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Chapter Text

“Since the beginning of magic, attempts had been made to harness it in one form or another. The earliest recorded ones were acts of taming nature’s energy, merely for survival, with the most primitive one being documented in Muggle history as the ‘discovery of fire’. Wizardkind had made much progress since then with advancements in the practical and magical theory, but very few studies dove into celestial magic. Theoretical underpinnings of this branch of magic have been mostly laid out and studied by centaurs, and it has mostly been on the subject of Divination. This study aims to expand on the magical theory of celestial energy and to explore theoretical magical applications in the field of Alchemy.”

-Malfoy, D. (2010), The Alchemical Applications of Celestial Energy: An Exploratory Study

*

Year 2000

Theoretically, it should work.

Draco had read all the books. He had done the experiments. He had two years worth of knowledge in all the relevant fields imaginable under his belt. He had been terribly and incredibly thorough. House arrest had its benefits, after all.

The night was clear, the stars glittering like diamonds studding the sky. He had done the necessary weather charms to ensure a cloudless night.

Draco shivers slightly at the cool breeze, his nightgown wrapping around his legs slightly as he made the short trek on top of the hill behind the manor. The place where his parents’ graves stood.

Magical repositories.

This ritual required that. Theoretically, all beings are magical repositories. Some are more magically-receptive than others and a threshold would determine whether one would be Magical or Muggle. Repositories come in all sizes and a bigger size would mean a bigger capability to store magic. Draco is just average.

It didn’t matter, though. He had other talents. Channelling, for one. A skill most vital, since tonight’s ritual needs the utmost precision in leading magic to flow from one vessel to another.

Draco finished the runic symbols needed for the whole debacle, plus a little bit extra for stability, safety, and anchorage. He knew things would happen very fast once it began, and he wouldn’t have much of a reaction time to do anything else, much less draw perfect runes.

Satisfied, Draco takes a step forward, standing at the center of his work. He then points his wand to the heavens and casts.

A few seconds later, stars rain from the sky.

*

Year 2010

The oven timer dings and Harry, with stiff, mechanical precision, pulls out the pot roast before placing it on the counter to cool. He returns to portioning the mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables, carefully dividing it into different containers. He glances at the sink, overflowing with the bowls and pots that he used to whip up today’s spread.

Beef pot roast for Ron. Peach and apple cobbler for Hermione. Lasagne for Ginny. Homemade treacle gelato for Hugo and Rose.

He had gone a bit overboard and now, there was too much to wash. Ron had promised to help with the clean-up after dinner but, well, he can’t help if the dinner was cancelled, can’t he?

Harry wraps the untouched cobbler in foil. There was an emergency in St. Mungo’s and Hermione was called in immediately.

Harry partitions the lasagne to keep in separate containers. He might send out a few to Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. He’ll keep a serving for tomorrow's breakfast. It's all good. Both Rose and Hugo suddenly fell sick with the flu, after all. Ron had to take care of them.

Harry heaps a serving of pot roast on a plate. The rest would go to the freezer to become a week’s worth of meals. Ginny was detained at Quidditch practice and wasn’t sure if her nightmare of a coach would even let her go home.

All of these were perfectly valid reasons. Harry had no excuse to be upset. Besides, he could still have pot roast and treacle ice cream and maybe that elf wine he bought for the occasion.

He settles in front of the television, turning the channel to one playing an obscure black-and-white movie. It was nice. A light comedy. The main character was a child who lived with his parents and the movie was all about their shenanigans. Harry laughs at all the right moments. And when the credits rolled to close the curtains on a happy scene of a family frolicking about on a beach, there was a pang of disappointment that Harry made sure to quickly shoot down.

There was nothing to be sad about.

He has a good life.

He has friends.

He was relatively wealthy, with the Black and Potter inheritances at his disposal.

He was safe; no more maniacal dark lords out for his life.

All was well. Yet Harry finds that he has lost his appetite.

*

The doorbell rang just as Harry was about to clear the dishes, his pot roast left untouched. He was excited for a brief moment before realizing that all of his friends were connected to his Floo and can apparate directly into Grimmauld. Nobody he cares about ever bothered using the front door.

It rings again, somewhat impatiently, and Harry had half a mind to just cast a Silencing Charm and leave whichever idiot standing in front of his house to their futile attempts. He doesn’t do this, however, because he’s a considerate neighbor. Instead, he vanishes his untouched food, leaves the dishes on the sink, and makes his way to the front door where his unannounced visitor was still ringing the bell, this time, aggressively and consecutively.

“Coming!” Harry calls out, angrily. Whoever this was will definitely be getting a piece of his mind.

Harry yanks the door open with more force than needed, a snarl already beginning to form on his face, a sharp insult already ready on his tongue.

He stops. 

When Harry opened his front door, it felt like being transported back to 1991. The boy in front of him was pale, lanky, blonde, and pointy in a way that Harry attributed to one person and one person alone. Despite not seeing the man in person for the past decade, the haughty look in his eye and the self-assured demeanor were already unwillingly ingrained in Harry’s memory, and seeing it now again on his doorstep disoriented him. ‘Maybe I should report this to the Department of Mysteries,’  Harry muses, for what else could this be but the work of a time turner gone wrong?

“Hello,” says the boy, breaking Harry’s train of thought while managing to sound polite yet indifferent simultaneously. “You must be Harry Potter.”

Even the drawl was the same. Harry says to himself in quiet wonder. He clears his throat and finds himself nodding. “I guess I am.”

“A pleasure to meet you. My name is Scorpius Malfoy. Son of Draco Malfoy. Won’t you invite me inside, Mr. Potter?”

*

The boy – Scorpius – was seated in Harry’s shiny, new sofa (gifted to him in exchange for an honest review) while Harry sat opposite him, observing the boy carefully. It felt every bit of surreal as Harry would have expected. After testifying for Draco Malfoy in his trial in the Autumn of 1998, Harry had not seen him since. Life had went on as normally as anyone could have predicted and Harry had only heard of Malfoy in passing in the recent years.

From what he can remember, Malfoy never left his home, the same place where he was put on a two-year house arrest, ever since his sentencing.

From what he knew from idle pub chit-chat, he had become some sort of hermit. A recluse who only had his needs delivered via owl and rarely (if not never) accepted visitors.

From what he read in the Daily Prophet, he had become some sort of respected academic. He made research breakthroughs that astounded his peers, and his naysayers had labelled him as stark, raving mad when it came to theory. But his work in his specialty spoke for itself. Draco Malfoy focused on the niche connection between alchemy and stars, and Harry was never really sure how those two topics even linked up.

And so, Harry felt extremely out of his depth when, out of the blue, a ten-year-old spitting image of his schoolyard rival decided to grace him with his presence on one chilly November afternoon to enlighten Harry on falling stars and their magical properties.

“Aren’t falling stars pieces of rock from outer space?” Harry finds himself saying, latching on to a piece of Muggle astronomy that he managed to retain from Dudley’s old science tapes.

Scorpius looked at him with unconcealed pity, making Harry second-guess every little thing he learned in his brief Muggle education. “How…quaint.” He pauses a bit to consider Harry. “But Father did say that you had, for a while, a Muggle upbringing.”

That piqued Harry’s interest. “Your father talked about me?”

Scorpius waves him off. “Here and there. It wouldn’t be much of an education if he didn’t tell me about the Wizarding World’s savior, wouldn’t it?”

Harry briefly wonders if Scorpius is being brought up in the same pureblood drivel that Draco was indoctrinated to. The crisp, white shirt, matching black vest and slacks, and shiny leathers were decidedly Muggle. Too formal for a boy to wear on an ordinary weekday, but still Muggle. The attire, coupled with his familiarity with the Muggle appliances in Harry’s home, however, suggested that the boy might have been raised in a slightly more modern (and less divisive) environment. “Right. An education. You’ll be off to Hogwarts soon, won’t you?”

Scorpius shrugs. “Father wishes it to be the case.”

“You don’t sound too excited.”

There was a faraway expression on the boy’s face. “I do not want to leave Father alone at the manor,” he says quietly.

And wasn’t that the sweetest? Harry cannot claim to know the sort of man that Draco Malfoy has become, but his son’s obvious attachment to him was rather cute, in Harry’s opinion. “It’s only a few months a year,” he reassures the boy. “Besides, your father can leave your house anytime he wants. His sentence was over years ago. Merlin knows why he’s set himself up to be recluse.”

Scorpius visibly straightens, clarity settling in his features. “Ah, and that is the crux of the matter, unfortunately. Mr. Potter –”

“Harry.”

“Very well. Harry, will you come with me to Malfoy Manor?”

*

A visit to Malfoy Manor on a random Tuesday afternoon was definitely not something Harry could have predicted in a million years, but he is in the middle of (yet another) career break and, well, dinner plans had been cancelled anyway. Besides, he can’t deny that he was just a little bit curious over what Draco Malfoy was up to these days. He was a bit of a creature of habit in that respect.

Scorpius steps across the threshold with a slight wobble but still looking pristine while Harry tries to discreetly brush off the ash on his trousers from Floo travel. He reaches out to steady the boy with a single hand but Scorpius holds out his palm. “Thank you. Floo travel sometimes makes me woozy, but it goes away.” The boy shakes off the nausea and continues with the same sure tone he had previously. “Father will be in his study at this hour,” he says, leading Harry through the manor’s rooms. It was nothing like Harry remembered, though admittedly, he never really got around to appreciating the manor’s interior decoration during their escape from Voldemort. Harry wonders if it’s because of the light of day, or the absence of Dark Magic, or the renovations, but despite its obvious opulence, the manor did not feel imposing at all. In fact, it felt almost warm and homey just like how the Burrow feels like for Harry.

He watches in amusement as Scorpius makes tiny ‘tsks’ of disapproval, tidying up randomly misplaced sheafs of paper, straightening throw pillows, and wandlessly magicking dirty teacups clean as they go. That earned a raised eyebrow from Harry. A ten-year-old competent at household cleaning spells? Not to mention wandless ones? This boy will be a prodigy at Hogwarts.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Scorpius says as he vanished a half-eaten scone with a wave of his hand. “Father has a bad habit of dropping whatever it is that he’s currently doing whenever an idea strikes him. He doesn’t like letting go of trains of thought when it takes hold. Claims that it’s bad for the ideation cycle.”

“No house elf?”

“We keep one on retainer. A free elf named Mitsy. She comes every end of the week to do general household cleaning.”

Malfoy without a servant to wait on him? That was news to Harry. He had always thought that the man had kept his pampered lifestyle despite being on house arrest. Harry pities the poor woman who married Malfoy and now had to do an entire manor’s worth of housework. “He leaves the cooking and cleaning to you and your poor mum, eh?” Harry says a bit disdainfully. Draco Malfoy may have been minor coerced to being a Death Eater, but that doesn't mean he wasn't a spoiled kid who grew up to being an entitled adult.

Scorpius looks at him oddly. “I’m not sure what you're talking about since it's only me and Father here most of the time. And it's him who does most of the housework, actually. Though, for a potioneer, he’s rotten at cooking. But his laundry charms are pretty good, and his cleaning spells are decent enough.”

The mental image of Draco Malfoy doing menial house chores was so out of the field of possibility that Scorpius’s statement left Harry stumped. He was saved from replying by a voice interrupting them. He’d know that nasal drawl anywhere.

“What is this disparagement of my culinary abilities? You are a terrible, horrible, ungrateful son.”

And despite the harsh words, there was an amused smile in Draco Malfoy’s face that betrayed his fondness for his son. Scorpius, for the first time since Harry met him, grinned as he flung himself to the man Harry had not seen for years. Tall, thin, and seemingly severely under-exercised, Draco Malfoy wobbles a bit as he finds himself suddenly with an armful of energetic child. “Father!”

It was an endearing display and Harry's heart aches with familiar envy as Scorpius nuzzles against his father while Malfoy plants a soft kiss on the boy’s blonde head. The two of them looked so much alike, but even if they didn't, the way Scorpius clung to his father and the way Malfoy welcomed his affections signalled to anyone who sees just how much they belonged with each other. A tightness gripped Harry's heart, but he was unwilling to look away, and he was strongly reminded of the times that the Dursleys took Dudley inside the candy store while Harry watched longingly from the outside, pressed against the store’s windows.

How was it that Draco Malfoy, someone who hadn't even set foot outside his house for the past decade, has the one thing that Harry has ever yearned for? Harry thinks of all the failed relationships and disastrous first dates and meaningless sex that comprised his life. He thinks of Hermione and Ron who have built a life together with their children. He thinks of Ginny and her successful career and how she seemed to have it all figured out. He thinks of Neville and Hannah and how they have settled. He thinks of Luna. Of George. Of Seamus and Dean. And Harry's happy for them, he really is. It's just that, when looking at his own life (alone) and career (ex-Auror, ex-Quidditch player, ex-ice cream salesman, ex-Knight Bus conductor, part-time furniture reviewer and currently unemployed), he wished he had some place to belong to. And now, even Malfoy seemed to have his life even more put together than Harry does. In fact, Malfoy seemed to be happy. He didn't think that he was one to rub in his past sacrifices to save the Wizarding World, but a mean little voice in his head screamed that this hardly seemed fair.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, guilt welled in Harry's gut. Was this really the kind of person he’s become? Someone who begrudges people of their own happiness? Harry's ears burn in shame and he hopes that his thoughts hadn't been too plainly displayed on his face.

He needn’t have worried.

It appears that in the middle of his crisis, the father and son pair had released each other from their embrace and were currently engaged in a rather heated argument.

“I’ve said it a million times and I’ll say it again, Scorpius: I’ve got it handled,” Draco says, tiredly, the bridge of his nose pinched by his thumb and forefinger.

“You say that but I know for a fact that you don't!” 

“Don't shout at me, young man!”

“I’ll stop shouting when you stop being stupid about this!”

Well. That was a bit too harsh. Even Harry, who didn't necessarily grow up with a proper parental figure, knew that that wasn't the way to talk to one’s dad. It was a complete one-eighty from the loving display earlier and it almost gave Harry a whiplash.

“Are you calling me stupid, Scorpius?” Malfoy's voice dropped dangerously. Scorpius seems to pick up on it and Harry watches the boy falter. It didn't last long.

“No! I'm calling this whole thing – your whole plan – stupid!”

“It is not! I have explained to you over and over; it is completely safe and I’m almost ninety percent sure that it will work–”

“And then? What about the ten percent?” Scorpius asks, the challenge evident in his tone. “What happens if, on the ten percent chance, it fails?”

Harry watches Malfoy look away, no longer able to look at his son. “Then I have made arrangements for that…unfortunate outcome.”

Scorpius lets out an anguished wail before the boy runs out of the room, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone with each other. Harry had absolutely no idea what just happened here, but at this point, he was already too curious to simply leave. Besides, he had nothing waiting for him at home but to finish a sofa review anyway. He watches Malfoy stare at the door Scorpius left through. The man sighs deflatedly before, finally, addressing Harry for the first time.

“Kids, am I right? I suppose I should offer you some tea, at least.”

Harry finds himself nodding. “Earl Grey would be lovely.”

*

Harry discovered a lot of things about Draco Malfoy in the past hour.

He learned that Malfoy picked up celestial study as a hobby during his house arrest. Having libraries full of books meant that Malfoy was not without reading material. Alchemy, however, came slightly later.

Why didn't he go out? Harry asked. His sentence was already over, after all. Malfoy shrugs. There was no reason for him to. His study is here and so is Scorpius. He didn't need anything else. Malfoy didn't elaborate much on Scorpius's mother. In fact, he didn't mention any woman at all, just that it's only him and Scorpius now that Lucius and Narcissa are both dead. They were buried in a plot in one of the gardens and would Harry like to visit? Harry confirms that he would rather snog a Blast-Ended Skrewt, thank you very much.

That got a chuckle out of Malfoy and Harry found himself grinning as well. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Draco Malfoy, especially when he wasn’t treating Harry like the scum at the bottom of his shoe. Now, Harry got a glimpse of the Draco Malfoy that the Slytherins saw and willingly followed. The man was charismatic, witty, and funny when he wanted to be and Harry found that he enjoyed seeing Malfoy’s easy grins and animated storytelling. Besides, there was also the fact that he doesn't go out, and so, Harry's exploits still seemed like news to him.

“What do you mean you never knew I was gay?” Harry asks with an amused laugh. “That was all over the papers years ago. I couldn't even go to Diagon Alley without getting weird looks.”

Malfoy huffs. “I could hardly be bothered reading celebrity news, Potter. Some of us are out here pushing the boundaries of academia.”

“You haven’t even been ‘out’ in the past decade, Malfoy.”

“The garden counts.”

Harry argues that it most certainly does not. Malfoy's retort, however, was cut off by a small voice. “Dad?” Scorpius peeked uncertainly from the sitting room’s doorway, eyes wide and posture drooped. The hesitation reminded Harry of his own childhood, always fearful of rejection and yearning of acknowledgment at the same time.

Scorpius needn't have worried. Harry watches relief flood Malfoy's face as he opens his arms, beckoning the boy to come closer. In an almost perfect rewind of the day’s earliest events, Scorpius runs to his father and flings himself into Malfoy's open arms. Thankfully, this time he was seated and didn't stagger.

“I'm sorry for shouting, daddy,” Harry hears Scorpius say, a slight wobble in his voice.

“It's okay, my little star,” Malfoy whispers, soothingly as he arranges the boy on his lap. “I know it upsets you so. Are you feeling quite alright?” Scorpius nods in assent and that seemed to satisfy his father. The worry lines on Malfoy's face smoothened and he resumed stroking his son's hair at a leisurely pace. The boy was at an awkward height and being perched on his father's knee already seemed to look uncomfortable, but the father-son duo didn't mind. Soon, Harry thinks Malfoy won't be able to do that. Scorpius was as thin and frail-looking as Malfoy did in youth and if the boy really took after his father, he would probably shoot up like a bean pole a few months after starting Hogwarts and then stop growing at sixteen.

After a few minutes of this, the two shared one last tight hug before Scorpius pushed himself off Malfoy's lap and announced: “I made dinner. Harry is invited.”

Malfoy frowns. “I thought I said I’ll make dinner tonight.”

Scorpius pulls a face, which he immediately smooths out to a snooty expression. The swift transition made Harry chuckle. “I'm terribly sorry, father, but I do not fancy serving burnt pasta when we have company.”

The switch from fragile, young child to well-mannered pureblood scion seemed to be a norm because Malfoy took it in stride. “First off, I have never burnt pasta. I burnt the sauce and that was only because the stove was broken.”

“Of course. The stove that magically breaks itself whenever you enter the room. How could I forget?” Scorpius replies, nodding sagely. “Harry? Are you partial to seafood or vegetarian pasta?”

“Oh! Um, I like it either way,” Harry replies, surprised at the attention suddenly diverted to him. Scorpius looked pleased at his reply.

