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Draco

As the last piece of furniture was placed safely on the ground – an antique sofa made of dark mahogany and upholstered with a soft, deep purple velvet, acquired long ago by his great grand-father and much too frail to be placed inside a box with an Extension Charm – Draco lowered his wand and cast his eyes about the room. This was their home now.

An odd feeling crept about inside his chest and he heaved a heavy sigh. For better or worse, he would have to make this place feel like home, for Scorpius's sake. He ran a hand gently across the back of the sofa when footsteps came thundering down the stairs.

“Father! I think I found a secret door in my room! Will you come and look?” Excitement radiated off the boy as he came to a stop in front on Draco, who fought to suppress a smile.

“Scorpius, no running inside the house,” he scolded.

“I'm sorry, Father,” said the boy, a grin stretched across his face. “Will you come with me?”

Draco ran a tired hand through his hair. “Not right now, Scorpius,” he said apologetically. “There's still a lot of unpacking to do.”

“We can do that later,” Scorpius pouted. He grasped Draco's hand and started to tug. “Come on!”

A quick glance around the sitting room revealed an abundance of furniture and other objects scattered about. He hadn't quite figured out what belonged to each room yet (that would have been Astoria's department), except for the obvious, such as beds and pots and pans, and the idea of starting to sort everything out this very instance was not particularly inviting. If he was being honest with himself, he could probably do with a break. With another sigh, therefore, he gave Scorpius's hand a light squeeze. “All right, then. Lead the way.”

With a happy squeal Scorpius headed for the stairs, making sure not to run, but walking much faster than necessary all the same. Shaking his head fondly at the boy's excitement, Draco followed suit.

The secret door in question turned out to be flush with the panel of the wall and thus quite difficult to spot. Draco felt a surge of pride at his son for discovering it so quickly. It led them to a small empty room, with a ceiling so low that Draco had to crouch. Sunlight filtered inside through a small, dirty window.

“May I open it?” asked Scorpius impatiently, his hand already fiddling with the fastening.

“Go ahead.”

After a few tugs, however, it was clear that the window was not happy to comply; it remained firmly shut. Frustrated, Scorpius pulled a face. “It won't open!” he exclaimed unhappily. Before Draco could offer to spell it open, however, the small hand gave the window one last shove. Draco couldn't be sure if he had seen a spark or not, but suddenly the window sprang open, letting in the warm rays from the sun.

It wasn't the first time Scorpius had performed accidental magic, but he felt proud of his son nonetheless.

“Look, Father, there's a ledge out here!”

Before he knew what had happened, Scorpius had disappeared through the window. Frowning, Draco stuck his head outside. There was indeed a ledge out there. More than a ledge – it was wide enough to sit down comfortably. Still, Draco pulled out his wand and muttered an incantation. An invisible barrier appeared before the ledge, preventing Scorpius from falling down.

“Be careful,” he scolded as he too went through the window. “Do you want to fall and break something?”

Scorpius shrugged him off. “Look! We can see so far from here. Is that a graveyard? Oh! Someone's walking their dog. I hope they'll pick that up.”

Draco looked. The view was great, he had to admit. He hadn't known about that when he purchased the house. It was a happy surprise indeed. He gazed across the rooftops, letting his face bathe in the warm sunshine, feeling the light breeze play with his hair, and he felt in his bones how tired he was. He would have to make an effort for Scorpius's sake, and he sincerely hoped that moving here would be the change they needed, now that Astoria was gone.

“Do you think we can be happy here?” asked Draco with a side ways glance at his son. A genuine smile spread across the boy's face as he nodded.

“Absolutely.”

Just as they were sharing this happy moment in their new home something caught Draco's eye across the garden. A door had opened in the house next to theirs. Through it stepped a figure clad in nothing more than a t-shirt, underwear and an open dressing-gown. The man carried what could possibly be a cup of something hot and steaming, but what really caught Draco's attention was the head of messy, black hair and framed glasses. He swallowed thickly.

As Draco's eyes met those of Harry Potter across the hedge, the thought “Of all the people!” ran through his head. On the outside, however, he merely raised his hand politely in greeting to Potter's own. He wondered if they would be all right here, after all.

*~*~*

Draco had to admit, the first month of living in Godric's Hollow hadn't been as bad as he had first anticipated. Sure, seeing a half decent Harry Potter emerging from his house in the middle of the afternoon had been an initial shock and had led to his rethinking whether this would actually be a suitable neighbourhood for him and his son, but in all honesty, as the days and weeks had gone by, his impression had improved. Scorpius had wizarding children his own age to play with (Harry Potter's children, unfortunately, but beggars can't be choosers) and the neighbourhood in general seemed to be inhabited by pleasant enough people. Potter himself had proved to be less of a pain in his behind than he had expected, which was a pleasant surprise. It seemed, he mused, that being appointed Head Auror had done Potter at least something good.

He took a sip of his morning tea and observed Scorpius as he played nearby with a toy the Potter children had given him the other day. It was a mechanical bird that had been enchanted by some spell or other, courtesy of Harry Potter, and it seemed to amuse him endlessly. Watching his son play so happily and contentedly made him smile and he thought about how far they had come in such a short while. Back at the Manor, Scorpius had been taught by a private tutor. Alone, because none of Draco's friends had children the same age. He had intended to keep up with that arrangement when they moved, but the Potters' interference had wanted it otherwise.

They hadn't lived in their new home many days before Potter's children appeared at his house. The boys, especially the younger one, had taken an interest in Scorpius, and they had quickly invited him over to play in their garden. Draco had tagged along, which resulted in his first face to face interaction with Potter since the end of the war. They had greeted each other cordially and respectfully, asked some polite questions about their current situation in life, then remained standing in awkward silence until Draco decided they had to go visit his mother for tea.

“Father, may I also go to school?” Scorpius had asked some days later while they were having breakfast.

“Why?” Draco had asked, puzzled. “You have excellent tutors at home. You were quite happy with them at the Manor.”

“But all the other children here are going to the muggle school. Albus and James too, even though they are wizards. They've told me a lot about it when we play.”

“Well, the Potters and the Weasleys have always enjoyed mixing with muggles,” Draco had carelessly thrown out, and instantly felt a stab of shame. That was the exact sort of thinking he had wanted to keep out of his son's upbringing, after all.

“They seem to be having a lot of fun playing together.” Scorpius had looked absent-mindedly out the window and Draco had started to reconsider. That evening, after Scorpius had gone to bed, Draco had paid his first proper visit to Harry Potter's house. He had felt incredibly awkward standing there ringing the door bell, and the look on Potter's face had been either shock or surprise, he couldn't tell which, but as they sat in the sitting room discussing the pros and cons of the local muggle primary school, Draco had been nothing but polite and professional.

Personally, Draco was more in favour of home schooling for wizarding children, as their accidental bursts of magic could be quite devastating in a place surrounded by muggles. However, as Potter pointed out, Scorpius was already eight years old and his parents and tutors had done a fine job making him aware of his powers. Also, as Draco wanted him to have a different view of muggles than he himself had had growing up, what better place was there than a muggle school? Finally, as the Potter children also went there, he would make friends he'd later go to Hogwarts with.

In the end, Scorpius had started attending school the following Monday.

It was surprising, really, how much time they had ended up spending with Harry Potter and his children. As neighbours, they often bumped into each other, and as the weeks had gone by it had felt less and less awkward talking to Potter. Just last week they had run into Potter outside his house while on their way home from Diagon Alley (Draco had needed to stock up on some rare potions ingredients). They had only exchanged a few pleasant words before Potter invited them inside to taste the scones he had just finished baking. The scones had been delicious, there had been no tension in the room whatsoever and they had all laughed at some jokes Scorpius had learned at school. By the time they left, Draco had felt quite happy and content.

This latest recollection had Draco craving some scones with his tea, which no longer tasted quite as good without it. With a small sigh he put the cup back down onto the saucer.

“Father!” Scorpius came skipping into the kitchen, an innocent sort of smile splayed across his face. Draco instantly anticipated something nefarious. “Yes?” he answered slowly. The expression on his son's face was suspiciously chirpy.

Scorpius jumped onto a chair.

“Remember the other day, when you said we could go flying?” The innocent smile stayed put. Draco arched an eyebrow. The chair jumping seemed like something James Potter would do.

“I may have said something along those lines. What about it?”

Scorpius threw open his arms in a grand gesture towards the kitchen window. “Today would be perfect!” he announced. “It's sunny, and warm, and we don't have any plans, right?”

Draco folded his arms across his chest and met his son's grey, sparkling eyes. “Is that so?” he asked, trying to mask the amusement in his voice. He enjoyed seeing his son so excited about something.

“Yes.” The reply was firm and serious, his expression almost solemn as it bore into his father's. The staring contest lasted a few seconds, then Draco gave in. He was no match for his son, after all.

“All right,” he said, smiling. “There's nothing like a bit of flying on a sunny Saturday, after all.”

“Yes!” Grinning, Scorpius clapped his hands together enthusiastically. Draco wouldn't exactly say he was surprised at his son's enthusiasm – the boy did like flying, and he had received his first broom when he was five years old – but he was usually a bit more of the calm, reading type. Oh well, Draco thought to himself. He's a growing boy, interests change. Maybe he has a bit of pent up energy to let loose.

He walked over to the sink to pour out the remainder of the tea, now much too cold to enjoy.

“You know,” Scorpius continued, “James said that Mr. Potter is very good at flying. He played quidditch at Hogwarts. Did you know that?”

Draco felt himself twitch every so slightly. Small flashes of himself and Potter racing for the snitch flashed before his eyes. He shook his head. Turning around, he fixed his eyes on Scorpius and tried to keep his voice level. “Yes, I'm aware of Mr. Potter's brief flying career.”

“Perhaps we can invite them too?” Scorpius pressed on. The little boy was staring up at him with a peculiar hopeful look in his eyes which for a moment threw Draco off. He felt a little hurt that his son was more impressed by their neighbour playing quidditch at school than his own father. Or perhaps it's the Potter-complex a small voice in his head suggested, but he pushed that aside.

“They may already have plans, you know,” said Draco to clear his head. “And we don't even know if the boys and Lily will be here this weekend. They might be with their mother.”

“Oh no, Albus already told me they would be here today. Please, Father?”

Frowning, Draco assessed the situation. Scorpius's innocent look seemed a bit too innocent for his liking, and he wondered exactly how much he had already conspired with the youngest Potter boy. Clearly he had wanted to go flying with his friend, but why he hadn't just said so Draco couldn't fathom. Well, he thought with a small sigh, children would go to unknown lengths to get what they wanted.

“I suppose we could owl them to ask if they are free,” he said in the end, feigning more reluctance than he really felt.

“You could just put your head through their Floo and ask?” Scorpius offered, but Draco immediately corrected him.

“That would be incredibly rude and intrusive, Scorpius,” he scolded. “Never just pop your head through someone's Floo unless they are expecting you, do you understand?”

Scorpius agreed with an attitude only a child could give. “But they live right next door,” he complained. “Can't we just ring the door bell?”

“No,” said Draco firmly. “We don't know if they're busy. I will send an owl, or not ask them at all.”

With the prospect of no Potters joining their flying session, Scorpius relented and wandered off with a pout and a sigh. Draco rolled his eyes. Children! he thought as he went to compose the letter.

A surprisingly short amount of time went by from when the owl took flight to the sounds of excited voices outside reached his ears. He could distinctly discern the loud voice of James Potter, and not many seconds went by before there was knocking on their front door. Before he had a chance to reach the hallway, however, an excited Scorpius flew past him and flung open the door.

The kids greeted each other excitedly as Draco caught up with them. “Where is your father?” he asked.

“Oh, he's right behind us with Lily,” said James.

“He had to lock up,” Albus added. Peering over the heads of the boys, Draco spotted Potter walking over, hand in hand with the small, red-headed Lily. He lifted his free hand in greeting and Draco returned the gesture.

“Thanks for the invite,” Potter smiled as they too reached the house. The boys were busy comparing their brooms, with James taking the lead.

“Not at all. I'm sure all the boys love flying,” Draco offered.

“James more so than Albus,” said Potter with a small chuckle. “Between us, he's a bit more careful than his brother,” he added in a lower voice. “But maybe that just means he'll break fewer bones.”

“I certainly remember their father being quite accident prone at Hogwarts,” Draco responded drily and Potter laughed. He noticed how the other man's whole face had lit up and quickly turned towards the boys.

“You ready to go, Scorpius? Got your broom?”

With everyone ready to go they headed off down the street towards an open field not too far away. The brooms were securely shrunk and hidden away to avoid any odd rumours amongst their muggle neighbours – Potter had already given his own boys a stern talking to about running out of the house with their brooms in their hands – and everyone was in high spirits. The weather was nice and everything was in place for a perfect day.

