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When Hermione had suggested volunteering at the local pet rescue during the summer, Harry’d thought it the perfect opportunity to distract himself from his thoughts—and, admittedly, from his loneliness too. He knew that’d been exactly Hermione’s goal—knew she and Ron had been worrying exceedingly about him since he’d quit the Aurors over the Christmas holidays—and even though he hadn’t admitted it to either of them, he was incredibly thankful to them for suggesting it.
Because, for the most part, their plan had actually worked. Harry loved hanging around the puppies, taking them out for walks and teaching them to behave and do tricks. He loved the giggles they tore out of him when they rolled around in the mud and growled around their toys, loved the glee that threatened to overflow him when they wagged their tails and licked his face until he was lying on his back in the grass, breathless from laughter, blindly reaching up to pet their ears. He loved spending time with the kittens, too—loved watching them tumble around and roughhouse chaotically only to collapse into a group nap moments later. Loved it especially when it happened in and around his lap.
Today, though, the rescue manager had asked him to do customer-facing work for the morning, and to say he was bored to death was an understatement. No one had walked through the door since they’d opened at 8 am and, not wanting to be left alone with his thoughts, he’d at some point started doodling on a tissue with the pen they handed their customers when they signed the adoption papers—the kind of old, almost-empty pen that was attached to the counter through a string as though anyone would want to steal it.
So when the rusty glass door creaked open and tiny steps toddled in his direction, Harry’s head understandably snapped up, a smile spreading across his face.
A smile that faltered when he saw just who had walked into the rescue.
“Good morning,” a familiar, drawling voice said, “we’re here to hopefully adopt a–ah.”
Malfoy let go of the door he’d been trying to coax closed and faltered in his steps, eyes widening.
Harry opened his mouth, but his well-practised greeting faltered and died on the tip of his tongue as he waited for Malfoy's reaction. Waited for Malfoy to take his kid’s hand and walk right back out, or for him to sneer and make a snide remark about Harry leaving the Aurors in favour of cleaning dog poop.
But no reaction came, and Harry had just barely caught a glimpse of a blush creeping up Malfoy’s face when the kid gasped loudly and reached out to pull at Malfoy’s sleeve.
“Daddy!” he bellowed, pointing a finger right at Harry’s face. “Daddy, I want that one!”
Harry was sure his heart skipped a beat as he watched Malfoy’s cheeks turn a dark crimson. Horrified, Malfoy crouched by his son and took his little hand in his.
“Scorpius,” he murmured with a nervous—almost hysterical—chuckle, so softly Harry barely caught the boy’s name. “Honey, we can’t have him. That’s a grown man.”
“I know.” Scorpius attempted—very poorly so—to whisper back to his dad. Grabbing Malfoy’s hands with both of his and tugging emphatically at them, he added, “But it’s Harry Potter! You always talk about how much you miss being around him, and you said I can choose who I want to adopt today. I want him!”
Malfoy glanced up at Harry, wide-eyed, and Harry quickly averted his gaze and stared at a random spot on the wall. He kept listening, though, and had to hold his breath to hear Malfoy’s next words over his own hammering heart.
“Honey, I—I may want him too, but it’s not polite to say so in public, do you understand?”
Heart racing, Harry risked a glance in their direction and saw Scorpius—who couldn’t be older than five, he thought—pouting up at his dad, brows deeply furrowed. He bit back a smile. Scorpius looked so much like his father when he was angry. Merlin, it was adorable.
And Merlin, Malfoy talked to his son about him—about how he missed him. His cheeks flamed at the idea. Who would’ve thought?
“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Scorpius said, distracting Harry from his thoughts. He pronounced the words slowly—words that sounded adorably mature in his baby voice. “You’re trying to make me forget our promise. You promised I could pick who to take home. A Slytherin never forgets a promise. I want him.” He pointed at Harry again.
Harry tried to muffle the cackle that escaped him with his fist, but it was hopeless. Both father and son turned to him, one with a look of utter dismay, the other frowning resolutely.
Scorpius strutted toward Harry, shoulder-length hair bobbing with every step, and Harry watched, amused and only slightly embarrassed by the whole situation, as Malfoy followed his son and stood, quite awkwardly, at the edge of the desk.
“Hi there,” Harry said, trying his damned best to sound casual and not like this was the most surreal and hilarious experience he'd had in a long while. “Nice to meet you, Scorpius.” He nodded at him, smiling so hard he could feel his eyes crinkling with mirth.
“Nice to meet you!” Scorpius beamed.
Malfoy cleared his throat. “Good, er, good morning to you too,” he said. “I’m so very sorry about this. Could you please show us to the puppy area?”