“Splendid, I’ll set the table. Father, take Harry to the dining room, please.”

For the second time that day, Scorpius leaves Harry alone with Malfoy again. “I hope you don't have dinner plans,” Malfoy said with a sigh as he rose from his seat. “But if you have to leave, just go ahead. I’ll explain to Scorpius.”

A weight settles in Harry's gut at the thought of leaving. At the thought of returning to an empty home, that seemed so much darker and colder now that he's seen familial warmth recently. Besides, now that dinner had been offered, his stomach began to grumble in protest. He was not able to eat his meal before Scorpius arrived. “I could stay,” Harry affirms. “Besides, wouldn't Scorpius be upset if I just up and left? He went through so much trouble.”

“Oh, he will be in trouble once you go home, Potter,” Malfoy replies, airily. “He’s not supposed to bring you here.”

That piqued Harry’s attention. “Why? Are you hiding something from me, Malfoy?”

Malfoy eyes him, suspiciously. “I thought you’re retired from the Auror gig?” He waves Harry off. “Anyway, it's not nefarious or anything. You’re invited to check. Your lot comes poking their noses here every once in a while and my laboratory has received all necessary certifications to operate.”

“Then why warn him from me?”

“It's not so much as me warning him not to get close to you for my own good, as much as it is your own. Look, if you must know, I’m experimenting with something that needs a pretty high magical reservoir. So far, I’m having difficulty but I’m already close to a breakthrough. I might have told Scorpius a few things about you and I might have mentioned that you have unnaturally high magic stores. He’s just trying to help.”

Harry frowns. “I have unnaturally high magic stores?”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Of course, you fixate on that. Yes, Potter, you do. And before you ask how I know, any pureblood worth their salt would do a quick magic scan on their rivals regularly just to know if they're still ahead. I measured you in school. It's a pretty standard spell, nothing dark.”

Harry, surprisingly, finds that he is not even bothered by the fact that Malfoy was giving him secret magic scans to gauge his magical capacity in their youth. He supposed it's because, as far as Malfoy's actions went before, this was one of the relatively harmless things he's ever done to Harry.

“Why won't you want me to help you then?” Harry finds himself asking. “If you say that I have stronger magic.”

“More magic, Potter. Not stronger. There's a difference, and you would know it if you cared enough to listen to Flitwick’s magical theory discussion in second year. Besides, why would you even want to help me?”

Harry stopped at that. Why, indeed?

*

Harry finds that Scorpius is an excellent cook and an even more excellent host.

The two adults enter the dining room to find their places set and two platters of pasta and a basket of garlic bread laid out on the table. A pitcher of pumpkin juice was levitating in the air, gently guided by Scorpius’s fingertips to pour in their glasses.

“He’s pretty good at that, isn't he?” Harry says, gesturing to Scorpius who has now refilled the pitcher with a click of his fingers. “Wandless magic doesn't even get discussed until after OWLs maybe?”

“They were definitely before OWLs. You should go back to Hogwarts with Scorpius. Maybe this time, you’ll actually learn a thing or two. But to answer your question, yes. Scorpius really is a prodigy, and I’m not even saying this to brag. I had to teach him control really early because he might blow things up, and then we'll be out of a home. His magic is just so powerful.”

“Powerful magic, then? Not more magic?”

“Yes, Potter. Stronger versus more magic. There is a difference. Glad I was able to succeed where Flitwick failed in drilling that tidbit.”

“Are you going into the magical theory discussion already?” Scorpius asks, his eyes shining. “I'm afraid I’ll ask you to resume talking shop later; as you can see, dinner is ready.”

“There will be no talking shop later,” Malfoy says in a tone that brooks no argument. “I’ve already discussed this with you, young man, and I don't want to get into it again tonight. I’ll tell you what's going to happen instead. Mr. Potter will have dinner with us and then after the delightful meal you prepared, you will take him to the Floo– and to the Floo only– where you will bid him goodbye. You are then grounded from leaving the Manor until further notice.”

“But–”

“No buts, Scorpius. I will no longer be discussing this with you.”

“Fine,” Scorpius says, sulkily. As soon as Malfoy turns away, however, the boy sneaks a look at Harry and winks. ‘Later’, he mouths. Harry swallows back a laugh. Kids these days.

*

Malfoy bids Harry good night and retires to his study as soon as dinner is over. The goodbye was polite, brief, and one clearly made with the thought in mind that he would not be seeing Harry again in the future. The idea of this  left a sinking feeling in Harry’s gut, more prominent than he cared to admit. He easily shakes it off, however, when he sees the mischievous smirk on Scorpius’s face. If Malfoy preferred never to see Harry again, then he should not have left Harry alone with his son. As it was now, the boy seemed to be up to mischief reminiscent of Harry's own teenage hijinks, and Harry couldn't help but be hit with a pang of nostalgia. Whatever Scorpius asks of him, Harry was almost certain that he would fully go along for the ride, just for the fun of it. Besides, Harry wouldn't be the respectable adult that he is if he weren't there to keep an eye out on a kid getting up to no good, wouldn't he?

As soon as Malfoy was out of sight, Scorpius heaved a huge sigh and gave Harry a look as if asking see what I have to deal with? It was so out of place on a ten-year-old’s child-like face that Harry had to smother a giggle.

“Right,” Scorpius declares, straightening his vest. “We haven't got much time. Walk with me, Harry.”

Scorpius took him through a slightly different path, claiming that they would use the upstairs Floo. After all, his father didn't specify which Floo they needed to use, just that Scorpius would take Harry to the Floo directly. “As you’ve seen,” Scorpius began as they made a sharp turn to a corridor that, to Harry, honestly looked the same as the others. “Father is a bit…difficult.”

“Oh, I know,” Harry agrees. After all, he’s had years of experience on Malfoy being an absolute arse. Scorpius glares at him at the slight at his father, and Harry raises his hands in mock surrender. Apparently, the boy can shout at his father and call him stupid, but Merlin forbid Harry even agree to calling him difficult.

“As I was saying. There is something Father is working on. Something…close to his heart. And I’m afraid he will fail. To cut a long story short, he cannot do it alone, Harry.”

“The thing you were arguing about earlier? That thing?” Harry raises a brow skeptically. He knew Draco Malfoy didn't engage in dark magic these days, but who knew just how far academics went in the pursuit of knowledge? If Hermione was anything to go by, curious and determined wizards are scary.

Scorpius nods. They turn another corner. It looked like the same corridor, and Harry began wondering if Scorpius was leading him in circles.

“He said the odds of him succeeding were high, right? Ninety?”

“Ninety,” Scorpius affirms.

“There you have it.” Those were pretty good odds in Harry's opinion. He gambled for much less and quite frankly, he wasn’t very much invested in the thrilling breakthroughs of academia, much more Draco Malfoy’s.

“You haven't asked what happens if, on the ten percent chance, he fails.”

“What?” Harry asks, still not seeing why he's in this conversation in the first place.

Scorpius abruptly stops walking in front of a tall window, the glass letting in the light from the moon. From where Harry stood in the shadows, the boy's skin was ghastly pale, almost shiny and translucent. His expression was somber as he stared straight at Harry.

“He dies.”

Well. That was a bit grim. Harry, now, understands Scorpius’s outburst and can't help but be annoyed at his old rival. How could he even consider risking his life for this when he has a son who absolutely adores him to leave behind? It was one thing to risk one’s life for others during a war. But this, during peacetime? What was Malfoy even to gain from this little experiment other than a little more prestige in a field where he's already well-respected? Harry looks at Scorpius in pity. Malfoy didn't deserve such an adoring son who thought the world of his father. He was, however, still confused about where he fit in this narrative.

“Do…you want me to, maybe, stop him?” Harry guesses. He supposes he could try. He still had some pull with the Aurors, but if Malfoy wasn't engaged in anything dark and if he wasn't in danger of harming anyone but himself, there wasn't much that Harry could do.

Scorpius shakes his head. “He can't be stopped. This is too important for him.” And it was at this point that Harry breaks as he notices the tears welling at the corners of the boy's eyes.

“Have you tried telling him your feelings about this?” Harry asks, tentatively reaching a hand to stroke the top of Scorpius's head. The boy nods and manages to say with gritted teeth:

“He won't listen.”

“I see.” Malfoy, you selfish git.

The boy’s shoulders were shaking now, in an attempt to keep himself from full-out crying. Wordlessly, Harry reaches out and pulls him into a hug. He was warm and trembling in Harry's arms as Harry lightly rocked the boy in an attempt at comfort. While children hadn’t been in the cards yet for Harry, he'd always known that he wanted at least one. He’d swallowed the envy quietly every time one of his peers announced that they were expecting. He’d forced a smile and focused on looking genuinely happy while something ugly gnawed at his gut. And when he carried Ron and Hermione’s first child for the first time, he was filled with so much longing that he had to step out for a while in fear that his feelings will show on his face. Since that day, Harry’d wondered what it would feel like to embrace his own child. 

It would feel exactly like this, Harry’s mind supplies.

“Shhh,” he whispers soothingly, copying what he saw Malfoy do earlier today to calm down the boy. “It will all be alright.”

“It won't,” Scorpius sobs. “It won't.”

Harry's shirt was wet with tears and snot, but he didn't mind. His heart clenches in pity for Scorpius. He knew what it was like to be alone, and he didn’t wish that on any child. He felt anger at Malfoy for putting Scorpius through this. “It will be, I promise. I won't let anything happen to your father.” Harry would chain him if needed. He might not have any fond feelings for Malfoy, but he won't allow Scorpius to end up an orphan.

Scorpius pulls away slightly and peers up Harry, tearfully. “Do you promise?”

“I promise, Scorpius.”

The boy holds out a pinky. “Pinky swear at me.”

Harry grins and holds out his own pinky, linking it with the boy’s. “Swear that you’ll keep him safe?”

“I swear to keep Draco Malfoy safe,” Harry says, humoring Scorpius. There was a slight tingle where their fingers connected.

“Even from himself?”

“Even from himself.” Another tingle.

Scorpius face splits into a grin as a buzzing feeling envelops Harry. It seemed to originate from their fingers, slowly creeping up his limbs like vines. As soon as it reaches his chest, the sensation vanishes and Scorpius launches himself back into Harry's arms in an embrace much like how he did with his father earlier.

“Thank you, Harry!” Scorpius exclaims. Harry felt his heart warm with joy. How could Malfoy even consider leaving this behind? He watches the boy reach inside his pocket and pull out a leather bracelet. Looped through it was a piece of metallic-looking, glassy shard. “For you,” Scorpius offers. “Consider it my thanks.”

Harry’s heart warms as he accepts the gift. How sweet was this boy? “Thank you, Scorpius. I’ll be sure to treasure it.”

“I know,” the boy says cockily as he holds Harry’s hand and they walk the remaining path toward the Floo. He regaled Harry with stories of how he spent time in the manor and how his father taught him how to read and write and fly on a broom. He told Harry stories about each room and any interesting objects they passed by. He had a few colorful tales about a couple of portraits, in particular. Harry was just happy watching him prattle on gleefully.

When they reached the fireplace, Harry was a bit sad to leave.

“Thank you,” the boy says, sincerely, as Harry throws Floo powder into the grate. The flames flashed green and Harry spoke his address.

“You're welcome, Scorpius.” He gives the boy one last hug. “And I promise to keep an eye on your father.”

“I know.” The boy grins, disentangling himself from Harry's arms. “I'm not worried.”

Wasn't that sweet? Harry thinks. This little boy, so trusting of him. Harry wouldn't let him down. Harry would do his best to keep an eye on Malfoy and keep him alive, for the sake of this boy.

Scorpius’s innocent grin curves upward a bit further. What was once angelic now looked borderline devious and Harry was suddenly reminded of the Weasley twins and their shenanigans. Scorpius speaks cheerfully:  “The pinky swear we made is an Unbreakable Vow, after all.”

*

Twenty-three seconds. Draco counts, making a quick note on his scroll. Twenty-three seconds before the vessel made any sign of volatility. This was close to the average value, but still way below target. Meanwhile, the brass lamp he was working on thrummed angrily in a corner. A faint, wispy smoke was leaking from the lid and he knew from experience that it wouldn't take long before the magic would give. The thing gave a particularly violent jolt and Draco, on reflex, reached out to push the lamp back on the counter before it fell to the ground.

He jolted back instantaneously, hissing in pain, as the blister on his palm burned red-hot. He glares at the lamp, which now seemed to emit a satisfied sort of glow, the energy inside quite appeased at having hurt Draco somewhat. Devious sort of thing, with quite a mean streak, those things are. Draco gives the thing another sneer before going back to his references. His palm burned uncomfortably, and it worried him. He knew this wasn't even close to how the real thing would feel later on, but it still hurt like hell. He’d have to find a workaround for that.

The lamp emits more and more smoke and Draco uses a stick to poke and prod at it. Time was limited now but it makes sense to glean as much information as he can from the lamp’s energy before it eventually blasts itself to smithereens from inside out.

“Hush, you insolent wretch,” Draco mutters after a particularly violent prod. His stick caught on fire, in retaliation.

Draco sighs. This seems to be the most he would be getting tonight.

“Fine, fine,” he says as he levitates the lamp towards his open window. “I'm done with you. Try not to wreck the lamp too much, I’m almost out of brass.”

The lamp gives an angry quiver and explodes violently as soon as the metal hits the window ledge. There goes some more good quality brass, Draco thinks as he crouches down to inspect  the wreckage. Bits of coppery metal were strewn on the floor, but right in the midst of it all was a single glassy, metallic shard still glowing white. He reaches for the piece and holds it close to his chest. The magic was still alive and thrumming and, despite being but a fraction, Draco can still feel the intensity and rawness of the power that was contained within. It fills him with a surge of hope.

He was nowhere near finished, but this will have to do for now.

Chapter Text

A week passes quietly without incident, and Harry almost believes that the whole thing with the Malfoys was just a fever dream. Maybe he was just hallucinating. Maybe he still hadn't seen Draco Malfoy in over a decade. Scorpius (what kind of name even was that?) Malfoy is a figment of his imagination. He hated how that thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

But the leather bracelet looped around his wrist was concrete enough proof that that day had indeed happened. And then finally, on the one-week mark since his supposedly imaginary Malfoy meet-up, his Floo roars to life. Harry wonders just how much of a glutton for punishment he is because he found himself sincerely hoping to see a flash of blonde again. In that, he was not disappointed.

Scorpius Malfoy came through Harry's fireplace, not a hair out of place and not even a smidge of ash on his pristine clothes. Harry’s sure that there must be pureblood etiquette lessons somewhere that taught children how to exit fireplaces, because for the life of him, he can't remember a time when he used the Floo and left, spotless. Similar to the first time they exited the Floo together, Scorpius wobbles on his feet slightly, looking even paler than Harry remembered. It took him a minute to collect his bearings, but when he did, he turns to Harry with a huge smile.

“Hello, Harry!” Scorpius greets cheerfully. He glances at Harry’s wrist. “Oh, you’re wearing the bracelet. I’m happy you like it, but best to keep it hidden for now. Don’t wear it in the manor, if you please.” 

Harry raises a brow. “Who says I’m planning on going back? And why are you telling me not to wear what you gave me? Don’t tell me you stole this from your father.”

Scorpius responds with a roll of his eyes. “Of course not. I made that with my own hands. I just don’t want Father to get jealous because I haven’t made one for him yet. Anyway, Father is done grounding me. I made some treacle tart. I was told it was your favorite.”

Harry feels any semblance of annoyance melt at the boy's grin. He tries to rein it in and maintain an air of detachment. It wouldn't do to have Scorpius thinking that he has Harry in the palm of his hand. Harry supposes he can accept the bribe, though. “A payment, I assume, for keeping your dad safe?” he asks with a raised brow.

The boy had a smug smile. “We both know I don't need to pay you for that.”

“Ah, yes. The Unbreakable Pinky Swear. Tell me, Scorpius. How does that even work? I know Unbreakable Vows need witnesses. And wands. Seeing as we had neither, I wonder if it even stuck.”

Scorpius looks at him, sharply, a challenge in the boy's tone. “Would you rather find out?”

This boy, Harry thinks, is unbelievable. Cunning as any Slytherin and with the self-assured brashness of a Gryffindor. If Harry wasn't the one being pinned down, he would have admired the boy's attitude. Harry, however, is a Gryffindor himself, and pride told him not to back down. “I'm not afraid of dying, Scorpius, if that's what you're insinuating. And I would rather die than help out your father if he's getting up to no good again,” Harry replies, standing his ground.

But it seemed to be the right thing to say to hit a nerve. Harry watches the emotions flit through Scorpius’s face and when he seemed to realize that he won't be hoodwinking Harry as easily as he would have liked, he falters and stutters in wide-eyed protest. “He’s not up to anything bad, I swear! I–I’ll try my best to explain, alright? It's just, I’m not as good as he is in all this alchemy and celestial magic. It's much better if he does the explaining. I just–I just need you to be there, Harry. Just hear it out.”

Harry tries his best to look cold and imposing. It quite reminded him of Kingsley during his job interview for an Auror position years ago, and everyone in the room knew that the intimidation was just an act and Harry will get the job anyway. “And if I don't like what I hear?” he says with a challenge.

Scorpius looks at him pleadingly, “then I’ll release you from the vow.”

Harry thinks that that was surprisingly agreeable of him. With the few interactions they’ve had, he was expecting a little bit more resistance. But putting aside the fact that Harry doesn't think a pinky swear could be used in place of wands in an Unbreakable Vow, he doesn't think valid unbreakables could be broken as easily as the boy suggests. Despite his earlier bravado, however, Harry knows that he is a sucker for a child's pleading and, well, Scorpius had been rather nice so far, hadn't he?

“Alright, alright,” Harry says, reaching out to ruffle the boy's hair fondly. How bad can it get, he thinks. “Take me to your dad and then we'll talk it out. How does that sound?”

Scorpius’s warm hug was good enough of an answer for Harry.

*

Malfoy is in his study when they meet again this time. He was leaning back on his chair, feet propped up the desk and holding up a piece of silver metal between his thumb and forefinger as he observed the object in earnest. He doesn't notice Harry at first, leaving Harry free to observe Malfoy in his natural habitat 

The study was a picture of an organized mess. Scrolls were heaped on the floor beside Malfoy, towering precariously above him while a particularly heavy tome zipped past Harry, almost hitting his nose as it flew to the far wall where the shelves are. They were filled from bottom to top with books and there seemed to be some sort of categorization in place, evidenced by an ongoing spell magically sorting everything in place. All around him, Malfoy's parchments and books and bottles and quills floated to their designated places, while a thin web of glittery lines, connected the bubbling cauldrons and steaming flasks to each other while they moved in well-coordinated unison in an intricate little dance to the tune of Malfoy's magic. In the corner by the window, a  half-finished contraption lay, while pieces (or possibly abandoned iterations of it) were scattered around the room. The room smelled of chamomile and freesias.

