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Draco was at the end of his tether.
So was Scorpius, given the sheer volume of blueberry jam he’d apparently managed to conjure out of nowhere—seriously, there wasn’t even blueberry jam in the house, how had he managed this?—and smeared all over the walls.
Draco explained why blueberry jam didn’t belong on the walls, sent his errant son to his room, and promptly sank into an armchair to have a little stress breakdown. A glob of jam slid down the back of the armchair and landed with a plop! on his shoulder, forcing him to get up and Vanish the jam, Scourgify the walls, and then return to his previous self-care mental breakdown.
How, precisely, was he supposed to handle his new promotion, corresponding increase in work hours, and provide Scorpius adequate guardianship? He was fairly sure this recent uptick in Scorpius’s misbehaviors was due to feeling neglected and bored. However, it was out of the question to bring him along to the workplace—for one, Scorpius attended day school, and secondly, the effects of potions fumes were unstudied in young children. Frankly speaking, Draco didn’t even feel comfortable thinking of Hogwarts students running around in the Potions classrooms where a mistaken ingredient could wreak silent, unchecked, toxic havoc that could lie undetected for years. No, Scorpius would stay well away from Draco’s experimental potions lab until he was above the age of majority.
Which led him back to the original problem: childcare.
Not for the first time, Draco mourned the loss of his father if only for the consequent loss of his mother’s former self. When Lucius died, it was as if a light had gone off inside her and had never reignited. She was staying with her sister Andromeda now, after Draco had begged and pleaded for his estranged aunt to help. Even then, it had only been after he’d physically transported Mother, immobile in her chair as she was these days, to Andromeda’s doorstep that she’d agreed to care for Narcissa. Given the extreme difficulty of arranging that, Draco didn’t feel he had any favors left to ask of Andromeda, so leaving Scorpius in her care was out of the question.
All of his old friends were gone, having fled the country after the war. All, that is, except for one. Draco was loath to ask anything of him, given all he had done to him in their school years, but he was really left with no choice. He couldn’t have just anyone looking after Scorpius.
With a sigh, Draco summoned a quill and parchment to write a letter to Gregory Goyle.
Draco opened the door to his home, weary from a long day’s work. What greeted him inside nearly had him spinning around on his heel and walking elsewhere.
Whereas the previous disaster had been blueberry jam, today it was flour. Draco hadn’t been certain this much flour existed in all of London, and yet here it was in his neat townhome.
“‘Ello,” Greg greeted.
“DADDY!” Scorpius screamed, and then immediately began coughing on inhaled flour. Draco hastily performed a localized summoning charm to pull the flour out of his son’s throat.
“Greg,” he said, trying very hard not to sound upset because Merlin knew he’d been nasty enough to Greg in seven Hogwarts years to fill seven lifetimes, “Greg, what...ah...what did you do today with Scorpius?”
“Learned baking,” Greg replied succinctly.
“Ah. And this is how baking...works?” Draco was skeptical, but, well, he truly didn’t know what baking was like (or even exactly what it was. It seemed to involve flour. And ovens? He felt he’d heard about ovens and pastries in the same sentence before). And Greg was the professional, out of the two of them. His bakery was fairly successful too, so he presumably knew the best of the best techniques.
“No.”
“Daddy! I messed up! Lots! That means I’m learning, right!”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, looking skyward. Or rather, ceilingward. Towards a ceiling that was also, he noted absently, coated in flour. He silently counted to ten, then exhaled and said, “Yes, Scorpius, mistakes are signs of learning, so long as you recognize your mistake and don’t do it again.” He eyed Scorpius carefully.
“Nope!” Scorpius replied cheerfully.
Draco tilted his head lower, lifting an eyebrow like Scorpius lifted worms from the sidewalk.
Scorpius’s demeanor stilled slightly. “No, Father, I won’t do it again.”
“Good. Now, why don’t you show me exactly what you and Greg did today?”
While Scorpius excitedly re-enacted the entire day and afternoon, Draco’s eyebrows seemed to have found the mythical stairway to heaven given how they steadily climbed higher and higher on his face. Periodically he looked to Greg, who was determinedly watching Scorpius’s energetic rambling and not Draco. In the past, Draco might have mistaken this for Greg’s usual reticence to make eye contact, but he felt he had a good enough grasp on Greg at this point to realize that this was deliberate.