They had to walk for around ten or fifteen minutes before reaching the field. It was a large grassy meadow which Potter had previously made muggle repellent to make sure quidditch sessions or flying lessons could be held in peace. It was a nice area, Draco thought as he helped resize the brooms. He was happy they had such a place near by; it was infinitely easier than taking Scorpius with him some place far away to avoid muggle detection.

“How's work?” With the boys up in the air and little Lily playing with a toy broom next to her father, the two men had conjured up a couple of chairs and were sitting comfortably watching. They had brought their own brooms as well, but for now they were content to sit and spectate.

Draco shrugged. “It's fine. I've been stuck researching Re'em blood and possible alternatives to it lately, but I expect some progress soon.”

“Is that for another book?” Potter sounded genuinely interested, which pleased Draco. He liked talking about potions, even though Potter hadn't seemed to be particularly adept at it in school.

“Yes and no,” he explained. “I will probably use it in my next publication, but it's also a possible ingredient in a potions project I'm working on.”

Potter nodded. “I see. And you need to do further research to know if it'll work in the potion.”

“Exactly. I don't know how it will react to the other ingredients, and I'd rather not blow up the work room while Scorpius is in the house.” Draco was speaking from experience, which was why he had set up multiple protection barriers around his work room. Even so, caution was advised.

“You're lucky your neighbour is an Auror, then!” Potter grinned. Draco noticed how white his teeth were.

“Head Auror, even,” Draco corrected, and was it his imagination, or did a faint blush creep across Potter's cheeks? Perhaps it was just the cold wind, he thought.

“Yes, well.” The black haired man cleared his throat and turned his attention towards the flying boys. Interesting, Draco thought. Potter didn't seem to want to parade his title, even though having been made Head Auror at such a young age must have been a great honour. He would have been awfully proud himself if he had been in Potter's shoes. He'd have to file this information away for later scrutiny.

Just then, Scorpius came running towards them, a huge grin plastered on his face. “Come fly with us!” he exclaimed.

“What, you wanna see the great Mr. Potter in action?” Draco couldn't help but tease. As Scorpius laughed and nodded, he could hear a confused “The what now?” from beside him. Without turning to look, however, he rose and picked up his own broom.

“I was quite the quidditch player at Hogwarts myself, Scorpius, as you very well know. I'm sure I'll give this old man a run for his money.” Then he quickly mounted his broom and shot into the air to the faint cry of “Hey!”

As he soared through the air with a swearing Potter at the tail of his broom, Draco felt more giddy and happy than he could remember having felt in ages. He did an experimental barrel roll and let out a roar of laughter. This day with the Potters might not be such a bad idea after all.

It was late afternoon before they were back home, exhausted, but well satisfied. The day had been a real success and Draco was glad that Scorpius had pestered him to go. It was good to get out of his potion's cave every now and again, after all. It had also been quite fun flying against Potter again. It had taken him back to their school days, and though he hated to admit it, it was obvious that Potter was still quite good at flying. He was the only one who had ever given Draco a real challenge in the air. The way he had spun and dived was quite impressive.

They were well underway with their dinner and Scorpius was raving about their flying session. “Did you see that dive Mr. Potter made when James threw that rock? Amazing! And when he sped around the meadow – so fast!” His face was lit up like it was Christmas morning and Draco couldn't help but smile with him.

“Yes, Potter sure knows his way around a broom,” he agreed. “But you did very well too, Scorpius. You managed a few difficult turns without faltering. And you made a very pleasing landing.” The praise made his son beam as he helped himself to more mashed potatoes. Draco filled his glass with more juice.

“You know, Father,” said Scorpius thoughtfully after a while, “you seem to be in a better mood lately.”

Draco frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked confused. “Have I been in a bad mood?”

“Well,” Scorpius continued, “not bad, I think, but you used to be a little sad and tired. But after we moved here and met Mr. Potter, you seem to be a lot happier!”

Shaking his head, Draco reached for more peas. “Don't be ridiculous,” he said gruffly. “Potter's got nothing to do with my mood. Why would he? If anything, moving away from the Manor has improved it.”

“But you're always smiling when we're with him,” Scorpius insisted before taking another bite of his pork chop. “And laughing!”

“Don't talk with food in your mouth,” Draco chided. “And of course I smile when we're talking with the neighbours. It's polite and good manners.” Taking another gulp from his glass, Draco was half expecting Scorpius to point out that he did not, in fact, always smile when they were talking with Mrs. Brighton – he couldn't stand that batty, old, nosy women – but the boy merely shrugged and went back to his food. Draco wondered briefly if he had been too harsh, but decided it was better to set Scorpius straight sooner rather than later. The two men were adults now, and thus knew how to act appropriately towards each other. However, the day Harry Potter would make Draco Malfoy happy was the day pigs would grow wings and fly.

Harry

Harry treasured these little moments; enjoying a cup of tea in a comfy chair outside while listening to the sound of children laughing, birds chirping, and generally relishing in the peace of the moment. They didn't come around nearly as often as he'd like, so he tried his best to treasure them when they did. Ever since Ginny had moved out, the house had been so much quieter, as she had the children half the time. Being Head Auror also meant he spent a lot more time in the office. He tried his best to work long hours when he did not have the children, so he could spend more time with them when they were at home, but as with everything, it didn't always work out. Now it was Sunday, however, and he planned to enjoy every minute of it.

Looking out over the garden, his eyes wandered across the hedge to the new Malfoy residence. It had been quite a shock, really, to discover that Draco Malfoy, of all people, had moved to Godric's Hollow – and right next door to boot. Despite the initial confusion, however, he had found the addition to the neighbourhood quite pleasing. Malfoy wasn't at all like he had been at Hogwarts. He seemed calm and mature, and it was actually possible to hold a conversation with him. If that wasn't enough, he was obviously an excellent father as well, something that quite appealed to Harry. That was probably one of the main things that had made him attracted to the former git.

There had always been strong feelings between them, Harry reasoned, and even though they had started out extremely negative in their youth, he supposed it was not surprising that they had taken such a turn. It was some time ago now that he had discovered he was also attracted to men (something Ginny had been very supportive of, all things considered), and love and hate did go hand in hand, after all.

That was another new and strange experience – being attracted to Draco Malfoy. It hadn't happened over night, of course, but as their interactions had increased over the past month, Harry had noticed an odd sensation within his chest whenever he saw or thought about his former school fellow. A warmth would spread and a giddy sort of happiness would fill his mind. He couldn't help but smile when they were together, a smile which didn't seem to be discouraged, although he doubted the other man had the same thoughts as him.

With an embarrassed sigh he thought back to last week, when he had invited Malfoy and his son, Scorpius, over for some home made scones. He had no idea what had gotten into him – it had just been the three of them and he had felt nervous like a school boy talking to his crush. He'd had a wish to get closer to Malfoy somehow, maybe show him how important he had become to him without overstepping, but he had only felt clumsy and awkward. Thankfully Scorpius had been there to break any awkwardness with some funny little jokes. Harry had felt an odd mixture of regret and relief when they had finally left, and vowed to think twice before doing something like that again.

He wouldn't want Malfoy to take it the wrong way.

Letting his thoughts wander, he thought back to the very start of their new friendship, for a lack of better words. They had only ran into each other a handful of times before they had ended up discussing Scorpius's education in Harry's sitting room. It had been a baffling experience, something he had never thought would happen in a million years; Malfoy seeking him for advice, and about his son no less. He had, however, and Harry had felt a curious need to follow up on it, so he'd headed over to their house, for the very first time, a couple of days later.

“How did it go with Mrs. Tilberg?” Harry had asked, genuinely concerned.

“Quite well. He's enrolled and will start on Monday,” Malfoy'd said, looking quite pleased with himself.

“That's great!” Harry had said, beaming. “I hope there weren't any complications?”

With a smile Malfoy had shaken his head. “None at all. She only needed a little persuasion.”

“Malfoy...” Harry'd started, his Auror senses perking up at the sound of trouble.

“Oh, relax, Potter,” Malfoy'd said dismissively. “I only Confunded her a little. Honestly, everything is so difficult with the muggles these days. You need proper documentation for this and for that – how did you manage to enrol your children if you didn't Confund anyone or magically alter some papers?”

Harry had suddenly felt a little sheepish and a slight flush had crept up his neck. “Well, actually, it was Ginny who took care of all that. I didn't really pay much attention to it.” He had run a hand through his hair, feeling uncomfortable.

Malfoy'd flashed him a grin from ear to ear. “I rest my case.”

That was the sort of easy going conversations they had become accustomed to having now – and then he had almost ruined it by asking about Scorpius's mother.

“Is it just the two of you here?” Harry had asked curiously.

“Astoria isn't living with us anymore,” Draco had answered stiffly. There had been something final in his tone, and Harry'd decided not to press the matter further. They'd only been neighbours a scarce week, too short a time to head back into their old enmity. Instead, he'd merely said, “Ah, I see. That's too bad.” Then he'd quickly asked about his plans for the garden and the conversation had slowly eased back to a comfortable flow.

He couldn't blame Malfoy, really. He hadn't been too keen on talking about it when he and Ginny had first split up either. They had slowly drifted apart, and the break-up had been good for all of them, but it had still hurt to split up his family. He didn't know what the Malfoy's circumstances were, though. He could only hope the other man would open up to him with time.

Pushing out of his chair, Harry went back inside to pour himself another cup. It was much quieter in here, he noted. The laughing voices were muffled by the sound of the ticking of the clock, almost like the rushing wind had subdued their voices yesterday, when they had been flying in the meadow. That had been an unforgettable day. He had been just as excited as the boys when Malfoy's owl had arrived. The memory of the official looking letter made him chuckle.

Dear Mr. Potter

I hope I am finding you well this morning.

My son, Scorpius, and I were wondering if you and your children would like to accompany us for an outing today, unless you are otherwise engaged. We intend to go flying in the meadow beyond the pond. I hear from Scorpius that you all have brooms.

We happily await your reply.

Yours sincerely,

Draco L. Malfoy

Despite the tone of the letter, they had shared some nice conversation before they had joined the children in the air. It had been exhilarating flying with Malfoy again. Chasing him had somehow felt like he was chasing him, but up here it was OK. It was like there were different rules up in the air, where he could lose himself in the playfulness. They played 'It' while flying around the meadow, the adults lowering their speed so the children had a chance to keep up, but not holding back when they were aiming for each other. Harry felt the laughter rolling off his lips, but the sound of Malfoy's roaring laughter as he dived and rolled about was the most beautiful sound he could imagine.

“You still seem to do a decent job on a broom, Malfoy,” Harry had shouted through a grin as the blonde just barely managed to dive out of his reach.

“You're not so bad yourself, Potter!” he'd shot back before zooming away as far as he could go.

“I'll catch you yet!” Harry'd shouted after him, before turning on the spot and grabbing hold of Scorpius's broom behind him with a wink. “You're “It” now.”

Now that Harry thought about it, he could have sworn that Scorpius had given him a knowing look at that moment. Like they were sharing a secret. That might not have been the only instance either, if he considered it more closely. When the children had first landed to ask the adults to join them, he was convinced Scorpius had looked at him with a sort of puzzled expression. He hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but now that he was conscious of it – hadn't he been blushing just then?

Shaking his head, Harry hurried back outside. Children noticed and did so many strange things, it was probably best not to put too much thought into it. With a contented sigh, he flopped back down into his chair and continued watching the children at play.

*~*~*

The following week went by like normal. In the mornings, either Scorpius would come over to Harry's house to meet up with the boys and Lily, or they would head over to Malfoy's house to collect Scorpius. Then they'd all walk together to the local primary school, which was only a few minutes away. When Scorpius had come over on Tuesday morning, he had looked Harry straight in the eye and said proudly, “My Father made me an omelet for breakfast. He's very good at that.” Then he had followed up with, “I think he had a lot of fun flying with you, Mr. Potter,” before three excited children had forced their way through the doorway, and they were all off down the street.

The thought of Malfoy having fun with him made Harry quite happy, and when he took a seat in his office at the Ministry a while later, he could still feel himself smiling.

On Thursday evening, something unexpected happened; The doorbell rang. Harry was in the midst of putting Lily to bed, while James and Albus were still doing their homework. Who could it be a this hour? Harry thought puzzled. It wouldn't be any of the Weasleys, as they would just Floo in. His astonishment was not lessened when he opened the door, however.

“Sorry to stop by so late. And uninvited,” said Malfoy apologetically.

“No worries. What can I help you with?” asked Harry, trying to conceal his bafflement.

Malfoy looked embarrassed. “Well, you see, the children's homework was to write about some muggle historic event, and I'm not much help, really.” He fidgeted, ran a hand through his hair, the other one shoved in a pocket. “So, I remembered you grew up with muggles …” he continued before an impatient Scorpius, who was basically dancing at his father's side, decided to take control of the situation.