Malfoy's desk and chair was pushed to the far end of the room, a few steps from the window, where the afternoon sun spilled in. The man, Harry notes, had aged in the past decade. While he had always been thin, his face had lost fat and was bonier and more angular than it had been before. It gave him a severe look, and coupled with his pale coloring, he looked like he was on the brink of death. His hair was longer than Harry remembered and tied haphazardly at the base of his skull while a few strands escaped and fell in limp streaks in front of his face. He had the barest hint of wrinkles too, but Harry was struck with the soft innocence of his expression as he stared at the silver metal between his fingers in wide-eyed wonder. Was it ironic that, in all the years Harry had known him, Draco Malfoy, who he had always seen as a hard and cruel rival, had never looked as innocent and childlike as he does now?

It took a while for Malfoy to notice him, but when he did, Harry watched the other man’s brows furrow in confusion. He set the piece of metal he was looking at carefully in a small chest on top of his desk and magicks it shut before turning his full attention to Harry.

“Let me guess. Scorpius?” Malfoy says in a resigned voice, simultaneously rubbing his temples as if the mere sight of Harry was enough to inspire the mother of all headaches in him. “That boy really doesn’t know how to quit.”

Harry shrugs and takes the seat on the opposite side of Malfoy’s desk, dodging floating cauldrons and flying scrolls along the way. He was almost impaled by a quill. “Maybe you should just listen to what he has to say. He seems pretty persistent about it.”

Malfoy gives him a look. “Do you even know what he wants?”

“Something something about helping you survive some dangerous shite you somehow found yourself in.” Harry frowns as he looks around the room. “How’d you even do that anyway? You’re a scholar who hasn't set foot outside your house in a decade.”

Malfoy was affronted. “I’ll have you know that academics get put under so much danger in the pursuit of their research too! This kind of thinking is what justified keeping the wages of Unspeakables below minimum wage until Granger entered that damn department and demanded reforms! Honestly, it's always the Auror lot who voice out stupid shit like this. Not dangerous, my foot!”

“Okay, okay,” Harry says soothingly. As nostalgic as Malfoy getting into a strop was, he wasn't here to pick a fight. “Your lot faces plenty of danger too. From books that bite people, for one,” Harry says, thinking about The Monster Book of Monsters from Hagrid’s Care of Magical Creatures class. That one definitely ramps up the work risks associated with academia. “Besides, you know that I’m no longer an Auror. Haven't been for a long time.” His brief venture into traditional employment had been painful, and at the time, a spectacle in the Wizarding World. At the time, everyone watched his every move and waited on what new, shiny thing that the savior would do next and whatever it was, it became the next fad. Reportedly, whatever new career Harry pursued enjoyed a meteoric rise in applications. Kingsley was not amused at the sheer amount of unqualified applicants vying for a chance to work with the famous Harry Potter, but they got enough good recruits from it that Harry figured he had done the department a solid when all was said and done. He also decides that that was enough contribution to the Ministry because he was swearing off traditional employment for good.

“Yes, well, it’s good that you acknowledge that now,” Malfoy replies with a prissy sniff, bringing Harry back from his musings.

“So. Care to share what it is that you're working that has your son so worked up?” The metallic glint of the contraption beside the window catches Harry's eye. “Is it related to that?” He asks, pointedly.

Malfoy's face was carefully blank. “I never pegged you as someone particularly interested in my research, Potter. Looking into pursuing a career in academia? I'm afraid I don't think you'll be particularly successful in it. You’ve never shown an inclination to academics back in school.”

“You and your son have basically admitted that you're up to something dangerous here, Malfoy,” Harry replies, trying a different angle. He laces his voice with faux-suspicion. “How am I supposed to know that you're not raising the new dark lord here or whatever?”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed dangerously. Harry seemed to have hit a nerve. “And you think it's your duty to be involved? I told you, Potter. My laboratory underwent all the necessary inspections, including dark magic detection. You don't think your lot wouldn't jump at the chance to put me away for good? The fact that I’m here means that I’m as clean as it gets. I’m sure you still remember how heavy-handed they get with doling out punishment to those who deserve it.”

Malfoy spats the last word, as if it’s something disgusting that crawled inside his mouth. Harry looks away awkwardly. He understood what Malfoy was talking about. He has seen it happen right in front of him, how his colleagues are quick to point fingers and accuse ex-Death Eaters or even just Slytherins in general, without a proper trial. He’s seen people get severely punished for something that others would get off with with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. It was one of the reasons why he decided he could not work in law enforcement anymore. “Look, Malfoy,” he sighs, “I know the force can get too…overzealous. I can’t blame them for it. We’ve just gone through a war back then and I’m sorry for even bringing up the dark lord comment. That was in poor taste of me.”

Malfoy holds himself stiffly, wordlessly avoiding Harry’s gaze. After a long silence, his face softens and he looks back at Harry, grim determination in his face. “I just want what’s best for my son, Potter.” He gestures around the room. “All of these, my life’s work, they’re all for him, and that had been the case for the last ten years.”

“Then,” Harry says carefully, “why are you so willing to die?”

Malfoy startles. “Did Scorpius say that? That brat. Don’t believe a word he says. He’s an utter drama queen.”

Harry chuckles because, while Malfoy got that right about his son, Harry can definitely see where Scorpius got his theatrical flair from. Harry distinctly remembers Malfoy being the same amount of dramatic back in school. Perhaps even more.

“Where is he anyway?” Malfoy asks with a frown, seemingly realizing only now that the boy hadn’t made an appearance during the whole time Harry had been with him in the study.

“Kitchen. Said he’ll fix up a snack. He was pretty upset, Malfoy. Upset enough to warrant asking a stranger for help.”

Malfoy sighs. “I know I shouldn’t have told him about you.”

Harry looks at him curiously at that. “What did you tell him about me?”

“Honestly, nothing bad. Just, how I remembered you from school.”

If it was how Malfoy remembered him in school, Harry sincerely doubts it would be anything but bad. Nonetheless, he allows Malfoy to continue. “He…worries a lot, you see. He doesn’t even want to go to Hogwarts. So I tell him stories about it and how fun it was, and maybe he could have a fun rival too, to spend his days annoying. It sort of snowballed from there, and next thing I know, he’s doing his own research and following you in the papers. He updated me on some of the things you did, but I know he’s read so much more than he tells me about. He even wanted to be a Knight Bus driver at some point.”

Harry pictures Scorpius, young and bull-headed, declaring to his scholar father that he wants to drive the Knight Bus. It was endearing. But wait– “Why wouldn’t he want to go to Hogwarts?” It was the best place in the world! At least, for Harry, it was.

Malfoy, once again, avoids Harry’s stare. Harry watched him worry his bottom lip between his teeth, a habit he seemed to have picked up to do in uncomfortable situations. “He’s ten. He’s acting out,” he says, rather evasively, in Harry’s opinion.

“Maybe he would be more willing if he were confident that his father wouldn’t drop dead while he’s in school,” Harry replies, trying to sound diplomatic.

Malfoy’s eyes narrow. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, I don’t.” Harry shrugs. “You won’t tell me a thing even though, apparently, I can help you out.”

Malfoy looks at him, confused and exasperated at the same time. “Why are you even so insistent on being a part of this? I told you, Potter. I’m not up to anything. You can scour this place for any trace of dark magic, and I can assure you, you’ll turn up empty-handed. So why?”

The pair fell quiet as Malfoy looked at him, searchingly, while Harry tried to come up with an answer. Maybe if Harry had this talk with Malfoy last week, when they spoke in the manor’s sitting room over tea, Harry would have let this whole thing go. Maybe if they had talked then, Harry would have willingly stepped back and left the Malfoys to themselves. But he had seen Scorpius’s desperation. He had seen the boy’s tears and his genuine worry for his father’s life. In those moments, Harry had visualized Scorpius, orphaned at ten, left to grow up and navigate the rest of his life alone. He would have friends, but he wouldn’t have a family to call his own. He would always be invited to gatherings, but he would forever be a guest in other people’s homes. And then slowly, as his peers began to carve their own paths, he would be left behind, as such is the nature of life. After seeing Scorpius that night, Harry doesn’t think he can allow something like that to happen. 

He just wasn’t sure how he could verbalize this sentiment to Malfoy.

He was saved by answering, however, when Scorpius’s voice suddenly pierced through the quiet of the room. The boy answers his father’s question, confident and sure: “Because, Father, Harry and I have made an Unbreakable Vow.”

*

Harry watches in amusement as Malfoy divides his time between massaging his temples and leveling glares at his son, who was currently laying out dainty little cakes, sandwiches, and Hojicha for tea time in a completely nonchalant manner.

“You are a menace,” Malfoy says to Scorpius. “A complete, utter terrorist. A scourge of the earth. A demon child.”

Scorpius flashes his father a mildly polite smile before proceeding to pour tea for everyone. Malfoy then turns to Harry. “And you, Potter, are an absolute dunderhead for falling for this hellspawn’s tricks. An Unbreakable Vow. Stupid.”

Harry chose not to take offense. He’d had enough negativity for the day. “Look, Malfoy, Scorpius says that, but we didn’t actually make a vow, alright? There was no one there, and no wands were out.” He tries to reason. It didn’t matter that, as of now, Harry was more than willing to help out, Unbreakable Vow or none. Malfoy didn’t need to know that.

“Was your wand not in your person when the ritual happened?” Malfoy asks, hope shining in his eyes.

“It was in my pocket. Besides, Scorpius doesn’t have one.”

Malfoy sighed. “Your wand being in contact with you is enough. And you know that Scorpius does magic wandless. It stands to reason he can do the vow wandless, too.”

“And the witness? We were in your hallway, Malfoy. There wasn’t anyone there.”

Malfoy seemed to consider this thoughtfully. But there was a smug smile on Scorpius’s face when he interjected. “We were under the moonlight, Father.”

Harry watches Malfoy sigh in defeat. “Of course. You never leave anything out, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand,” Harry says, “is that enough? Is a witness not needed?”

“It’s needed,” Malfoy explains. “On any other person, it wouldn’t have worked. But as I’ve told you before, Scorpius is a little bit more special than most.”

Barring the bit about being able to do wandless magic, Harry had previously thought that those statements were simply ramblings of a proud parent. He looks at Malfoy questioningly. “What do you mean by that?” 

The man sighs once more, deflating like a balloon in his seat. In hindsight, Harry figures that this is the moment Malfoy chose to give in, at least a little bit, to his son’s scheming. “I suppose you should know, at least this bit. Scorpius can talk with the moon and the stars. And because he can talk to them, he can ask them to be the witnesses to your vow. Which he did. So congratulations, Potter. You just successfully signed off your life to the whims of a ten-year-old child.”

*

The rest of the afternoon was a crash course in alchemy, celestial magic, and all things Malfoy. In between orientations on the different projects Malfoy had worked on in the past years (things Harry would probably know if he even skimmed the research papers put out by his ex-schoolmate), Scorpius would interrupt and show Harry pictures he drew and his favorite books, and one time, even lugging over a thick photo album which apparently contained Draco Malfoy’s baby pictures. Harry had only gotten to the second page before Malfoy noticed what he was amusedly looking at.

“Where did you even get that?” he screeches incredulously as he quickly magics the album shut and banishes it to the basement with a flick of his wand, safe from prying eyes. “You know what, I don’t even want to know. Scorpius, be a dear and go outside for a bit. Go garden or something. We can’t have you distracting poor Mr. Potter here.”

“Harry,” Harry found himself correcting.

“What?”

“I asked him to call me Harry.”

Malfoy was taken aback but recovered quickly. “Oh. Well, I guess. Nonetheless, Scorpius, go on ahead and water the azaleas. Potter– well, Harry will call you later for dinner.”

An unexpected thrill shot through Harry’s spine at the easy way his name rolled of Malfoy’s lips. He tries to mask his pleased grin by hiding behind Celestial Magic Through the Ages. “If you’re calling me Harry, maybe I should call you Draco,” Harry says just as Malfoy calls out a reminder to Scorpius to just walk and to not go flying. “After all, our lives are tied to each other now. The Unbreakable Vow I apparently made ensures that I keep you safe or die trying. That seems like a thing that should make us first-name basis.”

It was a true testament to how good Scorpius was at wearing his father down that Malfoy– no, Draco, only sighs for the millionth time that afternoon and waves Harry off. “Do whatever you want.”

“Sure thing, Draco.”

“Shut up and go back to your readings, Harry.”

*

It was already dark outside when Draco released Harry from his impromptu astronomy lessons (“if you want to be a part of this, Harry, then best if you know a bit of theory too” “you call this a bit?”). His head ached and there was a crick in his neck that he can't get out no matter how much he stretched. Draco either took pity on him or decided he had had enough of Harry because a little bit past five, Draco tells him to go to the gardens and call in Scorpius for dinner.

“Just turn left after the tea room. You can't miss it,” Draco says dismissively, waving Harry off. “You can ask him for a tour, if you want, while I get dinner ready.”

Harry had no trouble finding the garden, and in turn, Scorpius. The boy sat on the grass, head turned towards the star-studded sky, a serene expression on his face. There was a strange sheen on his skin that made him look like he was somehow glowing. Was this a manifestation of his powerful magic? Harry thinks. The afternoon with Draco hurt his head but it made him realize that channelling magic was more than waving a wand.

“Oh. Harry,” Scorpius says in acknowledgment as soon as Harry sat beside him. “I didn’t notice you arrive.”

Harry smiles. “You were deep in thought.”

“Nah. I was actually having a conversation.” Harry frowns in confusion, because Scorpius was alone, but the boy pushes on. “How were your lessons with Father? Did you get the chance to talk about falling stars yet?”

They’ve just breached astronomy when Draco sent Harry away. “I’m afraid not,” he tells the boy. He remembers the day they first met and Scorpius had told him about the magical properties of falling stars. It must be one of his interests. “Don’t worry. Once he does, I’ll make sure to tell you so that we can talk all about it.”

Scorpius grins, wide and toothy, and Harry's heart melts a little. They lapsed into comfortable silence. The night breeze felt nice and cool against Harry’s skin and he found himself staring up at the stars that Scorpius seemed to love so much. He remembers something Draco said. “Is it true you can talk to stars?”

Scorpius hums in approval. “And the moon.”

“How does that even work?” Harry asks, innocently. “Aren't they balls of hot gas?”

To his surprise, Scorpius gasps in offense. “You're a ball of hot gas!” He huffs in disapproval. Harry tries not to laugh as he hears the boy muttering furiously under his breath. “Honestly. I’ve never heard of anything more offensive, and last week, you literally called falling stars a rock.”

“Never mind,” Scorpius sighs. “It's not your fault you're so uneducated.” He coos softly as he pats Harry's head consolingly. “Don't worry, Harry. We’ll sort you out.”

*

When the pair got back inside the manor, Draco already had quite a spread prepared. Scorpius eyed the casserole distrustfully.

“Is the kitchen still standing?  he asks, to Harry's amusement.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Yes. And before you ask, everything is edible, seasoned, and nothing has burned to ashes in the process.”

Scorpius pokes the soufflé. It deflated under the pressure, but nothing exploded, which seemed to be what he was expecting. “For Merlin's sake, fine! I called in Mitsy to cook. Honestly, if you're so distrustful of my cooking skills, you could have done it yourself. What's a father have to do to get  some appreciation in this household?”

Scorpius, who seemed to have been mollified at the confirmation of the credibility of the one who cooked his meal, slips back into his affable son persona. “I sincerely apologize, Father. I was under the impression that you would simply reheat the leftovers from today's lunch.”

Draco looks at Scorpius and then at Harry pointedly. “I would have done so if you, my son, had not entered into a life-binding vow with the savior of the Wizarding World, effectively adding his well-being and survival to my list of responsibilities. Do you have any idea what would happen to you if it got out that Potter here–”

“Harry,” Harry found himself interjecting, mindlessly.

Draco glares at him but continues. “–Harry here got hurt because of a Malfoy? You would be lynched.”

“I wouldn't go that far,” says Harry thoughtfully, but to be fair, he understood. Draco Malfoy had always been an over-the-top, dramatic bugger, but his paranoia now was justified. The post-war Wizarding World would be downright hostile to him, and Harry wasn’t sure if Scorpius would be spared.

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco replies snippily.

“Harry.”

To Harry's enjoyment, Draco narrows his eyes in annoyance at him before swiveling back to his son. “Scorpius. My son. My heir. Listen to me. You’ll practically be run out of the Wizarding World, should word get out. And I won't even be able to protect you! You would be bullied! Ostracized! They would blame you for his death!” Draco finishes with a flourish. “What have you got to say about that, mister?”

Scorpius, who was now midway through filling a plate with mashed potatoes, looks at his father blandly. “Potatoes, Father?”

Harry watched Draco stare at his son before visibly deflating, and he knew that Scorpius got his way again. “I suppose,” he sighs, accepting the plate, resignedly.

Dinner proceeded normally after Draco's short outburst. Scorpius animatedly tells them about the azaleas’ progress and how the Mandrakes in the greenhouse had begun to move around. Harry asks him questions while Draco mostly watches them with a fond look in his eyes, giving an occasional comment here and there.  Harry can't remember the last time he had as much fun.

After dinner, Draco moved them to the sitting room where he and Harry had tea and Scorpius had some hot chocolate.  Scorpius brings out a board, and they play a (terribly competitive) game of Wizarding Monopoly where Harry finds both father and son to be horrible cheats. Scorpius manages to clean them both out, and he hums a little tune victoriously as he exits the room to put away the board. Harry watches him, his heart feeling full for the first time in a long time. It must have shown on his face because Draco suddenly speaks up, awestruck.

“You really care for him, don't you?” he says. “You literally just met him, but for some reason, you do.”

Harry felt self-conscious, but saw no reason to deny. The past two days with the Malfoys had been an unexpected turn, but it had been wonderful. Perhaps the most wonderful days he's had in a while. “He’s a great kid, Draco. Oh, don't get me wrong,” Harry says with a laugh when Draco snorts in amusement. “He's a cheat and he's slimier than you were when I first met you. He's also a terror when he doesn't get his way. But his heart is in the right place. He loves fiercely and he’s brave and he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.” Harry turns to Draco and says sincerely, “you’ve done a good job of raising him.”

Firelight plays on Draco Malfoy's face as his amused expression turns somber. His lips were now upturned to a soft, melancholy smile, but his gaze was set determinedly on the flames, focused on something a million miles away. Harry finds that he cannot look away. “What I wouldn't give for that boy,” Draco whispers. “He's my whole world.”

Harry's heart clenches. “You're his whole world too, Draco.”

