Chapter Text
Harry wasn’t sure how he had ended up here. His body was splayed on the floor, his wand just out of his reach. His erratic breathing making his chest rise and fall violently. The portion of the room he could see from his peripheral vision was in disarray, furniture overturned, a cloak strewn over the lampshade, books with pages torn out lying lopsided by the shelf that had fallen over. He considered his next move. He could attempt to make a dash to the adjacent bedroom, but they would hear his footsteps. He had left the cloak behind, something he was now cursing himself for. The voices outside were too close, surrounding him. It was stupid to come back to the study, there was no fireplace here so he couldn’t even Floo downstairs. He supposed he could Apparate, but again the noise would draw their attention. “Accio,” he whispered, before his wand found its way to his hand. He was about to utter, “Revelio,” just to double check, when he heard the nearest voice call excitedly, “I found it!” He pointed his wand at his feet and muttered, “Finite Incantatem.” Adrenaline coursing through his body, his muscles tensing, he snuck towards the door and opened it as silently as he could. He could see the figure retreating down the hallway towards the largest bedroom. Pointing his wand at their back, he hurled a trip jinx their way, watching them tumble to the ground.
“FATHER! He’s cheating again!” The vision of the small fair-haired boy sitting with his arms folded across his chest, face thunderous, reminded him so much of a young Draco Malfoy that he started to laugh, causing the boy’s expression to turn even more sour. The crack that followed alerted him to someone’s presence behind him. “You couldn’t let him win, just one time?” Draco sighed and shook his head wearily before spotting the mess through the open study door. “Reparo,” he pointed his wand at the chaos and Harry watched as each broken piece fit itself back into place, excruciatingly neat.
“It builds character. He needs to be ready.” He laughed again as he moved forward and extended his hand for the boy to grab, pulling him off the floor. Ruffling his hair, he whispered, “a floor sticking charm? Really? And I’m the cheat!” The boy grinned back at his dad and stuck his tongue out.
“For what exactly, does he need to be ready?”
“He’s going to Hogwarts and you’re not going to be there to perform un-sportsman like floor sticking charms for him. How do you expect him to survive whatever comes his way if he doesn’t have quick reflexes. If he’s not aware of what’s going on around him.”
“Like you were, without Granger’s help?”
“Shut up,” Harry smirked, pushing Draco playfully. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him towards his body, whispering, “Nothing is waiting for him there, I promise.”
“Ugh yuck!” They both laughed this time, savouring the small moments of embarrassment they could bring their son before he left in a few weeks’ time.
“Bed. Come on, you can show me your new Quidditch book.”
Draco watched them retreat. He had been refereeing this particular game for months now. It had started innocently enough. He would hide an object somewhere in their house and they would both attempt to find it first, the only rule being Accio was off limits. He had found it humorous at first, watching them attempt to outwit the other, but it had quickly devolved to their entire house being torn apart, something that set Draco on edge. Not that he would ask them to stop. Having a house full of chaos was the price he paid to ensure his son didn’t grow up the way he did. He knew that Harry was worried. The elaborate expansion of a simple game proof that he was struggling to let go of time spent with their son. He had tried repeatedly to reassure Harry that Leo’s time at Hogwarts won’t be like Harry’s, but stubborn to a fault, Harry insisted on ensuring he was, “prepared.” Draco couldn’t really blame him. He was worried too. Having the Potter name to live up to was one thing, but sometimes Draco felt as though they had painted a target on his back the moment they decided to go with Potter-Malfoy. When the anxiety that his son might have anything other than a year full of eleven-year-old wonder took over, he reminded himself that everything had changed in the past 20 years. There was no more Dark Lord, no more Death Eaters biding their time, waiting for them. The most thrilling thing that might happen would be Hagrid taking him into the Forest.
Leo had been ecstatic when he first realised that he would one day go to Hogwarts. When he was younger, he had listened to them recount their school days with rapt attention, amused that his parents could have ever behaved in any way other than loving towards each other. Their stories had been heavily redacted, focusing only on Duelling Clubs and Honeydukes and Quidditch. It wasn’t until years later, when curiosity sparked in him and he began to ask why reporters continually hounded them, that they told him some of the truth. It wasn’t as though they were hiding it from him. They had always planned on telling him. They simply wanted him to grow up without the pressure of their past weighing on him. As the years passed, he discovered most of what they had left out on his own, something that was impossible to prevent with an army of adopted Weasley cousins. Draco spent most of his time with his son answering questions about Harry’s fight against Voldemort (by now Leo had noticed Harry’s reluctance to revisit that time). Draco wasn’t jealous, he knew his son loved him and he knew that what Harry had done was extraordinary. He also knew that his own behaviour during that time was less than favourable, but at times he did hope to see the same amazed adoration on Leo’s face when he was speaking about Draco. Harry did his best to reassure Draco it was already there.
After clearing the remaining mess from downstairs, he moved to the kitchen to make them tea and glanced at the pile of owl post that was lying on the round table in the middle of the room, the topmost letter bearing his mother’s neat handwriting.
Draco,
We are yet to hear from you after my previous letter. We would like to see our grandson before he leaves. And since that is the only way we see you now, we would like your company before a year of exile. Let us know when to expect you both.
