, but Helen whispered something to her that had her hands raised in defeat. Awkwardly, Draco stood there as another muggle man entered the room, looking Draco over with interest.

“That’s the fascist,” Helen informed him.

“Ah,” Mr. Granger said. “Right, right. Hermione mentioned you would be dropping by. I didn’t realize you intended to stay for dinner.”

“I didn’t,” Draco said as a bundle of black hair shot past him. This one looked more like the unruly hair he associated with Potter when he was younger. Sure enough, James Potter did a double-take when he saw Draco.

“Aunt Hermione,” he said, pointing at Draco. “There’s a Death Eater in your dining room.”

The boy gremlin, who Draco was beginning to remember was called Hugo or something equally random, covered his eyes like this might solve the problem of Draco being there.

“Shut up, James!” Albus shot back, taking a seat with Scorpius at one end of the table. “You’re being rude!”

James raised a brow. “I think wanting muggles dead might be ruder, though,” he said skeptically. He looked at Draco. “Do you still want muggles dead?” he asked, ignoring Albus burying his face in his hands. Scorpius shifted, eyes flicking between them all worriedly.

“If I were to kill anyone in this room, it would most likely be myself,” Draco responded. James snorted. “I can always just leave Scorpius and-”

“Sit down,” Helen told him, placing several plates on the table. “And tell me your name. I can’t keep calling you the fascist.”

From between an unusually silent Potter and Ginny Weasley, a redheaded girl (their daughter, presumably), peered over the table. “What’s a fascist?” she asked. A fair question from a child, surely, but a better question might be why they allowed her to attend dinner with glitter on her face and marker lines covering her arms.

Honestly, as ridiculous as the Weasleys were, he did give them the leniency of having a miniature army of children. Of course, they would all look ridiculous. Who had time to care for an entire platoon of redheaded miscreants? But Potter and Ginny only had three. It shouldn’t be so hard for them.

“My name is Draco,” he told Helen to avoid the fascist question becoming the topic of conversation. “I don’t think I got your name,” he added to Mr. Granger, still standing. God, he did not want to sit down. Not without a cleaning charm on his seat. Would it be rude to do a tiny little scouring spell on the chair?

“Draco,” Mr. Granger said, and gestured for him to sit. “I’m Jack.”

“Pleasure,” Draco said, but still did not sit. An awkward moment went by. Then another.

“...Dad,” Scorpius finally whispered. Right. Yes. Sure. He looked at Rose. She seemed the cleanest of the bunch. He’d sit next to her. Pulling out a seat, Draco sat down.

Thus, the torture began.

Draco honestly would have rather faced Azkaban than sit at the dinner table with his three childhood enemies and their families. Alas, fate seemed to laugh at him.

At least Scorpius seemed happy with this development. He and Albus had been in conversation the entire time, involving absolutely nobody else as they jumped from topic to topic while simultaneously trying to make up their own language. Potter watched them with barely concealed resignation, swallowing hard as he looked away to put some potatoes on his plate.

“So, Draco,” Helen said, passing around some green beans. “What do you do for work?”

Everyone turned to him. The natural reaction Draco wanted to give into was to say that small talk had nothing to do with him learning about muggles. That he wanted to leave and escape this place and its questionable food. But Scorpius was giggling at something Albus said, so Draco swallowed back the temptation to cause trouble.

“I don’t,” he said, trying not to grimace when the green beans were handed to him. “I have, um, plenty of inherited wealth.”

Weasley rolled his eyes, exchanging a look with Potter. Draco would have been fine leaving it at that, but Scorpius perked up, tilting his head in obvious confusion. How he had caught this conversation while whispering with Albus was beyond him.

“You get money from St. Mungo’s, though,” he said.

Why did his child have to love him and be interested in his life?

“St. Mungo’s?” Granger asked, looking genuinely surprised. “What work do you do with St. Mungo’s?”

“It’s more of a hobby,” Draco said, and handed the green beans off to Rose quickly.

“I hear hobbies that pay are like jobs,” James said, pointing his fork at him. “At least, that’s what Mom says to convince us that she isn’t unemployed.” Ginny lightly cuffed him around the head. “Quidditch Star,” he scoffed at her. “Please. You just have a paid hobby too.”

“I can always quit my hobbies and move us into a smaller house,” Ginny told him. “You and Albus could share a room-”

“No,” Albus and James said at once.

Ginny smirked. “Thought so,” she said, and took a sip of wine, giving Potter a sly wink. He grinned at her, shaking his head as he went back to his food.

“What is this hobby then?” Weasley asked suspiciously. “You don’t poison anyone there, do you?” He turned to his friends. “Minister? Auror Potter? Listen to his answer carefully,” he added to them, a note of dryness in his tone.

Draco frowned, leaning forward. “Pardon?” he asked innocently. “I swore you said something, but there’s some kind of animal on your face-”

“There, there, Malfoy. When you grow up, you can grow a beard too.”

“As long as it doesn’t look like I ate an orange tabby, I may consider it.”

“Dad is an alchemist,” Scorpius cut in. Oh. Right. This. “He makes medicine and sells it to healers.” There was such pride in his voice. Draco wanted to relish in but he was equally aware that his son probably shouldn’t think so highly of him in general. “Right?” Scorpius asked eagerly.

Before Draco could answer, Albus perked up. “That’s really neat, Mr. Malfoy,” he said. Potter frowned at him, looking almost offended. “Is alchemy much like potions?”

“They’re similar,” Draco said. “I do both to get the results I need.”

James looked at Albus and then to where the adults were all clearly struggling to stay polite. “Wow,” he said, a note of mischief in his tone. “Medicinal potions, huh? So you, like, save lives?” Scorpius beamed. Potter looked like he very much wanted to throw up, which Draco was fine with.

“You are an evil child,” Weasley whispered to his nephew. James smirked. “An evil, evil child.”

“Ronald,” Granger warned.

“He knows what he’s doing!”

“Albus,” Ginny cut in. “You know, your father was talking about taking a trip to Wales soon,” she said. Albus frowned, looking in vague confusion as he nodded. “That’s where Merlin is from, right? If you go with him, then you could see where he lived, right, Harry?” she asked, nudging her husband.

Potter straightened up, almost as if he had been silently rehearsing for this very moment. His eyes flicked to Draco - probably wishing he wasn’t present for whatever this was - but smiled at Albus anyway. “Yeah! Hermione was telling me that we could even see King Arthur’s court since it is nearby.”

“You like history?” Albus asked, perplexed.

As someone who watched that man sleep through numerous History of Magic lessons, Draco found this unlikely. Still, he focused on picking at his food. His one job tonight was to be nice. That was it. He could behave.

“Well, Merlin was one of the greatest wizards that ever existed, so…” Potter shrugged.

“He was also a Slytherin, right?” Weasley asked, also sounding painfully rehearsed.

The table all murmured in agreement.

“So cool.”

“Very neat.”

This poor, poor child. Draco looked at where Albus was clearly fighting the urge to plop his head onto the table. It was actually a little fascinating to see this side of things. Growing up, Draco had been flat-out told that Slytherin was the only acceptable option for sorting. He couldn’t imagine what the reaction would have been if he ended up someplace else. It certainly wouldn’t have been this… aggressively positive situation that was clearly an attempt to overcompensate for their discomfort.

Scorpius looked at Albus with sympathy. “I love Merlin,” he said, bumping him. “He’s probably my favorite Chocolate Frog card right now.”

Albus scowled at him. “Liar. Your favorite is Nicolas Flamel.”

“I can have two favorites," Scorpius said indignantly.

“Scorpius, you should go with them,” Ginny said. Potter and Draco both froze at the same time. It was one thing for Scorpius to spend time with Albus Potter. But Harry Potter chaperoning his son on a trip to Wales? “If your father is okay with it, of course.”

Demon. Demon ginger. That is where James got it from. She knew he was at a disadvantage.

“Oh, Dad, can I?” Scorpius asked, sitting up straight. Albus gasped in delight, quickly thanking his mother for the idea as Potter shot Ginny a betrayed look. Whatever. As if their father-son time would have been successful without Scorpius there.

Draco swallowed. Who cooked this food, anyway? It was suspiciously good. He may have to investigate that later to follow up on the poison suspicions.

Now, he needed to focus, though. First question: Would Potter try to kill Scorpius?

No. Definitely not. He had even saved Draco’s life, and they hated one another. Safe there.

Second question: Would Potter try to turn Scorpius against Draco?

Absolutely. Getting his son’s approval meant getting Albus’s approval. Potter would no doubt try to use this trip to his advantage to win favor with both children. That was simply unacceptable. Draco understood he was flawed, but he also didn’t want Harry Potter to be the one to drive that point home.

He needed more information.

“Where exactly in Wales are you staying?” he asked warily. This was a fair question, right? Like, listen, even outside of Potter brainwashing his son, the man got himself in trouble literally every single year of his life. If Draco didn’t get specifics, then he was going to get a message that his son went to see Merlin’s old house and somehow ended up fighting Lord Voldemort’s long-lost daughter or something.

“Cho’s family has a house there she said she’d let us stay in,” Potter said, which was just… a wild sentence that Draco did not expect in the slightest.

“You- what? You’re staying at your ex-girlfriend’s house?” He looked at Granger, outright bewildered. “He kept in touch with her after you mutilated her best friend?”

Hugo choked on some food.

“What?” James asked, mouth dropping. “Mrs. Davis was your girlfriend?!”

“Who is Mrs. Davis?” Draco asked.

“Cho,” Ginny offered, completely nonplussed by her children’s shock. “She got married to a muggle and took his name,” she said with a shrug. “She’s the assistant manager of the Holyhead Harpies now. Didn’t you know?”

Draco hadn’t. He shook his head, brows raised a little. Well, that explained why Ginny and Cho were on good terms. It was still weird that they were close enough to be staying at each other’s houses after the chaos of their youth.

“Didn’t you make her cry all the time?” Draco asked, unable to get past this.

“Did you say mom mutilated someone?” Rose cut in, looking at the table with concern.

“Mutilated is a harsh word,” Granger attempted, ignoring the baffled looks her parents were giving her. Did they not know? Oh, that was fun. “I gave her some pimples.”

“They definitely scarred,” Draco informed her dryly. He turned to the kids. “She told the teachers about their illegal flight club. Apparently, Granger cursed the attendance sheet or something-”

“They had a what?”

“Dad, you were in a fight club?!”

“It was not a fight club,” Potter argued. “It was-”

“I didn’t know Dad dated anyone before Mom,” Lily interrupted, eyes big. She looked at her father. “Did you love anyone else?” she asked, voice a little distraught at the idea.

“Wait,” Hugo sat up. “Did our parents date other people?” he asked, looking at Granger and Weasley suspiciously.

Draco simply could not believe this had never came up before.

“Um, yes,” Draco said, and both kids gasped. Okay. Wow. This was news, apparently. Weasley threw up a hand. “What? Am I supposed to pretend you and Lavender Brown weren’t constantly sticking your tongues down each other’s throats?” Rose gagged. “Or that the entire school didn’t make bets on who you’d date next?” he added to Ginny. She smiled and raised her wine glass at him as Draco gave Granger a considering look. “I will say, you pulled well, Granger. Nice work on Viktor Krum.”

“The Seeker?” James spluttered as Granger poured herself some wine. “You dated him? I thought he was just friends with Aunt Fleur and Dad from that tournament they did together-”

“Wait, why did you make Mrs. Davis cry?” Albus asked his father, who looked like he was considering launching himself across the table at Draco. “Were you mean to her?”

“Why would you automatically think I would be mean to her?” Potter asked, sounding genuinely hurt.

“You were mean to me,” Draco offered.

“Sod off, Malfoy. You were mean to everyone,” Weasley snapped. He clapped his hands together to gain everyone’s attention. “Look, yes, we all dated people before ending up with the right person. That’s just part of life sometimes. It’s not a big deal. And Harry was never mean to Mrs. Davis,” he added to Albus. “She just was going through a hard time, which happened to coincide with Harry’s hard time and…” He looked at Harry. “It was a lot for everyone, I think. Sometimes people cry when they snog. It’s fine.”

“She cried when she kissed you?” Albus asked, horrified. “Oh my God.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Potter muttered.

“So can I go to Wales?” Scorpius asked, bringing them all back to the initial question at hand.

Yikes.

Draco looked at his son. Scorpius stared back hopefully.

How did he end up as such a pushover? He didn’t used to be such a pushover. If anyone else in the entire world asked him this question, Draco would not be such a flimsy pushover.

“Sure,” he said, still trying to do calculations in his head on how to minimize damage here. “How about I join you?” Potter’s brows shot up. “I’m something of a Merlin fan myself,” he said, trying not to sound like an overbearing parent who was terrified to leave his son with someone morally superior to himself.

After all, he was better than Potter in all ways but one. As long as he was present, it should be easy enough to keep everything in check.

Ginny took a bite of her food. “Fun,” she said, clearly trying to hide her laughter. “How does that sound to you two?” she asked Scorpius and Albus, who were tragically already high-fiving in victory.

“Great,” Potter said faintly. “Just... great.”

Draco went ahead and poured himself some wine.

Chapter Text

Against all odds, Draco was back at the Granger-Weasley household less than 24 hours after the dinner of doom. Now that Albus and Scorpius were going together to see the ancestral home of Merlin, they thought it made perfect sense to have it happen this very moment, since the return to school was right around the corner.

Draco deeply suspected Albus and Scorpius knew that they could get anything they wanted right now. There was no way Potter would risk saying no when both seemed so fond of Draco, and there was no way Draco could say no without risking his favor with either. Rather quickly and unexpectedly, parenting became a popularity contest that Draco had no intention of losing.

As for why he was at Granger and Weasley’s house to start this trip? Well, that would be Helen’s fault.

“I packed snacks,” she said, handing over several bags for Albus and Scorpius. “And I wanted to see the boys before they set off.”

Now, Draco thought he was completely in the right to find this ridiculous. Firstly, neither the Potters nor the Malfoys were hurting for money. They did not need these silly muggle snacks of cracker fish and carrots. She also wasn’t related to either of these children. Maybe a case could be made for Albus. Loosely. They were technically related as in-laws of some sort, but she certainly had no claim on Scorpius.

But again, neither Potter nor Draco could push back. Draco, because of Granger’s strict instructions to be nice to her parents and Potter… well, Potter was clearly terrified of the woman.

“Did you know your daughter once trapped a woman inside a jar?” he asked as he sipped coffee, watching Helen suspiciously. They were at a kitchen table with Draco awkwardly sitting on one side while Weasley and Potter were on the other, all picking at the breakfast that had been laid out in front of them.

Helen paused in packing more food (how long did she think this trip was?) to look at Potter with consideration.

“I did not. Is the woman alive?” Potter shrugged with a nod. “Did she deserve it?” Potter nodded again. Helen hummed. “Who am I to argue with the Minister of Magic?” she said, and went back to packing.

Potter took another sip of his coffee. He turned to Weasley. “You don’t realize it because she always sounds so reasonable, but your wife and her family could kill us all and I don’t think anybody would even know.”

Weasley gave a deep sigh, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know why we didn’t see it earlier. She set a teacher on fire when we were eleven.”

“Do you ever feel like she tricked us into thinking she was a goody-two-shoes? I mean, when Snape refereed that next match, her plan was to immobilize him on his broom. The man would have died.”

“Sort of fucked now that we know he wasn’t actually trying to kill you.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Weasley and Potter both took a long sip of their coffee.

“...you don’t think Rose or Hugo will take after her like that, right?” Weasley asked. From outside, someone screamed, and a crash sounded. Just through the window, Rose fell from the sky directly into the bushes. A few seconds later, a statue also tumbled down.

“HUGO ADALBERT GRANGER-WEASLEY!” Granger’s voice screeched. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO PUT YOUR SISTER IN DANGER TO FIND AN EXCUSE TO ILLEGALLY USE MAGIC!”

Rose’s head popped up. “UNCLE HARRY GOT AWAY WITH IT-”

“DEMENTORS WERE ATTACKING HIM, YOUNG LADY!”

“Nah,” Potter said and accepted another bag of food from Helen with a bright smile. “You can’t be in any more danger than I am. If any of my children turn out like Ginny, they might kill me.”

Weasley clapped a hand on Potter’s shoulder. “I have bad news, mate.”

Potter squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.”

“If you two are done,” Draco said, putting his coffee down. “We should probably get to the portkey soon.”

Potter gave a sad scoff. “Portkey,” he said miserably. “Scorpius didn’t tell you?” Draco narrowed his eyes. “BOYS!” Potter shouted. “TELL MALFOY HOW WE’RE GETTING TO WALES!”

The door slid open. Scorpius stood, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Dad! I forgot to tell you!” he beamed. “Albus and I were talking, and it would be way more fun to go by train. Maybe even a muggle train!” Draco blinked. By… train? A muggle train? As in, stuck in a moving torture chamber without magic for four hours? “And it would be better for you and Mr. Potter, too. Albus read a book that said apparating too much is kind of dangerous, so you should probably just come on the train with us.”

Oh. Okay. Draco nodded, trying not to look panicked.

“Thank you, Scorpius,” he said. “That is very thoughtful.” He glanced at the mound of food Helen was creating with new appreciation. “Would it be better if I went by floo powder or-?”

“You don’t want to travel with us?” Scorpius asked, voice a little surprised. A strange expression crossed over his face. Hope? No. Wait. Was it hope? Did Scorpius not want him there? Why did he not want him there? “That’s fine. I’m sure Mr. Potter can-”

“Nope,” Draco cut in, screaming very loudly on the inside. “No. That is… I love trains. Reminds me of Hogwarts. So fun.” He tapped the table. “Great idea.”

Scorpius paused. “Alright,” he said and gave a bright smile. “See?” he called over his shoulder to where Albus must be. “I told you it wouldn’t be a big deal!”

Sighing, Draco let his head fall back.

“Worry not, lads,” Jack said as he entered the kitchen. “I’m packing you something strong.” He put down a twelve-pack of beer on the table. “I once traveled for three days with a Tory.” Jack looked out into the distance as if reliving a flashback. “Sometimes, when in a cage with a snake, all you can do is drink.” He clapped Potter on the back. “You’re not a Tory, are you, son?” he asked Draco.

“What’s a Tory?” Draco asked.

Potter looked up at Jack. “He would be a Reform voter,” he said.

Jack grimaced and then turned to leave the room without another word.

“The hell is a Reform voter?” Draco muttered, but nobody explained. He was supposed to be learning about muggle things, but sure. Keep him in the dark on these strange words and how they were probably insulting him.

…at least there was beer now.

Luckily, Scorpius and Albus were amenable to using the floo network to get to the train station, which Draco was grateful for. Potter seemed less grateful for some reason, which was immediately proven when Albus stepped out of the chimney near King’s Cross, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

“I’m not a child!” he snapped when Potter stepped out a second later. A hilarious thing for a child to say, but Draco minded his business there. Instead, he gave Scorpius a curious look, wondering if he had any insight as to what had upset his friend. “I know how to use the floo network. I know how to speak clearly. Who would even get lost like that at my age?”

“I did,” Potter offered with a decent amount of patience for someone getting yelled at over what Draco was assuming was a minimal comment. “Ended up in Knockturn Alley instead of Diagon Alley.”

Albus’s face darkened. “Right. Where all the dark wizards like Slytherins go,” he muttered and turned away.

Oof. That was rough. What on earth had Potter done to this child to make him so defensive?

Potter winced, looking like he might throw himself on the tracks as Albus marched over to Scorpius to collect him and head off to the platform. Draco watched them go, brows furrowed as he tried to decide exactly how badly a catty comment would go over.

“How come you named him after a Slytherin if you hate them so much?” he finally went with, because that was a genuine question.

Potter threw up his hands. “I don’t hate Slytherins!” he practically shouted, making a few people turn to them. “Sorry,” he told them and took a breath. “I don’t hate Slytherins,” he repeated, calmer this time. “I was actually the one encourage it before he came to school.”

“....clearly,” Draco said.

“Why am I talking to you?” Potter muttered and shoved past him to follow the boys to the platform. Since they were traveling on a muggle train, they were all dressed in the horribly restrictive clothes, wands tucked into back pockets as they awkwardly stood there until it was finally, finally time to board.

If Draco thought this was going to be a long four hours, then he should have reminded himself that his luck always swayed slightly worse than he initially predicted these days. The four of them entered a small compartment only to immediately be abandoned.

“Albus and I have homework to do,” Scorpius explained. “So we should probably head off into a compartment of our own.”

“Why can’t you do it here?” Potter asked.

“It’s summer,” Draco added dryly.

“We have assignments to do over the summer,” Scorpius pointed out. Draco happened to know his son completed all of his assignments within the first two weeks of getting out of school, but sure. “And it’s just easier to spread out our books and stuff in our own space.”

What Draco suspected was actually happening was that Albus very much wanted to tell Scorpius about whatever argument he just had with Potter, and this was their way of trying to get away. No judgment. Draco would do the same. Also, they were complaining about Potter, so a win for him. Shrugging, he gave a nod, pulling out one of the muggle books Helen had given him. He’d just read. It was fine.

The compartment door slammed shut and Potter scowled.

“Do you let them do whatever they want all the time?”

Ha. Perhaps Potter worked out the true purpose of their slinking away, too. Draco flipped to the first page of his book, not looking up.

“No – but I keep a close enough eye on my son to not worry about it as much.”

Silence. Draco took that as a win and settled into his seat, already planning to waste his time away in the pages, only to pause exactly three minutes later.

What in the…?

Draco looked up. Potter was staring out the window, unaware of the utter confusion that was filling the compartment. Draco looked down at the book again. Then back up. Then at the book again.

Whatever.

“What is an air conditioner?” Potter glanced at him. Draco waited. “Well?” he asked impatiently.

“It’s a machine that cools a room,” Potter finally said. “Muggles don’t have them too much here. It’s more of an American thing.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s hotter there.”

“And… this… machine…” Draco said slowly. “It cools the room through…?” He lifted a hand, unsure what the word was.

“Electricity. It blows cold air out.”

“How does the electricity make the air cold?”

“I think it moves the air in a certain way or something,” Potter said. Draco looked at him skeptically. “I don’t know! I’m not an electrician,” he grumbled. “Most of what muggles invent is too complicated for me to understand.”

“...is it complicated or are you just stupid?”

“Why your son?!” Potter burst out. Draco tilted his head. “Of all the people in the world, why did Albus have to choose your son? We were completely fine, you know. Everything was fine until Scorpius came along and now Albus hates me and whenever I try to fix it-” Potter gestured wildly. “It just gets worse! And now I’m stuck with you! I have to sit here and pretend that the last time we weren’t alone on a train together, you didn’t stomp on my face!”

…oh yeah. Draco did do that.

“You were spying on me,” he pointed out. The look Potter gave him could probably kill the Dark Lord a second time. “I suppose I should apologize for that.”

“Oh, should you?” Potter bit back sarcastically. “You know, just because your jabs have gotten more subtle, doesn't mean you’ve changed.”

Draco laughed. “I wasn’t trying to be subtle,” he mused. “I just thought that we have perhaps outgrown the Potter Sucks pins.”

“I don’t remember making any Malfoy Sucks pins,” Potter snipped back. “Then again, everyone probably already knew…”

Draco put his book down. “I’m not pleased about this either, you know,” he said. “But I think one of us is taking it worse.” Potter fell back into his seat, suffering in his eyes. “What is even going on with you? As annoying and exhausting as you are, this…” Draco gestured him up and down. “Flustering is new. And does not suit your awful personality.”

“I’m not flustering,” Potter muttered. Sure. Whatever. Draco opened his book back up. As a child, he found Potter’s calm wittiness actually a bit fun. It was a challenge to try and get under his skin. Now, he was simpering like an eleven-year-old Neville Longbottom and it was no fun at all.

A minute passed.

“You’re not really as good a father as you seem, right?” Potter asked, almost as if he was hoping that Draco would fess up to all the mistakes he had recently made with Scorpius over the years.

Draco raised his eyes. “You’ve gotten so pathetic,” he observed. At Potter’s glare, he snapped the book shut. “What happened?” he asked, unable to stand it anymore. “Two years ago, the Daily Prophet plastered pictures of you and that boy sneaking into Quidditch matches with ridiculous disguises and handing out candy to children at orphanages. Now, he acts like you’re diseased, and the only thing anyone would choose the Chosen One for now is mandated therapy.”

“Hilarious,” Potter grumbled. Draco held out a hand. “You would hold it against me if I told you.”

“In what world would I ever be kind to you, Potter? And when did you start valuing my opinion?”

That seemed to resonate because Potter relaxed a little. A few minutes passed, and the train shuddered to life, jolting them forward as they moved out of the station with a blare of its horn. Draco thought they might just stop talking then, but Potter seemed to have finally found his bravery as he sat up.

“When Albus left for school, he was worried he might get sorted into Slytherin,” he began slowly. Draco nodded. “I told him it was fine. That he was named after a great man who was from Slytherin.” Okay. Good so far. Draco didn’t see the problem. “And I don’t think those stupid houses define us. Like, a hat looks in our head and just… decides. It’s dumb. I really didn’t care. But then he wrote to me later and told me he did, in fact, get into Slytherin, and it was okay because he had already made a friend.”

“Scorpius,” Draco deduced.

