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Chapter Text

Something is tapping at his window.

Harry drags his eyes open and stares blearily at the green sheets on his bed for a full thirty seconds before his brain recognizes that the tapping is, in fact, not a dream. There's actually something at the window and it doesn't sound like it's going to go away anytime soon. He stays where he is for another thirty seconds, contemplating the intelligence of casting a silencing charm and rolling over, before finally giving it.

With a faint groan, he pushes himself up and runs a hand through his hair. He's exhausted, and he really wishes he’d taken Kreacher’s offer of a Dreamless Sleep Potion, but he wanted to be able to wake up if Draco needed him. As it is, the sun filtering in around the curtains tells him that it's early morning, and that means it won't be long until Draco is awake.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Harry mutters, groping around for his glasses. He shoves them on as he shuffles over to the window and open the curtains. The sight of Draco's owl, Peridot, is not unexpected, though it's not entirely welcome this early. Nevertheless, he opens the window and lets Peridot fly inside. Peridot lands on the perch on Harry's desk and sticks his leg out with an imperious hoot.

The sight of the newspaper tied to Peridot's leg makes Harry's stomach churn all over again. He rubs a hand over his face. Apparently, his desire to see the past week become nothing more than a bad dream isn’t going to pan out after all. He slowly unties the paper, fills Peridot’s dish with water and sets a few owl treats on the desk, then sinks down onto his bed. He doesn’t open the Prophet or the letter right away, preferring instead to dwell on how they came to be in this mess.

Approximately six months ago, the eighth years graduated from Hogwarts. Hermione immediately joined the Ministry, specifically the Unspeakables department. Ron joined the Aurors. Harry didn’t know what to do, and still doesn’t; he’s been trying to figure out what he wants to do, only knowing that he doesn’t want to be an Auror. He’s had his fill of chasing down bad guys.

Draco didn’t have any job offers either. But he was so clearly reluctant to go back to living at Malfoy Manor that it just made sense for Harry to offer to let Draco move in to Grimmauld Place. He's not sure who was more surprised when Draco actually accepted the offer, Harry, Ron or Draco, but so far it’s been working out really well. Harry would’ve dared to say that they were actually happy.

He and Draco had even started dating, so that wasn't just a cover story anymore, and the age play side of their relationship had been flourishing too. Harry should've known that everything was going too well. But even then, nothing could've prepared him for waking up five days ago to a copy of the Daily Prophet that featured a couple of pictures of Draco when he was in his little headspace, along with an article titled "Boy-Who-Lived Living with Little Death Eater?"

He'd been horrified. Draco had been mortified. Harry’s first action had been to immediately hire Bill to figure out how those pictures had been taken. Draco was never Little outside of Grimmauld Place, which meant that someone had gotten those pictures while Draco was out in the yard. Sure enough, Bill had come across a place where the wards had been peeled away. It was subtle but masterful work. Bill repaired the wards and layered on new ones so that this wouldn't happen again, but as far as Harry was concerned the damage was done. The whole world knew.

Draco hadn't seen anyone since the article went out. He didn’t want to talk about it or anything else. It was Hermione, over a Floo call, who kindly suggested that Harry and Draco might want to do an interview with someone they trusted to set the record straight. The idea had made Harry uncomfortable. He didn't have the best track record when it came to the press. But he could tell that Hermione had some valid points at the same time. People were only going to ask more questions if they didn't know anything. Doing a simple question-and-answer interview was a good way to prevent the worst of it.

And so here he is, with a copy of the Daily Prophet in hand that contains his interview. Draco refused to do the interview, but had given his permission for Harry to do it. Harry just hopes he didn’t fuck anything up. It helps that the person writing this article is someone he actually trusts: surprising everyone, Parvati Patil had joined the Prophet as a journalist immediately following her graduation from Hogwarts.

“Guess I should get on with it,” Harry says to Peridot. The owl gives a brief hoot in reply before taking off out the window. Harry watches him go and sighs. Peridot makes him miss having an owl of his own, but he’s not ready to replace Hedwig just yet.

He opens the letter attached to the paper first. All it says is that Parvati has sent them an advance copy, and that it will go out to the wizarding world at large by noon. Harry takes a deep breath at that, letting it out slowly, and closes his eyes for a moment. Despite the fact that he knows this is for the best, and it's kind of inevitable at this point because everyone already knows and at this point they're just trying to put a more positive spin on the information that is already out there, he's still unaccountably nervous.

Just as he’s about to unroll the paper, there’s a faint pop and Kreacher appears in the room and says, “Young master is awake.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He shoves the paper into his pocket, slips on his slippers and robe, and hurries out of the room. Draco has two bedrooms; one is set up to look very similar to Harry’s, but the other looks more like a nursery. That’s the room that Harry goes to.

The sound of soft crying quickens his pace, and he pushes the door open gently to see that Draco is kneeling in the middle of his bed. Only Harry can see the pale grey bubble that surrounds the bed, keeping Draco from falling out of bed or getting up in the middle of the night. He moves closer and the shield falls automatically at his approach. That catches Draco's attention - he's a sensitive little thing - and he looks up to reveal red, wet eyes. Harry's heart aches at the sight and he opens his arms, fully prepared for the moment when Draco lets out a sob and jumps at him.

"I had a bad dream," he wails, grabbing Harry around the neck.

"Did you? I'm sorry. It's okay now," Harry says, wandlessly casting a lightening charm. He's gotten very good at them over the past few weeks, to the point where they're practically second nature now. It makes it a lot easier to move Draco around the house when Harry can just scoop him up and go rather than having to coax or cajole Draco into willingly going with him.

