Archive of Our Own ^beta

"For fuck's sake," Michael mutters, his tone edged with irritation. He checks his watch for the fifth time, "You'd think after years of this, you'd get any faster."

Draco's jaw clenches, but he rushes over with the plate and mug. It almost clatters, nearly slipping in his trembling hands. Thankfully Michael does not notice.

He waits briefly to see if Michael would want something else. But to his relief, Michael ignores him and begins to eat.

Draco takes the cue and walks back to the counter. If he is lucky, Michael will just get up and leave without another word after he is done. 

Their day always seems to depend on Michael's mood. Every morning he wakes up with dread and anxiety curdling in his chest, hoping to see Michael smiling. The kisses on such days nauseate him but he is usually too paralysed to do anything other than silently accept them. He has become well practiced at feigning a smile.

The air of the entire house seems to dip heavily whenever Draco finds Michael cold and stone-faced in the mornings, and he has to make sure Scorpius is somewhere else in the house, whispering to him to go brush his teeth or take a bath himself today. 

Then there are times when Scorpius just clings to Draco's leg all throughout, a deathly grip around his trouser, the other fidgeting at the hem of his shirt — the times Draco can't get him to let go.

Today, Scorpius stands quietly, huddling close to the counter.

As soon as Draco comes within reach, Scorpius pads closer to him and grips Draco's pant leg again, half-hiding his face into his knee. He was holding off until Michael got his breakfast because Scorpius knew he had to work fast.

"Is he ever going to stop clinging to your pocket like that?" Michael says around a bite, barely looking up. 

Draco's hand tightens around the edge of the counter. He is so tense he can feel pains beginning in his shoulders and neck.

He hates it when Michael sets his attention on Scorpius. It's not just because it hurts and makes him angry to hear him say anything cruel and unkind about his son, but because he fears losing control himself and making everything worse, especially with Scorpius here watching it all.

"We don't want him growing up a sissy now, do we?"

There it is — the anger that flares up wilder.

"He's four," Draco says in a low voice, trying not to sound like he's gritting it out.

"Better start early," Michael says, without looking up. "Or else he'll end up just like you."

"What's a sissy, Daddy?" Scorpius asks after Michael has gone to work, as Draco is turning up the song on the radio. The anger is still curdling in his stomach, the lingering dread only just beginning to fall away.

By the next second, he is pulling his boy into his arms and sweeping him off his feet, drawing a squeal of laughter out of Scorpius as he spins them around to the music, Draco laughing with him with their noses and foreheads pressed together. They whirl around and sway on the kitchen floor until Draco has wrung out every bit of joy from his baby, until he knows Scorpius has forgotten.

"Remember this always;" Draco whispers into the side of his hair after, "You are smart, brave, strong and good."

And you will be better than me, Draco thinks. 

You already are.

***

"Look who's awake, Scorp," Harry says with a soft grin. Scorpius is stood on a stool in front of him, a recipe book open in front of them on the counter while Harry hovers at Scorpius' shoulder protectively, one arm bracketing Scorpius as he is holding the counter edge.

"Good morning, Daddy," Scorpius says with a beaming smile.

Draco comes up behind Scorpius to kiss him on the top of his head. "Good morning, love."

Harry is giving him a dopey smile, moving up to him to wrap his arms around his waist and and kiss his face. Draco turns his face and catches his mouth for another kiss.

He is in Harry's t-shirt and golden snitch pyjamas, and Harry seems to like seeing him in it, with the way he pulls him closer and runs his hands down his ribs, fondness at the corner of his eyes.

Scorpius is watching them, a faint smile on his face. Draco has seen that look on his face many times, a subtle and quiet happiness. It's the same one Draco wears whenever he sees Scorpius with Harry or Teddy.

"You let me sleep in again," Draco says, frowning, face still close to his. Usually, Draco wakes up on his own. He has a set routine by now. Once, the mornings were always imbued with dread and restlessness and that was enough to wake him an hour before he was supposed to. Even after Michael was gone from his life, he woke up with it, as if his body is still living in the past.

Those feelings haven't really been there for a while now. The side effect is that he sometimes ends up sleeping in too much, especially if he stayed up too late. Last night, it was to finish up some of his outline and design for the joke shop products.

"It's a weekend day, aaand you looked like you needed it." Harry is pouring him a cup of coffee. He hands it over. Draco takes it. "Your breakfast's on the table."

"What are you two doing?" 

"Baking cookies."

"We want to send some to Teddy," Scorpius says, his eyes bright.

"That's a lovely idea." Draco smiles down at Scorpius, stroking his hair. "And did we get any letters from Teddy?"

Harry accios the pile of mail.

"Haven't read it yet. We'll read it with you."

So there they sit at the table, Draco with his mug of coffee held high on an elbow against the tabletop and Harry on the other side with an arm around the back of the chair Scorpius is sitting on between them, the three of them with their heads close together.

Scorpius has the letter open in his hands, flushed pink with excitement. He is always so happy to hear from Teddy and read about all his adventures at Hogwarts, sometimes daydreaming out loud to Draco and Harry about what it will be like being in a magical school with Teddy.

There are times when Draco still thinks about Michael and that small house they used to live in. Some are bad days when the thoughts consume him; bad days that used to make up all or most of his days once, but now come with greater gaps inbetween.

On his normal or good days, Draco doesn't think about him much. And if he does, he is a mere passing, insignificant thing, a feeling that can best be framed as, so this is what the right kind of love is.

I am loved by a man who is gentle and beautiful and infinitely better than you. And Scorpius is too, in every way he's always deserved to be.

Do you see this? You were wrong.

***

Draco stares down hollowly at the water around him in the tub, gritty and heavy with exhaustion. The blood is swirling. He watches, curled up with his head to his bare knees, his body so leaden he could not move.

He keeps thinking about Scorpius in his bedroom, terrified and waiting to see him. He knows he can't take too long to go to him, that Scorpius would pad out of his room and come wait by the bathroom door instead.

The thought of Scorpius standing out in the open in the corridors, where Michael could come out of his room for a glass of water and more easily run into him, or even the very fact of his son being in the house with Michael while Draco is not there with him to protect him, is what breaks him out of this strange, detached haze just a little.

It is the only thing that makes Draco uncurl slowly, lean back against the tub and reach for the soap.

He lifts his hands to try and scrub himself, but he is so tired, slumped back against the tub. His head rides up against the wall, the split in his lip stinging as it presses tightly against the tremor. His face twitches, trying not to let it crumple before it does anyway. 

There is a hesitant, light knock at the door of a tiny fist, the gaps a second long between the two knocks such as that of lacking enough coordination to rap at it.

"Daddy?" it's shaky and so soft it's almost a whisper, muffled through the door.

Draco closes his eyes, and the tears are pushed down his cheeks. He swallows hard. It hurts around the fingerprint bruises on his throat.

There is another knock, and a small sob with it, trying to be suppressed.

Draco wipes his cheeks with his trembling fingers, and forces his throat to work, to sound steady and loud. "I'm alright, darling. I'm just coming out in a few minutes, okay?"

In minutes he is finished cleaning up so he could open the door and scoop his son up by the underarms and take him back to his room. Scorpius has his cheek smushed to his shoulder.

Falling more than sitting down on the bed Draco holds Scorpius tightly to himself, breathing into his shoulder with his eyes closed, and it's the only thing that eases something hurting and bruised inside his chest.

"May I have a kiss?" he mumbles into Scorpius' shirt.

Scorpius draws back, stood on his feet on the mattress. He presses a kiss to Draco's right cheek, then another to his left.

"Two kisses?" Draco rasps, smiling. "That's more than I asked for."

He wishes, more than anything, that Scorpius did not have see the way his face looked, that he didn't stare back at him with wide and teary eyes, tiny fingers touching the bruise on his mouth tremulously. He wishes he had a wand that could make it go away.

***

Draco holds back a laugh with his eyes closed, head tilted back against Harry's shoulder, the brushes of Harry's lips against his skin; his shoulders and neck. The water flows around them, his body light and floaty, like air.

Harry must have felt and heard the tremor of it, laughing a little into a kiss to the hollow of his neck, arm solid and firm around Draco's waist. "It's cute that you're so ticklish."

"Shut up."

"I'm so tempted."

"I won't kiss you for a week."

"That's brutal." Harry pouts, frowning. He then leans forward, hooking his chin onto his shoulder. It's also a lie. As if Draco can keep himself from Harry that long. "What are you reading?"

Draco turns his head a little over his shoulder, smiling with a raised brow. He shows him the bookcover. "It's a mystery thriller. I'm not too far in. You can read with me."