Scorpius stopped midsentence. “Daddy, are you listening?”
“Yes, darling, you were telling me about how your yeast friends started foaming so you dumped flour on them.”
“Yeah! And then Mr. Greg showed me how to knead the bread, and he told me to add flour if it was sticky, and the bread was super sticky, so I added LOTSA flour!”
“I can see that,” Draco replied faintly.
An odd choking sound emitted from Draco’s right. With a start, Draco realized that Greg was trying not to laugh! He was about to squawk indignantly, but Greg spoke then.
“Not my fault. Did tell him it was a mistake.”
“Uh-huh! And I told Mr. Greg what you told me, about mistakes being part of the, um, learning process, and then I tried to clean it up with the broom but Mr. Greg said I got too enzoo—ensoothi—”
“Enthusiastic,” supplied Greg.
“En-su-thia-stick!”
Draco simply sighed and resolved to try and find another babysitter. Preferably one whose hobbies weren’t quite so prone to sticking to the ceiling.
Unfortunately, after he finished cleaning all the muck from his house and tending to Scorpius, he really couldn’t be bothered with searching through classifieds. Instead, he asked Greg for recommendations.
Greg had stayed for dinner—had made dinner, really, and Draco would have to ask how he made that beef Wellington or, more likely, stop by Greg’s bakery more often. Draco was rather touched that he'd stayed at all, really, since he knew Greg had inhumanly early hours as a baker and had to work the next morning.
“Greg, I really appreciate your being here, but I think Scorpius’s energy might be a bit much for you,” Draco said delicately as Greg prepared to leave, tying on his boots in the foyer. “You’re always welcome to come round for a visit, of course, but do you happen to know anyone else who could take over the childcare part?”
Thankfully, Greg didn’t look as if he was heartbroken over the revelation that Draco didn’t want him to continue his babysitting duties. In fact, he appeared relieved. “Knew it already,” he said succinctly in that Greg way of his. “Was thinking over dinner. I know someone. He talks more. Could keep up with the little one.”
“Wonderful. What’s his name? I can send an owl.”
“No need. He’s my boyfriend. I’ll tell him.” For the first time in Draco’s memory, Greg let out a soft, warm, genuine smile that took over his whole face as he mentioned this boyfriend.
Draco hadn’t even known Greg was dating. Now he felt like an arse. Had Greg told him before and he’d forgotten? Had Greg been keeping the boyfriend a secret? Had Greg not felt safe telling him he had a boyfriend?
Greg’s hand on his shoulder jolted Draco from his spiraling. He looked up into Greg’s concerned gaze. “Alright?”
“Er,” Draco gulped. “You’ve a boyfriend, then? Who might be able to watch Scorpius?”
“Yes. I’ll talk with him. Get back to you later. Night.”
“Well, good night, then.” Draco bit his lip (a nasty habit, his mother had assured him) and then blurted, “Greg!”
Greg looked up. “Mm?”
“Tell me about your boyfriend, next time you visit. Or actually, just bring him with you. It looks like he makes you happy?”
“Yeah.” There was that smile again.
“That’s good. You—” Draco swallowed hard against the anxiety welling up inside him. “You deserve to be happy.”
Greg looked at Draco then, really looked at him. After a few silent seconds, he nodded. “Yes. And so do you. Bye.”
With that, Greg turned and walked out the door, leaving Draco to have an existential crisis alone in the foyer.
“DAAAAAAADDYYYYYYY! I need to pee but the bathroom has monsters!”
Who had time for existential crises when they had children to care for? Draco neatly compartmentalized his internalized guilt from the entirety of his school years and headed off to save Scorpius from the bathroom monsters.
Draco hesitated outside the door to his home. Last time, he’d thought nothing of it and walked straight into a flour-coated disaster. Today, he would be prepared. Today, he would not be surprised by anything he would find that Scorpius and Greg’s boyfriend had gotten up to while he was at work.
He opened the door and stepped inside.