Pulling Draco into his lap, Harry takes a seat on the bed and pulls out his wand. He performs a couple of charms to clean and dry Draco's face, and remove the mess of snot and drool from the front of Draco's shirt. He surreptitiously checks to see if Draco's pull-up is wet, but it's not. Draco doesn't wear them all the time, but, ever since the time when he wet the bed, he's taken to wearing them during the night time. He's wet them several times now, usually when he wakes up sobbing from a nightmare.

Then he pulls Draco in close and nuzzle his cheek against the top of Draco's head. Sometimes the best way to get Draco to calm down is to silently offer comfort and let him cry it out. It sounds terrible, and it's not easy to do, but Harry has a running suspicion that Draco didn't really get the opportunity to express much emotion when he was a child.

He doesn't prompt for details, so it surprises him when Draco tearfully whispers, "I dreamt that Father showed up and was really mad at me and he disowned me and..." Draco's voice catches on a sob. "And then you were disappointed in me too and you decided you didn't want me anymore an' I had nowhere to go so I had to sleep in the mud!" He sobs that last part out.

In spite of himself, Harry almost smiles. It figures that Draco would consider the worst part to be sleeping in the mud. He schools his expression as best he can and leans back until he can catch Draco's eye, then says, "Draco, do you really think I would turn you away?"

"I... I dunno," Draco says in a tiny voice, sniffing.

"Well, I wouldn't," Harry says, heart twisting even more. "It doesn't matter to me what anyone else thinks. You - I.. I like this. What we do." He swallows, wishing he was better at words. Why can't he just tell Draco how happy Draco makes him? Why is that so difficult to say?

"Really?" Draco asks.

"Yes, really. I like caring for you and I like being your boyfriend." Harry gently wipes another tear away from Draco's cheek. "Even if your father did disown you, that wouldn't change anything. And believe me, I've seen your father angry before. He's never scared me." That's technically a lie - Harry was terrified of Lucius Malfoy that night in his second year, when Lucius was seconds away from casting the killing curse on him - but that was a very long time ago. He's stood up to and faced down Voldemort. Even on his worst night, Lucius isn't a tenth as frightening as Voldemort was.

"But... but what if I end up poor?" Draco says the word 'poor' like it's the worst thing someone could possibly be.

"I have plenty of money. I can easily support us both," Harry replies. That much, at least, is completely true. It helps that he has vague plans to get a job at some point.

Draco is quiet for a moment, obviously thinking this through. Then he says, "But now your friends know."

"Well, yes," Harry admits. He hasn't really talked to Ron or Hermione or the rest of the Weasley's about this. The conversation he had with Hermione, where she advised him to do an interview with someone from the Prophet, was rather short because Hermione was getting ready to go to work. He knows they haven't contacted him because they're waiting for him to be the one to reach out. And he will, just as soon as he can be sure he knows what he wants to say.

"Maybe they'll hate you," Draco says, watching Harry from beneath his eyelashes.

"Maybe, but I don't think so. And even if they did, that means they're not really my friends. Not if they hate me for something that makes me - makes me happy." Harry has to force himself to say it, and feels a surge of pride once it's finally out.

He can tell Draco isn't fully convinced, and Harry can't blame him for that. Draco doesn't know Ron or Hermione the way that Harry does. Age play isn't forbidden in the wizarding world. In fact, Harry would go so far as to say that it's not uncommon. But from what he's read, it always happens behind closed doors. There are a lot of wizarding families, particularly pureblood families, who don't look kindly on it and who would condemn someone who actively takes part in it. Harry's pretty sure it's because age play goes against the stuffy rules that purebloods live and die by.

To be honest, he can't say with 100% confidence that Ron, Hermione, or the Weasley's wouldn't find their activities strange. But Harry also knows that they love him. If he tells them that this is what he wants, he knows they'll support him. He only wishes that Draco could say the same for his parents.

He brushes a few damp strands of hair out of Draco's face. "What do you say we go out today?" he suggests. "Into the muggle world? We could go to a toy store."

Draco's attention is immediately caught. "Isn't that weird?"

Harry shrugs. "Maybe, but if anyone asks we'll say we're buying a gift for a younger sibling or niece or nephew. No one will know it's us, so what does it matter?" He smiles and taps Draco's nose.

"... Okay," Draco agrees finally, and Harry smiles wider. He can read the article later. Right now, they've got a trip to a toy store to look forward to.

Chapter Text

Harry sits back in his chair and looks at the three letters on his desk. It’s been two days and he still hasn’t figured out what to do with them. He knows he needs to answer them shortly – preferably before Hermione gets tired of waiting and just comes through the Floo – but he’s not sure how to. The problem is that it’s not just Harry’s answer that’s necessary; Draco is just as much a part of this, maybe even more so.

“Answer them.”

“Merlin!” Harry jumps about a foot in the air, nearly tipping over his chair. “Draco! Don’t scare me like that.”

Draco smirks at him. “Sometimes I think it’s a wonder you survived the war,” he drawls, creeping closer. He sits down on Harry’s lap. Harry winds an arm around his waist automatically and they both look down at the letters. One from Hermione and Ron, one from Molly Weasley, and one from Narcissa Malfoy.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks uncertainly. “They all want to meet you. Little you, I mean. I know you wanted to keep that private…”

“I still do,” Draco says.

“Then you don’t have to.”

Draco shakes his head and sighs. “Clearly you’ve never met my mother when she really wants something.”