It's the kind of quiet that's peaceful. They just lean together in the bath together and read, with only the sounds of the turn of a page every few minutes, and Harry's small kisses to his skin randomly, inhaling him in on occasion. Their hands are entwined on Draco's abdomen, where he keeps rubbing his thumb over the back of Harry's hand, over the scar I must not tell lies. 

All of Draco's muscles are liquid against the solid chest behind him, the warmth between them seeping to his bones and heart. He can't remember ever having felt this safe and comfortable and relaxed with anyone; as if he can just be, without worrying about trying to be something.

With Michael, he was always editing himself, always thinking and second guessing; holding back, or trying too hard, depending on what he thought Michael wanted from him, or what he imagined Michael felt when he saw himself through his eyes. With most others, like in school, he was always trying to be the most entertaining version of himself, the one he thought would make everyone like him or make him look better than everyone else.

With Harry, he is always just whatever he is in the moment, and it's easy, and freeing. It's safe.

A half an hour later, he can feel the whole weight of his head on his own shoulder.

"Are you falling asleep?" Draco murmurs, turning his head a little over his shoulder so it's pressing to Harry's temple, biting back a smile. 

"No," Harry says, sleepily.

Draco laughs. "How about we change positions?"

Harry sits up and nods as eagerly as he can in his drowsiness. It looks as if it's taking him effort to hold his head up.

At the end of the shifting and maneuvering around, Draco is sat back against the end of the tub, submerged to his mid-chest so Harry could lay his cheek against his collarbone and sleep, arms enveloping as much of Draco as they could. He runs his fingers through Harry's hair, over and over, stroking the line of his ear, his arm around Harry's face to hold his head to himself. Harry's breaths are even, steady and lilting.

***

"Don't," Michael says from the bed, when Draco tries to make his way out of bed quietly and carefully. He didn't know Michael was even awake. "He needs to learn to stop coming in here every time he has a damn nightmare. Messed up my sleep too. Scorpius, go back to your room."

Scorpius tried to come to Draco soundlessly, but he was too short to be able to reach for the doorknob and turn it without being noisy, and the door creaked too much and that woke Michael up. He saw Scorpius standing in the doorway, clutching his dragon toy to his chest, tiny fist rubbing into a glistening eye and mouth crumpled downward. Yet again he had a nightmare.

There have been many times Draco woke up in the middle of the night and found Scorpius curled up against the side of his bed, small hand holding Draco's fingers. Draco would get out of bed and carry him back to his room, stay with him to sing for him or tell him stories of Pot or talk to him about everything and nothing — about the stars and space, about his mother, about Hogwarts, about the new things they've learned, whatever he could think of — until his son falls back asleep.

Michael had woken up a few nights ago and seen that and it was clear he wasn't happy. Nowadays he talks too much about making Scorpius grow up 'tough'. Draco thinks he just means he wants Scorpius to be like him.

But Scorpius is not. He never will be.

Draco doesn't want him to be like Michael. Not even like himself either. He wants Scorpius to just be him; the sweet and sensitive and smart baby boy that he is.

Scorpius is trembling in the doorway. He is held still, conflicted, by the two fears pulling him one way or another. He doesn't want to go back and be alone in a dark room. He doesn't want to make Michael angry.

"He's a child, Michael." Draco doesn't know why he tries, why he keeps falling into this trap that makes him think if he just tries to make Michael understand, if he just tries, Michael might listen — "Children need to know that — "

"You keep your mouth shut. I don't want to hear about all that mumbo-jumbo from your stupid fucking books. Why the hell are you still standing there?" He turns to look at Scorpius.

Draco's jaw clamps down, as soon as he directs his attention to Scorpius. He closes his eyes and swallows hard, trying to stay calm and think of how to not let this get any worse.

"I said go to your room!" Michael's voice booms and Scorpius jolts back several steps, terrified, and now he is visibly shaking. 

"Michael, don't fucking yell at him!"

It was a mistake. Yelling back. It never ends well.

Draco scrambles out of the bed to put some distance, to go and get Scorpius, and his heart is pounding fast and hard.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. Look, I — I'll take care of this, okay?"

In an instant, Michael is across the distance Draco made and grabbing his wrist with one hand and his jaw with the other so tightly it hurts, fingers digging into his skin until he is sure it will leave bruises, and pulls him down to his face. Scorpius cries out. Draco can hear him pleading, promising to go away. Michael ignores him. 

Draco presses his lips together, jaw tight, clenching his eyes shut, breaths shuddering.

"If you take him to his room, I'll break your hand. And if you talk to me like that again, your face goes next. Do you understand me?"

Draco stays very still. Michael throws him back more than he lets go.

"He'll learn to deal with this on his own," Michael says, his face cold. He sounds as if he really thinks he is doing it for Scorpius' own good. "Like a strong wizard. A strong man."

In the end, Scorpius goes back to his room. Draco has to tell him to do so himself, even if it makes his heart sick, because it's the only thing that won't make everything even worse. It tears him apart into another shred every minute that goes by, where he imagines Scorpius lying alone in the dark, scared, and now having witnessed what he did too just for the crime of needing his father…

Minutes later, Draco looks back at Michael over his shoulder, making sure he is still asleep, before slowly pushing the covers off of himself and moving his legs out. He has been restless and agitated, doing his best to contain it, because if his twisting and turning wakes Michael up again —

He breathes, notices his hands are quivering, as he sits on the edge of the bed. The clock on the nightstand reads 2:06am.

He pads to the door and turns the knob open silently, pulls it fast to prevent the creaking hinges.

Scorpius is still awake when he enters the room, blankets up to his face, trembling. He looks so small and alone. There are tears in his wide eyes, highlighted by the moon. His beautiful boy. His star. His heart is breaking.

"Hi baby," he whispers, as he crawls over on the bed to him, takes him by the underarms and pulls him onto his lap so he could wrap him up in his arms until he was covered whole and Draco was folded over and around him like shelter, one hand to the back of his son's head. "I'm so sorry."

Scorpius' arms cling to his neck tightly, and he is crying in earnest now; hitched breaths and hiccups into Draco's shirt, and still holding back. Always holding back, so he won't be too loud. Draco rocks them, pushes a kiss to his shoulder.

He thinks of leaving.

But the questions always remain; where will we go? And what is the point, if it's just one hell to another?

***

There is a weight dipping at the foot of the bed, tentative and making only the smallest creak. 

Harry swims back to wakefulness. It's not immediately clear to him what it is that makes him do so. But when he reaches for his glasses, puts it on and blinks hard, there is a silhouette by his and Draco's blanketed feet that he can only assume is Scorpius.

"Scorp?" Harry's voice is sleep-rough.

Scorpius startles to his feet, as if he didn't expect him to be awake.

He and Draco have gotten better in some ways; less jumpy and easily startled by sudden sounds or fast movements. But sometimes it comes back, shows up again. It never really fails to spike through Harry's heart. He feels the violent jolt through their bodies as if it went through his own. It used to. It still does sometimes. Things like these, whether it's war inside your house or a war in its most literal sense — it never really leaves you entirely. It lives in you forever, even if it's in smaller ways.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Hey, it's alright. What's wrong?"

Scorpius stays silent. In the dark, the moonlight, Harry can see him staring down at his feet, or his hands. It's hard to tell.

"I had a bad dream. I was going to stay here until I calmed down and then go back to bed. I... I'm sorry if I woke you up."

"Don't be sorry. You know you can come to me for anything."

There's a story there, Harry thinks. He has learned to understand when there is a story behind something. Something there that neither Draco's love nor the safety of the present managed to fully erase. Therapy makes a huge difference, but it isn't quite magic. There are some things Scorpius will need to learn and unlearn throughout the course of everyday life.

Scorpius is seven, Harry thinks.

When Harry was seven it didn't really occur to him that if he had nightmares he was supposed to go to someone, tell them about it. Even if it did though, it wasn't like he could. There wasn't really anyone who would have cared.

It was when he had Teddy that he realised it hadn't been normal, when Teddy would come running to his bed and clamber up and under the covers next to him, scared, telling him all about what he dreamed. Just like that, without even a thought or worry as to whether someone will care. That is how being loved well shapes a person. It is the thing he is most proud of; that he has loved Teddy like that. 

It's just that seven year olds aren't really supposed to think like that. Seven year olds don't really think too much about waking up the nearest adult in the middle of the night, worried about disturbing their sleep.

Harry untangles his arms from around Draco and scoots back a little, making space between them on the bed. He pats it. "C'mere."