Potter nodded. “And… I realized that while I was fine with him in Slytherin, I maybe hadn’t considered that he’d be around the children of Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters and blood-purists,” he admitted. “And Scorpius’s name frightened me. I panicked. So I went to see Minerva…”

Oh, no way. Draco’s mouth dropped. “You tried to get him resorted? You know, that is very much a Lucius Malfoy move.”

“I wasn’t thinking!” Potter said quickly. “It just got me wound up. What if he picked up on all of those blood purist ideals? Or what if someone in his house was still sympathetic to Voldemort’s cause and tried to trick him into being his friend only to hurt him? Someone like-”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Scorpius,” he interrupted again flatly. Rain hit the window next to them, lightly tapping the glass as if also affronted by this course of action.

Potter sighed. “I would have calmed down. Minerva would have eventually reasoned with me, except someone saw me enter the school and told Albus. He thought I was there to drop something off that he’d forgotten so he went to Minerva’s office as I was talking…”

“God. This is so bad.”

“...and he overhead me trying to get him moved.”

“You absolutely fucked this up so badly.”

“And when she said no, I might have started freaking out, not realizing he was there.”

“Wow, it keeps getting worse.”

“You have no idea how awful it was when I turned around,” Potter whispered. “He looked so upset. And I tried to backtrack, but…”

“You had lied to his face when you said it was fine and now he doesn’t trust a thing you say,” Draco finished. Potter narrowed his eyes. “What? It’s true.”

What a wild turn of events. No wonder Albus was all out of sorts. That also explained the weird dinner conversation he had witnessed last night. Clearly, everyone was trying to help with damage control, but… you know. They sucked at it.

Potter stared miserably at the floor. “Is there any coming back from this?” he asked.

“Um,” Draco began. “There kind of has to be.” Potter looked up. “I need you two to reconcile.”

“What?”

“I’m trying to get Scorpius on a better path here. While I wasn’t thrilled about Albus, I at least figured it was good optics for people to see he was friends with your son. But now? Well, people are going to think you and Albus don’t get along because Scorpius is a bad influence. Not great.” Draco held out his hands as Potter gaped at him.

“Oh, well, now that I know it’s personally affecting you, Malfoy-”

“Thank you for the consideration,” Draco agreed. Potter rolled his eyes. “Look-”

Before Draco could continue, the train screeched to a stop. Were they somehow already there? Draco frowned at the pile of uneaten snacks from Helen and the untouched beer from Jack. No. They definitely would have eaten something if they had been on this train for four hours.

Potter tensed, hand twitching for his wand as Draco stood up, opening the compartment door to look around. Which compartment were the boys in? Why did he think to ask that? Normally, he’d definitely think to ask that.

“Dementors?” Potter asked cautiously, but there was no chill in the air. The lights remained on, and everything remained relatively normal. From behind him, Potter grabbed his arm. “Let me look-”

“I got it,” Draco said, shoving him off. “Calm down. You don’t need to be the hero all the time.”

“Hey!” someone shouted and at the rear end of the train, a conductor burst into their cart. “Is anyone traveling with two boys?”

…oh no. Draco raised a hand, moving to let Potter out as well. Years of hatred gave him the instinct to shove him, but for once, it was overwhelmed by the pure fear that came with the question.

“You two?” the conductor and then gestured them over. “Yeah, your boys may have jumped off the train.”

…what?

Draco’s heart dropped. Jumped off the train? Jumped off the train? As in when it had been moving?

“They-?” he began. “What the hell do you mean? How could they just jump off the train? What do you mean they jumped off the train!?” he said, voice rising. “What kind of train can you just jump off of? Why are you asking that so fucking calmly?”

The conductor raised his hands. “Sir, please calm down-”

“If my child is hurt, I swear I will find the owner of this goddamn station…” He turned to point at Potter. “Do you know who this man is?!” he shouted.

Potter leaned over. “He’s a muggle,” he whispered. “So no, not really.”

Solid point.

“Well, let us off!” Draco snapped, ignoring the confusion over the poor conductor’s face. “If you’re going to stand there being useless, at least get out of the way!” He stepped up, grabbing the conductor’s lapels.

“Whoa,” Potter said. He grabbed Draco’s arm. “Too rough-” Frustrated, Draco slammed the conductor back against the wall with a snap. It was hard enough that Potter might need to oblivate the man if the muggle police came. Not that he particularly cared right now. “Malfoy!” Potter hissed, but Draco had already turned to him, frustrated.

“Why aren’t you freaking out?” he asked, shoving his arm next. “Freak out!”

But Potter didn’t freak out. In fact, he looked a bit in awe that Draco was.

“Um,” he began. “Malfoy-”

“My God, Potter. Okay. I need you to understand something,” Draco turned, letting go of the conductor to put both hands on Potter’s shoulders. “Fighting giant snakes in the sewer when you're twelve? Not normal. Flying a car into a tree when you’re twelve? Not. Normal. Sneaking out into the Forbidden Forest to find a giant spider?”

“You know about that?”

“NOT NORMAL!” Draco shouted. “And you know what else isn’t normal and actually very dangerous? Our sons jumping off a fucking train! And if there is even a scratch on Scorpius I will-”

“Draco, they are right there,” Potter said impatiently, pointing at the other end of the train. Draco whipped around, not even noticing the usage of his given name, to instead see two pairs of bewildered eyes staring at him. Scorpius grimaced, giving a small wave.

…oh.

“Uh,” Albus chimed in helpfully. “I think you are looking for two different boys. We’re playing chess in here.”

So Draco may have overreacted.

Quickly, he stepped back into the compartment, face going red with heat. He had just completely lost his cool. Did grabbing that muggle conductor technically break that lifelong probation he was on? A second later, the door opened again. He expected Potter to come in and point out the irony of what just happened, but surprisingly (or maybe unsurprisingly), Scorpius stood there.

This probably wasn’t good.

Wordlessly, Scorpius took the seat Potter had been in across from Draco.

“I, um,” Draco finally shook his head. “Probably should have looked around first-”

“You know this isn’t healthy, right?”

Oh, why did he have to sound like the disappointed adult? Draco groaned. “Scorpius-”

“It’s not!” Scorpius argued. “You’ve been like this since Mom died. You freak out over every little thing that might have or could happen to me.” Wait. What? Draco didn’t do that. “You couldn’t even let me go on this trip alone.”

“I- no,” Draco argued. “I just didn’t want Potter to brainwash you.”

Scorpius pursed his lips. “Okay, then what about last month? When you suddenly hired a house elf out of the blue to take over my more dangerous chores?” he said, using air quotes. “Dad, I can feed peacocks without dying.” Draco ran a hand over his mouth, trying to remember his justification for that. Honestly, Draco had never done chores at his age (or at all). It just seemed silly and… well, maybe like an avoidable risk. “When I fell outside last week, you took me to St. Mungo’s.”

“It was a bad fall! There was a lot of blood.”

“You could have done the healing spell, no problem, but instead you called an army of healers and refused to leave the room. Or what about school? Professor Slughorn told me you actually wrote to some of the teachers to see if I was doing all right.”

Draco fell back into his seat. “Your mother had just died! I-”

“You could have asked me!”

“I did! But what if you were lying when you said you were alright?”

“Oh, like you were?” Scorpius cut in. Draco’s mouth snapped shut. “Dad, I love you, but this is not healthy,” he repeated. “You can’t just freak out whenever someone tells you I might have jumped off a train.”

“Hearing that is distressing, you know. I still think I was entirely-”

“You didn’t look around to see if I was there!” Draco looked away. Well, okay. Fair point, but still. “Why would I have even jumped off? I was exactly where I wanted to be. And throwing a muggle against a wall? You know, if you go to Azkaban then I get no parents, right?”

“I know,” Draco muttered. “I know. I… I’ve been anxious lately. About you and… you going out into the world and your mother and-”

“It’s okay,” Scorpius said. Draco grimaced. Was it? Now that Scorpius laid it all out there, he realized exactly how much he had been hyperfixating on his son’s life. At what point would it have continued snowballing until he became the sort of horrifying hovering parent that he and Pansy would make fun of? “Just… please no more shouting, okay?” Scorpius asked, lightly kicking his leg. “You’re hurting my street cred.”

At that, Draco snorted. “Can’t have that, can we?” he asked quietly. Scorpius gave a weak smile. “Okay. Well. Go back to Albus. Before he ends up hexing his own father,” he said. “I’m sure the train will start up once they find what lunatics actually did jump off the train.”

At least Draco had the comfort that he didn’t fuck up as badly as Potter did. In fact, Scorpius coming along to very rationally nip this in the bud was a testament to his and Astoria’s parenting. Kudos to him. Draco was still winning parenthood.

And yet… the guilt still sat with him as Scorpius left. He stared, picking absently at the skin of his lips. It was an old habit from childhood. He’d managed to outgrow it before school, but it came back after the war with a vengeance.

The door slid open again and this time Potter sat back down. Neither of them said a word. Several more minutes passed. Eventually, the train started up again, and a crackling announcement told them the situation had been resolved and the train jerked forward.

How did Draco not notice his hovering over Scorpius at all? Were there other things he didn’t notice? Were there other things he was blinded to that were causing more harm than good?

A crack from in front of him sounded. He looked over to find Potter holding out one of the beers Jack had packed.

“So you panicked, huh?” he asked.

Prick. Draco reached out, defeated as he accepted the bottle. “For the record, everything I said about you was correct.”

“How did you find out about the spiders?”

“I used to have a house elf follow you from time to time,” Draco shrugged. Potter paused in sipping his drink. “Not Dobby,” he added for clarification. “Just some of the school elves. They eavesdropped for me a lot.”

Potter pursed his lips. “Well, I would be offended, but I had Dobby follow you for a bit, so… maybe we’re even.”

Maybe so. They both drank in silence.

“How about a deal?” Potter said suddenly. Draco looked up from trying to peel the label off his beer. “You help me figure out a way to fix things with Albus. In return, you and I make some…” Potter grimaced as if the next words would pain him. “Public appearances together. Let the Daily Prophet think we’re also friendly. It may do some good for your image. Get Scorpius a few more friends.”

At that, Draco raised an eyebrow. Potter was famous for avoiding journalists. That didn’t stop anyone from reporting on him, obviously, but going out in the world to willingly be caught was a fascinating proposition.

“You still have to actually try with the muggle stuff,” Potter added quickly. “And if Albus still hates me after a few months, I’m doing an exclusive interview telling everyone how you almost got a hypogriff killed because you were a brat and didn’t listen to Hagrid in our third year.”

Oh, whatever. Draco couldn’t believe that oaf was still teaching at Hogwarts. Did he still teach hippogriffs? Should he try to get Scorpius out of that class before-?

No. Wait. He was doing it again.

Sighing, Draco held out his bottle. Wordlessly, Potter clinked it.

They drank in silence for a bit longer. This time, it almost felt amiable.

“What did that ex-girlfriend of yours say when you told her I was coming, by the way?” Draco asked suddenly. Potter tilted his head. “...you did tell her, right? Because I don’t think she would take too kindly to you bringing an ex-Death Eater to meet her muggle husband.”

Potter’s drink fell from his lips. “Shit,” he groaned.

Honestly. Draco shook his head and plucked up one of the snacks Helen packed. “I don’t know what she ever saw in you,” he said and leaned back to enjoy the rest of the ride.

Chapter Text

As far as trips against his will went, Draco would say the visit to Wales was one of his better ones. Cho Chang-Davis was an absolute delight, throwing a commendable fit that Potter honestly deserved when they arrived.

“YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN AN INSENSITIVE PRICK!” she screamed at him, throwing something at his head. An inkwell, perhaps? No, it didn't make a mess. Maybe a paperweight. “VOLDEMORT KILLED CEDRIC AND NOW YOU BRING A DEATH EATER TO MY HOME WITH MY MUGGLE HUSBAND?!”

“Ex-Death Eater!” Draco offered, raising a hand in greeting.

Cho’s mouth fell as if she couldn’t believe he had the absolute nerve to speak to her. He waited for some callous comment to be thrown his way, but she just slammed the door shut. A beat of silence followed before they heard Cho scream something unintelligible from inside.

"...I see why you two didn't work out," Albus told his father helpfully. Potter sighed, looking up at the sky with no acknowledgement.

Luckily, Draco had a backup place they could stay since Cho's home was clearly off the table.

“The Crabbe family have a house in the area,” he explained as they entered the grounds. What looked to be a normal lighthouse to a muggle eye quickly shifted into a towering home by the sea. Potter stared at it, lips pursed as he seemed to oscillate between accepting their fate or throwing a fit to rival his ex-girlfriend. “I highly doubt they’ve changed the security since I last visited.”

“...is that the Deathly Hallows on the door or the symbol of Grindelwald?” Potter asked flatly. A stupid question, and they both knew it. Still, it was an opening. Draco waited for Potter to jump on the opportunity, but he just kept scowling at the door.

Really?

“Albus, Scorpius, do you know who Grindelwald is?” Draco prompted.

Potter blinked. Idiot. “Oh,” he said, and then turned to start giving a semi-decent explanation of the history there. Even Albus seemed vaguely interested despite pretending not to listen when Draco bypassed the spells to get them inside.

“Let me guess, he was a Slytherin?” he mumbled.

“No. From Durmstrang,” Potter said, and Draco waited. “I can’t remember, but I feel like there were quite a few Slytherins who sided against him during that war,” he added, giving Draco a quick look for help.

Whatever. Just this once. So Draco gave some background on Leta Lestrange and a few other Slytherins from that particular era of history.

The discussion lasted all of ten minutes before the boys got distracted by the various items in the house, starting a scavenger hunt as they combed through the Crabbe house to ask about various memorabilia and its history. Potter, naturally, had a deep knowledge of most of it, mentioning various fights he had been in where he was confronted by several of the trinkets in the house.

“The guy who lives here is your friend, Mr. Malfoy?” Albus asked, looking a little surprised as he flipped through a book that held some rather… violent writings on muggles and muggleborns.

“Was,” Draco said, flicking his wand so the fireplace fluttered to life. “Before he died.” The fire crackled, and for a brief moment, Draco could see Vincent’s face in the flames, the Fiendfyre turning his face into a blistered red and then into nothing at all. “I was a Death Eater, remember?”

Scorpius bit his lip. Draco supposed this was strange for him, too. It was one thing for him to tell his son what kind of life he once lived. It was something else to see it in someone else’s home. “Did you have things like this?” he asked, looking at the tapestry of the Sacred Twenty-Eight on the wall. A tapestry that had indeed also lived in the Malfoy Manor prior to the war.

“We did,” Draco said, opening and closing his hands a few times near the fire. “I would even say my home was more embellished than this,” he added, glancing around. “The Crabbes weren’t nearly as well-established as the Malfoys.”

Albus and Scorpius frowned, looking at each other with confusion. It was Interesting... how little they seemed to know. It made sense, he supposed. This was a new generation -- one that hadn't seen the horrors of the war firsthand. It explained why Albus didn't understand his father's reaction to Scorpius as his friend. He wondered if these kids took Potter and Draco's snipes at one another as residue of childhood rivalry and not the dark enmity it was.

“Calling Crabbe your friend is a bit of a stretch, no?” Potter finally said, surprising him. Draco blinked. “I always considered him more of a lackey. You certainly treated him like one.”

Then again, when Potter made comments like that, it certainly made them seem like two boys who refused to outgrow their childish ways.

“Oh, as if you know how I treated him,” Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I did, actually,” Potter said, throwing himself into a plush green armchair. “Polyjuice Potion. Second Year. You didn’t even notice Ron and me replaced them.”

…wait, what?

Draco’s head jerked up, shock settling in as he caught the subtle smirk on Potter’s face. “What? No way you made a Polyjuice Potion your second- damnit. Granger,” he interrupted himself. The boys looked between them in confusion. “Why?”

“We thought you were the heir of Slytherin and needed proof.”

“So you presumably knocked out my friends and snuck into Slytherin’s Common Room to spy on me?”

Potter nodded. “Correct,” he offered. Albus gave Potter a curious look. “Honestly, the view of the lake was really cool,” he admitted, and Albus’s expression brightened a little.

“Right? I want to learn to talk to the mermaids,” he said, and Potter froze - almost as if he was about to panic at being given an olive branch.

This only lasted a moment before he jumped at the opportunity. “If you use gillyweed, you can go to the bottom of the lake and talk to them.”

Draco spun around from the fireplace, aghast. “Don’t tell them that! Merpeople aren’t always fond of wizards, you know!”

“Oh,” Potter said with a frown. “They seemed nice when I met them.”

“You met merpeople?” Scorpius asked, eyes widening. “When?”

“I did a task for the Twiwizard Tournament in the lake,” Potter said, and then wrinkled his nose. “On second thought, maybe don’t use gillyweed to go down there. It’s not that safe.”

“What a wonderful conclusion to draw after you told them how to get to the bottom of the lake.”

“Gillyweed only lasts for an hour anyway,” Potter told Scorpius and Albus, completely ignoring Draco. “And Grindylows always try to drown you.”

Draco did not like Potter trying to play the cool dad. He didn’t have a correct idea of how to measure safety, given that every action he took as a child was the equivalent of Russian Roulette.

“I… let’s just go to bed,” Draco said, ready to finally, finally end this semi-hilarious, semi-exhausting day.

Hopefully, the actual touristy part of their trip would be more uneventful.

And, to be fair, it did end up being somewhat interesting. Merlin’s home ended up being less of a castle and more of a giant window. The best way to describe it was that it was a… skeleton of a building. In fact, it was probably accurate to say the castle was almost entirely glass with a stone frame. The only real sense of privacy was made by the walls, which were stained glass, the dark blue and white pieces giving an illusion that you were walking into the sky.

“This is beautiful,” Scorpius said in awe. “Did Merlin build this himself?”

“His sister, actually,” Draco said. He half expected to instantly be melted when he walked inside, but spells must have protected the glass from getting too hot in the sun. Inside was the typical furniture you might expect to find from his time with wooden chairs and tables laid about. Naturally, Scorpius and Albus ignored this and made a beeline for the stairs, which, unsurprisingly, were also made of glass.

“My sister bit me when I touched her dollhouse once,” Albus mused, looking up at the clear glass ceiling to squint at the clouds above. “I can’t imagine her making me a house.”

Potter scoffed. “Coming from the boy who once bit his brother because he touched one of his books.”

Albus stopped on the stairs to look at his father very seriously. “That was for his own safety,” he said. “Who knows what might happen if he tries to think?”

“Ha,” Potter said dryly. “Be nice to James. Him and Lily are going to be the people you know longest in life.”

“That was me being nice,” Albus protested and went up a few more stairs before pausing. “...is it weird that your kids are James and Lily?” he asked. At Potter’s frown, he shrugged. “You know, because, like, they were named after people who used to kiss each other…”

“Ew, Albus,” Scorpius said as Draco turned away to hide his laughter.

Potter, on the other hand, looked like he was torn between tears and horror as Albus bounded up to the next level of the building. “Why is he such a menace?” he muttered. “Was Ginny like this growing up?” he whispered as if this attitude wasn’t certainly a genetic trait from him.

Draco tilted his head. “...is it weird, though?” he asked. Potter swore under his breath. “I’m just saying! The boy raises a good point. And not only did your parents kiss each other, but-”

“Stop talking to me.”

“I just think you should have gutchecked a couple of these names, is all!” Draco called as they exited the staircase to a balcony. It overlooked rolling hills with a lake off in the distance. A herd of sheep were nestled off to the left and horses in a fenced in pasture to the right. Near the edge, Scorpius and Albus were hovering by a plaque, both attempting to read loudly over the other.

“Merlin’s sister built this castle for him because he went mad during a war,” Scorpius summarized. “And she made it out of glass so he could see the stars and feel at home in nature.” He glanced out toward the trees below. “That’s nice. Would you make me a castle if I go mad?” he asked, leaning over the side of the building, eyes bright as he tilted his head to look up at Albus. Part of Draco wanted to pull him away from the ledge, but knew that would probably be seen as hurting his street cred or whatever it was he had complained about.

“What?” Albus asked, thankfully pulling Scorpius away himself. “Who drove you mad?”

“I don’t-”

“Fuck your castle. I need to avenge you,” Albus interrupted, and Scorpius burst into laughter. Potter paused, looking unsure if he wanted to call out the language. “I’ve seen where you live. You absolutely don’t need me to build you a damn thing.”

“What’s avenging me going to do?!”

“It’s about setting a precedent,” Albus informed him, straightening as if he was about to deliver a speech. “Yes, you’ve gone mad, but you aren’t dead. There’s a chance for recovery here. Seems to me the best thing I can do is make an example of whoever caused this to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Fine. Would you make me a casket if I died?”

“Why do you want me to build you something so bad?” Albus complained. “If I go mad, what are you going to build for me?” he asked, crossing his arms.

Scorpius pursed his lips, nose wrinkled in thought.

“A village,” he decided. “It’s going to be a neighborhood, but it’s all your favorite places in one area. So, like, my house next to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes next to a Quidditch pitch,” he said, hands moving to demonstrate where each place would be. “And then we can just hang out there every day until you're better-”

“You still have to take me to other places,” Albus argued as if any of this was actually on the table. “Like, I want a vacation to New Zealand or something.”

Scorpius pointed a finger at his nose. “Be grateful. You get a nice neighborhood, and I just have to sit around while you avenge me – you never even visit!”

“I do, too!”

“Like, once a month at most.”

“I’m sorry that ensuring your future safety is a priority to me, Scorpius. It’s not like I can bring you with me when you’re off your rocker!”

“...do you understand what’s happening?” Potter muttered. Draco didn’t, but he also wasn’t willing to admit it, so he just shrugged and let them keep arguing about circumstances that definitely weren’t anywhere near their reality.

The rest of the trip went, surprisingly, uneventful. The next stop was King Arthur’s court, which was another well-kept secret from muggles. Camelot was practically in ruins, but some old researchers had cast spells to show what it would have looked like at its height. Albus seemed particularly interested in the whole sword-in-the-stone thing.

“It had to be a permanent sticking charm, but it makes no sense how he got it out then,” he told Scorpius for the third time in a row. “King Arthur wasn’t even a wizard, was he? How did he do it? Was he really that strong?”

“It might have been like the Sorting Hat,” Potter suggested. “Where only a few types of people can pull the Sword of Gryffindor out of it.” Albus made a face. “Honestly, it might have been the same sword…”

“So King Arthur was a true Gryffindor somehow?” Albus asked, unenthused.

Draco expected Potter to panic at that, but he only looked around, expression thoughtful. “Maybe,” he shrugged. “Or maybe it’s just the same mechanics.”

Albus gave a slow nod at that, tapping his chin as Draco drifted, determined to find food. Originally, he thought Helen’s snacks were overkill. Now, it was clear they were not enough. He looked around, noting a few shops lining the entrance to the ruins. He walked over to an outdoor patio, digging in his pockets for his coin purse.

“Two coffees,” he said, rubbing his forehead. He was almost tempted for tea, but now seemed like a coffee sort of meal. “And whatever is most edible here.” The cashier gave him an irritable look, but took the money and handed over the coffee wordlessly.

“Food will be out in a moment,” she said, and pointed to a table. Draco glanced over his shoulder, where Albus and Scorpius were still debating the sword in the stone, and sat down. When Potter came over a few moments later, he held out the second coffee.

“Is this poisoned?” he asked. Draco shrugged. “Did you spit in it?” Draco shrugged again. “Honestly, worth the risk at this point,” Potter said and took a sip.

“I spiked it with truth serum,” he said casually. Potter froze. “Joking,” Draco amended. “This time, at least.”

“Funny,” Potter muttered and brightened when the food came over. “Thank you!”

“That’s not for you,” Draco argued, but Potter looked him dead in the eyes and plucked out a chip. “If you must put your unwashed hands on my food, I suppose I’ll consider that my donation to charity for the year-”

“Harry Potter?” someone interrupted. Potter froze, almost like he thought if he was still enough that the newcomer might not see him and disappear. A young woman walked over, eyes alight with curiosity and then recognition. “Mr. Potter! Hi!” she greeted, fixing her robes. “I haven’t seen you out of costume in a moment.”

Ah. Draco smirked into his coffee. This must be the infamous Kendra Pennifold. Also known as the Daily Prophet reporter specifically assigned to Potter. She had only recently graduated from Hogwarts, and it was clear that thinking was that Potter would have a much harder time telling someone who was practically a child to fuck off.

What was hilarious was that it seemed to work. Potter had apparently started taking Polyjuice Potion to avoid her at times.

“Kendra,” Potter replied, unenthused. “How are you?”

Kendra’s smile widened. Draco got the feeling that she knew exactly how much Potter hated this, but perhaps played innocent to keep up the doe-eyed act. “Oh, I’m lovely. Visiting my grandmother. Why are you here?” Her eyes drifted to Draco, a subtle brow raising.

Potter’s eyes darted to the food like he was considering trying to choke himself with it.

“Taking my son on a trip,” he said, and narrowed his eyes. “My son, who we agreed is underage, and should not be reported on-”

“I have no interest in your children, Mr. Potter,” Kendra assured him. “My colleagues might, but quite frankly, I am the one assigned to you, so unless another reporter takes my place, I wouldn’t worry.” She looked out into the distance, giving a long-suffering sigh. “Alas, it has been so long since our last interview… I wouldn’t be surprised if they replaced me soon…”

Oh, Kendra was fun. Draco turned to Potter, watching as he rubbed at his scar, like this barely-an-adult girl somehow reminded him of the Dark Lord. Draco wasn’t sure why he was making such a fuss. He did say he planned to let the Daily Prophet report on the two of them being seen together. This seemed as good an opportunity as any.

