Chapter Text
It took exactly three hours for the reckoning to arrive at Malfoy Manor.
Draco didn’t even wait past the first knock. He apparated to the front door, inwardly sighing at the resounding boom that shuddered over marbled hallways before flicking his wand so that heavy wooden doors opened slowly.
“My goodness,” he drawled as a greeting. “If it isn’t Harry Potter. I am so very surprised by this sudden, unexpected appearance. Whatever could you be here for?”
Potter, as expected, glowered at him.
“I’m not in the mood, Malfoy.”
Malfoy raised a brow. The man looked awful. Granted, he usually looked that way. Draco had yet to decide if his hair ever had a fighting chance of being anything other than a pile of wild curls plopped onto his head. His clothes were in disarray - reminding Draco of every time he had emerged from whatever nonsense he had been involved in during their end-of-the-year activities in school - and there was a blossoming bruise on his cheek.
“I see that,” he commented and tucked his wand away. “My regards to whatever deviants you’re chasing after these days.” Draco turned, leaving the doors open so that Potter could follow inside. There was a low sigh behind him, but for the sake of making this an uneventful visit, he didn’t comment.
“Just tell me where he is, Malfoy,” Potter said, sounding exhausted as the door thudded shut behind them. “I’m not interested in-”
Whatever else Potter might have said paused. Draco peered over his shoulder, summoning himself a cup of tea to see Potter frowning, looking around as if puzzled by the surroundings. It took Draco a few seconds to realize why.
“I’ve done some redecorating since the war,” he said, smiling wryly. Potter pursed his lips but said nothing.
It had taken quite some effort to redo most of his home over the years. Draco had, admittedly, considered moving altogether. There were too many memories buried deep in the walls. Screams trapped in carpets and sobs painted into the stone. Astoria had been the one to sway him into keeping it, helping him rip almost everything out and replacing it all with new memories for Scorpius to grow up in.
Still, he couldn’t erase everything. Perhaps living with the ghosts was part of his penance.
“Where is my son, Malfoy?”
Maybe Albus Potter was part of his penance, too. When Draco sent his son off to Hogwarts last year, he fretted over how Scorpius would cope. Astoria had been on the precipice of death for months, and it was only after their son was on the train to school that Draco’s wife let herself finally rest for good. Her death was hard enough, but the reveal that Scorpius had somehow befriended his childhood enemy’s son was... not ideal.
Alas, here he was... with Harry Potter in his home.
Draco rolled his eyes as he entered the living room, finding his favorite armchair and collapsing in it. His book was still open on the side table, marked with a green ribbon. He grabbed it before flicking his wand so his voice echoed over the manor.
“The unfortunately named Albus Severus Potter is being requested in the living area. If you could please hurry, that would be greatly appreciated. I repeat, this announcement is for the tragically named Albus Severus Potter. Your presence has been requested by the Chosen One himself. Thank you.”
Potter remained unamused. “Next time my son comes here, I would appreciate it if you would inform me,” he said coolly.
Draco scoffed, opening his book before fixing him with an incredulous look. “Perhaps,” he said, taking out his bookmark, “and I do mean this politely, Potter, but perhaps you should be the one to keep track of your children.” He flipped a page. “As a friendly suggestion.”
Potter’s nostrils flared. Before he could reply, the door creaked open.
“...Mr. Malfoy?” Albus’ voice called, and in popped what appeared to be a carbon copy of a younger Harry, minus the glasses and atrocious clothes. Unfortunately, he had inherited his father’s hair, though Albus had done a decent job in keeping his own curls defined and neat rather than the frizz fiasco his father had. Albus’ hair was actually quite the inspiration… and proof that Potter’s own hair was only a disaster because he let it be.
“Good evening, Albus,” Draco said and jutted his chin towards Potter. “You have a visitor.”
Albus’s gaze flicked to his father with wary resignation. He shuffled further into the room, a sliver of Scorpius appearing behind him. “Dad,” he greeted. Potter’s expression stiffened for a moment before forcing it into something more relaxed.
“Albus,” he smiled. Draco let his eyes fall back to his book, hearing two sets of feet click further into the room. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over here. Your mother has been worried.”
