Chapter Text
A Week Before School, 1991
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL, RIRI? I TOLD YOU I WANTED THAT EXACT CANDY!"
"DO NOT SCREAM AT ME, SKYLAR ARNEB LUPIN BLACK—WITH YOUR RIDICULOUSLY LONG NAME!"
"WHY ARE WE YELLING?!"
Draco burst into Harry’s perpetually messy room like a man on a mission. The room looked like a small explosion had gone off: books were stacked in chaotic towers on the floor, quills were scattered like confetti, and there was definitely a half-eaten sandwich on top of a Defense textbook. The bed hadn’t been made in what looked like days. And in the center of the disaster, Skylar stood atop Harry’s desk chair, holding a half-eaten candy in one hand and her life in the other.
“Hey, Coco,” Harry said sweetly, eyes gleaming with rage, voice eerily calm.
Then, without missing a beat, he grabbed the chair Skylar was perched on and shook it violently.
"COCO, HELP ME! HE'S LOST HIS MIND!" Skylar shrieked, scrambling like a terrified kitten. She flung herself from the chair to the desk with a dramatic wail as it creaked ominously beneath her.
Draco sighed like an old man in a teen's body. “That’s just Riri for you,” he said, stepping into the madness with the kind of grace only a Malfoy could muster. He placed a calming hand on Harry’s shoulder, trying to steady him as if he were restraining a very small, very angry storm.
“She’s accusing me of eating her candy,” Harry growled, eyes narrowed at Skylar. “When she knows—knows—I would never touch her stupid sugar bombs!”
He looked feral. Not dangerous exactly, more like a tiny, furious chihuahua barking at a confused cat. All bark, no bite. Well—he did bite once, but it wasn’t painful. Much.
The floorboards groaned beneath Harry’s fury. The air felt like it might combust into glitter and shouting at any moment.
“Lala,” Draco said calmly, glancing at Skylar as if this happened every other day (because it did), “your candies are in the kitchen. I spelled the wrapping to only open for you. I told you that, remember?”
The room fell into stunned silence.
Harry blinked.
Skylar blinked.
Draco blinked, smug.
“Oh,” Skylar said, then slowly took another bite of Harry’s candy—chewing deliberately as if to assert dominance. “I’ll still eat this one though.”
“I’M GOING TO END YOU—” Harry lunged like a wind-up toy, but Draco held him back with both arms, restraining him as though Harry were a misbehaving Kneazle on a leash.
“LALA, YOU’RE THE WORST!” Harry snapped, thrashing weakly as Draco effortlessly anchored him in place.
“I SAID I’M SORRY!” Skylar wailed, mouth full of sugar, looking like a guilty puppy who just knocked over an entire vase but was still licking the spilled water.
“ARE YOU THREE READY FOR DIAGON ALLEY?”
Regulus’ voice rang up the stairs, calm and loud, like the voice of a long-suffering parent who’d seen too much.
"YEAH!" all three of them shouted back in near-unison.
Draco released Harry gently, as if letting go of a tornado. Harry huffed like an offended cat and stormed out of the room, stomping loudly down the stairs. Skylar followed with her head ducked and shoulders hunched, a dramatic picture of guilt that no one really believed.
Draco stayed behind for a beat, shaking his head with an exasperated little snort before trailing after them like he always did—quiet, composed, and loyal to a fault.
---
Diagon Alley, One Week Before School — 1991
Regulus Black strolled confidently through Diagon Alley wearing his signature look: sleek black sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, a tailored all-black outfit that looked too fashionable for wizarding society, and dragonhide boots that clicked against the cobblestone like a countdown to trouble. The August sun bore down like a furnace, but Regulus didn’t break a sweat. He never did. Not when children were fighting, not when Sirius tried to rope him into questionable schemes, and certainly not under the blaze of summer.
Behind him trailed three very different personalities who somehow formed the most chaotic trio in wizarding London: Harry, Skylar, and Draco.
It was Pet Day—an important tradition for incoming Hogwarts students—and Regulus, as the designated “single uncle with an infinite supply of patience and galleons,” had been recruited once again.