He is glad to know that, in the end, that's all that's really needed. It means that despite whatever was holding Scorpius back, its hold was not stronger than Scorpius' trust in Harry, his sense of safety around him. Harry smiles, his arms waiting.

In a heartbeat, Scorpius is in the space between Harry and Draco, laying his head against Harry's bicep and wrapping his arms around his neck, shifting until he is comfortable. Harry presses his cheek to the top of his head, brushing a hand over Scorpius' curls. He is trembling. Harry can feel it now that he is holding him.

"Do you want to talk about it, Scorp?" he murmurs, so as to not wake Draco next to them.

Scorpius doesn't say anything. 

"Only if you want to."

"I don't want to think about it again," he whispers. His breath is shaky, as if on the verge of tears.

"Okay." Harry caves to the urge to press a kiss to his forehead, with all the force of the ache in his heart. "That's okay. You can tell me or your Daddy tomorrow."

It's silent for some time, just the two of them breathing. Harry's hand massages the back of Scorpius' head, the way Draco does for him, until he can feel some of the tension and fear leave Scorpius. 

"When Teddy was five," Harry begins, "he had this huge fear of clowns."

Scorpius turns his head up to him. "Clowns?"

"Yup. Clowns. I didn't even know about it, honestly. I got Ron to dress up as one for his birthday and all." Harry grins. "Here's the thing though, and I didn't know this either... Ron was also afraid of clowns. Apparently, they're about the same level as spiders for him. You've seen him come running out of the bathroom after he sees one in the tub, right?"

Scorpius smiles, "Mhm. He screams a lot."

Harry laughs. "Yeah. He screams so much, right? But he didn't want anyone to know about the clowns. And he really wanted to do it for Teddy, I think, because he thought it'd make him happy. I guess he thought if he just avoided mirrors, it'd be alright."

"But then, Teddy's favourite playtime was pretending to be a barber and a make up artist or something at the time."

Harry got him the whole magical toy set for it. He could imagine the colours he wanted and they'd show up. Or he could temporarily cut someone's hair, or more like an illusion of their hair before it'd go back to normal after five minutes.

"So he was bringing all the stuff in, had this huge mirror in hand. The mirror had all the safety spells on it. It didn't really break no matter how often it dropped. And it talked too. So you can imagine how it went — " Harry's voice is now quivering with held back laughter. "when Teddy came running in with the mirror, and saw Ron, who also saw himself in the mirror — screams all around, while the mirror is going, what in Merlin's beard am I looking at!" 

Scorpius is now giggling with him uncontrollably, and it's just them, laughing together as quietly as they could under the blankets, their noses scrunching up in it. His heart is always in his throat, whenever he sees this sweet little boy laugh.

My boy, Harry thinks.

"God, I miss him," Harry says, his mouth fading into something softer. "Teddy."

"Me too," Scorpius whispers. Harry squeezes him in tighter and kisses his forehead again, Scorpius' eyes closing to it. It hurts his heart sometimes, just how Scorpius can't seem to get enough of being loved.

The next time Harry's eyes raise, they catch right onto Draco's open ones.

He has been awake all this time, watching the two of them with something raw and bare. A smile is now growing on his face, miniscule on his lips, but clearly tender in the edges of his drowsy eyes and between his brows.

I love you so much, Draco's lips shape around in the dark, soundlessly mouthed over Scorpius' head.

Harry smiles back, crinkling at the corner of his eyes.

Draco shifts his head closer on the pillow so he could kiss him. It tilts Harry's head back a little, as he returns the kiss deeply.

"Ew," a voice says, muffled, from somewhere low between them. 

The kiss breaks just because of the laugh that bursts out of them unexpectedly.

Scorpius is smiling up at them, no sign of disgust. Clearly he is just copying Teddy. Draco digs his fingers into his sides in playful vengeance with a squinched little grin, making him shrink and squirm and grab Draco's hands, squealing a laugh; followed by a firm kiss to the top of his head.

***

In the kitchen, two voices are yelling.

"You come home drunk in the dead of night, smelling like someone else's cologne, Michael, what the fuck am I supposed to do with that? I can't keep pretending I don't see it like you expect me to— " 

"Oh for fuck's sake, stop making a melodrama out of all this! I'm not going to fucking pretend I don't have needs! I mean look at you, you hardly even fucking try to take care of yourself anymore, you just hang around in the same stupid old fucking hoodies and your hair's a damn mess all the time, and then you're always faking a headache whenever I do by some miracle want you! And when we're in bed, you just lay there like you're dead — "

"I don't fake it, I — I told you I was stressed, that it happens when I'm too — " 

"Stressed about fucking what? Sitting at home all day doing nothing?"

"Are you joking, Michael? That's what you think I do? Do you think the bloody house just takes care of itse — "

"No really, what the hell do you even do all day? All you do is hang around with your brat, too worthless to get a damn job — "

"That's your son too that you're talking about, for Merlin's sake! And it's not like I don't want to, I can't change the way people — "

"--been fucking boring for years, and you know, here's the thing, Draco, if  you don't want me looking elsewhere, then fucking be someone worth looking at! Because I can't even remember what ever made me think I loved you at this point!"

"You made me this way!" Draco screams — finally screaming, palms held up and curled in desperation. His eyes are wild, frenzied. "You made me like this! I used to be a person, now I can't fucking remember who I am anymore!"

He has pulled in everything of himself throughout the years, killed the parts of himself that he thought Michael hated because he thought it would save him, make Michael love him permanently. But nothing saved him or made Michael love him permanently. And what he ended up becoming was an empty shell of a human being.

"My stomach is always in knots and my head is always going haywire when I'm around you, I'm stressed all the time because of you! You terrify me, you hurt me, you cheat on me, you make me so angry I can't even think straight!"

"Shut up. You're acting fucking crazy right now."

But he can't. He can't. It's all coming up and out of him, like vomit, even when he feels shaky and sick and his heart is pounding so fast he thinks he might die. But he can't stop. He feels like he is going insane, has been going insane for so long. For years. 

"All I think about is what will you think, or say, or do to me, if I do this or if I don't do that! I can hardly think of taking care of myself when I get exhausted just trying to walk the landmine that is my life around you! Taking care of our son that you don't seem to give two fucks about and making sure everything is as you want it to be! And I lay there like I'm dead? I beg you, I tell you I don't feel like it, but you — "

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

Michael is almost on him, hands reaching for his throat, and Draco jerks back violently, abruptly silent. He is heaving, hands trembling tight around the edge of the counter behind him. His eyes are wide and fixed on a spot, blurring. The tears fall over his unmoving, still cheeks, frozen with fear. Michael has him cornered. He shouldn't have said so much. He shouldn't have —

But by some miracle, Michael just steps back, and he turns around to leave.

Draco's knees weaken; shock, relief.

Pain. Like something is cutting the inside of him in half. It hurts.

It hurts.

He falls to the kitchen floor.

He should have left it there. He should not have said anything more.

"Why did you marry me?" It comes out breathless, thick, a whisper. His eyes close, hands to the floor holding his shoulders up. "You don't even seem to like me most of the time."

Everything Draco makes him angry. It's been this way for years — long before Draco ever became this person Michael doesn't like. 

Did he ever really like him?

Michael pauses.

"I thought you were beautiful." Michael's voice is emotionless. It hurts when he sounds like he hates him. And it hurts when he sounds like he thinks Draco is nothing. "I suppose I didn't find much else worth liking beyond that. And now I wonder the same thing."

Draco squeezes his eyes shut, bowing his head between his shoulders. The tears press out, silent down his cheeks, into the bite around the tremor of his lips. He feels more than sees Michael leave the room. Draco is lonely all the time, but this is a different kind; being walked out on while his heart is drowning.

It will be minutes later when Draco lifts his head and sees him.

His two year old boy in the doorway, mouth downturned and green eyes big and round. Looking small and lost. How long has Scorpius been there standing?

The question leaves him cold.

Draco crawls to him. Takes him by the underarms and stands him on his lap. He kisses his face, pulls his curls back behind his ears. 

"Hello. I didn't see you there." His voice is as tender a whisper as it can be. "I wish you didn't have to witness that."

*****

Draco wakes up like that. Like everything is strange and off. He feels too big for his skin, pulled tight and taut over him. There is an itch under it, in his heart.

If he really thinks about it, though, it started a little while back, when he didn't think much of it. It creeps up on him, insidiously, out of nowhere, until he's having nightmares, and for some reason they are about him — Michael — maybe it's the date of the anniversary coming up, but then Draco hasn't really been thinking about that much. And then he hasn't been sleeping so well, getting up in the middle of the night to clean or organise, anything to keep his thoughts at bay. He gets headaches all the time and he is so exhausted that he's hardly taking care of himself if he isn't forcing himself to on work days. It's hard to eat. He wears the same hoodie over the weekend. His hair is a mess all the time.

