A Ferret, a ScarHead, a Weasel, and a Baby - Anonymous - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

“Oh f*ck! How much gin is in this?!” someone cries, their slurred voice carrying up from the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place.

It’s an admirable feat. A pounding bass beat originating from the sitting room rattles the old house’s every nook and cranny.

Draco snorts as he passes the entryway to the kitchen’s stairs. Clearly, too much. He tries to walk by an inebriated George Weasley, whose stocky, dancing-but-really-just-flailing frame is blocking the entrance to the sitting room. Draco ducks and darts around him, narrowly missing an elbow to the nose. He is stopped short from reaching the drinks table by a laughing Ginevra, dressed as Jareth the Goblin King and shouting to whomever to play her song. Her small hands greedily grasp the front of Draco’s cashmere jumper as she spins him in a tight circle, all while cackling in his annoyed face.

He endures Ginevra’s twists and twirls as they do a strange waltz across the room to the soothing vocals of David Bowie’s As the World Falls Down. Their little performance ultimately leads him to the drinks table. Draco finally, happily, escapes her goblin-sized hands, only to be disappointed at the drinks table's pitiful state. He stares forlornly, grimacing, as he notices the only items left are beers. Muggle beers, at that. He reluctantly grabs a Heineken. Shoulders straightening, Draco looks around the room as he sips from the lukewarm pony-necked bottle, wondering why he agreed to come to this thing in the first place.

The Weasleys have practically taken over the makeshift dance floor in the sitting room. George, Ginevra, Weasel, and the hot ones—the almost-sort-of werewolf and dragon tamer—are now doing an eerie, truly bizarre synchronised dance as the stereo belts out: “‘Cause this is Thriller! Thriller night!” There’s no space for him to sit, let alone have a second for a proper thought.

For one sobering moment, Draco wonders if he would have fared better at the Manor tonight, playing Belote with Mother and her ever-growing clique of cutthroat Society biddies. He shudders. Mother’s gaggle of friends are dreadfully boring and become terrifyingly handsy after half a glass of port. He always leaves game night at the Manor with smarting cheeks—both face and arse. Alas, he chose the lesser of two evils tonight.

There are ex-classmates from Hogwarts and a few colleagues from the Ministry in awful fancy dress spilling out into the hallways. Everywhere, people are snogging – in all the bedrooms, in the kitchen, in the sitting room, and even in the bloody loos. Draco’s already prevented two couples from having sloppy drunk sex in Weasel and Granger’s room, finally employing a strongly intended Colloportus that’ll probably take even Granger a minute or so to undo later in her inebriated state. Speaking of Granger. Draco’s eyes zero in on the person to blame for this atrocious night.

Hermione bloody Jean Granger.

Draco watches as she laughs at something Longbottom says, her massive curls bouncing from the force of it. She’s dressed as a mime artist, which is ironic considering he’s never seen Granger go a minute without opening her big, know-it-all mouth about anything and everything. What does he care if the swot won a grant to travel to America? Who cares if it’s to reopen a research outpost at some remote air force base (cleverly disguised as a military training centre to Muggles) in Nevada? Why would it bother him if she’s to develop and test some of the Department of Mysteries’ more experimental projects dealing with extra-terrestrial forces and rifts in space and time? Or, at least, that’s all the intel Draco has been able to gather from Granger without having to appear too interested.

Draco sighs, annoyed with himself and resigned to the fact that he might just be a tad jealous. He takes a long, unhappy swig from his beer.

Tonight is Granger’s going away party, which she thought for some inane reason would be logical to hold on Hallowe’en. Draco believes that on a night as powerful as this one, alcohol mixed with Wix in an ancient house equals buffoonery of unseen levels. He’s seen it in the vigorous snogging, smelled it on the gin-laced breaths of his friends, and while angrily using Evanesco on vomit puddles in the strangest places. It’s been a crazy, lust-fueled party thus far. He tries not to think too hard about why he’s not complaining to anyone who’ll listen or why he hasn't locked himself in his room, instead deciding to take care of the house and guests. Merlin forbid someone call his actions nice because Draco couldn’t care less that Granger’s leaving tomorrow; it’s not like he’s going to miss the barmy wench or anything.

There goes all that unnecessary lying to himself he promised not to do anymore. Granger can be quite insufferable when she gets her hooks into an issue like she did with Draco immediately after the war. He was an Issue That Needed Solving for her, and honestly, Draco probably wouldn’t have had the bollocks to apply to the Auror Corps without her, so he tries to show that he’s a good, supportive colleague… a friend. As an Auror, he’s worked on several cases with Granger these last five years, solidifying their friendship. She is as smart as they say, and he can also begrudgingly admit, after all this time, that she’s kind and noble.

But that mongrel boyfriend of hers took a while to come around.

Draco had the misfortune of Weasel bullying him during Auror training. There were fisticuffs, cut lips, and black eyes between them for much of the early part of their training, no matter Granger’s interventions. For a whole year, Draco suffered in a toxic learning environment before Robards censured the gangly idiot after one particularly brutal fight in the trainee breakroom. Despite the bullying he faced, he finished at the very top across all subjects. No one could deny his prowess as an Auror. He came to a sort of truce with Weasel after graduation, and soon after that, Weasel became Draco’s partner for two years.

The hell Weasel rained down on Draco early on may have been inexcusable, but it was understandable. Draco had his own PTSD to manage while trying to redeem himself in the eyes of his colleagues and the Magical community as a whole. Draco couldn’t expect Weasel to forgive him right away; it took time. And then Weasel decided to leave the Aurors for mental health reasons. Now, they were close enough that Draco knew how Weasel whittled his free time away with therapeutic baking, writing in that damned journal of his, and product-testing for George.

And Weasel seems happier now, not as angry. The same could be said for a lot of them as survivors.

Nonplussed, Draco watches Weasel drop to his stomach to do a weird wormlike movement across the floor as everyone around him claps and hoots. He doesn’t know what the hell is going on here anymore.

It’s then that Granger’s DoM research partner, Adrian Pucey, sidles up beside him.

“Aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes tonight.” Adrian shoots him a wolfish grin.

Draco raises one eyebrow in question, staring down at his outfit before fixing Adrian with a smug smile. He refused to dress up for the occasion, instead wearing a butter-soft cashmere black jumper and bespoke black trousers, his hair pushed back from his forehead, artfully tousled. Draco knows he’s gorgeous; it’s not a secret. He could don a potato sack, and no one would dare deny his allure.

“Adrian,” Draco starts softly, the corners of his lips twitching upward further as his eyes roam the length of Adrian’s lovely body. “The sentiment is a mutual one…” Shoulders loosening, he pulls the man into a brief hug before surveying him once more at arm's length. Adrian had opted for a simple costume: a silly cowboy hat on his brunette head, a red and black plaid shirt, tall brown dragon-hide boots, tight blue jeans, and the most preposterous pewter buckle in the shape of a bull’s head on his belt.

Adrian chuckles, a playful glint in his hazel eyes, and says, “You look different. Did you get a haircut?”

“Could it be that I’m wearing clothes?” Draco answers.

Adrian grips his ostentatious belt buckle and pushes his hips forward. “Must be it. Are you planning on wearing this all night?”

Draco smirks. “Why? Do you have something else in mind for me?”

“I might,” Adrian says, looking Draco up and down as if he’s picturing him without a shred of fabric on. Draco thinks spending the night with Adrian would be nice since he’ll be joining Granger on her research trip to America. It's been a very long time since they tumbled into bed together.

A real smile slowly crosses Draco’s face. “Alright, then.”

“Well, giddy up, cowboy,” responds Adrian in an awful Southern American accent, throwing one arm around Draco’s shoulders. Draco laughs and loosely wraps an arm around Adrian’s waist.

Despite Adrian’s severe emotional unavailability, regardless of Draco’s efforts, he was an agreeable casual shag. Draco has come to appreciate having him around as a sort of friend, what with his Slytherin-sharp wit and humour. His enthusiasm in the bedroom doesn’t hurt either. In the past, when Draco found most his nights tangled in Adrian’s sheets, their bodies cooling and breathing deep, Draco wondered why he couldn't convince Adrian to take their casual shagging to the next step: a supper, a movie, dating, boyfriends. Draco once said early on in their arrangement, “If only I could see behind that closed door of yours, this might all be worth the struggle.” It made Draco incredibly sad to realise how emotionally closed off Adrian is to him. Alas, Draco could have all the agreeable sex he wanted with Adrian, but it meant very little in terms of whether or not they could be romantically together. Draco’s long since given up thinking about it, charting it away to the recesses of his mind. But sometimes, he questions how measurable of a disservice it is to his happiness and well-being to continuously put off such thoughts about the men who continue to shuffle in and out of his life.

Draco takes another sip from his Muggle swill, an uncharacteristic pang of sorrow hitting him.

“Er. Hey, Draco?”

Draco starts. He turns to face the direction of the voice.

Harry stands behind them, dressed like a pirate in a crazy hat, ruffled shirt, and ridiculously long, fake scraggly beard, an outlandish sword tucked to his side. “Oh, sorry! Am I interrupting something?”

Harry’s face is so comically uncomfortable that Draco wants to laugh. Instead, he rolls his eyes, mostly at himself. Not for the first time tonight, he wonders what’s wrong with him. After two years as Auror partners with Harry’s best mate, longer than that as friends with Hermione, and hanging around Grimmauld Place like a bloody ghoul before finally moving in last year, how can he still find Harry so f*cking fit after all this time, especially when he’s got that stupid, awkward expression plastered across his face?