“May I do my home-work with Albus and ask you a few questions, Mr. Potter?”

“By all means,” Harry smiled bemused and took a step to the side to let them through. “The boys are working on it as we speak.”

Scorpius shouted a “Thank you!” as he hurried into the sitting room to join the others.

“You want a cuppa?” asked Harry as he turned back to Malfoy. He seemed to debate with himself for a moment before accepting. The way he kept fidgeting with his hair was so endearing that Harry had to look away. If he didn't check himself, his feelings would be displayed on his face for all to see.

While preparing the tea with Malfoy sitting at his kitchen table, Harry did his best to calm his breathing and still his beating heart. He wouldn't normally feel like this, he told himself, but the visit had been so sudden, and Malfoy's unusually casual, and somewhat rumpled, appearance was just so… cute?

“I'm so sorry for bursting in here unannounced,” Malfoy apologised again. He looked almost miserable, Harry thought. “I was just at my wits end! I have no idea about muggle history, and Scorpius was so insistent that it was important to get it right, and it had to be done today, and Albus had the same task, and was right next door...” He trailed off with a pleading look at Harry, who couldn't help but smile.

“It's really OK,” he insisted. “Listen, I'm just gonna go check on Lily, then we can grumble about how impossible the children are!” He grinned at Malfoy's relieved smile and headed upstairs. As he passed the sitting room where the boys were hard at work, he exchanged a brief look and a smile with Scorpius. Finally on the stairs he stopped. Had that boy just winked at him?

*~*~*

Saturday rolled by, a loaded silence in its wake. Lily, Albus and James had headed off to Ginny's after school on Friday, leaving the house big and empty. It was always a big change, going from absolute chaos to abrupt silence, and Harry could never quite make up his mind as to whether he liked it or not. He loved his children more than anything, but taking care of three of them by yourself was demanding, and as every parent knows, the peace and quiet you occasionally got had to be treasured as well.

Making his way downstairs to put the kettle on, he noted how brilliant the weather was and his mood instantly perked up. Perhaps today was just the day to wander the streets of Diagon Alley and do some of the shopping he had been putting off.

A light autumn breeze greeted him as he stepped outside. He breathed in deeply and relished the fresh, crisp air. Movements in the neighbouring garden suddenly caught his eye, and feeling strangely curious, he crossed the road and popped his head over the hedge. “Morning neighbour!” he greeted cheerfully.

Malfoy gave him a warm smile. “Morning, Potter. Off on a walk?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I'm off to Diagon Alley. Need to get some shopping done.”

The blonde man gave him a confused stare. “Why didn't you use the Floo?”

Harry shrugged. “Thought I'd Apparate there. Less sooty,” he explained. “Can't do it inside,” he added, as Malfoy still looked puzzled. “Got all these barriers set up.”

Malfoy snorted in reply. “As expected from the Head Auror,” he said.

“Don't underestimate disgruntled people,” Harry warned. “We deal with a lot of weirdos.”

Scorpius chose that exact moment to appear. “Who are weirdos?” he asked.

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. “Ah, uh, I just meant some people who do bad things don't always like being caught.” He stole a glance at Malfoy, who raised an eyebrow.

“Well, of course they wouldn't want to get caught, if they have done something bad,” said Scorpius matter of factly.

“That's very true,” Harry agreed.

“What are you shopping for?” the boy added next. Harry sensed immediately that Malfoy would probably scold his son for being impertinent, and hastened to reply.

“Some owl treats, books, quills – all boring things, I'm afraid.”

Scorpius scrunched up his face in thought for a moment, before turning to Malfoy. “Weren't we also going to Diagon Alley, Father? May we go with Mr. Potter?” His face and tone were so serious that Harry couldn't help but snicker. Malfoy, however, looked unaffected. Perhaps this was a recurrent event, he wondered.

“I don't recall making any plans to go today,” Malfoy answered. He, too, looked serious, but Harry thought he detected a hint of a smile at the edge of his mouth.

“But we also need more owl treats,” Scorpius insisted, “and it'll be much nicer to go with Mr. Potter, won't it, Father?” The boy's serious face morphed into an innocent sort of smile which Harry had to admire. “I'm sure Mr. Potter would love some company as well, won't you? Shopping alone is so boring.”

As he had absolutely no intention of turning down an opportunity to spend time with Malfoy, especially not when it was offered so readily, Harry quickly agreed. He assured the other man that the company would be more than welcome, as shopping alone was, indeed, quite boring. After some probing by both Harry and his son, Malfoy finally gave in, and they agreed to meet outside Flourish and Blotts (they would be using the Floo).

Now in an even better mood than before, Harry skipped on to where he had intended to Dissapparate, a large smile plastered on his face.

Draco

Diagon Alley was bustling. The streets were filled with shoppers who stopped in any random spot when they met someone they knew, and chatter and cackling filled the air. Draco and Scorpius were making their way towards Flourish and Blotts, where they had agreed to meet up with Potter for their joint shopping trip. It was an unexpected, but not unwelcome, turn of events. He quite looked forward to spending the day with Potter, actually. He was unexpectedly pleasant to talk to.

“There he is!” Scorpius exclaimed as they approached the shop. Outside, leaning against the post by the large window display, was the familiar head of messy black hair, cheeks slightly pink from the chilly breeze. He felt a small yank at his sleeve and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Hi again,” he said as they reached Potter's towering figure, and without quite knowing why, he grasped the other man's hand in a firm, yet familiar handshake. The hand was pleasantly warm and slightly callous.

“Where to first?” asked Potter.

Draco stared at him. “I thought the point of meeting here was that you needed something from the shop?” he suggested. Then he clicked his tongue. “You really are a Pott-head,” he said, shaking his head before opening the door. He heard a mumbled “I think you used to call me 'Scarhead', actually” over the jingling of the door bell, and failed to suppress a small smile.

“Were you friends in school?” asked Scorpius eagerly when they were all well inside the shop.

Potter laughed. “Not exactly. I recall us being quite the opposite.”

“Yes, we could fight pretty badly,” Draco chimed in.

“But now you seem to like each other a lot.” It wasn't a question, yet his son looked expectantly between himself and Potter as though looking for confirmation.

Patting the boy's head, Draco said casually, “He's all right.”

While Potter was browsing the aisles, Draco let his thoughts wander down memory lane. He thought about the fights, the name calling, the general animosity that had shaped his relationship with Potter, and he regretted how much of a brat he had been as a child. A lot of it had stemmed from jealousy and hurt pride, but he knew now that Potter wasn't the person he had made him out to be in his mind. There was an obvious reason why everyone who met him liked him so much – Draco had slowly started to count himself amongst them, although he would never admit to it.

He rounded a corner and found himself staring at the back of Potter's head. A few strands of hair were sticking out at an odd angle, almost like he hadn't brushed his hair after getting up that morning (although the Apparition might be accountable for that). He felt a sudden urge to pat it down, Merlin only knew why. Hair out of place probably offended him in some way, he figured. He could see no other explanation for it.

While in the midst of these deep thoughts, his mind filled with the bird's nest that was Harry Potter's sorry excuse for a haircut, a small blonde head popped into his line of sight.

“May I have this book, Father?”

Draco felt himself pulled back to the present, the offending hair quickly vanishing from his thoughts. Scorpius was holding a fairly thick book titled How to tell if your neighbour is a Vampire: a young boy's guide to the creatures of the night. Draco blinked a few times, then he looked up and met Potter's eyes. They shared a look only the fathers of young boys would share, a look which said Can you believe this? Then he reached out for the book. “Let me have a look at that,” he said while attempting to keep the sigh out of his voice. He thought he heard Potter chuckle next to him and shot him a dirty glare. He hoped he hadn't been caught staring for too long.

Leafing quickly through the book and glancing at some of the illustrations, Draco deemed the book acceptable. It was never too soon to start learning about the different creatures out there, he reasoned, and this book seemed to cast the topic in a humorous sort of light. It seemed to say, be aware of these creatures, without making it too scary. He did want his son to sleep at night, after all.

“All right, you may have it,” he concluded. “But only if you quiz Mr. Potter about his creature skills,” he added with a sly look at Potter. “I seem to remember he did somewhat well in Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts.”

“Better than you, I'm sure,” Harry quipped back before heading for the till.

Their journey continued to Eeylops Owl Emporium, where they stocked up on owl treats, then on to the apothecary where Draco stocked up on more potions ingredients. By the time they stepped back out into the light of day it was already time for lunch, and they agreed to find a nice café where they could sit down and eat.

Diagon Alley offered a variety of cafés, ranging from ice cream parlours to upstanding establishments with white tablecloths. They went for something in between – a cosy looking place with a roaring fire in the hearth and floating lanterns bobbing away just below the ceiling. The lanterns seemed to delight Scorpius to no end, reminding Draco that he was still a child, despite his often sharp and shrewd behaviour.

“Let's sit over here!” Scorpius called out as he made his way towards a window booth close to the fireplace. Draco shared another look with Potter, who smiled. “I think he just picked the best spot in this place.”

“He likes to watch the busy street,” said Draco fondly.

“I would have loved that when I was his age too,” Potter confided. “I never had the opportunity, thought.” His tone was light and carefree, but Draco suspected he merely put up a front. He had heard some rumours about his muggle relatives not treating him too well as a child, which made him suspect it was less the lack of opportunity, and more an outright ban.

They joined Scorpius at the table – Draco next to his son with Potter facing them. The table was fairly small and Draco had to rearrange his legs so his feet didn't get tangled with Potter's. It felt a little odd; this would not have been an issue during their teenage years.

“Shall we have some sandwiches and tea?” he suggested to the table in general.

“May I have some hot cocoa?” asked Scorpius politely, eyeing a floating mug by the counter with a hungry look in his eyes.

“Why, of course!” Potter declared before Draco had time to open his mouth. “Hot cocoa is perfect on a chilly autumn day, am I right?” He reached across the table and ruffled a giggling Scorpius's hair. Draco merely rolled his eyes. Potter was acting like some silly uncle, something he would have rather expected of Weasley. Not that he had spoken much with the man since the war, but as he was working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes he had come across him once or twice (courtesy of Scorpius, of course).

They placed their order with the chirpy looking waitress, who kept eyeing Potter's forehead throughout. Draco noticed how incredibly calm Potter looked, almost like he didn't notice the obvious ogling. When the witch finally skipped away, Draco leaned forward.

“Are you blind?” he asked. “She looked like she was about to fawn all over you.”

“Ah, that's nothing,” said Harry lightly. “I've gotten so used to that kind of behaviour over the years that I hardly notice it anymore.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Still as famous as ever, are you?” he asked. Potter hastily shook his head.

“No, I just meant I learned not to let it affect me a long time ago. If it ever happens anymore, it goes right over my head. Else I wouldn't be able to focus on work.” He gave a small, embarrassed looking shrug. Draco couldn't help finding it somewhat charming.

“Excuses, excuses,” he said out loud while arranging his face in a passive, uninterested manner. “I seem to remember you liking all that attention at Hogwarts.”

Potter snorted. “Yeah, sure. I really was the attention seeking type.” He let the 'really' drag out.

“Well, it certainly seemed to seek you out,” Draco retorted.

Potter fidgeted in his seat. “Well, I may have been a bit of a trouble magnet,” he admitted.

Draco smirked. “Are you sure it was trouble seeking you and not the other way around?” he suggested. “There were quite a few stories about you, Weasley and Granger circulating in the dungeons.”

“And I'm sure you made up half of them,” Harry retorted, a clear challenge in his voice as he leaned back and crossed his arms.

“You got me,” Draco laughed, hands raised disarmingly in front of him. “I did make up my fair share of stories about you. Sorry about that, I guess.”

Potter smiled and looked from Draco to Scorpius. “As you can see, your father got up to all sorts of wickedness at school,” he said with a wink.

The arrival of their food and drinks prevented Draco from answering right away. It was the same witch who had taken their order, still eyeing Potter with a sort of awed reverence. It irked Draco in an unexpected way he couldn't quite explain.

“What's it like at Hogwarts?” asked Scorpius in between bites of his sandwich. “Father's only told me a little.”

"It's a lot of fun,” said Potter. “The castle is enormous, so it's very easy to get lost. Especially since some of the staircases move and might take you to a new place on certain days. But the paintings usually guide you in the right direction, so you'll get where you want one way or another. Then there's all the ghosts! They're usually very chatty. Then there's quidditch, the lake with the giant squid, the forbidden forest... I think you're going to have a really good time.” Potter smiled encouragingly. As he bent forward to take another bite, a lock of hair fell into his face and Draco had to fight the urge to tuck it behind his ear. Shaking himself, Draco wondered if he was going funny.