It's hard to say why or where it started.

But one morning Harry is kissing his shoulder, mumbling a smiling, good morning beautiful, and he is wrapped around him from behind and the word beautiful rings in his head with the wrong voice and Draco just —

He finds himself moving away, strangely shaky and numb.

His skin burns. Too tight and small. Everything feels wrong, even when nothing is, and he can't understand why.

The silence that comes after shrivels in his chest, like he knows he has done something wrong. His muscles are locked.

"Alright?" Harry asks, careful.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Draco moves towards the coffeemaker, pours Harry a cup. His hand is shaking, to his own confusion.

"Draco—"

"Maybe some eggs and toast. I think we still have some orange juice—"

"Draco."

Harry's hand is around his, stilling his tremors.

He is jerking back before he knows it, the counter edge digging into his back, and Harry startles, hands up placatingly. He seems confused. He stares back at him. He stays where he is.

"Okay," Harry says. He stays where he is, hands up like that. "I won't touch you."

Draco feels sick for an entirely different reason now. Guilt and shame. 

He deflates against the counter at his back, his breaths shaky. He rubs at his face wearily. "Sorry. I'm just not feeling well."

Harry stares at him for a minute.

"You look tired," he says softly, brows furrowed. "You've been looking tired for days. I thought it was just work being hectic, but then... you weren't quite yourself over the weekend either."

Draco swallows hard.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sometimes it's exhausting. Talking. Even with Penelope, it's exhausting. He can't string together the words to, when he goes numb and strange like this. He doesn't know how to explain. The walls between him and the world feel too high to climb.

"Not yet."

"Okay. That's okay."

For days after, the wall stands high between them. That's how it feels.

But it's not like it was with Michael, the way Draco found himself expecting without realising; cold silence, being ignored.

It wasn't really lonely.

It was mostly like the two years before he and Harry really, truly got together. Harry didn't try to touch him or kiss him again. It was clear he was just giving him space, because everything else was the same. He still talked to Draco, made jokes and smiled at him all lopsided and soft. Even when Draco was not saying much. Sometimes he sat in silence with him, with the occasional glance thrown his way, but he sat with him, the two of them just doing their own things.

In those two years there were long days when Draco felt this way, as if everything burned him too quick, as if there was a hole in his chest, everything off-kilter. Days when he didn't want to be touched, when the thought of it stung his skin.

Then there were also long days when he hungered for it with Harry, hungered just for Harry.

There were days when he felt both at the same time; a nauseating conflict.

That's somewhat how he feels the morning Harry comes upon him sitting curled up on the kitchen floor in the counter corners. It's something confusing, something restless.

"Hello there."

When Draco lifts his head, it's to Harry crouching before him, wrist hanging off his knee, looking faintly amused.

"The kitchen floor is quite nice and cool this time of year, isn't it? What with summer almost coming."

"Perfect for a breakdown too, I suppose."

Harry laughs slightly, and then he moves so he could sit against the counter with him. He makes sure they aren't touching. Draco's cheek rests on his folded arms, looking at him. His eyes are gritty, heavy, sunken.

It's hard to wake up after a nightmare when Harry isn't holding him, when he doesn't jolt awake and get reminded he is safe just as he opens his eyes and sees his sleeping face, or his concerned green eyes, arm tight around him and a hand on Draco's face or in his hair. 

Day paints the room in bright yellow, a shard of light across where their hands are on the floor next to each other. Draco is looking at them, cheek to his folded arms.

After a while, he slides his hand tentatively across the floor, taking Harry's downturned hand into the palm of his own.

Harry watches, his throat bobbing slightly. His hand turns and entwines their fingers together, thumb rubbing back and forth. 

He stays, even when Draco thinks he deserves to be left behind for the way he has been.

"You're so good to me." His voice is a near whisper. "Always so good."

Harry brings his hand up and kisses the palm of it. "I love you," his lips are still pressed there, "I just love you. That's all I do."

And for some reason, that's what really does it. 

Draco stares at him, and the hunger in his skin is flaring up. His heart is flaring up, with a sudden and desperate need. And then he is moving across the space between them, reaching for Harry, and Harry's arm is around him in a heartbeat and squeezing him in tighter, as if it has just been there waiting for him all this time, and then his other arm is around him too until he is fully holding him, lips to his forehead. Draco rests his head to his shoulder. He feels safe and cradled.

He takes him back in, just like that, always there and ready to. There was a time Draco didn't think it was possible for someone to give him that kind of space when he needed it, let alone take him back as if it changed nothing.

"I love you so much I can't breathe sometimes," he whispers into Harry's neck.

Harry turns his head and kisses the space between his eyes, the corner of it, wherever he could reach. He is holding him so tightly it fills him up.

Sitting there, Draco tells him about it all; how he can remember it starting, when he thinks back on it. How he has been feeling. 

It's the first time it's hit him this hard, since they got together. Penelope warned him that this could happen, that these things never really go away completely — that they creep back up on you sometimes before you know it. She was right. Draco didn't really notice it happening until it already had, until he was pressed up against the kitchen counter as Harry stared back at him with his hands held up, confusion and worry and other unreadable emotions flickering across his face.

"It must have hurt you." 

"No. I missed kissing and holding you. I missed you when you were more yourself," Harry says, "but I know it was something hurting you." He raises his fingers and runs them over Draco's brow, his head craned to look down at him. "I'll always wait for you to come back."

Then I'll wait for you, if you will have me.

Like smiles across ice cream parlour tables, and green eyes full of hopes and dreams. Like dopey little smiles thrown at him out of nowhere. Like stolen small touches whenever possible. Like the hunger in his own heart for years, feasting on every sight of the beautiful man in front of him that has never left his side ever since he chose him.

Harry waited two years for him. Draco will never doubt that he means it.

"I always will, to you."

You're the one, Draco thinks to him in the morning silence, but for the occasional chirp of birdsong outside the window, looking up at Harry's face. You're it for me.

Beautiful Harry. Kind and brave and noble.

The safest and gentlest thing he has ever felt.

I'm going to marry you one day.

He lifts his head, so he can take Harry's cheek and turn it towards himself, so he can kiss him. Harry's eyes flutter closed, drinking it in with a slight smile.

Draco is his for the rest of their lives.

It takes them both a while to see Scorpius standing in the doorway, frowning. Draco sits up straight, moving his head off Harry's shoulder.

"Oh hello," Draco says, with a slight smile, "We didn't see you there."

Scorpius is looking between them. Draco stretches his legs out, lifts his arms and makes grabby motions with his hands.

Scorpius comes running, sitting between them under Draco's arm across his shoulders, half on Draco's lap and leaning against Harry.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" Scorpius asks with a bemused frown. Things have changed, truly, for Scorpius to seem confused about his sadness, to not longer seem so used to it.

"Just a bad morning."

"But I'm taking care of him," Harry says, arm craning back a little so he could tuck a strand of curls behind Scorpius' ear, "so you don't worry." It's important, telling him this.

"Okay," Scorpius says, with a nod, with absolute trust. He still reaches up and kisses Draco's cheek, however. Draco plants a kiss to his temple.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

***

They set an appointment with Penelope and that evening Draco floos to her house.

***

In December, Draco, Harry and Scorpius stand at the train station waiting. Teddy is to come home for Christmas Holidays, and Harry has been uncontainable in his excitement to see him, rambling about plans for the holidays and bustling about alongside Draco to prepare the decorations for a welcome party at their house. There is cake and ice-cream and prerequisites readied for Teddy's favourite meals; chicken marinated in tikka masala, flour kneaded for thin rumali rotis.

Scorpius too has been eagerly awaiting, who is at the moment stood under Harry's hands on the shoulders of his winter coat and with his gloved hand tight in Draco's gloved hand, moving his head about this way and that with his neck strained for the first sight of the train in the distance.

Draco is keen to see Teddy again, if not feeling a bit of malaise in his chest whenever he thinks of Teddy's letter to them regarding what he heard about Draco at school. The way Teddy speaks in his letters addressing Draco in their letters is unchanged, but there is that small fear that the matter would be somewhat different in person. It's easier to hide the way you feel writing from a distance than it is when you are in the same room next to each other.

And Draco doesn't know what he'll do, really, if Teddy doesn't feel the way he used to about him in an irrevocable way. It might do worse than break his heart.