“It’s fine, Potter. What do you want?” Draco doesn’t mean for his tone to sound so sharp.

Harry deflates and uses a finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The act is wonderfully endearing. “Well, you seem busy. It’s just that everyone is much too gone for me to ask them for help, but I can keep trying—”

For f*ck’s sake. Draco blinks and says, “I’m ageing here.”

Harry ducks his head briefly to hide what looks suspiciously to Draco like a smile. “Can you help me bring up some more refreshments from the kitchen?”

Draco bites his tongue and resists the urge to ask Harry if he thinks he’s a bloody house-elf. Instead of complaining, he takes a small step back from Adrian's warm, pliant side.

“Sure, Potter. I’ll see you later, Adri,” he says fondly.

Draco kisses Adrian's cheek before following Harry to the kitchen, once again dodging an ocean of drunk people. Some of them clap him on the shoulder as he walks by; others glare at him through narrowed, suspicious eyes. It’s nearly eight years out from the war, and he still endures some animosity from people who believe he should live in the past.

Harry heads towards the wide doorway that leads down a short, brightly lit staircase. Over the last few years, Draco has come to appreciate the new changes to 12 Grimmauld Place. He recalls what Granger said it used to look like before she and Weasel moved in to help Harry remodel, back when it was a dank, dark shell of a house with a morose, pitiful energy pulsing from walls reeking of mildew. It’s become a beautiful, four-level home, with wide, colourful hallways, large windows that filter in sunlight and moonlight, and gorgeous, lush furnishings draped in silk and velvet sprawled throughout every parlour and bedroom.

The kitchen smells like an odd mix of freshly baked sweets, hoppy beer, and cigarette smoke. A fire crackles in the fireplace, and the recycling bins are spilling over with an enormous stack of empty liquor bottles, mostly gin. The large wooden kitchen table is littered with shot glasses and surrounded by Hogwarts alums.

“—And then I told the dickhe*d to get that thing out of my house before I hex it up his bloody arse,” Lavender says.

Draco grins at his partner. The day before, after kicking his arse in a hand-to-hand combat session in the DMLE’s training room, she told him the same ridiculous story as they sat next to each other on mats to cool down. She’s always armed with the most bizarre dating encounters, which makes for hilariously titillating stories.

Two years ago, after a series of poor Auror partner matches, Robards stepped into Draco's office to tell him that an Auror from the Brussels DMLE Witness Care Unit was transferring in. They were to not only develop a Survivor Care Unit for the Ministry but also become Draco’s partner.

“Consider this a promotion, Malfoy,” Robards had started. “Based on your closed case rate, strategic skills, and level of defence, I’d like you to co-develop and co-lead with her on establishing this department. I have full confidence that you two will work well together. Some Aurors from Brussels swear that she’s a Clairvoyant.”

Draco had stumbled through his thanks, thoughts riddled with confusion. He had worked hard to prove himself as one of the best Aurors in the department. He was happy that he was finally being noticed, but heading a completely new department was an even greater achievement than he’d imagined this early on in his career. Before he could inquire about the new agent's name, a cheery voice had rung out from across the Bullpen.

“Knock, knock!” the voice sang.

Draco was prepared to respond to the Muggle phrase with a “Who’s there?” But the joke shrivelled up in his throat when he realised that Lavender Brown had survived the war.

The last time he saw her, a devastated Parvati Patil was dragging her bleeding, scarred body down a crumbling corridor. Having been running for his life, Draco simply recalled that, at that moment, she looked dead. But striding down the Auror Bullpen to stand beside Robards, she was fully alive and the opposite of that terrifying image. Dark honey-blonde corkscrew curls fell lushly down her back, illuminating the golden tones of her brown skin. Her plump curves and soft stomach were accentuated in a tight green dress, her matching stiletto heels boosting her short stature. The most striking aspect of her appearance left Draco a bit bereft. There were long gashes across the left side of her face, the most prominent dark scar across her left eye, starting just above her perfectly arched eyebrow down her high cheekbone to her round jaw. There were two other marks, thin and pale against her skin, starting from her jaw and going down her neck before disappearing beneath the collar of her dress.

They did get on amazingly. After two years as partners, now with a new, albeit functioning Survivor Care Unit, Draco has seen the sheer force of Lavender’s fiery strength. Initially, Draco had warred with his preconceived notions of her as a vain and silly girl meanly believing that her outward femininity was somewhat entwined with her intelligence. He’s placed those terrible notions aside, ashamed, and gone on to develop the utmost respect for her as both an Auror partner and best friend.

Draco winks as Lavender smiles up at him from the kitchen table.

He finds himself giggling along with the uproarious laughter, even more tickled by the sight of Justin Finch-Fletchley and Padma Patil near a small open window, smoking their cigarettes and shooting the rambunctious group aghast looks from across the kitchen.

“Merlin, are you lot fishing for a Disturbance Citation with all this racket?” Draco asks as he rests a bony hip against the kitchen island next to platters upon platters of canapés. Weasel truly outdid himself for this event.

“You’d be arresting half our department if you did!” Lavender laughs, her sharp amber gaze sliding towards Harry before grinning. “Harry, how do you put up with such a spoilsport of a housemate?”

Harry smiles politely and shrugs. “I’ve found a few handy ways to shut him up over the years.”

Everyone at the table laughs harder, the sheer magnitude of Harry’s cheek going over their heads. A fissure of annoyance shoots through Draco as Harry smirks at him, a teasing glint dancing in his eyes. Draco rolls his eyes before crossing his arms against his chest.

“It must be working like a bloody charm! A year as housemates and no one has been murdered?” Ernie Macmillan cackles as he leans against a grinning, pink-cheeked Longbottom, lifting his can of beer high above his head. “Well, that’s something to celebrate!” he continues, shaking the can as the people around them cheer and clap.

Draco can feel the heat spreading across his cheeks and scowls. “Oh, f*ck right off, ye all of little faith!”

“Hey!” Finnegan exclaims. “What’s up with Robards pulling me from the potions ring case!?” His burst of irritation causes the people around him to moan and swear.

Thomas groans. “Babe. Can you please not talk about work right now?”

“Not to mention, wow. What a huge breach of security, Seamus,” Lavender says, primly sipping from her shot glass.

“What? It’s not like I’m naming names and dropping key Ministry intel here!” Finnegan says, a sheepish look on his face. “Honest. I’m gutted.”

“What do we need the bloody bomb squad for, Finnegan?” Draco asks, his voice a low drawl.

Finnegan shakes his shaggy-haired head, briefly resembling a wet dog. “Mate, really? Where there’s potions, there’s explosions!”

Draco rubs a hand over his mouth, hiding his smile, before using his wand to levitate three platters of food off the table. “I’ll be sure to mention that to Robards on Monday.”

“A true ledge! Cheers, Malfoy!” Seamus pumps his fist in the air, his flushed, boyish face breaking into a grin as Dean smothers kisses upon his cheek.

Harry nudges Draco’s side before leaning in close. “There has been an uptick in overdoses coming into St. Mungo’s recently. They’ve pulled me from the Dai Llewellyn Ward to the Poisoning Department since I uncovered Doxy Venom in that new street drug going around, Electric Candy.” Harry carefully removes the Stasis Charms from the final platters of canapés.

Draco nods and follows along, his cheerful air evaporating. “We have a suspect in custody, and we’re going to work to the bone until they spill their intel.”

Draco refrains from mentioning that the suspect is a sickly, nameless seventeen year old addict. She had been arrested during a raid at a discovered brewing warehouse in Canary Wharf last week. The attack against Draco’s team had been brutal and sent three of his colleagues to St. Mungo’s with severe injuries. All the major players of the potions ring had engaged in a duel with Aurors before they escaped, and from the haphazard condition of the warehouse, it appeared they had cleared out their supplies mere moments before the Aurors arrived. Draco suspected that there was a mole in the Ministry and had voiced this concern to Robards, who, in response, cut their investigation team to a quarter of its original size. Meanwhile, the DMLE planned an internal investigation.

The girl found at the warehouse refused to talk, and the Aurors on site had used a Charm to determine her age. Until further notice, she’d been placed in a cell in the Detention Area on Level Ten with a Ministry-appointed house-elf assigned to monitor her around the clock. Draco wasn’t looking forward to dealing with her again—something about the girl made him uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with how terribly young and fragile she was. Quite the opposite, really.

Draco felt that there was something Dark about her.

He had been the first to interrogate her once she was brought back to the Ministry after the raid, the dormant whispers of Dark Magic stirring in Draco as he sat across from her, a cold metal table between them. He couldn’t pin down how or why this girl would have such a Dark, potent aura about her. When he began his questioning, she remained silent despite Draco’s probing. As he grew frustrated, he stood from his seat to pace the room, at one point crouching beside her as he tried to coax her into telling him what happened at the warehouse. No matter his gentle tone or physical proximity, she remained silent, but her eyes followed him everywhere, gaze rapt with what looked like awe. Knowing he was at a dead-end with the interrogation, he called the Ministry-appointed house-elf, Neemy, to return the young girl to the Detention Area until Draco could discuss further interrogation efforts with Robards. He had been relieved to get away from her and had rushed through the interrogation because the girl unsettled him. The entire encounter had left him on edge for the rest of the week.

Harry claps him on the shoulder, grounding Draco back to the present. “Good. I’ve been asked to sit in on this Monday’s debriefing at the DMLE to discuss some of my recent medical findings on Electric Candy.”