“Are the classes fun?” Scorpius had nearly finished his hot cocoa and licked his upper lip.

“Oh yes,” said Potter firmly with a side-ways glance at Draco. “At least the practical ones. No one really liked History of Magic, because the lessons were boring, but I suppose the subject in itself can be interesting enough.”

“Potions and charms are very rewarding subjects,” shot in Draco. Somehow, he felt like Potter needed rescuing. He started to seem like a fish out of water. “You'll have fun and learn a lot of spells.”

The remainder of the lunch went on in the same manner. Before long, they were sated and satisfied and prepared to leave.

“Scorpius, remember to use the restroom before we leave,” Draco reminded him. The boy dashed off, leaving the two adults behind.

“How's the garden?” asked Harry after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

“All right.” Draco shrugged. “We were just doing some weeding when you interrupted us earlier.”

Potter chuckled. “So sorry for disturbing your weeding time.”

“I'll have you know weeding is not as boring as it sounds!” insisted Draco. “Besides, it's peaceful and needed doing. Now I have to do it some other time instead.”

“Well, bully for you!” snorted Harry. “You get to have twice the fun.”

“I actually have half a mind to have you do it,” Draco shot back.

“But then what will you do to relax?”

“Oh, it will be quite rewarding just to watch you work away while I get to sit down with a cup of tea, so don't you worry about that.”

Potter threw his head back and barked out a laugh. “That sounds just like you.”

“I'm going to take that as a compliment.”

Potter was visibly shaking with laughter. He wiped away a tear and attempted to collect himself. While he was thus occupied, a thought struck Draco.

“I'm sorry, again, about the other day,” he said.

“Oh, stop it,” said Harry, waving him off. “You've apologised enough about it already. Any more and I'm gonna have to spell your mouth shut.”

It was true – Draco had apologised profusely in Potter's kitchen as they consumed stupid amounts of tea while the boys were working on their homework. He still felt bad about the visit, no matter how much Potter insisted it was okay. He had been so adamant to Scorpius about no surprise visits when they had planned their flying session, only to make a complete turnaround regarding this homework, and in the evening no less. He was quite lucky with his neighbour, he supposed. Not everyone would have welcomed them in so openly, he was sure. Potter really was a decent guy.

Just as he was starting to think about how he could repay Potter for his kindness, the sound of small feet reached his ears.

“I'm all done,” Scorpius declared as he reached their table.

“Excellent. Let's head out, then.” Draco threw on his cloak and collected their shopping. The bags had started to pile up and he seriously considered shrinking them.

“I'm going to get some chocolates before we head home,” said Potter. He threw some coins on the table, then he pulled out his wand and tapped his purchases. They instantly shrank enough to all fit inside one small bag, which he placed inside a pocket in his cloak.

“Shall we?” he said and headed for the door. Draco quickly copied him and hurried along.

The shop Potter took them to was completely dedicated to all sorts of fancy chocolates. Scorpius was amazed and Draco had to hold him back from raiding the display in the middle of the shop.

As Potter was browsing, an idea struck Draco. Some fancy chocolates would be the perfect way of showing Potter his gratitude about the other day. Subtly, he headed off in a different direction, making sure that Scorpius trailed along. He didn't want an 8-year-old to head off on his own in a chocolaterie. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

The shelves were full of all sorts of different, delicious-looking chocolates imaginable – milk chocolate, dark chocolate, raspberry flavoured chocolates, caramel fillings, chocolates shaped like birds and plants. There were even some that were enchanted to do a little jig.

Choosing seemed impossible. Draco had really no idea of what type of sweet tooth Potter had, now that he thought about it. He aimlessly picked up a bag of chocolate covered nuts and weighed it in his hands.

“But would Potter like that?” he wondered aloud.

“I think Mr. Potter would like this.” A box of assorted chocolates with small, moving brooms on them suddenly appeared in front of him, clutched tightly in Scorpius's little hands.

Draco put the bag back on the shelf and accepted the box held out to him. Honestly, that boy had such an uncanny way of appearing at just the right moment.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling. “I'm sure these will be perfect.”

Finishing up their last purchase of the day, they said their goodbyes to Potter and Flooed back home.

Harry

A few days later, Harry found himself knocking on Malfoy's door. It had been weeks since he had last done that, and he felt oddly nervous. He had debated back and forth as to whether this was a good idea or not, but in the end he'd decided to just head over. Worst case scenario, he'd be turned away at the door. He doubted Malfoy would be rude about it – the adult Malfoy seemed to be above that sort of behaviour.

The reason for his visit was simple enough: he felt bored and lonely, and wanted some company. The fact that he sought the company of Malfoy (and Scorpius) over that of Ron and Hermione just went to show how bad he'd got it.

It felt like an eternity before he heard muffled footsteps on the other side of the door. Then came the clicks of several locks before the door slowly slid open.

The Malfoy who stood before him was not quite the same Malfoy that he had gotten to know lately. This Malfoy looked a bit more like the old Malfoy, but with an age upgrade. His eyebrows were drawn together and there was no smile to be found. He looked like he was in a terrible mood, Harry thought.

“Yes?” barked Malfoy.

Harry didn't flinch. He was quite used to angry and testy people through his work. Frankly, most dark wizards who were caught by Aurors tended to be in a horrible mood, understandably. It did, however, make him reconsider his visit.

“Evening,” said Harry, putting on a friendly and disarming smile. “Sorry to come by so late. I was just a bit bored without the children around, so I thought I'd pop round to say hi. But it looks like I came at a bad time.” He let out a small, apologetic laugh. “I'll leave you to it. Have a good night!” He raised his hand and prepared to leave, when Malfoy spoke up.

“Wait, hold on.” Malfoy dragged a tired hand down the front of his face and heaved a deep sigh. “I didn't mean to snap at you. Why don't you come in?” He stepped to the side, holding the door open. Harry deliberated a second, wondering if it was really OK, but then he shrugged it off and stepped into the warmth.

Harry followed Malfoy through the house, and as they walked, Malfoy flicked several lights off with his wand. When they reached the sitting room, Malfoy motioned for Harry to sit down. He sat down gingerly on a fancy looking, purple sofa, and instantly regretted his choice. He got the feeling this was the kind of sofa you had to sit very still in, with your back straight, else you'd get an earful.

“Wait here,” said Malfoy before disappearing out of the room.

No sooner had he left than another door opened to reveal the small, blonde head of Scorpius. He seemed to light up at the sight of Harry, skipping over happily.

“Hi Mr. Potter!” he said cheerfully. “How are you?”

“I'm good, thanks,” Harry smiled. “I see you are still up.”

“I won't go to bed for another hour,” shrugged Scorpius. Then he added, “That arm chair is a lot more comfortable to sit in.” He pointed towards a dark green, heavily cushioned arm chair, which Harry had to agree did look more comfortable. “Only Grandmother and Grandfather sit on that sofa, really,” he added.

Harry took that as an excellent opportunity, and excuse, to change his seat.

“Did you get home safe on Saturday?” he asked.

Scorpius nodded. “It's easy to Floo. I don't even get soot on the carpet.”

“I bet your Father appreciates that,” said Harry. That seemed to have struck something with Scorpius, who laughed.

“He sometimes gets the floor sooty himself,” he confided in a sort of hushed voice. “But he just vanishes it and pretends it didn't happen.”

“What nonsense are you spouting?” came a gruff voice from the other side of the room. Malfoy joined them, a wrapped box in his hands. He held it out for Harry to take it, his face still as grumpy looking as before.

“Here. A small token of my gratitude from the other day.”

Feeling somewhat confused, Harry reached out and accepted the box. “I'm pretty sure I already accepted your apology about ten times, though,” he said carefully while unwrapping it.

“Yes, well, I like to do things properly,” said Malofy curtly.

Inside the box was an assortment of chocolates. Harry recognised them as coming from the chocolaterie they had visited after their shopping in Diagon Alley the other day. The thought that Malfoy had gone out of his way to buy these for him made him smile, and even feel a little giddy.

“Thanks,” Harry grinned. Then a thought struck him. “Why don't we eat them now? At home I'm all by myself, after all. I'd rather enjoy them with someone.”

Running both hands through his hair and heaving a heavy sigh, Malfoy seemed to deflate. He sat heavily down on the more comfortable looking sofa next to Scorpius.

“All right,” he said. With a flick of his wand three plates appeared on the table. Another flick, and a pot of tea and three cups appeared as well. “Always prepared for tea,” he smiled tiredly.

As they sat there drinking tea and eating chocolates, Malfoy's mood seemed to steadily grow better. He even laughed at a silly story Scorpius told from school, about a cat that got into the classroom and wreked havoc.

“I'm really glad you came over, Mr. Potter,” said Scorpius a while later, fingers sticky from chocolate. “Father has been really cross the last few days, but now he's in a much better mood!”

Harry couldn't help but laugh.

“All right, I think it's bedtime for little boys now.” Malfoy rose from his seat and clapped his hands. “Off you go, now. Remember to wash your hands and face, you little chocolate fiend!” A small smile stayed on his face, even after Scorpius stuck out his tongue at him while leaving the room.

Harry stayed at Malfoy's house the rest of the evening. With Scorpius tucked safely away in bed, Malfoy pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey and two fancy glasses.

“Sorry about my mood before,” he said. “I've just been in a bit of a rut with my work lately, and I guess it's gotten to me.”

“Don't worry about it,” said Harry reassuringly. “I've had a tough day at work as well, so I know well what you mean.”

Malfoy smiled again. “To being your own boss!” he said and raised his glass in a toast.

“I still do have a boss, though,” said Harry, but he raised his glass anyway.

This evening with Malfoy was probably the highlight of his week, Harry thought later when he was lying in his own bed. He'd treasure it for a long time.

*~*~*

The children were playing noisily in the sitting room. Scorpius had come over for a visit and Harry suspected they were playing some form of hide and seek mixed in with 'It', and possibly doing some accidental children's magic (although he suspected that James might be starting to have less accidental and more deliberate magic. He'd have to have a serious talk with him about that). It was all sorts of distracting.

The cold season was in full swing, and with it, coughs and runny noses. Molly had always been stocking them up with various potions, such as Pepper-up and burn-healing paste, but they were already running dangerously low on the Pepper-up for the season, and Harry felt a bit hesitant to ask her for a refill. It was the first cold season since his and Ginny's divorce, and even though everything was the same as always between him and the Weasleys – they had always been his family, after all – he felt a bit awkward about calling her up (though he knew Ginny would smack him over the head for thinking like that). He had made the decision, therefore, to make a batch of the potion himself. He was a wizard, after all. Besides, the Pepper-up potion was fourth year level. He should have no issues with it.

That being said, he couldn't for the life of him figure out why the smoke at this stage was yellow. He had followed all the instructions clearly, he was sure of that, yet instead of the light red swirl he was expecting, he had a dirty yellow. Scratching his head, he tried his best to block out the loud bang, followed by giggling laughter, coming from the sitting room.

Head resting heavily in one hand, the other tapping rhythmically on the table, Harry read through the instructions one more time. How many times had he stirred the potion clockwise after adding the Bicorn horn again? Now that he thought about it, that might have been when James had yelled “Timber!” He'd probably stirred it too many or too few times. Grumbling to himself, he was about to test that theory when he was interrupted yet again.

“Hello, Mr. Potter.” Scorpius came sauntering into the kitchen.

“Can I help you?” asked Harry while trying to locate the Mandrake Root.

“You may,” said Scorpius with a cheeky smile as he made his way over to the table. Harry huffed. That boy was clearly a Malfoy.

“I'm to ask if we may have some snacks,” continued Scorpius, though instead of addressing Harry, he seemed to be studying the bubbling cauldron.

“Careful,” warned Harry. “I don't want you to burn yourself. Your father would kill me.”

Scorpius placed his elbows on the table at a safe distance from the cauldron, and rested his chin in his hands. “Father makes a lot of potions,” he simply said.

Scratching his head again, Harry gave up and put his quill down. “What sort of snacks were you sent to get?” he asked with a small sigh. Without waiting for a reply, he headed for the cupboards and opened the one where he kept the biscuits. Then he stopped to think. At this time of day, it might be better with sandwiches, really. Too much sugar would make the children even more hyper than they already were. He shuddered at the thought.

“I'll make you some ham and cheese sandwiches, all right?” he called out to Scorpius as he started buttering bread.

A faint “mhm,” came from behind him as he continued to assemble the meal. He decided to stick in some sliced cucumber as an afterthought.

“All done,” he declared. As he put the plate of sandwiches on the table, Scorpius moved away from the cauldron, and the notes. Harry resumed his seat.

“Is that a difficult potion?” asked Scorpius a minute later.

“What? No, not really,” answered Harry distracted. “Yellow, yellow... why yellow?” he muttered pensively, tapping the quill against his chin.