So it batters in his chest as he stands there, his hand shaking in Scorpius', though it would be hard to tell that it's from nerves in this winter. But his eyes are fixed in the distance in wait.

Then there is the first sound of the train engines in the distance, the dark front of the train appearing slowly through the mist.

Scorpius gasps. "It's finally here!' He is grinning as he points a gloved finger at it, glancing at Draco to share his delight with him, tilting his head back completely to see Harry grinning down at him in the same way. "Teddy's finally here!"

"There he is, yes," Draco replies, running a hand over his son's grey beanie-covered head with a fond half-smile.

They watch as the train comes to a stop, and Teddy steps out with his trunk, in the grey long coat Draco owled him after casting a hundred charms for warmth and comfort and size and fashion, as well as a red beanie stark against the dull winter skies. They watch as he says goodbye with a wave and a bright smile to his two best friends — Ava and Magnus, he named in his letters — as well as several other people.

A good three minutes are gone in just the sheer amount of people saying bye to him, stopping him for a short chat.

Teddy finally turns, his eyes roving over the station. They kept flicking over in search before he kept getting pulled away in distraction. But now they rove over, searching for them.

When his eyes settle on the three of him, a huge grin splits his face, nose and cheeks red from the cold and his hair turning purple, and then he is pushing his trolley hard as he is running towards them.

Just as he reaches a few feet away, he lets go of the trolley.

And runs straight at Draco, launching himself into his arms that have raised instinctively to catch him, crouched down on one knee, hugging him tightly by the neck. And Draco is huffing out a smile, blinking and brows raised, gripping him back by the shoulders.

"I've missed you guys so much! Oh, I've got to tell you, Draco, I love the coat." Teddy steps back, letting go of him to grip at his coat, "It's got to be my favourite ever. Everyone wanted to try it on because it feels and looks so nice. Magnus said he was tempted to steal it and take it home for himself. I now know what I will be giving him for Christmas. Could you make one for him?"

Draco is smiling even without realising he is, tucking a strand of Teddy's hair at his temple behind his ear, "Of course. Perhaps you'd like to help me."

"Totally!"

Draco's heart settles in his chest. Teddy remains oblivious to the anxiety that pervaded him, far more than Draco himself even realised.

"Scorp, hi!" Teddy scoops up his baby cousin in his arms, who lets out a giggle and holds him tightly by the neck as Teddy lets out a few aggressively affectionate noises and shakes him. Scorpius is taller now, so his feet lift only a few inches off the ground. "Did you miss me?"

"Mhm. I've missed you lots."

"I have so many things to tell you, things I haven't mentioned in the letters." He leans down and whispers conspiratorially in his ear, "things you can't tell Harry and Draco, okay?"

Harry raises his eyebrow, clearing his throat exaggeratedly.

Teddy grins.

"First, I need a hug from my godson," Harry says, and Teddy wastes no time doing just that, colliding into him by his arms around Harry's wait and knocking the wind out of him a little. "And then — well... I was going to say something about giving you an earful but suddenly I can't remember what for." Twice, they were called in through the floo into the Headmistress' office for pranks gone too far, so — likely something to do with that. 

"My plan worked!" Teddy lets out a wicked laugh with his fists up, as if he is an evil mastermind.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. He kneels down before him, adjusting his collar, stroking his hair. "I've missed you so," he whispers, while Draco is fussing with Scorpius' scarf and adjusting his hat and Scorpius is looking up at Draco, pointing at the snow starting to fall, see that, Daddy? and talking about how all the snowflakes in the world are uniquely shaped. Harry swallows, as if there is something thick in his heart, smiling slightly. "I love you to the moon?"

Teddy returns the smile. "And back."

***

Shopping for Christmas leads to Draco stopping abruptly by the portion of Harry Potter themed gifts and items for decoration at the counter, and stopping all the rest of them too.

"Oh. We've got to get this." Draco is smirking, holding up a Harry Potter figurine with huge reindeer ears.

"No we don't," Harry hisses, trying to snatch it off him, but Draco turns away at the last second. His cheeks are flushed red.

"Yes we do." Draco has it held up to his face, staring at it closely. His eyes are bright with delight, glinting with hidden gleeful mischief. 

"Draco!" Harry says.

"Harry!" Draco says.

"This is not happening. Put it back!"

Draco stares at him, frowning. "But the kids want it. Don't they?" He looks at Scorpius and Teddy, communicating to them with his eyes.

"Oh," Teddy says, trying very hard to nod, "Yeah. Totally. We... really want that. Can we please get that."

Scorpius is nodding too, holding a smile back. "Yes please."

Harry narrows his eyes. "No, I really don't think anyone else here wants some stupid figurine of me in reindeer ears."

"Secret weapons assemble," Draco mutters with the corner of his mouth.

Harry is then faced with three kicked crup faces staring back at him.

Harry blinks, gaping comically. "Oh, that's just dirty. Really dirty."

Draco and Harry's bickering fade into the background as a family with two daughters come to stand some feet away from them, looking at the Christmas cards aisle.

It used to catch Teddy's attention every now and then; children calling out to their mothers or fathers, looking whole and complete. When he was younger, it seemed strange to him, families like that with two parents. All he has ever really known is Harry. He just had Harry.

Then there was uncle Ron and Bill and George and Charlie and Neville, and auntie Hermione and Fleur and Ginny and Luna, and grandma Molly and grandpa Arthur. 

He didn't have anyone he called a mother or father. He just had all these people, has just always known that they were his family.

He knows Harry used to feel sad that Teddy only ever had Harry, that he didn't feel like he was enough, that he thought Teddy felt all that was missing whenever he looked at other families, that there are hollows in his life as deep as his parents' love for him.

But the truth is, Teddy misses his parents the most when he hears stories about them, when their birthdays and anniversaries come near. There are hollows as deep as his parents' love for him, but his hollows have ends to them. Somewhere they close away, filled with other love instead. They always have been. For all that he misses them and loves them, he has never really been left wanting.

But...

Teddy glances at Harry, now trying to persuade Scorpius to come to his side — at Draco, pulling Scorpius back and away from Harry and against himself — at Scorpius who is laughing.

But it's the first time Teddy is struck with the realisation that his family looks like that now too.

They look just like other families. 

When one of the parents catch his eye, Teddy smiles a little. She smiles back. 

"Teddy! Tell your godfather this is a perfectly worthwhile purchase that we absolutely need for our tree and that he is being unnecessarily difficult."

"You're really not going to stop messing with me over this are you?"

"I'm not messing with you. Who said I'm messing with you?"

"You know what, Draco, Harry's right," Teddy pipes up, "We really don't need that."

Harry throws his hands up. "Thank Merlin, somebody's finally on my side here!"

Draco turns to him with shocked and betrayed eyes, "Teddy!"

"No really. We don't." Teddy then reaches for the figurine of a tiny Harry Potter poking his head out of the stockings. "This is the one we need."

"Oh my God," Harry says, while Draco is laughing at him. Teddy winks at Scorpius. "Where did I go wrong with you? How did you turn out to be more like him than me?"

Draco ruffles Teddy's hair. "That's my boy."

***

"Is there something on your mind, Teddy?"

Teddy looks up at the sound of Draco's voice, still bleary eyed. For the last five minutes, he has been staring at the table top, uncharacteristically withdrawn. Draco has been eying him sideways, moving the omelet around on the frypan. It's the last day of winter vacations and Teddy has to go back to Hogwarts, but that's never really put him in such a mood before.

Teddy straightens, blinking. "I've just been thinking about my parents a lot."

Draco turns the stove off and plates Teddy's breakfast before moving towards him, putting it on the table in front of him. Teddy doesn't move towards it, when he is usually so ravenous and enthusiastic about breakfast.

"Your parents?"

"Mhm."

Draco waits in the silence that follows, letting Teddy gather his thoughts.

"I love them. I do," Teddy says, his voice a little like that of one trying to convince someone of something, or maybe themselves. 

Whenever he says these words, it's always in present tense. Draco thinks he learned it from Harry, because he speaks of all his lost ones the same way. And it's true, isn't it? The way you feel about someone who is gone doesn't stay in the past with them. Draco loves his mother the same.

"I know you do."

Teddy nods, swallowing, "And whenever someone tells me stories about them, all I want in that moment is to be able to meet them."

There's a but; the thing that has been bothering Teddy, possibly for far longer than just now.

"But sometimes I find myself feeling like...I love Harry too much. Like, maybe even more. And I don't know why, but I feel bad about it."

Draco is, frankly, afraid that he might ruin it, that he might say the wrong thing. There are only a few people that have ever trusted him with their problems.