“I’m sure your input will be invaluable,” Draco says genuinely, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

If someone had told Draco seven years ago that Harry Potter wouldn’t go on to become an Auror but a bloody Healer with a focus on creature-induced maladies, Draco would have referred them to the Janus Thickey ward. But lo and behold, Harry had somehow managed to pass his NEWTs with flying colours, along with the required Potions grade. Draco guessed that without a murderous egomaniac after him every year, Harry had a bit more time to study properly. He entered Healer training at the same time that Draco entered Auror training.

“Sorry if I interrupted anything with Adrian,” Harry says suddenly, drawing Draco from his thoughts.

Draco shrugs, now levitating the platters. “It wasn’t a problem.”

“If you say so. Looked a bit like you two were about to snog,” Harry teases.

Draco nearly drops the platter he’s trying to stack in the air. “You would’ve loved to have seen that, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, I love the idea of watching you slobber all over some poor bloke’s face.”

Draco lifts his chin defiantly. “I do not slobber when I kiss.”

He watches as Harry levitates a box full of unopened liquor bottles alongside the remaining platters of food. Draco raises an eyebrow as Harry leans into his personal space; he can smell the other man's woodsy, gin-laced, sweat-salt smell and hates that it makes him shiver.

“How would I know, eh?” Harry whispers, a pointed look on his face. His eyes dart to Draco’s lips before he turns away and heads back towards the stairs. Draco scowls at his retreating form, wishing he could kick the four-eyed git in the shins.

When they make it back up to the sitting room, Adrian is no longer by the drinks table, now probably trying to get a leg over some other bloke. And not to Draco’s surprise, he’s proven correct when he catches sight of Adrian, a feral grin on his face, looming over a blushing Charlie Weasley in the far corner of the sitting room. There goes his shag for the night. Maybe it’s for the best. They begin to unload the platters and liquor on the nearly empty drinks table in the sitting room, Draco with a bit more force than necessary.

“Alright there? You look like someone just told you all the chocolate at the party is gone,” Harry says, his tone almost smug.

Draco rolls his eyes, his heartbeat fluttering as he takes a moment to pick up a chocolate-covered pretzel from one of the platters and pops it into his mouth. He chews and swallows before saying, “You’re actually not too far off from your observation, Potter.”

Harry’s grin is a slow, sly dance across his face. “There’re plenty of other sweets available.”

There’s a weird sort of fluttering occurring in Draco’s stomach that he’s long associated with Harry acting like a great big teasing oaf around him. Draco sneers, though his heart isn’t fully in it. “Thank you for the consolation.”

“Merlin, Draco, I’ve hardly seen you all night!” Hermione shouts over the music as she speedily makes her way towards them. Weasel’s hand is clasped in hers as she tugs him along for the ride.

Draco shrugs. “Didn’t want to interrupt the Know-It-All mid-speech. You might have spontaneously combusted going a second without running your mouth.”

“I bet you’ve been dying to say that to me all night,” Hermione drawls, staring up at him with a playful smirk. She pokes him repeatedly in the side, her engagement ring glinting under the colourful fairy lights they strung up around the room earlier. “Poor ickle Drakey, are you mad that I haven’t paid you enough attention tonight?” she coos.

Draco bats her offensive finger away before crossing his arms against his chest. “Ma’am, I don’t even like you,” he says, turning his nose up.

“Oh, get stuffed, Malfoy. You know you’re helpless without her,” Weasel chimes in, looking smug. He’s recently chopped his long red hair off, now sporting a buzzcut and trimmed beard. Loathe as he is to even think it, Weasel does look infinitesimally better than usual.

“I’d wipe that smug look off your face immediately, Weasel-bee. If not for your fiancé here, you wouldn’t know your left hand from your right, and Potter would have perished First Year. Really, the only reason why you two dolts are even alive is because of her,” Draco snorts.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything!” Harry complains, looking put out as he prepares several rows of shots.

“Your mere presence warrants a reminder of Hermione’s life-saving skills,” Draco retorts. He narrowly misses Harry’s hand, flying to wallop him in the back of the head, snickering as he dodges it.

Harry huffs as he steps up to Hermione. “I’m going to miss you terribly, ‘Mione,” he says, handing her a shot and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Weasel’s eyes are suddenly bright as he clears his throat, and Draco can’t help but notice that his own throat is starting to alarmingly feel a bit tight. f*cking hell. He’s starting to regret ever allowing the Golden Trio to ensnare him in their little nest. Harry hands him a shot, and Weasel one, too.

“It’s only going to be a year,” Hermione says sadly, looking up at Weasel before glancing back at him and Harry. “I’m glad you’ll all have each other…and I’ll Floo call every night, I promise.”

Draco huffs, feeling a touch emotional. “You better, you barmy wench.” He lifts his shot glass. “To the Brightest Witch of Our Age!” he toasts, flinching as he tosses back his shot, the entire room repeating his words before a cacophony of applause and congratulations breaks out. He watches as Weasel scoops Hermione up into a kiss. Harry slaps him on his back, grinning madly as he presses another shot into Draco’s other hand.

Draco finds himself returning the grin because, really, Harry is too stupid, handsome, and joyful for his own good, and sometimes it’s just so bloody hard not to love that about the bastard.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Draco wakes with a pained groan.

His head is pounding, and as he slowly gains consciousness, he immediately regrets those several rounds of congratulatory shots with Weasel and Hermione last night. Hesitantly, he opens one eye and then quickly shuts it.

Drawing in a deep breath, he wills his aching, swollen head to make room for rational thoughts. For example, there’s way too much sunlight pouring across the bed. Why are the drapes open? Wait. Where are the bloody drapes?

Draco’s eyes fly open, his retinas burning. He painstakingly raises his head off his pillow, the rustle of cloth against his skin sounding like the bang of a poorly executed Apparition to his overwrought nerves. With a hiss, he rolls over.

And comes face-to-face with Harry.

Harry’s head is propped up onto his palm, and he smiles smugly at him. “Good morning, gorgeous,” Harry says, leaning forward—his lips—coming towards Draco’s face.

Draco presses his hand flat against the centre of Harry’s hot, hard chest. His teeth briefly sink into his bottom lip as he savours the touch, his fingers curling ever so slightly against Harry’s chest hair.

“Ah, what do you think you’re doing, Potter?” Draco says, his voice rough from sleep.

Harry’s brows furrow. “You and your rules.”

Draco snorts. “One I’ve maintained since Hogwarts. Sorry, darling, I don’t kiss Gryffindors, especially bespectacled Gryffindor Saviour gits,” Draco drawls. “And I’m sure you have morning breath.”

Draco stretches. His arse gives a small, painful twinge. He is deliciously sore thanks to the Golden Boy, so instead of more insults, Draco gives him a soft, appreciative smile—Harry’s earned it.

They’ve never kissed. Of course, there have been attempts on Harry’s behalf, but Draco always tilted his chin or tossed his head to the side, usually in the throes of pleasure with only half a mind to Harry’s dirty little tricks to kiss him. And yeah, okay, perhaps Draco could find it in himself to kiss the poor sod once in a while, but it just seems too intimate, too promising of something they both never agreed on. What would happen to them if he started liking Harry’s kisses too much? Surely it would open a door Draco would be too frightened to walk through, not knowing with a hundred percent certainty what lies beyond it—a kiss was far too consequential. He’s approached this situation similar to the one he has with Adrian. Is it cowardice? No, not that. A pragmatic solution? Absolutely. And Harry’s full, plush lips aren’t going to talk him into believing the former.

“Know many of those types, d’you?” Harry snorts, flopping onto his back, his hands linking behind his head.

Draco thinks back on Harry’s comment last night about finding creative ways to shut Draco up. It’s a very true statement. Harry f*cking Draco on and off for the last year has been a wonderful way to keep some of Draco’s snarkier comments and iciness at bay. Their arrangement is completely casual and harmless, as it never intrudes on their work or friendship. They see other people. They don’t go on dates with one another. They don’t talk about their feelings—Merlin forbid such silly inclinations! They don’t kiss or even plan when they shag because it just happens, and when it does, it’s pretty f*cking brilliant. Draco has easily had some of the best org*sms of his life with Harry, and trying to complicate something so unburdensome with feelings would surely set back those lovely org*sms. Right?

Yes, Draco reminds himself. No, thank you.

Draco’s eyes slowly rove across Harry’s body. By no means is Harry some model-type beauty. The mop on his head immediately sees to that, but Draco thinks he’s perfect exactly the way he is. Harry has filled out over the years, losing that boyish scrawniness, and his once-thin face has grown into a more dignified, chiselled look. The heavy duvet barely covers Harry’s lower half, and Draco catches a hint of his soft co*ck nestled in the thatch of dark, trimmed hair. He loves Harry’s co*ck. He’s never really considered himself a size queen, but Merlin, is Harry bloody hung.

And if Draco finds that he sometimes studies Harry in the early hours of their post-coital mornings together, well, that’s no one’s business but his own. He likes the slightly crooked set of Harry’s nose (no doubt from a few breaking jabs, Draco guilty-but-not-so-sorry of one instance), his plump bottom lip, his broad shoulders, and the coarse dark hair on his chest that covers the collection of scars that decorate his torso. Draco catalogues his favourites: the circular scar right over his heart whose origin story Harry told him their first night together; a smooth, large, oblong burn on his left shoulder from a nasty Incendio he caught dealing with a child patient experiencing accidental magic; and a brutal stab wound to the left of the circular scar, the creation of which Draco had witnessed. At the time, the stab wound ordeal had been terrifying and chaotic, but Draco now looks back on the incident fondly.

