Chapter Text
# A Little Push Is Needed
## Chapter One
Harry Potter’s three children could agree on remarkably few things.
They disagreed about Quidditch teams, breakfast foods, acceptable sleeping hours, whether Albus owned too many books, whether James owned too few, and whether Lily’s collection of shoes constituted a hobby or an illness.
There were, however, three things upon which they stood completely united.
Mum and Dad were better apart.
Dad’s favourite dessert, treacle tart, was disgusting—but they brought him one whenever they came for dinner anyway.
And their father was lonely.
That last one, as far as the Potter children were concerned, simply wasn’t good enough.
Harry would never admit it. If asked directly, he would smile, wave the concern away and say he had plenty to keep him busy. He had his hobbies. He had friends. He had the children. He had a house that was considerably quieter now that James and Albus had moved out and Lily divided her holidays between him and Ginny.
He was fine.
Harry Potter had been “fine” through wars, funerals, political scandals, Auror work, a marriage slowly falling apart, and three children learning how to fly.
His children had learned not to trust the word.
Which was how Lily Luna Potter found herself sitting across from her father one afternoon with the innocent expression of someone about to commit a crime.
She tucked one leg beneath herself on the kitchen chair and watched Harry finish making tea.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I talk to you about boys?”
Harry nearly dropped the sugar bowl.
Lily watched his shoulders go rigid.
There it was.
Wonderful.
Her father turned around very slowly.
“Boys?”
“Yes.”
“My little girl wants to talk about boys?”
“Dad, I’m not six.”
“I’m aware of that,” Harry said quickly.
He was not reacting like someone who was aware of that.
Lily had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself smiling.
“I just thought you might be useful,” she continued casually. “You like men too, so you might understand.”
Harry perked up despite the obvious panic behind his glasses.
“Oh. Right. Yes. Of course.”
He immediately abandoned the tea and started pulling drinks from the fridge instead, apparently deciding this conversation required reinforcements.
“Definitely, Lils. You can talk to me about anything.”
Internally, Harry was screaming.
His daughter wanted to talk about boys.
Boys.
He had survived Voldemort repeatedly. He had faced basilisks, dementors, dragons, Death Eaters and Ministry inquiries.
None of that had prepared him for this.
Lily accepted the drink he placed in front of her and took a deliberately slow sip.
“So what kind of men do you like?”
Harry froze.
“That was fast.”
“I’m establishing whether you have useful taste.”
“My taste?”
“Yes.”
Harry stared at her.
Lily smiled sweetly.
It was the same smile Ginny had once referred to as *the warning sign*.
Harry should have recognised it.
Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to think.
“I don’t know. I haven’t exactly made a list.”
“Think.”
“Lily—”
“Dad.”
Harry sighed.
“Well… blond, maybe.”
Lily’s attention sharpened.
“Blond.”
“I suppose.”
“Continue.”
Harry gave her a suspicious look.
She smiled again.
He should really have known better.
“Pale,” he said reluctantly. “I seem to notice pale men.”
Lily nodded solemnly, committing the information to memory.
“And?”
“Er…”
Harry’s ears were beginning to turn red.
“A little younger than me, maybe.”
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Lily took another sip.
“Blood status?”
“What?”
“Does it matter?”
“No.”
“Elegant or rebellious?”
Harry stared.
“Where are these questions coming from?”
“Dad.”
“Fine. Elegant, I suppose.”
“Nice clothes?”
“Fitted clothes can look good.”
“Quiet or loud?”
“Quiet.”
“Confident or shy?”
Harry thought about that longer.
“A bit shy can be sweet.”
Lily leaned forward.
“Sweet?”
“Yes.”
“Sweet is important?”
Harry was now visibly regretting every decision that had led him to this kitchen.
“I suppose so.”
Lily nodded.
Then, because she had inherited a truly worrying amount of James Potter’s capacity for chaos, she kept going until her father was so flustered that he was answering questions almost automatically.
By the time she left, Harry was leaning against the kitchen counter looking as though he had just survived an interrogation.
Lily walked out of the house with valuable intelligence.
Later that afternoon, she dramatically collapsed across James’s sofa.