“Oh!” Scorpius suddenly exclaimed. “I forgot I promised to help Father with something. I have to go! See you later.”

Without looking up from his notes, Harry absent-mindedly waved a hand to the sound of small feet tapping rapidly on the floor. As the sound retreated and he heard the opening and closing of a door, he glanced briefly down the table to see the plate of sandwiches still sitting there. He sighed, waved his wand and sent the plate flying into the sitting room. There were plenty of children there to eat them.

Draco

Draco was humming along to an old tune by the Weird Sisters on the wireless. It was one of the songs they had played at the Yule ball in his fourth year at Hogwarts, and he felt a bit nostalgic. He was in the middle of a lengthy letter to his editor about the research on his latest book when he heard the door open. Quill scratching away on the parchment, he didn't look up till Scorpius entered the room.

“I thought you were playing over at Potter's house?” asked Draco, quill still in hand.

With a small shrug, Scorpius strolled over to the table where Draco was sitting and picked an apple out of the fruit bowl. “I thought it was time to come home,” he said calmly before biting into the fruit.

Raising an eyebrow, Draco touched the quill back to his parchment. “All right,” he said.

Scorpius chewed on the apple for a moment before he spoke again. “Did you know Mr. Potter makes potions in the kitchen?”

Draco looked up again. “No, what of it?”

“I just thought he'd use a work room, like you do, in case the potion blows up.”

Draco put the quill carefully down on the table. “What makes you think his potion would blow up?” he asked, unsure whether he should be feeling concerned or not.

With another shrug, Scorpius swallowed another mouthful. “He just seemed to be struggling quite a bit with it. He grumbled a lot, and the smoke was awful! It wasn't at all what his notes described.” Taking the last few bites of the apple, the boy went to dispose of the core.

It didn't take Draco many seconds to make up his mind. The thought of Potter messing up a potion and potentially blowing up the house, especially with small children inside, made him take immediate action. He quickly folded his unfinished letter and put it away, then headed for the door.

With Scorpius in tow, Draco once again rang the door-bell to Harry Potter's house. An odd tingling sensation was running through his body. He sincerely hoped he wasn't too late to stop an impending disaster.

The door was flung open, not by Potter himself, but by the youngest boy, Albus. A confused sort of smile spread across his face.

“Hi, Scorpius. Didn't you just leave?”

Not waiting for his son to answer, Draco plunged on. “Hello, Albus. I wonder if I could have a word with your father?”

With a half shrug, Albus turned his back to them and walked further into the house while calling, “Dad! It's for you!” Then he came back. “Come in, then.”

Just as the door closed shut behind them, Potter emerged from the kitchen. Draco noted the furrow on his brow.

“Malfoy,” he said, surprised. “And Scorpius. Back again so soon?”

“Why don't you join the other children?” said Draco hurriedly to Scorpius, then ushered him away.

“Everything all right?” asked Potter concerned. Draco almost laughed to himself at the irony – he was the one who had run over, full of concern. Pushing some strands of hair out of his face, he smiled.

“Perfectly,” he said. “Although I got the impression you might need some help with a potion?”

“What?” The look on Potter's face was utter bewilderment. Draco felt a little sheepish. What on earth had made him run over like there were lives at stake?

When Draco didn't answer right away, Potter threw a glance over his shoulder. “Ah, well, now that you mention it, my potion does have an odd-coloured smoke.” He paused. “Would you mind having a look, since you're here?”

Draco noticed that Potter's ears were a little red. He wondered if it was the heat, or embarrassment from asking Draco for help with a potion. It didn't look half bad on him, though, all things considered.

As he followed Potter into the kitchen, he mentally berated himself. That was no way to think of his neighbour, father of his son's friends, bloody Harry Potter! He must be losing it.

The kitchen smelled a lot like Draco's work room. A large cauldron was bubbling away on the kitchen table, with waves of billowing, acrid smoke emerging from the depth. Wrinkling his nose, Draco walked over and peered inside. The potion had a reddish-brown colour and the acrid smoke was yellowish.

“I'm making a Pepperup Potion,” said Potter helpfully before Draco could ask. “Only, something's not quite right.” He sighed heavily and Draco got the impression his companion was about to give up.

“Why don't you walk me through your steps?” he asked. “And I'll see if anything tickles my mind.”

Potter smiled. “Thank you,” he said gratefully. “I wouldn't normally ask about something as trivial as this, but since you're here anyway...”

“Of course,” said Draco with a small wave of his hand. “It's what I do for a living, after all.”

Potter started talking him through the steps he'd taken. His notes were quite clear, Draco noticed, and it struck him that they might not have been made by Potter. He decided not to comment on that, however.

“I can only imagine that I've stirred it too many times, or in the wrong direction,” concluded Potter a while later. “I mean, the colour's not too far off, so it shouldn't be that hard to fix. I just can't concentrate with all that noise.” As if to demonstrate, someone chose that precise moment to make a loud bang followed by hysterical laughter. Potter closed his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” said Draco sympathetically. Then he gave the other man a light pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” said Potter with a half smile. “It's not like I can block out the sounds with a spell either. I need to know if they do something stupid.”

Draco nodded understandingly. This was why he did most of his potions work when Scorpius was not at home, but he suspected Potter didn't have that luxury, seeing as he worked at the Ministry during the day. It seemed, however, that Scorpius had been exaggerating his concern for Potter's potion. They were in no immediate danger of being blown up, as far as he could tell. A few simple steps would set it right.

“Did you get any further with the Re'em blood?” asked Potter conversationally.

“Not really,” sighed Draco. “I've been racking my brain all week, but I just can't seem to get any closer. Maybe I need a completely different source.” He stirred the potion a few times.

“You have contacts at the Ministry, don't you?” asked Potter.

Draco nodded. “Yes, as I do the occasional potions commission.”

“McTavish mentioned you made some complicated potion or other for him some time back, I think,” said Potter.

Draco laughed a little. “He did, did he? Yes, it was quite complicated.” He smirked, but said no more. In truth, it had only been a Hiccoughing Solution, but he felt some client confidentiality might be advised. Who knew for whom McTavish had intended that potion?

Potter looked curious, and a few seconds later he said casually, “I hope none of my employees are giving you unnecessary work. I'd hate to have to reprimand them.”

Waving his arm disarmingly, Draco gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don't worry about that. I take all sorts of commissions, as long as they're not unethical. Both privately and from the Ministry. Or shops, for that matter,” he added. “It keeps me on my toes.”

“Fair enough.”

They watched the potion in silence for a few moments, observing the twirl of smoke slowly changing colour. It still wasn't quite on track, but it was getting there, Draco noted happily.

“Anyway, I got off track,” said Harry a moment later. “There's this wizard down in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. I overheard him mentioning Re'em blood the other day – maybe you could have a word with him?”

Frowning slightly, Draco turned his head towards Potter. “Who's this wizard?”

Potter seemed to think for a moment. “What's his name again?” he wondered out loud. “Tall guy with thick, grey hair. Hmm.” He scrunched up his nose and scratched at the stubble on his chin. “I think I'll need to check on Monday, but I'll give you the name once I know. Could be nothing, could be something. Re'em blood is pretty rare, after all, right?”

“Sure, thanks.” Draco brushed the hair out of his face. “Do you remember what he said about it?”

“Sorry,” said Potter apologetically. “I only remembered that phrase since you've mentioned it a few times.”

It was awfully nice, really, sitting here with Potter and working on a potion. It was almost like they were working together in Potions class at Hogwarts, but getting along. Never, in his 34 years of life, had he considered this a reality. The thought made him smile.

“All right, now we have to wait exactly twenty-two minutes,” Draco said and used his wand to lower the flame under the cauldron so the potion could simmer.

“Great!” exclaimed Potter. “Ah, I'm so ready for a drink. You want one?” Potter looked at Draco expectantly, and before he knew it he heard himself utter the single word “Please.” A broad, though tired, smile spread across Potter's face before he turned around and raised his wand. The shift of his body caused his shoulder to brush against Draco's. His heart did a small jump; he hadn't realised they were sitting so close together. He felt the warmth of Potter's body through his robes and noticed a blush creep across his cheeks. Hurriedly, so Potter wouldn't notice, he turned his head away, pretending to fiddle with the hem of his sleeve.

Honestly, what was wrong with him? He was a grown man, for Merlin's sake! Blushing just because another man was brushing up against him was absurd. He felt utterly embarrassed. Willing the blush to recede, he shifted in his seat and found himself once again face to face with Potter, who had summoned a bottle of some amber liquid and two glasses.

“Let me pour,” said Draco hastily in an attempt to distract himself. He couldn't help notice that Potter's green eyes seemed to be sparkling and he wanted to kick himself.

Pouring a generous amount for each of them, he handed one of the glasses to his bespectacled companion.

“Thanks,” smiled Potter as he accepted the glass, his fingers just shy of brushing against Draco's. He felt stupid for noticing.

“To potions brewing!” said Draco and raised his glass.

“To potions brewing,” Potter chimed in and clinked their glasses together.

The liquid burned nice and warm down Draco's throat and he felt instantly more relaxed. Taking a good look at the glass in his hand, he swirled the liquid around a few times before looking back up.

“This is really good,” he said honestly. “Where did you get it?”

Potter gave him a mysterious smile and said, “I have a secret supplier.” Then he winked and took a swallow. The whole thing, wink and all, was so absurd that Draco couldn't help but laugh out loud. Feeling the tension leave his body he took another sip.

“What, are you trying to persuade me that someone made this in their garden shed?” he asked, still chuckling. The bottle did have a label, of course, but it wasn't something he could remember having seen.

“I'm just pulling your leg,” grinned Potter while swatting at Draco playfully. “It was actually given to me by a foreign minister at some function a while ago. I hope he'll bring some more the next time he's visiting,” he added as he picked up the bottle and studied the label. Draco silently agreed.

“I don't normally drink in the afternoon,” offered Potter a moment later. “But this damn potion's just drained me, you know?”

Draco nodded understandingly. “It happens,” he said reassuringly. “I should know!”

“I don't normally make this potion, either,” said Potter in a confiding tone. “Molly usually comes over with a batch now and again throughout the cold season. But we ran out a bit early.” He stared pensively down into his glass.

“How come you didn't ask her for the new batch a little earlier, then?” asked Draco curiously. “Why suddenly brew it yourself? She'll bring one soon anyway, won't she?”

Potter seemed to hesitate before answering, fiddling with his glasses, ruffling his hair. “It might seem silly,” he started, “but ever since the divorce, it's felt a bit, how should I say, awkward to ask the Weasleys for favours. Even though they're the children's grandparents, I'm no longer their son in law, you know? Things aren't like they used to be.” He stole a glance at Draco before taking another sip of his drink.

“Are they angry with you?” asked Draco, confused. “They don't really seem like the people who'd hold a grudge, though.”

“Oh, no, everything's fine like that,” said Potter hurriedly. “Everyone saw it coming, and it's almost been a year now anyway. I've just always had these... issues depending on other people, I guess you could say. And now that we're not technically family anymore, I don't like to impose. I don't know if that makes sense.” He put his glass down and rubbed his face with both hands. Draco couldn't help but feel sympathetic towards him.

“I think I understand,” he said, giving Potter an awkward pat on the back. “It's not easy, breaking up one's family.” He hesitated a moment, then he plunged on. If Potter was going to confide in him, he might as well return the favour, he decided. In for a knut and all that.

“Astoria and I got divorced during the summer,” he began. “It was more a marriage of convenience than love, and since we're such different people it was difficult to keep it going. She's a rather free spirit, I should say, and being confined to the Manor wasn't really good for her. It was like she was wilting away. It was a sad thing to watch, and Scorpius saw it too.” Draco's voice faltered and he cleared his throat. He hadn't talked about this with anyone yet and he felt oddly vulnerable. The thought of seeing his son watch his own mother drift away the way he had was heartbreaking. He raised the glass to his mouth again for some liquid courage.

“Anyway, I encourage her to be more out and about, travel, experiencing new things. It did her a world of good, but it also made it clear to us that our marriage didn't really work. There was no romantic love, even though we cared for each other, and she was more often away than at home. So, we decided to divorce. Both an easy and a difficult decision all at once, really.”

Draco took a shaking breath. He felt a small surge of relief wash through him, as though a rock was lifted off his chest. Perhaps talking about it had been good, after all.

“That it is,” nodded Potter in agreement. “When you've built a life together with someone, it's hard to break it up, even if you know it's for the best, for everyone. The children have two homes now, moving back and forth. I sometimes wonder if they're all right.” He leant backwards in his chair and glanced over at Draco, who recognised the look in his eyes. It spelled out exactly how he himself felt.

“You may have noticed that Scorpius lives with me full time,” he said hesitantly.