Mother.
He would have to Floo to the manor in the morning. Harry would hate it. He would spend the day being surly and sarcastic and Draco couldn’t blame him, but he had long since stopped trying to explain that taking their son to the manor once or twice a year was an exchange he was willing to make to ensure his parents left them, particularly Harry, alone. It didn’t matter how often Draco reminded him that he never let Leo out of his sight while they were there, Harry was determined his parents would find a way to indoctrinate their son. The last time they had discussed it, Draco had replied that Harry could attend the manor with them, to put his fears to rest and keep an eye on Father himself. Harry had glowered at him, and the conversation abruptly ended.
The thing was, Draco almost wished Harry had called his bluff. He would never ask him directly, knowing that the manor held more trauma for Harry than even himself, but his parents were trying, in their own way and a ridiculously small part of him wanted Harry to see that. He could see the irony in Harry accepting his Death Eater deprogramming journey but refusing to acknowledge that his parents might be on their own, but he knew better than to ever point that out. Harry was noble with his forgiveness; he would accept redemption in most people and Draco felt it was possible he would have accepted even Mother if it came down to her alone, but it was Father’s presence that complicated things.
They were trying though, the years of pure-blood breeding proving difficult to overcome. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had felt sure the worst thing they would have to cope with was finding a fifteen-year-old Draco with another boy. The threat of a shameful scandal and loss of their blood line almost unbearable. But then the war happened and suddenly Draco’s sexuality was no longer a priority. Part of the reason Draco was so desperate to take on his mission all those years ago, was that he felt like he owed his parents for the insurmountable disappointment he had already proven himself to be with his “transgressions.” He thought that had been the end of it. Until his parents arrived at his flat in London when he was twenty four, Father freshly out of Azkaban, announcing it was time he got married. That rebuilding their family name meant reducing the damage already done and forging new connections. Mother had seen the horror on his face and mistook it, announcing with an air of impatience, “Draco darling whatever you do in your own time is up to you, there are lots of people who don’t love their wives.” The vivid memory of their faces when he replied that he was in love with Harry Potter and had been for years, possibly since he was eleven, rivalled the look on their faces three years later when Draco arrived at the manor to tell them they were going to be grandparents. Nothing however, compared to the look on Mother’s face whenever Leo spoke about his “Grandma Molly,” in her presence.
“Is that tea for me?” Draco jumped slightly at the sound of Harry’s voice, wondering how lost in thought he must have been to have missed Harry's unsubtle footsteps.
“Do you know anyone else who drinks milk with the smallest hint of tea?”
Harry pretended to be wounded. “That’s twice in the past hour you have insulted me. Should I be worried? I think Hermione could probably draw us up a good divorce contract.” He walked over to Draco, took the red mug from the counter, and kissed him softly. “Then again, it’s late, she’ll be asleep. We’d have to wait until morning and by that time, who can be bothered? Best just forget it and stay together.”
“You are insufferable.”
“Ok, well, now that really is too far. You can have the house but I’m keeping Kreacher”
Harry leaned back on his chair, the front legs lifting slightly off the floor, watching as Draco took his own tea and joined him at the kitchen table.
“I ran into Hermione. They are going to meet us in Diagon Alley on Saturday, and we are going there for dinner tomorrow too.”
Draco nodded. Harry reached across the table and took one of his hands in his own, running his thumb gently across his wrist. “Everything alright?”
“I think I could possibly be just as worried as you.”
Harry brought their interlocked hands up to his lips and kissed the place where his thumb had just been. “It’s like you keep saying. It’s different this time. Plus, Hagrid will be there, and Theo. He’s going to be fine.”
“If he’s anything like you were, he’ll have enough arrogance to carry him through,” Draco smirked into his tea and Harry snorted.
“I think if tonight has taught us anything, it’s that he’s all you. Did you hear him?” Harry put on an exaggerated upper-class accent in imitation, “Father!”
“Well, to be fair, you do cheat.”
“I learned that from you, all those times you cheated during Quid-”
Harry’s reply was cut short by a loud and insistent knocking on the front door. Draco looked at Harry expectantly and Harry shrugged his shoulders in reply. It was after ten and they weren’t expecting anyone. Harry wouldn’t put it past a reporter to show up at their doorstep, trying to run a story on their son’s journey to Hogwarts, but they had reinstated many of the protective charms over Grimmauld Place years ago, limiting access to friends and family only, to stop that kind of thing happening. They could hear the sound of a male voice followed by the croak of their house elf Kreacher.
“Kreacher doesn’t know them?” Draco knitted his eyebrows together confused, “I wonder how they got to the door?”
Kreacher came rushing into the kitchen and did a quick impatient bow which would have made Harry laugh if Kreacher didn’t look so serious. Harry had told him to stop bowing but the habit was yet to break in twenty years. “Master Harry, there is a man at the door wishing to speak with you. He seems unwell… not right in the head sir, I tried to make him leave but he is insisting sir.” Harry grabbed his wand from the table in front of him and made his way to the door, Draco following behind. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to be waiting for him when he opened it, but he certainly hadn’t been expecting,
“Dudley?”