Chapter Text
The faint glow of dawn filtered through the curtain seams, casting several soft, slender golden lines on the floor. The room was quiet, with only the sound of shallow breathing and the occasional dust motes, roused by the sunlight, silently drifting in the air.
Draco slowly turned over in the bedding, feeling the soft, warm weight in his arms—Scorpius was curled up against him, his small body like a miniature furnace. The child was sleeping soundly, his mouth slightly open, his small hand still clutching Draco's pajama hem tightly, like a clingy kitten refusing to let go.
Draco looked down at him; the emotions that had churned within him last night now seemed to have settled into a warm pool. The profound ecstasy and shame, jealousy, and subtle pride were gently smoothed away by Scorpius's serene breathing on this tranquil morning.
He slowly extended a hand, his fingertips gently smoothing the wisps of hair from Scorpius's forehead, as if touching something rare and precious. His thumb brushed the child's soft cheek, his breath involuntarily slowing, afraid to disturb this dream-like moment.
Scorpius's eyelashes fluttered, and when he opened his eyes, his dark grey pupils still held traces of sleep. He first looked around in confusion, and then, as his gaze landed on Draco's face, his small face immediately broke into an unguarded, brilliant grin.
"Papa!" He kissed Draco, making a soft "pop" sound on his cheek.
Draco was caught off guard by the kiss, freezing slightly. He could feel the warmth and pressure of the small lips, a strange tingling sensation shooting from his skin to his heart. He stiffened for a moment, then leaned down and kissed Scorpius's forehead, the gesture a little awkward but revealing an undeniable tenderness.
He picked up the still drowsy Scorpius, bathed and dressed him, then headed downstairs.
Harry was already sitting at the dining table, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet, though he clearly wasn't reading much. The sizzle of bacon and the gurgle of a stew pot came from the kitchen, the aroma slowly spreading through the air.
As soon as Scorpius saw Harry, his eyes lit up, like a small animal switching channels, and he broke free from Draco's arms with a slap, stumbling towards Harry.
"Daddy!" he cried, then buried his head in Harry's embrace, his small arms tightly circling his neck like a little koala.
"Oof!" Harry laughed out loud, caught off guard, and naturally pulled him onto his lap, kissing his fuzzy head. "Good morning, little one."
Scorpius giggled, then looked back at Draco, blinking a few times. After a long moment, the small head tilted from side to side, as if comparing mismatched puzzle pieces.
"Daddy," he said in a milky voice, full of genuine confusion, "why don’t you... give Papa a good morning kiss like you used to?"
—Thump.
The newspaper in Harry’s hand dropped straight to the floor.
He froze for a moment, his cheeks visibly and rapidly flushing pink from his earlobes to his neck. He secretly glanced at Draco, who was standing opposite him, his eyes filled with embarrassment.
Draco also instantly froze, as if struck by a Full Body-Bind Curse. After a few seconds, he quickly turned his head, coughed, and fixed his gaze intently on the window, as if a talking Mandrake had sprouted on the old elm tree outside.
He even instinctively raised a hand to pull at the collar of his pajamas, then quickly realized the action seemed too flustered and immediately lowered it—he nearly rushed over to cast a Silencing Charm on Scorpius.
But he ultimately didn’t, because deep down, there was a faint, almost imperceptible... thrill.
“Scorpius...” Harry finally managed to find his voice, about to change the subject, but Scorpius seriously retorted, “Daddy used to always say—you have to kiss someone you love!”
As he spoke, he solemnly held up a chubby little finger, pointing in Draco’s direction, his eyes filled with a juvenile sense of justice, as if enforcing some rule of love on the adults.
Draco whipped his head around, blushing, and glared fiercely at Harry.
That look held three layers of meaning—What on earth have you been teaching him?! Are you insane?! Just try and kiss me?!
Harry met his gaze, the corners of his mouth curving slightly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He felt his entire heart churning with the morning’s commotion, yet it was also incredibly sweet.
“All right, little one.” Harry gently ruffled Scorpius’s head, settling him onto his chair. “Why so many questions today?”
“I don’t have questions,” Scorpius corrected him seriously. “I’m helping you remember what you said!” He nodded like a little professor, proudly swinging his short legs.