"Could it, perhaps, be because you feel like you're... replacing them?"

"I think so." Teddy frowns dolefully at his hands. "It's just that…they'll always be my mum and dad, always. But...in the end, Harry is the only one I've ever really had."

Draco understands something else; what is truly at the core of these feelings. And something about it hurts his heart. How long has Teddy carried this with him?

"Of course. He was always there. It makes perfect sense for you to feel that way, Teddy." Draco is leaning in to his eye-level, so Teddy could meet his own. "There are no limits on love, and family, do you understand? It takes nothing away from what you feel for your parents, and it certainly doesn't mean you don't love them at all or enough."

Teddy does look up then, to meet his eyes. Something hopeful is coming over the guilt and sadness in his face.

"And do you know what I think?" Draco's lips quirks a little. "I think your mum and dad would be happy you feel that way. Because it meant you had someone that loved you so very well, when they couldn't be here to."

Teddy stares at him for a minute, brows furrowed up.

In the next second, Teddy is throwing himself at Draco, leaning across the space to hug him tightly, face to his chest. Draco rocks back a little from the force, before he wraps his arm around Teddy's back and squeezes him tighter, resting his cheek to his hair.

There is something healing about the way Teddy holds people. Draco thinks it was one of the first things that ever healed something in him, after he and Scorpius got out of that house, away from Michael.

It takes Draco a while to notice Harry, all rumpled black curls and pajamas and sleep-swollen green eyes, lounging against the doorframe with a faint, affectionate smile. 

"And how long have you been standing there eavesdropping?" Draco asks with an arch of his brow, as Teddy pulls back to look at Harry.

"I didn't eavesdrop. I only just got here in time for the hug."

"Good. We wouldn't want you to hear all the awful things we've been saying about you. Isn't that right, Teddy?"

"Oh yeah."

"So," Harry waves his fingers between the two, "you two were just hugging in camaraderie of your mutual dislike of me?"

Draco smirks, as he is standing up. "Best kind of camaraderie there is." He moves over to Harry and kisses him good morning, hands on his biceps and Harry's on his wrists. Harry follows his retreating face for another kiss, then grabbing his face for another, deeper one. Draco finds himself laughing slightly into it.

There's the familiar pitter-patter of feet. Harry grins and catches Scorpius as soon as he gets to the door and scoops him up in his arms.

"Oh hello," Draco says, his voice going sweet in ways it only does with Scorpius and Teddy. He leans in and kisses the side of Scorpius' head.

"They're being mean to me again," Harry whispers oh-so-inconspicuously into Scorpius' ear, "You have to fight them for me, Scorp." 

Scorpius just yawns very widely and says something unintelligibly through it, something that can be decrypted as, don' be mean to Harry, before promptly dropping his cheek onto Harry's shoulder, arms around his neck.

"Fine, but only because Scorp said so," Teddy says, biting back a smile.

***

At the train station, Harry watches as Teddy hugs Scorpius first. He squeezes Scorpius up to his chest, shakes him a little with a laugh. 

"Ow, Teddy." Scorpius' voice is all muffled into his shirt, but he is still clinging just as hard to Teddy's neck. "That hurts."

"I'll miss you so, Scorp." Teddy kisses the top of his head.

"Me too." Scorpius sounds sad. Teddy hugs him tighter for good measure.

Next is Draco, who crouches down before him on a knee to draw him in. After Teddy pulls back, he adjusts Teddy's tie a little, brushing a hand over his hair to flatten it down.

"Be good. No pranks that get us called in through the floo this time, understand?"

Teddy salutes. "Understood."

Teddy and Draco stare at each other, biting back laughter.

"The sneezing beds one was a good one though. I'm proud of you," Draco whispers with a hand cupped between them, "But tell no one I said that."

"Hello? You're encouraging him!" Harry pipes up. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't do that."

Draco throws him a flat look over his shoulder. "You laughed for like ten minutes straight after we flooed home."

Draco had seen him look all tense, shoulders held tightly together and trembling, and asked him, what's wrong? I know it was a bit much but -- before Harry just broke into a high wheeze, hand to the back of his mouth and the other gripping the mantle of the fireplace for support, laughing until there were tears in his eyes as he staggered towards Draco and gripped his collar and buried his face into his shoulder — until Draco was laughing with him too, the two of them falling onto the floor.

Teddy's brows raise in surprised and smug amusement, head rolling towards Harry. "You sure put up a good front scolding me in front of the Professors."

Harry glances between Teddy and Draco with a scowl. "Shut up."

Soon, the time comes for Teddy to go. 

Harry takes Teddy in gently by his back with his arms, nose pressed into his Hogwarts robes and closing his eyes.

"Bye dad," Teddy whispers into his shoulder.

The air is knocked out of Harry's lungs, just as Teddy lets go, grabbing hold of his trolley and making his way towards the train; all the while Harry stands there staring after him, breathless and frozen.

Teddy, however, acts like nothing is out of the ordinary. He gets onto the train and appears some time later in the window right across from them, waving at the three of them with a grin.

When Harry turns to look at Draco, wide-eyed, he sees him smirking at him; something fond and knowing. His hands are on Scorpius' shoulders. Draco looks back to the train, to Teddy. The two of them wave back at him.

The last thing Teddy would see, as the train begins to move, is Harry's face breaking into the biggest grin he had ever seen, folding over with a laugh like a breath punched out of him.

***

For hours after, Draco keeps catching Harry smiling to himself all of a sudden.

"He called me dad," he whispers to Draco several times, every now and then. It's clear it means a lot to Harry. It's clear that, though he has never asked it of Teddy and he never would, he has always wanted this deep down inside.

Draco runs his fingers through Harry's hair, so unbearably in love with him it hurts. They are in bed, Draco lying next to him sideways on his elbow, hair riding up against his hand. "It's what you've always been to him, in every way but blood."

"I just never thought he would ever want to… I mean, don't get me wrong, I would never ask to— to replace— "

"Of course, Harry, he knows that too." 

"But I've always thought of him as… as mine. And I just… I really like… you know!" Harry can barely put it into words. He looks so excited. So sweet and endearing.

Teddy has always thought of Harry as his too; his dad, in feeling. What Draco understood from their conversation in the kitchen that day was that he has always felt a bit guilty about it, fearful that it was the same as replacing or forsaking Remus.

"I know." Draco leans down with the tilt of a smile, planting his mouth on Harry from above him, kissing him softly.

Harry is still beaming up at him, when Draco lets go, tucking his own hair behind his ear as he shifts up a little onto his elbow. Draco is smiling back down at him, eyes half-lidded and sweet.

"I'm just so happy," Harry whispers, the movement of their mouths brushing together.

Draco hums. He moves down and kisses him slow and deeper, longer, hands framing around Harry's face wholly as if he is precious. 

"What was that for?" Harry murmurs, smiling, blissed and lopsided and a serene breath. His eyes open slowly, as if from a lovely dream. His hands are on Draco's waist, now beginning to roam over his back up and down. Draco's eyes crinkle down into his, tender.

"I like it."

"What?"

"Seeing you like this. You look so beautiful."

It's funny and endearing, the way Harry reacts whenever Draco openly says sweet words to him like that. His eyes rove over Draco's face, down to his mouth and back up, and he bites his lips to hold back a smile that slips through anyway. He seems a little shy of him, turning his head away slightly, a faint flush spreading from his jaw to his cheeks as he breathes a small laugh.

Draco laughs at him. "What? Is the great Harry Potter being thrown off by a little sweet talk?"

Harry just pulls him so that Draco falls on top of his chest, face into his neck so that Harry could bury his undoubtedly hot face into his shoulder. Draco hides a smile into his skin, growing wider against his will.

"Shut up." Harry's voice is muffled and pouty.

***

2013

The fire warms the house and casts orange-yellow light throughout the living room. Golden fairylights are strung across the walls, which are decked out in Christmas decorations; stockings and holly wreaths and a Christmas tree in the corner yet to be embellished.

In the other room there are loud voices arguing while laundry is being folded.

"When Ron and Hermione got married, guess who cried more?"

"Ronald, obviously."

"I mean... well okay, you got that one right. What about Neville and Luna?"

"Neither?"

"Both."

"Oh."

"Bill and Fleur."

"Fleur."

"It was Bill!"

Draco gives him a bewildered look. "Do you know, I can't see that."

"Right? Sirius told me when it was my mum and dad, everyone expected my mum to be the one crying, but it turned out to be my dad. And with my grandparents, everyone expected it to be my grandmother, but it was my grandfather who cried more, even though he was usually reserved and calm. I'm just saying, it's a thing. The one you expect the least to cry is the one who ends up crying the most."