“Maybe I have,” Harry says, thinking back to how Narcissa Malfoy was during the war. Her determination to see Draco survive really was something else. She was willing to do anything, no matter what the personal cost was, to make sure that he came out okay. He would hope that if they wrote back and told her that Draco didn’t want to see her, Narcissa would gracefully accept that answer – but Harry has his doubts.

“It’s just easier this way. And if I’m meeting my mum, I might as well meet your family too.” Draco’s voice gets very quiet. “Otherwise… otherwise every time I’m in the room with them, I know they’ll be staring at me and wondering about it. Coming up with conclusions that aren’t right, or which make what we’re doing into something weird and perverted.”

Harry hugs him tightly. “I won’t let them say anything,” he promises. He can’t deny that it makes him happy that Draco wants to do this: it means that Draco is planning to stick around for a long time. Draco wouldn’t put himself into such a vulnerable position if he was only going to be with Harry for a few weeks or months.

“If they do, I reserve the right to curse them,” Draco says, in this cute, pouty voice that never fails to make Harry bend to his will.

“You curse them all you like, sweetheart,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to Draco’s temple. “Do you want to write Narcissa, and I’ll write the others? Who should be first?”

“Mum first,” Draco says, pulling her letter closer.

It makes sense that Draco would want to bolster his confidence with the easiest conversation first. But as the days go on, Harry quickly comes to realize that’s not the case at all. Draco grows increasingly quiet and solemn when he’s not in his headspace, and, when he is, he clings to Harry and refuses to let Harry out of his sight. It’s with a lot of trepidation that, on the morning of their meeting, Harry adds Narcissa Malfoy to the wards that will allow her to Floo into Grimmauld Place.

The fire turns green with her arrival, and Draco’s grip on Harry’s hand tightens to the point of pain. Narcissa arrives with a sweep of robes and ash, uncurling gracefully from the fireplace. She’s dressed in formal, pale blue robes like she’s going to the Ministry, not coming over for a casual lunch. It immediately makes Harry regrets the jeans, jumpers and trainers he and Draco have on.

“Draco,” Narcissa says. “Mr. Potter.”

“Mum,” Draco says.

“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry says, knowing better than to extend his hand. He can’t anyway; at this point, he’s not sure he’s ever going to get it back from Draco.

“Thank you for having me,” Narcissa says primly, eyes taking in everything. “I wasn’t sure you were going to answer my letter, given that you waited for more than a day.”

Draco winces and curls in on himself. But before he can speak, likely to apologize, Harry says, “It was a big decision and we had to talk it over. We’re letting you in on something private, Mrs. Malfoy. Something that we would have liked to have kept to ourselves if it weren’t for a nosey journalist.”

Narcissa’s blank expression doesn’t change. “Something that is an integral part of my son’s life,” she says.

Harry has to bite his tongue not to snap back with something like, ‘he’s not your son anymore’. A remark like that won’t improve the situation, and it’ll only increase the tension. Plus, he’s not really sure if that’s true: he might be acting as Draco’s caregiver right now, but they haven’t discussed what kind of status that gives Harry and Draco still calls him ‘Harry’ even when he’s in his headspace.

Instead, he says, “I’m pretty sure all children have a right to keep some secrets from their parents, especially once they’re of age.” He squeezes Draco’s hand. “Won’t you follow us, Mrs. Malfoy? I’ve asked Kreacher to prepare a meal for us.”

“Of course,” Narcissa says. Then, for the first time, Harry sees her hesitate. Her eyes flicker expectantly towards Draco. It takes Harry a moment to work out that she’s waiting to be escorted. If Draco weren’t in his headspace, he would already be at his mother’s side taking her arm. The fact that he’s not tells Harry that, while Draco probably isn’t fully in his headspace, he’s close enough.

So he lets go of Draco’s hand to wrap an arm around Draco’s shoulders, and ushers Draco out of the room with another polite smile in Narcissa’s direction. There’s a distinct pause before she follows them, and Harry can feel the iciness of her glare burning a hole in his back as the three of them go down the stairs to the dining room. Harry pretends he doesn’t notice, inwardly counting the minutes until this is over.

When they reach the dining room, he helps Draco to sit down before taking a seat himself. Harry always sits at the head of the table. When Draco is feeling little, he sits to Harry’s right (or sometimes, if he’s feeling really little, he’ll sit in Harry’s lap and get Harry to feed him). When he’s not in his headspace, he prefers the spot at the opposite end of the table. Today, Narcissa takes a seat in that spot. It feels strange to see her there.

“So,” Narcissa begins. “Tell me, Mr. Potter. What are your plans for the rest of your life?”

Harry blinks at her. “I’m not sure yet, to be honest. I suppose I’ll find work at some point.”

“Being an Auror didn’t interest you?” she inquires. The food appears on the table before them: roast beef, potatoes, other vegetables.

“No. I thought about it, but I’ve had enough of chasing bad guys. Besides, I didn’t want to be accepted as an Auror just because I’m the Boy-Who-Lived. I’d never be able to know whether I was making it because of my skills or because of a reputation I didn’t ask for.” Harry serves himself and Draco, not looking at Narcissa while he speaks, apprehensive to see what she thinks.

So he’s surprised when she says, “That is most astute of you, Mr. Potter. Most people in your situation would leap at the chance to take advantage of their reputation. I confess, now that you’re involved with my son I’m glad you’re not going to be working as an Auror. It’s a dangerous profession.”

“I thought of that too. It would be very easy for something to happen to me if I were an Auror. There would definitely be a target on my back,” Harry admits. “Draco is important to me.” He looks over at Draco, realizing that he forgot to cut up Draco’s food. He leans over to do just that.

