Chapter Text
It was a muggy day in London, the kind of day that made you tired before you left the house. Harry received a call and left work that day for a visit to Diagon Alley. It was one of the few places in this world he knew despite time and distance. In many ways, it felt more like a home than the suburbs of Surrey, a grand Scottish castle, and the house he inherited from his godfather. The buildings of the shopping center seemed to welcome his return: not a cobble was out of line and the doors opened cooperatively when needed. If the alley was sentient, life-breathing like other places and things could be, it probably knew him and all their shared memories. There was great nostalgia in returning, and he pitied the alley silently, knowing that it wasn’t enough to keep him around.
He hadn’t planned on returning but the jeweler said orders like his should be picked up in person. Harry frowned but entered anyway, speaking to a pleasant, though eccentric, man who went on about being grateful to see Harry around again. He didn’t have to heart to tell him that the bracelet he was picking up didn’t mean anything about his permanence.
“Potter?” a voice called. A voice that, despite years apart living separate lives, Harry surely couldn’t forget. Even if, he noted offhandedly, it had changed, exuding a personality completely different from the one he had known. He looked down the counter and was met with the blinking stare of Draco Malfoy.
Harry pursed his lips, watching the confusion on his face. He rejected the urge to get fussy about what would have once seemed like an invitation to punch him. They weren’t children anymore so he just nodded once, turning back and watching behind the counter for the man to return. Only he returned with a medium-sized box that he placed in front of Malfoy.
He opened it, scrutinizing it lightly before he looked up at the employee. “Thank you,” he said. “As always, I appreciate your work and kindness.”
The man smiled and shook his head. “Oh, not at all, Mr. Malfoy! It’s a pleasure to make something for you. I hope she enjoys it!”
Malfoy nodded. “I’m sure she will, after allー” he glanced into the box once more, “ーI think you’ve outdone yourself this time.”
He grinned, laughing, “You’re too kind! I’m just an old man with too much time on his hands!”
He shook his head. “I know she’ll be glad to add another one of your works to her collection.”
“Then, good! Send my best to her. Now, if I may, I need to help Mr. Potter.”
“Of course.” Malfoy flashed a smile at the man and watched as he walked to the back. As discerning as ever, he turned to the side to see Harry observing the scene. Harry wondered passively what nonsense Malfoy was going to say now that the two were alone in a shop. “I’m surprised to see you here,” he said.
“Buying jewelry?” He scoffed, offering a strained smile. “Surprising even myself, it seems.”
“No, I mean…” He frowned.
“Here?” Harry raised his eyebrow. “In Diagon Alley?”
Malfoy doesn’t answer. As if the conversation never happened, he said, “I can only imagine you’re here getting a gift for someone.”
Hesitantly, he nodded once. “A coworker,” he answered as the man returned with a box of his own. Inside lay a shining golden bracelet with white and blue gemstones. He smiled at the man, thanking him. The man turned away. Harry glanced back at Malfoy to see suspicious regard on his face as though he didn’t believe him. “A wedding gift for my coworker,” he offered, hoping to quell the distrust, not that Harry needed to.
“I see.”
Harry remained unimpressed by the unenthusiastic conversation with Malfoy and rolled his eyes. “Well, cheers, Malfoy,” he said, promptly leaving the jewelers.
Immediately, Harry recognized how much easier it was to breathe once he was outside as if the air had changed when any space was occupied by Malfoy. Grateful for the fresh air, he took a walk through Diagon Alley, glancing at shop windows and dodging stray magic and creatures. He had no intention of staying long but maybe Rose and Hugo would enjoy some sweets. He was just about to enter the shop when a woman left but luck was his mortal enemy above anything else.
Harry hadn’t been paying much attention but old habits must die hard because he barely recognized the paleness of her face when she began stumbling. He flew down the steps to grab her, catching her before she collapsed and hit the pavement. If her collapse and groaning weren’t an indication of a problem, the hand she managed to place on her full stomach was much more alarming.