“I almost feel bad.”
James looked up from the Quidditch magazine resting against his knees.
“About what?”
“Dad.”
That got his attention.
“What did you do?”
“I questioned him.”
James slowly lowered the magazine.
“What kind of questioning?”
“The useful kind.”
Albus was sitting in an armchair by the window, a book forgotten in his lap. Fresh out of Hogwarts himself and recently moved into a flat with his boyfriend Lysander, he had nevertheless been recruited into the family operation with very little opportunity to refuse.
Lily stretched her legs across the couch.
“I genuinely thought Dad was going to pass out when I told him I wanted to talk about boys.”
James laughed.
“Well, you are the baby.”
“I am not a baby.”
“You’re still at Hogwarts.”
“That doesn’t make me an infant.”
“To Dad it does.”
Albus quietly reached for the quill and parchment they had placed on the coffee table.
“So,” James said, leaning forward. “What are we working with?”
Lily counted on her fingers.
“Blond. Pale. Younger than him, but obviously still a proper adult. Elegant. Dresses well. Blood status doesn’t matter. Quiet seems good. Slightly shy is apparently cute.”
Albus wrote quickly.
Lily raised another finger.
“And sweet.”
James nodded solemnly.
“Sweet.”
“He mentioned sweet twice,” Lily said. “So I think that’s essential.”
James stared at her for a moment.
“How are you so socially effective?”
Lily turned her head and fixed him with a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
“Because I don’t have the emotional range of a teaspoon.”
Albus made a strangled noise.
He immediately covered his mouth with his glass.
James looked betrayed.
“Lils!”
She barely had time to shriek before James launched himself across the couch and attacked her sides.
“James! Stop—stop! I’m going to—”
“Apologise.”
“Never!”
“You insulted me!”
“You asked!”
Albus calmly moved his parchment out of kicking range while his siblings wrestled across the sofa like children half their ages.
Eventually Lily escaped, red-faced and breathless, and threw a cushion at James’s head.
“Can we focus?”
James caught it.
“Fine.”
Lily smoothed her hair.
“We need candidates.”
James turned to Albus.
“Is Lysander’s brother still single?”
Albus shook his head.
“No. He rather suddenly announced that he was exclusively interested in women. He’s been going steady with a witch who believes in ‘real’ creatures.”
Lily waved the idea away.
“Oh, please. He never dressed well anyway.”
Albus’s eyes drifted down to Lily’s new heels sitting neatly beside the couch.
She had begged Ginny for them for months.
Not merely begged, either.
Lily had produced arguments.
Charts.
At one point, an essay.
Albus had no intention of insulting her assessment of anyone’s fashion sense.
“What about Seamus Junior?” he suggested instead.
Lily immediately shook her head.
“In absolutely no universe is that man sweet.”
Albus considered.
He had to concede the point.
James scratched his chin.
“What about that bloke from my year? Ugh. What was his name? Sam?”
“Sam is married.”
“He is?”
Lily stared at him.
“James, do you need to reconnect with your school friends? You seem dangerously out of the loop.”
“I have a job!”
“So does everyone else.”
“I travel!”
“So do other people.”
James pointed at her.
“You’re sixteen. You don’t get to judge my social life.”
“I can and I will.”
Albus sighed.
“This is going very well.”
It was not.
Over the next several months, their matchmaking operation achieved precisely nothing.
At their next official meeting, this one held in Albus and Lysander’s kitchen, Lily finally threw her hands into the air.
“How have we managed a grand total of nothing?”
“Keep your voice down,” Albus whispered.
“We have had months!”
“Lily.”
“Months, Albus! Is there really no one in wizarding Britain suitable for our father? I call bull—”
Albus slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Scorpius has jetlag.”
Lily stopped struggling.
Albus removed his hand cautiously.
She blinked.
“Scorpius?”
“Yes.”
“As in Scorpius Malfoy?”
Albus stared.
“How many Scorpiuses do you know?”
“Your best friend Scorpius Malfoy?”
“Yes.”
“The blond one?”
Albus’s eyes narrowed.
James slowly sat up.