"Just because it happened in your family and friends— " Draco drawls.

"Three times!" Harry interrupts.

"—doesn't mean it's a given, Harry. You're also not seeing the pattern here. Clearly it's something to do with the Potters. And — Weasleys, I suppose. And you," he points at Harry with a pair of pants, "count as both."

"You'll be the one crying more than me. I know it. I can feel it in my bones."

"Is that a bet, Potter?" Draco throws the shirt he was folding down, stepping up all in his face as he crosses his arms until they are inches apart, cocking his head in a challenge and arching his eyebrow.

"You bet it is, Malfoy." Harry moves even closer in his face until they're nose to nose, arms spread wide.

"Oh, you're on. I can't wait to see your snotty red face at that altar."

Teddy and Scorpius give a collective sigh in sync, Teddy rolling his eyes. Neither of them need to look up to see the playful smooch Harry ends it on, as always. They do this all the time.

The two are on the couch in their sweaters, huddled together over the muggle PSP gaming device gifted to Teddy by Magnus on his birthday, playing Crash of the Titans, taking turns.

"Personally, I think they'll both cry like babies," Teddy mumbles to Scorpius out of the corner of his mouth.

"Me too." Scorpius pauses. "I wonder what they'll do after they get married, considering they plan on hyphenating their surnames."

Teddy and Scorpius look at each other. Both smile so hard their cheeks go tight.

"Is that a bet, Potter-Malfoy?" Teddy goes first.

"You bet it is, Potter-Malfoy!"

Teddy makes a face. "That doesn't ring right at all, does it?"

"Not one bit."

They snicker amongst themselves.

***

"Harry?"

Harry came to check in on Scorpius for the night. They talked a bit about the novel Scorpius was reading, listened to Scorpius talk about the stories he's been working on. The boy is talented. His love for stories seep through his writing, and the ideas he comes up with are creative and elaborate. Harry can imagine a little bit where this love for stories came from.

At the end of it, Harry kissed his brow goodnight before getting up to leave, ready to wait for Draco to come home on the couch.

He stops at the door now, hearing Scorpius say his name in that hesitant voice that meant he wanted to talk about something important, something that's been on his mind.

Harry turns back from the part of the door to look at Scorpius. He was fidgeting; an old anxious tic that Harry hasn't seen in some time. He is called back to memories of this little boy, when he asked if he and his Daddy could stay here in this house, the first time he cried in his arms and told him what he could about where he came from.

I won't get bored. 

Then stay here forever, Harry said, laughing thick and soft. He meant it with all his heart. That past Harry would be happy to see through his eyes right now, how it all turned out.

He was so small then. He is still too small for his age, smallest in his class he tells him. Harry wonders if he will ever stop seeing the tiny child with too big green eyes that he used to be, if he will ever stop wanting to cover him whole in his arms and protect him from everything.

But Harry never quite stopped feeling that way for Teddy, so maybe not.

"Yeah Scorp?"

When it takes a while for Scorpius to gather his words, Harry comes back to perch on the edge of the bed in front of him.

"I was thinking... you and Dad are getting married, right?"

"I like to think we are," Harry says with a playful laugh.

Scorpius laughs too. "Sorry, I'm trying to work out how to say this."

"Take your time, Scorp. I'm here."

"Well, it's just that... you and Dad getting married would officially make you my... my other parent."

"Yeah." 

Stepdad.

The word doesn't settle very well in his chest.

Because what it feels like is not enough. Not enough to describe what Scorpius means to him. My boy, he has thought in secret for years. There is a kind of distance or secondary-ness in the word. But like he has never asked it of Teddy, he will never ask it of Scorpius unless they decide it for themselves, regardless of how he feels.

This is where Scorpius says nothing for some time. He looks down at his hands.

"I haven't thought of that man as my papa in years," he says in a low voice.

"Good. He never deserved to be anything to you, or your Dad. He never deserved either of you."

Scorpius looks up at him, hearing the cold ferocity and protectiveness that runs through Harry's being in his voice. The lamplight makes Scorpius' green eyes look liquid, roving a little over his face, brimming with a thought, a softness. And it's his boy, Harry thinks. He was never that bastard's. He is Draco's and he is Harry's.

Scorpius smiles a little at him.

"Can I call you my Papa?" His voice is very hushed, and yet as if it's the only sound in the room.

It may as well be to Harry, because it's all he can hear in his head for the next ten seconds of frozen silence.

And maybe there was a tiny part of his mind that was hoping the conversation would go this way, only that he was too afraid it wouldn't to really admit it to himself.

But now it's happening.

It's happening.

Harry laughs, thick and soft, "Yes," he is saying, as he is scooting forward with his arms raising. "Yes!"

Scorpius' smile grows so wide it takes up his face, eyes brightening, as Harry is taking Scorpius by the shoulders and to draw him tight into his chest, kissing the top of his head all over, blind and fervent. Scorpius' arms are so tight around his middle it hurts, but Harry hardly feels it. He just grips Scorpius by the back of his snowy curls to hold him closer, and when his lips come to rest on his hair, he whispers, "You're my boy. You're mine."

"Yes, Papa," Scorpius whispers back.

***

"Harry?" Draco asks, his face immediately furrowing in concern as he sees Harry in the kitchen doorway, a half glass of water in his hand. He'd just gotten home, still in work robes. "What's wrong?"

He puts the glass down and makes his way to him.

"I think I'll lose this one," Harry says with a sigh. His eyes are red-rimmed, lashes wet. He clears his throat.

"What?" Draco looks bemused now over his worry.

"The bet. I'll lose the bet." Harry is already stepping up to him in want of a hug, and Draco is taking him in, arms coming around his waist and letting Harry rest his forehead against his. Harry's arms are on his shoulders, wrists crossed at the nape of his neck. His brows and nose twitch, scrunching slightly. "Do I cry too much?"

"Not too much. Or — perhaps too much for films that are only fictional. Did you watch another crup film again? I promise you they are likely alive in real life. They have very long lifespans. Why are you crying?"

"He called me Papa." He can hardly say it without his nose stinging again, without smiling uncontrollably. "Scorp."

Harry understood what it meant even then, just how much it meant, for Scorpius to want to call Harry that.

But it only truly hits him in that moment, when he sees Draco.

There is a sheer amount of meaning to it that Harry will only ever see on Draco's face, on Scorpius', in glimpses from the past that still sometimes creeps into the present. Meaning from a past that Harry will never be able to scoop the two of them out of, and keep them safe, so they will never have gone through any of it. There are times — especially times when he sees the worst of what it has all done to them — that Harry wants to do that with an irrationality that's absurd.

Scorpius wanting to call him that is wanting to replace all of that meaning.

All of that meaning with Harry.

With everything that Harry means to him. All of the memories they have together to bury all of the memories of that man.

"Oh," Draco manages to force out, faint and raspy, his grey eyes also liquid-bright and slightly wide on Harry's. He swallows hard, as if there is something heavy in his throat, and he looks years younger, bare. His lips twitch ever-so-slightly, a bittersweet kind of joy. "Well, that is — understandable." His voice is breathless, thick as if he has a cold.

Harry pulls him in by the back of his head into his shoulder, Draco's nose burying into his shoulder.

"I'm starting to think we both might lose this one," Draco mumbles after a long while.

Harry laughs and holds him tighter.

***

It's an outdoor wedding, surrounded by snow under somberly beautiful grey skies. The arch is made of pine branches and holly and berries, entwined in strings of golden light. It's a small gathering, only family and friends, consisting of all the Weasleys and children,  Hermione, Fleur, Luna, and Neville.

Teddy and Scorpius were both made the best men. A waddling Rose throws out petals on the carpeted aisle while Hermione holds her baby-pudged hand in her own, Rose in a flower crown and in a lavender frilly dress made of silk and net, looking like a tiny fairy. Hermione even spelled small wings on her.

When it's time, Arthur and Molly walk with Harry to the altar, on either side, and Scorpius takes Draco down the aisle with his hand held in his.

Harry is the first to lose the bet, laughing with glistening eyes as soon as he sees Draco in his white gold-embroidered robes, cheeks and nose stung with the cold and the emotion, though that's the most of it. His grin takes up his whole face. He looks so beautiful, in his own black silver-embroidered wedding robes.

Draco's smile is small, when Harry takes his hand up and pulls him up the stairs to the altar, to stand in front of him.

The vows come, and Hugo, in a small suit with his hair slicked neatly and looking every bit the too well-behaved child he is, brings the ring so they can put it on each other's fingers. The officiator — Hermione — announces them husbands, just as the snow begins to fall.