The house was quiet but for Scorpius’s occasional giggles. Draco followed the sound until he came to the living room, where he stopped short.
Dudley Dursley, boyfriend to Gregory Goyle, sat immobile on the couch as Scorpius fluttered around him, adding more and more ribbons and bows and lacy things that Draco hadn’t even known he possessed. There were smears of paint all over Dursley and the couch and the walls.
“Scorpius,” Draco said, voice and heart faint. “Good evening. Have you been behaving for Mr. Dursley?”
“Daddy!” Scorpius dropped his armful of craft supplies and came crashing into Draco’s knees, wrapping him into a warm hug. Draco felt a little of his dismay at the mess melt away in the face of how adorable and loving his son was. “Yeah, I was good! Really good! Mr. Dursley said so!”
Draco turned to look at Dursley, who at least had the self-awareness to appear ashamed. But maybe that was Draco’s imagination, because the man was so covered in glittery paints and lacy ribbons that it was difficult to read any sort of facial expressions from him.
One thorough clean-up later, the thought of figuring out dinner made Draco want to scream, so he decided to get Floo-in for dinner. He made the order, pulled his head out of the flames, and sank heavily into a chair at the kitchen table.
Dursley, who had been hovering awkwardly the whole time, sat gingerly across from him. “I’m, er, very sorry about that earlier,” Dursley said.
Draco, who had been having a very nice fantasy of napping, jolted back to reality. “What? Oh, it’s no trouble, really. That is, and I hope you’ll take no offense at this, I don’t think you’re the right fit for Scorpius’s babysitter. But I’m sure you did your best.” Really, he wasn’t all that sure, but this was Greg’s boyfriend and Draco’s inner guilt wouldn’t let him be anything less than gracious about any faults he found in the man.
“I think you and I can both agree that I could have done loads better,” Dursley chuckled. “It’s just, ah, growing up I didn’t exactly have the best example of how to be proper ‘round a child, in a discipline kind of way, you know? I was never told off for misbehaving, and then my parents...” he trailed off, biting his lip. “Well, they went the other extreme when it came to my younger cousin that was staying with us. I didn’t want to get anywhere near to that with Scorp, and I suppose I ended up on the ‘too-indulgent’ side of things. And then when he started magicking the ribbon out of nowhere, I really felt in over my head.”
Draco let the horrendous nickname slide in favor of digesting this new information. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” he said finally. “By any chance, do you have any suggestions for Scoripus’s babysitter?”
“Oh, loads,” Dursley said easily. “But none of them do the, er, magic thing, and I think Greg mentioned that was an issue?”
Draco nodded, already dreading the thought of drafting a classified in the Daily Prophet, or, heaven forbid, the Quibbler. He shuddered internally. Who knew what kind of applicants he’d attract advertising in the Quibbler? “Thank you anyway—“
“But I do know one bloke who might work out,” Dursley continued. “He’s magic, and I think he can keep up with Scorpius without letting him get away with behaving however he likes. And he’s not busy, either. I’m fairly sure he doesn’t have a job or work or anything. I can er, ring him up?”
“That would be wonderful,” Draco replied, while internally his brain screamed, MIRACLES REALLY DO HAPPEN! while waving colorful streamers and blaring party poppers. The loudness of his mental celebration prevented him from questioning why Dursley might know another magical person besides his boyfriend Greg, and also why Greg hadn’t mentioned this person previously. “Have him come by in the morning tomorrow, same time as you did today, if he’s willing. Tell him money isn’t an issue.”
Draco fiddled nervously with his cuffs as he stood by the front door waiting for Scorpius’s potential new babysitter. Scorpius himself was in the kitchen with breakfast, his bag for daycare already packed. As long as this bloke Dursley knew was breathing and capable enough to pick Scorpius up from daycare, Draco presumed he could figure out the rest. Even if Scorpius continued his trend of making a mess of the entire house, he could deal with it. He might have a little mental breakdown or five, but that was alright. Please, please just let this man be decent—
A knock at the front door.
Draco hastily swung it open. “Hello, good morning, right on schedule. My name is—“
He stopped there, because there was no need to introduce himself, or to ask for the other man’s introduction, for that matter.