“Well, we’re both here now…” he mumbled.

“Oh, thank you!” Kendra said brightly, sitting down and whipping out a pad of paper. “That is really kind.” Draco wordlessly slid the food Potter had been after toward Kendra instead. If he remembered correctly (which he always did), this would be Daisy Pennifold’s descendant. The Pennifolds weren't quite a renowned family, but Daisy was the woman the Pennifold Quaffles were named after, and a Slytherin. His parents would be delighted to know he was socializing with more esteemed people again. “Mr. Malfoy, correct?” she added to him, as if she didn’t know exactly who he was.

“I am,” he told her with a coy smile. “Draco, not Lucius.”

Kendra wrote something down. “I wouldn’t be so quick to assume that your father is better known than you, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, which seemed… strange. Draco might have been well-known to their classmates, but it was his father who held the actual recognition. He was the one who went to Azakaban. Who housed the Dark Lord. Who did most of the relevant bidding. Draco's real claim to fame was getting Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Nothing else he had done was really notable to the Ministry. “So, what are you two doing here together? My understanding is that you notoriously dislike one another. Has that changed? Are you friends?”

Draco looked over at where Potter sat, eyes cautious and shoulders tense. Yeah. This man would say something stupid if he answered.

“Allies might be a better term,” Draco jumped in, turning back to Kendra. “Mr. Potter has expressed interest in better uniting the Hogwarts houses. He has rightfully pointed out that the most contention tends to be with Slytherins, so he’s trying to better understand the house. I, understandably, have quite a bit of knowledge in that realm.”

“Interesting,” Kendra said. “Why-?” she began, only to be cut off by Scorpius and Albus darting up to them, almost knocking over several chairs. Kendra jumped at their arrival, holding her notepad closer to her chest.

“Can we get food too?” Albus asked, looking at their table. “And Scorpius needs water.”

“I can tell them myself!” Scorpius shot back. He turned to Draco. “I need water.” Right. Wordlessly, Draco passed them his bag of coins, and both shot off again, not even noticing Kendra as they went to order their food.

Kendra looked over at them and then to Draco and Potter.

“...our sons are also friends,” Potter added awkwardly.

“I see that,” she mused as Albus laughed at something, shoving Scorpius to the side so he could try and get his order in first. “I forgot your son was in Slytherin-”

“Because you don’t report on him or James or Lily,” Potter reminded her.

“Rita Skeeter truly did a number on you, didn’t she?” Kendra mused. “Okay. So, house unity. Give me a reason as to why you care about this other than your children,” she said.

Potter paused. This seemed to be something he’d need to genuinely reflect on. As far as Draco knew, Albus really was the only reason he cared about Slytherins. In that way, maybe they were both self-serving.

“Because,” Potter finally said, voice slow. “The older I get, the more I see how innocent children were ushered into a side of the war they didn’t understand or choose simply because of where a hat placed them. I knew several Slytherins who sided against Voldemort. I think if we weren’t so quick to turn against one another, there would have been more.” He bit his lip as Kendra wrote. “We place far too much importance on houses. They are supposed to be fun. A family we are given at school. Not a mechanism to tell us who we are. Oftentimes, we think we have to be brave to do the right thing. And that’s true. But one day, I hope we can make doing the right thing a little easier for those who can’t always be brave.”

Huh. Someone media-trained him. Or maybe that was a genuine belief. Draco was impressed either way.

Kendra gave a wry smile as she tapped the point of her quill against her pad. “As a Slytherin myself… I must say that is something most needed, Mr. Potter,” she mused. “I hope to see it.” She stood up. “This should be an interesting article. I look forward to writing it.” Her eyes moved to Draco with an air of thoughtfulness. “I keep up with some of my younger classmates, you know,” she added to him. “Your wife was incredible.”

...um. What did that mean?

Draco wanted to ask, but Kendra had already turned away, leaving him to sit in the confusion. Astoria was incredible, no doubt, but not in a way for the rest of the world to see. The fact Kendra even knew of her name was strange. The only thing he could think of that would give her any sort of notoriety was her old journal, and Draco had gone to great lengths to make sure that it was buried with her. That would remain Astoria's and Astoria's alone.

He’d have to ask Scorpius later. Maybe something from Astoria’s school days had popped up, though Draco wasn’t sure what.

“-very considerate,” Albus’s voice came from a few tables away, catching his attention. The boys were splitting some nachos, arguing about something that probably only made sense to them.

At Albus’s accusation, Scorpius sniffed, taking a sip of his water. “Coming from someone who won’t even build me a castle,” he threw back. Albus threw his hands in the air.

“He’s really caught up on that, isn’t he?” Potter mused, also watching them.

Draco pursed his lips, debating whether he should give an answer to that. After a few seconds, he relented, seeing Potter wince when someone from afar snapped a photo. It wasn’t even Kendra. Just some passerby who caught sight of them.

“Astoria,” he said. Potter looked at him. “That was my wife. I built her things. Everything, really. Anything that would make her life easier. She was sick, and it made life harder quickly. But I tried to solve it all. Scorpius watched that and… I guess it stuck with him.”

“I’ve never heard you talk about your wife.”

“Shocking, I know. We’re just so close.”

Potter nodded slowly. “I am sorry,” he said. “Clearly, she made you a bit more bearable.” His voice softened. “Scorpius mentioned it was a blood-curse?” he asked. Draco nodded. “That must have been hard.”

“Well, I’m sure it was hard when your parents were murdered along with your godfather and several other people you loved,” Draco answered tersely.

Potter sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m just trying to show to sympathy-”

“Choke on it,” Draco advised, lifting his coffee cup. Another picture came from somewhere else, so he added a little smile.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” Potter said, also faking a smile. “Sorry.”

“Choke on that too.”

“God, if I didn’t love my son, I would not be putting up with this,” Potter muttered, and finished his coffee.

Chapter Text

“Happy Christmas! Tell Albus this one is from me.”

Ginevra blinked several times, mouth opening as she took in Draco and then to where a fuming Scorpius was being pushed through the door.

“Um,” she began. “It’s Christmas Eve-”

“Then go ahead and just put him under the tree or something,” Draco told her, patting Scorpius’s shoulder. “Four children in your house should be a breeze compared to the zoo you grew up in, right?”

“Dad,” Scorpius hissed through gritted teeth, but Draco had already turned away from the door. “You know, this wouldn’t be happening if you had just listened to me!” he shouted after him. Draco ignored it. “If you want to be with Mom so badly, just go ahead and die then! Be with her!” he screamed right as Draco apparated.

The echo of the crack in his voice followed him through the tight darkness as Draco hit the marbled floors of the manor. He stumbled down, breathing deeply a few times before squeezing his eyes shut. Half of him expected Potter or a member of his obnoxious family to appear and demand some explanation, but luckily, he was allowed to just… rest on the coolness of the marble.

Eventually, he stood up, walking with wobbly legs to the liquor cabinet. He stepped around some broken glass, remnants of his previous argument with Scorpius. In an effort to be the calm and collected one, he had just… shut down. Said nothing at his son’s reveal. The admission of betrayal that Draco hadn’t found within himself to say out loud. Eventually, Scorpius just started breaking things to try and get a reaction.

Draco knew it was silly to pin this situation on his 13-year-old. But it had just come out of nowhere. They were talking about Scorpius just… he just… he just said it. And Draco had expected Scorpius to turn against him at some point. To disown Draco because of his past or his inability to be better. He expected something, but not this. Never this.

His father always said the right way to drink was in small, polite amounts. But that was in social situations, and Draco was alone. Amber liquid practically overflowed as he gulped down the first cup. Then another. And another. Four - or maybe five - more and he was stumbling through the manor, trying to find a ghost to talk to.

But there was none. And of the dead, there was really only one person Draco would want to see anyway.

Collapsing into a chair, he sloshed some more of his drink in his mouth, the liquid spilling down the front of his shirt.

And suddenly, he was eighteen again.

After the war, a certain caliber of criminals were given a choice: remediation or Azkaban. Surprisingly, this was an option available to Draco after Potter gave some wishy-washy testimony about Draco protecting him from discovery.

So there he stood in the doorway, peering inside a Hogwarts classroom during the summer to find all the seats filled with the lower-ranking Death Eaters and their families. Swallowing, Draco walked inside, ignoring eyes all flicking to him. A few people made room for him to sit down, but Draco’s eyes moved to the back of the room, where a girl was scribbling fiercely in a notebook.

Taking a final look around, he walked over, trying to see the girl’s face. Like most of the room, she was dressed in Slytherin green. Unlike most of the room, she paired it with gold. Her bracelets, her necklace, the dabs of paint on her eyes - all golden and glittery.

Leaning over, he tried to see what she was writing so hastily, only for her notebook to slam shut and indignant eyes to stare back at him.

“It’s rude to spy,” she told him flatly, and Draco realized this was the same girl from the Ministry of Magic. The one who spoke to him while waiting for their respective trials.

“You’re Daphne Greengrass’s sister,” he said, a glimmer of recognition coming into his head. “Ara, right?”

“Astoria,” she corrected, narrowing her eyes. “You’re Draco Malfoy.” He nodded. Wordlessly, she slid her notebook further from him. Both sat in silence, watching as more filled the room. “Have you heard who is teaching this muggle class?” she finally asked. Draco shook his head. “Arthur Weasley.”

“...you’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” Astoria mumbled. “Apparently, they don’t like muggles all that much if that is the most qualified teacher.”

“Well,” Draco murmured, thinking of Professor Burbage in the jaws of that snake. “We did kill quite a few others.”

A flicker of surprise touched Astoria’s eyes at that, regarding Draco with curiosity. “Did you…” she began slowly. “You didn’t…? I mean, not with your own wand, right?” she asked. Draco glanced at her before shaking his head. “I guess sometimes it doesn’t matter who holds the wand…” she murmured.

“But that will all be solved, right? Once we hear from Arthur Weasley, our sins are washed away.”

Astoria snorted. “Can’t wait to be able to sleep at night once I’m told by the Ministry of Magic themselves that muggles are nice.”

“Do you think they’ll let us ask any real questions?” Draco mused. “Like, what’s the actual reason muggles can’t know about us? Does it have anything to do with them burning us back when we did let our societies interact?”

“Probably not,” Astoria mused. Her fingers ran over the cover of her notebook. “Then again, I could never ask those sorts of questions at home either,” she mused wistfully. Draco nodded. He couldn’t really either. It was hard to get to the root of things when everyone refused to talk about anything other than what they wanted to believe.

“Is that what’s in your book?” Draco asked, nodding to her desk. “Questions?”

Astoria looked down at her notebook, lips pursed. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret?” Draco repeated, trying to find something else to say other than ‘that’s dumb’.

Perhaps Astoria read his mind because she flushed, holding the book closer. “I… I might have panicked when the Ministry came,” she admitted. Draco frowned. “I knew they would go through everything and look through my head. And I know it’s silly, but… I didn’t like it. I didn’t like that they would just… know everything about me. That nothing would be mine anymore. Nothing belonged to just me.” She wrinkled her nose. “So, I… grabbed this notebook and I put in three things about myself. Three things that nobody would ever really care about, and then I hid the book.”

“What did that do?” Draco asked skeptically.

Astoria’s lips twitched. “Well, then I obliviated myself.”

“What?”

“I made myself forget those three things about me and where the book was.”

“Holy shit,” Draco said, genuinely impressed. “That could have gone so, so wrong. You know that, right? Obliviating certain memories is hard enough, but on yourself? And it worked?” he asked, dumbfounded.

Astoria laughed, clearly delighted by his reaction. “It did. I stumbled upon it months later. I left a note explaining what I had done,” she mused. “And it felt nice. That I still had those three things. So I just… kept putting more in there. Nothing life-changing or anything. Just things that I want to be mine and mine alone. That nobody else can know without me letting them.” Her eyes flicked to Draco, and instantly she flushed. “I know that’s really stupid-”

“That is the least stupid thing I have ever heard,” Draco told her. “And certainly the least stupid thing I am about to hear,” he added dryly as Arthur Weasley entered, dropping a few of his books and almost hitting his head on the chalkboard.

A slow smile spread over Astoria’s face. “Well,” she mused. “It doesn’t actually matter much. Daphne chose Azkaban, and she’ll be out soon enough. She always goes through my things. I suspect this will be no different, no matter how well I hide it.”

A note of wistfulness filled her voice, and Draco felt something in his chest twist unexpectedly.

“I’ll take it,” he said without thinking. Astoria blinked. “You can keep it at my house and I’ll make sure nobody touches it.” He paused. “I won’t touch it,” he added.

It was a ridiculous offer. Clearly, this was something very important to her, and they didn’t even know each other. What was he even doing?

But, to his surprise, Astoria held the notebook out. Draco blinked at it. “Do you swear?” she asked. Draco’s fingers reached out, hovering over the cover. “You won’t read it? And you won’t let anyone else read it?” she asked.

“I swear,” Draco said, and surprisingly… meant it. He would guard this journal filled with probably nothing interesting with his life. “Though I understand if you don’t trust me. Nobody really does.”

A beat of silence followed. Then another. And another. Slowly, Astoria set the book in his palm.

“I’ll be the first then,” she said and pointed a finger at him. “But don’t make a fool out of me, Draco Malfoy. If I find out anyone has opened this book, I swear I will never speak to you again.”

It felt like such a juvenile threat… and yet the mere thought of it already set a tremor down Draco’s spine.

“Not even in death will I let anyone touch it,” he promised.

Except that wasn’t true, was it? Draco had failed. He failed. It almost hurt worse than the pounding headache that was only matched by the pounding on his door.

“MALFOY!” someone shouted, and the door burst open. “MAL- found him, Harry,” Weasley’s voice came. “Christ, he looks like shit.”

Draco groaned. Please. No. Just let him suffer in peace. He curled into a ball, hiding his face with his sleeve as someone opened the curtains in the room, letting light pour in.

“Happy Christmas, git,” Weasley greeted. “Get up. Your son is sad.”

Draco mumbled swears under his breath, burying his face further into his arms.

“No,” he said. “Sleep.”

“How much did you drink?” Potter’s voice asked. “Jesus, Draco. What happened?”

“Alcoholism,” Weasley said knowledgeably. “It happens to both the innocent and gits alike.”

“Shut up, you buffoon,” Draco hissed. Someone touched his arm, and he tried to swat them away.

“Come on. You need to see your son. It’s Christmas.”

“Fuck off,” Draco spat at them. “No.” He reached out, trying to find the bottle of scotch he had been drinking last night. When his hand finally found the bottle, it was snatched away. “I don’t want to see Scorpius!” he finally snapped, sitting up. His eyes burned at the light, head spinning, but it didn’t dim the anger. “He stole the journal. I don’t want to see him.”

Silence.

“...he what?”

“My God, Malfoy has a diary.”

Draco buried his face in his hands. “No. No, no, no,” he chanted. “Astoria’s journal. I buried it with her. I did, but Scorpius told me he switched it out before the casket closed. He took it to school. He read it. They all read it. Why would he share that with them? How could he?”

“With… who?”

“Students!” Draco shouted, making both Potter and Weasley’s slightly blurry forms jump. “He just… let anyone read it. Apparently, she must have written something interesting enough that everyone wanted their sickeningly filthy hands on it!” Draco took a forced breath. “The first promise I’ve ever actually kept… broken. Gone. Like her. I told her when she was dying that nobody would read it, and then her own son-” He lay on his side, curling up again to stare at the wall.

“I’m confused,” Weasley finally said. “What was in there that you’re so concerned about getting out?”

Ugh. They didn’t understand. How could they understand? Idiots.

“I don’t know,” Draco mumbled. “I’ve never read it.”

More silence.

“Well, that cleared up fuck all,” Weasley announced. “Can we not just pour some water on him or something? Or tell Scorpius he, like…got kidnapped?” Someone nudged him. “Malfoy, look. I don’t know what’s going on, but your kid is a mess.”

“If I see him, I’ll say something horrible, and I don’t want to do that,” Draco whispered.

“How out of character of you,” Weasley said. A smack sounded throughout the room. “Ow, sorry,” he grumbled. “Well, what do we do? He’s being annoying!”

“It’s in your best interest to come with us at will,” Potter’s voice advised him. “Albus wants to challenge you to a duel, but since he can't use magic outside of school, he’s now walking around with a kitchen knife.”

….why was Potter’s kid a sociopath? Though, to be honest, it wasn’t all that different from Potter himself prancing around to fight the Dark Lord in between classes. That also told Draco that not only would Albus probably be successful in his attempts to stab him, but Potter would not do anything to stop it. And this man was supposedly an auror?

Bitterly, he sat up.

“Atta boy,” Weasley said, ignoring the withering look Draco gave him. “There he is with his pointy little git face. Let’s go.” He went to grab Draco’s arm, but was blocked by an indignant Potter.

“No,” he protested, slapping Weasley’s hands down. “We cannot bring him back like this!” He turned to Draco. “Go shower and get on some clean robes.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Scarhead,” he snapped. It had been well over a decade since he used that particular insult, but he was pleased to see it still elicited the same eyeroll Potter would give him as children. “If I showed up like this, I’d still be better dressed than the lot of you.”

Potter and Weasley exchanged looks, but let Draco march out of the room, throwing himself into the shower. He could have used a cleaning charm, but he was more inclined to drag his feet. Besides, the water would do something for his pounding head.

It wasn’t Scorpius’s fault.

It wasn’t.

Except Scorpius knew very well what that journal was. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand the importance of it to Astoria. It wasn’t like he didn’t know her dying wish was for those unknown pieces of her to remain unspoken - because she wholly believed if you couldn’t tell someone something in life, you shouldn’t leave them with it in death.

And yes, it was really not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. Not enough for Draco to react this strongly. Except… It was that big of a deal to him. And he just didn’t understand why his son, who was the most sensitive boy he had ever met, could not see that.

There had to be an explanation.

But Scorpius certainly hadn’t given him a compelling one last night. Just, ‘hey, I did this’ and ‘you should already know why’.

He should already know why? What did that even mean?

Taking a deep breath, Draco finished getting ready with a bit of headache-away potion and a prayer to whatever was left for people like him to pray to. When he walked out, Weasley and Potter were, tragically, still there.

Neither noticed Draco, both looking up at a family portrait in one of the living rooms. It was the only one in the house now. His parents had been horribly offended by him taking down their portraits, but he really couldn’t stand the seriousness of the faces in their old paintings now. The one with Astoria was more… light.

Initially, the painting was supposed to just be him and Astoria since Scorpius probably wouldn’t have been interested in staying in one place for long. That ended up being true because he instead decided to stand up and take his first steps toward them. The painting now held the shock in Draco and Astoria’s faces as Scorpius waddled into the frame, leaving them to scoop him up with excitement.

“I always thought it would be Parkinson,” Weasley mused. “Did we even know her?”

Potter shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “But Malfoy sure gets worked up over her.”

“I’m imagining Scorpius gets his bearable personality from her.”

“Probably,” Potter admitted. Draco cleared his throat. Both turned, neither having the decency to look ashamed. “Ready?” he asked instead. Draco rubbed his temple, shrugging. Whatever. It was just one day he’d need to survive. With how many people were in that house, he probably wouldn’t even speak to Scorpius.

What Draco had sadly forgotten was that Christmas was apparently a larger affair than he initially thought. They didn’t arrive back at the Potter House, but instead at that God forsaken Burrow. A flood of people were already there. Fleur Dela-whatever with her husband, and that blue-haired boy Lupin and Nymphadora made was filling his plate with food. Molly Weasley and Helen Granger were swapping stories while Percy Weasley screeched something or another at one of the many children about.

There were so many people, in fact, that the celebration was outside. In the snow. Sure, their little area was filled with various warming spells and plenty of furniture around fires, but why?

What was even worse was the ungodly amount of red that everything was doused in. Everything from the tents that everyone was nestled under to the plush seating looked like something stolen directly from Gryffindor Tower. The only color that came close to challenging it was the golden bits and bobs that floated around.

“...I’m going home,” Draco decided. He turned, but Weasley grabbed his shoulder, spinning him back around.

“Nope. You brought this on yourself,” he said joyously. “If you wanted a Christmas alone, you shouldn’t have left your kid with Harry and Ginny.”

“Let me go, you little-”

“Mr. Malfoy!” Lily Potter bounded over, looking exceptionally pleased to see him. Why? Draco had no idea, but she seemed unbothered by any of the tension that surrounded her. “I was sorted into Gryffindor this year,” she said, showing him a red scarf. “Which is fine, but I really wanted to be in Hufflepuff.”

….okay? He looked over at Potter and Weasley, but they didn’t seem to know why Lily had greeted him either.

“Congratulations,” he finally said. “Your family must be pleased.”

“Yes, but I wanted to be in Hufflepuff,” she reiterated. Draco wasn’t sure how he could help her with that. Did she think he was a Hufflepuff? Surely not. What was happening? “Can I come live with you? Albus says your house is pretty.”

Draco spluttered. “What?”

“No,” Potter said, and turned his daughter away. “Go find your mother.”

“Can you ask Professor McGonagall to resort me like you did Albus?” Lily asked as she was led away. Potter winced a little as he tried to usher her off, leaving Weasley to shake his head after them. “I promise not to get mad like he did!” she continued.

“What if you stupefied me?” Draco asked, glancing at Weasley. “I think we’d both enjoy that, wouldn’t we?” he tried, only for the one-eared one to come trotting up. Right. He could not mess up his name. The twin died, so people would be upset if he got this wrong.

“Look who turned up!” the alive twin greeted. Draco would just have to avoid using his name. Easy enough. He had an arsenal of nicknames from their schooldays that he could use. “Our favorite fascist!”

…ah. Helen must be a frequent visitor around these parts.

“Hello, Weasley,” Draco muttered. “I-” he began and then cut himself when he caught sight of Albus Potter standing at the other end of the yard. Staring. Like some sort of serial killer. Watching. Eyes refusing to leave Draco. “Um,” Draco began slowly. “Is he… okay?”

Both Weasleys turned to follow Draco’s gaze to where Albus was standing, defiantly wearing green in all of the red. Draco wondered if his relatives even realized how Gryffindor this event was or if everything they owned was just red by default.

“Oh,” Weasley - Potter’s Weasley - said. “Yeah, like Harry said. He wants to fight you for upsetting Scorpius.” He clapped Draco’s shoulder, which was just unnecessary. “We took the knife from him, though.”

“He has a rock now,” Draco observed, eyes falling to the boy’s grip on a stone the size of a small chicken.

Alive Twin clicked his tongue. “Yeah…I love the kid, but I have to say, he really freaks me out sometimes.”

“We can’t say that,” Weasley scolded his brother. “He’s going to assume it’s the Slytherin thing.”

“Does he normally do that?” Draco asked, a little disturbed. “He’s been very well-tempered with me in the past.”

“Oh, well, he’s really sweet when he likes you,” Weasley shrugged. “But he doesn’t like you anymore. So… You get this.” Lifting a hand to the air, Weasley smiled. “Hi, Albus!” he called. “Alright over there?” Albus’s eyes finally left Draco to look at his uncle. Giving a slow nod, he turned back to where a blue-haired boy was watching the interaction with amusement. “Yeah. He’s fine,” Weasley said. “I’m going to go find my wife. Have fun,” he added to Draco.

What the fuck was this family? He turned back to ask Alive Twin, but his questions were put on hold by James Potter appearing, practically jumping onto his uncle in greeting.

“My brother is being miserable and moody!” he said. At fifteen, James was almost the same height as most of the adults in his life, though the rest of him hadn’t quite grown into it. “He usually is, but I draw the line at Christmas. Uncle George?” Right! George! Excellent. “I believe this party needs some intervention.” James tapped his temple before turning to Draco. “You should join in our efforts,” he added.

“Me?” Draco asked, absolutely certain he’d rather do anything else. “Why-?”

“Albus is moody because you made Scorpius sad,” James interrupted. “And it’s probably better for your overall safety if you’re involved in our scheme to cheer him up.”

Draco wanted to object, but when he looked up, it was to find Albus Potter still watching him. Christ. Whatever. He’d see whatever this stupid prank was. Giving James a long-suffering sigh, he waited for someone to offer up an explanation on what they wanted to do.

And honestly? It wasn’t as stupid as he feared. In fact, Draco actually found the whole thing semi-amusing. Secretly, he had always thought the Weasley twins had a knack for their ridiculous humor, but he hadn’t expected it to be inherited by a Potter of all people.

“Ooh,” James said when Draco handed him his contribution to what might be the only true source of entertainment at this gathering. Well, aside from Arthur Weasley attempting to put bright red muggle Christmas lights on the towering monstrosity that was their house.

Honestly, Draco wasn’t quite sure why Molly and Arthur still lived here. Their children were all grown. Semi-successful even. They really had no excuse not to upgrade their home into something that didn’t look like it could collapse at any given moment.

“Nothing groundbreaking, Malfoy, but acceptable,” George said, looking down at the parchment that Draco had handed over. “I will say I had hoped for a bit more from you. Ron still complains about when you tricked him and Harry into a fake duel your first year at Hogwarts.”

Draco snorted. In retrospect, it was perfectly reasonable for Potter to have fallen for that, but Weasley should have really known better.