“I can see that,” Narcissa murmurs, watching them closely. “Your relationship is certainly… unique. Lucius was not pleased.”

Draco tenses. “Can we not talk about him?” he says tersely.

“Of course,” Narcissa says. She still hasn’t touched her food. “Darling, why won’t you have a house elf doing that for you?” Her tone of voice makes it clear that her implicit, unspoken question is why Harry is bothering to do it at all.

“Large chunks of food are dangerous for little kids,” Harry says sharply. “I always cut his food up into small pieces.” It’s something he remembers Petunia doing for Dudley, mostly because Dudley once shoved half a chicken breast into his mouth and almost choked to death. He doesn’t think Draco is the type to eat like that – if anything, sometimes Draco has to be coaxed into eating more – but still. No one ever did it for Harry, so he wants to do it for Draco.

“But surely a house elf –”

“I want to do it,” Harry says, deliberately emphasising the word ‘want’.

“If you don’t like it, you don’t need to stay,” Draco adds quietly.

“You invited me to dinner, and it would be rude to leave prematurely,” says Narcissa. She picks up her knife and fork finally, slicing herself a tiny piece of meat. “So if not an Auror, what would you like to do?”

“Like I said, I’m not sure.” Harry shrugs and winks at Draco. “Perhaps I’ll buy up Fortescue’s empty store in Diagon Alley and reopen the ice cream store!”

Draco giggles, eyes brightening at the prospect of having such free access to ice cream, and Harry just happens to be looking at Narcissa at the right moment to catch the way her whole face softens for a split second. She looks at her son with such intense affection in that second that it takes Harry’s breath away; then, just as suddenly, it vanishes and Narcissa is left with only a polite smile.

“That store was very popular,” she says. “It may be a wise investment.”

And Harry’s pretty sure that’s a polite way of saying that it would be a waste of Harry’s time to run it personally, but for the first time he doesn’t feel like taking the comment personally. Because in spite of whatever faults she may have, and the fact that her husband is a complete arsehole, Narcissa does love her son. That’s why she’s here, because she wants to be a part of Draco’s life.

The rest of the meal passes with light-hearted, civil conversation. Narcissa doesn’t eat much, but Harry doesn’t take it personally – he’s pretty sure Draco comes by his lack of appetite honestly. Besides, it’s totally worth the way Draco gradually loses his sense of uncertainty and starts coming out of his shell. Narcissa doesn’t soften again, but she’s distinctly warmer towards her son and Harry decides to take that as a win.

When they go back upstairs, Narcissa hesitates in front of the fireplace. “Draco, I’ve brought you a gift.”

“A gift?” Draco echoes.

Narcissa removes her wand from her robes and waves it over something in her opposite hand; Harry’s hand automatically goes to his own wand, until he realizes that she’s casting an enlargement charm. He frowns in confusion as a broom materializes in her hand, because he knows for a fact that Draco already had a top of the line broom. Nevertheless, she holds it out to Draco.

“It’s a toy broom. They’re designed to be safe for children,” she says, very quietly. “It won’t fly more than two feet above the ground, so Draco can use it when he’s…” She clears her throat. “When he is not capable of using an adult’s broom.”

“Mother…” Draco whispers. He takes the broom like it’s something fragile, clutching it to his chest. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Draco. Mr. Potter. I’d like to do this again.” Narcissa nods at them both, then turns and vanishes into the fireplace.

Not two seconds after she’s gone, Harry is almost bowled over by an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you, Harry. I know that was – she was –”

“She’s your mother,” Harry says gently, hugging Draco back. “No thanks necessary.” He makes a face over Draco’s head. Evidently he’s going to have to get used to seeing Narcissa on a semi-regular basis. He hopes that with time, she’ll stop her snide little comments – but he has the feeling he’s going to have to get used to biting his tongue a lot over the next few months.

Chapter Text

The morning of Ron and Hermione’s visit dawns gloomy and overcast. It’s a perfect representation of Draco’s attitude. He refuses to eat his breakfast and starts crying when Harry threatens to take away the broom Narcissa gave him. It takes every ounce of patience that Harry possesses to cajole, plead and outright beg Draco to have even a few bites of a piece of toast.

Draco is holding the toast up, eyeing it suspiciously, when they both hear the sound of the Floo overhead. The piece of toast gets tossed aside immediately as Draco jumps up and flees the table. Harry stares at where the toast has landed in the pot of strawberry jam and sighs. He knows that Draco will be very hungry within a couple of hours, but he’s also discovered that sometimes having a toddler around means letting them figure that out on their own.

“Kreacher, please clear the table,” he calls out, getting up. Not waiting for Kreacher’s response, Harry walks out of the kitchen just in time to catch an armful of Hermione as she stumbles down the stairs.

“Harry! It’s so good to see you!” Hermione says delightedly, wrapping both arms around him. Into his ear, she hisses, “We’re going to talk about this later.”

“Good to see you too, Hermione,” Harry says, gulping. There is literally no doubt in his mind that Hermione now knows just about everything there is to know about age play. And she’ll want to know all that he’s willing to share about his own relationship with Draco.

Ron is right behind her. “Hey Harry,” he says, settling for clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Hey Ron. How’s Auror training?” Harry asks, curious.

“Let’s just say there have been many days where I come home and question most of my life’s choices,” Ron says, making a face. “George’s offer to take over the shop he’s planning on opening in Hogsmeade is looking more attractive by the day, honestly. I never knew Aurors had to put up with so much crap – ow!”