“Would you have let me come over if I asked?” Albus asked, tone defensive. There was a brief pause. “I didn’t think so.”
“I didn’t-” Potter began, but Albus had already turned, facing Draco.
“Thank you for having me, Mr. Malfoy,” he said. Draco glanced up from his book, considering. Scorpius was looking anxiously between them all, hands twisting behind his back. Inwardly, Draco sighed again.
“You’re welcome anytime, Albus.” Draco closed his book once more and brought out his wand. A new book came from one of the top shelves of the bookcases surrounding them and drifted down. Once Draco caught it, he held it out. “Since you finished the last one,” he offered.
Albus’s eyes brightened as he eagerly reached for the leatherbound cover, breath hitching as he saw the title.
“What is that?” Potter asked, askance filling his voice as he leaned over to try and also see the title. Albus gave him an irritated huff and held it away.
“An autobiography on Gonçalo Flores,” Draco said, a little amused at Albus’ indignance.
“Oh,” Potter said, nodding. “The Brazilian chaser, of course.” He looked at Albus as if hoping to get an enthusiastic response. “You know we haven’t been to a match in a while. We could-”
“Scorpius and I are going to say goodbye outside,” Albus cut in. Draco almost winced in sympathy. He may not like Potter, but even he couldn’t help but feel that sting as Albus grabbed Scorpius’ arm and nudged him out the door. Potter watched him go with a helpless look.
Draco considered not saying anything at all. After all, he kind of wanted to relish in the fact that, out of the two of them, he so very clearly was winning at fatherhood at the moment… then again, he had heard Albus had once been very close with his father. Draco couldn’t help but think he shouldn’t tempt fate by mocking him, lest he and Scorpius ever be found in a similar position.
“It might help if you invited Scorpius over from time to time.”
Potter’s eyes snapped to him so fast that Draco almost raised his hands in feigned surrender.
“Excuse me?”
“Scorpius,” Draco repeated dryly. “The one who looks like me. He’s twelve. About this big-”
“I’m well aware of who your son is, thank you, Malfoy,” Potter muttered, running a hand over his face. “And you would want your precious son in my household?”
Draco grimaced. He didn’t know much about where Potter lived, but he pictured it akin to a lavish barn with screaming children and mismatched decor. The thought made him shudder. Potter rolled his eyes.
“That is entirely up to Scorpius. I will not be attending unless you somehow cause him injury, in which case, I will not only be there to rescue my son, but to burn your home to the ground.” Draco opened the book again.
A pause followed.
“You’re really okay with this?”
Draco groaned and shut his book again.
“Okay with what?” he asked. He waved Potter away before he could answer. “I know you haven’t had the presence of a parent before, Potter, but from my experience, you can’t force them to be identical to you.”
“I don’t want him to be identical to me. I want him to be a decent person,” Potter snipped back. Draco raised a brow. “Sod off. I’m not worried about the Slytherin thing. I’m worried about you. He’s coming over and reading your…” he gestured around. “Your pureblood propaganda-”
“Merlin, help me.”
“-being served by house elves you probably treat badly,”
“I genuinely hate you.”
“-and probably hearing you regale in Death Eater stories that you made up.”
“Ah, yes,” Draco said, tossing his book to the side. It was bold of him to think reading was ever in the cards with Harry Potter in his home. “My favorite pastime. You should hear the one where there was this massive orgy. Absolute blast. I had Severus’ tongue fully down my throat. Tell Albus he was named after someone who could really snog,” Draco quipped back, ignoring the look of disgust that passed on Potter’s face.
“Hilarious.”
“You forget,” Draco said, getting up and walking over to a teapot sitting in the center of the room. “I am a reformed man. I took a class and everything.”
Potter snorted. “Yes, right. That mandatory Muggleborns-Are-People-Who-Shouldn’t-Be-Murdered class. How could I forget? That makes everything you’ve done okay!”
“That’s the spirit!” Draco said, pouring more tea into his cup. “Now, please take your son and leave. I have to resurrect the Dark Lord in an hour.”