“Can't pretend I didn't,” agreed Potter.

“It seemed like the best solution. Since she needs to be free to move around. We decided staying in one familiar place would give him a more stable upbringing.” Another small pause where he rubbed at the side of the glass, pretending to remove an invisible smudge. “Astoria will be visiting from time to time, of course. And come for birthdays and Christmas.”

They sat in silence again for a few moments.

“Scorpius seems very happy, though,” said Harry in a comforting tone. It made Draco feel a little warmer.

“Yes, he is. A lot more so than when we were living at the Manor, all of us. It was hard for him, seeing his mother so sad, but her improved disposition and the move here has really been good for him.”

And for me, he thought secretly. The thought stirred something in him, like a memory of something someone had said, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He pushed the thought away for another time.

An alarm went off and they turned their attention back to the potion. Three clockwise turns with the ladle and a dramatic twirl of his wand later, and he declared the potion a success. The potion and the smoke were both the correct shades of red, and the acrid smell that had been filling the kitchen when they arrived had vanished.

Potter looked immensely relieved.

“I can't thank you enough!” he gushed. “I have no idea how I would have fixed it on my own.”

“Oh please.” Dracogrinned. “Potion's what I do, after all. It's my duty to help those who are less adept.”

Potter threw him a glare. “I'll let that slide, since it's true. Want to stay for tea?”

Having no objections, Draco agreed for both himself and Scorpius. At Potter's insistence he headed for the sitting room to join the children while the man of the house prepared the refreshments. “It's the least I can do. And you're a guest!” Potter had thus ushered him out of the kitchen.

Staying for tea felt incredibly nice, Draco conceded to himself. Even though the children couldn't sit still for ten minutes, he felt relaxed and content. He kept chitchatting with Potter about meaningless things, such as the neighbourhood or news about old acquaintances. With the heavy subject out in the open, he felt so much lighter than he had felt in a long time. It was freeing. There was only one thing he had left out of his tale, but it wasn't something Potter needed to know. No one needed to know. He was quite happy as things were right at this moment, and he couldn't wish for anything more.

*~*~*

Draco was wrong. There was indeed something more he could wish for – for his ex-wife to keep her word. They had already been living here two whole months, yet she had not shown herself even once. They had made a specific agreement that she would visit them at the start of November at the latest, but did she show up? Draco examined the latest note he had received from her again and huffed in frustration. According to what she'd written, she would not be visiting them any time soon. She was stuck in Morocco for one reason or another that he didn't really care to know about. The only thing he could think about was that she was neglecting the promise she had made to him, and to her son.

He was still grumbling about it while burning the food in the kitchen when Scorpius came down to dinner.

“This smells … different,” said Scorpius carefully as he sat down on a chair. Draco made a non-committal sound in response.

“What are we eating?” the boy tried again.

“Fish,” grunted Draco.

The ticking of the clock sounded louder than normal. It seemed to fill the whole space in the kitchen. With another frustrated sigh, Draco vanished the burnt contents of a pot. He didn't like Brussels sprouts anyway.

With a few flicks of his wand he summoned plates and cutlery to the table. They landed with loud clanking and bangs, making him wince.

Scorpius jumped up from his seat. “I'll help!” he declared and marched over to the stove. Thankful for the assistance, Draco put his wand away and started to arrange the plates on the table before sitting down. Scorpius put the different pots and pans carefully down and seated himself opposite his father. He didn't comment on the lack of vegetables.

They ate in silence for a while. Draco couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make him sound angry, which he was anyway. He tried to focus on his fish, but the taste didn't exactly improve his mood. He wasn't a particularly good cook – he'd never cooked in his life before they moved here, after all, but this meal was a definite new low. He wrinkled his nose in distaste at a particularly burnt mouthful.

It was Scorpius who finally broke the silence. “I read something funny in the Daily Prophet today,” he said.

“Since when do you read the Prophet?” grumbled Draco into his over-cooked potatoes.

“When did I not read it?” Scorpius quipped back. Then he hurriedly continued. “Mr. Potter lost a bet at the Ministry, and now he has to sing at their Christmas party. Someone commented in the article that he's not very good at singing.”

Draco snorted. “Who'd make an article about that?”

“Gavin McGardle,” said Scorpius.

The name didn't ring any bells with Draco, but he couldn't help being a bit curious. “So what's this bet he lost?” he asked.

Scorpius gave him a sly smile. “He bet the Chudley Cannons would finish amongst the top three for the League Cup this year.”

“What!?” exclaimed Draco, almost forgetting the fork that was halfway to his mouth. “That can't be right. Even Potter's not that delusional. Everyone knows they haven't even been close for at least a hundred years.”

“But they used to win the League a lot,” Scorpius pointed out seriously.

Draco nodded. “Yes, they did. The last time was as late as the 1800s. I think they've changed their players,” added Draco dryly.

Scorpius's serious façade broke and he burst into giggles. “What if they didn't! The long, grey beards would fly right into their eyes!”

“I'd be surprised if they even managed to hover above the ground,” said Draco, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “But I suppose they could just ask Potter to play seeker for them, and they'd be right as rain.”

Scorpius grinned. “With Mr. Potter on the team, they would really have a chance to be high up in the League!”

With a snort, Draco refilled their glasses. “I doubt they'd be very high up, even with him as their seeker. Sure, he can fly, but catching the snitch isn't everything. It won't make up for how useless the rest of the team is.”

Scorpius seemed to consider this. “James said his father was quidditch captain at Hogwarts. Maybe he could tell the team how to play?”

“Hah! Nonsense! Potter was captain for a very short while when he was 16. I'd like to see him try that now,” said Draco with a shake of his head. The thought was amusing, though. An adult Potter trying to get his useless players in line. Explaining to the keeper that he should block the quaffle, not let it in; telling his beaters to aim the bludger at the opposite team, not their own. The idea made him chuckle.

“Isn't he sort of a captain now, though? Doesn't he tell people what to do at the Ministry?” asked Scorpius. “So he must know how to do that.”

“Weeell,” considered Draco. “Being a boss isn't quite the same as being captain of a sports team. But maybe that is what he had in mind when he made that bet? I really can't think what else made him bet something so ridiculous.”

“I think the article said he was drunk,” deadpanned Scorpius before stuffing his mouth.

A gobsmacked Draco took a long drink from his glass. Then he said slowly, “I'd like to read that article, Scorpius.”

Despite his frustration with Astoria's broken promise and the horrible dinner he'd just prepared for himself and his son, Draco felt in high spirits. He wondered when talking to or about Potter had started making him so happy. The fact of the matter was, whenever Potter was on his mind lately, he couldn't help but smile.

Harry

It was an evening in late November and Harry was enjoying some peace and quiet after an equally dull and quiet day at the Ministry. With a lazy flick of his wand he added another log to the fire and watched as the flames danced merrily, gobbling up the new, dry wood. The crackling sound of the fire was comforting, and Harry sank further into his seat of his favourite chair.

Today had been one of those days filled with endless stacks of paperwork. The most exciting thing to have happened all day, really, was a visit from Hermione, who had come to have a chat. He had really appreciated it too, because he knew how busy she was. Although that might have been the very reason she needed a breather, come to think of it. As the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she had to deal with a lot of headaches, something Harry did not envy her for. It was, however, exactly her thing, and he was pretty sure she'd push for the role of Minister for Magic some day soon.

After chatting about this and that – work, the children, Harry's upcoming Christmas performance (honestly, would they never tire of talking about that?) – the subject had turned to Malfoy (or Draco, as Harry had recently started to think of him as).

“So how is your favourite Slytherin doing?” Hermione had asked with a kind, yet teasing smile. Harry had smiled back.

“He seems to be doing fine. He was stuck on his research for a while, but he worked his way out of it.”

“You know, Malfoy has grown into quite the Ravenclaw,” Hermione had said pensively. “At least from the way you keep talking about him.”

A slight blush had heated Harry's cheeks and he'd tried to hide his embarrassment in his coffee mug. “I don't talk about him that much,” he had tried to argue, but Hermione had merely snickered.

“You talk about him a fair bit, actually,” she had teased. “You seem more struck with him than you were with Ginny.”

Harry had had to clear his throat a few times before answering that. “We have a lot in common now. And our kids play together every day. It would be hard not to talk about him.”

Hermione had given him a knowing look. “It's OK to admit you like him, Harry. It's pretty obvious, actually.”

With a sigh Harry had given in. “Fine. I like him as more than just a friend. But that doesn't mean he sees me like that. And he probably doesn't even swing that way.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Hermione had said as she perched on the edge of Harry's desk. “I've seen him around the Ministry now and again. I'm pretty sure I saw him looking at you quite longingly when he was here the other day, as a matter of fact. I'm surprised you didn't feel the heat of his stare.” Harry hadn't been able to answer that immediately, as his mouth had gone dry.

“Oh well, introduce me properly to him soon, will you?” Then she'd pushed off his desk, given him a wink, and left with the excuse of her own mountain of paperwork.

This conversation had given Harry some food for thought. He was in the middle of mulling it over when the doorbell rang. Reluctantly, Harry left the comfiness of his chair to see who it could be.

“Scorpius!” he said, surprised. “What are you doing here at this hour? You know the boys are with their mother, right?”

The boy looked all flustered, like he had run all the way there, and Harry suddenly felt a little worried. He hoped Draco hadn't had a potions accident.

Nodding fiercely while catching his breath, Scorpius forced out a “Yes,” before managing to regain his composure. Harry frowned and tightened his grip on the door.

“Yes, I know,” repeated Scorpius hurriedly. “That's not why I'm here. It's Father. He's ill and can't get out of bed. I tried to make some soup for him, but it tasted all burnt.” The poor boy looked both sad and anxious all at once, looking down at his feet. Harry's frown deepened.

“Would you like some help cooking for him? I'm not a very good cook, but I can make soup.” Harry tried his best to keep his voice free of concern so as not to put any more strain on Scorpius, although the thought of a bedridden Draco was quite worrying. Especially if he was unable to take care of his 8-year-old boy.

Scorpius suddenly lit up. “Will you?” he asked with shining eyes as his head snapped up to look at Harry. “That would be great! I was really worried and didn't know what to do.”

“Of course,” said Harry with a smile. “Let me just sort out a couple of things.”

As they walked over to the Malfoy residence, Scorpius was busy listing all of his father's symptoms; fever, cough, runny nose etc. By the time they reached the house Harry was given the impression that Draco was practically dying, and he couldn't help but wonder why the man hadn't asked someone for help himself – seeing as he had a child and all.

When he entered the kitchen, Harry was surprised to note that it looked less messy than he had expected it to. He had imagined the sink filled with dirty pots and pans, every free space filled with dirty dishes. As it were, his imagination was put to shame; a pot on the stove, two plates and cutlery in the sink. Harry felt slightly ridiculous.

“You go on,” Harry told Scorpius, who looked relieved. “I'll be fine here.” Then the quest for ingredients and cooking equipment began. Harry had never really gotten the hang of any of the cooking spells Mrs. Weasley used, so he did most of his cooking the non-magical way. He had, however, mastered the technique of making the knife chop on its own, at least as long as it was more or less supervised. While the knife was set to work on the vegetables (he had to lay the vegetable properly on the chopping board before he charmed the knife, and charm it again before starting on a different vegetable, but at least it was something), Harry put water boiling in a pot. Then he started preparing chicken by hand – two charmed knives at the same time were too much for him to handle, as memory served. Ginny still liked to tease him about that cooking disaster.

A heavenly aroma spread about the kitchen and Harry hummed away. Despite not being very good at cooking, he did like it. If he had enough time on his hands, and no stressing elements, it could be quite soothing. He dipped a spoon in the pot for a taste test and sighed happily. The flavour was just right. He really hoped Draco would like it.

Ladling the soup into a deep bowl, Harry made his way upstairs. The fact that he even knew where Draco's room was, and making his way there on his own, was almost too good to be true. The fact of the matter was, however, that they had seen each other every other day the last few weeks, since their heart-to-heart over potions brewing. They had grown pretty close, and Harry had had a full tour of Draco and Scorpius's home. Draco had taken extra time when showing Harry around his work room, the pride he took in his work evident in the way he talked about his ingredients and equipment. Harry had even been invited into the secret, little room in Scorpius's bedroom, something he got the impression was a great honour.

The door to Draco's room was closed. Harry felt a little nervous all of a sudden, standing there as he did with a floating bowl of soup and a glass of water. It was ridiculous, really – he was a grown man, handing food to an ill person. A person whom he also had a lot of feelings for, and this was his bedroom. Swallowing the thickness in his throat and squaring his shoulders, Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Come in,” Draco's voice rang out, and Harry felt his toes curl with warmth. He eased the door open and stuck his head through the crack.