The man grimaces, visibly. “And I wish I wasn't. I wish I put in more of an effort to bring more people into his life. He probably wouldn't be acting up as much now if he had kids his age to distract him with play.”

Harry chooses his words carefully. He doesn't want another fight, but he wants to understand. He needs to, if he's to be of any help to Draco Malfoy. “I don't think any friend or playmate could compensate for whatever he’s worrying about. Scorpius is acting out because he's distressed, and rightfully so.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. My impending death.”

“You know, I’m still lost on what it is exactly you’re trying to do and how I’m supposed to help out.”

“And you wouldn’t be if you actually put in some effort into studying today.”

Harry thinks back to all of the information he tried to cram in his head in one afternoon and decides that that was good enough of an effort as any. Besides – “I don’t think you’re planning on telling me the whole story, either way, Draco. Which is rather unfair, given the whole vow thing we have going on.”

“About that,” Draco replies, thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking about how unfair it is for you to be involved in all of this. I’ll try to find a loophole to the vow, Harry. There must be some way to keep you out of this. I know you think that I’ve given in completely to that boy’s whims but I’ve been researching about possible ways to go about this complication all afternoon and there seems to be a similar case in 1778, and I thought, perhaps, we could explore some of the methods they tried and–”

Before he could think further on it, Harry found himself lunging at Draco, suddenly holding onto his wrist with a vise-like grip. “No,” he says, letting instinct take over. “There's no need for that. I’m not going to let you die, Draco Malfoy.” Harry was resolute. He has no idea where the determination came from. All he knows is that he meant every word.

Confusion was evident in Draco's expression as he studies Harry. “You do realize, that if you fail, if I die, then you will too?”

“Do you mean to die?”

“Of course not!” Draco says, aghast. “Why would I want to leave my son?”

Without thinking, Harry's palm slips against Draco's wrist, clasping the other man's hand. Draco's eyes widened and a pink flush rose to his pale cheeks, making Harry feel a bit self-conscious. He refused to back down, however. At this point, it would be awkward if he did. Instead, he looks at Draco with as much sincerity as he can muster, refusing to be distracted by the warm smoothness of Draco’s palm or the rough callus at the base of his thumb.. “Then live,” Harry says, voice insistent. Commanding. Pleading. “Let me help you, Draco.”

*

They had been sitting in silence for a while. Draco was focused on the dying flames, seemingly deep in thought, his earlier flush still faintly visible on his skin. Meanwhile, Harry was still reeling from his earlier brashness. His hand tingled pleasantly at the ghost of Draco’s skin against his. Like a schoolboy, he glances shyly at Draco, watching the light of the dying fire dance on his platinum hair. Draco turns his head and returns his gaze, and when their eyes meet, Harry feels a rush course through him. It was hot and dizzying, but it wasn’t unpleasant.  They looked away at the same time.

Meanwhile, by the doorway, Scorpius looks at the two thoughtfully. “I’m tired,” he announces, jolting the two men back to the present. “I’d like to be tucked into bed, please.”

“Of course,” Draco responds as he opens his arms, and Scorpius arranges himself carefully on his father's lap. With practiced ease, Draco hooks Scorpius’s thin legs around his waist and stands up. The father-son pair were just passing him by, presumably on their way to Scorpius's bedroom, when Harry felt something snag on his collar.

Any further step was hindered by Scorpius, who had reached down with a single lanky limb to grab at Harry's shirt. “Come with us, Harry,” Scorpius requests, a pleading look in his doe-like eyes. They were slate gray, like his father's, and Harry was once more struck with how much the two were perfect replicas of each other.

“Now, now, Scorpius,” Draco says in gentle reproach. “We’ve bothered Harry enough today.”

Harry recognized it for what it was: a dismissal. It was a way out. Draco's way of telling him that he was free to leave, at least for the night.

Something unpleasant coiled in Harry’s gut. He didn't want to leave yet.

“I can stay,” he says quickly.

Draco turns to him, curiosity in his eyes. Harry felt like a bug, pinned to a dissecting table, under his watchful gaze. Draco doesn't say anything, however, and simply shrugs and gestures for Harry to follow.

They meandered the corridors of Malfoy Manor quietly, no sound between them other than footfalls and Scorpius's occasional light snore. He really was getting a little bit too tall for his father's thin frame to carry, and Harry watched Draco readjust him a couple of times as they walked. Harry had a strange urge to volunteer to carry Scorpius instead, but he keeps it to himself, choosing instead to leave the father and son with what seemed to be their nighttime ritual.

Scorpius’s room was at the end of a long line of similarly looking doors, only his was marked with a star engraved on the wood. Draco pushes it gently, and Harry is met with a spacious room, neat and well-maintained, with shelves of books lining the wall and a desk and chair set tucked in a far corner. In the middle was a four-poster with navy blue sheets and constellation-printed pillows. But the most notable detail was the ceiling charmed to look like it opened to the heavens, bathing all three of them with starlight. Draco lays the boy carefully on the bed and arranges the pillows and sheets to tuck him in. Scorpius shifts, but otherwise, remains fast asleep.

“It looks just like the Great Hall,” Harry says in awe, a tinge of nostalgia creeping in his voice.

Draco hums in agreement, eyes never leaving his son, as he pushes the boy's blonde fringe off his forehead. “Yes, that's where I got the idea, essentially. I’ve been telling him about the Great Hall, you know. I'm trying to convince him that he would love Hogwarts once he gets there.”

“You said he doesn't want to go.”

“He says he doesn't,” Draco replies in a clipped tone. 

“You think he’s not telling the truth?”

In the darkness of the room, Harry sees the silhouette of Draco’s shoulders sag. “I think he doesn’t allow himself to want a lot of things.”

Harry thinks that that was a bit uncharacteristic for a pushy boy who seemed to be very much willing to plan and scheme to have his bidding done. He doesn’t voice this out, however. The tender moment in front of him didn’t call for it. Harry watches Draco lean down to leave a kiss on Scorpius's forehead and smooth out the boy’s hair. After a final lingering look at his son, Draco turns back to Harry and motions for them to leave.

The two of them were alone again in the corridor outside Scorpius’s room. Draco’s expression was grim, his mouth set in a tight, hard line. Suddenly, the time when they read books and talked about stars and bantered under the afternoon Wiltshire sun spilling inside Draco’s study felt like an eternity ago. 

“Thank you for today, Harry,” Draco says, sincerely. “Scorpius hasn't had as much fun in ages. We were fighting too much the past couple of months, and we weren't really enjoying each other's company like before.” The fatigue was evident in the other man’s voice, and Harry had to fight the urge to reach out and squeeze his hand, consolingly. That was allowed, wasn’t it? Voluntarily spending one afternoon together without killing each other and having their lives linked by an Unbreakable Vow ought to make them friends at least, right? And friends were allowed to console friends.

Harry doesn’t touch him. Instead, he settles for an easy grin that he hopes looks encouraging. “I’m glad. And you can expect more from me in the coming days, Draco. Need to keep you alive, after all.”

Draco cracked a weak smile, and Harry felt his heart soar.

*

A routine fell into place in the coming days, and Harry soon learned why some people called Draco Malfoy mad. He would work for hours on end, buried in his books and scrolls, coming up for air only when his son called for him. His eyes took on a crazed glint whenever he was close to a research breakthrough, and his ramblings and mutterings sometimes weirded out Harry.

You’ll get used to it. Scorpius says with a shrug when Harry brings it up. They were having tea (Ceylon this time), and Scorpius had his feet propped up Harry’s lap while reading a book. Harry, meanwhile, was instructed to keep still.

That was one thing that was new these days. He had become a guinea pig of sorts for Draco Malfoy’s research.

Draco still maintains that he could handle everything on his own, and he would very much prefer it if Harry kept himself out of this, but Harry suspects that it’s only a matter of time before he and Scorpius completely wear him down. By Harry’s fourth afternoon in the manor, Draco had relented to trying out some of his theories on Harry. By the fifth afternoon (and after an offhand comment from Scorpius that wouldn’t it be such an interesting thing to study firsthand a magical reservoir as vast as Harry Potter’s?), the curious scholar part of Draco had completely won and he was already game with hooking Harry up on his contraptions.

“You are not a guinea pig,” Draco declares when Harry made a comment about it. Harry, who was currently immobile, hooked up on a magic-measuring device and had about a dozen magic diagnostic spells cast around him, snorts in amusement. He didn’t mind, anyway.

“You aren’t!” Draco insists. “I’m not testing anything on you. Just…measuring.”

“Then I’ll look forward to you measuring every part of me,” Harry says with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows and a teasing smirk. In response, Draco flushes and almost drops his magic sensors.

That was another thing.

In the past few days of spending time with the Malfoys, Harry’s found two new things that brought him immeasurable joy.

The first was spending time with Scorpius. Any activity, be it a game of Wizard’s chess or Exploding Snap, or even just helping the boy out in some of his daily chores; Harry found himself enjoying every minute of it. The second was teasing Draco Malfoy. It was a far cry from the downright hostile back-and-forth in their youth. This was good-natured, friendly banter, one that he never thought he’d experience with his childhood rival. And when Harry found out that he had the capability to make Draco’s cheeks redden prettily with his mere words? Well, he couldn’t be blamed for doing that every chance he could get.

Apparently, already recovered from Harry’s teasing, Draco lands a sharp slap on Harry’s shoulder. “Stop saying things like that! There’s a child in the room!”

“Relax,” Harry replies, glancing at Scorpius’s preferred couch in Draco’s study, which was now empty. “He got bored over us bickering almost half an hour ago and decided to head out.”

Draco frowns and bites his lip in worry. Unthinkingly, Harry reaches up and tries to smooth out the crease that formed between Draco’s brows. It destabilizes the web of diagnostic magic around him, making Draco squawk in protest. Harry notices, though, that he doesn’t jerk away from Harry’s touch.

“Sorry,” Harry whispers as he allows his hand to move from the bridge of Draco’s nose to cup his cheek instead.

“It’s okay,” Draco whispers back, eyes never leaving Harry’s. “I got all the data that I needed anyway.”

“I’m happy to help.”

Harry watches Draco’s throat bob as he swallows nervously. “I’m happy that you’re here.”

From the corner of his eye, Harry sees the web of Draco’s magic dissipate around him. He was inching closer and closer, and Harry can already see the moles on his face (one under his left eye, one on his chin, Harry catalogues for whatever future purpose) and the dilation of his pupils. Harry feels his throat dry up and his heart hammer inside his chest. Maybe it was he, Harry, who was closing the gap. He certainly feels like he wants to. But does it even matter when all he craves right now is to feel Draco’s breath against his skin and to run his tongue on the seam of Draco’s mouth?

They were so close. Harry watches Draco’s pink tongue dart out quickly to moisten his chapped lips, and Harry could have sworn that he felt its whisper against his own mouth. He doesn’t remember consciously deciding to touch Draco, but now, Harry feels himself pull the other man closer and onto his lap.

They were so close. Chest-to-chest, Harry can now feel that Draco’s heart is also beating wildly against his rib cage. It gave him a sense of euphoria in the idea that maybe he wasn’t alone in navigating these uncharted waters.

They were so close. A hairline width apart. Harry can smell Draco’s skin and feel his hot breath and–

A pop.

“Master Draco!”

The two men sprang apart at the sudden arrival of a wizened elf wearing a pale pink dress, mismatched neon socks, and brown sandals. Draco was sprawled unceremoniously on the floor, knees apart, and robes askew after he accidentally pushed himself too hard away from Harry and got their legs tangled in the process. It was terribly suggestive, and that was the only thought that managed to make its way in Harry’s still-addled mind.

“Mitsy!” Draco gasps, aghast, one hand clutching his chest. “How many times have I told you to use the door when going inside my study!”

But Mitsy wasn’t listening. “Mitsy doesn’t care. Mitsy thinks this is more important than Master Draco’s work. It’s Young Master Scorpius!”

For Harry, it was a lot like being doused in cold water. At the mention of Scorpius’s name in Mitsy’s frantic tone, Harry’s whole world spun back into focus, and he knew it was the same for Draco. The flush that Harry so loved seeing on his pale skin had been doused, his pallor draining back to sickly almost instantaneously. Whatever it was that happened between them just a few seconds ago could wait. Scorpius came first.

“What happened?” Harry asks with urgency as he helps Draco up.

“Mitsy doesn’t know!” The elf wails. “She let herself inside the house for the regular cleaning, and then when she reaches the garden, there! The young master lying on the grass! At first Mitsy thinks he’s just asleep. But then she tries to wake him up but he’s not responding at all! Mitsy tried and tried and tried but young master just won’t wake up!”

Harry didn’t know that it was possible for Draco to pale further, but he does. “No,” he breathes, eyes widening in fear. He staggers and steps back shakily, and Harry wraps an arm around him to keep him up.

“Draco, what’s happening?” Harry asks. “Is Scorpius okay?”

“I–I…I don’t know. I’ll have to check. And–and I need to get his things ready, it’s in his room and some are in the study but…oh, Merlin, Scorpius, no–I thought I had more time, I–”

In all honesty, Harry had no clue what was happening. But Draco was clearly overwhelmed, and Mitsy was already in panic. “Take me to him,” Harry tells the elf. “Then, Draco, grab all the stuff he needs, and we’ll bring him to Mungo’s.”

That catches Draco’s attention. “No!” He exclaims. And then, much more calmly, as if he had finally regained his wits, “no. Harry, bring him to his room. I–I’ll deal with this.”

Harry’s brow furrows. If Scorpius’s situation was really as dire as Draco implied, then shouldn’t they take the boy to the hospital? Draco is a scholar, but he’s no Healer. He tells Draco so.

“Trust me, they can’t do anything for him there,” Draco says, not meeting Harry’s eyes. There were things left unsaid, things that Harry’s gut said didn’t feel right, but they didn’t have time for questioning now.

“Right,” Harry declares, “Mitsy, take me to Scorpius. Then I’ll take him to his room while Draco gets everything he needs.”

“Mitsy will!” The elf says before holding onto Harry’s sleeve with one bony hand. With a pop, they were gone.

*

Harry was horror-stricken when he found that Scorpius was not only unconscious but also no longer breathing when he and the elf popped into the garden. His lips were purpling, and it looked like his skin was chipping off, like he was slowly disintegrating. Harry had no idea how this could possibly happen. Scorpius was in the pink of health just a couple of minutes ago. Did he get attacked? Was there an intruder who cursed him? Healthy children didn’t just fall unconscious without any good reason, right? He was thankful for Mitsy’s apparition because he didn’t trust himself to apparate without getting splinched in his state, nor did he think sprinting up the three flights of stairs up to Scorpius’s room would do the boy any favors. Upon setting him onto his bed, Draco orders Harry out, and he had sat vigil, restlessly, in front of Scorpius’s door for hours right until Draco opened the door.

The man looked only slightly better than his son and Harry was surprised he was still upright. Draco looked exhausted, like his magical energy was siphoned from him. He was deathly pale, his hair bedraggled, and his hands were trembling. Harry was on his feet immediately, holding Draco by the shoulders.

“Is Scorpius okay?” He asks, frantically. “Are you?”

Draco collapses right at that moment into Harry’s arms. “Mmhm tired,” he mutters against Harry’s chest. “Want to sleep.”

“Okay,” Harry replies softly, pulling Draco closer to his chest. “You can sleep. How’s Scorpius?”

Mitsy chooses that moment to reappear. “Young master is better now,” Mitsy says, eyes shiny with tears. “All thanks to Master Draco.”

Harry’s shoulders sag in relief. Scorpius is okay. Draco is exhausted, but he will be too, especially if Harry has any say about it. For the first time in hours, he could breathe properly again. “I’ll take care of Draco, Mitsy.” He tells the elf, before bending down to hook the back of Draco’s knees on his forearm. When Harry gently cradles Draco’s nape, curling his arm around Draco’s shoulder, he only gives a tiny grunt before promptly falling back to sleep. “You take care of Scorpius.”

The elf salutes. “No need to say so. Mitsy will take care of the young master.”

“Thank you, Mitsy,” Harry says, gratefully. “Can you tell me where Draco’s room is?”

Mitsy points him to the first floor, the room right beside his study. Apparently, Draco had wanted it that way because he had a bad habit of getting up in the middle of the night to work.

“None of that for you now. You ought to rest until you’re all recovered,” Harry mutters under his breath as he carefully lays Draco on his cream-colored sheets. In contrast to Scorpius’s room, which was carefully decorated and thoughtfully furnished, Draco’s room was almost bare except for a trunk, a dresser, a bed, and a bedside table with a framed picture of Draco and Scorpius.

He selects a pair of silver silk pyjamas for Draco and tries his best to keep his gaze respectful when he undresses the man and casts a Cleaning Charm on him. Draco could have a longer shower when he wakes up, Harry decides, but at least now he’s semi-clean and in fresh, comfortable clothes. Nighttime had fallen without him noticing, and he figures Draco should have something to eat when he wakes up. Thankfully, Harry’s now familiar enough with the manor’s layout (thanks to Scorpius, who insists on regaling Harry with various tales about Malfoy Manor ancient history, complete with tours), and he makes it to the kitchen without any fuss. He puts together a pot of onion soup, toasts some bread, and puts everything on a tray together with some Pepper-up potion he found in the medicine cabinet.

He’ll leave this on Draco’s bedside table under a stasis charm, run home for a quick shower himself, and then Floo right back to continue keeping watch on father and son. Already satisfied with his plan, Harry was on his way towards the fireplace connected to Grimmauld when he noticed a steadily flashing light coming from Draco’s study. In the urgency of everything that happened this afternoon, Draco seemed to have forgotten to keep his door shut.

This was his first time in the study at this time of the night, Harry realizes. He typically stayed here with Draco from mid-morning until afternoon, after which, Scorpius would drag him off to one activity or another, which is what they would do until dinner time rolled in. Post-dinner hot chocolate in the sitting room would follow, and then by nine in the evening, Harry bids the Malfoys goodnight. This was Harry’s first time to see the study bathed in moonlight, and it was absolutely breathtaking.

Draco’s magic was still at work, his things still moving in harmony, despite him being knocked out in the next room. But what was truly beautiful now was that, in the dark, the threads of magic interwoven in the room glinted as moonlight bounced against it. Surfaces that the threads touched glittered and it looked like the stars had descended from the sky to light up the room. It was so unearthly to look at that Harry almost forgot what brought him inside in the first place until the offending object rattled violently from the corner of the room.

It was the chest bolted to the floor. In all the times Harry had been here, it had been quiet and unassuming. He even remembers using it as a footrest once. Now, it glowed white-hot and flashed angrily as the thing inside thrashed around. The other difference is that, in all the times Harry had been here, the chest was locked, both with magic and a huge physical padlock. But now, the lid flopped up and down at the struggling force of whatever’s within.

Acting purely on instinct, Harry takes out his wand, reaches out, and lifts the chest’s lid.