“A fake duel?” Scorpius’s voice asked. Draco paused, turning to see his son a few feet away with a plate full of food. Thankfully, they hadn’t forced his poor son in red, too. He was wearing a purple Christmas jumper with a giant S. Probably the work of one Molly Weasley. Scorpius gave Draco a cautious look before sitting down. “How can a duel be fake?”

James and George looked at Draco warily. They might have the details, but both definitely knew he and Scorpius were on shaky terms at the moment. And Draco knew he couldn’t just ignore his son. That was ridiculous. But he also wasn’t sure what to say to him right now. Everything felt oddly raw in a way he wasn’t equipped to handle.

“I told them to meet me after curfew and then didn’t show up,” he explained.

“Oh,” Scorpius said. An awkward silence followed. “Um,” he looked over at James and George. “Could we…?” He gestured vaguely. James and George looked at one another before both standing, outright abandoning Draco after saying they’d protect him from Albus.

….where even was that kid? Draco half expected him to rise from the floor and stab him.

“We’ll get to work on this!” James said, holding up the piece of parchment Draco had handed over. “Good luck!”

Honestly, what did he expect?

Scorpius bit his lip, picking at his food. Wordlessly, Draco handed him the wrapped gift he had gotten him for Christmas. Scorpius didn’t seem surprised as he took it, undoing the ribbon and paper in a few quick movements. Inside was a silver-green bag that Scorpius brightened immediately upon seeing.

“Mokeskin?” he asked, running his fingers over the stitches. Draco smiled weakly. Mokeskin bags were infamous for only allowing their owners to retrieve whatever was inside. Not that he thought anybody was going around stealing from his son, but Draco just believed it was something everyone should own. Ironically, if Astoria had owned such a bag, then perhaps she and Draco would have never needed their first promise. Maybe that’s why she never bought one after they got married. “Thanks, Dad,” Scorpius murmured.

Draco smiled again. He still didn’t know what to say. He knew what he wanted to say, but he was also aware that anything that left his mouth could not be taken back.

Scorpius waited. Draco waited. He thought Scorpius might launch into some explanation, but he seemed to be waiting for Draco to do something. After a couple of minutes, Scorpius’s shoulders fell.

“I should… find Albus,” he mumbled and handed him the remaining plate of his food. “Make sure you eat something.”

As if this wasn’t painful enough, now his son was trying to act like the parent? Draco wanted to be offended, but before he could process that, Scorpius’s seat had already been replaced with the Chosen One himself.

“That was hard to watch.”

“Great. I always love hearing the opinions of people who I don’t care about,” Draco muttered, putting the plate Scorpius had given him on the coffee table in front of him. And because Draco’s luck was poisoned, Helen appeared as if summoned… or maybe she was just attuned to Draco making an ass of himself. Who knew? “Were both of you listening?” he groused.

“Not on purpose-” Potter began.

“-yes,” Helen interrupted. Well. At least one of them was honest. “Have either of you spoken to a therapist about whatever this tiff is about?” she asked, sounding concerned.

Draco stared. What in the name of God was she on about? Perhaps the utter confusion showed in his face because Helen gave a long-suffering sigh.

“I should have known,” she mused. “Do fascists not support therapy?”

Draco looked at Potter, genuinely hoping he could translate what was going on.

“Um,” Potter began, brows furrowing as if just piecing something together. “Wizards don’t really have therapy, Helen.” He paused. “Huh. I actually never really thought about that before.”

“At all?” Helen asked, frowning. “You never spoke to someone about your parents when brought into the wizarding world?”

Potter shrugged. “Not really,” he said. “Hagrid came along, gave my cousin a tail, told me I was a wizard, and informed me my parents were murdered. It seemed pretty par for the course at the time, honestly.”

“My God. Darling, how did you find out you were famous?”

“People stared at me. I asked why. I got a pretty ominous answer from Hagrid again.”

Helen pressed a hand over her mouth. “And… the war? You just carried on?”

Potter grimaced. “Uh, pretty much. Yeah.”

“This explains so much,” Helen whispered. “I mean. If that Minister of yours had worked through his trauma, maybe he wouldn’t have accused a 15-year-old of lying about Voldemort returning to cling to his delusional denial.”

“Maybe so,” Potter agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “You know what? Like, yes, Voldemort was incapable of love, but now I’m kind of wondering if he needed someone to talk to about his childhood-”

“What’s therapy?” Draco interjected, trying to wrap his mind around whatever this muggle word was. Did he need to know this word? Was it important to muggles? He should probably write this down or something…

Alas, he got no answer. Helen instead turned to look over her shoulder. “JACK!” she shouted. “THE WIZARDS DON’T HAVE THERAPY!”

From the crowd of people, there was a gasp. “BLIMEY - NO WONDER THERE ARE SO MANY FASCISTS!”

“I’m sorry, does therapy somehow prevent dark magic?” Draco jumped, and Helen pinched the bridge of her nose. “Is this like… your job? With the teeth somehow?”

“No. I am a dentist.”

“Right,” Draco said, still not really sure what the deal was with that particular job. “And a therapist…?”

“Well, you talk about your feelings,” Helen explained. Uh-huh. Draco looked at Potter for confirmation. “And you work through how your mind works and better understand the decisions you make and how you can make better ones for yourself and others.”

“...so,” Draco began slowly. “Like, a parent?”

“No. Someone you don’t know, typically.”

“Why would I want to talk about my feelings to someone I don’t know?”

“For the love of- who is running this place?” Helen asked, standing up. “With these foolish wizarding rules and no therapy?”

Potter raised his eyebrows. “Your daughter?”

Draco didn’t often fear for Hermione Granger. And maybe he shouldn’t right now, but part of him strongly believed that if you were tortured by his Aunt Bellatrix, then you shouldn’t have to deal with an angry Helen on principle alone.

In fact, Potter throwing her under the bus was kind of a low blow.

“HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER! WHERE ARE YOU?! YOUR CONSTITUENTS NEED THERAPY-”

Draco didn’t know what to do with that. For later then. He ran a hand over his face, only to look over and see Scorpius warily looking back at him. When their eyes met, he quickly turned away. From beside him, Albus noticed the movement and turned to give Draco a withering glare.

Potter watched with a grimace. “You really do need to fix things with Scorpius,” he mused.

Draco threw up his hands. “I don’t know what he expects me to do.”

“Well, according to him, you completely shut off during your argument last night-”

“Why is he sharing that with you?”

“Because he just wants someone to engage with, Draco. He isn’t going to apologize to someone who he feels like isn’t listening.”

Draco ran his hands through his hair. Fine. Sure. Whatever. Putting his elbows on his knees, he pressed his fingers against his mouth, trying to keep calm. Potter watched him with pity. Which, since when was he the parenting expert? He and Albus were barely reconciled after the attempted resorting situation.

“If I tell you something, will you try not to hex me?” Potter finally asked. Draco looked over at him and shrugged. “I understand why you’re upset,” he began and then paused. “But I understand Scorpius more.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”

“Look, as someone who lost his own mother-”

“Oh? Is your mother dead, Potter? Never knew that about you. Nobody ever brings that up,” Draco said, and when Potter’s eyes narrowed, sighed. “Go ahead.”

“I know it isn’t the same. Honestly, the fact that Scorpius did know Astoria makes it harder. And obviously, this journal thing was special to you and her. I get it. I’m sure Scorpius knew that, and quite frankly, he kind of just fucked up. That happens sometimes. And honestly? I think most kids would have done the same thing. That journal is a piece of his mother that he would never get to see otherwise. He won’t ever get another conversation with her. Is it a crime that he wanted her words for comfort?”

“Astoria didn’t want-”

“He’s thirteen, Draco,” Potter interrupted gently. “And he misses his mom. If Astoria were here, do you think she would honestly hold it against him?”

The words died in Draco’s throat. No. No, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t hold it against Draco either. It would have been an exasperated conversation about not touching her things, and then she would have started a brand new one.

But that was when she could start a new one.

“Why the other kids?” Draco murmured, thinking of Kendra’s comment back in Wales. God, the whole school probably had read some of those passages by now. Maybe Draco could get past Scorpius reading them, but why - how - could he share them?

Potter grimaced. “If everyone went around calling your parents evil, and you had definitive proof that one of them was not… what would you do?” he asked. Right. Draco leaned back in the chair. “It wasn’t the best decision, but it was understandable. For a thirteen-year-old,” he repeated pointedly at the end.

Right… right.

He ran his hand over his mouth again. “You don’t need to call me Draco,” he finally said. “It’s not like we’re friends.”

Potter shrugged. “Now that we have families, it’s just easier to use first names, don’t you think?” he asked. Draco very much doubted that, but knew it was yet another olive branch being extended to him.

“I’m going to go find my son,” he relented, standing up. He made it about two steps before squeezing his eyes shut, knowing what else needed to be said. He just wasn’t sure he had the strength. Turning back around, he glared at Potter as if it might lessen the next words. “Thank you,” he muttered. Then paused. “....was that therapy?” he asked suspiciously.

Potter barked a laugh. “No, but it might be the closest you and I ever get to it.” Huh. Potter gave him an infuriatingly smug grin. Whatever. He hoped Albus went back to hating him.

Eventually, Draco found Scorpius by the punch bowl, talking to Nyphadora’s kid. At his approach, the boy gave him a long look. Belatedly, it occurred to him that the three of them were technically family. Nymphadora had been his cousin, after all. That made Scorpius and him… what? Second-cousins?

“Hi,” the boy greeted, holding out his hands. “I’m Teddy. Harry’s godson.”

Draco accepted the handshake, inwardly correcting himself for calling him a boy. Teddy was probably twenty at this point. Technically, an established adult. Sort of. Draco hadn’t felt like much of an adult at that point, but nevertheless.

“My condolences,” Draco told him.

Teddy’s lips twitched. “Ah, don’t pity me too much. As far as godfathers go, I did get the best of the best.” Draco wanted to doubt that based on the mess of Potter’s parenting, but then again, he supposed Potter did have a godfather of his own to look up to for inspiration. Besides, Draco probably shouldn’t be internally criticizing when the state of his own father-son relationship was in disarray. “You know, my grandmother would probably love to have you both over,” Teddy continued.

…right. Aunt Andromeda. God, his mother would kill him if he accepted.

“We should set something up,” Draco said. He should have thought of that sooner, honestly. If Draco was truly trying to understand muggles, there was no better example to follow than Andromeda. She might be someone to help him see things differently.

Astoria actually might have liked her. The thought made his heart sink. Andromeda hadn’t even passed his mind as someone for his wife to meet, with her being so far removed from his life.

“I can make that happen,” Teddy said, throwing a quick wink at Scorpius. “See you around, Scorp.”

…Scorp? Ew. That happened fast.

Watching Teddy walk away, Draco turned back, silently raising his eyebrows.

Scorpius grimaced. “I don’t know what it is about Gryffindors, but they really want to call me that,” he mused.

“Based on the yellow and who his mother was, I’m guessing he was a Hufflepuff.”

“Then I have no answers for you,” Scorpius mused. At Draco’s snort, he looked at the ground. “I’m… really sorry, Dad.”

“It’s-”

“It isn’t fine,” Scorpius cut in quickly. Draco blinked. “I know that. I really messed up, and I’m sorry. I know how much that journal meant to mom.” He paused, and Draco waited, unsure what to fill in the space with. “It just made me angry,” Scorpius finally said, voice quiet. “Because I always thought she would give it to me.” His eyes fell to his feet again. “You know, as something to have of her. She always said it was her favorite thing, so I thought… I thought maybe she might want me to have it.”

Inwardly, Draco winced. Part of him briefly considered lying. Saying that she did leave it to him, but it was meant to be for his sixteenth birthday or something. Anything to ease the wound that was there, but even if he did lie, Draco was certain Scorpius would see through it. For as much as Astoria loved her family, she had put strong guardrails on who she was and wanted to be. These small things - from wearing gold to not letting anyone read her journal - mattered to her.

“Why did you show the other kids?” Draco couldn’t help but ask. Potter had given his version of things, but Draco needed the words directly from his son’s mouth.

Scorpius winced, absently taking the ladle of the punch bowl and spinning it. “Sometimes people say… things about you,” he went with. “And they aren’t always wrong. I know you weren’t the nicest and made bad choices when you were young. I know you still sometimes aren’t the most…” He looked Draco up and down. “Respectful.” …okay. Wow. “But the way Mom would write about you,” Scorpius shrugged. “About how you tried to be better and focused on making a better life for me. I wanted them to see that.”

“She wrote about me?”

Scorpius smiled a little. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, she wrote about you a lot.” He shifted. “I didn’t let them see everything either. I made some pages invisible. Nobody knows what her favorite dessert was, I promise.”

At that, Draco laughed. Well, there was something.

“JAMES SIRIUS POTTER!”

And look at that. The show was beginning.

Draco turned just in time to see James drop what appeared to be a firecracker into the center of the group. Few people screamed, dodging the bursting light as it crackled and popped loudly while Ginevra lunged after her fifteen-year-old. The damage was already done, though. As the light bounced around, every piece of red melted away, leaving a familiar emerald green in its place. First, the stupid streamers, then the tent, the tablecloth, the plates, the ribbons, the wrapped gift, the ornaments on the tree – all green.

“What an excellent change of decor,” Draco called, lifting up a cup as the fireball chased a screaming Lily around, determined to get her red scarf next. Potter spluttered in indignant offense as George gave Draco an approving nod, putting his finger against his thumb together in approval. James had been the one to suggest some redecorating, but the green? All Draco.

“You arranged this?!” Potter asked right as Albus’s head appeared from nowhere.

“That’s brilliant,” he said, and Draco did a double-take at the floating head beside him. “How did you-?” Albus began and then caught sight of his brother smirking by the table, opening a hand up so the firecracker shot back into his palm. He gave Albus a quick wink before grabbing George’s arm to make their getaway.

But Draco was not focused on that. Not right now.

“Is that an invisibility cloak?” he asked as Albus shrugged off the rest of the cloth. Right. Of course, he forgot Potter had one on the train in their sixth year. “Have you been here the whole time?” His eyes flicked to where the rock was still in his hand. “Were you actually planning on killing me?!”

“...of course not,” Albus said, tossing the rock over his shoulder.

Why was this family filled with psychopaths?

“Albus would never,” Scorpius agreed - a little too quickly. Maybe Helen and Jack had some points earlier. This muggle therapy may benefit them all.

“Come on. I’ll race you to get dessert,” Albus said, grabbing Scorpius’s hand. Scorpius glanced back, eyes meeting Draco’s, who nodded. He smiled, and Scorpius’s expression flittered with relief. Gently, he detached himself from Albus to hand Draco a familiar notebook. Neither said anything, but something about it felt like closure.

And as Scorpius ran off with Albus, Draco couldn’t help but notice how nice the remaining gold decorations looked next to green.

Chapter Text

Parenthood, as it turned out, involved a lot of math.

For example, Draco getting called to Hogwarts should be a good thing. After all, his son was a bright student, well-behaved, and incredibly kind. There was no reason to believe Draco would be summoned by McGonagall for anything nefarious.

This is where the math came in.

Because Scorpius was friends with a Potter. That increased the chances of this being an unideal visit by 50 percent. Then again, Albus was also a good and reasonable kid, which improved his chances of this being a good summons by 30 percent. Unfortunately, there was the reality of his son being treated poorly because of Draco’s identity, which brought them back down another 25 percent. However, Astoria’s reputation from the journal has now bumped them up about 10 percent.

All in all, this looked to be a 54 percent chance of a good situation. Not great. Not terrible. He could deal with that.

“Mr. Malfoy.” Draco shut the door to McGonagall’s office to see Harry Potter already standing off to the side while McGonagall sat behind her desk.

The chances of this being a good conversation plummeted to 2 percent.

“Please tell me Scorpius is not getting expelled,” he said, already trying to think through other schools his son could attend. Honestly, maybe Beauxbatons was the way to go…

“Neither of your children is getting expelled,” McGonagall said, cutting straight to the point. “Both of you. Sit.” Despite the reassurance, Draco still felt nervous as he took a seat next to Potter. “Now,” McGonagall continued. “I must relay certain news and facts. All I am asking you to do is let me finish relaying that information so you are informed of everything you need to know. Is that understood?” Draco exchanged a wary look with Potter before nodding. “Verbally, please.”

“We won’t interrupt.”

“Understood, headmistress.”

McGonagall narrowed her eyes before ultimately giving a nod. “Good,” she said and took a breath. “Mr. Potter, your daughter is currently in the hospital wing-”

Potter shot up. “What?” he asked - as if he hadn’t been in the hospital wing at least once a year while they were in school.

“-but will make a full recovery fairly quickly,” McGonagall continued loudly, giving Potter a death stare. Slowly, he sat back down. “We did a full investigation on the matter because she was attacked-”

“Excuse me?” Potter interjected again, fingers twitching. “Someone purposely hurt my daughter?!”

“She said not to interrupt,” Draco reminded him helpfully.

McGonagall fixed her glasses. “Scorpius was accused-”

Oh, fuck that.

“Preposterous,” Draco snapped as Potter’s mouth dropped, brows pinching into fury. “He would never-”

McGonagall lifted a finger. “But as I said, this was investigated, and Scorpius’s name was cleared.”

Good. Not that it particularly put Draco or Potter at ease.

“Damn right it was,” he said as McGonagall took a long breath. “Why even bring me into this mess-?”

“Then who the fuck pointed a wand at my kid?!”

“Due to the accusations against Scorpius and the ill intent towards Lily Potter, James and Albus decided to take matters into their own hands regarding the perpetrators,” McGonagall continued. At that, both Draco and Potter began trying to talk again, only for her to raise a single finger. “Perhaps,” she said, voice borderline dangerous. “I will show you the memories we collected as part of our investigation since you are both so inclined to speak over me.”

….whoops.

Draco bit his tongue, a swarm of indignation rising at the idea that someone at this school was still causing his son problems. It was his third year! Hell, it was the second semester of the third year, surely students knew better than to equate him with Draco by now, right?

Deciding to just get this whole thing over with, Draco stood up. The pensive was already popping out behind McGonagall, a few vials of memories glimmering and floating nearby. McGonagall got up, tipping the silver contents of the first one into the pensive. Giving Draco and Potter a stern look, she gestured for them to step forward.

Draco wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting when he entered the memory, but it wasn’t for it to stir his own so violently. He had gotten whispers of his schooldays when he entered the grounds, but standing in this corridor with students swishing by and endless laughter made him feel like a thirteen-year-old himself.

The illusion was shattered by Scorpius walking over to sit on a stone bench underneath some portraits, pulling out a textbook to absently flip through the pages. His fingers ran over the words before he snapped it shut again. Then reopened it. Then closed it. Eventually, he sighed and tossed it beside him, burying his face in his hands with a slow exhale.

From their right, someone scoffed.

“Is the Potters’ Princess having a rough day?” a boy asked, brow lifting. He gave a quick scan around the corridor. “Where’s your boyfriend? Don’t tell me he abandoned your inbred ass after all this time.”

Potter snorted at that. When Draco turned to stare him down, he quickly turned it into a cough. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Scorpius didn’t deserve that.” Draco nodded. Of course, he didn’t. Potter stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes. “I’m saving that for you, though,” he murmured.

Draco had a thing or two to say about that, but was distracted by Scorpius looking over at who had spoken. The newcomer wore the blue of Ravenclaw, leaning against the wall. He looked to be in his sixth or seventh year. Draco would normally say he was far too old for those sorts of jibes, but in all honesty… Draco probably made similar quips in reverse at that age.

“What?” the boy asked when Scorpius didn’t answer. “Nothing to say?” He walked over, kneeling in front of where Scorpius was sitting. “You know, you’re not fooling anyone. You can go to as many Christmases with the Potters as you want. You can poison Albus Potter’s mind with your Slytherin ways. You can even show off that pathetic journal to try and make us think your parents had actual feelings.” The boy took his wand and pointed it at Scorpius’s nose. “But you’re no different than your manipulative Death Eater parents.”

Draco’s teeth ground. “Who is that?” he asked Potter, who gave a disapproving shrug.

“Albus only ever talks about Scorpius. I don’t know about other students.”

“You have two other children to tell you things!”

Potter wrinkled his nose. “James doesn’t particularly spend time with any Ravenclaws.”

God, this man was useless.

Back in the memory, Scorpius pursed his lips before calmly pushing the boy’s wand down from his throat. “You know, Walker, I did some research recently and I think I know why you don’t like me very much.”

Good. Answers. His name was Walker. Draco hated Walker. Dumb name. Why hadn’t Scorpius told Draco about this kid before? Clearly, this wasn’t their first interaction.

At that last comment, Walker’s eyes narrowed, but Scorpius kept talking.

“You tell everyone that you’re muggleborn and hate the Death Eaters, but did you know there’s a book at my house that holds all the pureblood family lineages?” Scorpius asked evenly. Walker’s jaw tightened. “And the surname Cracknell appears. Once, though. Only once. You see, it was a muggle name that was married into a specific pureblood family.”

Potter frowned. “You have a book that traces back pureblood lineages?”

“Heirloom,” Draco replied tersely. Potter raised his eyebrows. “Oh, what do you want me to do? Burn it? Fuck off,” he snapped right as Walker stood up from his crouched position in front of Scorpius, face flushing red.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed. “My parents were muggles. And my grandparents were muggles and-”

“Your grandfather was a squib,” Scorpius interrupted flatly. “And your Great Aunt is one of the most hated witches in the wizarding world. And because of that, you have some weird complex that makes you think you have to work twice as hard to prove you're not evil by being a dick to me.”

Walker’s face flickered, panic morphing into outright hatred. “I’m nothing like that woman. You have no idea the suffering she brought my family, and I refuse to be an outcast just because we’re related to her.”

Scorpius shrugged. “I understand,” he said. “But hating me isn’t going to change anything. In fact…” Scorpius stood up, picking up his textbook. “It makes you more like Dolores Umbridge than it makes me like either of my parents.”

“Oh,” Potter said, sounding like someone had just forced a rather nasty Bertie Bott’s Flavored Bean down his throat. “That’s… an unfortunate relation.” He rubbed the back of his hand absently.

Right. Cracknell. Draco did some quick math in his head. Oxford Umbridge had married Ellen Cracknell and had two children. Dolores and whoever her squib brother had been. Umbridge always talked about her muggle mother leaving with her squib brother to live among muggles. This Walker must be a grandson of some sort.

That cleared up a few things. Unfortunately, the realization of why this kid was bothering his son wasn’t all that helpful. Sure, this kid was clearly trying to overcompensate for whatever family trauma he had going on (and Draco being a favorite of Umbridge probably wasn’t great either), but he wasn’t seeing how this escalated to Lily Potter in the hospital wing.

Then, as Scorpius turned away, Walker grabbed his arm.

“You-”

“Hi, Scorpius!”

Right on cue, Lily Potter dashed down the corridor, a yellow scarf almost flying off as she approached. Where she had gotten a Hufflepuff scarf when sorted into Gryffindor was unclear, but sure.

Walker immediately let go of Scorpius, irritation touching his face as Lily practically launched herself at Scorpius to hug him. “Albus said you were upset you got a bad grade.”

“Um,” Scorpius said, warily looking at Walker. “Yeah. I, uh, haven’t been studying a lot recently,” he admitted, shifting his textbook under his arm. From beside him, Potter jerked his head to the left, frowning at an empty space as if there was something there.

Meanwhile, Lily stared at Scorpius, clearly waiting for more of an explanation. Draco was, too, actually. The point of school was to study and learn things. What was he doing if not that? What exactly was Draco paying for him to go do?

“Albus and I might have been working on a little side project of our own,” Scorpius finally relented. Potter groaned, tearing his eyes away from the empty space he had been staring at. “And it’s taken up some time…”

“No!” Potter said to them. “No side projects!”

“You know your kids are related to Fred and George Weasley, right?” Draco asked curiously. “And you?”

Potter waved him away as Lily practically bounced with excitement. “Is it like Grandpa’s map?” she asked excitedly. “Or are you going to be animagi too?!!”

“No!” Scorpius said quickly, and Draco could have cried with relief. Okay. Not that. He looked back over his shoulder, where Walker was still watching. “I’ll tell you later, okay? We should probably get to class. Before my grades get worse,” he added lightly at the end. “Are you down that way?” he asked, pointing in the direction of the transfiguration classroom. Lily nodded. “I have to get to potions. Let’s meet after class, okay? I’ll fill you in then.”

Lily grinned at him before nodding, letting Scorpius exit the corridor with a wave. Lily gave Walker a polite goodbye, too, before scurrying off into the courtyard beside them. She made it about ten feet before pausing, looking back over her shoulder. It took Draco a moment to realize why.

“Is it true?” someone asked. The spot Potter had been staring at shifted, and Draco almost groaned. An invisibility cloak. Not a nice one like the Potters somehow got ahold of, but one of the cheap ones you could buy in Knockturn Alley. Draco could not believe he didn’t notice them.

He squinted, trying to detect another one. Sure enough, he could see a vague outline as someone else slipped off a cloak. Three more boys now stood behind Walker, all looking in utter disbelief.

…this wasn’t good. Lily crept back, hiding behind a bush to keep out of view of the group as Walker’s face twitched with annoyance.

“You’re related to Dolores Umbridge?” one of the boys said in disgust. “Really? And you pretended to be muggleborn-?”