“Hi,” he said as cheerfully as he could manage. “I heard you were ill and thought I'd see how you were. Mind if I come in?”

Draco looked as though someone had snubbed him of his Christmas pudding. He didn't look particularly ill at all, Harry noted. Rather, the blonde was sitting up in his four-poster bed reading a book. Perhaps his nose was a little red, Harry considered. Right on cue, three consecutive sneezes erupted from said nose, and without waiting for an answer, Harry made his way over to the bed. He placed the hot bowl and the glass of water carefully on the nightstand before conjuring up a chair to sit in.

“Want me to summon some tissues?” he asked conversationally.

Draco let out a small snort. “Thanks, but I've got it covered,” he said, holding up a full pack of tissues. Then he eyed the bowl on his night stand. “Did Scorpius put you up to this?” he asked, almost sighing.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “He seemed worried, so I offered to help.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco reached out for the bowl. “Honestly, I don't know what that boy is thinking some times,” he said with a hint of annoyance. “As you can see – and he knows – I'm perfectly fine.”

Harry thought back to the kitchen where it did seem like some meal had been had. Then his thoughts turned to Scorpius. The boy had clearly been exaggerating the situation – but why? He wasn't even here, with the father he had been so concerned about. He had run straight to his own room, leaving the two of them alone. Harry felt a nagging suspicion at the back of his neck, but before he could examine it closer, Draco interrupted him.

“This is really good,” he said as he tucked another spoonful into his mouth. “Did you really make it?”

“Don't sound so surprised,” said Harry in mock offence. “What did you think I fed my children?”

“I don't know, leftovers from the Weasley's?” Draco gave him a quick grin, then hid behind the spoon as though it would shield him from whatever Harry might throw at him.

“Watch it,” Harry warned, “or you might end up with more than just a cold.”

Laughing, Draco dropped the spoon back into the bowl and reached for his water. “What on earth are you gonna do to me, Mr. Head Auror? Charge me for bad jokes?” He took a gulp of water, then coughed. “Sorry if my wit's a bit lacking. I blame my very severe cold.”

As he continued eating, Draco's cheeks gained some colour. They looked practically edible, Harry thought. The sight was so endearing Harry couldn't help but smile. What wouldn't he give to be allowed to stroke his hand across those cheeks, feel the soft skin against his palm.

“You okay?” asked Draco, and Harry shook himself out of his thoughts. “You looked a little lost, there, Potter.”

“Yea, sorry, just lost in thought,” mumbled Harry. Desperately reaching for something to say to rid himself of those forbidden thoughts, Harry indicated the now empty bowl. “Want me to take that to the kitchen for you?”

Shaking his head, Draco reached for the wand on his night stand. “No thanks, I'll just banish it there.” With a swish of his wand Draco muttered “Depulso,” sending the dirty dishes off. He sighed contentedly and leaned back against the pillows.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I needed that.”

Harry regarded Draco for a moment. The man did look tired. Well, that was hardly surprising, seeing as he was in bed with a cold. His blonde hair was ruffled and unkempt, his cheeks were flushed, his nose red. He was also wearing a pair of dark green pyjamas, Harry noted. They looked quite expensive, complete with a monogrammed DM on the breast pocket. Harry wanted to tease him about it, but perhaps now was not the right time. He would have to remember it for later.

Sitting back up, Draco reached for a tissue and blew his nose. “Ugh,” he said as he crumpled it up and threw it in the waste-basket. “I hate being ill.” His nose sounded blocked and Harry wrinkled his brow in sympathy.

“Do you have a fever?” he asked. Before giving Draco a chance to answer, he reached out his hand and touched it to Draco's forehead. It felt quite warm against Harry's skin, although his hand might have been cold to begin with. He quickly retracted it when Draco cleared his throat.

“My temperature is elevated, but I don't think I have a fever,” he said pointedly. Harry couldn't help notice that his cheeks looked a little redder than before. His ears too. Could Draco be embarrassed by the skin-to-skin contact? It wasn't like they hadn't brushed against each other before, and wasn't it natural to check if the person who was ill had a fever?

“Well, that's good.” Harry smiled, trying his best to stay unaffected by what just happened, and by Draco's reaction. “Let's make sure it stays that way.” He then proceeded to produce a small bottle he had brought with him. Draco eyed it sceptically.

“Don't worry, I'm not gonna poison you,” Harry assured him before measuring a decent amount of the red potion into a small cup he had just conjured.

Draco huffed, folded his arms across his chest and turned his head away. “I don't like Pepperup potion,” he said irritably, reminding Harry of a petulant child.

“It's going to make you feel a lot better,” insisted Harry as he nudged Draco with the cup. The other man didn't budge, however. Sighing, Harry lowered his arm a little, so it hovered just above the bed.

“Why don't you like it?” he asked calmly. He figured he might as well take the same approach he did with his children, seeing as Draco was acting like one. A few seconds passed in which Draco scratched his head, ruffling his already messy hair, then pulling at his ear, still not looking at Harry. Finally he said, “I don't like the way the steam comes out of my ears. It …. tickles.”

“Oh, come on, are you a child?” Harry chuckled. He had to steady his hand so the potion wouldn't spill. He imagined immaculate Draco would not like potion stains on his silky bed sheets.

Draco finally turned his head, only to glare daggers at Harry. “I like to let nature take its course, thank you very much.” It was clear it was meant to sound harsh and final, but with his nose blocked it merely made Harry laugh harder. With a final chuckle under Draco's deadly stare (his messy hair only made him look that much more adorable in his weakened state), Harry wiped away a tear.

“You know, this is the potion you helped me brew,” he said as a sudden idea struck him. “Are you scared to drink your own potion?”

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. “Don't think for a second that's gonna work on me. I don't like the potion regardless of who brewed it. And besides, I only helped save it at the end.” The last part was said with a sort of aloof air which reminded Harry of the Malfoy from Hogwarts. He supposed the spoiled child came out when he was ill.

“Well, regardless, you're not well and this will help. So take it,” urged Harry again. He tried his best not to sound impatient as he nudged the cup towards Draco again.

“I said –” started Draco, but Harry cut him off.

“For me?” he asked with the most angelic and persuasive expression he could muster. He didn't expect it to work, really, but to his surprise Draco hesitated only a moment before giving a small sigh of defeat.

“Fine,” he grumbled as he reached for the cup, his fingers brushing against Harry's as he took it. He drained it in one go, screwing up his face at the taste. “Ugh.”

“Good,” smiled Harry as he vanished the cup. They sat in silence for a while as the steam started to emit from Draco's ears – Draco pouting and Harry trying to keep his face straight at the sight before him. After a while he decided to change the subject in the hopes of distracting Draco and improving his dwindling mood.

“Why don't you lie back down and I'll read you something?” he suggested.

“Hmm,” considered Draco. “I guess I could have you read me that article in the Prophet. It was pretty amusing.”

Harry leant forward and swatted at his arm. “When are you going to let that go?” he complained.

“Such a gem? Never!” Draco grinned. Ever since the Prophet had published the article about Harry's poorly-thought-through bet, Draco had been teasing him incessantly about it. He had even declared that he would attend the Ministry Christmas party just so he could be part of Harry's humiliation. Those may not have been his exact words, but they were clearly the sentiment.

“Pick something else,” huffed Harry.

“But I'm ill,” persisted Draco. “You really ought to let me have my way. Isn't that what you do for ill people?”

“You're not that ill,” Harry shot back, but Draco was giving him such a pleading look, almost fluttering his eye-lashes, and when he said, “Please?” Harry gave in. He wondered what he was in for if he was going to be that easily persuaded by the man.

With yet a happy grin, Draco summoned the copy of the Prophet. Harry was a little surprised by how easily accessible it was – Draco probably knew the article by heart by now, considering how many times he had been badgering Harry about it lately. Why he still needed a copy in his bedroom was beyond Harry.

With Draco resting comfortably against the pillows, the duvet tucked safely under his arms and his hands folded neatly on top of it, Harry began to read the embarrassing article. He cringed and blushed, took breaks and hid his face behind the newspaper at turns. Draco seemed to enjoy his reactions just as much as the article itself. When he was done reading, Harry hurriedly folded the paper and put it away before running his hands through his hair.

“I still can't believe he talked to the Prophet.” Harry shook his head. They had been drunk when they made the bet, sure, but the article had been written after the Canons had lost.

“So tell me more about this bet,” said Draco curiously, sitting up again. “I still don't understand why you'd bet on something you'd so obviously lose.”

Harry chewed on his lip while he considered. Then he decided he might as well put all his cards on the table – he and Draco had become close enough now that something like this shouldn't be weird to share. It might come out at some point anyway, and he'd like for Draco to hear it from him.

Taking a deep breath, Harry said, “The guy I made the bet with and I were out drinking. We got a bit sloshed, I guess, and it turns out he somehow knew I'm, er, into guys as well. So he asked me out.” Harry could feel the heat of his blush spread across his cheeks, but a quick glance at Draco reassured him that it was safe to continue.

“I wasn't interested though, but he wouldn't take no for an answer, so I said I'd only do it if the Canons won the League cup. He agreed to that, Merlin knows why, seeing as they'll never win. But in exchange, if they lost, I would have to sing at the Ministry Christmas Party. I must have been beyond drunk to agree to those terms, I think, seeing as that was bound to happen.” He shook his head at his own stupidity.

A small smile pulled at the corner of Draco's lips. “I agree, that wasn't very clever. I somehow think you wanted to sing,” he teased. Harry merely rolled his eyes. Draco was not the first person to suggest that.

The fire in Draco's fireplace made happy crackling noises, making Harry feel comfortable and content. Talking about his stupid mistake wasn't so bad after all, when it was with Draco.

“Why weren't you interested, though?” asked Draco, suddenly serious.

“Because there's someone I like,” answered Harry with a simple shrug. As he said it, Harry thought he saw something in Draco's eyes – a sort of sparkle he couldn't quite interpret. He thought back to what Hermione had said in his office earlier that day – how Draco had been 'looking at him longingly, his stare heated'. Could it be that Draco might feel the same way as him? Was he allowed to have some small hope? Considering hard another few moments, Harry decided to take a leap of faith and took several deep breaths to steady his nerves.

“Actually, the one I like is you,” he said carefully. He looked down at his hands as he said it, too flustered to look Draco in the eyes, too worried about the reaction he'd see there. His heart was pounding in his chest and he tried to discreetly wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans. He hadn't felt like this since… had he even felt like this the first time he'd kissed Ginny? He wasn't sure, but he suspected the answer was no. Not only was he facing rejection now, but if he was wrong about his gamble, he might even make Draco distance himself. That thought made Harry feel nauseous.

When he finally found the courage to look up, he was met by the sight of deeply scarlet cheeks and big, round eyes. Draco's mouth opened and closed a few times before he averted his eyes, blushing even harder, if that was physically possible. He fiddled nervously with his duvet before looking back up.

“Are you serious?” he asked in a low tone. There was no disgust or anger there as far as Harry could tell, which reassured him a little.

“Yes,” answered Harry firmly. He was determined not to have Draco misunderstand him now, when he had come this far. He was more sure than ever that Draco had feelings for him too, after seeing that deep blush of his. Harry had interrogated enough people as an Auror to read facial cues.

“And I don't think I'm wrong to guess that you have feelings for me too,” he added, sounding more confident than he was feeling, what with his heart still in his mouth and all.

Draco stayed silent, examining his fingernails and chewing on his lip. His breathing became heavier and faster, clear signs of nervousness. Feeling emboldened by this knowledge, Harry slowly rose from his seat and sat down on the edge of the bed, close enough to imagine he heard the hammering of Draco's heartbeat (or perhaps it was just his own?). The dip in the bed as Harry sat down seemed to pull Draco out of wherever his thoughts had been, and he cleared his throat.

“Am I right?” asked Harry gently. He ached to reach out and touch the pale hand, though that seemed too forward. Restraining himself, he clenched his hand into a fist instead.

With a deep sigh, like the air going out of a balloon, Draco briefly closed his eyes before looking in Harry's direction, although not quite meeting his eyes. “Yes, I suppose you are,” he said weakly. “Although it's been coming on so gradually I'm not sure I fully realised it. Or when it even started.” He let out a shaky laugh. “I guess you swing both ways, then? Since you said you like guys too?”

A small weight seemed to lift off Harry's chest at Draco's words, and he let out a relieved laugh. “Yeah. I noticed some years ago. Never acted on it, though, as I was with Ginny. But I guess it affected us without me realising it.” He hesitated a second before he reached out and touched Draco's hand. It was warm.

“I've never been attracted to women,” Draco confessed. “That's the main reason it didn't work out with Astoria and me. Even a marriage of convenience usually develops into something over the years, but we were only intimate to conceive Scorpius. I know it was hard on her not being desired by her husband.” Draco paused for a moment to take a shaky breath before adding, “She's the only one I've ever told about this before. I never intended to tell anyone else to shield her from embarrassment.”