A baby? Harry didn’t know what to do about a baby or a pregnant woman who collapsed in front of him. He gently placed his fingers against her wrist, feeling a heartbeat that was far too weak to be healthy. His judgment Apparated both of them to the hospital.
The staff noticed them quickly and clocked the issue at hand straight away. The woman mumbled incoherently and her face was scrunched up painfully so Harry didn’t let go until there was a staff member that could take her somewhere. They seemed to recognize the woman. In the chaos, he caught the name Astoria. It wasn’t a name he recognized instantly, and with a medical emergency in his arms, he didn’t care much to find out either. Not until she was in a bed did he excuse himself and realize who she was.
When he did, his instincts sent out his Patronus to deliver a message. He had barely returned to the lobby when Malfoy Apparated in, huffy and upset.
“Potter!” he growled. “Where is she?”
Harry suppressed the seemingly persistent urge to get violent because surely a distressed pregnant wife was reason enough for being upset. Though, because they are who they are, Harry only pointed unhelpfully in the general direction of the room. And, once again, Harry thought about hitting a wall or downing some terribly painful alcohol when Malfoy checked his shoulder as he stomped past him.
This, Harry remarked as he Disapparted, is why I don’t come back. The Muggle world is far less eventful.
Ron and Hermione’s house was as Harry remembered it: a little messy with a few too many things but full of life, knowledge, and love. It might be his favorite place in the wizarding world. It helped that it was full of his favorite people.
He reached down with a smile, picking up Rose who seemed to forget she might be a little too old to be carried around by her Uncle Harry. It didn’t matter, though, because his niece was asking for him. “Hi, there, Rose.” He kissed her cheek.
She beamed. “Uncle Harry! I missed you! It’s been so long! I’ve got so much to tell you!”
“At least let Harry come into the house,” Ron chastised, landing a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder. He commented, “You look like shー” He cleared his throat. “You’ve looked better.”
Harry put Rose back down, cracking his back slightly as he rose. “Thanks, Ron.” He grimaced. “I was going to grab some sweets for you,” he told Rose, “for you and Hugo. Got into a little rough so I couldn’t.”
“I’ll say,” Ron mumbled, guiding Rose back into the main room. “I wasn’t expecting you back for a while, mate. What happened?”
“I wasn’t even going to visit,” he agreed. Then, he looked at Rose frowning. “I was going to a little later, I promise, Rose. I just wanted to pick something out and go back. Work, you know.”
“Right.” He patted his daughter’s shoulder. “Go wake up Hugo. He needs to eat or he’ll be right cranky later.”
Her frown changed but she sighed. “Fine, Dad.”
Ron turned back to Harry. “And?”
“I just wanted to pick up a gift for my coworker then thought, ‘Maybe I get some sweets for Rose and Hugo,’ butー”
“Your luck is as shit as ever,” he concluded.
“As ever,” he agreed. “A pregnant woman collapsed in front of me. Astoria Malfoy.”
Ron wrinkled his nose. Confused, he looked up at the ceiling. “Malfoy?” he asked.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Malfoy. You know the git. Surely you know him.”
“Of course, I know him! I just mean… Astoria Malfoy… That doesn’t sound right.”
Passing through the wards and into her house, Hermione arrived, saying, “That’s because her name is Astoria Blanchfield.” She greeted her husband with a kiss on the cheek then put her things away with the flick of her hand and sat next to Harry. “Good to see you, Harry,” She smiled.
Ron snapped his fingers. “That’s it! Blanchfield!”
“Blanchfield? Who’s Blanchfield? Why not Malfoy?”
Hermione shrugged. “It’s hard to say, really. Neither of them were in the public eye much. Not even when their son was born. But a few years agoーtwo, I thinkーshe’d changed her name. It seems they’d gotten divorced and she remarried.”
“Huh,” Harry remarked. “Then, the child’s Blanchfield’s, yeah?”
“Child?”
“Harry said she was pregnant when he ran into her today,” Ron explained.
“Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, well, I couldn’t tell you! Malfoy’s even more enigmatic than you these days, Harry. Neither he nor his wife—ex-wife,” she corrected, “are very involved. The Ministry doesn’t even seem to mind that Malfoy’s practically disappeared from them.”