“I am muggleborn!” Walker snapped. “My mother didn’t have magic. My father didn’t have magic. My grandfather didn’t have magic,” he pointed a wand at the boy’s face. “This is exactly what I’ve been warning you about. Malfoy is a snake and a manipulator. Just like his parents. Did you hear him? Talking about some sort of project he’s working on with Albus Potter?” His voice sounded borderline hysterical. The panic raised his tone a few octaves as the other boys all exchanged looks. “How much do you want to bet that’s dark magic? I wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy was basically forcing Albus into it. Or used an imperius curse.”

A discontent murmur came at that. Lily’s brows pinched together as she took another step closer, leaning over to hear better.

“Well,” one of the boys said. “How do we prove it?”

Walker picked at the skin on his bottom lip, eyes deep in thought.

“Maybe we don’t have to,” he murmured. “Maybe we just need to get him expelled. Make people realize he’s just like his father.” Walker’s brows raised. “A good jinx to Albus Potter would do.”

Another boy blinked. “How would we get Malfoy to jinx his only friend?”

Walker rolled his eyes. “We’d do it - for the greater good, obviously - and just frame him. No way they even give a warning to someone who dares lay a finger on a Potter kid.”

At that, Lily’s eyes widened. She turned to go back into the courtyard, but her foot slipped, sending her onto the ground with a hard smack. The group all jerked their heads to the side, Walker scurrying around the other side of the wall to see Lily sprawled out on the ground.

“You’re not going to jinx my brother!” she said, scrambling back up without even a hint of alarm at being caught. “I’m going to tell him what you said right now! I’ll get you expelled!” she said, voice rising with anger as Walker pulled her up by her robes.

“Well, that plan is a bust,” one of the boys said, looking Lily over with a frown. “We weren’t really going to do it, Potter. Calm down.”

“I’m telling James,” Lily added. Draco wasn’t sure what clout James Potter specifically had at Hogwarts, but clearly it was enough that the others all looked warily at one another. Walker’s grip on her tightened.

“...it doesn’t have to be Albus,” he finally said. “A good obliviate and jinx on any Potter would do.”

“Walker,” one of the boys said sharply. “You can’t seriously mean-”

“Nobody will know!” Walker insisted. Lily tried to bite his hand. “Ow!” he hissed and pointed his wand at her. “Just help me,” he told the others as a couple began to back away. “I’ll obliviate you next!” he added sharply.

He raised his wand again, and the memory faded, leaving Draco and Potter standing in identical shock.

“I’m going to kill that kid,” Potter finally said. He turned to McGonagall. “He better be expelled, Minerva-”

“It is taken care of,” she assured him.

“He never even went that far!” Potter shouted, pointing at Draco.

Was that right? Draco thought back, thinking through some of his old tricks.

“I did try to curse you once when your back was turned…” he mused. “But you have no family to take advantage of like that. Also, we were the same age,” he said. Potter turned to him, holding out his arms. “To be fair, you nearly killed me in our sixth year and didn’t get expelled.”

“Who the fuck’s side are you on?”

“Mine,” Draco said, and turned to McGongall. “The kid is a psychopath, clearly. And in desperate need of some of that muggle therapy. I say expel him, but I don’t really want people thinking I had anything to do with it.”

“Did either of you hear me when I said it was taken care of?”

“And for the record,” Potter continued. “Me almost killing you was not only an accident, but after you tried to use the cruciatus curse on me!”

“How was you slicing open my skin an accident?”

“How-?” McGonagall did a double-take as she looked between the two of them. “Excuse me? What happened? I don’t remember this.”

“Severus healed me,” Draco shrugged. “But your boy here used some made-up curse and just… cut me open.”

Potter threw his hands in the air. “I didn’t think it would do all that!”

“You didn’t think the curse made from the Latin word to cut would have such consequences?” Draco asked doubtfully. “You know, I still have scars from that,” he said, pulling back his collar to show silver streaks marring his skin.

“Harry James Potter, you did that?” McGonagall asked, horrified. “And nobody thought to inform me? I mean, Severus had told us there had been a fight, but-”

“I think we’re getting off topic,” Potter said before glancing at Draco’s scars again. “But I am really sorry about how that went down,” he added, a little unexpectedly. “Geniunely. I wished I had helped you back then instead of… that.”

Huh. Draco gave him a strange look.

“...yeah, I would have for sure just attacked you. It is probably best you didn’t offer to help me,” he admitted wryly. Potter rolled his eyes. “What exactly did Walker do to Lily?” he finally asked. Despite it all, he did kind of like the kid. It would be a shame if she were seriously hurt.

McGonagall sighed. “A fight broke out. Some of the other students you saw tried to intervene. Mr. Cracknell did attempt to wipe some memories and sent the memory curse about, hitting several students. It led to some confusion about what happened and Miss. Potter was knocked out after being thrown against a wall in the struggle. Madam Pomphrey says she’ll make a quick recovery. Though,” she added. “Mr. Cracknell did take advantage of the confusion to still try to pin the situation on Mr. Malfoy.” Fool. Draco almost found the stubbornness admirable. If it had been in literally any other situation.

McGonagall held up a second vial. “Which leads us to Albus and James,” she said, and poured the liquid into the pensive. “I don’t think I’ll bother attempting to explain this one.”

That sounded ominous. Draco shuffled forward, looking over to see if he was still supposed to see this one if his kid was (hopefully) not involved. Nobody stopped him, so he leaned forward, falling forward until he was outside the hospital wing.

James and Albus Potter both sat on the floor outside, both staring at their shoes.

“Scorpius didn’t do it, right?” James asked, and Albus’s head snapped up so fast that Draco almost jumped.

“Of course not!” he hissed. James said nothing. “He would never! Don’t ever ask anything like that again,” he snapped and ran his hand through his curls. The mess that came away made him look even more like his father as he took slow, even breaths. “Walker did it. Somehow. I know he did. And I’ll prove it. And he’ll get expelled, and Dad will make sure he never goes near our family again.”

James hummed. “Funny how you always get so much fonder of Dad when it comes to him yelling at people for you.”

“I get that,” Draco mused, and Potter rolled his eyes, probably internally horrified at the fact that Albus and Draco had things in common.

“Lily is in the hospital wing,” Albus reminded him tersely.

James’s expression darkened. “Trust me, I know,” he sighed. Albus reached into his pocket, wordlessly holding out some toffee. “...the fuck is this?” he asked. Albus continued holding out the candy. “You’re so weird,” he sighed and took one, unwrapping it carefully to examine it before popping it in his mouth. “We should-” he began and then paused when voices came around the corner. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” he said.

“That is some fucking nerve,” Potter said when Walker came around the corner. Draco was inclined to agree. The audacity of showing up at the hospital wing to see the girl you got hurt was next level.

“I heard what happened,” Walker began, and Albus’s brows shot up. “Is Lily okay?”

James opened his mouth, but Albus beat him to it, offering a toffee. “Yeah, she’ll be okay,” he answered. Walker accepted the toffee as James looked between them with subtle confusion. “Thanks for checking in. Do you know what happened?” he asked, popping a toffee of his own into his mouth.

Walker clicked his tongue, grimacing as he looked around. “I… I mean, I’m not, like, sure, but…” he trailed off, and Albus sat up in feigned interest. “I mean, I did see Scorpius and Lily arguing,” Walker admitted wryly. “But I already told McGonagall! I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up to you since you’re both so close,” he said with a convincing rush of anxiety toward the end.

Draco half expected Albus to lose it right then and there, but Albus only fell back against the wall.

“So it wasn’t you?” he clarified.

Walker’s eyes widened. “Of course not! Jacob and Louis were there,” he added as he spotted two of the boys from the corridor walking toward them. “They’ll tell you. Why would you even think I had anything to do with it?” he added, voice laced with hurt.

Yikes.

Albus only hung his head. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Just… stressed, I guess. I didn’t think Scorpius could do something like this.”

“Well,” Walker frowned. “You have to remember who his father is.” He absently scratched at his neck. “Um, you know… because…” Walker smacked his lips together. “Does someone have water?” he asked, turning to his friends. “Sorry, could I just-?”

When he turned, James blinked a few times before looking at where Albus had started smiling at the door.

“...what did you do?” he whispered. Albus shrugged, and from a few feet away, a long string of swearing began. Draco curiously looked over at where Walker was now scratching at his face. “Albus, what did you do?” James repeated.

Albus picked up another toffee, putting the wrapper between his teeth and pulling it away. The swearing grew louder. “Did Aunt Hermione ever tell you the full story of what happened with Mrs. Davis’s friend? They signed a piece of paper swearing not to tell about some secret club they had going on. Anyone who snitched was cursed, but anyone who didn’t? Well, they were left unharmed.”

“What’s on my face?!” Walker shrieked.

Albus smiled a little to himself. “These sweets are delicious,” he told James, eyes alight with that scary sort of righteousness Potter sometimes wore. He held a toffee out. “Take another. Though I wouldn’t recommend lying afterwards.”

Huh. Draco looked over and sure enough, angry boils were all over Walker’s face, spelling out ‘LIAR’ in bright red.

James looked down at the toffee wrapper in his hand. “Why did you give me one?” he asked, a layer of insult in his voice.

“If you don’t lie, it’s just a sweet,” Albus told him. James’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a project that Scorpius and I have been working on! I’ve been looking through some of Mr. Malfoy’s old alchemy books and realized we could alter truth serum a bit-”

“I didn't ask for the magic behind it, Albus,” James said, groaning as he fell back against the wall with a long-suffering sigh. “We practically just confirmed he hurt Lily-”

“Um, not we. You didn’t do shit.”

“-so do you think it is fair to expect him to come back over and kick your ass once he realizes what you did?!” James closed his eyes as Walker and his goons whipped around to Albus. “Just once, Al. Just once could you, like, balance your vengeance?” he asked. Albus shrugged. “You always take it too far. McGonagall would have figured out he was lying on her own. Scorpius would be fine, and Dad would take care of Walker.”

Albus shrugged. “Yeah, but it doesn’t feel as nice,” he mused. “I’ll just deal with the consequences."

James rolled his eyes and stood up again. “You never do, though, do you?” he muttered before pointing at his brother. “You owe me.”

Albus took another toffee, smiling as if he knew that his brother would come to the rescue. “Put it on my tab,” he said sweetly.

“Potter, you freak!” Walker screeched, storming back over. He pointed at his face. “Did you do this?! You and that fucking Malfoy?!”

Walker’s friends walked up behind him, but not before James intercepted. “Now, who are you calling a freak?” he asked, shoving Walker back. This appeared to be a rhetorical question because the next second, James threw a punch and Walker crumbled.

Albus watched, nonplussed, as James kicked Walker’s wand out of his hand. “If you ever touch my sister again… or attack my brother…” James raised his wand at the two as he stooped down to pick up Walker’s wand. With a snap, he broke it over his knee. “I’ll make sure the next thing I break if your fucking back.” He threw the piece of wood at Walker’s face before looking up at Louis and Jacob. “Anything else?” he asked them, but both had backed away. “Brilliant,” he muttered just as Madam Pomphrey opened the door.

Upon seeing Walker, she gasped, putting a hand over her chest before looking up at James, who was shaking out his hand.

“We brought you another patient,” he greeted and jerked his head for Albus to stand up. “How’s Lily?”

…maybe James was Draco’s favorite Potter after all.

Overall, Draco was feeling pretty good about everything when he pulled away from the pensieve. In fact, of all parties involved, his son was possibly the least at fault. What the hell did he do? And (Draco said this with such generosity), he didn’t think either of the elder Potters did anything wrong either. Lily was purely a victim in this.

“So,” McGonagall said when Potter and Draco turned around. “I can assure you, Walker Cracknell will be expelled. Lily will be awake shortly for you to visit. James and Albus will receive a month's detention for the attack - no matter how understandable it may be,” she told Potter firmly when he opened his mouth. “And Scorpius will receive two weeks of detention for this unsolicited alchemy project.”

Now, wait a moment.

“What?” Draco asked, a bit offended. “He and Albus were just learning-”

“Experimenting with magic is dangerous, Mr. Malfoy. Especially when it is unsupervised. Especially when it can be used on other students, which you seem to have experience with yourself,” she added pointedly.

Potter shifted at that. “I mean,” he began weakly. “Hermione, Ron, and I made a seventh-year Polyjuice potion our second year. It isn’t all that different-”

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, fixing her glasses. “Let me be frank with you. If Albus Dumbledore had not stopped me, you would have never left detention for any of which you did while in Hogwarts. You would still be there to this day. So if you think any argument involving your misadventures will lessen the punishment for your children, please rethink that approach.” She turned to look at Draco. “Anything from you?” she asked.

…no. It still felt unfair, though.

“Thank you for coming in,” McGonagall continued. “May I escort you to the hospital wing?”

Figuring that Scorpius would be with Lily, he agreed, going down with them to where the Potter children were all huddled in the corner. Lily was indeed awake with an impressive assortment of get-well gifts and flower arrangements from at least half of the school. James was lying in a bed, tossing a snitch up and down as Albus and Scorpius both attempted to entertain Lily by arguing about who deserved more credit for their toffee truth serum trick.

McGonagall cleared her throat, and everyone froze.

“Dad!” Scorpius said when he turned. “Okay, don’t freak out-” he began, rushing over to him.

“Too late for that,” Draco said dryly, looking over Scorpius cautiously. He hadn’t seen an injury happen in any of those memories, but that didn’t mean one hadn’t happened amongst all the chaos and accusations. “Mr. Potter over here has already said he plans to sue.”

At that, Potter turned, looking at him with an aghast offense before turning to see Albus nodding vigorously in approval. Ha. Draco smiled brightly in return, ignoring the irritation.

“Is your hand okay?” Potter asked James, who paused in his throwing to show a perfectly healed hand. “I saw what happened. Good hit,” he mused, and McGonagall cleared her throat. “Which was… so wrong. You should not punch people,” he said unconconvingly. James grinned at him. “Terrible. So disappointed. We’ll let it go just this once,” he said, and McGonagall narrowed her eyes. “And you,” he added to Albus. “Don’t poison people.”

“It wasn’t poison,” Albus pointed out.

“All the same,” Potter said, and Albus snorted. “No broccoli for a month.”

“I don’t like-?”

“Shh,” Potter said, jerking his head to McGonagall, who crossed her arms over her chest.

Albus rolled his eyes. “Oh, no. Not my broccoli! Dad, please.”

“He’s only a child,” James jumped in, clearly biting back laughter. “Father. No. Spare him.”

“He was saving my life,” Lily said, which wasn’t really true, but Scorpius quickly backed her, all of them loudly trying to win back Albus Potter’s right to eat broccoli for the next month.

“May I have a word with you, Mr. Potter?” McGonagall interrupted, looking at the eldest Potter with a promise of vengeance. Potter winced, probably realizing he had pushed his limit on this particular matter. Immediately, all of his children gave a collective ‘ooh’ to which he returned with a stunned look of betrayal. “Now.”

“All of you can expect Howlers,” Potter whispered as McGonagall swept from the room. “Not you, sweetheart,” he added when Lily hung her head. Draco cleared his throat. “Or Scorpius. Jeez.” He held up his hands in feigned surrender as he followed the headmistress.

Draco shook his head. Idiot. He leaned over, making sure McGonagall was far enough away before turning to Albus and Scorpius. “Good job with the toffees,” he said. Both boys immediately beamed. “I’ll owl you both some proper sweets. But if you want to experiment with magic from now on, please do so in my home, where I have the proper equipment to do so safely.” He waited until he got two nods before turning to Lily. “And you. Ask your brother to teach you how to punch. Your father defeated the Dark Lord at eleven. Why is some random boy throwing you about?”

Lily’s lower lip popped out into a pout. “People usually aren’t mean to me,” she said so sweetly that Draco believed her with everything he had. “And if they try, Albus and James make them stop.”

“Yeah,” James agreed. “It’s kind of our thing. Well,” he reconsidered. “Mainly my thing now. Albus spends all his time these days keeping people from being mean to his boyfriend,” he said, and Albus flipped him off.

“Whatever, James. I’m the one who took care of the situation.”

From behind them, McGonagall and Potter’s footsteps circled back around. It had been a quick scolding then. Tragic. Minerva had always been soft on Potter, though.

“I’m not hearing you deny the boyfriend allegations,” James said right as they walked in. Potter did a double-take at that, looking between his children uncertainly.

“You have five minutes to fuss over your daughter,” McGonagall told him, and pointed at the boys. “You three. Back to your dorms. Now.”

One by one, they filed out, looking all suitably pleased with themselves despite the situation. No doubt they had heard about Cracknell’s expulsion and considered this whole endeavor a success. Despite it all, Draco did too, honestly. That two percent came through.

Silently, he watched as Potter practically pounced on his daughter, doting on her with an absurd amount of affection. He thought to his own childhood, with his mother spoiling him shamelessly over any little scratch or bruise. Granted, Lily’s ordeal had been much more than that, but still.

He turned to leave them to it, but only made it about halfway toward the front door when Potter came sprinting after him.

“You weren’t supposed to leave without me!” he called, somewhat out of breath and indignant.

“Why would I wait for you?” Draco sighed, though he did slow his pace to let Potter plod up next to him. “Are you really going to yell at me for saying you plan to sue that boy? You should, you know-”

“No. Shh. Question.” Potter lifted up a finger, leaning over to catch his breath. How far had he sprinted? “James. Boyfriend. Albus?”

….what the fuck?

“Yes,” Draco said slowly. “James made some quip about Scorpius being Albus’s boyfriend.” Potter made a choking noise. “They’re thirteen. I don’t think they’re actually dating, Potter.”

Potter stood up, looking a little like he might fling himself back to the ground to cry. “But what if he’s gay?!” he asked, voice echoing a bit over the empty halls. Draco stared at him, trying to decide what to do with that. “What if he said that because he knows Albus is gay? I would be so fucked.”

“Why?” Draco asked, mystified. “Would it be a problem?”

“No,” Potter frowned at him. “Of course not. But Albus would have to tell me at some point, and I already fucked up the reaction to him being in Slytherin. I can’t fuck up this too! I need to react perfectly.”

“I… really think it’s a stretch to assume that he’s gay, Harry,” Draco said, letting the first name slip. Probably because he felt like he was talking to someone clinically insane. “It was a joke. And if he is gay, just be normal? How would you react if James were gay?”

“Aha!” Potter said, pointing at him. “You see, I know that one. James would make a joke about it, and I would laugh and make an accepting joke back, and we’d be fine.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Albus would be so pissed if I made a joke…”

“Fine, what if Lily grew up to like girls? What then?”

“I’d hug her and say no girl is good enough for her, but she could try to find one. Albus would hate that too. He’d say I was questioning his taste or something.”

“Have you considered ‘thank you for telling me, I love and accept you’?”

“Too formal. Also, I’d be accused of lying because that’s too basic a reaction.”

“Too basic a reaction?” Draco snorted. “Maybe he is gay.” At Potter’s helpless look, he turned to keep walking. “Honestly, you are overreacting. It also isn’t my problem. Go ask your wife about this. Or your many in-laws.”

“I know, but you are who Albus seems to like best… Even after the stuff at Christmas,” Potter sighed. “What would you say?”

“If Albus told me he was gay?” Draco asked. Potter nodded. “I would say, your father was just telling me how much he feared this day would come-”

“Sod off,” Potter muttered, and they exited out the front door towards the steps of the school. “Your bitchiness reminds me actually… Hermione is requesting a favor.”

That could not be good.

Draco looked over, trying to decide what that meant as they continued their walk down their stairs.

“Her parents really got on her about that therapy thing,” Potter continued. “So she’s making a program specifically for the magical community. It’s a whole thing, training people and such. It’ll be ready real soon, but… patients are needed….”

Draco laughed. “Absolutely not.”

“Now wait,” Potter said. “I wasn’t done yet. You see, she really thinks it’s important for pureblood families to go and work through generational trauma and whatnot. So, what she really needs is a patient who will talk to the Prophet…”

“Oh, you can go fuck yourself.”

“What happened to trying to better yourself for your son?” Potter argued. “Or are you under the impression people still don’t dislike him because of you?” he asked, gesturing to the school behind them.

Draco stopped walking. That was a low blow, and they both knew it.

Still, he had a point. Draco made this whole ordeal about working to better understand muggles and such, but never really went beyond the Grangers. Sure, he visited on occasion to ask questions and such, but… well… that was it.

And a Prophet article about him being a pet of the Minister would be helpful… even if it was utterly humiliating. Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned to give Potter the nastiest look he could muster.

“I’m sure it would be equally helpful if the Savior of the Wizarding world also joined in one of his closest friend’s new initiatives,” he pointed out. Potter grimaced. “I’ll do it if you do. And you have to be in the Prophet article with me. Kendra Pennifold writes it. I like her. And somewhere in the article, you casually mention how much you like Scorpius.”

“What? How would that come up in an interview about therapy-?”

“Make it happen, or I not only reject this offer, but I will tell Albus about your crisis over his sexuality.”

Potter’s mouth dropped. “Are you serious?!” Draco only smiled politely as he continued walking to the edge of the school, where they would finally be allowed to apparate. “You are still such a git. I hope therapy changes you.”

“It won’t.”

“I’m getting James to punch you next.”

Chapter Text

If someone had told a teenage Draco Malfoy that he’d one day have Harry James Potter kicking in his door at three in the afternoon to slam a porn magazine down onto his kitchen table, he would have some questions about which direction his life went.

As it was, he was still kind of confused. Mostly hungry. But definitely confused.

“Jeez, Potter. You shouldn’t have,” he went with, taking a sip of his tea.

“I was right. Albus is gay.”

Draco blinked. It had been two years since the tentative truce between the Malfoys and the Potters. For the most part, it was just playing nice for the boys and occasionally getting coffee so the Daily Prophet could write an article or two, which seemed to soften Albus up to his father and warmed several other students up to Scorpius. After the incident with Walker Cracknell last year, Draco had even been roped into some therapy, which was a whole other situation.

This, though? This felt vaguely out of scope.

“....okay?” Draco asked, reaching to grab some apples from the center of his counter. “He’s fourteen. That happens.”

“No!” Potter said, voice rising with a note of hysteria. “No, I need help! He’s going to tell me, and if I fuck this up, then it’s over for me.”

“We’ve gone over this. Do you care if he’s gay?”

“Of course not. Also, if you tell anyone about this before he has a chance to, I will personally orchestrate a Dementor’s Kiss myself.”

“Bold words for someone who came in here screaming it,” Draco said, pushing the magazine of sin away from him. “Also, you could have just opened with that. You didn’t need to bring proof.” He leaned over, frowning at the images now dirtying his countertop.

Potter seemed unrepentant. “You didn’t take me seriously when I brought it up before,” he said. “So, yes, I did.” Then, as if suddenly realizing his actions, he stared down at the magazine. “...you don’t think Albus would notice that this is missing from his room, right?”

Sometimes - and only sometimes - Draco felt bad for Harry.

“I don’t know,” he said, running a hand over his face. “Would you notice if someone came into your room and stole your porn? How did you even find this anyway? Do you just go through your kids’ rooms?”

Potter had the audacity to look insulted. As if he hadn’t just stolen a porno from his poor, closeted son to show to his best friend’s father. Honestly, Draco was astounded that Potter trusted him so fully with such a wildly sensitive topic. He must really, really believe in Draco’s love for Scorpius... or meant the Dementor’s Kiss thing. Possibly both.

“No. I don’t snoop.” He paused. “....Ginny did.”

“My God.”

“In fairness to her, he told us he was doing drugs and we both panicked.”

“Why would he say that?”

“I don’t know. He has a weird sense of humor and likes stressing us out,” Potter admitted.

Eh. Fair enough. Draco thought about telling his own parents he was out there snuffing pixie dust. Yeah, that would be hilarious. He was grateful Scorpius probably wouldn’t think so, at least.

“Okay, well, enjoy returning that without Albus realizing you took it,” Draco said, taking a fork from his drawer to push the magazine back toward Potter. “But your timing is perfect because I also require a favor.”

At that, Potter narrowed his eyes, sliding the smut back into his bag. “Great,” he said, unenthused. “Always love your favors.”

“I think you could be more accommodating as you stand in my kitchen, slamming a magazine of genitalia on my counter.”

Potter scoffed. “You know, Ron has a running bet to figure out if you talk like this during sex. Like, are you pompous then, too? And how is it you’re crass about other things-”

“For my sanity, I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” Draco interrupted, feeling himself flush against his will. Potter snorted, looking pleased at having made him uncomfortable. Prick. “Music. I need you to play music at your house when Scorpius is there.”

A long pause followed.

“What?” Potter finally asked. “Music? Why?”

Draco sighed, turning to grab a knife to slice his apples. “It came up in therapy,” he admitted. Potter’s brows raised. Perhaps he didn’t think Draco was taking the therapy thing seriously. It was, surprisingly, an interesting adventure. Draco’s mind healer (name patent pending) was an unexpected balance of sympathetic and stern. Kind of like a Minerva McGonagall, but one who wasn’t as zealous about education and instead focused on cracking open Draco’s mind and dissecting every interaction ever.