Draco's face suddenly turned determined as he gently pulled his hand away from Harry's. “Scorpius is the most important to me in the world,” he said firmly, finally looking Harry straight in the eye. “My sole focus should be on him and giving him what he needs. I can't afford to chase some frivolous desires of my own just because I'm single; I can't be that selfish.” His gaze softened, and he looked almost sad.

“I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't act on these feelings.”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. This was surreal. He wasn't sure if he was hearing correctly – Draco had admitted to having feelings for him, yet rejected him a moment later. Harry had barely had time to feel elated before it had all been snatched away. In the midst of his confusion he felt a tightening of his chest, and he closed his eyes. He barely noticed that this was the first time Draco had called him 'Harry'.

Of course he understood that Draco wanted to put his son first – any parent would. However, to completely cut off any happiness of his own seemed foolish. Or did Harry think that way just because it was affecting Harry himself? He had sometimes fantasised about the moment he would tell Draco his feelings, but this rejection had never been a part of it. In Harry's mind, Draco would smile, maybe give a cheeky half-grin, or one of his trademark smirks, and then they'd ride off into the sunset, so to speak.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry swallowed. Then he looked at the other man pleadingly. “Draco...” he started to say, but trailed off as Draco shook his head.

“I really want to stay friends with you, Harry. You have come to mean so much to me. I just can't be anything more. I really am sorry.” The look of sadness in Draco's eyes coupled with the finality of his words stung in Harry's chest. The idea of staying just friends after they had both revealed these feelings felt strange and wrong, but what choice did he have? Casting his eyes down and clenching his fists, Harry took a deep breath. “All right. If that's what you want,” he said and rose from where he was sitting on the edge of Draco's bed. “I'll see myself out.”

“You don't have to –” began Draco, but Harry cut him off. “I need some time to myself.” He forced a pathetic half-smile and left the room without looking back. He hadn't walked many steps, however, before he ran into a flustered looking Scorpius.

“Are you really leaving?” he asked. His voice sounded as disheartened as Harry felt.

“Yeah. Your dad seems all better now, though. Thanks for letting me know.”

Harry hurried down the hall and out of the house as quickly as he could. He was in no mood for one of Scorpius's insightful comments. Things like “Father's in a much better mood now that you've come 'round” and “Father had so much fun doing this and that with you, Mr. Potter” only served to give Harry hope, hope which had just been unceremoniously crushed. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that Scorpius were saying these things on purpose, instigating little moments for them to spend time together. Like when he convinced his father to go shopping in Diagon Alley just as Harry was going. Or how he suddenly showed up at Harry's door with a dishevelled looking Draco in tow, claiming he had forgotten something and the adults ended up sharing a cup of tea (Harry greatly suspected Scorpius hadn't forgotten anything at all).

Harry could feel his Auror senses tingling. Could it be that the boy had actually been trying to set them up? Hadn't he on several occasions had the feeling that Scorpius was giving him knowing looks? Had he been so obvious in his feelings towards Draco that the boy had caught on? Thinking back on the past months, though, there did seem to be a lot of hints towards Scorpius being a meddling little critter.

As he entered his own house, Harry tried to push the thoughts of Scorpius meddling in adult affairs away and went straight for the bathroom. Once inside, he turned on the tap with shaking hands and splashed some water in his face. Slowly he lifted his head to look at his reflection in the mirror. He looked pale and drawn. Leaning against the sink, he took a few deep breaths. What had he been expecting, honestly? Until today, it hadn't even occurred to him that Draco could be gay. His divorce was also so much fresher than Harry's own. Of course he wouldn't want to just jump into a romantic relationship with another man. No matter how much his son might think otherwise.

Draco

An ice cold fist had taken hold of Draco's heart and refused to let go. He sat frozen on his bed, watching Potter's retreating back. He knew that he had made the right choice, both for himself and his son. So why did his chest feel like it was about to tear in two?

He was aware that his feelings for Potter had grown a lot lately. It had become harder and harder to suppress them until it was impossible to deny it any longer. This was the first time he had let himself really fall in love with anyone – although let was a bit of a stretch, as Potter had made it so easy to fall for him.

Harry , he thought. I called him Harry. I wonder if we can still be friends.

Hurried footsteps outside his door startled him. He half expected to see Harry reappearing in the doorway, and had to suppress a wave of disappointment at the sight of Scorpius.

“Father! Why are you letting him leave!?” Scorpius stormed into the room, looking, for all intents and purposes, as though someone was on fire. Instantly alarmed, Draco jumped out of bed.

“Calm down. Why are you so upset?” he asked worriedly. Scorpius looked, if anything, more incredulous at this question.

“Why? Because you're letting Mr. Potter leave after you finally told each other how you feel!”

A light blush spread across Draco's cheeks at Scorpius's words. “How do you –” he began, but Scorpius trudged on.

“It's so obvious, Father, even a moron could see it!” Scorpius threw his hands frustrated to the sides, his face flushed red.

“Watch your language, young man!” thundered Draco. No matter how upset his son was, he had been taught better manners than that.

“Oh, who cares about that?” huffed Scorpius. “The point is that you and Mr. Potter clearly like each other. I've been listening this whole time, you know? Do not use me as an excuse to push him away when you can be happy together.”

Draco touched a hand to his head. He suddenly felt confused. How much did Scorpius know?

“You're not an excuse,” said Draco tiredly.

“Oh no? Because it sounded very much like you would accept him if it wasn't for me.” With arms folded across his chest and his jaw squared, Scorpius looked so much like an adult, despite his eight years, that Draco was momentarily lost for words. He does have a point, the small small voice at the back of his head said.

Hesitating, Draco scratched the side of his head. “It's more complicated than that.”

“It's not, though,” insisted Scorpius. “I've seen how happy he makes you, and you him.”

Flopping back down onto the bed, Draco let his arms fall helplessly to his side. “Why are you so insistent that I be together with Potter?” he asked.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Because you obviously like each other! Anyone can see that. And you were so miserable before we met him. Always tired, and sad, and cross. But whenever we're with him, or even just talking about him, you're so happy. And you smile. That's the father I want. The one who's so happy because of Mr. Potter.”

All Draco could do for the next minute was stare at his son. “Is it really that obvious?” he finally asked.

“Very,” Scorpius confirmed. “And you being happy will make me happy. I can only imagine how grumpy you're going to be now, if you actually let him go.”

A sense of relief washed through Draco, accompanied by a deep blush. With Scorpius's declaration, his whole reason for turning Potter down had become moot. All he wanted was for his son to be happy, a happiness which seemed to be dependant on his own happiness, if his eight-year-old was to be believed. He couldn't deny that being around Potter put a smile on his face and lit fire in his chest. If he let this opportunity go, would he be able to stay cheerful for his son? Or would he always harbour feelings of regret for the love he let slip away?

While in the midst of these reflections, pattering footsteps crossed the floor and stopped right in front of Draco. A small pair of hands grabbed hold of his shoulders.

“Please go after him, Father. Tell him you changed your mind. Please.” The seriousness of Scorpius's voice prompted Draco into action. Of course the boy was right – of course he had to go! He'd never forgive himself if he let this chance go by. He was delusional if he thought he could just stay friends with Potter after what had just passed between them.

With newfound resolve, Draco rose from the bed, giving Scorpius one, firm nod. “All right,” he said. “Let me just get dressed.”

Face lit up like the sun, Scorpius grinned and made a small jump. “Yes!” he squealed happily and jumped some more, arms flailing about. Unable to laugh at the sight, Draco gently ushered him out of the room so he could get ready. Thanks to the Pepperup potion, he felt fit as a fiddle.

Looking at himself in the mirror a moment later, Draco made some final adjustments and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. It was time to go and get himself a boyfriend.

*~*~*

With sweaty palms and his heart in his mouth, Draco anxiously waited outside Potter's front door. He really hoped the other man hadn't changed his mind, that Draco hadn't proved to be too fickle.

Drumming his fingers against his leg, occasionally rearranging his hair, Draco tried his best to stand still.

What felt like an age later, the front door slowly creaked open. He was met by a very tired and surprised looking Potter.

“Hi,” said Draco lamely, a nervous smile tugging at his lips.

Potter closed his eyes and leant against the door-frame. “I'm gonna need a longer moment than that, Draco,” he said softly. When he opened his eyes again, they did not meet Draco's, but rather rested somewhere around his shoulder.

“Ah, no, um...” stammered Draco, a blush colouring his cheeks. This was not going quite the way he had hoped.

“I was wrong!” he blurted out, clasping one hand firmly on the half-open door. “I was wrong to turn you down.” Desperately seeking Potter's eyes, Draco felt relieved when green ones met his own grey. They suddenly looked more alive and awake than they had done a minute ago.

“Look, may I come in?” he asked hopefully. “I don't really fancy having this conversation on your doorstep.”

Hesitating for only a second, Potter opened the door wide enough for Draco to slip through. “Thanks,” he muttered.

Potter was surveying him expectantly, yet silently. It was clearly up to Draco to keep the conversation going. Which was fair, all things considered.

“You see,” he began, “I promised myself that I'd never have another partner. At least not while Scorpius is still a child. I convinced myself that that was the right thing to do. But after you left, I had an eye-opener of sorts. So, if you'll still have me, I'd like to take back what I said earlier.” He eyed Potter with a hammering heart while biting his lip nervously. The dark haired man stared blankly at him for a few seconds.

“Do you really mean that?” he whispered. His eyes looked wet and shiny, and without a second thought, Draco threw his arms around him.

“I mean it with all my heart,” he murmured into Potter's dark, messy hair. “Nothing would make me happier than being with you.” He felt strong arms encircle his body and let himself fall into the embrace, sighing contentedly. They stood like that for several long seconds before Potter pulled back just enough to let his lips gently touch Draco's. A fiery heat, starting from those soft, warm lips, spread throughout his whole body, making Draco's head spin.

As they slowly broke apart to stare lovingly into each other's eyes, Draco knew without a doubt that they'd be very happy together. And he supposed they owed it all to Scorpius.

Epilogue

Draco was tired, but happy. Moving house a second time in as many years did seem a bit excessive, he had to admit, although the end did justify the means. Drying the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, Draco silently regarded what was now his and Scorpius's new home.

Standing directly behind him, Harry reached his arms around Draco's waist and rested a pointy chin on his shoulder. “Welcome home, dear,” he said teasingly into Draco's hair.

Draco chuckled and rested his hands on top of Harry's. “Thanks. I'm glad we did this while the children are at school.”

“Me too,” agreed Harry. “Although I still wonder at your choice of moving day. As if there's not enough going on at Christmas already, without the addition of moving house to it.”

“But I wanted us to spend Christmas together properly,” said Draco defensively as he wormed his way out of Harry's embrace and turned around to face him. “Not like last year, when we were rushing back and forth all the time. Besides, Christmas isn't for another week anyway, so we have plenty of time to get ready and organise.” He placed a light kiss on Harry's forehead before leaving the room, yelling over his shoulder as he did so, “I'm going to put the kettle on!”

“You could have moved a month ago!” he heard Harry yell after him, although Draco chose to ignore him. They had already had this discussion multiple times. As he had explained then, and would again, Draco was not going to start moving while he was in the final stages of editing his latest book. He knew that Harry understood this, however, so he let the teasing slide.

Living together with Harry was something Draco had been looking forward to for longer than he cared to admit. Sure, the house was exceptionally rowdy when all four children were there, but it was worth it to be able to settle in with Harry every night. For the past two years they'd jumped between their two houses, depending on whether the Potter children were with their father or mother. It had been exhausting at times, but Draco knew that taking their time like this had been instrumental in building a strong relationship. Now that the move had finally happened, Draco was overjoyed.

Carrying two cups of steaming hot tea, Draco made his way through the house which was no longer just Harry's. He peeked inside the sitting room, but there was no Harry to be found.

“Harry?” he called out.

“Upstairs!” he heard a faint voice call back, and headed for the stairs.

His heart skipped a beat as he opened the door to their bedroom. Harry was sprawled out on the bed, completely naked. With seductive eyes focused on Draco, he gently patted the bed next to him.

“Why don't you come join me?” he purred.

With a smirk, Draco put the two cups gingerly down on the night stand. “Why, are you suggesting we break in the bed?” he said silkily as he slowly slid onto the bed next to the man he loved.

“Something to that effect,” Harry murmured as he pulled Draco's face towards him and planted a soft kiss on his lips. A small moan escaped one of them, or maybe both, and Draco wrapped his arms tightly around Harry's body. Then he reached for his wand to vanish his own clothing and whispered hotly in Harry's ear,

“I'll take you up on that.”