Lily and James had already gone ahead to Hogwarts—James had to sign paperwork, having just been appointed the new Quidditch coach (something he’d bragged about to anyone who breathed near him). Sirius and Remus, meanwhile, had wisely claimed a much-needed break from “the banshee of the house” as Skylar had recently been dubbed. And Narcissa and Lucius were currently sipping overpriced cocktails at some brunch Draco dramatically described as "a gathering of decorative goblets with nothing inside."
So naturally, when the question arose of who would take the kids to get their magical pets, all eyes had landed on one man.
Regulus.
The ever-reliable, ever-unbothered uncle. He claimed he did it because he loved the kids, but also admitted, “I’m single, I have money, and I like to feel superior to other parents. Why not?”
Today, even for him, was special. He couldn’t wait to see their faces light up when they chose their companions—the creatures who would be with them during their first great adventure away from home.
They’d already packed everything else: wands, uniforms, cauldrons, books, and broom-polishing kits (Harry’s request). The only thing missing was a magical friend.
“I want a massive snake so it can bite Lala,” Harry announced proudly, walking dead center between Draco and Skylar like a prince surrounded by chaos.
Draco snorted, expression amused. He stood to Harry’s right, as he always did, arms crossed but posture loose. “Shut up, Riri. Keep talking and I’ll be the one to bite you.”
Skylar, to Harry’s left, let out an offended gasp. She flicked her head dramatically, her long black hair smacking Harry directly in the face. “You’re disgusting.”
“Kids,” Regulus called coolly, ignoring the bickering. “We’re here.”
He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and held the door open. The bell chimed as they entered the Magical Menagerie, and almost immediately, chaos unfurled like an unspoken spell. The trio separated like magnets repelling one another, each child instantly drawn to something different.
Skylar pressed her nose to a glass cage, eyes wide with wonder. Inside, a tiny caramel-colored mouse stood on its hind legs, placing one delicate paw against the glass exactly where her hand was. Her heart melted.
“I want her,” she said dreamily.
The shopkeeper, recognizing the look of true bonding, smiled gently and lifted the mouse from its enclosure. “Twelve galleons.”
Skylar handed them over—galleons that had been tucked into the small pouch Uncle Reggie gave her that morning. “You’re the best uncle in the world,” she whispered to Regulus, hugging the mouse close like a baby.
Meanwhile, in the darker corner of the shop, Harry crouched beside a terrarium housing a long, sleek emerald snake. The two were engaged in what sounded like a hissing match, but in reality was a surprisingly casual chat in Parseltongue. Harry had discovered the gift a year ago and immediately became obsessed. He read every book on the subject and practiced until his pronunciation made even seasoned magical herpetologists uncomfortable.
The snake flicked its tongue at him affectionately.
“He wants to come with me,” Harry told the owner proudly.
“Er—right. Of course,” the man said, uneasy but impressed. He moved to place the snake in a traveling case, but Harry stopped him.
“I’ll carry him.”
Harry handed over the galleons, lifted the snake with both hands, and wrapped it gently around his arm. The snake coiled like it belonged there, then licked Harry’s cheek. A terrifying sight for most, but not for them.
Draco, ever elegant, returned last. He held in his arms a sleek black cat with enormous golden eyes. The creature radiated calm, regal energy—like it had already judged everyone in the room and found them wanting.
“Thanks, Uncle Reggie,” Draco said softly, the most polite of the trio. His smile was small but sincere. “I think she likes me.”
Regulus ruffled his blond hair gently. “There’s no need to thank me, love. I’m proud of all of you.”
Skylar approached protectively clutching her mouse, glancing with suspicion at Draco’s cat. “Ew. Cats eat mice and snakes.”
Draco gave her a superior look. “They hunt mice. Not snakes.”
“They hunt everything, you posh ferret!” Harry added.
“Shut up, Riri,” Skylar and Draco said in perfect, unbothered harmony.
They continued bickering all the way down the alley as Regulus led them to Florean Fortescue’s for ice cream. To passersby, they might have looked like a disaster waiting to happen, but to Regulus, they were a familiar joy.