“Look,” he continued when Potter just waited. “Astoria also had Death Eaters in her home during the war. They would bring muggles and sympathizers back and torture them. Whenever they did, they played music to drown out the screams. As a result, she couldn’t listen to music.” Potter gave an ‘ah’ at that, expression softening. “And it never crossed my mind that Scorpius would pick up at that, but over the summer we were out and a song played…”

His voice trailed off. It wasn’t like Scorpius had reacted with any sort of theatrics. No screaming. No clapping his hands over his ears. Astoria would always freeze when she heard music, breathing going a tad too fast until Draco pulled her away to calm her down.

No, what Scorpius had done was obsess. He kept looking for the source of the noise - determined to get it to stop one way or another. He looked and looked, and when he finally found it, he spent a total of ten minutes trying to get the record player turned off and unable to function further.

It wasn’t healthy, according to Draco’s very helpful therapist. So now Draco had taken to trying to play more music in their household, except Scorpius still found ways to turn it off. The determination would have been admirable if it weren’t clearly such a compulsive need.

“Maybe even tell Albus to play some in their dorm,” Draco suggested. “Just so he can get used to it.”

Potter shrugged. Good. He better not push back on any asks from Draco after the porn situation. Looking at his watch, Potter grimaced. “Do you want to just go meet Kendra together?” he asked, nose wrinkling slightly.

Ah, yes. Lovely Kendra.

About six months ago, their second Prophet article had published with resounding success. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy both talking about coping after the war and endorsing Minister Granger-Weasley’s new therapy initiative. Both had spoken about what it was and why they were doing it. Now, the world wanted an update.

Draco supposed that was fair. If he were someone hearing about this ‘therapy’ thing for the first time (and hadn’t gotten blackmailed into it), he’d want to hear about someone else’s personal experience on the matter before signing up for himself. Still, it was such a pain. The only person who seemed to hate it more was Potter, which was at least comforting.

“Why not?” Draco answered, eating a slice of apple. Potter reached for one, and he slapped his hand away. “We’re meeting at the Brewery, right? Not anywhere in Diagon Alley?”

“Yes,” Potter sighed, rolling his eyes. Draco wasn’t sure why. Diagon Alley was crawling with witches and wizards. The Brewery was in Knockturn Alley and far more inconspicuous for any interview. Draco had suggested a few times that they do interviews in his own home, but Potter threw back that they should do it in his home, which Draco outright refused to do on account of him not wanting to.

In the end, Kendra picked the location, and they just dealt with it.

“Yes,” Potter said. “Let’s head out to your dodgy dark wizard bar,” he added with far too much attitude for someone who had stormed into his house.

“It’s a normal potion tasting bar,” Draco argued as they headed toward the floo network.

Despite Potter’s whining, Knockturn Alley had actually turned a corner over these past few years. Sure, some dark wizards still frequented, but most of the shopkeepers had turned over a leaf.

Well, that and a certain Minister of Magic cracked down hard on selling dangerous magical items, which forced shops like Borgen and Burkes to rethink their business strategy.

At any rate, the Brewery had quickly become a favorite of Draco’s. What had once been a shabby place to brew illegal potions was now a quaint cafe that served potions to be enjoyed in the same way one might sit down and enjoy a coffee. Best of all, it was relatively quiet and they often let you seat yourself in a private room.

Kendra was already waiting for them when they arrived, her supplies all spread out over the table as she sipped a bubbling potion with a bright blue hue.

“There you are,” she greeted when they walked into the room. She gestured for them to sit in the padded booth, candles floating above, and a basket of bread already sat in the center. Potter closed the sliding door that separated them from the cafe and slid beside Draco. “How are you?” Kendra asked, glancing down at her notes to scribble something down.

Potter just grimaced, so Draco went ahead and carried the small talk.

“You’re about to find out in detail, aren’t you?” he asked. Kendra snorted, not even looking up as she dabbed her quill into ink. “How’s the dating life?” he asked.

During their last interview, Kendra had lamented relationship woes, talking about a recent breakup that she had hidden from her family because it would ‘cause too much of a fuss’. It was an interesting tactic - her offering up some of the most personal details of her life in order to warm them up to sharing some of theirs. She was getting quite good at her craft. She now knew how to get Potter to speak more on the record while letting him believe he was still an infuriatingly silent subject.

Astoria would have adored her.

“I went on one date,” Kendra admitted. “Honestly, would it be weird if I just waited until I was thirty? Or will all the good ones be taken by then?”

“That’s presuming there are good ones now,” Draco snorted, and a hint of a smile touched Kendra’s lips.

“What about you?” she asked. “Will you ever date again now that you’re forty?”

“Thirty-nine,” Draco corrected, and Kendra raised an eyebrow at him. Oh, whatever. “It isn’t at the top of my list. I still like strawberries.”

Kendra slowly looked up to stare. Right. Yes. Out of context, that was a strange thing to say.

“My wife,” Draco continued. “Liked to compare love to food. She was quite philosophical about it. All food offers you something different. Some is good for you, others is bad, but ultimately what you eat for the rest of your life is entirely your preference. My favorite food is strawberries.”

He wouldn’t admit this part out loud, but it had been his nickname for Astoria. Not in public. Not even in front of Scorpius. Just the two of them, engaging in stupid pet names when nobody was around to witness it. Her favorite food had been olives, which Draco maintained as weird, but he had been honored to receive information normally reserved for her journal. When she started calling him that, he had maybe (just maybe) melted a bit.

“So…” Kendra pursed her lips. “You’re looking for another strawberry?”

Draco almost jerked back at that, utterly offended. “No,” he said. “I just need to… find a different food I like. And maybe I’ll find something I like just as much - maybe even more. But it won’t be the same.” He inwardly sighed. “No more strawberries for me.”

Kendra stared at him, eyes torn between pity and awe.

“Huh,” Potter said, looking at Draco with a hint of surprise. “Did you learn that last part in therapy?”

“Ew. No,” Draco said, insulted by the implication he could learn anything about loving his wife from anyone else. Draco wasn’t the best at many things, but he was certainly the best at that.

“That’s a good segway, though,” Kendra said, pointing her quill at them. “We are now on the record. It’s been six months since you two started therapy. How has it been going?”

Silence.

Potter and Draco looked at one another.

“Shall I start simpler?” Kendra asked dryly. When they both nodded, she sighed. “Have you been going to therapy?” she asked. At that, both Harry and Draco nodded. “Do you feel like it has been helpful?” More nods. “Do you like it?” Shrugs. “Good. Now that we’re warmed up, which one of you is going to be brave enough to answer something that isn’t a yes or no question?” she asked.

Potter lifted a finger. “I fought Voldemort, so I think I’m allowed to call dibs on not going first.”

Draco spluttered. “What?!”

“Fair enough,” Kendra said, and turned to Draco. Oh, whatever. Rubbing his temple, he gestured for Kendra to just get it over with. “Mr. Malfoy,” she began, putting her quill to the parchment. “Obviously, the Minister has put strict rules around privacy on these new mind healers, so I can’t ask for anything you aren’t willing to share. What I do want to know is your view of this practice after having now experienced it. Thoughts?”

…uh-huh. Right. Draco shifted. His parents were going to be so horrified that he was doing this. They may even write to see about getting this article redacted, like they tried to get rid of the last one when they saw it. As it was, he wasn’t thrilled he was openly talking about any aspect of this, but he supposed this was part of his penance.

“It goes very much against every pureblood ideal I was raised with,” Draco started slowly. “Self-preservation remains the pinnacle of my upbringing, so I can’t say I was entirely comfortable with the experience when I started or now.” Kendra nodded, scribbling that down. “But,” he added, opening and closing his hands. “What I’m starting to see is that anything in excess can become destructive, and what has always been considered a long-desired quality among purebloods has transitioned into our worst quality.”

“So your opinions on pureblood ideals have changed?”

“They’ve been put into question since the war,” Draco said. “But questioning something and understanding it aren’t the same. I think I’m starting to enter a new territory of understanding - or at least understanding what I don’t understand.”

Kendra hummed at that. “Good quote, good quote,” she murmured to herself, underlining it. “Your parents famously made a public show of avoiding imprisonment by claiming they were under the Imperius curse after Voldemort’s first fall. How do we know you aren’t following in their footsteps of attempting to manipulate the public into believing you are actually attempting to distance yourself from the prejudice that purebloods are known for? Especially after having served as a Death Eater?”

…damn. Okay.

Draco leaned back against the booth, nose wrinkling. “I… suppose you can’t?” he offered. Kendra tilted her head. “But I also don’t think the point of this is for anyone to like me,” he said, silently hoping she wouldn’t call out that his reputation very much affected Scorpius. But in a strange way, he still believed the next words that came out of his mouth. “I have done bad things. Nobody owes me the chance to reconcile that. How anyone views me is… well, I mean this respectfully, but it isn’t really relevant. That self-preservation I mentioned brought me here. I can’t let it be the thing that prevents me from learning right from wrong now.”

Kendra nodded, still writing. “Mr. Potter,” she added without looking up. “You look most disgusted by that response. Any thoughts?”

Draco turned to Harry, a little insulted at the look on his face.

“It’s a good answer,” Potter said, glaring at Draco. “I’m just annoyed he grew up well spoken. When we were kids, he sounded like an idiot, usually.”

“I did not!”

“Training for the ballet, Potter?” he mimicked. “Yeah, you were very witty,” he said, leaving Draco to sputter in offense.

Kendra’s lips quirked up at that. “And you?” she asked Potter.

“I had better comebacks for sure.”

“I mean therapy, Mr. Potter,” Kendra said with unmatched patience.

Potter looked at her for a few seconds before meeting her eyes and going, “Ditto.”

Which all around just seemed confusing.

“Ditto?” Kendra repeated. “To….what Mr. Malfoy said?” Potter nodded. “What do you mean by ditto?”

“I mean, everything he said makes sense to me.”

“I- no,” Kendra said, putting her quill down to point at him. “What he said has absolutely no relevance to you. You can’t ditto him.” Potter scowled at her. “Were you a Death Eater?”

“Well, no-”

“Were you raised with pureblood ideals?”

“I was not, but-”

“Then what exactly are you ditto-ing?” she asked flatly.

Potter huffed. “The rest of what he said,” he told her stubbornly.

Genuinely, Draco was impressed by the level of commitment being shown here.

Alas, Kendra was no fool. She took one look at Potter and then shrugged.

“Fine,” she said, flipped a page in her notepad, and began writing, reading as she went. “Mr. Potter agrees with Mr. Malfoy wholeheartedly,” she said. “Clearly, their relationship has taken a turn over the years. He very much seems to admire and adore-”

“I’m not sure about all that,” Potter frowned.

“In fact, he is so smitten with the Slytherin purist that he does not feel the need to add his own voice to the conversation, allowing Mr. Malfoy to speak for both of them.”

“Okay, okay,” Potter said, reaching over to snatch the pad away. Kendra held it away before he could grab it, but unfortunately, Potter’s seeker skills remained ingrained in his hands because he managed to swipe it and rip the page out. “I’ll do it properly.”

Kendra beamed and took back her pad. “Excellent,” she said. Potter fell back against the booth, an air of defeat in his eyes. “Now, you have had a pretty tumultuous childhood across the board. Do you think this initiative has helped you unpack that at all?”

Potter made a face like he had swallowed several lemons. At Kendra’s threatening narrow of her eyes, he shifted.

“I…” he began only to stop. Draco thought that might be the only thing he said after several minutes of silence, but then he spoke again. “It mainly got me thinking about how much of a difference it would have made to have something like this while I was in school.”

Kendra and Draco both glanced at him in surprise.

“Really?” she asked.

Potter shrugged. “I wasn’t told I was a wizard until my Hogwarts letter came, and even then, my aunt and uncle weren’t thrilled about it, to say the least. I grew up thinking my parents died in a car crash, and found out rather suddenly that they were murdered. In the same conversation, I learned magic was real. Then I was told I was not only part of that magical world, but famous in it for something I had no memory of. To say it was a jarring transition would be an understatement. I went from wearing hand-me-downs to being able to afford whatever I wanted. After being hated for most of my life, people suddenly wanted to get to know me and be my friend. I spent my childhood starved and then told I could eat as much as I wanted. Hell, I literally went from living in a cupboard to a castle.”

“What?” Draco asked, a little startled. “That’s hyperbolic, right? A cupboard?”

“Starved?” Kendra asked at the same time.

Potter waved them both away. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that while I do think this is helpful for me now, I see the most potential for students. I mean, I had no idea what a functional relationship with an adult was supposed to look like. Going to authority figures rarely crossed my mind as a child because I was raised without them reliably guiding me. Having someone to understand the way I thought and course correct could have really kept me out of some of the trouble I seemed to keep falling into at that time. I look at my own kids now and just…. I’m truly astounded at how young I actually was when I did some of the things I did... I’m even more astounded that Molly Weasley hasn’t killed me for dragging her son into it.”

In all honesty, Draco was surprised by that, too.

Kendra set down her quill, eyes thoughtful as she studied Harry for a few moments. “That might be the best quote I’ve gotten from you yet,” she said, and offered a wry smile. With that, she snapped her notepad shut. “As a reward, I’ll end us early.” When both Draco and Potter gave a baffled look, she laughed. “This article won’t be as focused on you two. It’s just some color. I really do have to abide by privacy laws here,” she said, standing.

“Brilliant,” Potter said, sitting up. Kendra rolled her eyes, giving quick goodbyes and handshakes before slipping out the door toward the front of the restaurant. Potter followed right behind, leaving Draco to sit back and consider if he wanted a drink.

The answer was yes, and after perusing the list of potions, he ended up with a whiskey.

Unfortunately, by the time he had taken his first sip, Potter was back, sitting down with a pout.

“People saw Kendra leaving and know I’m nearby,” he explained, sliding the door shut behind him. “Don’t quite fancy being hounded for autographs so…” He threw himself into the booth. It would seem that for once, Draco was the lesser of two evils.

Considering it was clearly silence that Potter wanted, Draco didn’t respond, just sipping his drink until he noticed Potter eying it thoughtfully. After a few seconds, he brought out his wand to tap the menu, ordering himself the same.

“Finally interested in learning to be more refined?” Draco mused.

Potter rolled his eyes as an identical glass of whiskey puffed into view. “If I were, I wouldn’t go to you,” he said, swirling the cup. “Kendra, maybe. Not you.”

“Surprised to find you complimentary of a journalist.”

“All things considered, she is pretty decent,” Potter admitted. “It’s going to be a shame when I arrest her.”

...Hold up. Draco paused in lifting his glass to his lips.

“Arrest her?” Draco repeated. “The fuck do you mean?”

Potter frowned at him. “You don’t know? That’s an imposter,” he said. Draco stared at him. “Kendra Pennifold lives in Germany. She has since she graduated from Hogwarts.”

What the actual fuck?

Draco opened and closed his mouth a few times before responding. “So, who the hell were we talking to?” Potter shrugged. “You don’t know?”

“I’m an auror. I have actual cases to worry about,” Potter said. “This is just a side mystery I’m solving. If this person isn’t trying to kill me, I don’t see the urgency.”

“Are they trying to kill you?!”

“Eh. Don’t think so. If they are, they aren’t very good at it.”

“My God. How am I supposed to respond to that?”

“I don’t know,” Potter said, almost looking bored as he sipped his drink. The nerve. “With your usual grating quips about how the world would be better off without me?”

The outrage in Draco’s chest died slightly at that as he wrinkled his nose in consideration. “I actually don’t think that’s one I have said.” Potter hummed. “I’ve definitely commented on your dead parents.”

“Of course.”

“Your scar, your glasses.”

“Low-hanging fruit, but we already established your insults weren’t creative.”

“I’m sure I’ve called you a blood traitor at some point. Or made some half-blood quip.”

“That seems right.”

“Quidditch. I’ve called out any bad games there. Made fun of you for your fear of dementors. Implied you would die several times…but no. No saying the world would be better off.”

“Huh,” Potter said, looking somehow touched. “Thanks, Draco.”

“To be clear, this is just me expressing disappointment in not getting the job done before. I do think the world would be better off without you.”

At that, Potter outright laughed like the strange man he was.

“So, am I supposed to just accept that a phony is interviewing us with no other context? Does the Daily Prophet know? How long have you known?” Draco asked because he wasn’t going to let them move on from that so easily.

Potter shrugged. “I figured you knew. Kendra is pureblood. Don’t you have their identities on lock?” he asked. At Draco’s glare, he sighed. “I’ve known ever since she was assigned to me. From what I can tell, the real Kendra is in on it, which is interesting. She’s helping whoever this person is, so they can work this job. That means it’s probably someone whom the Prophet wouldn’t normally hire. Maybe someone underage or with a prickly past.” Potter paused, looking at Draco suspiciously. “What are your parents up to these days?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Draco told him flatly. Potter shrugged again. He did a lot of shrugging, this one. “And so you’re just… letting this happen?”

“Well,” Potter said, tapping the table. “My current theory is that it’s Mundungus Fletcher, and if that’s the case… I really can’t be bothered all that much. And if the real Kendra knows, as I deeply suspect she does, then I’m not in any hurry to get stuck with a potentially more obnoxious journalist. The fake one at least respects boundaries.”

“I hope you know how insane you sound,” Draco mused. Because he did. He sounded insane. “It doesn’t bother you that you're revealing personal details to someone you don’t know?” he asked, thinking back to his mentions of Astoria. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of giving that information out to some mysterious person.

“That’s essentially what I was doing before,” Potter said.

That was honestly fair. Draco sipped his whiskey, trying and failing to decide what to do with this information.

“So you are being honest in those interviews?” he asked. Potter raised a brow. “I am, too! I was just wondering. Was the cupboard thing a very bad joke?” At that, Potter’s expression darkened. It wasn’t, then. Fascinating. “You were that poor? I expected something like that from Weasley’s upbringing. Not yours.”

“We weren’t really poor,” Potter murmured. “Like I said, they just didn’t like me. Or the fact I had magic.” His brows came together, a look of genuine thoughtfulness touching his face. “I wonder if I weren’t magic if they would have liked me…”

Baffling. Completely baffling. Draco couldn’t even find the right words to express how utterly confused he was with this reveal.

“Well,” Draco finally went with. “If you haven’t already, you should bring it up to Albus. To show you relate to him.” Potter blinked, brows furrowing with a need for further explanation. Draco bit back a smirk. “He’s in the closet, you grew up in a closet. I just think it’s a good bonding experience.”

The confusion melted into annoyance. “You’re the worst,” he whispered.

“That’s quippier than the ballet one, right?”

“Ha,” Potter muttered. He let his head fall back against the wall behind him. More silence. “I already fucked up this thing with Albus, haven’t I? I should have just pretended I never saw anything. Minded my business and waited for him to bring it up.”

“Correct,” Draco said, absently tapping his finger against the rim of his glass. “It’s honestly astounding you are panicking more about your child being gay than your reporter being a fraud, but sure.”

Potter closed his eyes. “I don’t know why I suck so bad at this-”

“Well, you had no parents for starters.”

“Yes, thank you, Draco.”

“And your muggle family sounds awful.”

“It was more of a rhetorical question,” Potter offered dryly. Draco shrugged. Sure. He was just being helpful. “I just… everything I do with him is wrong. James and Lily, I have down. I know what they need, I understand them, but Albus…” He made a face. “Ginny says he’s the most like me. Shouldn’t that mean I understand him more?”

Hm. Draco downed the rest of his drink.

“I fear you might be confusing me with your therapist, Potter,” he said, swallowing back the burning in his throat. “Or worse. Your friend.” He stood up, putting a handful of galleons on the table.

Draco turned to slide open the door and walk away, but a voice (that sounded suspiciously like his son’s) in the back of his head scolded him for leaving on such a cold note. He glanced back, trying valiantly not to see the specky little nuisance he had grown up with, and instead a struggling father.

And God, was he struggling.

“Don’t tell anyone else you know. Put that ridiculous magazine back. And just wait for him to tell you,” Draco relented. Potter winced and nodded. “And when he does say something, just confuse him.”

“...what?”

“It’s my tactic for when Scorpius tells me certain things. If I don’t want him to think I’m reacting badly to something, I try to confuse him. It buys you time to assess what the situation actually needs.” An air of skepticism filled the room. “When Scorpius told me he befriended Albus, I told him that lobster blood was blue. He was so confused that I was able to be upset for a moment without him noticing. Then, when I did respond, he didn’t care as much about that as he did about why I brought up the lobster thing.”

Silence. Draco waited for Potter to say that was stupid. Mainly because it was, but he seemed to be ready to take any advice - no matter how dodgy - because he nodded.

“So,” Potter began. “Albus says he’s gay, and I tell him that Antarctica is technically classified as a desert? Then I tell him that the gay thing is also great, and he’ll just accept it because he’s confused?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Huh,” Potter said. “Interesting.”

“You could also tell him he’s taken after his namesake,” Draco said as he slid open the door again. Potter tilted his head. “You know, Dumbledore.”

A long pause followed.

“Dumbledore was gay?!”

Draco’s mouth dropped. ​”You didn’t know?!”

“No!” Potter said, voice rising a few octaves. “I always thought him and McGonagall…”

“Really? I could not imagine two people less suited for one another,” Draco said, with an air of disbelief. “Wait.” He closed the door again. “You can tell that the reporter interviewing us is fake, but not that Dumbledore was gay?”

“How was I supposed to know he was gay? You can’t tell that about someone by just looking at them!”

“Maybe not generally, but you can certainly tell by looking at Dumbledore-”

Chapter Text

“What do you think happens after we die?”

If the question had come from anyone else, Draco might have thought it was strange to bring up so suddenly. But in the few months he had gotten to know Astoria, he’d learned quickly to expect anything and everything from her.

They had taken to studying for their ‘reformation classes’ together. Neither, admittedly, took it all that seriously. They did the assignments in whatever way they enjoyed at their own leisure. More often than not, they paid more attention to one another than to the importance of their own self-improvement.

Today, they were supposed to be watching a muggle movie. It was a small box filled with lightning that created pictures using the ‘technology’ stuff muggles liked. Astoria and Draco’s future son would be very stern about using the television to watch things like documentaries or other, more enlightening things. Alas, right now, he was far from being born, and they were safe from his lectures as they ate popcorn and watched some undignified sponge annoy an octopus.

“Pardon?” Draco asked, pausing where his thumbs were massaging Astoria’s feet in his lap. He still wasn’t quite sure how that happened, but this woman had a strange ability to convince him to do the most ridiculous things without him realizing.

“Death,” Astoria said with a yawn. Her hair was spread around her head like a dark halo, makeup perfectly intact with pearls neatly aligned on her neck. Even in the most casual of environments, she remained composed. Her shoes sat neatly by the door, and her clothes wrinkle-free. The epitome of poise, in Draco’s opinion. “I know it’s a touchy subject for us purebloods. What did your parents teach you?”

Oof. Draco hesitated. It was a sensitive subject. One of the most sensitive ones you could ask a pureblood. Especially pureblood families like theirs.

“That when you die, you can become a ghost or pass on,” he said slowly. That was safe enough, at least.

Astoria glanced at him, a hint of annoyance touching her face. He had stated the obvious, after all. The one thing they were all taught about death in the wizarding world.

“If you’re asking about religion-”

“Of course I’m asking about religion,” Astoria cut in. “Do you think Arthur Weasley will talk about it in class? Is anyone brave enough to have that conversation?”

“It sounds like you might be,” Draco noted warily. He did not want to talk about this. Still, her eyes narrowed, and he found himself answering despite that. “My family are philosophers. As I imagine all of yours are.”

Astoria pulled her foot back out of his lap, ignoring the ugly laugh of the sponge on the screen.

Draco tensed, waiting to see what she was going to spit out next.

“They are,” Astoria said. “But it’s a bit silly, isn’t it? We can’t have beliefs because muggles do. Our kind used to have religion. We were pagans before that became an unrefined word.”

“Because of the muggles,” Draco admitted.

Astoria pointed to him. “And now we can only have philosophy because believing in any god is too common, I guess.” She wrinkled her nose. In years to come, they would snicker to one another that philosophy was essentially gentrified religion in their world. A silly way for their families to pretend like they knew more about the universe than muggles. “You know,” Astoria continued. “Lots of people at Hogwarts have religion. And lots of different religions too.”

“Brought in by muggleborns,” Draco pointed out. “Pureblood families like ours wouldn’t go for that.”

“So we don’t get to have our own thoughts?” Astoria asked, lips pursing.

“To be fair,” Draco said. “We can. It just can’t include any higher beings.”

“But isn’t philosophy supposed to question if there are higher beings? Or must we assume that we’re the highest beings?”

“It does sound bad when you put it like that,” Draco admitted. Astoria sat up, fixing her hair with a quick swish of her wand. “What do you think then?” he asked her. Astoria paused, tapping her nose in thought. “Is there God?”

Another pause.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Our parents would have us believe that magic just aimlessly created everything. That the right magic happened at the right time, and poof! Our world. But what came before magic? Does magic not have a beginning or an end? Maybe magic is God, and we are fools for thinking it is something we can truly control.”

….right. Draco stared at her, unsure what to say exactly.

“Maybe we are turned into magic when we die,” Astoria murmured. “And what magic really is is just… souls.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Draco asked cautiously. At that, Astoria looked at him, pure disappointment on her face as she collapsed back against the velvet couch, eyes moving toward the screen. A few silent moments passed. “I don’t know what you expect me to say right now,” Draco finally told her.

“I don’t know either,” she admitted. Right. Okay. Before Draco could decide what direction to steer them, she spoke again. “A seer told me I would die young.”