“You don’t swear in front of little kids, Ron,” Hermione says, withdrawing her elbow from Ron’s side. Harry looks around and finally spots Draco standing in the doorway to the bathroom. He’s half-hidden by the shadows, grey eyes enormous, clutching onto the doorframe like someone might try to steal him away. It’s easy to see that he feels overwhelmed, maybe even outnumbered.

Harry breaks away from his friends and moves over to wrap an arm around Draco’s shoulders. He’s half-expecting Draco to pull away – sometimes Draco doesn’t take well to offers of comfort when he’s stressed out or upset – but Draco latches on to him instead, burying his face in Harry’s chest and peeking up at Ron and Hermione in a way that Harry would almost describe as shy. Ron looks utterly baffled, but Hermione visibly melts.

“Hello there,” she says in a tone that Harry’s never heard from her before. She sounds warm and soft and lovely. “It’s nice to see you again, Draco.”

“Draco, can you say hello back?” Harry prompts.

“Hi,” Draco says after a pause, in a very tiny voice.

“Oh,” Hermione says. “Oh, you’re precious.”

“Hermione,” Ron says. “Let’s not get carried away.”

Draco tenses at that, and Harry’s not really sure what Ron means by that either. Either way, Hermione ignores him. She pulls her purse off her shoulder and opens it up, rummaging around inside. Too late, Harry realizes that she’s cast the same expansion charm on it as the one on her bag. She finally pulls out a cardboard box and holds it up for Draco to see.

“This is a muggle game,” she says. “Cluedo. Someone gets killed and you get to act like a police – err, an Auror and figure out who the bad guy is before I do. Think you can beat me?” Her eyes twinkle and she grins.

“Yes!” Draco exclaims, sounding more enthused about this game than about anything Harry’s done for him all morning, and jerks out of Harry’s arms.

Hermione beams. “Excellent! Will you show me a good place for us to play?”

Draco nods eagerly and hurries across the room, heading for the library. Hermione shoots Harry and Ron a look that’s positively smug and saunters after him, game tucked beneath her arm. Harry watches her go, open-mouthed. He was positive that the morning would be filled with awkward, stilted conversation as all four of them tried not to trip over potential land mines. He hadn’t expected Hermione to charm Draco in the span of five minutes, and with a muggle game of all things.

Then again, Harry supposes that perhaps he should’ve seen this coming. Hermione’s been five steps ahead of the rest of them as usual: Draco has always been competitive, and not just in Quidditch. There were a lot of years where he and Hermione were neck in neck when it came to getting the top grades in their year. Of course Draco is anxious to see if he can beat Hermione at a game.

“Blimey,” Ron says. “There we go.”

“What?” Harry says, turning around. “Ron – if you’re not comfortable with Draco –” He doesn’t know what he’ll do, but he’s not going to let old rivalries and animosities disrupt what he and Draco have right now. It’s too important to him, and he hoped that Ron had grown up enough to understand that…

“What?” Ron says, looking at him in surprise. “No! I mean, it’s a bit odd – but it’s Malfoy and you’ve always been a complete berk when it comes to him, so I’m getting there. I just meant – there’s been so many babies and little kids around lately, and I’ve noticed that Hermione always goes a bit soppy when she spends too much time around them, and I’m worried she might starting wanting kids soon too.” He actually wrings his hands in dismay.

Harry blinks, because that was the last thing he expected, and then chuckles with relief. “Ron, that’s silly. Hermione isn’t ready for kids. We’re only eighteen. That’s too young.”

“Is it really?” Ron says darkly. “You’d never know it. Abbott’s got two kids now, you know?”

“Really?” Harry says, startled.

“Yes, really. She’s working as an Unspeakable too,” says Ron. “They’ve been spending time together.”

“Well… that may be, but I think Hermione has a lot of things she wants to do before she has kids. I’d reckon you’re safe for at least four or five years.”

Ron squints at him. “You think?”

“Absolutely,” Harry says with a confident nod, hoping he’s not wrong.

“Thank Merlin,” Ron says, relaxing. “Now, tell me how I’m supposed to act around Malfoy. I don’t want to offend or scare him. Hermione’s given me about four lectures already. She says if I do something to make Malfoy upset, she’s going to make me regret it.” He makes a face.

Harry smiles. “Just… I dunno, act like you would around Victoire or Teddy. You don’t have to act in any special way. He’s still Draco. He still remembers everything. He’s just… a little kid sometimes.”

“He’s not going to spit up on me like Teddy does, is he?” Ron asks suspiciously.

“No, Ron. I promise he won’t spit up on you,” Harry says, biting back a laugh. He honestly wouldn’t put it past Draco to swallow a Puking Pastille when Ron is around if Ron’s not careful. “Thanks for coming today. I know it’s not easy for you. There’s a lot of history.”

Ron shrugs. “I’m not going to lie and say it’s not weird. The dating thing was bad enough to wrap my head around. This is a whole new level. I don’t really get it. But…” He shrugs. “Hermione says it makes a lot of sense to her, and you’ve smiled more in the past year and a half than you have for the entire time I’ve known you. Obviously something about this is making you happy. So even though I question your taste, I’m happy for you.”

Harry can’t stop the huge smile that breaks out on his face if he tried. He’s a little curious to know why Hermione thinks this all makes sense, but not curious enough to ask and risk opening that can of worms. Instead he just gives Ron a little punch on the arm, hoping that says everything Harry doesn’t know what to say. Judging by the way Ron beams at him, it does.

“Alright then,” Ron says, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, by the way, before I forget, I’m to get a full list of everything that Malfoy likes to eat for Mum. She’s determined to cook up Malfoy’s favourites for dinner on Saturday.”