It had been Draco and Weasel’s first field assignment as partners. They'd tried to break up a drunken brawl between a gaggle of withered old hags at the Leaky Cauldron. At first, it had been amusing trying to get the hags to beg off one another, but things quickly escalated into a full-on attack against them. Weasel had been punched by one, and Draco had dodged a knife attack by another. After the horde managed to tackle them to the ground, they had sheepishly called for backup. Harry had arrived on the scene, medical bag in hand and wand at the ready. Because his focus was on Magical creature injuries, he tended to both human and hag wounds. Harry was trying to tend to a nasty gash on a hag’s forehead when the creature randomly stabbed him in the chest. The hag wasn’t able to pierce Harry too deeply because Draco had lunged at the hag almost immediately, wrestling it to the ground to incapacitate it. Harry had been eternally grateful. Had the hag pushed in a millimetre deeper, the knife would have nicked an artery, and Harry would have bled out.

Draco had saved his life.

Despite the teasing Draco and Weasel receive from colleagues over the incident, it reminds him of how far he’s come as an adult and as friends with Weasel and Harry.

In the aftermath of that particular incident, he knew that whatever may come his way in the field, Weasel would always have his back. Afterwards, a small bud of trust began to grow between him and Harry. An invitation out for drinks to celebrate their near brush with death turned into weekly pub meet-ups with a beaming Hermione, a sulking Weasel, and Harry, who would become his fast friend.

Draco is distracted from his thoughts as his stomach growls. A wonderful smell floats up from the kitchen into Harry’s bedroom.

“What is that heavenly smell?” Draco asks, breathing deeply.

Harry’s expression turns dreamy. “Ron’s been cooking since dawn. Hermione’s portkey is scheduled for 9:55 am, so he wants her to have 'the best breakfast ever,’” Harry says, using air quotes. “It smells like he’s accomplished just that. Whatever it is, I hope I get to try some.”

“You mean we.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “No one invited you.”

“I live here, so I’m automatically invited,” Draco counters.

“No,” Harry says petulantly. “If there are any leftovers, they’re coming to me.”

“Greedy, big-headed monster,” Draco starts, twisting towards Harry to playfully slap his shoulder.

“Don’t act like you’re not greedy. I’ve seen how many of those pain au chocolats you shove in your pockets before heading to the Ministry,” Harry says, throwing his arm out to rest a hand against Draco’s shoulders, his fingers caressing his neck in a tell-tale sign that he wants Draco to curl around him.

Instead, Draco shifts away from the touch and rolls onto his back to put some space between them.

Draco only allows himself to cuddle Harry when he’s either particularly drunk or feeling overwrought with exhaustion and thus unable (well, unwilling) to shimmy from Harry’s warm embrace. It’s tempting right now, with their silly banter, the slight draft in the room, Draco’s cold toes pressed against the top of Harry’s very warm foot, and that little inner nudge urging him to move closer that makes Harry a f*cking prick for offering it.

Because Draco doesn't want to want it, he can’t bear to need it. Harry already takes up too much space in Draco’s otherwise buzzing, preoccupied mind.

There’s a short, charged silence between them as Harry uses the offending hand to run through his unruly mop of black hair instead.

“You’re such a stalker,” Draco says, breaking their silence smoothly. Harry smiles at him, and Draco relaxes. He hadn’t realised he was holding himself so tautly.

“How is it stalking when you’re quite literally always in the kitchen? Always dipping a spoon in a pot or opening the oven door with a pastry shoved in your mouth?”

Draco laughs; Harry’s got him dead to rights. “Well, it’s not my fault Weasel is a stress-baker, so shut your mouth; Merlin forbid he thinks I’m a fan of his cooking.”

Harry snorts. “Perish the thought! You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of that sort of praise aloud. I’m sure the empty platters and bowls are enough.”

Draco tuts. “Merlin, why did I move in here again? You Gryffindors are a pain in my arse.”

Harry turns on his side to press against him, lightly pressing closed-mouth kisses along Draco’s jaw. “According to the Daily Prophet, you moved into Grimmauld Place to corrupt the Golden Trio with your evil, ex-Death-Eater-Slytherin ways.”

“Oh, is that the latest goss from our dear friend Rita?” Draco asks with an arched brow.

Harry nods solemnly. “I reckon it is, but her salacious lies actually help you in this situation by distracting her readers from the real truth. Only I know that you’re a filthy slu*t satisfying your life-long dream of sucking my fat co*ck, which you now have unfettered access to,” Harry whispers against Draco’s ear.

Draco shivers at the admonition of “slu*t.” Already half-hard, he nudges Harry away with his shoulder. “You brutish, narcissistic fiend. You’re not all that special.”

“Sure, you keep telling yourself that as you shag me a few thousand times more,” Harry teases, poking Draco in the side.

Stomach protesting once more, Draco finally wrests himself free from Harry’s warm side to sit up in bed against the headboard, sticking his tongue out at Harry in the process.

“Wanker. Since when does five or six times equate to a few thousand?” Draco crosses his arms against his bare chest. They’ve only shagged on one hundred and forty-seven separate occasions in the last year. Draco knows. He’s kept count, he thinks wryly as he watches Harry swing his legs over the bed, catching a glimpse of Harry’s perfect arse before he snatches up and squeezes into tight jeans.

Draco’s lips curve upward because, really, what a bloody caveman Harry is, not even putting on any pants! A bloody incorrigible, hot, sexy caveman. Draco’s starting to feel the overwhelming flare of arousal and wishes they could go one more time.

Instead, he tosses back the thick duvet from his body and peels himself free from the bed in search of his own pants, trousers, and socks. Half-dressed, he perches on the edge of the bed.

“I’m not sure I can even stay for breakfast,” he says. “Father wants me to visit the Manor for a heartwarming tête-à-tête,” Draco plucks his watch from off the nightstand. He feels a bit faint when he realises he only has about ten minutes before he’s due.

Harry lets out a low whistle. “What for?”

Draco shoves on his black cashmere jumper. “Who bloody knows? Perhaps another enriching diatribe on how I’m failing the family,” he murmurs darkly.

“Your dad’s a real bastard.”

Draco sighs. “I know.”

“Love your mum, though. Truly. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” Harry’s grin is slow and teasing. Draco wants to smack it off him.

“Potter, I swear to Merlin, if you fancy my mother, I will kill you. You are not allowed to fancy my f*cking mum!”

“Yeah, and what are you going to do about it?”

Draco stands and rounds the bed to slink up to Harry, their chests nearly touching. “You’ll hate to find out, Potter,” Draco whispers, left hand dropping to the buttons of Harry’s jeans. He undoes them in seconds, his hand slipping in to grasp Harry’s soft co*ck. He begins to stroke him until he’s plumped in his grasp, a grin crossing his face as Harry moans and his eyes flutter shut. Draco thumbs the slit the way Harry likes and is rewarded with a full-body shudder. Harry leans forward to rest his forehead against Draco’s while soft, delicious moans escape his parted lips. “Yes, you like that, don’t you? You like how I handle your big, fat co*ck, Potter? Well, guess what? You can say goodbye to this,” Draco whispers, then slips his hand out.

“You f*cking tease,” Harry hisses, lunging forward. Quick on his feet, Draco steps back, darting around the bed as Harry chases him. “Get back here and finish what you started!” Harry growls, grabbing Draco around the waist and pulling him close enough to dip his face into the crook of Draco’s neck to nibble with his teeth. He presses his erection against Draco’s hip and murmurs against his skin, “Finish me.”

Draco shivers. “I have to go,” he laughs, pushing Harry away. “Why don’t you take care of that on your own? Without thinking of my mother.”

“Merlin, I’ll get you back for this,” Harry says, dropping his hand inside his jeans to squeeze and adjust himself.

“Promises, promises!” Draco sing-songs. He glances back down at his watch. “I guess I’ll see you both later,” he says, pointedly staring at Harry’s crotch.

“Tease,” Harry repeats. Draco blows him a kiss and makes his way towards the door.

“Hold on!” Harry calls out. He snatches a T-shirt from the floor and shoves it over his head. He looks adorably ruffled, glasses askew, as he approaches Draco. “You’re already going to be late. Why not come down and eat something before facing that nonsense with your dad?”

Draco’s about to decline when his stomach growls loudly. He can feel his cheeks heat up. Harry grins.

“Shall we get you fed, then?”

Draco glances at his watch once more out of anxiety, but he can hardly say no, not when Harry’s grinning at him like that.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Draco lingers in front of Grimmauld Place’s sitting room Floo, his belly full and his body warm from hugging Hermione goodbye. He can’t fight the smile off his face, not after the good ribbing he gave Harry after they saw Hermione off with her Portkey. It’s moments like this one that have Draco feeling warm and content about his living situation, a rare affection for his housemates washing over him.

With a chuckle, he recalls the day he agreed to move into Grimmauld.

A balled-up piece of parchment struck Draco in the middle of his forehead, landing pitifully in his half-full mug of tea. Heat crept across his cheeks as he used an Evanesco to get rid of the offending thing.

“Quit daydreaming and get back to filling out those reports,” Harry said, balancing on the back legs of his chair in Grimmauld Place’s library. Harry was taking a break from reading up on some medical journals he was subscribed to, and Draco was stressing out over a particularly difficult case report. Harry had invited him over for supper, which Draco had initially turned down because of his workload. But they compromised with supper first, then a few hours spent working in the library. Harry was an excellent cook who kept Draco well-fed on such difficult evenings. Whenever Weasel was around, homemade dessert was almost always available, too. Spending time with Harry was the highlight of Draco’s overwrought work week. Draco found joy in their time together, whether they were watching Muggle telly, sharing a late-night meal, or working silently on their respective projects. He had truly come to appreciate his friendship with Harry.