“Most seers are frauds,” Draco said, a little aghast that she didn’t know this. “My family knows some of true value if you’d like a second opinion.”

Astoria touched her necklace. “No, this one was a proper seer,” she murmured. “He talked about a blood-curse placed on my family. He said it was in my veins. My parents panicked and took me to a healer and… there it was.” At Draco’s eyes widening, she smiled. “It’s dormant. For now.”

“But almost all stay dormant-”

“I know that,” Astoria told him. “The healer said the same thing. If the curse wasn’t active by now, it probably won’t ever be. But… I don’t know. I believe the seer.” She closed her eyes, the gold on her eyelids shimmering a bit by the candlelight. “I just… really, really want to talk about it to someone who doesn’t spout philosophy quotes at me.”

Ah. Draco looked at the screen again and then picked up the remote to turn it off. At the movement, Astoria’s lips quirked upward.

“So, if there is a God,” Draco began, and Astoria’s smile widened. “Do you think any version of what the muggles said was right? Or did our ancestors have a better idea with the paganism thing?”

Never in his life had Draco seen someone light up at something he had said. Something about it was a little intoxicating.

“Here’s the thing,” Astoria began - sitting back up so fast she almost hit Draco’s head. “I think it might be both-”

A smile touched his lips. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Every study session after that had turned into religious discourse. It was no wonder Draco and Astoria had gotten literally nothing out of Arthur Weasley’s class but the bare minimum. To their credit, however, they did have a healthy appreciation for religions across muggles and wizards alike.

An appreciation that had been - for better or for worse - passed down to their son.

“Did Mom read all of these?” Scorpius asked, running a finger along the spines of various religious texts covering the back of Draco’s alchemy room. It had been much of their life - Draco playing with the elements while Astoria read about gods of all sorts behind him. Now Scorpius took her place, settled into her old leather armchair as he flipped through ridiculously thin pages. “Did she pray to all of them like she said she did?”

“Yes, and yes,” Draco said, pouring some potions together and gently swirling the concoction. The smell of lavender filled the room, along with hints of smoke. “Why would she lie?”

Scorpius pulled out another book and opened it up. “It just seems like a lot of prayers to learn,” he mused and snapped it back shut.

Draco wiped his brow with the back of his arm, trying to decide what the next step of the experiment needed before answering his son. “She didn’t say all of the prayers every day,” he said. “She just picked one and tried it.”

From behind him, Scorpius slid a book back onto the shelf. “Which one did she actually believe?”

Draco tapped his wand against one of his cauldrons. “That is not something she told me. Although,” he added, walking over to grab some boiled gold from the fire. “I deeply suspect you know after reading her journal.”

A beat of silence passed. “I won’t tell you what it was,” Scorpius finally said. Draco snorted and poured the gold into his cauldron. “Want to watch a documentary tonight? I got some good recommendations from my muggles study professor.”

Draco’s mind flashed to Burbage’s hair sticking out of Nagini’s mouth.

“Scorpius,” he said, pushing the image from his mind and putting down his work. “It is in the middle of the semester, and you appealed to McGonagall herself to come home for a weekend. Am I not supposed to ask why?” At that, Scorpius’s face fell. “Is someone else bothering you-?”

“No,” Scorpius told him quickly. “I… no. I just, um…. wanted to see you.”

Silence.

“Liar,” Draco finally said, and Scorpius’s mouth dropped indignantly. “I know you did not ditch your best friend to come see me.”

At once, the look on Scorpius’s face shifted into irritation as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Albus and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment.”

“What?” Draco asked. Scorpius shrugged. “Why didn’t you open with that?” he asked, tossing the gloves he had been using to handle some of the trickier substances to the side so he could officially retire his alchemy work for the day.

“In part because some of it is your fault,” Scorpius told him flatly. Draco placed a hand to his chest. “Music in the dorm room? Really? I knew immediately you asked his dad to tell him to do that.” Ah, well. Yeah. That was on him. “So, admittedly, I’ve been more terse with him because of that,” Scorpius said. “But he’s also been so weird lately. Like, I’m finally starting to get more friends and he’s just mean about it.”

Interesting, interesting. Then again, it wasn’t like nobody knew Albus had a bit of an attitude. It just wasn’t typically directed at Scorpius. If anything, his poor father got the brunt of that.

“Mean how?” Draco asked because he also wasn’t afraid to give Potter some attitude himself if his kid was being a dick.

Scorpius shrugged, looking put out as he played with the sleeve of his robe. “He… I don’t know. Whenever I say we should hang out with someone, he rolls his eyes or gets really moody. And do not get me started on Rose.”

“Rose? Rose Weasley? As in his cousin?”

Scorpius flushed, rubbing the back of his neck as he settled deeper into Astoria’s chair, feet tapping against the floor absently.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “I think she’s pretty,” he admitted, not meeting Draco’s eyes. “Really, really pretty. You would think Albus would want me to be friends with his cousin, but apparently not.”

Oh…. Draco got the feeling he knew why Albus was being a nuisance.

“I want to figure out how to talk to her, but Albus is being so frustrating about it! Like, he keeps being mean to her, and it makes me look bad. I don’t know what his problem is, and whenever I try to bring it up, he acts like he has no idea what I’m talking about.”

No way were Draco’s parenting skills high enough to handle this.

“I see-” he tried anyway, only for Scorpius to cut him off in a flurry of rushed words.

“How do you talk to a girl you like?”

Fuck.

“Um,” Draco began. Right. He had this. Totally fine. “Well, what have you talked to her about so far?” he asked. Scorpius stared at him. He stared back. “You must have spoken to her. You’ve been at her house plenty of times.” Scorpius just kept looking at him. “How do you know if you like her if you haven’t talked to her?”

“She’s pretty,” Scorpius said - as if he hadn’t heard him the first time. “And really smart.”

Right.

Draco ran a hand over his chin. “I see,” he began carefully. “And is she… the only pretty girl who is smart? Maybe Albus isn’t thrilled about your friendship potentially being complicated by you dating his cousin?”

At that, Scorpius groaned, tilting his head at the ceiling as if Draco’s confusion was unreasonable. And to be fair, maybe it was? Draco had grown up in a more repressed sort of culture. If any semblance of a crush was had, then you squashed it. Romance was for adults and curated through specific traits. In retrospect, Draco wondered if he did like certain people while growing up, but it was so out of the realm of possibility, he hadn’t even clocked that it was what it was.

At any rate, Scorpius clearly had not developed this ability to squash romantic feelings like he had.

“I asked! He said he didn’t care, and Rose hates me anyway.”

“I doubt she hates you if you haven’t had a real conversation,” Draco assured him.

Scorpius stared at the ground, completely forlorn. Draco considered telling Scorpius that Albus most definitely was bothered by this, but he also knew Scorpius trusted Albus to be honest with him and would always take him at his word. Saying otherwise probably would do more harm than good. It was almost definitely a mistake Harry Potter would make — and Draco was wiser than him.

“How did you ask Mom out?” Scorpius tried.

Uh. Draco blinked a couple of times.

“Well,” he began slowly. “I… didn’t quite ask her out. We spent a lot of time together after the war. Studying and such. So we started talking that way.”

“But surely at some point you asked her if she liked you?”

Mmhm. Right. Sure.

“I probably should have,” Draco said. “I think that we were very lucky we didn’t run into many issues due to miscommunication.”

Scorpius stared at him blankly. “What does that mean?”

More silence. Draco debated how he was going to spin the real answer for a few moments before ultimately giving up. Fuck it. He was old enough.

“Well, one day, your mother asked me what happened after people die, and shortly after that conversation wrapped up, we slept together. From there, we kept doing that until I asked her to marry me.”

One would think that after hearing things like ‘I was a Death Eater’ or ‘I bullied some of the most famous people in the world as a child’ that Scorpius would be used to reveals like this from his father. Alas, his son looked as if this scandal exceeded far from anything Draco had told him before this moment.

“But-” he began, stuttering as he leaned back, clearly horrified. “Grandmother says you can’t do that until after you’re married!”

Bless him. Even at fourteen, he was still far better than anyone deserved.

“She does say that,” Draco agreed. “And if you tell her I did otherwise, I will deny it until my final breath.” Scorpius put a hand over his chest, much like Draco did earlier. “Look,” he said. “My relationship with your mom isn’t going to be a good template for you. Things for us fell into place in a way most people don’t ever experience. Maybe it was to make up for the fact that our time wouldn’t be as long as it could have been. Maybe it was just luck. But you, Scorpius, are far easier to love than me. That means it is going to be harder to find the right person because so many wrong people will be willing to try with you.”

Scorpius wrinkled his nose, falling against the wall behind him. “...but maybe the right person is Rose,” he whispered dramatically. “If I could talk to her.”

Draco snorted. “Would a hello not work? Could you not tell her that you think she’s smart?”

“That’s weird, Dad.”

This generation was bewildering.

“Okay.” Draco clapped his hands together. “You know what? I’ll be right back,” he said, patting Scorpius’s shoulder as he brushed past him.

“Wait. What? Why?” Scorpius asked. “Dad! Dad, what are you doing-?”

But Draco had already left the room before his son could tackle him to the ground and demand answers. He was piecing together a tentative plan that was only slightly humiliating. Silently praying this wouldn’t turn into a mess, Draco apparated just as Scorpius shot out of the alchemy room to question him.

From there... things went downhill.

Draco’s plan, of course, did not work out, and an hour later, he was onto one of his many backup plans that was definitely far more humiliating. A backup plan that brought him to the Potter household.

Despite Albus and Scorpius’s friendship, Draco had avoided this house for many years. He’d gotten away with visiting literally any other home in this vast, ridiculous family, but it seemed his luck had finally run out, and he was now forced to knock on Harry Potter’s door.

In his ideal world, this house would be a ridiculous mansion with a statue of Potter and equally obnoxious decorations, but in reality, it was rather… tasteful. In a subtle way, of course, but Draco couldn’t help but think it wouldn’t be so bad as a second summer home. Stone walls. Wood trims. Two curved rooms sat on the wings of the house, vines running up the sides with blooming flowers.

Sighing, Draco raised his hand to knock and then thought better of it - hitting his head against the wood several times instead. Two birds, one stone. When he heard the footsteps approaching, he peeled himself back, trying to force himself to look somewhat presentable.

“Is your mother here?” he asked tiredly when Ginevra opened the door. “Because she isn’t at her house.”

She looked at him. He looked at her. They both evaluated the other with suspicion.

“Hello, Malfoy,” Weaslette finally said, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, my mother is not here. Neither is your son, for that matter.”

Draco groaned, head tilting back. “Do you know where your mother is?” he asked, a little desperately. Ginevra raised a brow. “I need a woman. Preferably, a mother who knows how to talk to teenage boys in whatever weird language they speak. I already tried to find Helen Granger, but she isn’t where I left her, and Granger is out there being the minister or whatever, and I’m starting to realize I don’t actually know that many women who didn’t get married off the moment they became of age.”

Ginevra tilted her head. “Huh,” she said. “That is a pickle.”

God, she was useless, too! Where was he supposed to find-?

Wait.

Draco froze, wiping the frustration off his face to instead smile politely.

“Hello, Ginevra.”

“Hello, Malfoy.”

“Can I ask you, a wonderful woman who is raising three lovely children, for a favor?”

Ginevra put a hand over her chest. “Me?” she asked, mouth opened in feigned surprise. “My goodness. I’m honored!” she said and then took a step back. “No.” The door slammed shut.

And to be completely honest, that one might have been Draco.

“Fuck,” he whispered and turned away, only for the door to reopen.

Instantly, he was greeted with blue hair, freckles, and tattoos that he had a feeling his Aunt Andromeda had not approved of.

“Oh,” Teddy greeted when he saw him. “Okay, that makes sense.” Draco scowled at him. “Hello, Mr. Malfoy. I believe I overheard that you’re in the market for a woman?”

….hold on. Draco was sensing another option. An option that he honestly should have thought of first. He spun around, hope lighting in his chest once more.

“Is your grandmother-?”

“In France,” Teddy said with a meager shrug. Damnit. “Which you would know if you talked to her, but you did not, in fact, take up my invitation for dinner last Christmas.” Right. Draco grimaced, trying to look guilty at that. “Luckily for you, I know how to butter Ginny up to almost anything.” He jerked his head. “Come on in.” When Draco didn’t move, he clapped his hands together. “Come on, mate. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

The nerve. “Aren’t you the one that’s part dog?” Draco muttered and stomped in. “My parents complained about mutts, but your family really had to take that to the next level.”

“Our family,” Teddy corrected, nonplussed. Draco didn’t answer, warily looking inside to see photos across the walls of each of the Potters. Scorpius even featured in one with Albus, both laughing at something as Albus practically fell against Scorpius with laughter. “Take a seat,” Teddy told him when they entered the kitchen and gestured him to a stool in front of a granite countertop. “GINNY!” he shouted as he walked over to open a pantry door. “I CAN’T BE THE ONE FEEDING YOUR GUESTS!”

He placed a bowl of strawberries in front of Draco. A few seconds later, Ginevra reappeared like an executioner coming to collect the condemned.

“You let him into my house?” she asked, affronted.

Teddy nodded, pouring himself a glass of milk. “Yeah,” he said. “And I’m eating your food.”

“I should hex you.”

“You won’t,” Teddy said, and Draco couldn’t help but notice how his hair changed from the blue he had answered the door with to the same red as Ginevra’s as he spoke. “I’m adorable and fed you snacks through all three of your pregnancies. Even the weird ones.”

“Bertie Botts Flavored Beans was not a weird craving.”

“No, but the earwax flavor was.”

Ew, what? Draco turned to look at the psychopath that Potter married. Maybe that was the bravest thing that man had truly done after all.

Ginevra scowled before throwing her hands up, pointing a finger at Teddy with narrowed eyes.

“I let you visit my house whenever you want, and you act this way,” she told him as she stood on the opposite side of the counter from Draco. Teddy stuck out his tongue. “I’ll sic your godfather on you.”

“My godfather is wrapped around my finger. You have no power here,” Teddy said sagely, and clapped Draco on the shoulder as he passed. “See you later, cousin! I’ll tell my grandmother you’ll visit her soon.”

Huh. That was a strange, vaguely terrifying boy.

Ginevra sighed, rubbing her temple as she leaned against the counter, giving Draco a once-over.

“Does this have anything to do with why Albus decided to randomly come home this weekend and ask Harry to take him out to a Quidditch game?”

Was Albus home too? That was odd. And the fact that he was spending time with Harry could be a good or bad thing. Maybe they were finally having that talk. The gay one.

At any rate, that was not what Draco was here to discuss.

“Scorpius likes a girl,” he opened with. Weaselette stopped tapping her fingers against the granite to give him an odd look. “And apparently, I’m not qualified to help him in this department, so I need you to. I should also disclose that the girl in question is Rose Weasley.”

Honestly, what had his life come to? Parenthood truly made strangers of them all.

“Hilarious,” Ginevra finally said. “Let me be there when Ron finds out. Also, why aren’t you qualified?”

Draco shrugged helplessly. “I told him to say hello to her, and I guess that’s wrong?” He paused, a sudden thought flashing through his mind. “Or is he wrong? And he just doesn’t know that I’m right. Or… God, this is awful. I don’t know what I’m doing,” he muttered.

Ginny reached out to grab a strawberry from his bowl, and Draco decided to just let her have the rest of the bowl. He didn’t have high hopes that she had washed her hands after whatever Quidditch practice she went through this morning.

“It’s pretty simple,” she said. “You are right, but Scorpius is a teenage boy who, like most teenage boys, fears any semblance of vulnerability and rejection, so he’s not really looking for a way to start a conversation; he’s looking for the approach that will most likely increase the chances of her liking him back. It isn’t even really about her, it’s about him feeling secure.” She took another strawberry. “Albus took this well?”

“No. But Scorpius isn’t the best at reading between the lines, so I’m not sure he realizes.”

Ginny hummed. “Well, Albus isn’t the best at telling people how he feels,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Just like his father.” She dusted her hands free of the strawberry residue. “You know what?” she asked. “Let me talk to Scorpius. Rose adores me, so anything I tell him he’ll take as gospel.”

Oh, thank God. Part of him almost wanted to hug her... but the question of her cleanliness remained. Before Draco could offer her some sort of monetary reward instead, a bang came from the front of the house, following up on an indiscernible scream of frustration.

“I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU!” Albus’s voice screeched at an ungodly volume. “MOM!”

Weaselette exhaled slowly, eyes squeezing shut. “When I married Harry,” she said, either to herself, Draco, or someone invisible. “I knew he was a bit of a temperamental drama queen. I love it about him. But nobody warned me it would be passed down to my teenage son.”

Right on cue, the kitchen door flew open, and a fuming Albus Potter stood there, looking like he had escaped a torture chamber with his hair completely mussed, robes in disarray, and shaking what looked to be a croissant in his hand.

Ginny stood up, fixing her expression into one of concern. “What happened?” she asked as Potter dragged himself behind his son, looking not too different from how he had after his fight against the Dark Lord. To be annoying, Draco waved at him.

“Dad went through my stuff!” Albus said, voice tight.

“I did not!”

“You did,” Albus snapped at him. He looked back at his mother. “We went to a coffee shop after that match, and I know Scorpius likes someone, right? But, like, does he actually like her? Because she isn’t that great and is actually kind of annoying, so I asked Dad how to know if you like a girl - and he goes: I thought you were gay?”

Draco’s mouth dropped. All that panicking and Potter still fucked it up? Incredible. Absolutely insane work. Draco was almost impressed.

“And!” Albus continued, voice rising an octave. “That’s a weird conclusion to draw unless he went through my stuff!”

This would be the point where Draco should follow the correct social order of things and leave. However (and this was very important), the situation was wildly entertaining. So he took another contaminated strawberry and settled in.

“I,” Potter began and looked pointedly at his wife. “Did not.”

Albus threw up his hands. Potter and Weaselette stared each other down before Ginny finally caved.

“Darling,” she sighed. “Your father didn’t go through your stuff,” she began, and Albus narrowed his eyes. “I did.”

“What?!”

“You made that joke about drugs, and I just- we got paranoid and I just wanted to check,” she said, grimacing. “Albus, I didn’t mean to find anything like that-”

“No,” Albus cut in, holding up a hand. “No, no. You can’t tell me you went into my room to look for drugs and ended up reading the letter I was writing to Scorpius!”

....ooh. Draco ate another strawberry. He could not wait to see how this panned out.

“Letter?” Potter asked. “What letter?”

“I- I wanted to tell Scorpius first!” Albus said, throwing up his hands. “He’s my best friend. But I got nervous and didn’t send it and… Wait. You didn’t know about the letter?” he asked. “But then how did you know…?” Several seconds passed, and Albus’s face went bright red. “Oh my God.”

Identical looks of pure panic washed over Ginny and Harry’s faces.

“Albus, look-”

“Oh my God!”

“It was an accident! And not a big deal-”

“No!” Albus said, throwing up his hands. “No, no, no! We are not talking about this. No.”

“Talking about what?” Teddy asked, poking his head through the door.

“This is so humiliating,” Albus whispered, putting the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I want to die.”

“We don’t have to discuss anything, any further, until you want to,” Potter said. “I fucked up. It just… I got caught off guard, and I said something stupid. But we can just leave it alone for now, and you come and tell us when you’re ready.” Albus gaped at him. “And, um. The periodic table has 118 elements, which muggles use for science.”

The entire room turned to him at once. Draco, in an odd sort of way, was a little proud of Potter for using the tactic they discussed so appropriately.

“What?” Albus asked, frowning. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Give him a pass,” Teddy mused as he walked over to the sink to put his glass of milk in. “You don’t get great social skills when raised in a cupboard. Let him tell you the chemistry facts.”

“Raised in a…?” Albus began. “What is going on?!”

“Your son doesn’t know you were raised in a cupboard?” Draco asked.

Potter threw up a hand. “No. Not many people do. Funnily enough, it doesn’t come up that often, Draco. Also, why are you in my house?”

“My God. Dad, were you really raised in a cupboard? I thought you had a room with your aunt and uncle?”

“I did! I got Dudley’s second bedroom when I was, like, twelve.”

Albus’s mouth dropped. “His second bedroom?”

“Oh, that’s fucked up,” Teddy frowned.

“I hate your family,” Ginny mused. “But we’re getting off-topic. Albus Severus,” she said gently, tapping her poorly named child on the shoulder. “I love you. Your father loves you. I’m sorry this turned into such a mess - mostly of our doing. We are dropping this completely unless you’d like to discuss anything. Fair?” she asked.

Albus hesitated and nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said, and then looked at Potter. “And this is fine?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“Of course, it’s fine, Albus,” Potter said. “Trust me when I say I’ve been desperately trying to find ways to reassure you it’s fine for months.”

At that, Albus’s lips twitched a bit, relief touching his expression. Then paused. “Is that why you told everyone at dinner that Albus Dumbledore was gay a few months ago?” he asked. When Potter nodded, Albus shrugged. “Cool… but you know, I’ve read a lot about the guy I was named after. It was really obvious he was gay. You didn’t need to tell me.”

Potter frowned. “Did everyone but me know?” he muttered.

“Could I… just see Scorpius?” Albus finally asked, holding up his hands. “I’m glad you guys are good with this, but he’s the main person I’ve been stressed about telling. Given that this had gone sort of well in a weird way, I kind of want to get it over with now.”

“Are you sure?” Potter asked. “You can take a beat.”

“No,” Albus said. “I’m sure.”

“He’s about to come over anyway,” Ginny added. “Ironically, I need to set him straight on how to talk to girls because his father isn’t up to task.”

Whatever. Draco rolled his eyes. Albus also looked disgusted, but probably for a different reason.

“We’ve been fighting a bit lately,” Albus admitted. “I might need to apologize.”

Potter patted his shoulder, and surprisingly, Albus let him get away with it. Teddy leaned against the counter, nodding to himself as he checked a watch on his wrist.

“This has been beautiful, but I’m going to go, I got a thing,” he told them.

“When did you even get here?” Potter asked, but Teddy didn’t bother to answer as he dramatically bowed and slid out the door. “YOU’VE BEEN ACTING WEIRD TOO!” he shouted after him. “DON’T THINK I HAVEN’T NOTICED! JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE AN ADULT NOW DOESN’T MEAN I CAN’T TELL ANDROMEDA YOU’RE UP TO SHIT!”

Draco never wanted to come to this house again.

Chapter Text

At one point in his life, Draco had really prided himself in pissing Harry Potter off. He would even say he was pretty good at it, though he had never achieved a full mental breakdown like he so desperately dreamed.

He was happy to report that some odd years later, his fantasy of witnessing a Patented Potter tantrum seemed to be on the horizon. Granted, the incident at hand wasn’t Draco’s doing, but he felt like he should enjoy it nevertheless.

“Absolutely not. Fuck you, and fuck the entire Ministry.”

This time, they weren’t in McGonagall’s office. There wasn’t enough room for all the occupants of this meeting to be shoved in such a space, so they had filed into the Great Hall, all different levels of fuming. By the looks of it, every single parent of a Hogwarts student had received the same urgent letter, summoning them to the school.

What a mess. Draco hadn’t been sure what to expect when he arrived, but a continental incident hadn’t been on the top of his list. The basic rundown of the situation was this:

The Goblet of Fire was back.

Apparently, after the last, disastrous Twiwizard Tournament, the Goblet in question had been locked away in the Ministry of Magic with the intention of never using it again. Most people knew this. Draco actually had been one of the few people who knew that during the war, the Death Eaters who took over the Ministry had stolen the Goblet for the Dark Lord. Possibly for future tournaments to entertain dark wizards, or maybe to create a new Horcrux somehow.

Years ago, Draco had been questioned about the Goblet, but he had known so little about its whereabouts that he just assumed it had eventually been found and locked away.

Wrong. The thing somehow ended up with a pureblood family in Bulgaria, and now a Durmstrang student had activated it. This meant that, technically, a tournament was set between the three schools.

One could imagine how well this was received. Especially by a certain Savior of the Wizarding World. A savior who was pissed off enough to go head-to-head with the Minister of Magic, as Fake-Kendra scribbled in her notebook off to the side.

And while Draco was also not pleased by the situation, he had to admit a Harry Potter vs. Hermione Granger-Weasley showdown was mildly entertaining.

Harry - God, when did he become Harry? Gross - had already stood up in the front of the group, staring down where Granger and McGonagall were up front. Granger grimaced, fixing Harry with a long look. They seemed to be silently conversing, an argument that left both of them getting more and more irritated as the rest of them sat uncomfortably.

“We are working on a solution,” she finally said. “But as it stands-”

“As it stands, it’s canceled,” Harry said, voice rising. “Done. No discussion.”

“You more than anyone know that’s not how the Goblet of Fire works,” Granger bit back sternly. “And while I will be investigating more on how this happened, right now I am focused on how to responsibly satisfy the conditions of the Goblet.”

A few people murmured at that. Behind Granger, leaders from other parts of Europe all watched. It was said that all were working together to dismantle this tournament without the Goblet cursing the schools for not participating. Beside them sat Madam Maxime, at the teacher’s table next to Durmstang’s newest headmaster - Viktor Krum. Neither seemed particularly thrilled with the situation either. Draco honestly believed they were trying to find a way to call this whole thing off, but this did not dissuade Harry James Potter from losing his goddamn mind if they did not find a loophole sooner rather than later.