“I’ll write you out a list,” Harry says, already thinking about what Draco might like best. He’s tried to pay attention to what kind food Draco favours depends on whether or not Draco is in his headspace. When he is, simpler foods tend to go over better. Kreacher would probably know.

He walks into the library, Ron on his heels, and is not surprised to find Draco and Hermione already deep into a game of Cluedo. The look of avid concentration on Draco’s face as he lowers his head to examine the board is adorable, and Hermione is smiling at the top of Draco’s bent head. Harry’s surprised by how much he wants to grab a camera to photograph the moment, but he refrains. He and Draco have never discussed whether or not pictures are okay when Draco’s in his headspace, and Harry doesn’t want to overstep.

“The board doesn’t move?” Ron asks, hovering over Harry’s shoulder and staring at the game with fascination.

“No,” Hermione says patiently.

“You actually have to move the pieces yourself,” Draco pipes up, sounding at once fascinated and horrified. Harry and Hermione exchange a look and both of them roll their eyes. Wizards.

“Moving the pieces yourself is part of the fun,” Hermione says.

Neither Ron nor Draco look particularly convinced by that. Harry moves over to sit beside Draco, and promptly finds himself with a lapful of little boy. It’s actually a good thing that Draco isn’t very tall and doesn’t eat much, because his absolute favourite place to sit when he’s feeling little is Harry’s lap. Harry loosely wraps his arms around Draco’s waist to steady him, pretending that he doesn’t notice the way Hermione and Ron are watching.

In time, Harry thinks, this might even become normal enough that no one will blink an eye if Draco sucks his thumb or cries if he stubs his toe or drinks from a cup with a spout.

Hermione and Draco play through five rounds of Cluedo. Hermione wins three of them and Draco wins two. Draco lets out a sigh when he wins the last game and leans back in Harry’s arms, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder and looking content but tired. Harry adjusts his grip automatically and checks the clock. When Draco spends the day in his headspace, he usually goes down for a late morning nap after ten and it’s currently half past.

“I think it’s nap time,” Harry says, gently patting Draco’s back.

“I’m not tired,” Draco says immediately, then ruins the effect of his statement by rubbing at his eyes and yawning widely.

“Oh, I think you’re plenty tired,” Harry says, amused.

“Am not,” Draco says, pouting.

Harry’s been done this road before. Getting into a ‘am not, are too’ squabble with a toddler is not his idea of a fun time, and he decides to cut it off at the pass. He grabs his wand and murmurs a quick lightening charm, then gets up and hefts Draco onto his hip. Draco whines a little, trying to hold onto the chair, but the attempt is so half-hearted that Harry has no problem getting him free.

“I’ll meet you guys in the living room as soon as I’m done,” Harry says to Ron and Hermione. They both look like they’re trying not to smile.

He carries Draco out of the room and up the stairs to the bedroom. Draco stops sulking halfway up the steps and resumes yawning like his jaw is going to crack and rubbing at his eyes. Harry cuddles him close, nuzzling his hair. This is one of his favourite things about their age play, when Draco is sweet and sleepy and boneless in Harry’s arms. It makes Harry feel sort of soft and fiercely protective all at once.

“Mm… Harry,” Draco mumbles as they near the bedroom.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Harry says, pushing the door open with his foot. As he surveys the empty room, he’s struck by the sudden thought that he and Draco should get a pet. A cat maybe, or even a puppy. He’s pretty sure Draco didn’t have any pets growing up. Harry finds himself liking the idea of a black dog that can watch over them both.

He sits Draco down on the bed, gets his jeans off and a pull-up on in spite of Draco’s sleepy protests, and then lays Draco down on the bed. Predictably, Draco is out like a light as soon as his head hits the pillows. Harry smiles, smoothing the blond hair away from Draco’s face, then bends down to place a light kiss on Draco’s temple. He can remember Petunia doing that to Dudley when she put Harry and Dudley down for a nap, and how Dudley always smiled afterwards.

He makes sure that Draco’s favourite toy is near, then tiptoes out of the room. He casts the charm to let him know the instant Draco wakes up and then makes his way down to the living room, where Ron and Hermione are seated upon the sofa. They both look up at him with bright grins and Harry finds himself grinning back as he over to a chair. The day isn’t over, not by a long shot, but he’s feeling pretty optimistic.

“I never thought Draco Malfoy could be so cute,” Hermione admits as soon as Harry’s seated. Goblets of pumpkin juice and biscuits appear on the coffee table. Ron immediately reaches out to take a biscuit.

“Don’t let the cuteness fool you. He can be a terror,” Harry says fondly. “He’s nervous about Saturday.”

“Just Draco?” Hermione says, giving him a knowing look.

“Okay, I’m nervous too,” Harry says, picking up a goblet of juice.

“It’ll be fine. If Malfoy keeping acting like that, the only problem you’ll run into is Mum wanting to adopt him away from you,” Ron says.

“Or you could just get married. Then she could have him for a son-in-law,” Hermione says coyly.

Harry chokes on his juice. “Hermione!”

She and Ron just laugh at him.

Chapter Text

"You're sure about this."

"How many times do I have to say I'm sure?" Draco plants his hands on his hips. He's getting that look on his face that means he's dangerously close to losing his temper, and Harry knows he needs to stop pushing or he's going to have a screaming toddler to deal with. But it's hard. He wants to make sure Draco knows that they don't have to go to the Weasley's. He doesn't want Draco to feel pressured, or feel like this is some sort of ultimatum - Draco's had enough of those in his life.