Lily leaned forward.
“The pale blond with the ridiculously pretty Malfoy face?”
“No.”
“I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“You are going to.”
“He’s younger than Dad.”
“No.”
“He dresses well.”
“Lily.”
“He’s elegant.”
“No.”
“He’s sweet.”
“No.”
“Albus.”
“No.”
James quietly got up and wandered toward the living room.
Albus spotted him.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.”
“You’re going to look at him.”
“I am not.”
James stepped through the doorway.
Scorpius was asleep across the long sofa, one arm folded beneath his head. His blond hair had fallen partly over his face, and the remains of travel exhaustion had clearly won over whatever dignity he normally possessed.
James stared.
He tilted his head.
“Huh.”
“James.”
He turned.
Lily was peering around Albus’s shoulder.
James lowered his voice.
“I mean…”
Albus pointed furiously back toward the kitchen.
“Get back in there.”
James obeyed, though his expression remained thoughtful.
Once the door was safely between them and the sleeping guest, Lily folded her arms.
“The son of Dad’s childhood rival, with all the pretty looks of his family and almost none of the attitude.”
“No.”
“Albus, hear me out.”
“No.”
“He’s exactly Dad’s type.”
“He is my best friend.”
“And?”
“And that makes it strange.”
Lily stared at him.
“Only because you’re making it strange.”
“The press would eat him alive.”
“That,” James admitted, “is actually a fair concern.”
“Thank you.”
Lily waved a hand.
“The press tries to eat Dad alive if he sneezes strangely. That is not an argument.”
“He might not even be interested in Dad.”
“Then nothing happens.”
“He might only like women.”
Lily gave Albus a long, slow look.
Albus folded his arms.
“What?”
“Al.”
“What?”
“You have known Scorpius since you were eleven.”
“Yes.”
“And you think he only likes women?”
“Yes?”
James coughed into his hand.
Albus rounded on him.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
Lily leaned across the table.
“Come on, Albus. We don’t have to lock them in a broom cupboard.”
James’s eyes lit up.
“We could—”
“No,” Lily and Albus said together.
James looked disappointed.
Lily continued.
“We just put them near each other. If there’s nothing there, there’s nothing there.”
Albus looked miserable.
“You’re wasting your time.”
“Excellent. Then you have nothing to worry about.”
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Eventually Albus groaned and dropped his forehead onto the table.
“Fine.”
Lily smiled.
“You can sit him beside Dad at my speech tomorrow.”
Albus lifted his head.
“That was suspiciously specific.”
“I plan ahead.”
“I hate this family.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” Albus muttered. “Unfortunately.”
***
The skill with which Lily manoeuvred Harry into the seat beside Scorpius the following afternoon would have impressed military strategists.
James watched from two rows away and gave her a tiny approving nod.
Lily returned it.
Albus saw both of them.
His eyes narrowed.
Scorpius noticed none of this.
“Hello, Scorpius,” Harry said pleasantly as he sat down. “I didn’t realise you were back from France.”
Scorpius turned.
His face immediately brightened.
“Oh. Hello, Mr Potter.”
Harry laughed.
“You’ve gotten taller.”
Scorpius’s cheeks coloured faintly.
“I don’t think I have.”
“You have.”
“I’m twenty.”
“People can still get taller at twenty.”
“I think you just remember me as twelve.”
“That is entirely possible.”
Scorpius smiled.
Harry adjusted his glasses.
“You’re still calling me Mr Potter, though. When am I going to convince you to call me Harry?”
“Old habits die hard, Mr—”
Scorpius stopped.
Harry lifted an eyebrow.
“Harry,” Scorpius corrected.
“There you are.”
Scorpius’s ears turned pink.
From behind them, Lily subtly elbowed James.
Harry continued, entirely unaware.
“How are your parents?”
“I haven’t seen them yet. Grandmother either. I’m expected at the Manor this afternoon for tea.”
Scorpius made a face.
Harry chuckled.
“That bad?”
“No. I love them.”
“But?”
“My grandmother will want every detail of France. Mother will want to know whether I met anyone. Father will pretend he doesn’t care about either question while listening very closely.”
