Chapter Text
My Dearest Draco,
As I write this you are four hours old and I couldn’t love you more if I tried. The next fourteen years will be difficult, for all of us, and I know you must have many questions. While much of my first four years at Hogwarts is a bit of a blur (it was over twenty years ago now), I remember the enmity between us. I fear this will prove more difficult for you to overcome than me, since for me, now, you are only my son.
I have never hated you, never resented you, only saw the mask you showed to the world. Knowing your papa as I do, I know better than most that this mask can hide a wonderful person–a person I very much look forward to meeting properly. Just as you are not the mask I saw, I am not the boy you know. It is my greatest hope that we can start again, that you will, in time, be able to forgive the young version of me you knew.
I love you, my son, my Draco. I always have and I promise I always will.
Your Father
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As Draco folded the letter he was unsure what to think or how to feel. On the one hand, he could feel something settle deep inside. Potter–his father–loved him. It was a worry he hadn’t let himself dwell on in years, one he would have said no longer affected him.
On the other hand, there were so many unanswered questions. He knew the story from his papa of why his father had to leave, but he didn’t know, now, how much of that was only a story. His papa wouldn’t lie, he trusted in that, but there were some things you just didn’t tell a child. Most importantly he would like to know what would happen next. Would he still need to keep his father a secret? What would happen with the Dark Lord? Both his papa and his mother had admitted that he was not as gone as the Wizarding World thought, but Draco didn’t know what that meant for him, or for his family.
His father would have known the War would not last much longer once Draco was born and, for perhaps the first time, he felt a sense of gratitude to the foreknowledge his father had. That didn’t mean, he looked down at the folded letter, that he was ready to forgive and move on. He wasn’t sure how long it would take to get there, or if he would ever fully get there, but he also knew it wasn’t a decision he had to make right now. His father loved him and would give him time.
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Lucius woke up, rolled over, and looked at his husband. In the last fourteen years he had not allowed himself to imagine waking up next to Harry again. He allowed his eyes to trace over his love’s face, catching the beginnings of wrinkles at the corners of eyes and mouth. His brow, smoothed in sleep, showed signs of furrowing and a few gray hairs were visible amongst the black.
He was relieved, in a way, that his husband had experienced the last fourteen years as well. The idea that there could be fourteen years of difference, that Harry would have to catch up, had been uncomfortable even fourteen years ago. It had been the reason they had worked so hard to find a way for Harry to not simply return to the future but to, in essence, hop realms.
Not for the first time he reflected on the advantage his husband had over him. Harry knew, at least in part, what had happened over the last fourteen years. Lucius, on the other hand, had little if any knowledge of what his husband had experienced.
Sighing, he rolled over and got out of bed. There would be time for questions later. They had time now.