Draco finally sat down, slowly pouring himself tea. The cup made a faint clinking sound against the teapot’s spout, his hand remarkably steady, almost deliberately so. But Harry noticed that his earlobes were still red, glowing red.
The entire kitchen fell silent for a moment.
Then, Harry curved his lips and softly said, “Thank you, Professor Scorpius.”
Scorpius was just picking up a slice of toast and spreading blueberry jam on it, and at Harry’s words, he made an “Hm?” sound, seemingly completely absorbed in the food before him, having already forgotten his conversation with Harry.
Harry and Draco exchanged a glance, then both looked away, each picking up their cups, pretending nothing had happened.
But the hands gripping their cup handles both trembled slightly.
At the breakfast table, the atmosphere was unprecedentedly delicate.
Harry occasionally looked up, stealing glances at Draco across from him; Draco, meanwhile, kept his head down, meticulously cutting the bacon and fried egg on his plate, his movements so precise it was like a ritual. The silver fork in his hand was like a sculptor's tool, every cut incredibly accurate—only, a little too slow, a little too forceful.
Scorpius sat between them, eating with utter contentment, a little blueberry jam on his cheek, his chewing sounds a gentle backdrop, adding an innocent touch of life to this awkward yet intimate morning.
"Papa—your egg is so round today," he praised in a soft, childish voice, even pointing to the perfectly round fried egg on the plate, his tone full of seriousness and admiration.
Draco's movements paused, his earlobes slowly tinging with a faint blush. He gave a soft huff, as if to push away the compliment, but the corners of his mouth subtly turned up just a fraction. He didn’t look up, but tilted his eye, his peripheral vision accurately sweeping toward Harry, as if accusing him: This is all your fault.
Harry chuckled, lowering his head to continue drinking his tea. But under the table, he subtly extended his foot, lightly brushing Draco's shin, the movement as gentle as a feather.
Draco stiffened abruptly, the fork nearly slipping from his fingers. He snapped his head up, his silvery-grey eyes like moonlight falling on water, filled with surprise and warning, staring fixedly at Harry. But the anger in his gaze was quickly replaced by a more subtle emotion—a touch of shyness, a hint of panic.
He looked away, picking up his teacup as if needing something to do, to cover the turmoil in his heart.
"Potter, you'd best not push your luck," he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice low enough only for Harry to hear, the trailing sound a bit like grinding his teeth—yet it didn’t sound like anger, more like sulking.
Harry suppressed a smile, watching his earlobes grow redder and redder, his eyes filled with an undeniable tenderness.
"Daddy—I'm full!" Scorpius suddenly announced, interrupting the unspoken thread between the two. He patted his round little belly, then hopped off the chair with a thump, rushing to Draco’s side and clinging to his thigh.
"Papa, can we go play on the seesaw in the garden today?" he asked, looking up with a serious expression, his small hand already trying to stuff his messy bib into Draco’s hand.
Draco looked down at him, his lips moving, not answering immediately. He suddenly glanced at Harry, and in that instant, his gaze was as complex as a triple-locked door, hiding a cautious inquiry.
Today... will you still be here? Will you still stay with us?
His voice held a hint of deliberately controlled calm: “Do you have any Saint-Potter duties to save the world today? Or has the Auror Office finally released you?”
Harry put down his teacup, looking at him, not offering a single rebuttal.
He simply reached out and gently covered the back of Draco’s slender hand on the table, his thumb slowly stroking it, meeting those evasive yet stubborn eyes, and softly said, “I’m not going anywhere today.”
Draco stiffened slightly, his fingertips twitching gently under Harry’s hand, but he didn’t pull away. His Adam’s apple bobbed; he seemed to want to say something, then swallowed it.
Harry watched him, the corners of his mouth slowly curving into a smile, and whispered, “You, like this right now... remind me of when we first got together.”
Draco reacted as if struck by lightning, snatching his hand back with the speed of someone touching something scalding. He sat bolt upright, his cheeks flushing red at an astonishing speed, the color spreading all the way to his neck.
“You... you’re talking nonsense!” he glared at Harry, his tone a mix of embarrassment and annoyance, like a small cat whose fur has been stroked the wrong way. He gnashed his teeth, yet couldn’t genuinely flare up, trapped by his own emotions, unable to move forward or back.
Harry tilted his head, saying nothing, just slowly taking a sip of tea.