“Harry Potter,” Draco whispered, stunned. He hadn’t seen the man in years, but Potter hadn’t changed at all. He still looked scruffy, skinny, with those huge green eyes that made Draco want to drown in them like someone whose parents had never mastered Floatation charms. The only difference was that that buzz of energy that always seemed to float around Potter seemed to have settled under his skin, working with him instead of against him as it had all through school.
Potter’s mouth was hanging open as well, but that changed as his lips quirked up into a smirk. “I don’t think it is,” he commented. “You see, my name is Harry Potter. And you’re Draco Malfoy.”
There was no time for astonishment, in the end. Draco had already been running behind, as tends to happen when one is in care of a young child who lacks understanding of such abstract concepts as “schedules” and “being on time”. And Potter did fit his criteria, both for childcare and bed partner preferences—no he was not going to think about that now!
Past flings aside, Saint Potter couldn’t possibly be a bad choice for taking care of Scorpius. Right?
That was what Draco repeated to himself as he quickly showed Potter where relevant items were and the address to pick up Scorpius from day school. And then he was off to his work at the experimental potions lab, and the rest was left to fate.
Of course, today had to be one of those where there was disaster after disaster after disaster. Draco was delayed by 90 minutes, and by the time he was opening the door, he was desperate with panic at what chaos Scorpius could have wrought.
The front door swung open, and Draco almost fell over backwards at the level of noise that spilled out. The cacophony was indescribable. Thuds, bumps, bangs, crashes—all of that and more was emitting from Draco’s home.
He staggered into the house as if the sound was a physical barrier attempting to push him out. Despite the incredibly uncomfortable racket, worry for his son propelled Draco’s legs up towards the source of the noise.
He turned the corner and found Scorpius, who seemed to be alive, healthy and...playing the drums?
Potter was next to him, an identical drumset set up. “Good, good, just like that!” Potter enthused, apparently heedless of the nonsensical banging that Scorpius was engaged in. “Now try this out!” He picked up his drumsticks and tapped out a rhythm that sounded like miniature explosions. Draco supposed he could appreciate that there was a rhythm at all. In fact, it was the rhythm of a song he knew well from his childhood.
Then Potter opened his mouth and began to sing.
Draco stared in open-mouthed awe. The sound was so astonishing that he could do nothing more than stand, transfixed.
He had no idea that anyone’s singing could sound that bad.
Potter hit (or rather, didn’t hit) a particularly high note, and that was the breaking point. Draco stepped into the room and shouted, “Enough!”
Potter and Scorpius stopped abruptly. Potter looked like a deer in a Lumos beam. Before he could say anything, Draco extended an imperious finger and pointed at his son. “You, do a steady bass beat. I trust that Potter has educated you that much?”
Potter nodded mutely.
“Excellent. And you—“ here, Draco turned his regal pointing finger onto Potter “—you will add offbeats and fills. Now, from the top. One, two, three, four—!”
It had been a long time since Draco called upon his background of being a professional rich child with tutors for every impractical activity under the sun, and even longer since his long ago vocal lessons and his short-lived, ill-fated jazz lessons. They were not doomed due to disinterest on Draco’s part; in fact, he’d loved Mr. Armstrong’s lessons more than the riding or calligraphy or embroidery lessons. No, the fault with the American wizard had been in attracting Lucius’s attention. Draco’s father had balked at the thought of his son learning anything so uncouth, and from a common wizard at that.
(Years later, after he made friends with Blaise Zabini, Draco realized that there were other reasons to do with Lucius’s displeasure of Mr. Armstrong.)
So it was with trepidation that Draco took a deep lungful of air and projected his voice into his favorite song for the first time since Mr. Armstrong was sent away.
He really needn’t have worried. With the volume of Scorpius’s banging and the fact that the room was in no way set up to contain all the sound, Draco’s voice was almost completely drowned out. To his surprise, he didn’t mind at all. In fact, he projected louder, moving his feet and snapping to the music.
On seeing his father start to dance, Scorpius leapt up with a cry and grabbed onto his leg, twirling and jumping. Potter was laughing as well, easily taking over Scorpius’s kick drum duties and following Draco’s improvised lines.