Harry laughed.
“That sounds about right.”
“After that, I’ll probably head home and buy groceries.”
Harry looked at him.
“You only got back yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got tea at Malfoy Manor and shopping after this?”
“Yes?”
“That sounds miserable.”
Scorpius blinked.
Harry leaned back in his chair.
“Why don’t you come to dinner instead? James, Albus and Lily will all be there. You can shop first if you desperately need to, but the last thing anyone wants to do after travelling is cook.”
Scorpius hesitated.
Lily inserted herself immediately.
“That would be lovely!”
Scorpius glanced over his shoulder.
Lily smiled angelically.
“I haven’t seen you in ages either.”
Albus looked at the ceiling.
And that was that.
***
Harry went completely overboard with dinner.
He knew he had.
There was enough food on the table for twice the number of guests expected, and he had made several desserts despite the fact that no normal family required four choices after dinner.
But Harry liked cooking.
He had discovered that after the divorce.
Not immediately.
At first, the quiet house had felt enormous.
Ginny had moved into her own place, James was already gone more often than he was home, Albus had moved out with Lysander, and Lily came and went according to school terms and whichever parent she was staying with.
Harry had spent decades surrounded by noise.
The Dursleys’ angry noise.
Hogwarts noise.
War noise.
Children noise.
Then suddenly there had been silence.
Molly had taught him more recipes than he could count over the years, and once Harry stopped working full time—he had more money than he could sensibly spend and no desire to die behind an Auror desk—he found himself filling the hours with things he had never had time for before.
Cooking.
Reading.
Fixing bits of the house.
Trying, unsuccessfully, to garden.
Ginny came by for the children occasionally, but they both preferred not to linger together too long. They had eventually reached a comfortable enough friendship, provided neither of them attempted to live in the same house.
It was better that way.
They loved each other.
They simply did not love each other correctly anymore.
By the time everyone arrived, Harry had produced a roast, three side dishes, fresh bread and several desserts.
None of them were treacle tart.
All three Potter children hated treacle tart.
They had spent their childhood united in that particular betrayal.
Lily and James were lounging on the back porch with lemonade when the front door sounded.
Harry wiped his hands quickly and went to answer it.
Scorpius stood outside holding a large bakery box.
“Glad you made it,” Harry said.
Scorpius smiled and offered the box.
“I brought this.”
Harry took it.
The smell hit him immediately.
His eyes widened.
“Is this treacle tart?”
“Yes.”
Scorpius looked suddenly unsure.
“I remembered you liked it.”
Harry beamed.
Behind him, Lily’s head snapped toward James.
James slowly lowered his drink.
Their expressions said the same thing.
*Oh.*
Harry carried it reverently toward the kitchen.
“You might be my favourite.”
“Dad!” James shouted from outside.
“I said might!”
“You have three children!”
“And none of you bring me treacle tart without complaining.”
Scorpius laughed softly.
Harry placed the tart in the fridge and poured him some lemonade.
“How was France?”
Scorpius settled onto one of the stools at the island.
“Enlightening.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It probably is.”
Harry leaned against the opposite counter.
“I’ve decided I dislike politics.”
Harry snorted.
“Well, that took you long enough.”
“My father will be disappointed.”
“I doubt that.”
Scorpius looked down at his drink.
“He always assumed I would do something respectable.”
“Breathing is respectable.”
Scorpius smiled.
“I discovered something by accident, though.”
Harry waited.
“I love working with equines.”
Harry blinked.
“Horses?”
“Magical equines mostly. Although ordinary horses too.”
Scorpius’s entire expression changed as he spoke.
The polite reserve softened.
His eyes became brighter.
“I rode an Abraxan.”
Harry smiled despite himself.
“You did?”
“It was incredible.”
Scorpius sat straighter, enthusiasm pushing away the last of his exhaustion.
“They’re enormous, obviously, but once you learn their movement it’s completely different from flying on a broom. You can feel every adjustment they make. Every shift in balance.”
Harry listened.
Not politely.
Intently.
Scorpius noticed.
“I think I want to set up a stable,” he admitted. “Breed magical horses, perhaps