Potter sneered, turning with a flourish that Draco was almost impressed by before slipping out the door. Draco shook his head. Fool.
“You really don’t do yourself any favors acting like that.”
Draco swore loudly, almost spilling his drink. Scorpius had reappeared, somehow sneaking back into the room without Draco noticing. He turned, fixing his son with a questioning look.
“Have you even tried to show people you’ve changed?” Scorpius asked. Draco sighed. He hadn’t hidden his past from his son. It would be hard to with how often his parents liked to bring up their disappointment in his ‘lost ideals.’
“My beliefs are my business,” Draco told him and swished his wand to clean up the mess. Scorpius looked unconvinced. “Scorpius, even if I walked out there and donated all of our money to muggles and got on my knees and screamed that I am a changed man, nobody would believe it.” He held out a cup of tea for Scorpius to take. “And I don’t need the approval of everyone else to think differently.”
“...you kind of do, though, right?” Scorpius asked. Draco frowned. Despite the fact that he and his son resembled one another greatly, there was always a bit of Astoria in his face that Draco relished in finding from time to time. The cut of his nose or curve of his cheeks, perhaps. Today it was the words in his mouth… which were not as welcome at the moment.
“How so?” Draco sighed.
Scorpius grabbed himself a cup of tea, putting an unsavory amount of sugar in it before pouring in an equally ridiculous amount of milk.
“It just seems like you’re being a little prideful by not admitting you were wrong and part of the problem,” Scorpius said and sipped his decidedly non-tea concoction. Draco bit his tongue. “And you and Mom were both still purebloods. How much can you really know about muggles and muggleborns if you don’t talk to them?”
….Draco hated having an intelligent child.
“I talk to muggles.”
“Name one.”
“A muggle?”
“Yes, Dad. Any muggle.”
“James Bond.”
“A real muggle.”
“Is he not real?” Draco asked, a little bewildered. Scorpius grinned at him. “Why do they keep going on about him then?” he mumbled and lifted his tea to his lips. “Oh,” he said before he could take a sip. “Granger’s parents. They’re muggles.”
Scorpius tilted his head. “...do you know their names?” he asked.
Draco stared at him. Scorpius stared back. A beat of silence followed.
“Go to your room.”
Scorpius snorted and put his hands behind his head in victory as he began to walk backwards out of the room, sticking his tongue out as he went. He paused by the door.
“Seriously, Dad. Can you at least try to make an effort so that Albus can come over more? He can say we’re nice all he wants, but it isn’t helpful if you’re just sarcastic all the time.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. Why him? Why Potter of all people? Why did Scorpius have to pick a Potter to like so much? He opened his eyes and saw Scorpius looking at him with an almost desperate gleam.
“I don’t have any other friends,” he added, a plea entering his tone.
Draco felt his willpower crumble. “...very well,” he relented. Scorpius brightened. “Though you can make other friends, Scorpius.”
“I don’t think that’s true. Nobody likes me much,” Scorpius sighed. Draco wanted to object to that - but paused. He looked at his son again. Draco may search for Astoria in him often, but nobody else in this world would, save maybe Daphne and her parents. To most, they would look at Scorpius and see Draco.
He got the feeling it was the real reason his son didn’t have many friends. It was a remarkable kindness that Albus Potter of all people showed - looking past their name. Draco never showed such wisdom at that age.
“You are wonderful,” Draco said, putting his tea to the side, next to his unread book. “And I will try harder to be more… approachable to the public. To the Potters especially.”
Scorpius smiled at him - Astoria’s smile - and gave him a nod, spinning out of the room with a small skip.
Draco sighed. Perhaps he had copped out on this reformation process. It wasn’t like he and Astoria were taking muggle classes on the down low all of these years. Scorpius knew more than they ever did combined. All Draco did was encourage him to accept the differences and explore without doing any of the exploring himself.
He picked up his tea and book.
It would be fine.
He could handle this.
“Minister.”
God, he hated his life.
Granger looked up, suitably bewildered by his appearance. He had told her secretary he was someone else entirely, and then confounded the man since Draco was so easily recognized. It was a little concerning how easy it was to get through her security, but he would maybe bring that up to someone else at a different time.