Still distracted, Draco sighed, staring down at the reports from his latest raid, the words a blur on the page as his gaze unfocused. He hadn’t slept properly in nearly a week, what with the recent bouts of icy arguments with his father over the choices Draco had made in his life. They usually had such an argument once a month, but it had been nearly every day in the past week as his father pushed him to quit his job as an Auror and seek out a proper Pureblood marriage. Draco was tired of it, annoyed that despite his best efforts to prove otherwise—Draco actually introduced past boyfriends to his parents through Sunday brunches—his father believed his hom*osexuality to be a phase that could be cured through marriage to Astoria Greengrass. But he is gay. He’ll always be gay.

Glancing down at his report one more time, Draco groaned and closed the folder. “I need to get the f*ck out of the Manor.”

Harry, who had been ignoring his journals to toss balled-up pieces of parchment into a makeshift basketball hoop hanging over their rubbish bin, ceased in his activities to instead shoot Draco with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “You’ve been saying the same thing for the last six months. Why don’t you just find a flat already? Circe knows you can afford it.” Harry tossed his parchment ball, and at the last moment, the ball circled the rim and fell outside the hoop.

Draco pocketed his wand as Harry glared at him. “Hey! I almost got it in!”

Ignoring the urge to respond with that’s what he said, Draco sucked his lower lip into his mouth, gnawing on one side of it.

The truth is, he didn’t want to live alone. Actually, the more Draco thought about moving, the more terrified he became. He hated to label the feeling, but the real thing he feared was loneliness. Yes, his life was full of friends, work, and his mother, but to come home at the end of the day to an empty flat, well, the thought made him feel miserable. Merlin. He felt like a pathetic little boy.

But he was lonely and frustrated at the Manor, too.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Hmm?” Draco mumbled absently, his gaze falling back on Harry.

“You look a million miles away. C’mon, you can tell me.”

Draco knew he could. Harry was a good sort that way and wouldn’t laugh at him, but he was reluctant to see any kind of pity reflected back at him in Harry’s jade-green eyes.

“I don’t have the time to search for a proper place,” Draco said quietly, hoping this little lie would appease Harry’s probing. “And the longer I stay at the Manor, the more time I spend premeditating murder.” He found the energy to smile despite his squirming insides.

“Is your father really that bad?” Harry asked, amused. “Wait, don’t answer that. Silly me, this is Lucius f*cking Malfoy we’re talking about.”

“Got it in one.”

Harry was quiet for a long while, both hands linked behind his head as he balanced on the back legs of his chair to stare up at the ceiling for a moment. The look on his face was contemplative, his thick brows furrowed and his lips pursed. Draco left him to his thoughts, his hands clasped in his lap as he patiently waited for Harry to say something.

Draco was just about to open his mouth to demand that they get back to work when Harry finally said, “You could move into Grimmauld.”

Draco snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

Draco scrunched his nose. “Oh, Merlin! Because Grimmauld is the Golden Trio Love Nest.”

The Golden Trio Love Nest was how the Daily Prophet referred to Weasel and Granger moving into Grimmauld four years ago. Draco still finds it hilarious and tries to slip the phrase into daily conversation whenever possible. He’s deflecting. In all honesty, he’d been trying to keep his feelings for Harry in check lately. They’d slept together several times already, and Draco had immediately set up boundaries after the first time. The sex had been phenomenal—their bodies sang together, beautifully harmonised, as spirited as an allegro for a full bloody orchestra—so phenomenal that Draco couldn’t say no when presented with the option a second time. And a third. And a fourth. They both knew then that they wanted to continue this and somehow protect their friendship at the same time by keeping things casual, both open to the prospect of future shags when presented organically.

Draco couldn’t imagine living with Harry while continuing to shag each other. How would they keep their hands off one another? It couldn’t possibly work…or could it? Harry had to be taking the piss.

“Fine,” Harry said with a shrug, righting his chair and flipping open his magazine once again. “Suit yourself.”

Draco sat up straighter. “Now, hold on for just one minute!” he snapped. “Are you being serious or taking the piss?”

“Would I joke about this?” Harry asked, perplexed.

Draco fixed him with a flat look. “Uh. Short answer? Abso-f*cking-lutely. I don’t have enough time or energy to provide a stronger explanation outside of the words prick and arsehole.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I’m being serious. There are plenty of bedrooms and space to set up a potions lab, and you’re here all the time anyway.”

“Oh…right..." Draco starts slowly and suddenly remembers an important dilemma: “You don’t have a house-elf.”

“Er, well, not really. Kreacher spends most of his days at Hogwarts now, but he does check in from time to time. Believe it or not, he’s made a lot of friends in the kitchens. Hermione would pop her clogs if she thought Kreacher was visiting for anything other than some R&R.”

“So, you’re saying I have to do the cleaning up and cooking.”

“Well, most of the time, Ron has the cooking sorted, but yeah, sometimes you’ll have to cook if you want to eat, and you’ll definitely have to clean up after yourself.”

“So, what’s the bloody gain here?”

Harry laughed. “You’re free from the Manor and your dickhe*d of a father, you twat.”’

Draco forced a look of cool nonchalance on his face. f*ck, it was bloody weird trying to figure out how to broach his next question without messing it up. “And you can promise that this won’t change anything?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, his tone neutral.

Desperate for some levity, Draco curled his lip up into a smirk and batted his eyelashes at Harry in a dramatically coquettish way as he simpered, “I mean, can you promise not to fall in love with me, Potter?”

A wild bark of laughter escaped Harry as he balled up another piece of parchment. “You never have to fear that, you arrogant bastard.”

Draco hated the fissure of disappointment that dropped in his stomach like a piece of coal. It was irrational to believe Harry would say anything other than the truth. But why did it bother Draco so much? He shoved the feeling firmly behind a door leading to the recesses of his mind, locking it away so he didn’t have to think about it.

Then Harry added, “And you’re always here, anyway. I still can’t pin down whatever nefarious spell you cast on Hermione to get her to like you so much, but I know she’d be thrilled to have you here. And Ron, well, Ron will tolerate you—and bury you in chess matches, which I’m going to look forward to.”

“Well then,” Draco chirped, hastily pasting on a pleased smile. “I guess I’ll be settling in this dump.”

Harry nodded and tossed the crumpled parchment through the hoop, finally making it into the basket. “Brilliant. I trust you, Draco, and above all, I respect you. I know we can hold firm to our agreement and not overstep our boundaries while living together. So, just say yes already because I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

Draco suddenly got to his feet, striding towards Harry confidently despite a burst of nerves exploding in his stomach. He held his hand out, and Harry grasped it immediately. “Deal…thank you,” Draco whispered, his breath softly catching as Harry’s thumb slid across his knuckles.

“Of course. What are friends for?” Harry said, a devilish grin on his face.

That had been it.

Draco had moved in a fortnight later, reminding himself daily that this was an excellent idea. They’re both mature, responsible adults. Draco was going to enjoy this new chapter, new freedom, and random shags with his new f*ck-buddy-slash-housemate. Despite Harry’s insistence that no was allowed to pay any rent, once a month, Draco would leave three hundred galleons on Harry's desk in the library. And once a month, Draco's three hundred galleons would remarkably find its way back into his Gringotts vault. It didn't stop him from doing it, though. It was all going to work out because, well, Harry said it would.

And Harry hasn’t led him astray yet. That’s what friends are for.

When Draco finally Floos to the Manor, he does so directly into Mother’s private parlour, the only fireplace connected to Grimmauld Place and a secret between them. They often visit one another for tea, and sometimes Harry joins them at Grimmauld Place. He finds Harry’s relationship with Mother a touch inappropriate, but it still pleases him greatly to see how much Harry cares for her.

Stepping into the lavishly decorated room, expecting a cup of tea and a warm hug from his mother, he’s instead met with an empty room, an embroidery hoop forgotten on the seat of Mother’s favourite armchair. She must have stepped out with one of her society biddies.

He would face his father without her as a buffer.

He lingers a few paces down the hall from his father’s office, his heart thudding in his throat as he tries to quell his anxiety. Embarrassment washes over him and he cringes. It doesn’t make sense. It’s not fair that despite being an adult and a fully-trained Auror, he’s still bloody terrified of his father.

Despite two wars, a strained marriage, and a full-blown drinking problem, Lucius remains a volatile man who spits and hisses malicious ridicule Draco’s way at every opportunity, swinging his cane in concert with his words. He has never been more disgusted by his father than he is now, shocked by the magnitude of the man’s pent-up rage and unnerved by his very good aim when heavily intoxicated. Draco reminds himself that he’s no longer a child who needs to submit to his father’s abuse anymore— he’s a fully trained Auror and could quite literally kill a man with his thumb. After everything their family has been through, somehow coming out on top of all the chaos and pain, Draco deserves his father’s trust and respect.

Now approaching the slightly ajar door, Draco pulls his shoulders back and puffs his chest out. He can do this. He bloody well hopes so… he thinks, and strides into the office.

His father is seated behind his massive, ornate ebony desk. Draco remembers hiding under it as a child while playing Hider-and-Seeker with the elves.

He recalls his father looking the other way when he would do so. Those memories were once fond, but as Draco aged, he realised how distorted those memories were. Father never played with him, instead turning a blind eye and all responsibility, leaving Draco to the entertainment and kindness of the house elves instead. When he turned eleven, Father ripped the only friends Draco had in the manor away from him. He was practically a man now and must stop playing with Dobby, Tilly, and Gilly. Draco’s behaviour had been deemed childish and would no longer be tolerated—especially in his father’s office.