The light that shone from inside was blinding, and he quickly snapped the lid shut again. What was that? Harry thought as he forced the lid down. It was as if, after the quick exposure, the thing inside had grown more determined to escape. It seemed dangerous, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if this was somehow related to whatever it was that Draco was trying to achieve.

When that train of thought appeared, Harry knew he had to figure out what was inside. But before he could do anything else, a weak voice from the doorway interrupted him. “Harry?” Draco calls, voice still heavy with sleep. “What are you doing here?”

“Draco!” Harry responds, suddenly feeling like a kid caught with his hand inside the cookie jar. “What are you doing up?”

“I just woke up, and I summoned Mitsy, and she said you were taking care of me. I came looking for you.”

From underneath Harry’s palm, the chest vibrated angrily. “I was just planning on going back to Grimmauld for a bit for a shower and a change of clothes. And then I was going back to look after you.” Suddenly, the chest jerked angrily, pushing off Harry’s hand in the process, bending it awkwardly at the wrist. “Ow!” Harry cries.

Draco’s eyes narrow, and his body stiffens at the awareness of what Harry was wrestling with. Swiftly, as if he wasn’t dead on his feet a few hours ago, he covers the distance from the door to Harry in three strides. With practiced efficiency, he points his wand at the chest, effectively quieting it down, and bends to scoop up the padlock to hook it into place. When he spoke, his voice was clear and chilling. “What are you doing here, Harry?”

Suspicion laced Draco’s tone, and Harry realized that this was possibly the only chance he would get at figuring this out. He heaves a huge sigh and tries to speak with all the sincerity he could muster. He hopes Draco would trust him. He hopes, that with today’s events, he had proven that he didn’t want any harm to come to Draco or his son.  “I’m sorry. I was just headed for the Floo, like I told you, when I saw a bright light coming from inside your study. I went in to investigate and then…I found where it came from,” Harry says, gesturing to the chest, now back to its previous, unassuming state. 

Draco raises a brow. “So your first impulse is to, what? Try to sneak a peek? Wrestle it shut? Do you never learn, Harry? Magical objects like these are not meant to be taken lightly!”

“I thought it would help me figure out what’s going on,” Harry admits softly. “So much has happened today, Draco, and I can’t help but wonder if everything’s connected to each other.”

Draco chews on his bottom lip and looks away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know what I mean,” Harry insists, refusing to let the matter go. Not now. Not when Draco’s actions signal that Harry was somehow on the right track. “Tell me, Draco. Please.” Harry grabs the other man’s hand, squeezing it softly in his. “Please let me understand. I want to help.”

The silence was long and deafening as Draco refused to look at Harry while Harry refused to look away. It was a battle of stubbornness and willpower.

Eventually, it was Draco who caved.

“Fine,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll tell you.”

Chapter Text

Draco insisted that they leave the discussion for tomorrow. He was tired, he said, and Harry looked like he could use a good rest too. “The topic’s a bit too complex for you to understand, even at full brain capacity,” Draco had snarked, which Harry found that he welcomed. A snarky Draco meant that the man was already feeling so much better.

He also insists that he was fine already after his short nap, and he assured that he would be eating the meal that Harry prepared for him. Harry was more than welcome to stay the night, if he wished, but under no circumstances would Draco accept any more coddling. “It’s bad form, Harry,” he declares. “I’m owing too much already, as it is. I’m afraid I won’t be able to pay you back at this rate.” Harry insists that there’s no payment required and he’s just happy to be of some use to Draco and his son, but the man still stands his ground that he’s already fine and he would be warding Harry out of his room if that’s what it takes for Harry to stop mothering him and to get some actual rest.

Harry was offered a room, the one right across Draco’s, if he wished to stay, but after some thought, Harry declined. Now that he’s sure that Draco’s somewhat recovered and he trusts Mitsy to look after Scorpius, the fatigue suddenly caught up with him, and all he could think of was his nice, soft bed back at Grimmauld. Besides, he would still need to go home for a change of clothes. Draco only nods, bids Harry goodnight, and leaves for his own room. To Harry, it spoke volumes about just how much Draco trusted him that the man didn’t even bother locking his study up, despite Harry’s earlier intrusion.

And so, Harry found himself back home, bone-tired and without any energy to do more than shower and change his clothes. After everything that happened today, the sudden quiet of Grimmauld is jarring. Maybe I should have taken up Draco on his offer, after all, Harry thinks as he stretches under the covers. Surely the manor’s beds are at least as comfortable as the one he has here. Now that he's back, he can't help but overthink if Scorpius is okay. If Draco finished his meal and went back to sleep. Harry should have stayed and made sure that he didn't go right back to work! He could bring over spare clothes so he wouldn’t need to go back-and-forth Grimmauld that often. And the manor had so many rooms, he was pretty sure Draco wouldn’t mind.

And wouldn’t that be beautiful? Harry imagines endless days of Scorpius waking him up for a game of Quidditch. He imagines being on rotation for cooking and housekeeping duty together with Scorpius and Draco. He imagines never having a meal alone again because, no matter how busy Draco gets, he’ll stop everything to dine with his son. And then, at night, he and Draco will bring Scorpius to bed, tuck the boy in, and kiss him good night. Maybe Draco could even let Harry bring Scorpius to the Burrow to meet his friends and family. Harry can see exactly how his boy would play them and have them eating out of the palm of his hand in no time. And maybe…someday, Draco would want to go with them too. 

And what would they then do when Scorpius eventually goes to Hogwarts? Draco would surely be sad after getting used to having his son for company. Harry's heart sings at the thought of having someone to take care of. Draco is always so busy. Harry will make sure Draco is eating all his meals and that he takes breaks from work. The two of them will divide the household chores, write Scorpius letters, and send the boy care packages that will have his housemates drooling in envy. And then, when the Yule holidays come about, they’ll decorate the manor together, wait for Scorpius to come home, and then gather in the sitting room and open gifts for each other.

Everything was so vivid in Harry’s imagination. He curls his body into a tight ball, heart aching with want. When he falls asleep, he dreams of Malfoy Manor and building a home.

*

Draco had never felt this drained in a long time. Scorpius's procedures took a lot out of him and, well, he’d never had that much magic like the boy nor that big of a capacity like Harry. His talent really lies more on channeling, which is what made him amazing at fields that required control and precision like Potions and Alchemy.

Yet no matter how good he is, no matter how much he’s grown as a practitioner in the past decade, he still cannot fix this. He was so close. He reckons that at this point, he had a ninety percent chance of survival. That was the highest he’s ever gone.

Harry had left close to an hour ago. Draco had already finished the soup and the bread that Harry left behind, the rich, savory liquid warming his stomach and doing funny things to his heart. Everything Harry does had been doing that a lot for him lately and Draco, while completely out of his depth, had been enjoying every bit. It was wonderful. He’d been perfectly content with having only Scorpius (and occasionally, Mitsy) for company, but the past few days were a stark reminder that maybe, Draco needed other people too.

He just never expected that that realization would come in the form of Harry Potter, barging in his life like a speeding train. Harry Potter with his messy dark hair, and broad shoulders, and emerald-green eyes that made Draco's heart flutter faster than a Snitch’s wings. And earlier, today, in a time that felt like an eternity ago, they almost kissed. Draco feels his cheeks warm at the memory of Harry's stubble scratching against his skin and the ghost of Harry's breath against his lips.

He crashes back to reality when the scene progresses to Mitsy’s frantic call for help and the grueling hours since then. With a sigh, Draco forces himself to get up despite the comfortable bed beneath him beckoning him to get more sleep. He still had so much to do, and he was running out of time.

Scorpius was running out of time. Whatever it was that he and Harry seemed to begin can wait.

He makes the quick walk towards the study, pushing open the door that he hadn't bothered to lock. What for, now that Harry has found the most crucial piece of this whole debacle? There wasn't anything here worth hiding anymore. He points his wand at the chest, sitting innocently against the wall, as if it didn't contain the strongest forces of the universe. Slowly, carefully, Draco lifts his carefully laid charms, and the chest begins to rattle violently once more.

“Shh,” Draco whispers. “Be good.”

A brass lamp came flying to his outstretched hand, a thing of his own creation, transmuted from rock, metal and his own blood before being forged in dragonfire. It was the strongest magical vessel in the world, at least to Draco's knowledge, and a pain in the arse to build, yet it was still not enough to hold Draco's test subjects. He’d been trying to develop stronger, bigger containers, but time was not on his side.

He had previously been adamant about figuring this out and not getting Harry involved. Recent events, however, made Draco think that maybe he no longer had any choice.

Draco casts another spell, this one connecting the chest to the lamp. A sliver of bright light emerged from the shut lid, as if being siphoned from one vessel to another. This used to require so much of Draco's concentration, but he’d done the conduit spell so many times at this point, he can now do it effortlessly. The lamp rattles ferociously as it begins to slowly fill with brightness, and once it did, Draco places one hand against the lamp's glass wall, feeling the smooth surface that now glowed hot 

“Calm down,” Draco mutters. “It’ll be over soon.”

He walks to the other side of the room where the transmuter was. It was a metal thing that looked unfinished, but Draco could not be arsed about aesthetics at this point. The important thing is that it worked. He places the lamp in the extraction chamber and his hands on the receiving terminal, a flat mahogany plate filled with inscribed runes. He traces the inscriptions, committing each one to memory, more out of habit than necessity. Draco has done this multiple times already, enough to have memorized it all.

He whispers the words under his breath reverently and the runes flash blindingly bright as the lamp from the other end shakes even more wildly. Draco feels the familiar painful heat climb slowly from the plate, then his palms, then up his arms, then straight to his magical core. The rawness, the power, it was almost too much. Draco is a conduit, after all, and not a reservoir. But he held on as long as he could, even when his heart began to jump erratically, even when his lungs began to burn, even when his muscles felt like it was being fried from the inside out.

This isn't enough, Draco thinks.

He lets go at the last moment, right when he feels his heart is about to stop. In the extraction chamber, the lamp still glows, but not as blindingly as before. Having already been used, the lamp's integrity is now compromised, and Draco knows by experience that it will no longer hold for more than a minute. Twenty-three seconds was his most recent record.

It had begun to hiss and emit a thin smoke, and Draco quickly levitated the lamp to the window. It wasn't really necessary, but Draco feels like the least he could do for his test subjects is to send them off properly. He had just placed the lamp on the ledge before it broke, a flash of light shooting up to the sky, leaving only pieces of the now-destroyed lamp and a silver, metallic shard behind.

He picks up the shard, vanishes the rest of the mess, and leaves for Scorpius's room.

*

Harry wakes up with renewed energy. He had a plan. Today, before he goes to the manor, he'll research everything he can about Scorpius’s condition and hopefully come up with something helpful. He knew that research was more of Draco's forte, and the man probably already did everything he could, but he lacked one thing that Harry had: resource.

More than a decade after the war, the Wizarding World still looked up to the boy they considered their savior, and Harry still had considerable pull in the Ministry. Not to mention Hermione, who also works in healing and had considerable achievements of her own. Draco, with his (understandable) distrust towards the rest of society, probably skipped asking for help and went straight to dealing with the problem himself. And Draco might be brilliant, but there could be some things he could have missed.

Things that, if they figured out how to fix, could remove the need for whatever strange object Draco had hidden in his study.

In the light of day, and after having a good night's sleep, Harry was thinking clearly now, and his gut told him that everything was connected. Draco’s secrecy, Scorpius’s mysterious illness, and the chest with the glowing light. Harry didn't like how Draco reacted when he found the chest. He couldn't sense any dark magic from within, but Draco had visbly tensed up when he saw Harry poking about. And while Harry couldn't feel anything dark, what he could feel was a strong, overwhelming force from the inside and, with the way Draco had been thinning and growing more and more haggard as days passed, Harry couldn't help but think that the man was biting off more than he could chew here.

Was that why Scorpius felt the need to intervene? Harry thinks of the boy’s desperation the night they made the Unbreakable Vow. It rather felt like having all the pieces of a puzzle. All that's left is putting it together.

*

In less than an hour since he sent out his owls, Harry had his kitchen table covered with responses from different departments on his inquiries about curse symptoms, pureblood genetic diseases, and any ailment that could manifest as purpling lips, stopped breathing, and visible bodily disintegration.

He had charmed the parchment were he wrote his letters to hex the person reading into utmost secrecy (a nifty little trick he learned from Hermione), and pulled a bit of weight to ensure a speedy response. As a result, he owed Doreen Thornbrick of the Cursebreaker Department and Unspeakable 11078 a favor each, but he felt that he had gained quite a good amount of material in the quest for learning about Scorpius’s condition.

The last letter he sent was written on un-hexed, normal paper and it was addressed to Hermione Granger, Head of the Department for Pediatric Illnesses.

My son is sick. I need your help, Harry had written and as soon as he finished, his heart was suddenly full with something he couldn't name. It felt like he had been walking around for years with something missing, and he didn’t even know it. And now, something had slottedin, without him even noticing, in the gap and he's suddenly complete. His son. A family.

He understands he needs to inform Draco of this realization, sooner rather than later, but it won't change the fact that they were now his.

Harry’s family. Finally, finally, something of his own.

And now all that's left is for him to protect it.

*

The waiting area to Hermione's office is soulless, smells like antiseptic, and looks just like any other waiting area in St. Mungo’s. Harry hated staying there because it reminded him of injuries and nosey healers, even on days when he was just dropping by on a social visit.

Today, thankfully, he needn't wait long.

Hermione had cleared her whole morning after getting his owl, and Harry felt a rush of gratefulness towards his friend. Adulthood may have prevented them from spending as much time as they did before, but one thing that didn't change is that his friends could still be counted on when it really mattered. When he was let in by Hermione's secretary, he found not only Hermione, but also Ron pinning him with twin looks of worry. While he missed Ron, Harry was sort of bummed out that the man was here. He wanted to keep as little people in-the-know as possible about Scorpius’s condition. It's how Draco would have preferred things.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Harry says to Ron as he heaps his small mountain of documents, all preliminary research on Scorpius’s condition, on top of Hermione's desk. “But Hermione and I have something to discuss. Patient-doctor confidentiality sort of thing.”

“Right,” Ron says carefully, like how one might to an easily-spooked animal. “And this is about your…son?”

Harry hums in agreement. “I don't really have much time, though. Can we catch up later, Ron?” Harry says, hoping Ron would take that as the signal to leave. “Scorpius’s condition is a bit delicate.”

“Scorpius…your son?”

“Yes,” Harry says, as if speaking to a particularly daft child. Why is he being so difficult?

Ron and Hermione share a look, one that only couples do when their child does something particularly exasperating. Most of the time, Harry finds it annoying, but after having exhchanging  a similar look with Draco once or twice over Scorpius’s antics (the one where he successfully debated with his father to let him have a second piece of lemon meringue pie, complete with a winding exposition on the seasonality of lemons, came to mind), he now finds the similarity amusing. He was about to point this out when Hermione suddenly reaches across her desk to hold Harry’s hand in hers.

“Harry, listen to me,” she says firmly. “You don't have a son.”

Harry was a bit miffed at that. Sure, they haven't met Scorpius yet, but couldn't they trust Harry at face-value now? The meet-and-greets could come later after Scorpius is done recovering and after he's gotten Draco to agree to a life with Harry. A month, tops, if Draco’s willingness to kiss him was any indication. Stretch goal, two weeks.

“I do have a son,” Harry insists as Hermione stares him down. She was about to open her mouth when Ron interjects.

“No, no, listen to him, Hermione,” he says and Harry could almost kiss him. “He might have gotten someone pregnant!” Or not.

“It's so frustrating that we're getting bogged down by all these minute details, you know,” Harry says, waving his hand. “Scorpius’s in pretty bad shape.”

That seemed to get Hermione’s attention (as it rightfully should, Harry thinks). She frowns, “what happened to him?”

“That's what I'm trying to figure out,” Harry says, glad to finally get to the point of his visit. “He suddenly fell unconscious and he wasn't breathing. You can actually find all his symptoms listed here.” Harry thrusts a piece of parchment to Hermione. He had written everything he could remember that he saw when he carried Scorpius. “I've already asked around for information,” he continues, pointing to the pile of folders teetering on Hermione's desk, “but I need a Healer to put everything together and make sense of it.”

Hermione frowns as she scans the documents Harry brought. She bites her lip, anxiously, and Harry can't help but feel panic build up the longer she kept quiet. “Harry,” she says after a long pause, “I can't make a diagnosis without seeing him or running some tests. But I agree, this looks serious. This couldn't have been a recent development.”

Harry had been thinking the same thing. Draco, while panicked, knew absolutely what to do when Mitsy reported that Scorpius collapsed. “Will you see him, Hermione?” Harry asks, imploringly. Hermione's eyes soften as she looks at him, her hand enclosing Harry's in a supportive grip.

“Of course, Harry.”

*

As Harry and Hermione step across the grate of Malfoy Manor’s Floo connection, Harry briefly wonders whether he should have informed Draco first that he brought a healer and several feet worth of information on what could possibly be Scorpius’s condition.

“Good morning, Mitsy,” Harry greets as he dusts off the soot on his pants. The elf had been waiting in front of the fireplace. While Hermione’s stance on elfish work conditions have relaxed through the years, she still has very strong feelings about it. Thankfully, she still seemed to be too perplexed that they're in Malfoy Manor to make a comment.

“Good morning, Master Harry, sir,” the elf replies with a low bow. “Master Draco is in the Young Master Scorpius’s bedroom. He asked me to wait for you here to tell you that.”

“Thank you, Mitsy. How is Scorpius?” Harry asks, hoping that the boy is already up and about by now, but given his state yesterday, Harry knows better than to get his hopes up.

The sad look on Mitsy’s face confirms his fears. “Young master is still unconscious,” she says sadly and Harry felt his heart sink. “But not to worry!” She exclaims. “Master Draco will take care of it, just like last time. He always takes care of it.”

Harry considers the elf’s words thoughtfully. So he was right when he concluded that this wasn't the first time that this happened. “Who is Master Harry’s friend?” Mitsy asked, eyeing Hermione, distrustfully, the same way she eyed Harry on their first time meeting.

“Mitsy, this is Hermione Granger,” Harry introduces. “She's a Healer. She's here to help Scorpius.”

“Young Master Scorpius can't be healed by normal wizard magic,” Mitsy declares. “Mitsy knows. But Miss Hermione Granger can try.”

“Harry?” Hermione says in a wary voice. “Can you come here for a minute?”

She was still standing right in front of the fireplace, seemingly glued to the spot, while Harry and Mitsy had already walked a few steps on the way to Scorpius’s room. Harry's brows knit with worry. Is she still traumatized from the war? Was asking her to go to the manor too much?

“Hermione?” Harry asks, worriedly. “I’m sorry, is it the manor? Are you okay?”