It was hardly the harmonious melody that Draco’s parents had hoped for him to create when they signed him up for lessons, but Draco couldn’t remember having this much fun since… well, since he’d had those lessons as a child.
When the song came to a natural end, Scorpius clapped loudly and begged, “More, more!”
“I’m sorry, Scorpius, but I don’t know any other songs. Mr. Potter and I would have to practice more together.”
“Okay!” Scorpius beamed and turned to Potter. “Mr. Potter, will you come over and practice with Daddy so we can play music together and dance?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, darling—”
“Of course!” Potter replied, because he was clearly not a parent and therefore completely vulnerable to children’s begging. “I can come over every day, if your dad will have me.”
Draco was speechless. He was also now the subject of Potter’s intense gaze and Scorpius’s puppy eyes.
He didn’t stand a chance.
Draco returned home the next evening with a buzzing in his stomach. He’d tried to dismiss it to no avail. What had he gotten himself into? Spending extensive time with Potter was not going to go well, he just knew it.
Today, there was no wave of crashing noises when he opened the door, which was both a good and bad thing. Draco had learned long ago during Scorpius’s toddler phase that silence was not actually a good thing.
He searched all around the house and finally discovered his son and Potter outside in the backyard examining leaves on the trees.
“...and this is a white ash tree, you can tell by the pattern of leaves that grows like this. How many leaves do you see?”
Scorpius counted aloud and proclaimed, “Nine!”
“Very good! Why don’t you see if you can find any other white ash trees in this backyard?”
Scorpius took off running, quickly saw Draco, and changed direction to dash full tilt into Draco’s knees. “Welcome home, Daddy!”
Draco patted him absently on the head. “Hello, Scorpius. Have you been good for Mr. Potter?”
“Yes! We were learning how to name trees!”
Draco glanced at Potter curiously. “These aren’t herbology lessons; I don’t know how to identify these kinds of plants.”
Potter shrugged. “I thought it might be fun to teach him things he could get interested in around his home.”
“Daddy, are you going to do music now? You promiiiiiiised!”
“Darling, I have to get dinner started…”
“Actually,” Potter interjected. “If you don’t mind, I know a house elf who will probably sh—er, exude rainbows if you let him cook for you. He’s a big fan of, er, the Black family.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “You have a house elf?”
“Don’t worry about that, now do you want me to call him or not?”
Well, Draco certainly wasn’t about to pass up the chance of letting someone else cook for today.
“Kreacher!” Potter called.
Kreacher the house elf did, in fact, trip over his own feet at the sight of Draco. He was less interested in Scorpius, which Draco thought was rather rude but he supposed that Scorpius was further removed from the Black name. He recalled vaguely that old family elves were made to memorize the bloodline tapestries and adjust their actions accordingly.
Scorpius declared the meal “very scrumptious” and then scampered off to draw a picture, leaving Draco and Harry alone.
Draco spoke first. “I suppose we should start with establishing a repertoire. I’ve taken the liberty of writing down a list of songs that I already know, and if you could do the same we can narrow down which ones we want to work on together. Now more importantly, we are lacking in an accompanist, and while I am certainly willing to enroll Scorpius in lessons, I can hardly expect him to be up to performance standard in such a short time frame—”
“What time frame? Are we working against a deadline I don’t know about?” Potter piped up, a bemused expression on his face.
“No, but—” Draco stopped abruptly, then began pacing. “Hm. Alright, I’ll sign Scorpius up for piano lessons, which you can take him to and pick him up from. We’ll just have to make do without a pianist until he’s ready.”
“Malfoy, he’s five years old—”
“Beside the point, really. Children learn quickly.” He glanced at Potter, who appeared to be having an apoplexy. “Oh, I suppose we could hire the piano teacher to be the accompanist if we needed to.”
Potter visibly relaxed, and Draco could no longer contain himself. He burst out laughing, which apparently shocked Potter enough that he fell out of his seat.
“Malfoy...were you...messing with me?”
“Potter,” Draco said, attempting to mimic Potter’s accent, “Did you seriously think I believed my son able to go from absolute novice to jazz accompanist in a reasonable time frame? He can’t even eat his dinner in a reasonable time frame!”