But to Lucius, Draco was never a child. He was never afforded the gentleness and love a doting father bestowed on a son but instead was treated as something to be shaped and moulded into a replica of Lucius.

At the desk, Lucius doesn’t look up from what appear to be alchemical manuscripts. Draco’s curiosity nearly entices him to ask about the manuscripts, but he holds fast, chin held high, and perches himself in one of the leather wingback armchairs.

“You wanted to see me,” he says coolly.

Lucius finally sets the manuscript down and leans back in his chair. “You’re late.”

Draco waves a hand dismissively. “Time is but a social construct.”

Lucius narrows his eyes at him. “You have yet to respond to the owl I sent you last week. No matter your trite opinions, time is of the essence.”

With a reluctant pang, Draco notices that Lucius looks more haggard than usual this morning. His face sports an odd yellow tint, his eyes dull, and his lips dry and cracked at the corners.

Draco crosses his legs at the knees before shifting to rest his right ankle across his left knee. But despite his desire to cross his legs again, it’s too late to readjust his position. Lucius would surely comment on his fidgeting.

You’re an idiot, Draco, a bloody idiot – who cares what Lucius thinks!

He sighs. “I have no intention of looking over the prenuptial agreement you sent over.”

“Have you become betrothed to Greengrass without one?”

Draco frowns, confused. “No, of course not.”

“Then you will review the proposal I have drawn up for you and the Greengrass girl. When you two wed, you will return from Potter’s hovel to take up permanent residence in the West Wing while your mother and I will occupy the East.”

Rage flares through Draco. “Is this why you’ve called me here? For another round of your nonsensical demands?”

Lucius sneers over his steepled fingers, the emerald jewels in his silver rings glinting ominously in the early morning light. Draco flinches into the chair’s back.

With a knowing, satisfied curl of his lip, Lucius suddenly stands from his desk, his left hand gripping the head of his cane. A subtle grunt escapes him as he approaches his liquor cabinet and pours out two fingers of his good scotch. Draco glances down at his watch.

It’s 10 a.m.

He watches with pursed lips as Lucius tosses back the drink and refills the glass. “I have tolerated enough of your insubordination. First, you embarrass this family by continuing to turn down the Greengrass girl—”

“It’s more an embarrassment for the Greengrasses to have you keep asking their daughter to marry me, a gay man,” Draco grumbles, running a hand through his hair.

“Then you decide to further embarrass us by making us believe that you are a raging hom*osexual—”

“I am a—wait, what? I never used the word raging,” Draco sputters before a thoughtful look crosses his face. “But if the shoe fits,” he says with a shrug.

“Then you betray us by joining the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The very institution that sullied our name, desecrated our ancestral home, and sentenced me to five years of house arrest after the war. Enough is enough.”

Draco’s heart is now thudding so painfully in his chest that he worries he might pass out, but he holds on, fixing Lucius with a glare that calls upon all the cold fury and murderous rage of both the Black and Malfoy ancestors.

Draco had never felt so much dislike for the man and had not thought it possible alongside fear until Lucius received his sentence from the Wizengamot. He had been the only one dealt a punishment that restricted him to the Manor. Draco had received three years of probation and community service, which he satisfied by happily joining the Auror Corps. Draco was determined to make his own path.

Mother had received only one year of probation, but Lucius had manipulated her to the point that she rarely left the house during that first year of freedom. Her excuses back then were tiresome and grating to Draco’s overwrought nerves. Her first excuse was that she did not want Father to be sad. “He is in a fragile state of mind, Draco. We must be compassionate.” Her excuse quickly escalated to managing his father’s anger— “I do not want your father to be angry; it is not good for his health. He will become too…incapacitated.’’

It had been preposterous. Angry or sad, Lucius was always in the scotch before noon. Draco put his best efforts into play to encourage his mother to have her own freedom and friends. He worked hard to clean up the Malfoy name post-war, and seeing his mother openly and safely enjoy spending time with her society ladies, shopping and dining in Diagon Alley, and attending lovely galas with him, or sometimes Harry, on her arm, is his greatest pleasure and accomplishment. By voicing his concerns over Lucius’s toxic, controlling behaviour, he was able to ensure the life his mother deserves.

Draco’s mother claims that his behaviour isn’t toxic but rather a display of their love for one another.

If being trapped in a constant, complex web of demands and rage is love, Draco wants nothing to do with it.

“The DMLE didn’t sully the Malfoy name. We did that by siding with and inviting a murderous, tyrannical monster into our home. You should feel so bloody lucky to have been handed a five-year house arrest sentence in this godforsaken, haunted mausoleum you seem so hellbent on worshipping.” His voice hitches involuntarily. “You’ve been free now for over two years. Go touch some grass, Father.”

Lucius looks bored as he limps back to his desk and eases himself into his chair. “Enough of your histrionics. You will marry the Greengrass girl. You will quit that ridiculous, menial job as an Auror and take over the responsibilities that come with being the Head of Malfoy Manor.”

Draco stands. “I’m not going to waste any more time on you. This is it. I’m leaving. I want nothing to do with carrying on this family or its legacy. It ends with me.”

Draco notices how Lucius’s entire body tenses. “You would deny this family an heir?”

Draco smiles viciously. “Consider it a f*cking promise.”

“I’ll cut you off. You’ll have nothing,” Lucius says calmly. “You’ll come running to us the moment you’re unable to pay for that hovel you currently live in.”

“I don’t need your money. I’m doing fine on my own.”

Lucius taps his cane against the edge of his desk. A warning. “You are the one wasting your time living under the assumption that you’re somehow free to exist in this world without the reminder of who your family is or the crimes you have committed. You are delusional if you think you’ll ever be truly accepted by them. I would hate for you to be led down a traitorous path that ends in absurdity, illness, and shame, but alas, you are weak-minded, Draco, and have always been. It saddens me that I have failed to embolden in you the importance of your ancestry, instead becoming a pale imitation of a Malfoy…an heir… a man.”

Draco draws a deep breath through his nose and blinks hard as he tries to curb the sudden pressure in his throat and itch behind his eyes. “I’d rather make my own path and fail than follow your idea of the right one; thank you very much.”

Suddenly, a familiar burst of silvery light erupts in Draco’s peripheral vision. Rolling towards him is a massive Patronus in the form of a brown bear. It sits beside Draco, its mouth opening up with a growl before Robards’ deep, rumbly voice spills out.

“Malfoy. Get your arse down to my office immediately.” The grizzly bear growls once more before dispelling like smoke into the air.

Draco tries to hide his excitement. If Robards is calling him in on a Saturday, there must be a break in the case.

“You see, Draco,” Lucius says smugly. “You’re nothing but a glorified house-elf to these people. Mark my words. You will realise that blood, our blood, is thicker than water. Your history will always find its way into your present, no matter how determined you are to outrun it. You’ll learn the importance of family soon enough, but it will be too late. Now. Get out of my sight.” With a wave of his cane, the door to the office bangs open, hinges screeching.

“With pleasure,” Draco says coldly, quickly exiting the office and slamming the door behind him.

He only exhales when he’s at the end of the corridor, slouching against the wall as he takes several deep, even breaths. When his heartbeat no longer feels stuck in his throat and his hands stop shaking, he straightens up, runs a hand through his hair, and swallows back a sudden wave of nausea. He hates that his father has the power to make him feel two feet tall and insignificant. But he can’t wallow away over it right now, what with the excitement of a potential break in the case now healing over his father’s verbal lashes.

Draco squares his shoulders. He has to prepare himself for whatever he’s about to walk into at the Ministry.

As Draco enters the Auror bullpen, Robards pops out of his quarters, which are situated in the centre of the bullpen like a panopticon. “Ah, you’re finally here. Good, good, hurry up!”

Entering the massive office, Robards ushers Draco towards the conference room, where Lavender is already seated at the oblong table. Despite last night's wild antics, she looks startlingly refreshed—full face of makeup, not a single curl out of place, and she even has her Auror robes on. Draco hadn’t been able to grab his spare robe from his office, having come straight to the Ministry. Lavender smiles brightly up at him, and it’s then that Draco notices the spare cup of coffee in front of her. She hands him the cup as he takes a seat beside her.

“Oh, bless you, you sweet darling, I needed this,” Draco says, taking a sip.

Lavender giggles. “I knew you would.”

Robards clears his throat, tosses a folder in front of them, and takes a seat.

Draco opens the file and is not mentally prepared for the images of the most recent victims who consumed this newest version of the potion, Electric Candy.

The bright, sparkly purple concoction is a hot street commodity turned deadly. From Harry’s dismantling of the potion and Draco’s analysis of the concoction, the potion was meant to give the consumer an extremely euphoric high, with enhanced auditory experiences and mild hallucinations. It was also incredibly addictive. From the testimonies gathered from the survivors, there’s a ninety-five percent chance the consumer will become addicted after their first time. With the influx of demand on the market, the supplier began cutting the potion with risky ingredients to cut production time in order to mass produce the potion at a cheaper cost. One of those ingredients was Doxy venom—harmless in small doses but lethal in the impure version of Electric Candy. Several people have already died from the new deadly mix. After extensive use, the potion caused burn-like scars to appear across the person’s face, throat, and chest, and many survivors had similar symptoms of a burning sensation from the inside out. Those who succumbed to their scars suffered a gruesome and painful death. Not only did Draco have to contend with these horrible anecdotes and images of burnt bodies, but he also had to review the gory images of a murdered man, possibly the ex-partner of the creator behind Electric Candy.