“How can someone touching the goblet activate it anyway?” Harry asked, even though they had been over this previously. Many times, in fact.

“We don’t know exactly what she did to it. The student isn’t talking. It could have been intentional,” Granger said calmly. “As I said, I’ll be looking into it more. As of right now-”

“Hogwarts isn’t competing.”

“The goal is for no student to compete,” Granger said with a level of patience that was truly commendable. “But right now, it looks as if nobody putting their name into the Goblet will curse the schools.” Harry’s jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as the rest of the room muttered. “What we can do is find volunteers who have graduated from each of the schools and see if that could work. At least then we’d have adults competing.”

It seemed like a fair enough plan, but nobody moved. Draco might have considered standing up just to break the tension, but before he could, Granger pulled out a piece of paper and dropped it into where the ugly little cup in question was propped up beside her.

“Hermione!” Harry hissed, taking a quick step forward. For a moment, it looked like he might tackle the Goblet and wrestle the name out, but the Goblet had burst into red flames. The paper Granger put in shot out, bursting into ash.

A few people ducked at the flames reaching into the air, but the Goblet had already simmered back down, the fire returning to its normal blueish hue.

Oh, they were so fucked.

“It will not accept graduated students then,” Viktor Krum grimaced. He muttered something under his breath. “We should still keep the age restrictions of the last tournament-”

“I don’t see how a tournament can be held if a government does not agree to host,” Susan Bones said, standing up. A few people murmured at that. “How can the schools be held responsible if the Ministry or any other country does not agree to hold the tournament?”

A surprisingly good question. Harry pointed at her in approval.

“I have been researching this,” Granger assured her. “But the Goblet was made far before our modern-day governments were. It’s tied to the schools. That is who bears the responsibility if the tournament does not happen.” She ran a hand over her face. “If we did hold the tournament, we could explore the possibility of just disqualifying all the students selected-”

“That would still mean letting them put their names in there,” Harry argued. “Which we’re absolutely not doing.”

This argument may last a while.

“While we are looking for another solution,” Granger said, eyes narrowing. “I know you would prefer your children and my children to not get cursed due to our own stubbornness.” She raised her eyebrows. “No?”

Poor Harry looked like he very much wanted to pummel someone, but couldn’t quite decide who.

“Can we not just destroy the Goblet?” he finally asked. “The Sword of Gryffindor-”

“This isn’t a Horcrux, Harry!” Granger finally burst. She slammed her hand on a table, making a good part of the room jump. “And you need to - just once - consider the consequences of what might happen if we play around with magic we don’t understand.”

And because Draco had grown a little fonder of Granger, he raised a finger. “Yes,” he called, causing Harry to whip around. “I would also prefer us not playing with magic we don’t understand.”

Furious green eyes latched onto him, a bubbling temper seconds away from launching at him, but Draco tilted his head, pointing to the scars they both knew were under his robes. After a few seconds, Potter closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

“Fine,” he whispered. “If the tournament must go on, keep the age restriction,” he gritted out, and paused. “And it must be held at Hogwarts.”

Viktor Krum frowned. “It was held at Hogwarts last time-”

“I’m not going to be separated from my children if this tournament continues. If it happens at Drumstrang or Beauxbaton, then you can expect to host me there as well.”

More silence followed. Draco almost wanted to laugh. All of his life, he so desperately wanted to prove that Harry was a spoiled, entitled child who loved his fame. He never could when they were kids, but there was something to be said about how this man acted when it came to his own children.

“...fine,” Maxime relented first. “I do not wish for my halls to be…” She gestured Harry up and down vaguely. “Covered in such distress.”

And just like that… it was done.

Halloween crept nearer, and none of the schools or governments could find a suitable loophole out of the tournament. Cursebreakers were enlisted. Nothing. Aurors looked into it. Nothing. Those with specialties in ancient magic were called upon. Nothing.

And now Draco himself was enlisted to return to Hogwarts and put his alchemy skills to use.

“Why is Mr. Potter so upset?” Scorpius asked when Draco came back to examine the Goblet. With so few names entering the fire ahead of the Goblet’s deadline, it had started wilting the plants on the school’s grounds. Once it started affecting people, the Ministry would have to relent and let students put their names in. “It isn’t like the Dark Lord could come back again, right?”

The Great Hall was empty, save him and his son. Not many people were happy to learn Draco was near the Goblet, but Harry surprisingly vouched for him to take a look. A true sign that he was willing to do almost anything to prevent this tournament from happening.

Now, the Goblet sat on a small pedestal, its blue flames hungry for more names. Draco’s mind flashed to the few times in his fourth year. He had been tempted once or twice to try to sneak his own name in. Oftentimes, he wondered if he would have put his name in if the age restriction hadn’t been in place.

It was probably for the best that he would never get that answer.

“No,” Draco said, walking up to the Goblet. “But it’s more than that. It’s a dangerous tournament and a good time for other bad people to work in secret.” He tapped his wand against the side of the Goblet, feeling the thrum of energy rush up through him. “And Mr. Potter has his own memories clouding his judgment.”

“Cedric Diggory,” Scorpius mused. “We learned about him in class.” Draco nodded. “Did you know him?”

Draco shrugged, tapping the Goblet again. “Not well,” he answered. “But everyone knew him a bit. He was…” Draco considered, trying to find the proper words. “A bit of everything. Quidditch Captain, Seeker, Prefect, best in his class for most things.” Scorpius pursed his lips, glancing at the Goblet thoughtfully. Draco stopped walking. “I don’t need to worry about you trying to get through this age restriction spell, do I?” he asked.

Scorpius blinked once. Then laughed. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I would get chosen even if I did.”

Draco deeply disagreed with that, but decided he would save his confidence in his son until after the selection of the champions.

“There probably is something else I should tell you, though,” Scorpius added, absently tugging at his robes. Draco hummed in acknowledgment. “...I kissed Rose Granger-Weasley.” Draco tore his eyes away from the Goblet to stare at his son, mouth falling open slightly. “And she kissed me back.”

Dear God.

Don’t overreact, don’t overreact….

“Did you know,” Draco said, fighting to keep his voice from rising a few octaves. “That lemons float in water, but limes sink.”

Scorpius smiled a little. At this point, he was probably used to Draco’s tactics of distracting him with random facts. A tragedy, really, because it didn’t give Draco his much-needed time to figure out how to react to new information. “I did not,” he said. “Why?”

Okay, if Scorpius could be friends with a Potter, then dating a Weasley was totally doable, right? Of course. And it wasn’t like Draco didn’t know this was coming. He knew Scorpius liked her. Part of Draco just figured it wouldn’t actually happen. She was Rose Granger-Weasley after all.

Good God, Draco was never going to escape this family, was he?

“Something to do with the skins,” he finally answered and sighed. “Rose Granger-Weasley?”

Scorpius gave a ridiculously besotted smile at the name. “I think she might like me,” he said and collapsed a little in his seat. “Albus is going to be mad.”

“You haven’t told him?”

“I figured I should wait until he gets a boyfriend,” Scorpius reasoned. “So he won’t feel left out.”

“So you’re dating this girl?”

Scorpius paused. “I… don’t know,” he muttered. “Oh. I should… I should ask,” he said, brows furrowing. He sat up. “Do you think Mr. Weasley knows?”

Draco stared at his poor, unaware son. He thought back to all the years he had tormented Ron Weasley. The songs, the insults, the hitting… That man was not going to take this well. Part of Draco almost wished that Scorpius would just go and date Albus instead.

“No,” Draco told him, pocketing his wand. He’d let McGonagall know his findings later. Walking over, he patted his son on the shoulder. “Do you want my advice?” he asked. Scorpius nodded. “Don’t be there when he finds out.”

In the end, no alchemy or attempts to postpone the tournament worked. Disqualifying the selected students really did seem to be their best path forward… though a loud protest from inside the schools was attempting to put a stop to that. Unsurprisingly, some students genuinely wished to compete, and even parents who didn’t see the problem with letting them.

Luckily, it very much wasn’t his problem. And McGonagall was nice enough to let parents who were concerned attend the Halloween ceremony. Draco had debated about going, but ultimately needed reassurance that another underage child wasn’t snuck into the Goblet. Part of him was a little nervous about Albus. He seemed like a prime target for someone to sneak into the tournament – or even worse – sneak himself in. It seemed like just the sort of rebellious thing he would do to get under his father’s skin.

Except, Draco was pretty sure Harry would implode on the spot if Albus was selected. Hopefully, his son knew this, too.

“James Potter.”

The name echoed the halls with a deafening silence. A few people looked at one another with horror, while others searched about to see Harry’s reaction. Kendra Pennington froze from where she was to slowly look up, a hint of concern crossing over her eyes.

James stood.

“Fuck,” Draco heard Albus whisper, which seemed to sum up the sentiment of the entire hall. Across the room, he could see Weasley and Granger exchange horrified looks, slipping over in the direction Harry and his wife must have gone. It was actually a miracle he didn’t start screaming right then and there.

Maybe it was probably for the best that Draco minded his business on this one.

“I want to see my brother!”

Except that Scorpius was going to follow Albus, and this was very much Albus’s business… which ultimately led to Draco tagging along awkwardly as the boys entered an empty classroom. Already, the three champions stood off to the side with their respective headmaster and headmistresses congratulating them… well, all except for McGonagall, who had her arms over her chest and eyes narrowed as James politely looked back at her.

“We, uh, should reconvene at a later time,” Krum said with a wary look at Harry. Maxime gave a huff at that, taking her student by the shoulders and steering him right out of the room without another bit of acknowledgment.

Granger and Weasley were both whispering to Harry, clearly attempting to keep him from exploding on them all, until eventually Krum took his champion and left. He shot Draco an odd look as he passed, perhaps curious as to what Draco was doing here. A fair question. Maybe he should convince Scorpius to-

“I want a full investigation into this!” Harry exploded, slamming his hands on the table. James sat on a table in the corner of the room, looking exhausted as he bit the end of his thumb. “I thought this Goblet was under the highest protection. And yet still someone is sneaking names into the damn fire!”

James sighed. “Dad-”

“He won’t compete,” Harry cut in. McGonagall opened her mouth, but Harry did not let her get even a breath in. “You know what? We need a time turner. Let’s undo the whole thing-”

“We will do no such thing,” McGonagall said sharply.

“Well, we aren’t going to just stand by and let this happen!”

“Dad,” James tried again. It was useless, though. Harry seemed to be determined to do the one thing for his child that not a single person had been able to do back in the day.

“If that isn’t an option, then we disqualify him. Every round. I don’t-”

“Dad, I don’t want to be disqualified,” James said, a note of frustration rising.

Draco awkwardly shifted closer to his son, leaning over. “We should probably go,” he whispered, going back to his original plan. “And let them figure this out.”

Scorpius hesitated, looking at where Albus was watching his family nervously. Weaslette was now attempting to calm Harry down with little success.

Scorpius sighed. “Okay,” he whispered, and stood up right as James threw a hand up.

“Dad, I put my name in.”

Draco sat back down, pulling the sleeve of Scorpius’s robes to keep him from leaving the room. Nope. Forget minding his business. Draco needed more information immediately.

A blistering silence followed.

“What did you just say?” Harry asked, turning to his son. James swallowed, meeting his father’s eyes. From beside her husband, Ginny’s eyes widened a bit, absently reaching out to touch Harry’s arm. “Why…” Harry began slowly. “Why would you do something like that?” he asked, voice wavering for a moment. “You don’t need money or glory or fame-”

“I don’t want money or glory or fame,” James cut in. He stood up, pulling his shoulders back. “I mean, even if I did, it’s not like I could get it. There’s nothing I can do that you haven’t done first,” he said, holding out a hand. Harry’s mouth snapped shut, jaw clenching. “Dad, look-”

“Look?” Harry cut in. “Look? You know how dangerous this tournament is! You know what happened last time-”

“Voldemort is not coming back, Dad,” James said, which probably wasn’t the best thing for Harry to hear considering… well, their entire Fifth Year. “I just want to do this, okay?”

“Why?!” Harry shouted, grabbing his son’s shoulders with a slight shake. “Why would you want to purposely put yourself in danger? What makes any of this sound appealing to you, James? Are you just looking to cause trouble? Are pranks not enough for you?”

James looked up at the ceiling. “This isn’t a rebellious phase,” he said, and shoved his father’s hands off of him. Harry pressed his hands together, index fingers against his forehead. At that, something in James seemed to break because the calm demeanor he had been displaying erupted into pure frustration. “I want to do something, Dad!” he shouted.

Albus jumped. Draco wondered if he had ever heard his brother yell at their father before – or even at all.

“I mean, fuck. I love you. I do. I love you, and you are a great father. But I don’t get my own life! I don’t even get my own name!” James said, clutching his chest. “None of us do! Because we’re closure for you. And maybe you didn’t mean it like that, but that’s what it is. We’re a symbol for people who have died for you. Proof that you won the war. That you get a happy ending. Except that’s the thing, Dad. Your happy ending means nothing happens to us, so nothing. Ever. Happens to us!”

Harry jerked back as if someone had hit him clean across the face. Even Draco felt the heat of those words. There was no malice. Perhaps that’s what made it worse. It was pure desperation.

“And Albus and Lily… they get other things. Lily is the baby and the daughter, and Albus is in Slytherin and…and gay!”

“Um,” Albus said, raising a finger. “I’m not sure that’s-”

“Oh my God, shut up, Al,” James groaned. “I mean that you get to be other things. I always have to be the happiness. I have to be worth everything that was fought for because even if I didn’t ask for it, it was still somehow made for me, and I need to be grateful. I can’t sit here and choke on the ghosts of James Potter and Sirius Black. I get to be the oldest and the example and perfect and unharmed and happy because if I’m not happy, then what the fuck was the point?! I need to be funny like Sirius was and- and- mischievous like James was. I need to be brave like Cedric Diggory was. I have to be smart like Remus Lupin was, attentive like MadEye Moody was, and kind like Ted Tonks was. And because I’m all these things, I don’t actually know who I am. And this one thing, this one thing that is dangerous might be the only way I can actually figure out what I could be if that’s stripped away.”

Yikes.

Ginny had her hand over her mouth, looking like she might reach out to hug her son. Harry, on the other hand, was frozen. Face unreadable.

“Okay?” James managed, voice cracking a bit in the end. “So just let me do the damn tournament, please.” He closed his eyes, and Draco kind of wanted to hug him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Harry looked at him for several moments before turning to exit the door.

…oof.

Draco looked around the room, an awkwardness filling the space right as the door opened again.

“James?” Rose called and caught sight of Scorpius from the doorway. He froze at the sight of her, giving a small wave that had Ron Weasley doing a perplexed double-take. Rose glanced at him, giving the barest hint of a smile before looking over at her cousin. “Oh, you’re alive. Good,” she said. “I’ll go back to my dorm then.”

“I’ll walk with you!” Scorpius volunteered, shooting up. Albus turned to stare at him. “Gryffindor Tower is near the Slytherin Common Room, anyway.”

“No, it’s not,” Albus said as Scorpius rushed over to join Rose. “What are you-?”

The door slammed shut. Albus stared, utterly insulted. He turned to look at his uncle, who stared back with equal bafflement.

“...Rose let him walk with her,” Albus said, stunned.

“Why did she let him walk with her?” Weasley asked.

“I don’t know,” Albus said, looking around. James sighed, rubbing his temple as Ron and Albus both moved to the door at the same time, opening it to look down the hall where presumably Rose and Scorpius had gone. A second later, Albus gasped. “Is he holding her hand?!”

“OI!” Weasley yelled. “MALFOY! THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE?!”

“Please do not scream at my son,” Draco said wryly. Weasley whipped around. “They’re fifteen. This sort of thing happens.”

“Did you know about this?!” Weasley demanded and turned to his wife. “Did you know about this?!”

“Yeah, did you know?!” Albus demanded. He looked over at his mother. “Did you know?!”

“My God, Ginny, you knew?”

“Ron,” Ginny hissed through her teeth and gestured at where James was still standing. “Is this the right moment for this?” she asked. Ron looked over and then held up his hands. “Yes, I knew,” she added quickly, and Weasley choked. “So did Hermione.”

“What?!”

“Ronald, please,” Granger whispered. “There are more pressing matters than our daughter kissing a boy.”

“They’re snogging?!”

“Ew,” Albus said. He looked at Draco, eyes betrayed. “You’re letting this happen?!” he asked, gesturing wildly. “Your son is going to be a whore!”

“Exactly! I- wait, no,” Weasley frowned. “Now, wait a second there-”

“God, I hope I die in this tournament,” James muttered.

Draco decided to leave before Ginny could give a proper reaction to that.

The good news was that, despite the chaos at Hogwarts, Draco at least had the promise of good food soon. Teddy had finally worn him down into visiting his grandmother. Initially, it had been nerve-racking to find the courage to speak to his disowned aunt. Andromeda’s name had been taboo growing up, but she was surprisingly thrilled to welcome Draco into her life.

Tonight was their first dinner, which had him armed with some good wine and a desperate wish that he could have brought his son with him. But no. Scorpius apparently had to go and value his education while snogging Rose Granger-Weasley or whatever.

What Draco hadn’t expected was for the door to open a few hours later to reveal a very haggard Harry Potter. They both looked at one another, seemingly stunned that the other was there.

“Who invited you?” Draco finally asked.

From inside the house, Teddy’s voice answered. “I DID! HE HAD A HARD DAY!”

Word about James must travel fast. Potter sighed, not saying a word as he just turned to walk into the house without so much as a hello. Which, rude, but understandable.

“Harry, dear, you’re always welcome,” Andromeda called from the kitchen. Draco nodded to her in greeting, placing the wine he had brought on a wooden kitchen table. “Will Ginny be joining us…?”

“Nope,” Harry said, popping the p at the end. “I might have said certain words to Hermione, and now she’s trying to play peacekeeper.” He took Draco’s wine and popped it open. “Why are you here?” he asked him.

Andromeda swept past, taking the wine from Harry’s hand and instead putting it on the counter.

“He’s my nephew. I invited him. Many times. This is the first he’s taken me up on it, so be nice,” she warned, pointing her wand at Harry’s nose. “Teddy, darling, is the table set?” she called over her shoulder.

Teddy’s head popped in, a glorious pink today with freckles and eyes that didn’t look all that different from Draco’s. It was a little startling, in a way. A brief reminder that they were, in fact, blood.

“Yep!” he said, popping the p the same way Harry had.

“And is Victoire coming?” Andromeda asked.

At that, Teddy paused, a brief look of something Draco couldn’t read crossing his face before he scoffed. “No. Do you like her better or something?” he asked, putting a hand over his chest. “You know, you should miss me, Grandma. I lived with you for years, finally moved out, and you want to ask about Victoire?”

Andromeda rolled her eyes, blowing him a quick kiss as she flicked her wand to chop up some vegetables.

“Speaking of which, where are you living?” Harry asked, holding out a hand. “Because I went to your apartment yesterday, and it was for sale.” Teddy rolled his eyes and gestured them into the dining room. “Look, I know you’re an adult, but could you at least keep me looped in on when you’re moving? Where are you going? Is Victoire living with you?”

And because all of the children in Harry’s life apparently found him cumbersome, Teddy groaned.

“I miss the days when you would sneak me out of here to play Quidditch.” He turned to Draco, a wicked grin touching his face. “Once, when I was twelve, Grandma grounded me for a month, and Harry broke me out to take me to Hogsmeade. When we got back, the lights were all on, and this man ditched me on the front porch rather than confront her.”

“I stand by that decision, actually,” Harry mused as Andromeda came in, a trail of plates floating in after her.

“And now look at him,” Teddy said dramatically. “He has become the grumpy one waiting at the door.” Harry gave Teddy a look. “Stop pouting. James will be fine.”

“Will he?” Harry asked tightly. “Or will he die a horrible death?”

“Nobody is dying,” Andromeda jumped in. “And that’s not good dinner conversation. Hermione will ensure this is all handled well,” she added to Harry, patting his head as she walked past.

Draco held out his wine glass, and the bottle he brought earlier floated over to him, refilling the glass before heading to Andromeda next.

….right. Draco had prepared his talking points for Andromeda and Teddy, but he hadn’t really factored Potter’s impromptu invite into the mix. He sipped his wine, trying to redo his internal agenda when Teddy launched into a raving review of his grandmother’s cooking.

“So, Draco,” Andromeda said when Teddy had finally finished. Great. Draco’s plan to dictate the conversation was ruined. “How is my sister and her husband?”

…yikes. Andromeda didn’t ask with any sort of hostility, but he also didn’t trust the question.

“Good,” he said, taking another sip of wine for good measure. “They live in France now, visiting occasionally, but I think they prefer it out there.” Andromeda frowned a bit at that. “Better food. Less… um, whispers about my standing in high society,” he said with a tight smile.

At that, Andromeda rolled her eyes. “You married a pureblood girl. I don’t know why they can’t be more pleased.”

Ha. As if.

“Astoria was far from their ideal daughter-in-law, I’m afraid,” Draco said, smiling a little. “I’m sure you heard the rumors.”

“I don’t associate myself with pureblood culture,” Andromeda said, and then hesitated. “But I do know Daphne Greengrass spread some rather nasty words about her sister when she came back from Azkaban. I’m a little surprised you still married her after that.”

Draco shrugged. It was true, the Greengrass family had turned rather quickly against their youngest daughter, who chose reform over retribution. Daphne and Astoria’s relationship had boiled to the point where Astoria was all but disowned. Not quite a Sirius Black level, but certainly nothing to scoff at. His parents had begged him to not let her reputation bring his down, having already disapproved of someone like Astoria, who was free with her opinions and changing beliefs.

“I’m sure many were surprised you married a muggleborn,” Draco pointed out. At that, a hint of a smile touched Andromeda’s lips. “Funny how things work out.”

Andromeda hummed. “Funny how we still have to be here while they aren’t,” she murmured.

That, Draco could sympathize with.

“....Teddy,” Harry said after a few minutes of silence. “Do you like your name?”

Draco took another sip of his wine as Teddy paused in chewing to look at his godfather. A bit of exasperation touched his eyes, but he just absently tapped his fork against his lips.

“Yes,” he finally said. “Though… I will say, I think it would be weird to be Ted all the time. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to me, really.” Harry closed his eyes, dropping his fork to bury his face in his hands. “It isn’t that serious-”

“I even fucked up naming them!”

Andromeda looked around, bewildered. “What?” she asked.

“James doesn’t like that he’s named after dead people,” Draco told her, taking a bite of green beans. “Quite frankly, I think he should just be grateful he got the good ones. His poor brother is Albus Severus.” He turned to Teddy. “Are you offended that your father wasn’t even a consideration?”

“My middle name is already after my father.” Right, right. Draco forgot this poor man was also destined to be named after two people. “Though Albus Remus does sound nice,” Teddy mused. “Or would it have been Remus Severus?”

Draco grimaced. “Severus didn’t even like Harry. I’d go with Remus Orion.”

“Oh, Orion is lovely,” Andromeda mused. “But remember, Sirius’s father was Orion. Not very appropriate.”

“Remus Aries then.”

“I don’t think Harry is going to go with a typical pureblood middle name,” Teddy snorted. “Maybe something like Remus Caleb?”

“If James has a problem with being named after someone, maybe switch it to Caleb Remus.”

“Oh, that’s nice. But I thought we were renaming Albus-?”

Harry cleared his throat, letting his hand fall to the table to give them all a withering look. “I’m not renaming my children,” he said flatly. Andromeda winced, giving a quick apology as Teddy reassured him that he liked everyone’s names. “I don’t think of them as symbols,” Harry continued, ignoring him. “They’re my kids! I think of them as my kids!”

Teddy bit his lip. “To be fair,” he said slowly. “I think what James is trying to say is that… you know, everyone else thinks of them as your kids.” Harry threw his fork down. “It isn’t your fault! Look,” Teddy put his fork down. “I get where James is coming from. I do. But I think it’s less about the name thing and more about him trying to find his own identity.”

“You didn’t hear him,” Harry whispered, burying his face in his hands. “Like, he thinks Lily and Albus are better off because she’s the youngest and he’s in Slytherin!”

“And gay,” Draco added. Harry threw a hand up with a frustrated yell. “Do your dinners usually go like this?” Draco asked Andromeda politely. She gave him a glare that didn’t quite hide the quirk of her lips. He had the feeling that, despite being disowned and labeled as an outsider to their family, his aunt may have the same dry, stuffy sense of humor as his own mother did. Phenomenal. “For what’s worth, this seems like something to talk through with your therapist,” he added to Harry.

“Why are you being useless?”

“Scorpius is friends with your middle child. Advising on your eldest is not in my remit,” Draco said.

A pause followed in which Harry looked so miserable that Draco felt his indifference crumble.

“....Harry,” he said and waited for him to look up. “You have to just let this happen. That’s all he’s asking you for.”

In reality, it was an insufferably tall order. You can’t just ask the most traumatized man in the world to sit idly by as his child walks into potential trauma himself. But really, there seemed to be no other solution.

Harry swallowed, giving a slow nod as he went back to his food. Teddy looked at his godfather with sympathy, lips pursed in a way that Draco had a feeling James might be receiving words from him later.

“So,” he said when the silence stretched on. “I hear Rose and Scorpius are a thing,” Teddy tried. “How are we feeling about that?”

Once again, Draco thought to Ron Weasley. “...is there more wine?” he asked, and Andromeda poured.