“Just my luck to catch both of them the one time I come back,” Harry murmured bitterly.
“You saw Malfoy!” Ron exclaimed.
He frowned. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t say that!”
“My bad,” he said unapologetically.
“I suppose it’s good they’re doing well,” Hermione commented mildly.
“Right,” Harry agreed.
“Blanchfield, Blanchfield…” Ron muttered. “Oh! He’s an Auror! That’s how I recognize him! He must have been a few years before us, Harry,” he explained. “Don’t think I know him, though. Nice guy, I think.”
“Then he married Malfoy’s ex-wife,” Harry concluded.
Ron shrugged. “Maybe she’s better than Malfoy. That’s not difficult, you know.”
“Of course, I know.”
And Harry did know. He’d barely been around him for a few minutes and it was enough for the whole decade it’d been since they’d last held a proper conversation. Never mind all the tragedies and bickerings of the past, Malfoy still irritated Harry to no end.
He continued to do so even until the next morning. Harry walked to the washroom, passing by the living area when he heard a small chirp to his left. He wondered if he’d forgotten to close a window but blinked and saw an owl on his dining table. He rubbed his eyes, hoping it was just remnants of sleep stuck in them. It was still there, though, just as foreign and unfamiliar as it was a few minutes ago. But, it was early in the morning and his mouth stank of morning breath so he ignored the bird in his kitchen.
Naturally, it was still there when he returned. He scowled. Anyone worth receiving mail from would contact him with a visit, a phone call, maybe even use the Muggle post office. No one really sent him birds anymore.
He reached out gingerly. The owl, wide-eyed and patient, didn’t flinch when Harry stroked its feathers. It easily ate the deli meat Harry took for his sandwich when offered. Unsurprisingly, it carried a letter, reading:
Potter,
Thank you for helping Astoria and contacting me. I imagine you wouldn’t appreciate me expressing my gratitude in anything greater than this letter but do let me know if I’m wrong; I’d be happy to make it correct then.
Despite lacking a sender, Harry knew exactly who had written it: the name address, the topic, the handwriting and prideful words, all the way down to the sheer decorum to send a thank you letter. He might have been late for work but he quickly summoned some ink and paper and wrote back.
~-•-~:-~*~-:~•-~
For once, you’re right, Malfoy: I’m not even interested in your sending me a thank you letter. Hope Astoria is doing better.
Draco frowned. Surely there could have been even the tiniest bit more substance to the letter, right? Though, it’s on him for having greater expectations. It was just that yesterday seemed to make another great change in Draco’s life where everything would be miserable and difficult. Edmund, arriving in last night’s clothes and a cleaning spell, seemed to notice Draco’s demeanor.
He clapped a hand on his shoulder, saying, “Don’t look so glum, mate. You know Astoria really wanted this baby. Neither of them are going to let up.”
He nodded. He was probably right, even if he incorrectly discenered Draco’s present issue. Regardless, Draco appreciated his optimism, though, from the eyebags and tight jaw, Edmund said that to convince himself as well. That grim expression was undoubtedly one that worries for his wife and newborn daughter, so Draco doesn’t fault him for it. He’s glad he can still think well upon the difficult situation and he’s glad that this is the person Astoria chose. He doesn’t care much for Edmund but he knows he’s what she needs and what she wants.
Edmund exhaled a tight breath, gesturing to the letter. “What’s that?”
Draco looked down as if the letter in his hand had changed. It hadn’t, so he folded it with a magical flick of his wrist and pocketed it. “Astoria told me to thank Potter for helping her.”
“Oh, good!” Edmund sighed. “How she manages to keep all that in her head while recovering is beyond me.”
Draco silently thought it’s the difference between being a first-time father and a second-time mother. But, he also knew that she was incredibly admirable in that way to endure such pain and still want to thank some wizard for helping her and her child. “I thought he’d died,” Draco remarked conversationally.