Skylar clutching her mouse like a newborn. Harry with a snake practically sleeping around his neck. Draco, quiet and proud, walking beside him with his mysterious cat.
They looked, in a strange and hilarious way, like a repeat of the past—James and Sirius always arguing over something dumb while Remus tried not to strangle anyone. Regulus had been there too, once upon a time. Now he watched it happen all over again.
As Skylar and Harry launched into another round of yelling about whose pet was more “badass,” Draco shook his head fondly and muttered to Regulus, “Kids.”
Regulus chuckled, handing over the sickles to the ice cream vendor. “Yeah,” he said, handing Draco his cone. “Kids.”
Thankfully, food was the universal truce. The moment they had their cones—chocolate for Harry, strawberry for Skylar, and vanilla with peppermint flakes for Draco—they fell into peaceful silence, mouths too full to argue.
For at least five minutes.
It was bliss.
---
Skylar was sprawled across Harry’s bed, limbs thrown wide like a starfish, snoring with no restraint. One arm dangled off the side, twitching now and then as if chasing something in a dream.
Harry sat on the floor beside the bed, his back leaning against the mattress. His Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook rested open in his lap, and he read with quiet intensity, lips moving slightly as he traced each line of advanced spells. His messy black hair was even more unkempt than usual, and his glasses slipped a little down his nose, forgotten in his concentration.
Draco lay beside him, curled with feline grace, his head resting against Harry’s shoulder. His cat, Miss Firewisky, had claimed his lap, purring gently as she napped, her soft snore almost in harmony with Skylar's louder one. Draco’s pale eyes weren’t focused on the book—they were fixed on Harry instead, studying him with quiet wonder.
“You're staring again, Coco,” Harry murmured, his tone calm and teasing, though his eyes didn’t lift from the page.
“Mhm,” Draco hummed in response, unbothered, and gently ran his fingers through Harry’s dark hair, ruffling it in lazy affection.
“You’re already reading all of this like you don’t know you’ll be brilliant at everything,” Draco added, shifting slightly to rest his cheek more comfortably against Harry’s arm.
He reached forward to close the book, but Harry’s hand shot out to stop him, fingers pressed firmly against the page. Draco groaned in protest.
“We could talk, you know,” Draco said, pouting a little. His voice had more edge now, pushing for attention.
Harry didn’t look up. “We talk all the time,” he said softly. “Right now, I just want to read.”
Draco sighed in exaggerated defeat and slumped dramatically, letting his head fall into Harry’s lap. Miss Firewisky made an indignant noise but stayed nestled on Draco’s chest.
“Fine,” Draco grumbled, folding his arms and going quiet—for exactly five seconds.
“You think Uncle Regulus is going to accept the DADA position?” he asked, staring up at the ceiling now, clearly not planning to stop.
Harry exhaled, closing his book with a resigned thump. “No,” he said after a moment. “I think he’s afraid.”
“Of teaching?” Draco tilted his head. “He was a brilliant duelist.”
Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah. But it’s different now. Teaching here… it’s like being close to things he left behind.”
Draco went quiet for a moment, thinking. “He’s been avoiding your dad too.”
“Probably because Dad would remind him of everything he’s trying not to face,” Harry said, his hand absentmindedly drifting to Draco’s hair again. He twirled a soft curl around his finger, letting it slip free. “Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe he doesn’t want to be here if he’s not… part of all this.”
Draco yawned, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah… maybe.”
He shifted again, curling up more tightly with his head still on Harry’s lap, and within moments his breathing evened out, the weight of the day settling over him like a blanket.
Harry stayed still, stroking Draco’s hair without thinking, his eyes drifting from the sleeping boy in his lap to Skylar on the bed.
His best friends. His constant.
No matter what came their way—strange teachers, magical disasters, family complications—they would always be there. Loud, clingy, dramatic… but unshakably his.
And in that quiet moment, with their soft snoring surrounding him and his book forgotten on the floor, Harry felt something rare and steady settle in his chest.
Peace.