“Hey, you can’t blame me, I really don’t know you very well at all, it seems!” Potter bit his lip. “I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better. I know it’s kind of weird, but it can’t possibly be any weirder than me trying to get along with my cousin after all the shite we went through growing up.” He stuck out a hand. “A commitment to friends?”
Draco thought it over. He rather liked this Potter, or he thought he did, and he would certainly appreciate the chance to get to know him better so he could decide if he liked him or not. “A commitment to friends.”
Time went on.
Kreacher, once he’d been introduced to Draco’s household, had looked close to tears at the prospect of not continuing to serve one of the Black family. Draco gratefully accepted his help with cooking meals, at least, though he drew the line at letting Kreacher have any hand in Scorpius’s upbringing. Goodness knew what kind of vile things the traditional house elf would try to instill in him.
Scorpius loved his piano lessons, which Draco was relieved to see. He’d been afraid of enrolling Scorpius in any lessons, fearful of perpetuating his father’s cycle of rich kid tutelage. It seemed that Scorpius’s rambunctious nature had been a cry of boredom though, or something relating to it. Now that he had a focus that he enjoyed, Draco found that Scorpius was much calmer and easier to manage. It did mean he had to put up with hearing Scorpius practice and muck about on the piano he’d bought day in and day out, but that was a small price to pay for the improved ease of child-wrangling.
Scorpius’s significantly calmer behavior aside—though Draco would never downplay the relief he felt at returning home and finding the walls absent of blueberry jam, flour, or lacy ribbons— the change that felt more momentous was the addition of Harry Potter to his daily life.
Harry (as he’d firmly insisted Draco call him, to the point of ignoring him if he said “Potter”) had made a point of being the most exemplary babysitter Draco could imagine. Draco could find no fault with him, and he was therefore forced to keep Harry around—or so he told himself when his brain started rebelling at the idea that he was becoming friends with Harry Potter. Draco found himself looking forward to coming home these days, and not just so he could spend time with his son. No, he specifically looked forward to coming home to enjoy Harry’s company.
During their rehearsal time, Harry would chat in between numbers. Since Draco often needed to rest his voice, it turned into Harry talking about himself.
Draco didn’t mind: Harry had led a fascinating life since the war. Whereas Draco had entered into an Arrangement™ with his parents and used a surrogate to bear a child to carry on the Malfoy name, Harry had decided to renounce all such societal expectations. Granger and Weasley had moved to Australia, and Harry had moved in with Luna Lovegood, of all people. He hadn’t wanted to be an Auror or professor or shop owner or writer or anything, really, and he’d been in limbo over what to do with his life.
Lovegood encouraged him to try out different things and follow the whimsies of his heart. Left with no better option, Harry had taken that advice fully and totally.
He’d developed a skill set that included playing drumset, common plant identification, the basics of trumpet, crocheting stuffed animals, breakdancing, competitive weightlifting, street style skateboarding, masonry, haberdashery, 90s telly, cobbling, field hockey, and, apparently, babysitting. Draco wasn’t sure what half of those things were, but he could appreciate the sheer number of things that Harry was now half-versed in.
He’d also told Draco the story of how he’d learned that the cousin who’d wanted to reconcile with him was dating Greg. Draco still could not believe the amount of coincidences required to line up such that Harry became Scorpius’s babysitter, but he wasn’t complaining.
Greg and Dudley came over occasionally nowadays, at Harry’s suggestion and Scorpius’s insistence that “the two nice big men” come to visit. Draco had no complaints, especially since Greg would usually bring some absolutely divine bread. It was a little odd at first seeing the stilted way Harry and his cousin interacted, but Scorpius easily bridged any awkwardness with his antics. It helped that there was one common thread uniting the adults in the house: they all adored Scorpius. His son had surely never been so doted on in his life.
Understandably, it took Draco a while to recognize that he’d been bamboozled into expanding his social circle. He’d initially dismissed the increase in people around his house as being solely for Scorpius. It wasn’t until the fifth time when the four of them settled in the living room with drinks and dessert after Scorpius was already in bed that Draco realized he had a friend group now.
Something in his heart eased at the thought that it was no longer just him and Scorpius against the world.