Hermione grabs his hand forcefully, bringing him down to her eye level. Harry had forgotten how strong Hermione is. “Am I okay?” She asks in a hysterical whisper. “Am I okay? What the fuck, Harry?”

“What do you mean? I thought you agreed to see Scorpius?”

“I did! I just didn’t expect that he would be in Malfoy-fucking-Manor!”

Harry might have forgotten to mention that crucial bit. “Hermione,” Harry whines. He would gladly answer any question Hermione asks later, but right now, his priority was for her to diagnose his boy. “Please, can we check on Scorpius first?”

Hermione looked at him like he was insane. “Harry,” she says pleadingly. “Whose son is this boy, really?” Hermione cuts him off before Harry can interrupt with an indignant mine! “Please spare me the ‘I’ve claimed him as my own, and therefore he is mine’ speech. I will try my best to treat him, I promise. Just, please, for the sake of my sanity, don't tell me this boy is Draco Malfoy's.”

Harry tells her that the boy is Draco Malfoy's.

*

After Hermione's meltdown, she snaps back quickly to ‘competent Healer’ mode and begins a thorough line of questioning with Mitsy on Scorpius's medical history. She was very efficient like that. Harry enjoys the now-familiar twists and turns of the manor on the walk towards Scorpius’s room, Hermione's warm and professional tone and Mitsy’s tinny, elfish voice as background noise. Not for the first time that day, Harry worries how Draco would react when he finds that he brought Hermione. Would he be mad at Harry for meddling?

When they get to Scorpius’s room, Harry finds the door left ajar, a soft humming voice spilling from the inside. Mitsy leaves with a pop, presumably to finish whatever duty she was doing before Harry arrived. Harry pushes the door open, careful not to disturb, and his heart clenches at the sight before him. As Mitsy had said, Scorpius was still asleep. But now, bathed in the daylight coming from his windows and his charmed ceiling, the situation looked less dire than it did yesterday. Like this, Harry could almost pretend that Scorpius was just taking a nap and that he would be up and about again in a few minutes and asking Harry to play a game of wizard’s chess with him. Sitting on the bed, beside the boy’s prone form was Draco. He had changed out of his pyjamas and into a set of his work robes. His hair had been smoothed and tied neatly at the base of his neck. For a few minutes, Harry watched the man sing quietly as he gently carded his fingers through the sleeping boy’s hair.

“–little star. How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky.” 

As the song came to an end, Harry watched Draco's shoulders shudder as if trying to hold back his emotions. His hand, supporting his weight on the bed, tightens its grip, and the sheets beneath crumple under the tension. A wave of protectiveness surged within Harry. At that moment, there was nothing else that he wanted other than to hold Draco in his arms and promise him that everything would be alright.

He turns to find Hermione watching him, a look of resignation on her face. “Oh, Harry,” she whispers, as she ruffles his hair slightly. “That bad, huh? We leave you alone for a bit and you just circle right back.”

Harry frowns. “What do you mean?”

Hermione's grin was good-natured and teasing. “You never really got over your obsession with Malfoy, didn’t you?”

Harry could feel his body warm at the implication. But before he could protest, Hermione had already pushed the door wide open and let herself in the room.

“Malfoy!” she calls out. Draco, who had been too focused on Scorpius, jolts back to the present and turns to face the two of them.

His eyes were still red-rimmed and glassy as one who had barely stopped themselves from crying would be. Harry so desperately wanted to give him a hug. “Granger? What are you doing here?” he asks, wide-eyed, as he looks back-and-forth between them and Scorpius, body language screaming panic.

Hermione crosses the room to stand right in front of Draco, hands raised at her hips. Harry has seen this stance countless times before and he instinctively flinches at the memory of getting lectured. She nods at Harry who still stood frozen by the doorway. “Apparently, you have been getting cozy with Harry,” she says, eyes narrowed.

Harry's instinct to freeze and not make any sudden moves when confronted by a lecturing Hermione was swiftly counteracted by his amusement when a pink flush travels up Draco’s neck to his cheeks. “He’s friends with my son!” Draco replies in indignation.

“Mmhm. And you’re certain you're not part of the reasons why he’s suddenly so familiar with Malfoy Manor’s layout?”

“I do not ask him to spend his free time here! Besides, it's Scorpius who insists on giving him house tours.”

Hermione gave a disappointed ‘tsk’. “Why did I not know about this development, Draco?”

“Wait, have the two of you been talking to each other?” Harry interjects in disbelief. Hermione gives him a withering look.

“Academia is a small field, Harry,” she explains with a wave of her hand, as if Harry’s surprise was unfounded. “We’ve collaborated on a few papers before. I’ve been talking with Malfoy for close to five years already. You know, come to think of it, I've mentioned referencing his work a couple of times already.”

Harry, who generally spaces out whenever the discussion becomes too academic, exclaims at the same time that Draco snorts and mumbles under his breath. “Few my foot. Closer to a hundred, I think. Absolute slave driver, this woman.”

“Five years! Why was I never informed?

Hermione sighs. “Ron had this theory that mentioning Draco in conversation with you would jumpstart any latent obsession you have for him. I thought that was stupid. Apparently, he's right.” She turns to Draco sharply. “And you. Despite these many collaborations, you’ve never once mentioned that you have a son.”

Draco looks away, angling his body protectively over Scorpius. “I hardly think the existence of my son is relevant to our research, Granger.”

“Of course not. But I would have thought we were somewhat friends in the past few years, Malfoy.”

The two stare down at each other, neither willing to give up. Draco narrows his eyes at Hermione. “Why are you here, Granger? What are you and Potter playing at by being here?”

The sudden shift from ‘Harry’ to ‘Potter’ felt like a punch to the gut. Harry had no time to think further on this, though, because suddenly, a strong, pulsating wave of magic reverberated in the room. It felt constrained, like something was holding it in, albeit weakly. What's most concerning is that the waves came from Scorpius, who laid still and for some reason, alit. His skin was close to translucent and from where Harry stood, he could feel a heat radiating from Scorpius’s body.

“Shit,” Draco whispers, “it's not supposed to happen this quick.”

Harry’s head whips in Draco's direction just as a look of mutual understanding, one that could only be borne out of years of closely working with one another, passes between him and Hermione. Harry feels jealousy, ugly and burning, rise up his throat like bile. He tamps it down immediately. “What do you mean?” Draco ignores him, focusing instead on holding down Scorpius, who had begun to convulse violently.

“Stop! No! It's supposed to be under control by now!” Draco wails, despairingly. Steam was rising from where his palms met Scorpius’s skin.

“Draco, we need to get his temperature down fast!” Hermione says, urgency evident in her voice. Beside her, Draco had already let go of Scorpius, and was now trying to hold him in place with conjured ropes. As he casts, Harry catches a glimpse of his hands, red-hot and blistered.

“I know, Granger!” Draco shouts as he and Hermione begin to simultaneously cast cooling charms both on the room and Scorpius.

“Harry, will you please go out for a moment?” Hermione says, turning to Harry. “Draco and I need to stabilize Scorpius first.”

“What, why? I can help! Tell me what's happening!”

“You can't!” Draco snaps. “Just please go out, we'll talk later. Granger, please!”

“Later, Harry!” Hermione says as she forcefully pushes Harry out of the room. Right before the door closes, Harry catches a glimpse of Draco pulling out what looked like a tiny metallic object from the inside of his robe pocket.

*

It was an excruciating hour as Draco and Hermione worked their magic and Harry waited, feeling useless. He looks at the pile of research he amassed this morning, still haphazardly stashed inside the bag that he nicked from Hermione’s office. Since being kicked out, Harry had been sitting and feeling helpless, right in front of Scorpius’s door.

Perhaps, I ought to make myself useful. Harry muses. At least it would take his mind away from things he had no business thinking about. Like the way Draco had known and befriended Hermione for quite some time already, and how Draco had been perfectly fine with asking her for help, whilst simultaneously kicking Harry out.

The jealousy that still rolls itself in his gut makes Harry burn with shame. Hermione is married and will never cheat on her husband. Meanwhile, Draco didn’t even want Hermione to meddle in his personal life despite knowing her for years. Besides, what does it even say about him that at the moment when Scorpius needs his father the most, Harry can't even help but be consumed by his selfish desires? “Get a grip on yourself, Potter,” Harry murmurs, as he tries to snap himself back out of misery. “Not the time.”

*

He finds himself in Draco’s eerily still study. Most of the times that Harry’s been here, it had been a flurry of magical activity, books, and reagents, and all sorts of tools flying about in a well-choreographed dance led by Draco's magic. Now, it was all put on hold, Draco probably choosing to channel his magic into the more urgent matter at hand: Scorpius.

Harry can't believe that it's only been a day since he talked with the boy. Their last interaction had been a game of Gobstones (which Scorpius won without resorting to cheating) before the boy announced that he was going for a walk. He had been in the pink of health, then.

Maybe it really is a curse, Harry thinks, slumped on the floor of Draco's study, as he begins to leaf through the files from the Department of Mysteries. Everything had been so sudden. Or had it, really? With what Harry's seeing now, it seemed that Draco had been keeping Scorpius’s ailment a secret all along. And why wouldn't he? Harry is just someone he knew from school, someone who came back knocking at a very inconvenient time. The thought jabs at Harry's heart, still tender from insecurity. He knocks his head back against the wall, trying to banish the unwelcome thought.

Suddenly, there was movement at the corner of his eye. Survival instincts kicked in, and feelings were promptly pushed back down. Harry scans the room warily until his gaze locks on the only moving object in the room. It was the black chest again, this time still seemingly still locked, but the magic seemed to have weakened since the essence from inside seemed to be leaking out. In the light of day and now, under careful scrutiny, Harry notices just how worn down it looks. The lip is scuffed, the paint peeling, and the wood has splintered. Draco's magic seemed to be the only thing holding it together. The chest shakes faintly against the wall, as if sensing the weakness of its prison.

“You should let me out.”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock. The words were clear, inside his mind, yet there wasn't a sound. He feels a chill run up his spine as childhood memories of the mind link with Voldemort rose to the surface. The voice inside his head laughs.

“I’m not like that,” it says. “I'm much, much, much more powerful.”

The black chest flares. Harry steps toward it.

“That's it. Come closer. Let me out, and I'll give you your heart's desire. I can see it. It's been the same ever since, hasn't it?”

“What are you?”

“No need to shout. I can hear everything, every thought you make. You're hurt, aren’t you? He hurt you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don't be coy. He's a selfish one, that one. He's just using you. Just like how he wants to use me.”

It was pretty clear by now who the voice was referring to. “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just free me. And I'll give you your heart's desire.”

“How will you even do that? You can't even free yourself.”

Harry watches the chest pulse angrily. “I am weak now. The man has shut away my power with his runes. But I promise that when you do, when you free me by the light of the moon, you will get what you want.”

“How do I know that you're not tricking me?”

The voice laughs inside Harry’s head. “He's the one tricking you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is a liar. That boy is not his son.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Scorpius looked like a physical duplicate of Draco. “Now I know you're lying.”

“I have no reason to. He, on the other hand, has everything to gain. Now, hush. I sense a human approaching and I can feel my chains strengthening once more. Return at night when I am stronger. Then, I can tell you everything you wish to know.”

Harry knows the exact moment that the entity relinquishes its control to whatever force holding it captive because the chest stops rattling and the fog in his brain clears up in an instant.

He's just begun to collect his bearings when a familiar head of bushy hair pokes into the room. “Harry?” She calls out, tiredness evident in her voice. Harry looks up from where he's slumped on the floor and waves her over with a small smile.

“Hi,” he manages to say, albeit weakly. He still felt unsettled over what just happened. “How’d you find me? How is Scorpius?”

“Mitsy told me where you are. Scorpius is…well, stable. At the moment.”

Harry’s brows knit together in worry. “What's wrong with him, Hermione? Tell me, please.”

Hermione sighs. “I have no idea. This is the first of its kind that I've seen. All I know is that there is an immense amount of magic within Scorpius.”

Harry remembers Draco’s words when he first witnessed the boy do wandless magic. Magically-powerful, Draco had called him. “But isn't that not a good thing? His magic can help the healing process.”

“Oh, Harry. If only it did that. In Scorpius’s case, the magic is too strong, his body cannot contain it. It's begun to leak out. I suspect the reason he’s still unconscious is because his body tried to shut down to protect itself from further damage.”

“And what happens if it leaks out? Actually, can we just do that? Allow the excess magic to leak out so that it won't cause a strain on him?”

“That’s certainly a treatment option for cases where accelerated magic production has become a problem. But the thing is, Scorpius’s problem isn't that he’s producing too much. It's that the magic his body creates is too strong. And his body is giving out.”

A heavy weight settled inside Harry’s gut as a wave of helplessness washed over him. He didn't even hear Hermione say goodbye; his gaze was transfixed on the black chest against the wall, splintered, peeling, and slowly breaking apart.

*

He finds Draco still in Scorpius’s room. Like a repeat of earlier, he sat on the boy’s bed, caressing him softly, a song hummed under his breath. Harry doesn't bother to hide his presence and pushes the door wide open.

“Hello, Harry,” Draco murmurs. “Have you been waiting long?”

Harry feels the tension he didn't realize he’d been holding slowly seeping out of his muscles. At least it seemed like he'd been forgiven for bringing Hermione into their mix. “No worries,” Harry replies as he crosses the room to also sit beside Scorpius, opposite Draco. “Didn’t know you could sing.”

Draco smiles softly at Harry's teasing as he returns his gaze to his son. “Didn’t really. But Scorpius likes it when I do, so I can sing a few songs. Mostly children’s songs and lullabies.”

“Scorpius has great taste, then,” Harry says, as he reaches for Draco’s hand, already bandaged and faintly smelling of murtlap. His heart skips a beat when he feels Draco shift minutely, just enough to hold Harry’s hand back.

Scorpius's lips were still purplish, his breathing still weak, and the edges of his face chafed like peeling paint. The corners of his mouth and eyes had thin scar lines that gave it a stretched out look, as if they were torn apart and Draco had to stitch them back together. But at least now, he was no longer burning.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have any questions for me?”

Harry had a lot. What's happening to Scorpius is on top of the list, closely followed by what is the thing you keep locked in your study. Trailing at the bottom, but equally important is a question on whether Draco would be amenable to a life together, but Harry will keep that parked until the whole ordeal is over.

“Is Scorpius okay?”

Draco smiles at him, squeezing Harry’s hand softly. “You're so good to him, Harry. My son is so lucky to have you. We're so lucky to have you.”

Harry’s stomach flips at the same time he remembers the disembodied voice saying that boy is not his son.

“Scorpius is doing as well as he could, given the situation,” Draco continues with a sigh. “It’s been difficult, of course. But he’s pulling through. Like he always has.”

“Hermione tells me,” Harry says carefully, “that it’s his magic doing this.”

“She’s right. Brilliant woman, that Granger. Took one look at Scorpius glowing like a damn pixie, and burning up like a furnace, and she immediately came to the correct conclusion. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

Harry chuckles, “just ten?”

“Fifty, then. For helping me save my son’s life.”

Harry holds Draco’s hand a little bit tighter, not enough to hurt the freshly burned flesh that he knew lay under the bandages, but enough for him to feel the pressure of Harry’s grip. “I would too, you know. I’m willing to do anything for him. For you. Unbreakable Vow or none.”

“You barely know me, Harry.”

“I’ve known you since I was a child, Draco.”

Draco’s laugh was humorless. “I’ve been a bully to you and your friends and a part of a terrorist group at some point in those years you’ve known me. After that, I practically fell off the face of the world. You’ve known me for exactly fifteen days.”

“Has it been that long already? I remember our first meeting as if it were just yesterday. You were the most beautiful thing I had ever laid my eyes on.”

Draco glares at him. “The first time we met, Scorpius brought you home, and I had been locked up in my study for hours. I haven’t bathed in days, and I looked like a sweaty, ragged, sewer rat.”

Harry smiles and runs a finger along Draco’s cheek. “I must have a thing for sewer rats, then. I remember loving you ever since the first time I saw you.”

“You’re remembering it wrong, then.”

Harry chuckles, but lets it go. Why was Draco so adamant at not believing that Harry loves him? There was a brief moment of silence. Harry glances outside and finds the faint twinkling of stars from Scorpius’s window.

“It’s night,” Draco says, eyes now transfixed on Scorpius’s ceiling. “Do you like stars, Harry? I know Muggles think of them differently.” 

Harry remembers the day when he first met Scorpius and was treated to an impromptu Astronomy lesson. “I know what they're not. According to Scorpius, they aren't balls of hot gas.”

Draco laughs. “Of course, they're not. Muggles have the weirdest ideas. They're masses of pure magic. And for years, they have been theorized to possess consciousness.”

“They're alive?”

Draco shrugs, as if such a thing were the most natural in the world. “How do you think Scorpius speaks with them?”

“Can he, really?”

“My son says he can and he has no reason to lie. He's claimed so since he has begun to talk. And, well, there were some circumstances surrounding his birth and it just adds up, you know?”

“Circumstances?” Harry asks. 

Draco waves him off. “Not important. The important part is their consciousness.”

“Which is why they can be witnesses to Unbreakable Vows.”

“Technically, you just need three parties with the ability to cast magic to participate. The two parties making the vow and a witness. Your vow, unfortunately, has checked all three.”

Harry grins and bumps his shoulder against Draco’s. “It's not so unfortunate.”

Draco, in response, only rolls his eyes. “Of course. You're you. Anyway, it is said that these beings are the first ever manifestations of magic as we know it today. They're the penultimate link to the natural world, where the rawest forms of magic reside. Of course, this is all theory. But I, as a researcher, had always been a supporter of this belief.”

“Many attempts had been made to harness celestial magic. And many had almost succeeded. What the previous attempts failed at, however, was failing to consider the most critical difference between harnessing normal magic and harnessing the celestial. Can you guess, Harry?”

It felt a lot like being questioned in class. Harry briefly thinks that Draco reminded him a lot of McGonagall in this scenario, with his strict yet gentle tone. He can't help but want to get the answer right. “Is it…their sentience?”

Draco smiles and nods encouragingly. Harry felt his heart skip a beat. “Correct. For the longest time, researchers thought that attempts to harness celestial magic failed because there was no vessel powerful enough to contain them. That's why a lot of the studies in the field focused on the development of more powerful containers, which is where alchemy came in, mostly. You know, building new materials and whatnot. But what they've failed to realize is that it's not an issue of the vessel’s strength. It's an issue of the celestial being’s will.”

“They don’t want to be contained, do they? They keep trying to escape.”

“Exactly. Measurements taken of celestial beings’ magical load versus the most powerful vessels currently available showed that, theoretically, they could be contained and therefore channeled for use. But that is only considering that they would cooperate.”