"No more," Harry says, realizing it's time to back off. He holds his arm out. Draco eyes him for a moment longer, lips pressed into a pout, then grudgingly takes Harry's arm once he feels his point has been made. Harry pulls him close, closes his eyes to fix the picture of the Burrow firmly in his mind, and turns on one heel.

They appear on the hill overlooking the Burrow. Harry immediately feels a sense of comfort and home. He hopes that someday, Draco can feel the same way. For now, he'll settle for Draco not wanting to turn around and run away. He takes Draco's hand and gives it a squeeze, then starts walking down the path. Draco falls into step beside him, head turning in every direction as he attempts to take it all in at once. He's never been to the Burrow before, and Harry remembers all too well how overwhelming everything can be for the first time.

"I hope you remember our talk about being kind," Harry murmurs as they get close. The last thing they need is Draco making a caustic remark about the state of the house, or about the Weasley's lack of money. Life has been easier for Arthur and Molly following Voldemort's defeat, as Arthur got a significant promotion - but very little about the Burrow itself has changed.

Draco doesn't respond, but the closer they get the tenser he grows. He presses closer to Harry and brings his thumb up to his mouth - not sucking, not yet, but anxiously tracing his bottom lip. Harry half-thinks about offering him a dummy, but decides against it. It's unlikely Draco will accept one outside Grimmauld Place.

"Harry!" Ginny appears at the backdoor of the Burrow, waving. "And Draco! Hi!"

"Hey Gin!" Harry waves back with his free hand, grinning. Then there's a sudden jerk on his other hand, followed by Draco stepping in front of him. Harry almost trips over him before he stops; Draco winds his arms around Harry's neck and gives a little tug. Automatically, Harry touches his wand, casts the lightening charm, and scoops Draco up. Draco snuggles into him, pressing his face into Harry's shoulder.

It's a little unusual for Draco to want to be carried when he's not wholly in his headspace, but Harry rolls with it. He carries Draco the rest of the way, and when he's close enough to speak without shouting he says, "How have you been? Did you hear back from the Harpies yet?"

Ginny beams. "I have an audition with them next Friday!"

"That's amazing. I'm so happy for you," Harry says sincerely. Ginny's a fantastic Quidditch player, and she has a passion for the sport that Harry himself lacks. "The Harpies would be idiots not to want you."

"I know," Ginny says. "But I'm still nervous. I really want this."

"You'll get it. I know you will," Harry says, absently patting Draco's back. Ginny's eyes follow the movement. A small smile quirks at her lips, but she doesn't say anything else. She beckons Harry inside and directs him to the kitchen, then walks out the door. Harry glances over his shoulder long enough to see that Ginny is heading in the direction of the Lovegoods, and figures that Luna will be showing up shortly.

"Harry!" Molly is standing at the stove, wand in hand, but she turns away from her cooking the instant that she catches sight of him. "And Draco! I'm so glad to see you both."

"Hi Mrs - err, Molly," Harry amends, because she's told him about a hundred times to call her 'Molly'.

Molly smiles, clearly pleased, and bustles over. He's not really expecting her to hug both him and Draco, but that's exactly what she does. Her arms are warm and comforting as always, though Draco's head whips around in surprise. His eyes widen when he catches sight of Molly and his grip on Harry gets that much tighter. The look on his face is somewhere between wariness and curiosity.

“Hello love,” Molly says softly, a kind smile on her face. “Welcome to our home, Draco. It’s so good to finally meet you.”

Draco blinks once, twice, then whispers, “Hi” in a very tiny voice.

“Would you like to help me cook?” Molly says. “The only one of my kids who ever liked to help me was Ginny, but she’s gone to fetch Luna. I could use the help.”

Draco considers this, then nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Molly says. “And your da can go say hi to everyone else.” She winks at Harry as Harry sets Draco down. Harry can’t help smiling back, grateful for her kindness, and watches as Molly holds a hand out to Draco. Remarkably, Draco hesitates for only a second before taking her hand and allowing her to lead him into the kitchen.

With Draco suitably occupied, Harry heads into the living room alone and promptly finds himself nearly drowning under a sea of red hair as George, Arthur, Ron and Bill all pop up to greet him. Fleur, with Victoire slumbering in her arms, Angelina and Hermione are there too. Harry greets them all of them before being bundled into a chair with a cup of hot butterbeer. He sips at the drink and shivers as the warm tingling runs through him.

“Is Draco with Molly?” Arthur asks.

“Yes. She pounced as soon as we came in,” Harry says.

Arthur chuckles. “As I expected.”

“Harry, mate, I just want to thank you,” George says very seriously. “Between Draco and Victoire, you’re giving the rest of us a break.”

Harry blinks, confused. “Sorry?”

“Grandchildren,” Bill says with an amused smile. “Mum’s been asking when he and Angelina are going to get a move on.”

Angelina turns very pink, and George sighs. “I keep asking her if she really wants another set of Weasley twins around and she just keeps telling me it’s all good.”

“Perhaps ask McGonagall,” Harry says slyly. “I expect she’ll have a different answer.”

They all laugh, and Harry sips his drink again. But the warmth building inside of him has nothing to do with the Butterbeer. He’d known, or at least hoped, that no one would make a big deal out of his and Draco’s somewhat unique relationship, but as always the Weasley family surpasses his expectations. All of them are taking the news in stride and acting as though there’s nothing unusual about having a Little around – and a Malfoy, at that. He loves them all so much in that moment it hurts.

“I’m just glad she’s not asking me,” Ron says. Hermione goes pink too.

“Don’t worry. Your time will come. She’s going to start asking you about marriage soon,” George says ominously. Ron cringes at that and desperately avoids looking anywhere even close to Hermione.