The biggest issue with this new social life thing was Draco’s increasingly confusing feelings about Harry.
He sighed, turning over in bed to lie on his other side. Scorpius was asleep in his own room, tuckered out after a long day of learning breakdancing from Harry. Draco’d thought that Harry would have run out of random things to teach Scorpius, but it was now four months in and he was still surprising Scorpius with new and exciting things to try. He even managed to rope Draco into some of it; right now, Draco’s legs and back ached more than they had in the past five years.
The memory of Harry demonstrating fluid movements only to be followed by Draco and Scorpius attempting to “pop” and “lock” made Draco’s lips rise in an involuntary smile. He couldn’t have imagined this kind of life half a year ago, before Harry’d come into his and Scorpius’s lives. In fact, Draco realized now that somewhere in the months of Harry being a constant presence in his home, Draco had become deeply emotionally entwined with the man.
He remembered when Harry had stayed after Scorpius was asleep and the two of them had talked late into the night. Draco found himself spilling secrets and deep thoughts he’d never voiced aloud to Harry. When Harry didn’t ridicule him and, in fact, responded with secret thoughts of his own, Draco knew the universe had shifted, because now he lived in a world where Harry Potter was Draco Malfoy’s best friend.
Additionally, Harry was a wonder with Scorpius, easily guiding his flights of fancy into learning activities and not afraid to reel in the child and distract him when he started getting too rowdy. Watching their interactions, Draco felt something warm flutter in his belly.
To say nothing of how he felt when it was just him and Harry! Those flaming bright green eyes, the bird’s nest of midnight strands he called hair, his smooth brown skin and the way it wrapped around his muscles… Draco’s cheeks pinked just remembering how he’d been staring so intently at Harry’s arms as he played drums that he’d missed his entrance.
Draco flipped over again, restless with thought. It was surely pure sexual attraction. Draco had never felt romantic attraction to anyone before. This was just his libido acting up around the only available man since Scorpius had been born. He’d felt the tingle of interest when Harry first showed up, and it was just flaring up again now. Right?
But then… he remembered how the belly flutters happened in situations like Harry teaching Scorpius how to ride a bicycle, or when Harry was simply sitting next to Draco and smiling at him, or when Harry was whistling in the kitchen as he attempted to cook something he’d never even eaten before.
If he didn’t know better about himself, Draco would think… that he… had a… crush…
Oh sweet Merlin’s baggy bellbottom trousers, he had a crush, didn’t he? A crush on Harry Potter, nonetheless!
The pieces started slamming into place. Draco had figured out he was some flavor of aromantic long ago. It seemed that his specific variety included developing crushes on friends named Harry Potter.
The bigger question was, what should he do about it now?
He was interrupted from his romantic identity crisis by the creak of the bedroom door opening. “Daddy?” Scorpius whispered quietly, so as to only wake up all of Ireland but not quite Scotland.
“Yes, darling?”
“I wanna sleep with you. Can I?”
Normally, Draco tried to maintain boundaries and keep Scorpius in his own room. Tonight, though, he was feeling rather vulnerable. He pulled back the sheets. “Go on then, get in.”
Scorpius quickly snuggled up next to his side. Draco patted his head and kissed his forehead. “Good night, Daddy,” Scorpius mumbled. He already sounded sleepier, and Draco’s heart melted with love for his son. “I had a lot of fun today with you and Harry. I wish we could keep having fun just like today forever and ever.”
Draco’s chest squeezed in panic, but through long practice he suppressed the emotion and continued his steady patting of Scorpius’s hair. “I’m glad you had fun, darling. Sleep well and good night.”
Scorpius’s breathing evened into a slow, steady rhythm, leaving Draco free to ruminate worriedly. Did Scorpius mean he wanted Harry to stay as a friend? Babysitter? Semi-permanent caretaker? Would he react badly if Draco tried asking Harry on a date? Would Harry react badly if Draco tried asking Harry on a date?!
These thoughts consumed him until Draco finally fell into a fitful sleep.
“Alright, spill.”
Draco looked up from his position in the armchair in the furthest corner of the room from Harry. Or rather, from where Harry usually was. Now, Harry was invading Draco’s space, his arms braced on each of the arms of Draco’s chair.