Draco shot him a furious glare.
Scorpius sat on the floor, playing with his small socks, watching the two of them, his head tilted, looking completely bewildered.
Draco cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. He stood up, picked up his son, as if to end this embarrassing breakfast with action.
“Let’s go play on the seesaw,” he announced, his voice unnaturally husky. “I’ll go with you right now.”
He strode away quickly, his back showing a hasty retreat.
Harry sat at the table, watching that retreating figure, a faint smile on his lips.
Today was a good morning.
Harry watched Draco’s hurried departure with Scorpius in his arms, smiling softly, his eyes filled with undisguised fondness. He didn’t follow them out immediately; instead, he cast a simple Cleaning Charm, and the leftover breakfast quietly vanished in the faint light. He folded the Daily Prophet, set it aside, then picked up his teacup and slowly strolled into the living room.
Outside the window, the sunlight slanted in, filling the garden with the warm glow of morning. Draco was walking toward the old seesaw they often used, holding Scorpius. The child’s laughter floated clearly into the house, his small legs happily kicking in his father’s embrace.
Harry stood by the French doors, watching the scene, a soft ripple spreading through his heart. He knew Draco’s awkwardness and evasion came from emotions not yet fully sorted. But the way his hands held the child tightly, the tenderness that leaked from his eyes—was more honest than any words.
He set down his teacup, pushed open the back door, and stepped into the garden.
The scent of spring washed over him: the fresh fragrance of dewy grass, and a few peculiar juice-spitting flowers swayed gently in the breeze, lazily creaking. Under the old willow tree, the seesaw rocked back and forth, sunlight casting dappled shadows on its wooden planks.
Draco had already placed Scorpius on one end of the seesaw, while he sat on the grass, controlling the motion with magic, letting Scorpius play happily on his own. The little one laughed, tapping the board with his shoes, making excited “whoosh” sounds.
Draco’s profile appeared serene and gentle in the sunlight. He hadn’t noticed Harry’s approach, his eyes solely focused on his child with quiet attention. His expression wasn’t overtly emotional, but it was more genuine than ever. He murmured something softly, perhaps coaxing the child, or perhaps speaking to himself.
Harry didn’t speak, just sat down a little farther away. He rested his elbows on his knees, quietly watching the father and son. The golden light framed them like a peaceful painting, and even time seemed to slow in that moment, like an undisturbed dream.
He watched the unconscious softness at the corners of Draco’s mouth, his heart subtly infused with a steady, warm feeling.
Draco, in this moment, was a side of him never revealed in public.
A strong urge suddenly rose within Harry—to walk over and embrace him from behind; to tell him that the past scars and chaos were gone; that they were no longer the disheveled young men fresh out of war; to say that once Draco’s memories returned, they could start a new future together.
But he just sat there, silently gazing.
The wind rustled through the leaves, bringing the scent of flowers.
“Pot... Harry.”
Draco’s voice suddenly broke the quiet. His tone was steady, his back to Harry, as if casually bringing up a minor matter.
Harry paused slightly, his heart immediately quickening. He knew Draco didn’t speak idly.
He didn’t respond, just poured all his attention into that back.
“Regarding the Legilimency session...” Draco’s voice came as if through a thin garden mist, neither loud nor soft, but carrying a resolve that had weighed on him for some time. “You said before that Hannah wanted to do one or two more sessions without magical intervention, right?”
He didn’t turn around as he spoke, just slightly raised his hand and tapped his wand. Scorpius, giggling on the seesaw, was gently lifted into the air by soft magic.
“I don’t think that’s necessary anymore.” He paused, his tone so light it was almost emotionless. “We can proceed directly with Legilimency. Today, or tomorrow.”
As he said this, he finally turned to look at Harry.
His silvery-grey eyes in the sunlight were like polished sword blades, without a trace of hesitation. That gaze was more powerful than words—no longer questioning, probing, or resisting, but a self-possessed, almost challenging kind of permission.
Harry was stunned. He could see that Draco had made his decision. He should have known that someone like Draco, even when lost in confusion, would never allow himself to be manipulated for long.
But hearing “I’m ready” in that moment still tightened his chest uncontrollably.
Not from fear—but from love.
He knew that from now on, all the truths between them would have nowhere left to hide.
tbc