“How is Victoire doing, Fleur?” Harry asks, hoping to give his best mate a reprieve, and Fleur beams and starts happily talking about how Victoire is walking now and starting to say short sentences. Bill can’t contain his enormous smile as he tells Harry that Victoire’s first word was ‘papa’.

They sit and chat for several minutes, until Molly pokes her head in the room. “Dinner, everyone.”

Harry gets up and follows Hermione into the dining room to find that Draco is already seated beside Luna. He’s watching her with wide, fascinated eyes as she combs her fingers through her long blonde hair and whispers to him. Ginny, on Luna’s other side, looks way too amused by what’s going on. Harry moves to take the seat beside Draco as everyone else sits.

There’s a lot of people when all is said and done, and Draco looks around with an expression that clearly says he’s overwhelmed. He leans into Harry, casting his eyes shyly towards the table. Harry wraps an arm around his shoulders. Draco must be feeling really little, he knows, because it’s unlikely that Harry would be allowed to offer him this much comfort in public otherwise. It makes him feel soft and protective, and he squeezes Draco gently.

“Here Draco, love. Let me cut up your food for you,” Molly says, leaning over the table. She briskly cuts up Draco’s food into smaller, more manageable bites.

“Thank you,” Draco says, in a very tiny voice, and all the women at the table visibly melt. Draco doesn’t know it, but he’s just wrapped every female member of the Weasley family around his little finger in the span of about sixty minutes. Harry reckons that’s pretty impressive.

But he can also tell Draco is uncomfortable being the focus of so much attention, and so turns to Bill and says, “Could you had me the potatoes?”

That sends everyone into a flurry of action as food is hastily passed around the table. Draco relaxes a little, and Harry smiles to himself as he spoons some potatoes onto his plate and then onto Draco’s. For several minutes, the only sounds at the table are that of people eating delicious food. Draco mostly moves his food around his plate, but he does take a couple bites of turkey at Harry’s quiet urging.

“Mum,” Ginny says when the meal is nearly done, “I have an announcement to make.”

“What’s that, Dear?” Molly looks curious.

“I’m moving out. Luna and I are going to get a flat together in Diagon Alley,” Ginny says.

Molly’s jaw drops. “A flat? But Ginny –”

“I’m seventeen, Mum. It’s time.” Ginny sets her jaw in a way that’s incredibly familiar to Harry; he quickly drops his gaze and focuses on helping Draco to drink from the sippy cup full of pumpkin juice. Perhaps if he and Draco pretend they’re not here, they won’t get caught in the crossfire.

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” George says loudly. “There are loads of flats going up in Diagon right now. You can get a great place cheap. Besides, it means you and Luna can come visit me at the shop every day.”

Ginny screws her face up. “Every day? Not likely.”

“’Ave you picked out a place?” Fleur asks, looking interested. “I could ‘elp you decorate.”

“That would be lovely,” Luna says.

“You may regret that,” says Bill, and Fleur elbows him as everyone chuckles. Across the table, Harry catches a glimpse of Molly sitting back in her chair and Arthur reaching over to take her hand. His heart goes out to them. With Ginny gone, the only children living home will be George, Ron and Hermione. And frankly, he thinks time is limited for how long those three will stick around.

“That’s very exciting for you, Ginny,” Arthur says quietly. “We’re happy for you.”

“Thanks Dad,” Ginny says, carefully avoiding looking at Molly.

“Time for pudding,” Molly says suddenly, jumping up. Ginny watches her go into the kitchen and sighs.

“She’ll be okay,” Arthur says, getting up. He pauses to kiss the top of Ginny’s head and then follows his wife into the kitchen. An awkward silence falls, until at last Hermione clears her throat.

“So tell me more about your flat,” she says brightly. “Where is it?”

Ginny smiles tentatively and starts talking. Harry breathes a quiet sigh of relief and exchanges a glance with Ron. Both of them are aware of just how poorly that could’ve gone, and Harry finds himself very glad indeed that he’s chosen not to stay with the Weasley’s. He’s not sure he wants to be around later tonight when Molly and Ginny have a private chat. That could turn explosive very quickly.

Molly and Arthur start bringing in trays a few minutes later. Draco’s eyes light up when he catches sight of the chocolate cake: if there’s one thing that rings true in both of Draco’s headspaces, it’s a pure and deep love for chocolate. Molly practically beams and cuts Draco a huge chunk of the cake, and Harry mentally resigns himself to a night spent watching Draco on a sugar high until he finally crashes.

“I have something else too for you, dear,” Molly says. “Arthur and I do. It’s to welcome you to the family.” She hands Draco a small package.

Draco looks… overwhelmed. He hesitantly takes the package, glancing at Harry. Harry smiles at him, so Draco runs a finger beneath the paper to open it. He slowly pulls the paper apart and pries the lid of the box up. His eyes widen. Harry leans forward and realizes that it’s a stuffed toy. A fat bird, to be exact, with great golden wings. It looks vaguely familiar.

Hermione lets out a giggle. “Oh, a golden snidget! How cute!”

A snidget. Of course. Harry finds himself grinning. “That’s perfect, Molly. Thank you.”

“It flies,” Arthur volunteers. “So Draco can chase it, if he likes. I can show you how to active it later. And it’ll give off heat or cold air, depending on which activation charm you say.”

Draco carefully picks the snidget up and clasps it to his chest. When he looks up, his eyes are misty and he swallows hard before saying, “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Weasley. I really love it.”

Molly looks like she might cry herself. “Oh, love, call me Molly.”

Draco smiles hesitantly at her. “Thank you, Molly.”