“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Draco sniffed, falling back on ignorance as a ready excuse.
“Oh? So you’ve no idea—” Harry made a horrendous attempt at mimicking Draco’s accent “—why you’ve been avoiding me for the past week?”
“Exactly right.” Draco shifted nervously in his chair, his eyes sliding to the left.
Harry snapped his fingers in front of Draco’s face, jerking his attention back to him. “I know you’re not being honest with me, Draco Malfoy!” His tone softened, and he leaned back. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to, but please at least tell me if I’ve done something to upset you?”
“You haven’t,” Draco assured him hotly.
Harry looked at him closely, then backed off with a sigh. “Okay.” He sank into the nearest couch. “I’m just worried, you know? Look, it feels weird to say this out loud, but I consider you a close friend, and I don’t want anything to ruin that.”
The words ‘ruin that’ seemed to form a dagger that pierced straight through Draco’s heart. Surely trying to introduce something so awkward as a date would ruin their friendship? “Oh, of course—“ Draco began.
“There! You look like you’re about to vomit! Oh god, I have mucked something up, haven’t I?”
“No!” Draco quietly burst out, cognizant of Scorpius asleep down the hall. “It’s all me, really!”
“Oh come on, who doesn’t know that ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ is the oldest evasive tactic in the book!”
“Well in this case it’s true, because I’m the one who’s going to bloody muck things up because of this stupid crush I’ve got on you!”
Stunned silence followed.
Draco’s fingers slowly reached for his wand, wondering how feasible it would be to cast a strong Wingardium Leviosa on himself to propel him out of this house and away from the ramifications of his outburst. He refused to take back the words, because they were true, but he certainly hadn’t planned to tell Harry like this.
Harry stood abruptly, his eyes wide. “D’you mean that?”
“What, that I’m going to muck things up? Of course! When have I not mucked up everything? See my past, ages 0-17, as reference.”
“Not that!” Harry protested. He was in Draco’s space again, kneeling this time so he was looking up at Draco. “The other part. About… you know… liking me.”
“I—”
“Because I, for one, would very much like it if you meant that.” He took a deep breath. “I might tell you about how I think of you every night after I leave. I might tell you that I miss being here, miss the way this place feels more like home than anywhere I’ve stayed except Hogwarts, and that I even miss Scorpius’s tendency to find monsters everywhere.”
“He’s worse at night. There are more monsters in the PM,” Draco mutters distractedly.
Harry’s lips quirk up. “I might mention how sometimes I just look at you and my heart starts beating faster. I might even start talking about how much I think about your lips. It’s hard not to watch them, when you’re doing vocals. And then I start thinking about other things involving your mouth, and how I have to stop because I don’t know if it’s rude to fantasize about a friend. So I might just keep talking about how I’d very much like to take you on a date, if you’d let me.” Those bright green eyes glanced up, gazing directly into Draco’s. “So those are all the things that might happen. What do you think?”
Draco’s heart was pounding so fast it sounded like one of Harry’s drumrolls. Somehow, he managed to find his voice and say, “That’s a lot of things that might happen. Why don’t I tell you something that will happen?”
“Oh?” Harry said, hope shining painfully bright on his face.
“I’m going to kiss you. And then I’m going to kiss you again, and hopefully in the meantime I’ll have found the words to talk about how much I like you and make you understand how I value our relationship just as much as you do. And I’m going to say yes if you ask me on that date.”
Harry’s mouth stretched into a wide smile, and then Draco leaned in and made all those things he’d just said come true.
Two years later…
“Ready?” Draco glanced over to where Scorpius sat at the piano and Harry sat behind the drumset.
“Ooh! Harry! Do the thing!”
Harry smiled indulgently and raised his sticks. “One, two, one, two, three, four!”
Harry started playing a jazzy beat, the same one he’d been playing when Draco had walked in that very first day. But now Scorpius was coming in, only playing simple chords but doing them well. And Draco sang, having the time of his life in their private concert. The audience consisted only of Greg and Dudley, and the performance was far from perfect.
None of that mattered, though, in the face of the palpable joy in the air of Draco’s home.