Ikarov Antonov, age 57, was originally from Bulgaria but made Moscow home during Voldemort’s first war in the 70s. He steered clear of the second war as well, but there’s proof linking him to the illegal smuggling of magical creatures in Albania during the time Voldemort obtained Nagini. There was speculation that Antonov was the one to provide both Quirrell and Pettigrew Voldemort’s whereabouts when they visited Albania. As Draco turns the page of the report, he stops to sneer down at the image of Antonov. He’s a thuggish-looking, burly, compact man of average height with a leathery-looking face, receding blond hair, and yellow, uneven teeth.

Lavender leans against Draco’s shoulder to peer down at the spread of reports. “Merlin, he really is a nasty bastard, isn’t he?” she says, taking a small sip from her coffee. Draco nods, flipping the page.

Robards’ sigh is weary as he rubs his temples as if he’s staving off a headache. “That he is, Auror Brown. That’s why I want you and Auror Malfoy to focus one hundred percent on this case for the time being. We have finally been able to identify your Jane Doe. Her name is Lena Nowak. And here’s one out of a million kickers: she’s Antonov’s fiancée.”

Draco’s insides grow cold. He glances over at Lavender, who looks equally as shocked. “His fiancée? She’s a bloody child,” Draco says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Don’t let her fool you. I want you to interrogate her again. Today,” Robards growls. “Work her until she passes out, for all I care.”

Draco flips through Lena Nowak’s full report, finally understanding Robard’s harsh demand.

Draco knew it. He knew there was something dark about this girl.

Her picture smiles coquettishly up at him. She’s not the sickly girl he interrogated a week ago here. Her pale, mysteriously glinting blue eyes are large in her rosy, heart-shaped face. Feathery, light blonde hair frames her cherub cheeks down to her pointy chin. Paired with the dark glint in the depths of her gaze, she looks like she could be a relative of Draco’s. A sister, even.

Despite being only seventeen years old with a baby face, her arrest record reads like one of the hardened criminals three times her age—possession, dealing, solicitation and pimping, blackmail, embezzlement, bombings, kidnapping, murder, and, f*ck; the list goes on. Draco feels sick looking at it. “Merlin. She’s—”

“Not someone to be trifled with, yes,” Robards sneers. “Lena Nowak is not the poor innocent child we thought her to be. She’s no trafficked victim or random buyer who happened across the warehouse at the wrong time. She’s a monster and should be treated as—”

“Wait a minute, now,” Lavender interjects, her tone hard. She pulls the file closer, eyes speeding across each page she flips through, her cheery disposition slowly bleeding into something cold and unpleasant. Even the scars on her face darken, drastically adding to her soured expression. “Have you read beyond her criminal report?”

“Of course I have, Brown,” Robards grunts, affronted. “It doesn’t change anything.”

Having only made it through the criminal report, Draco remains silent as Lavender clears her throat and reads aloud.

“Lena Nowak, age seventeen, was born in the city of Olsztyn, in northeast Poland. She was sold to the Magical Sector of the KGB (MSKGB—whose agency did not dismantle as the Muggle Sector did) at age five and raised under the influence of Irina Chernyshevsky, age 60, a known MSKGB assassin of both magical and Muggle heritage. Lena was subjected to appalling instances of emotional and physical abuse in the name of training. Under Chernyshevsky’s rule, Lena was taught to use her age and looks to infiltrate several Potions, rare Magical Creatures, and Muggle weapons smuggling rings on behalf of the MSKGB. She escaped the government she was sold to at the age of fourteen and turned herself into the MSKGB’s enemy, the Magical Parliament in Brussels.

“The International Confederation of Wizards speculated and subsequently confirmed that her attachment to Antonov was a product of an arrangement through which her new government allegiance used her to monitor Antonov’s activities within the U.K. and Moscow, concerned that he was trading with sworn enemies. According to intel from the Magical Parliament in Brussels, who have been following the crimes of both Antonov and Nowak before she became a double agent, Lena was tasked to pose as a young dealer for the ring. She quickly moved up the ranks to one of three major distributors. After a short time, Antonov proposed marriage, and she agreed. It was reported back to her handler and subsequent interested international parties that her popularity caused concern within the ranks. Lena was about to be made by Antonov’s partner, Jakob Ramsey. She received approval to kill the partner and continue her investigations into Antonov.

“She was captured by Britain's DMLE in a raid in Canary Wharf one week ago. The DMLE and ICW have offered her the opportunity to provide information on the potion's make-up, its distribution centres, and her history and knowledge of past and future MSKGB dealings throughout Europe. In exchange for her cooperation, we’ll negotiate with Brussels to avoid extradition right now, and she’ll receive protection and political asylum from both Antonov and the MSKGB while she remains in the UK to help the DMLE.”

Draco runs a hand through his hair. “f*ck.” She’s a monster, but one with enough intel for the entire ICW and Magical Parliament in Brussels to turn a blind eye so they can collaboratively f*ck over their number-one enemy by turning out a top agent.

“It’s stated that as of today, she has agreed to the terms. The DMLE will protect Lena under the agreement if she cooperates with our investigation. Protect, Robards, protect.”

Robards shakes his head. “This is the ICW sticking their nose in matters the DMLE can manage on our own. You’re not thinking like an Auror, Brown.”

Lavender scowls. “With all due respect, Sir, as Aurors, we’re here to protect the people, and this girl should’ve been protected! I'd like to remind you both that she has never known a child’s life, a mother’s touch, or a singular moment of love that was not somehow used as a tool of manipulation. It’s clear from her report that in her very young life, she has been privy to several atrocious crimes, and yes, she has enacted these crimes against others, but as an extension of the horrific desensitisation of her humanity she has suffered since her early years.”

Lavender pauses, rolling her shoulders back. She slides the folder towards Robards and fixes him with a hard stare. “She’s a victim, not a monster.”

Robards laces his fingers together and cracks them, his ruddy face pinched. “This woman is a trained assassin. She’s spent more than half her life manipulating people, and we’re not even sure how many of these people she’s killed or what her exact role was at the distribution centre in Canary Wharf. For all we know, she could have been running that location.”

Lavender’s hard expression shifts to one that’s thoughtful. “I have read the report on the botched Canary Wharf raid. It’s understandable if Antonov gave her some overseeing power at certain warehouses. After all, he planned to marry her before her cover was blown. Honestly, we should get a Mind Healer in to evaluate Nowak today instead of another interrogation. We don’t even know if she’s fit for it. With approval from a Mind Healer, we can ascertain her ability to safely come in as an informant for the DMLE.”

Draco frowns. “If Nowak’s cover is blown, we have to move quickly before Antonov switches up his distribution locations, considering the breach in his ranks. I agree that she might not be a monster, and if she’s willing to provide intel she has not shared with anyone, not even the ICW or Brussels? Then we should definitely grant her safety.”

Lavender tilts her chin up. “I don’t understand why we can’t—”

“You’re not being a team player, Brown,” Robards sneers, his thick fingers drumming on the surface of the table.

Draco is impressed to find that Lavender doesn’t waver under Robard's fiery gaze or tone. She instead returns his glare with equal force. After several seconds pass in tense silence, Draco clears his throat. “If I may quickly interrupt this lovely staring contest?”

The corner of Lavender’s lip twitches upward. Robards grunts and is the first to look away.

“Yes, do,” Lavender insists.

Draco tries to hide his smile. “Thank you. Although I wish we had more time to conduct a mental health assessment on Nowak, we don’t have the capacity. Word on the street remains that there’s a shortage of Electric Candy. If we hope to dismantle the next distribution centre before mass shipments return to normal, we need to act now. We should continue the investigation with the information obtained through Nowak’s interrogation today but conduct it at a safer location…this is what she wants, right? Protection? If we get her out of holdings and into a safe house today, she’ll be more inclined to speak to us. Lavender, you should take the lead on the interrogation, as you’re an expert in several of the more empathetic tactics, and I haven’t seen anyone match your skill in having a suspect open up. I can oversee the logistics pertaining to the distribution centres and review their scheduling cycles once more. Finally, we’ll schedule a meeting with her again and set her up with private counselling.”

Lavender visibly relaxes. “I can get behind that,” she says calmly.

“Fine,” Robards says simply.

Taking his response as all-encompassing, Draco nods. “Has Nowak been approved for removal to a safe house yet?”

Robards strokes his scraggly beard. “We can get it done immediately.”

Lavender speaks up. “I have a safe house in mind for her—one of many that I’ve been working on for our Survivor Care Unit. The Ministry-appointed house-elf should be familiar with it, as I’ve arranged for them to work predominantly for SCU moving forward.”

Robards nods. “Noted. Any suggestions on maintenance?”

Draco tilts his head to the side with a hum. “I would recommend Alistair from our department and Jennings and Forrester from the HitWizards. They should remain on-site until we reevaluate.”

Robards looks pensive. “A strong selection to take over the current group. Good. I’d like to bring Liu and Boot back into the fold as well. We’re severely understaffed after the last raid.”

Draco nods. “Liu was the one to find Nowak hiding in the warehouse, correct?”

At Robards’ nod, Lavender jumps in. “Sir, we removed Terry and Liu from the case while the DMLE investigates the possibility of a mole, remember? You approved my list of the five Aurors I believed should be dropped from the case to proactively contain Ministry intel. Shouldn’t we practise some precaution here?” she asks, growing perplexed.