“Malfoy,” she said, and let her hand fall to where her wand would be. Draco ignored the movement, taking in the office. It wasn’t as lavish as he might have thought. It was bigger, sure, with oak furniture and plush seats, but ultimately it was filled with piles of paperwork and family photos strung about. Draco picked an empty chair in front of her desk and threw himself in it. “...this is a surprise.”
“Indeed,” he agreed, wishing he were anywhere else. “I know you’re busy, but I need a favor and am struggling to find anyone else to go to.”
Granger blinked. Slowly, she lowered her hand and then interlocked her fingers together, placing them on top of her desk. She had aged well, all things considered. Draco had secretly always thought she was pretty - in that strange Gryffindor sort of way.
“You broke into my office in the middle of a workday to demand a favor?”
“Ask for a favor,” Draco corrected. “I suspect you’ll tell me no, but figured it was worth a shot.”
Granger stared at him for a few more minutes. “This has got to be some favor,” she finally said and leaned back in her chair. “Go ahead.”
“I need to know about muggles,” Draco started with. Granger’s brows raised. “I’ve been reading books – none really make sense to me, and they contradict one another sometimes. I don’t quite know where to go, and my inner circle is,” he shook his head, thinking of his father’s reaction when he informed him of his new quest. “...unhelpful.”
Granger nodded to herself before tapping the table. “This is a joke.”
“No.”
“You want something?”
“I do,” Draco agreed. Granger gave a soft ‘ah’ under her breath. “My son has pointed out that I am lacking in my self-improvement. It is detrimental to him. I need to fix it.”
“So you don’t really care about muggles?” she clarified. Draco considered. That was actually an interesting question.
“I’m… not sure,” he admitted. “I believe I was wrong. I believe my ideals were wrong. My family even… and after all I’ve seen, I do not want to see that type of violence again against anyone but… I’m not sure caring is the right word.”
It was clearly a disappointing answer for her, but not one unexpected. Draco didn’t see a reason to lie. His motivations were still purely in his own interest - and Scorpius’s.
Granger tapped her desk a few more times before bringing out a piece of paper and scribbling something down.
“Here are some books that will be helpful. Use muggleborn authors. I suspect you read pureblood books, which is why the information you’re getting is confusing. They don’t know what they’re talking about,” she said, sliding it over to him. Draco picked up the piece of parchment, pocketing it with a nod. He gave her his thanks before standing up. “My parents are also visiting.”
Draco paused by the door, bewildered as he tried to process that last bit. “Your… parents?” he repeated, turning to stare at her. “I thought they were around the bend now?”
Granger took a long breath, rubbing her temple with a scowl set on her face.
“Their memories are back after I oblivated them. Modern magic is wonderful,” she said tersely. “They are visiting me now, and you may go speak to them if you’d like to learn more.”
Draco hadn’t expected her to even help him, let alone all of that. His confusion must have shown because she grimaced and brought out a new piece of parchment to start writing on.
“I don’t owe you any kindness, Malfoy. I am only offering this because I can see what Albus’s friendship with Scorpius means to him. If this eases this tension…” She pressed a finger to her temple. “If this gets Harry to stop going on about it… I will help you,” she breathed out. Draco was almost amused by her clear exasperation on the topic.
“Thank you, Granger. I will-”
“Be very bloody polite to my parents,” she said, voice lowering into a threat. “You will speak to them with Ron there, and I swear to whatever pureblood god you believe in, Malfoy… If you upset them, I will hit you again.”
Well then. Draco sniffed.
“It barely hurt the last time.”
“You wouldn’t be able to tell from your wailing,” Granger threw back. Draco dusted himself off, despite his robes being immaculate, and gave her an indignant scowl.
“Yes, well, you were second in class for potions,” he said, and opened the door. Despite facing forward, he could feel her mouth drop as a quill was slammed against the desk.
“I was top of class for everything else-”
“Potter was top for Defense Against the Dark Arts, right?”
“- and you probably cheated!” she hissed.
Draco gave a light laugh as he left. He didn't cheat. And, much to his delight, he knew that she knew it too.