“Dad!” Scorpius cut in, and Harry held back another laugh and decided it couldn’t hurt to torment Malfoy like in the old days. Just a tiny bit.
“Scorpius,” he said in his sweetest voice, not tearing his eyes from Malfoy’s wonderfully blushed face, “I’ve heard you’re the one in charge here today. Why don’t you tell me what you want?”
Scorpius smiled brightly up at him, pointed up at his chest, and said, “We want to take this one home, please!”
“You’re doing this to torture me, aren’t you?” Malfoy grumbled.
Harry smirked. “Is it working?”
“Ugh,” he groaned, looking away and giving Harry a perfect view of his prettily red-tinged cheek.
“Will you come home with us, Mr Potter?” Scorpius asked, tugging at his sleeve. “Please?”
Harry crouched in front of him, just as Malfoy had done before, and looked him in the eye. His eyes were hazel, nothing like Malfoy’s captivatingly grey ones, but they still held within that same cunning spark that Harry had come to know so well in his Hogwarts years.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he told Scorpius in a serious tone. “I have my own home, you see?” When Scorpius’ face started to twist into a pout, he added, “But perhaps you and your Daddy could take me out to have ice cream sometime, if he’s okay with that. Would you like that?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Scorpius squealed, jumping up and down and then turning around and springing into his father’s arms. “Can we take him to have ice cream, Daddy? Can we, can we?”
Their eyes met as Harry stood. Malfoy assessed him, frowning and worrying his lower lip with his teeth, and then said, “You’re serious.”
Harry shrugged, feeling himself smirk. “Yup.”
He didn’t want to admit it, not just yet, but he was feeling more excited than he had about pretty much anything since he’d decided to quit the Aurors. He’d made the right decision, he was certain of that much, but that didn’t mean it’d been easy to have so much free time. He’d spent all winter recovering from a debilitating case of burnout—one that’d had a years-long build-up, but the scope of which had only truly hit him once he’d officially quit the Aurors—and his spring had consisted of a dozen frustrating attempts to try out new hobbies that just hadn’t brought him the joy he’d expected them to.
Taking care of the animals had given him a sense of purpose, a reason to get out of bed in the morning, a feeling that he was loved, and cherished, and needed. But he still craved to spend time around people—people who weren’t his Muggle coworkers or his excessively worried friends—and the truth was even though it’d been years since he and Malfoy had last talked, Malfoy's longing to be around him again wasn’t at all one-sided.
In fact, Malfoy had been on his mind a lot lately. He’d heard about the divorce, of course. He’d also heard the rumours about why Malfoy was divorcing Astoria Greengrass, some of which included recounts of Malfoy attending a small town Muggle Pride Parade in Wiltshire this June.
His heart sped up at the thought, just as it had when he’d first heard that particular rumour. And when Malfoy, letting go of his worried lower lip, said, “Then, yes, we—I guess we can go for an ice cream when you’re free, if you want to,” and Scorpius started cheering and running in circles around them, Harry’s heart skipped a beat altogether and sent butterflies rushing down his stomach with its next one.
“I’m always free in the afternoons,” he said. And then he realised just how sad that sounded and added, “I—I could do this Saturday at around 3 pm if you’re free?”
“We’re free!” Scorpius bellowed, and Draco shook his head with a chuckle and said, “Yeah, that’s okay by us. How about we meet at the grand entrance to Hyde Park then?”
Harry beamed, loving the idea of going for a walk through the beautiful gardens with them, ice cream in hand, watching the rivers and the birds. “Perfect.”
“Yay!” Scorpius screamed.
“Hey, Scorpius,” Harry said, “Since you’re not taking me home, I’m guessing you can still choose a puppy if you want to. Would you like to see them?”
The boy looked up at his dad and, when he nodded, he grinned at Harry and mimicked the motion, nodding vigorously.
While they made their way toward the puppy area, Harry slowed down his pace to walk by Malfoy’s side.
“You have a wonderful son,” he said, hoping his nervousness wouldn’t show through his voice.
Malfoy snorted. “I love him more than anything in this world, but he gets me into so much trouble. I swear he does it on purpose sometimes.”
“I can definitely see the appeal of getting you into trouble,” Harry mused. Before Malfoy could reply, he called out to Scorpius—who’d run ahead of them down the hall—and said, “Once the puppy you take home is old enough, we could go on walks with it, if you’d like! I could teach you how to train it. If your dad’s okay with that, of course.”
“Oh, his dad is more than okay with that,” Malfoy grumbled as Scorpius whooped and cheered down the hall. “Thanks a lot, Potter.”
Harry noticed with great happiness that he’d made Malfoy blush once more.
“No problem,” he said with what he knew was a shit-eating grin.
He couldn’t wait for what was to come.