“Surely the prophet’s been saying that for years now,” Edmund managed with a surprisingly lively laugh.
“Wishful thinking then,” he muttered.
He smiled weakly. “I checked briefly on the Manor before coming here,” he told him. “I’ll be here with the girls, and if anything happens, I’ll send for you.”
Draco nodded, knowing he was being kicked out of the hospital with nice words. He wanted to stay, of course, because a member of his family—two members of his family—were in hospital. Only, they weren’t really his family anymore. Not in the same way Edmund was Astoria’s husband and little Lenora’s father, and certainly not in the way Draco was Scorpius’ father.
So, he left with well wishes and equally kind assurances that they’d both be recovered and healthy soon. He arrived home to find Scorpius arguing with a house elf about something.
“Scorpius,” Draco called as he flicked away some of his belongings, “don’t bother her too much.”
Scorpius, previously frowning and scowling, lit up at the sound of his father’s return, rushing over to him. He paused before him, realizing, “I didn’t mean to run. Sorry, Dad.”
Draco nodded.
“Then, I have something important to ask.”
“Alright.”
“Is Mom still in hospital?”
He nodded.
“And the baby?”
“Yes.”
“When can I see her? Both of them,” Scorpius clarified with a serious expression.
“I don’t know, Scorpius,” Draco admitted. “You know your mother isn’t well.”
His frown returned. “I know, I do! But, Dad, that means I should visit her, right?”
He hesitated, long enough for Scorpius to continue.
“When I feel bad, you check on me!”
Draco nodded. “You’re right. Edmund is checking on her right now.”
“But—!” Scorpius’ eyes started to water, unsure of how to verbalize his feelings and thoughts. “Dad!”
Draco knelt in front of him, brushing a hand through his hair. “I know,” he muttered.
Because he does know. Draco knew the risks of Astoria having a child. She knew that before they had Scorpius, so, even when they didn’t love each other like traditional spouses, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. But, Draco had always been a giving husband, so he complied and they jointly dealt with the consequences. Seven years passed and they still deal with them.
Then came Edmund and she wanted another child with the man she loved so passionately. Except, she and Draco didn’t see eye to eye on it. To him, there were too many repercussions, too many risks, so he begged her not to; it would comprise both hers and the baby’s health. Astoria, ever so loving and determined, told Draco that she wanted to try anyway and that while she appreciated his concern, it was between her and her husband to decide. Decide they eventually did, though not without Draco and Astoria’s prolonged silence.
Just like Scorpius, assuredly even more than him, Draco worried. He supported her through the second pregnancy, of course, but there was a gnawing feeling that things would go wrong, terribly and irreversibly wrong. Astoria likely knew what he thought so it took Edmund informing Draco for the two to talk again. It was then that she told him that she needed him and said that they’d talked about naming Draco the child’s godfather. He decided to share their happiness but couldn’t help thinking that she knew she wouldn’t make it out well.
“I’ll tell you what,” Draco said, wiping the tears off his son’s face, “I can’t say for certain when we can visit. I’ll ask as often as I can. But until then—“ he took a box out of his pocket and offered it to Scorpius, “—you have to hold onto this for me.”
Scorpius sniffled, eyeing the box warily. He silently asked if he could open it, to which Draco nodded. Inside, a glimmering necklace, dazzling with beautiful gemstones and fine metalwork, sat patiently.
Draco had gotten it as an apology gift of sorts, another peace offering to an already mended relationship. He doesn’t tell his son that. Instead, he said, “It was meant to be a gift for your mother for getting through so much of her pregnancy. Only, she and your baby sister were early, so now it’s a birth gift.”
“It’s very pretty,” Scorpius noted, wiping his eyes.
He nodded. “It is. Do you think she’ll like it?”
“Love it,” he corrected.
“Then, be sure to give it to her when we see her next. We’ll go as soon as we can.”
Scorpius sniffled once more, nodding determinedly. “I will. I promise I’ll keep it safe.”
“Good.” Draco smiled, letting his son crash into his arms and rubbing warm circles into his small back while he sighed silently.