Harry imagines the raw power of a being as old as magic itself. Probably prideful, too, as any being of that magnitude ought to be. To be trapped by an ambitious wizard who only had a fraction of their magic? Harry completely understood why they would be angry.

“What happens when they don't?”

Draco grimaces. “Then it will be very hard for both parties involved to channel the magic. Imagine trying to force a struggling kneazle inside their carrier. Granger has one, doesn’t she? Have you ever tried forcing a kneazle to do something it doesn't want to do?”

Ron had tried. It ended up with him having three angry welts on his face that ended up needing stitches. After witnessing that, Harry had decided not to even try pissing off Crookshanks.

“Imagine,” Draco continues, “ if that kneazle is millions of times stronger than the average kneazle and not at all hesitant to maim you for even considering to put them somewhere undignified. That's how it is.”

“But there are people who have tried?”

“Figures say around ninety-nine percent have died in the attempt.”

“Those are terrible odds,” Harry says with a wince.  “Why would people do that?”

“Many reasons,” Draco replies as he shifts his gaze from the swirling constellations on Scorpius’s ceiling to the boy who still lay motionless. Love and adoration were plain on his face. “Some do it as a purely academic pursuit. A way to immortalize their names in history. Some do it because, at the end, there is something great to gain.”

“That seems horribly risky.”

Draco nods. “I know. But the reward is as great as the risk, which is why people keep on trying.”

“And that is?”

“Power, Harry. The power of the world’s most powerful beings, all yours to use as you wish.”

“That road hadn’t gone well for a lot of wizards, Draco. You know that.”

“They’ve gone mad because they were too greedy. Power doesn’t make one good or evil. It’s what you choose to do with it.”

Draco, finally, turns to Harry. There were dark bags under his eyes and his skin had taken on a deathly pale pallor, the stress from recent events evident on his face. Draco lifts their joined hands and flattens Harry’s palm against Scorpius’s cheek, underneath his own. Harry feels a rush run down his spine. When Draco spoke, his voice was pleading.

“I just need this one thing, Harry. Just this last thing, and then I’m done.”

“You could die, Draco.” Harry whispers, voice catching in his throat.

“No, I won’t. I keep telling you and Scorpius, I’ve studied this. I’ve made preparations. There’s already a very high chance that it will work.”

“We could work something out! Hermione is already researching as we speak, she –”

“And Scorpius doesn’t have the time, Harry. Granger is brilliant, but right now, this is beyond her comprehension, and I don’t have the time to keep her up to speed.”

“Besides,” Draco continues, lips curving into a cheeky grin. “I’m not going to die. Your life and mine are tied now, aren’t they? I’m not about to kick the bucket and take the Wizarding World’s savior with me.”

And it was that moment that Harry realized that it didn’t matter.

So what if Draco was keeping a powerful ancient being imprisoned in a chest in his study? So what if he’s attempting magic that, while technically wasn’t considered dark per se, could be more dangerous than anything any dark wizard has attempted before? Harry had already saved the world once. He’s entitled to overlook a few ethical breaches.

He’ll help Draco, and then once Scorpius gets better with the help of celestial magic, the three of them will put this behind themselves and live together as a family. Harry leans forward and rests his forehead against Draco’s. They smile at each other in mutual understanding. They had a sweet little boy who needed his dads to save him.

*

Draco tries to laymanize the concept as much as possible for Harry and it could be summarized into this: if you're fighting to put a kneazle inside their carrier, then wouldn't it be so much easier if the carrier was just bigger? A bigger carrier could also accommodate a bigger kneazle. And Draco needed a big kneazle. The biggest one possible.

“I’m going to create matter out of thin air, Harry,” Draco mutters as he casts diagnostic charms. They were back in his study and Harry was in his usual seat. It almost feels like just another afternoon. “I’m going to need all the magical force possible. And Scorpius’s procedures are complicated and delicate enough as is. I don’t want an unwilling magic source to screw everything up.”

“So instead, you put the magic in a willing carrier: me.”

Draco hums in approval as he tinkers with a set of brass lamps on his desk. “I would use myself, but as I’ve mentioned, my capacity isn't that impressive. I was actually planning to make a version of these–” Draco says as he gestures to the lamps, “–for the job. I've begun tinkering with the design already but, well, we're running out of time.”

“Lamps?”

“Special ones. Ones meant to hold celestial beings, but only briefly. Not the energy, mind you, but the being itself. Just enough so I can place them in the transmuter so I can extract their energy. The alchemy involved is really interesting, it's the same thing I used for that chest you were looking at yesterday night. I'll tell you about the theory later, if you're interested.”

The ethics of keeping beings of very powerful magic hostage and conducting experiments on them inside one's study was downright questionable, but Harry sort of admired Draco’s tenacity and skill to even pull it off. No wonder the thing inside the chest was pissed.

Suddenly, an idea struck Harry. After all, it did offer to grant a wish in exchange for freedom. “Hey, have you ever tried asking it to just heal Scorpius? Since we're planning on using its magic anyway, why not just ask it for help?”

Draco snorts, “that's just so you, Mr. World's Savior, trying to find the most peaceful solution. Anyway, it won't work. Only Scorpius can communicate with them and he's not in any capacity to make wishes now. Besides, even if we can, those creatures are too prideful and they won't even bother helping us. We're better off taking what we need and getting this over with.” Draco takes Harry's hands in his own bandaged ones and Harry all but melts. “Trust me, Harry.”

*

Harry asks to stay the night. Draco, of course, doesn't deny him and he was given the room right across the study. Which was perfect, in Harry’s opinion. 

He trusts Draco. He really does. But he also didn’t want to leave any stone unturned and, well, the being had offered Harry a wish, hadn't it?

Draco decided to do Scorpius’s procedure the following night. The method is straightforward: Draco will transfer the being into one of his specialized lamps, he will then use the transmuter (which Harry found out was the name of the apparatus in Draco’s room) to extract the being’s energy and transfer it to Harry, and then Harry will then be Draco's willing magic storage as he uses a mix of alchemy and runes to heal Scorpius. This, based on Draco's calculations, has a roughly ninety percent chance of working. It was the ten percent that Scorpius was worried about, which brought him to Harry, who now had roughly a few minutes to sneak into Draco’s study and convince their imprisoned celestial being to cooperate with him, while Draco is in the other wing and saying his good nights to Scorpius.

And if it said no, well, Harry will go with Draco’s plan without any more reservations.

The black chest sat quietly, unassumingly, when Harry entered the room. Should he try to open it? Would Draco be alerted if he does? Harry runs his palm against the rough wood, tracing his fingertips against the lid.

“Hey,” Harry says uncertainly, suddenly feeling stupid at what he's doing. “Can we talk?”

He was expecting that he had to try a couple of things before landing on something that would finally work. But the chest gives a half-hearted hiss and suddenly, Harry’s head was once again filled with an unexplainable presence.

“You're back. I knew you would choose to free me, Wizarding World’s Savior.”

Harry frowns, still keeping his hand on the chest. “Don't be so sure. That would depend if I like what I hear from you.”

“And what is it that you wish to hear?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Can you heal Scorpius?”

Vibrations fill Harry’s head, making it pulse in pain. “Ow! Stop that!”

“My apologies,” the voice says and the vibrations subside immediately. It did not sound apologetic at all, but rather amused. “But that boy is not what you think it is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Draco Malfoy is lying. And so is the boy.”

“I don't trust you,” Harry replies, teeth gritted.

“Yet you came here, with no one else knowing, out of your own volition. You know something is amiss.”

“I came here to keep both Draco and Scorpius safe.”

“A useless endeavor.”

“So that's your answer, then?” Harry says sharply. It seems that he's wasting his time here. Draco was right after all. “You can't heal Scorpius?”

“There is nothing to heal, savior. Because that boy is not a boy. How about I just show you?”

And before Harry can say anything else, the room was swallowed in light.

Chapter Text

When Harry opens his eyes, he's no longer in Draco's study. He was on top of a grassy hill, right under a cherry tree, and overlooking Malfoy Manor. Beneath his feet were two grave markers that bore the names of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Draco had joked on occasion about taking Harry to this exact spot, and Harry had always declined. He had never pretended to have tender feelings for Draco’s parents, aside from his gratefulness towards Narcissa for her assistance at the tail-end of the war.

“This is a waste of time,” Harry mutters under his breath as he decides to make the trek back to the manor. The sprawling estate was challenging not to get lost in and he didn't trust his wits enough at the moment to apparate. Why did the being send him here in the first place?

“I advise you to stick around,” says a familiar voice behind Harry.

Scorpius steps from behind the tree, wearing a bored expression on his face. He leans against the trunk and scuffs the tip of his shoe against the grass. “He's arriving shortly. Are human forms really this constraining? It feels so constraining,” he frowns.

Harry can't help it. He lunges at the boy and wraps him tightly in his arms. “Scorpius,” he gasps, voice watery. “You're alright! I can't believe it, Scorpius.”

“Oh,” Scorpius says, arms still limp by his sides. “It's me. I took on this form because you seemed to like it. I can switch if you want.”

Harry releases his hold and pushes the boy away lightly. He frowns. “Scor? I don't understand.”

Under his fingertips, Scorpius's form begins to melt until all that's left is a bright light, like Harry is holding a star in his hands. “It's me.” The light pulsates and speaks in a voice different from Scorpius’s. It was one Harry knew, as well. Only this time, he can hear it and not just inside his head. He lets go of the light quickly, as if burned, and it floats in the air, even without Harry supporting it.

“So you managed to get out, then?” Harry asks, mind already racing on how to get the thing back to the chest. There was no way he was letting it go, not after it admitted to not being capable of healing Scorpius.

“No,” it says as it slowly shifts back to Scorpius’s familiar form. “I told you, didn't I? I'll show you the truth. And then, you decide if you want to free me. I'll give you a wish in exchange. It'll be fair.”

“You already said you can't heal Scorpius. That's my only wish.”

‘Scorpius' laughs. It felt eerie for Harry to see something else take his form. “And I'll show you why that's impossible. Now hush and watch, savior. Draco Malfoy is coming. Don't worry. He cannot see us.”

Draco’s familiar, lithe form can be seen climbing the hill with difficulty, the wind whipping at his long hair and nightgown. A huge satchel hung from his shoulders, weighing him down. This Draco looked a lot younger, smoother and more round-faced than the one Harry knew these days.

“This is Draco Malfoy, ten years ago.” ‘Scorpius’ says, as they watched Draco set his belongings on the grass and use his wand to draw perfect runes around his parents’ grave markers. “He's been alone for some time and very lonely.”

If Harry can remember correctly, this was about the time that Draco’s house arrest was over. Lucius died six months after the end of war and Narcissa followed shortly after. At this point, Draco had been alone for close to two years. Meanwhile, Harry had still been on a high, enjoying his life post-Voldemort. He hadn't given a second thought to schoolmates who weren't close friends back then, especially not to those who had been enemies. Now, however, his heart clenches at the thought of twenty-year-old Draco's isolation.

“Is this the past, then? You've brought me to Draco's past?”

“These are memories. We, celestials, witness them all. You, for example, had been trying out a career in law enforcement at this point.”

“What is he doing then?” Harry asks. Draco's work was very detailed and Harry admired the precision with which he seemed to conduct his rune work with.

“Are you good with runes, savior?” ‘Scorpius’ asks, following his gaze.

“No. Not really.”

“Even if you were, I would be surprised if you recognized these. Calling stars from the sky is hidden art and for a good reason.”

“Calling stars? What does that even mean?”

“I mean it quite literally. Look.”

Harry watches Draco take a step back and inspect his work. Seemingly finding it satisfactory, he steps into the middle of the ring of runes, points his wand up to the sky, and casts. His lips move, quick and soundless. And then finally, reaching the end of his incantation, he stops. There was a brief interlude of stillness and then–

Stars.

Hundreds and hundreds of it rain on the grass all around them. A few make it to where Harry and ‘Scorpius’ were, all passing through them, as if both of them were just thin air. Only the ring where Draco stood was left untouched as the man gazed at the sky in awe. Harry does so too and he can't help but also be amazed at the marvel of it all.

“It's all so beautiful,” Harry says, mostly to himself.

“To you, maybe. But to us, starfall is one of the only ways we experience physical pain and vulnerability. And the selfish wizards who take advantage of this old ritual are too selfish to even care. Observe what he does now, savior.”

Draco pulls a lamp hidden inside his sleeve. Harry remembers it from earlier, when Draco explained to him what needed to be done. Only, this lamp looked shoddy and small compared to the sleek ones in the future in Draco's study.  Harry watches Draco select a fallen star, seemingly at random, and point his wand at it. The star, which shimmered and vibrated a foot away from the ground, seizes up immediately as if physically bound. The struggle on Draco’s face was visible as the star seemed to resist being pulled by the threads of Draco’s magic. In the end, Draco won, and with an elegant flick of his wrist, the star came careening towards the lamp. As soon as it's completely inside, Draco snaps the lid shut. Harry glances at ‘Scorpius', who has a stony expression on his face.

“Is that what happened to you?”

“And countless others. By the time I was tossed inside one of his magic vessels, we've long stopped counting how many times he did the starfall spell.”

Harry’s heart plummets. In the past weeks that they’d been reacquainted, he’d only known Draco as a caring father, an overzealous academic, and a shy, almost hesitant potential lover. He’d forgotten how ruthless the man could be when going after what he wants. “Why don't you just stop him? Aren't you supposed to be some sort of all-powerful being?”

“There are limits even to our magic. Starfall is one of them. We are compelled to obey its caster until we are released.”

“And does he release you?”

“Eventually. Not until after he’s harvested our energy first. But by then, it’s too late. Starfall is a one-way street. Our existence will slowly fade, and the energy will be returned back in the cycle to create new stars.”

No wonder the star refused to help Draco. By the time they had met, Draco had been practically murdering celestials for a decade, after all. Harry falls silent as the scene in front of them continues to play out. Draco holds the glowing lamp in his hands as it rattles angrily and brings it up to his face in close inspection. Harry can see his lips move, but can’t make out anything understandable.

“What is he doing? Is that another spell?”

‘Scorpius’ shakes his head. “He's speaking to the celestial. A young one, perhaps only a century old, judging from his glow.”

Harry, personally, cannot see the difference in the different stars’ glows. “I thought not everyone could talk to you?” Scorpius, obviously, had the ability, and apparently, so did Harry.

“It’s not a matter of ability, but a matter of willingness, such as in all matters of celestial magic. Humans can speak with us whenever we deem them worthy of such. I do not deem Draco Malfoy worthy of my speech, as do most of my kind. But as you can see, there is an exception. That was this young celestial’s first foolish mistake.”

Draco's conversation seems to be ongoing. He spoke in a rapid-fire whisper that Harry strained to understand, but it seems that he and the star were able to find a resolution because Draco soon stopped speaking. Slowly, he kneels on the grass, places the lamp beside his knees, and unclips the latch. The star rises until the vessel’s lip, slowly, leisurely, a far cry from the violent way it was dunked into the lamp earlier. Once there, it hovers, as if waiting for Draco’s next move. Once it reaches the lip of the vessel, it quickly spreads, first overtaking Draco’s form and then the space around him. And then, in a flash, it was gone.

“What just happened?” Harry asks. The fallen stars had already begun to dissipate around them, leaving behind no trace.

“Draco Malfoy has been offered his heart’s desire, the same one I offered you. And he has accepted.”

Harry looks at Draco, who was now sprawled on the grass, knocked off his feet by the sheer force of the star’s magic. “What did he wish for?”

“He wished for his parents’ resurrection.”

Harry feels his heart sink in disappointment. All this? For the resurrection of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy? Draco may be lonely, but death is one of the things that wizards like them should not tamper with. Had Draco truly not learned from the war? He glances around, searching for the Malfoy patriarch and his wife. Would they be reanimated corpses, like the inferi? Would they be back to their pristine selves, like they were when they were really alive? Harry had not heard any news about them in a decade; was Draco hiding them in a dungeon somewhere in the manor? Mind racing with possibilities and what to do next, he almost didn’t hear ‘Scorpius’ speak.

“But that was not his heart’s desire.”

He stills and looks at ‘Scorpius’ questioningly. “After his isolation, Draco Malfoy’s heart’s desire is a family to love; a family that will love him back.” Harry’s heart tightens. It sounds so much like his own. “And that is what he got.”

A soft cry pierces through the silent night. Draco was still unmoving from where he fell on the ground, but he had noticed an incandescent mound in the middle of the rune circle. Harry, who has had enough of watching, walks toward it.

A naked infant lay on the grass, with skin milk-pale and a fuzz of bright, white hair on top of its head. The boy glowed like it had light underneath its skin, but the intensity weakens with every passing second. After almost a minute of staring, the infant looked just like any normal boy.

“Now you see?” ‘Scorpius’ says from behind Harry. He wonders whether he should stop referring to the star as ‘Scorpius’, now that the real Scorpius lies in front of him. “I cannot heal the boy, because there is nothing to be healed. The boy’s affliction, if you can even call it that, is simply nature’s way of self-correcting. The vessel of flesh that you see now is inadequate to hold celestial energy, and no amount of alchemy will change that truth.”

“Does…does Draco know this?”

‘Scorpius’ shrugs. “He is in denial. He believes that he can save the boy. But as you can see, savior, this is no boy. Just a celestial being who trapped themself by granting the wrong wish.”

*

When they returned to the present, the rest of Harry’s conversation with the trapped star was straightforward.

No, it did not know for sure what Draco planned to do. It, however, guesses that Draco wanted to construct a new vessel. The old one is beyond repair, it told Harry.

What will happen when Harry frees it? Nothing. Its consciousness will disappear, and its magic will return to the cycle. The moment it was caught in the starfall, it was doomed, but it refused to be a tool, nonetheless. Once Scorpius’s vessel–body, Harry corrects–completely deteriorates, it will have the same fate. Harry tried to ignore the swooping feeling in his gut. The moment he steps out of the study, however, Harry can no longer keep it in. All the confusion, the fear, and the adrenaline of the day came crashing down at once, and he collapsed on his knees and let out a sob. He must have been making a racket because Draco suddenly bursts out of his room next door, eyes half-closed with sleep and hair all mussed.

“What’s happening?” he asks, voice still bleary. As soon as he catches sight of Harry, pitifully curled up against the study door,  he immediately springs into action and gathers the man in his arms. “Oh no, Harry, love, are you alright?”

Harry’s sobs only came louder as he clutched harder at Draco. Draco, meanwhile, embraces him back tighter and arranges them so that Harry can half-lie on him as he sits on the floor against the wall. For a while, they stayed like that, Harry trying to find comfort in Draco’s arms while Draco rocks him quietly and strokes his hair the same way he does for Scorpius. Only when Harry quiets down does Draco repeat his earlier question.

“Harry? Are you alright? Is it Scorpius? Are you worried about tomorrow?”