The tears will not be noticed by anyone except Harry, fading into their lips when Draco takes his face into his hands and pulls him into a kiss. But Harry will kiss him back tender and long, and not say anything, and frankly the bet will be forgotten. It's hardly even remembered in the first place.

At the reception party, Ginny and Charlie bring plus-ones. Ginny brings someone new, the captain of another Quidditch team, her name Alina, and Charlie brings home Xavier, the other dragon trainer they've been hearing stories about.

"Hello," Teddy says, a hand to the front of his suit and shaking Xavier's hand, "I'm Teddy Lupin. The grooms here are my fathers. My dad, my papa." He gestures to Harry, then Draco. He says it just like that, without any warning or thought, as if it was nothing new; all the while the word has grabbed Draco by his heart, finally understanding the way Harry looked the day Teddy called him dad for the first time, and when Scorpius called him 'Papa'.

It's hard to put it into words; the joy of it.

Teddy remains initially oblivious to Draco just standing there, stunned and staring at him, or so it seems until he finally looks at Draco with an arch of his eyebrow and a smile. The small breath of a smile that comes over Draco's face that they share in meaningful silence before everything around them moves on. Eventually, Teddy leaves to take Rose onto his lap, morphs his nose into every animal's and asks which one it belongs to. 

When introducing themselves to Alina, Teddy introduces himself as their son.

The moment comes back to Draco over and over for hours after, smiling a little to himself behind the curl of his fingers up to his mouth, supported by his elbow to the table. Harry notices, of course, biting back a smile to himself; just as excited about it.

It leaves the question of how people might cope with the confusion of Teddy and Scorpius assigning opposing paternal terms to the two, but both are too habituated to what they already call the parent they grew up with since infancy. It doesn't really matter to anyone in the end.

Then come the speeches.

Ron casts a Sonorous charm and taps his throat. He takes in a large, large inhale. 

And then, with a shudder: "I will never... never... forget the absolutely excruciating agony of those two years whenever I was in the same room as these two insufferable dunderheads."

There are haunting flashbacks passing across his eyes. The room laughs at his suffering. Harry waves him off dismissively, trying not to grin. Draco rolls his eyes.

"Actually, you know what... let's go back to the start." His narrowed eyes snap to Harry, as if he has been holding a personal grudge for years and finally letting it out. "Sixth year. It didn't make sense back then, but seeing you two today, boy oh boy, so many things make sense..."

***

Scorpius walks up on the stage, as George casts the Sonorous charm on him, pats his shoulder and leaves the stage. He seems nervous, holding the parchment in his hand, but nothing more than anyone might be in his place.

Next to Harry, Draco shifts on his seat. Their hands are held under the table, the coolness of each other's metal bands against their skin.

Scorpius' chest moves in a slight, close-mouthed breath, as he is looking down at his parchment, skimming over it one last time. The room waits for him in silence. Ron and Hermione at the front tables, and Charlie on the adjacent table.

When Scorpius looks up to rove his gaze over the room, it's to Hermione blowing him a kiss, grinning at him. He smiles back, pretending to catch it. Ron is grinning at him too, throwing him a thumbs up.

Charlie waves, grinning. "go, little dragon," he murmurs to him, clenched fists pumping a little in encouragement. He is near enough that Scorpius hears it. He beams at Charlie, basking in his words and attention.

Scorpius takes a breath, looking down at his parchment. And he begins to speak.

"Everyone here knows that I love stories. I love reading them, and I love writing them."

It's all just people that love you, Draco said to him, when Scorpius came to him anxious last night about the speech. It's alright, star.

You can say whatever is in your heart; two lines or twenty.

"My love for stories came from Dad." Scorpius looks up and meets Draco's eyes. "He once told me to imagine stories as a world where our thoughts are most likely to meet. In stories we all see the same things, even if differently.

I liked the thought. It was almost as if we were safe in that world. We stopped existing where we were and went somewhere else together."

Most people might not consider the meaning behind it, but Draco sees those green eyes go a little afar in thought, his voice fading too the further he goes. He wants to take him away from wherever they are going. He almost would have —

"Yes," Scorpius says, very softly, "I liked that thought a lot."

His eyes come into focus. Across the distance, they meet Harry and Draco's; now fixed only on them.

Scorpius smiles at them both, ever so slightly. Draco smiles back, sick with love and rue up to his throat. He can feel Harry squeezing his hand. It grounds him.

"The Pot stories were my favourite," Scorpius says, nostalgic and tender, the light of it reaching to the corners of his eyes.

Draco finds himself unable to feel embarrassed about that being out in the open. Under any other circumstances perhaps he might have, but today it's just his boy, baring his heart.

"The boy with the green eyes just like mine, and hair as black as raven birds — fighting bad guys. I loved them more than any of the other stories. It felt as if — no matter how many times you told them to me, Dad, I could never get enough. I could just listen to them over and over.

"I think it was because they gave me hope. If heroes existed, it meant there was someone out there who would come and save us."

Harry's hand tightens in his grip. Draco realises it's trembling. When he looks up, Harry's eyes are slightly wide and red-rimmed. Draco understands. His smile struggles to stay on, thick in his throat. He clears it.

And Scorpius looks right at Harry, with sincerity and affection at the corners of his eyes, his green eyes just like Harry's — in the hushed smile on his lips. 

"And he did. Come and save us. My kind and brave and noble papa."

Harry's inhale is sharp next to him. Draco is the one to hold his hand tighter, drawing it up on the table and rubbing his thumb over his knuckles soothingly.

"But another reason I loved them more than any of the others, Dad, was because of how you looked when you were telling them. You just looked different. I couldn't understand what I was seeing back then, just that I liked seeing you that way.

I understand it now. It took me a long time to realise what I was seeing was love. You've loved Papa for a long time, haven't you?

"I think to myself now," Scorpius' voice is mellow with wonder, and so is his smile. With the finishing enunciation on his last words, looking right into parent's eyes, "who would have thought that two of the greatest heroes of my life would one day be marrying each other. My dad and papa."

The room explodes into uproarious applause. When Scorpius hops off the stage, his family is waiting for him with wet grins and their arms raised; his dad, his papa, and Teddy. He runs right into them.

***

The dancing room has glass ceiling skies with the full moon and stars glowing right above them, and the soft snow fall is gathered very lightly just enough to look cozy and pretty but not obscure the entire view. Light pollution should not allow it, but it is all made to look so by magic. Twinkling lights hang from the walls and sconces cast a soothing golden light throughout the room, now dimmed so the spotlight could focus on the grooms. The floors are panelled with dark oak wood.

Harry and Draco are dancing to Champagne Supernova; the song of the first dance they ever had, forehead and noses together. The light that focuses on them from above is shadowed by their heads as they move in circles of small, swaying steps, while they are surrounded by their loved ones clapping slow and light in rhythm to the music, watching them with smiles on their faces.

Somewhere in the swaying, Draco finds his eyes drifting up high, brows raised to accomodate the movement. To Harry his eyelashes can be seen clearly like this, lifted up. His eyes look too big, illuminating the grey, and there is a smile coming over his face, that of contentment and far thoughts.

He looks ethereal in this light. Like an angel.

"What is it?" Harry asks, reflecting his tiny smile. His own eyes follow where his have gone.

There is just the full moon. The very light sprinkle of snow over glass ceiling, like stars in their own way.

There is the big black sky, full of millions of stars.

"Nothing." Still, Draco is looking up.

Harry's brows furrow in bemusement around his smile. He shakes Draco a little, where his hands are at his waist, like a kid. "Tell me!"

Draco shakes his head. His gaze lowers down to meet his. It's peace, in his eyes. It's the look of someone who has shook hands with his life, and said to it, you were cruel to me, but perhaps I can forgive you for what you gave me now.

His eyes are on Harry's now. He shakes his head a little again, biting his lip. He turns to look at where Scorpius and Teddy is. Everyone around them has started to join the dance floor. And Teddy is teaching Scorpius the new dance moves he's learned, and they're both laughing.

He turns back to Harry. The look in his eyes, from when they were looking at their children, their boys, carry over when they land on Harry. They look at him as if he is Draco's whole universe.

His fingers raise up, touch him as if he is too, featherlight over his brow.

"My big black sky is full of millions of stars," Draco murmurs. Harry hears it loudly, in the breath between their faces. There is a hidden meaning, known best to himself. But Harry doesn't need to ask to understand. "They are all Scorpius and Teddy and you."

Harry smiles. He leans in and kisses his husband.

They keep on dancing under the big black sky, full of millions of stars.