The thought of tomorrow cuts through Harry like a knife. Nonetheless, he takes a huge breath, disentangles himself from Draco, and looks at the other man in the eye. His voice was still hoarse from crying when he spoke. “I know what he is, Draco. I know the truth.”

Draco stills, his own panic showing on his face. They sat in silence as Harry watched the emotions flit on his face, seeing the exact moment that Draco chose to give up trying to get out of this. The man heaves a resigned sigh.

“I should have locked that damn study after you figured out that there’s something inside that chest.”

“You probably should have.”

“What did it tell you?”

“It showed me ten years ago, the day you went up to your parents’ graves. It showed me Scorpius.”

Draco’s eyes cloud with sadness. He reaches out and holds Harry’s face in his hands, voice pleading. “But, Harry, listen. Does it matter what Scorpius is? It doesn’t change the fact that he loves us. That you love him. That we’re a family.”

We’re a family. Harry had so desperately wanted to hear those same words just this morning. Now, it felt cutting.

“Does he, really? Do we? Draco, do you remember your wish that night?”

Draco’s brows furrow in confusion. “Yes. I wished for my parents to live once again. And I’m so sorry, Harry, I know you’re against that, but the star didn’t even grant my wish! But I’m thankful that it didn’t because it gave me Scorpius instead.”

“Draco, it didn’t grant your wish because it gave you your heart’s desire instead.”

“I–Harry, I don’t understand.”

“You didn’t really want your parents back, Draco. What you wanted was a family to love. A family to love you back. So the star turned into Scorpius instead, to give you what your heart truly wanted.”

Clarity and then horror dawned in succession on Draco’s face, and Harry knew at that moment that Draco realized just what he was getting at; that whatever Harry was saying added up. He releases his hold on Harry’s face, as if burned, and Harry feels his last bit of hope get crushed. Deep inside, he had wanted to be wrong. He wanted Draco to correct him, to tell him that the entity in the chest was merely fooling Harry. But Draco didn’t; instead, he says out loud the last bit that Harry wanted to say. The words he so desperately wished to deny.

“That’s why he kept bringing you to me, didn’t he? A family to love. Oh, Merlin. I’m so stupid. I’m so sorry, Harry.” He pushes Harry off and scoots a few inches away. Harry feels colder. He hates it. “No wonder you were so obsessed with me after meeting me again once,” Draco says bitterly. “I knew it couldn’t be real. Celestial magic really works wonders.”

Harry keeps silent. He tries to reach for the other man’s hand, but Draco flinches. “I’d understand if you would want to leave now, Harry,” Draco says after a brief silence. “My son and I will manage.”

“Draco, no. It isn’t like that. It’s not like I don’t want to help. I still feel the same way about you and–”

“You don’t know that, Harry! It’s all this celestial magic, forcing you into this to grant something I didn’t even ask for! You should stay away. You’ll feel better after some time apart. And…and I’ll survive, I promise you. You won’t die because of the Unbreakable Vow.”

“I’m not leaving you, Draco. Not now.”

Draco snarls, reminiscent of the Draco Malfoy of their school days. “Stop being so damn heroic! I don’t need a savior!”

Harry sees red. He snaps. “I’m not doing this to save you! I’m doing this for me, too!” He grabs at Draco’s arm. It was bony and thin, and it felt frail under his grasp. “I was desperate for a family, too,” he says, voice pleading for Draco to understand. “I’ve been living my life day-to-day with nothing to live for. I’m surrounded by people, but I’m always lonely because I don’t have anyone I could call mine. You and Scorpius were it for me, too!” Those seem to be the right words to say because he feels Draco’s stiffness gradually receding. Harry takes the chance to pull the man into his arms.

“But you have to listen to me, Draco,” Harry continues, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “We have to let Scorpius go.”

“No!” Draco cries, voice desperate. “Harry, no!”

“He’s not real, Draco. You know he isn’t. You know that magic, no matter how powerful, cannot create life.”

Draco pulls away slightly, but thankfully still allows Harry to hold him. “I can make him real!” He exclaims. “It’s blood magic and alchemy. I’ve studied it, Harry! It’s risky, but theoretically, it will work! From my blood and that star’s immense magic, I can create his body from scratch, you see. And then I can channel away any excess magic energy, leaving just enough to keep him alive. That way, it won’t burst anymore. The theory checks out, I swear.”

“Draco–”

“No. Harry, please, listen. I–I know I told you to leave, but what if you didn’t? What if you stayed behind and helped me create a body for our son, just a normal one! One that could allow him to go to Hogwarts and make friends, and experience life. And then…and then let’s live together for the rest of our lives, hm? So what if our relationship started with magic? We have the rest of our lives to make up for it!”

“Draco–”

“Harry, the family we’ve always wished for is here.” Draco pleads, eyes watery and voice with a slight waver. “Please, don’t take this away.”

Harry knows that the logical reaction is to be angry at Draco for lying. All along, the plan had not been to heal Scorpius but to build a human body from scratch; to build a vessel that would house the being that lives as his son. Instead, his heart breaks – for Draco, for himself, and for the family he thought they would get to have – as he replies, “Draco, even if we do this, it won’t make him real. You know this, love.”

Draco’s bottom lip trembles, but he says nothing. Instead, he allows himself to be crushed against Harry’s chest as Harry buries his own face on the top of Draco’s head. “I’m sorry, love,” Harry whispers against Draco’s hair. The scent of his shampoo calms Harry, but only slightly. Draco mumbles something in response, muffled against the cloth of Harry’s night shirt.

“I’m sorry, too, Harry.”

*

Draco prefers this to have gone differently.

His ideal situation would have been him saving Scorpius, without getting anyone else mixed up. But things had changed, and he had already accepted that he needed Harry’s help. The new plan, the one where he and Harry work together to save Scorpius, and they live as a family thereafter, had been steadily growing on Draco. Of course, as everything else in Draco’s life, that plan goes to the dogs real quickly.

He should never have let his guard down. But how was he supposed to know that a star would talk and spill everything to Harry, when none of the celestial beings uttered even a single word to Draco in the past ten years that he’d been holding their kind captive? That was all water under the bridge now, however. Now, his biggest problem is pulling off Scorpius’s procedure, with Harry trying to stop him. It was bad enough not to have his help; now, Draco had to stop him from meddling, too.

The sleeping curse he put Harry under was a weak one, only. He needed to conserve as much magic as possible for the ritual itself. He just hopes he has enough time.

Draco sprints the halls of the manor, unwilling to waste a single drop of magical energy on apparition, all the way to Scorpius’s room. The runic circle needs to be drawn first using Draco’s blood, and Scorpius will need to be positioned properly on it for it to work. He would need to be immersed in a web of Draco’s magic for a few minutes, and during that time, Draco could return to his study and extract the energy from his last remaining celestial. Having Harry on his side would’ve been handy at this point, but Draco will need to make do with what he has. He just hopes that whatever energy he’d manage to extract later would be enough to build Scorpius’s new flesh and bones, and to stitch him his new nerves, and to sew him his new skin.

Draco selects an area of Scorpius’s room where the moonlight shone the most. It was not required by the ritual at all, but he hoped that, despite all his sins against their kind, the celestial beings would look kindly at his desire to save one of them and maybe, in a way, grant him their blessing. It was wishful thinking, but Draco will take whatever he can get.

Hands trembling, Draco takes a penknife he took from Scorpius’s drawer, holds the blade against the skin of his forearm, and presses down. He grits his teeth in pain, but continues to run the knife along his arm, slashing the faded Dark Mark along the way. Bright, red blood trickles to the floor by his feet. When enough had puddled already, Draco took out his handkerchief and wrapped his arm to stave off the bleeding. He’ll not waste any magic on a healing charm.

When he moves Scorpius, the boy already feels too light in his arms. To keep him from bursting, Draco would consistently siphon his energy into metallic shards left behind by the stars after his energy extraction trials. They had proved to be useful at storing celestial energy, but only minutely. Draco could probably tap on them as reserves later if needed.

“It will be over soon, love,” Draco whispers, kissing Scorpius’s forehead as he lays the boy at the center of the rune circle. “And then you and Papa will live together, somewhere far away, just the two of us. Just like how we did for the past ten years. That would make you happy, hm? It would make Papa the happiest. I don’t need anyone else, Scorpius. Just you. So hang on for a little while longer, okay?”

*

Draco realizes he had taken too long when he returns to the corridor where his study and bedroom are, and Harry is nowhere to be found. Cold dread sweeps through his body, and he opens the study door with clammy hands.

His whole world crashes when his eyes fall on the black chest, forcibly blasted wide open, a piece of parchment lying on top of the debris.

Written in Harry’s distinct, messy hand were two words: 

I’m sorry.

Chapter Text

Every day since that night, Harry had been second-guessing his decision.

Had he been too rash? Had he meddled too much? No matter what he was, Scorpius had been Draco’s whole life. But then he remembers the wizards who had been obsessed with controlling life and death and the dark paths it had taken them. He didn’t want Draco to go down that road, and so, he had acted on instinct.

And in the process, condemning Scorpius, his brain supplies.

He’d been too ashamed to go back to the manor, or even to send an owl. It had been a month since then, and Harry missed Draco and Scorpius so much, it physically hurt. He even tried to ask Hermione about them, but she only told him that Draco had blocked all forms of communication from her and that she had no idea. Maybe it would have been better if I just went along with it, Harry sometimes thinks in his weakest moments, in the darkest of nights, when he feels the heaviness of being alone the most. 

In those moments, he looks at the bracelet Scorpius gave him when they first met. Harry had completely forgotten about it, only to find it when he cleaned his room to take his mind off things. Back then, Scorpius had explicitly instructed him not to wear it whenever he went to the manor, and Harry had acquiesced. Well, he won’t be going there in the near future, so he might as well wear the bracelet now.

It had been a month since then. A month since he was yanked out of the new routine he had established and had fallen in love with. A month of getting used, once again, to the numbing quietness of Grimmauld. Perhaps this was what he deserved. After all, hadn’t he received his greatest wish, only to sabotage it all in the end?

*

Just like the first time, Scorpius came to him. Completely unexpected and out of the blue, Harry dreams of him. They were in the manor sitting room, Scorpius sitting on one of the couches. He waves at Harry and motions to him to come closer. Disoriented, Harry follows.

“Hello, Harry!” he greets, chirpily. Harry looks at him warily, and the boy huffs, “Well, I was expecting a warmer welcome.”

“Sorry for not jumping for joy. The last time I saw you, it was another star who simply assumed your appearance. Not to mention the traumatizing chain of events after.”

Scorpius laughs. “No, it really is me!”

Harry smiles and ruffles Scorpius’s hair fondly. He missed this. “I figured. After all, this is my dream. I think I should get to pick who visits.”

“Hm. This isn’t a dream, though.”

“I distinctly remember falling asleep.”

“You are asleep. But you’re not dreaming. Do you remember the bracelet I gave you, Harry?” Harry glances down to find it still tied around his wrist. He’d been removing it far less and less lately. “It contains a piece of my energy.”

Harry frowns, “like a Horcux?”

“Silly Harry. Celestials do not have souls to split, like you humans do. Our energies and consciousness can be split and stored separately, though it’s rather uncomfortable for prolonged periods of time.”

“And this bracelet is one of them?”

Scorpius shrugs. “Father had made so many at this point. For the longest time, he’d been siphoning my energy to keep me from bursting.” His grin turns melancholy. “It’s not a permanent solution, as you’ve observed.”

“Yet you gave me one. A piece of you.”

Scorpius turns to him and bumps his head against Harry’s shoulder, playfully. “I knew I needed to talk to you in this way, eventually.”

“You could have just woken up and talked to me the normal way.”

“We both know you made sure that wouldn’t happen.”

Scorpius’s voice was teasing, yet Harry still couldn’t help but be filled with guilt and shame. “Scorpius, I’m sorry,” he begins. “I still don’t know if what I did was the right thing, but I just know I don’t want Draco to go down that road. It isn’t right.”

“Harry, stop. It’s all good. One of the reasons I came here is to thank you, actually.”

“Thank me?”

“Yes. I asked you to protect my father, even from himself. And you did. Thank you, Harry,” Scorpius says, sincerely. Harry looks away, ashamed.

“I did it for me, Scorpius, It was a selfish decision. I wanted to keep him safe.” I wanted to keep you safe, Harry thinks.

“Then thank you, Harry, because it means that I am able to fulfill Draco Malfoy’s heart’s desire like I originally promised.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean –”

Scorpius smiles. “When I assumed this form, I had to keep parts of me suppressed. I had to learn a lot of things, and forget a few others. In a way, I am Scorpius, but Scorpius is not me. And all of this was done to be more human and to be the family that Draco Malfoy yearned for. It’s wonderful, Harry. Humans live such short lives compared to celestials, but every day is exciting with so many new things to do, and to learn, and to explore. Being human was perhaps the single greatest thing that happened to me.”

Harry smiles softly, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I did. So much, even I sometimes forget where Scorpius ends and I begin. On some days, we’ve become so entwined. Perhaps that’s why I was so desperate to save him.”

Harry feels relieved. “It’s not an act, then?”

“Oh no! His heart’s desire is a genuine connection. While celestial magic still cannot create love, it will try to create the closest alternative. Not feed you with an illusion. Draco and Scorpius really were a family, Harry.”

The choice of word struck Harry. “Wait – were?”

Scorpius claps his hands together, as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, right! The other thing. I came to say goodbye.”

Harry’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“The time has come for that body. In a few minutes, it will give out, and the energy inside will have nowhere to go.”

“And then,” Harry continues, remembering the words of the other star when it took Scorpius’s form, “your consciousness will fade, and the energy will be returned to the universe to give birth to new stars.”

Scorpius grins. “Finally, you get it. No more of that falling pieces of rock or balls of hot gas nonsense, you hear me?”

Harry grins back and gives the boy a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Harry? Can you do me one last favor?”

“What is it, Scorpius?”

“Can you go to Father? Can you make sure he’s okay?”

It was a done deal, and they both knew it. After all, Harry had never been good at denying Scorpius anything he asked for. Harry, however, pretends to think about it first. “Only if you do me one last favor in return,” he says after a pause.

“What?”

Harry turns his whole body to Scorpius, fully taking in the boy one last time, committing to memory the color of his eyes, and the shape of his nose and lips, and the distinct shade of his hair. Harry opens his arms wide. “Hug me?”

Scorpius’s answering smile was blinding as he threw himself straight onto Harry’s open arms.

*

Despite being away for some time, navigating the manor’s twisting and winding corridors still felt like second nature to Harry. In moments when he loses himself, he half-expects Scorpius to jump from a corner and give him a scare, just like how the boy loved to do before. He’s hit with a sense of loss whenever he remembers why it wouldn’t happen again. He quickly shakes the feeling off. Scorpius would hate it if Harry acted all melancholy, like that.

Just think, Harry, Scorpius had said, think of all the fun we had. Think of how much I loved you. Both of you. Remind Father, too, okay?

Back then, Harry had nodded. He’s decided to take this mission seriously.

As expected, he finds Draco in Scorpius’s room. He was lying on top of what used to be Scorpius’s bed, only now, it was broken in half, and the mattress singed at the center with stuffing coming out. Draco’s back was turned away from the door, his body curled around a wad of fabric that Harry recognized as Scorpius’s favorite sweater. He enters the room without knocking and slowly sits on the bed beside Draco.

“Hey,” he says quietly, careful not to spook the other man. Draco briefly tenses at the intrusion before he seemingly recognizes Harry’s voice, his shoulders loosening up.

“Hey,” Draco replies. Slowly, Harry reaches out to touch his arm. He doesn’t flinch and Harry takes it as a good sign.

“I’m sorry about what I did.”

Harry feels Draco shrug. “No. You did the right thing. I was just too desperate, too blinded by the situation to realize. I see that now.”

“Still.”

“If you’re going to be like that, then I’m sorry for lying to you, too. I almost brought you into a ritual that practically created human life. That’s probably considered dark magic somewhere.”

Harry grins, though Draco cannot see it. “Can I tell you a secret?” he mock whispers, “I was almost tempted to go through with it.”

That made Draco roll over onto his back and look at Harry properly. This was the first time Harry’s seen Draco in a month, and Harry’s heart still clenches at the sight. Draco’s eyes were bloodshot from crying, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but he was still the most beautiful man Harry had ever seen. He clutches at his heart, which has suddenly decided to dance wildly inside his ribcage. Draco’s brows furrow.

“Are you okay?”

“Never better,” Harry gasps. It won’t do to scare off Draco now with his sudden realization.

Draco still looks at him, worriedly. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Harry smiles. “And yourself?”

“I hate the world and everyone who lives in it, thanks for asking,” Draco deadpans and Harry laughs. Maybe, Harry thinks, maybe they would be okay.

“That’s too bad,” Harry says. “Can’t you stop hating one person, at least?”

Draco pretends to consider his words, “let’s see. I might be persuaded to give Granger a chance.”

Harry reaches out and flicks Draco’s forehead lightly. “Menace. I meant me.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“What would it take for you to raise my chances, hm?”

Their eyes lock and Harry sees everything plain as day. Draco’s grief, his hope, his fears, warring behind his cloudy gray irises. I’ll hold him through it all, Harry thinks, a silent promise to himself. Draco, meanwhile, seems to have come to a conclusion of his own. He takes hold of Harry’s wrist and, with surprising strength, pulls Harry over him. Their chests align somewhat and Harry’s face slots in perfectly against Draco’s neck. He folds his legs and hoists them up the bed to get more comfortable and promptly tangles them around Draco’s. This was the closest they’d ever been since that day of the almost-kiss, and Harry savors every bit of warmth and every little scent he could get from Draco’s skin.

Silence falls between them as Draco allows his fingers to tangle up Harry’s dark hair, while his other hand wraps around Harry, tracing patterns on his back. “Stay with me, Harry?” Draco asks, quietly, after a long pause. 

And when Draco asked that, he might have meant now, on this bed, for a while; or maybe he could have meant that Harry should stay for dinner.

But when Harry said yes, what Harry really meant was that he would stay forever.

He pushes his arms underneath Draco’s back, coiling them around the other man’s waist. He could feel the metal shard from his bracelet digging into his wrist, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he liked to feel it. In a way, it made Harry feel that Scorpius was still physically here.

Maybe one day, soon, Harry will say out loud just how much Draco has come to mean to him.

Maybe one day, he’ll ask Draco to live together.

Maybe one day, he’ll ask Draco to get married.

But now, it is enough that whenever Harry tightens his hold on Draco’s waist, Draco hugs him back. It is enough that he can feel Draco’s touch against his body. It is enough that he can run his lips against Draco’s neck. It is enough that he, Harry, has finally found a place to belong to. Someone to belong to.

They will live happily ever after.

After all, it is Harry’s heart’s desire.