Robards waves a hand. “Liu is the one who discovered Nowak at the warehouse, as well as her identity after extensive research through several international databases, both magical and Muggle. We wouldn’t be reading these reports or have cause to bring her back in without him. I looked into Boot, and he’s the golden retriever of this department. We pulled him off of a three-month-long desk duty stint to help with the Canary Wharf raid, and then you sent him right back to his desk by adding him to your list after the raid! I’m unsure why you listed him in the first place. The man was doing coffee runs for three months straight and had zero access to our case files until the raid.”

Lavender’s cheeks darken, and Draco can see her ball her fists under the table. “Sir, please reconsider. This could be a huge breach in our security efforts if—”

“The answer is no. They’ve both earned back not only my trust, but some responsibilities on this case moving forward. Not to mention, Nowak was a thorn in Brussels' side for years before she became a double agent for them. I’m surprised she’s unfamiliar to you as a wanted criminal, so forgive me if I’m starting to question your methodologies in handling this case,” Robards says coldly and with an edge of finality.

Lavender recoils. “I left Brussels before she was known as a double—” she starts.

Robards cuts her off. “It should take less than two hours for our removal team to gather Nowak. Brown, send a classified memo to Liu, Boot, and Alistair on the safe house location.” His beady eyes watch as Lavender stiffly gets up from her seat to fetch a memo sheet from the stationery table in the room. “Furthermore, in addition to maintenance, Malfoy, I want you to set up a special joint task force—Unspeakables, Legal, the Obliviators, just in case, and a few chosen medical staff on this. Potter would be a good point of contact since he uncovered the Doxy venom. I want the f*cking best team possible to help nail this f*cking c*nt, Antonov. He’s taken up too much of our time and resources already.”

“And our resources and connections for this endeavour?” Lavender inquires, her face now a mask of indifference as she returns to her seat to jot down coordinates. With a flick of her wand, the memos fold into little boats and sail out of the room.

“Budgetary decisions are listed on page thirteen,” Robards says dismissively, no longer looking at her.

“We should make sure the house-elf accompanies her to the safe house,” Draco starts. “And may I also suggest a Level 5 security measure for this individual? If her report is correct, she's dangerous and we should exercise caution despite her agreement to work with us.” Level 5 restraints consisted of invisible binds around the wrists and ankles, another bind attaching the two with the suspect suspended mid-air, all movement restrained by a powerful Immobulus. He didn’t want to risk her trying to escape in case she was f*cking them about on turning informant.

“I fully approve of Level 5 usage,” Robards says, shooting Draco one of his very, very rare smiles as he gets to his feet. “This is the makings of an excellent plan, Auror Malfoy. I want you to take Lead on this.”

Draco’s posture stiffens, his heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears. Perhaps he misheard. “Lead?”

Robards nods. “You’ve earned it. Maintenance and the Taskforce will defer to you for their assignments and follow-throughs.”

Draco hides his desire to punch his fist triumphantly in the air by schooling his features into a grim look of professional determination. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let the department down.”

“I know you won’t.” Robards glances down at his watch. “I’m late for a meeting with the Heads from International. Take as much time as you need in here to prepare for the interrogations.”

Robards exits, and Draco counts to five before slinking back onto his seat. “Lead on my very first task force,” he mutters, dazed.

Lavender claps him on the shoulder. “You go, girl!” she exclaims. Draco can feel his cheeks heat up, and Lavender continues. “He’s right. You do deserve to be the lead on this. It’s your analysis of the potion and the research into Antonov that’s gotten us this far. We’re definitely going to have this case solved in no time under your guidance.”

“We’ll both reap the benefits of closing this.” Draco smiles warmly at her.

“I don’t know about that. The man clearly hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you. The term ‘middle ground’ just so happens not to be in his vocabulary,” Draco says, offering a slight, sad smile.

Lavender scowls. “Clearly. Robards easily deciding to bring Terry back on the case after dropping him for suspicion as the mole while quickly shooting down my suggestion for Nowak to receive immediate Mind Healing, just proves how little he thinks of me as an Auror.”

Draco reaches out to catch Lavender’s hand in a brief squeeze of solidarity. “Robards will see that you were right when we get Nowak fully on our side by offering her resources to improve her life. And our suspicions about Terry have now been debunked. I mean, I did tell you it was strange he was on your list in the first place; he’s been on desk duty due to that injury from our last case.”

Lavender exhales messily. “Yeah, you’re right. Merlin, working with Terry again is not something I’m looking forward to.”

Draco snorts. “Is it because he’s a self-aggrandising twat, or is it because of that horrible drunken shag you had with him last year…and then six months ago…and then last month?”

Lavender barks out a laugh and smacks him playfully on the arm. “Okay! You’ve made your bloody point. Ergh! He’s an even bigger pain in the arse than Robards, even when he’s being helpful or balls deep in me.”

Draco laughs. “I’ll take your word for it. In the meantime, why don’t we assemble Maintenance to get the ball rolling on the removal? Then we can comb through these reports to prepare for the interrogation and meet them there in a few hours,” he says, adjusting himself to be in a more comfortable position.

“Sounds like a plan,” Lavender replies, reopening a file. Draco Summons a quill and scroll of parchment from the stationary desk and pulls the files towards him, tucking in.

As they begin to work, Draco sends out the notice to Maintenance to meet in the conference room in half an hour. When his fellow Aurors and members from the HitWizard team begin to trickle into the room, Draco swells with pride as he announces that he’s Lead on the team and begins to unveil the strategy to move Nowak to a safe house located in Dorchester, Dorset. They go back and forth on key points to ensure a smooth move. With roles, responsibilities, a timeline and tasks firmly established, Draco dismisses the team with the agreement that they’ll meet in three hours at the safe house to ensure Nowak and the team are settled in.

“See ya later, Lav,” Terry says with a wink before slipping out of the room. Lavender rolls her eyes.

“The poor sod is in love with you,” Draco teases, once again reclaiming his seat next to her.

“Over my dead body!” she jokes, a fond look on her face as she stares at the door Terry exited.

They return to building their plan for the interrogation. Novak’s upbringing and ruthless training as a young girl remain something Lavender wants to explore, believing it will tap into Nowak’s humanity. They work uninterrupted for an hour until they both agree on the questions and approach for Nowak. A letter comes in from Liu stating that the transfer is fully completed.

Lavender groans and stretches, glancing down at her wristwatch. “I think there’s enough time for me to pop out for a Muggle takeaway. McDonald’s okay?”

Draco quirks an eyebrow. He was lucky to snag breakfast with his housemates in the morning, but he could definitely eat again. “A woman after my own heart. That sounds brilliant. I want one of those frozen, slushy chocolate drinks; what are they called?”

Lavender grins. “A milkshake.”

Draco claps his hands. “Yes! That. With large fries. Extra salt.”

Lavender shoots him a smirk as she gets to her feet, pausing to lightly pat Draco on the cheek. “You’re so easy, babes.”

Draco winks at her. “You know it, babes.”

“I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She slips her Auror robe off to drape over her chair, exposing her simple Muggle jeans and fuzzy pink jumper. Her laughter seems to linger behind her as she exits the room, even with the door closing behind her.

Draco leans onto the back legs of his chair, hands gripping the edge of the table as his mind wanders. With the deal the ICW and DMLE are offering, he’s confident that Nowak will fully cooperate with them. He’s giddy over the prospect, as there’s no way that someone as cunning, dangerous, and intelligent as Nowak wouldn’t be able to gain as much knowledge and information on the operation. After all, her reason for breaching Antonov’s ranks in the first place was to spy on him. He returns to his notes.

An hour passes when Draco begins to worry about their remaining time to eat, wrap up their notes, and Apparate to the safe house. As he begins to brainstorm the best way to contact Lavender in case she’s around Muggles, the DMLE’s Emergency Alarms for backup begin to blare.

Nearly tripping over his feet in panic, Draco rights himself and throws open the conference door to run towards the department’s emergency exit. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he arms himself with his wand, checking all corners before travelling down several flights of warded stairwells.

Once he enters the Atrium, he’s confronted with chaos.

Emerging from a sea of frantic shouting and running, panicked Aurors, Lavender stumbles towards him, out of breath and clutching a soggy bag of McDonald’s to her chest.

Draco grabs a hold of her trembling shoulders. “f*ck! Lav, are you alright?”

“I was returning from the restaurant when I ran into Robards. Oh God, Draco,” Lavender says faintly, the bag of food falling to the floor. “They're dead. Lena, oh God, Lena, Liu, Alistair, and Jennings are all dead. Oh, God!” Lavender covers her mouth as a terrible scream escapes her and she doubles over, as if in physical pain. “And Terry…Terry’s dead, Draco, he’s—oh, no, he’s dead!” she howls.

Shock slams into Draco, nearly sending him sideways. He squeezes Lavender’s shoulders to keep him grounded and to keep her from sinking to the ground. He shakes his head, trying to make sense of everything. “How did this happen?”

Lavender squeezes her eyes tightly shut, tears streaming down her cheeks. In an effort to stifle her sobs, she bites her lip so hard that Draco can see a drop of blood. Suddenly, she straightens up in his grasp, her gaze slowly bleeding into blankness. Draco nearly gasps, shocked to realise that she is Occluding, a skill he didn’t know she possessed.

“HitWizard Forrester claims they were ambushed by wandfire at the safe house that took out our primary team and Nowak. He’s in critical condition. That's all I’ve been able to gather from Robards,” she responds, her voice eerily calm.

Draco glances over her head to where Robards is managing the emergency backup team of Aurors, his face red and spittle flying from his mouth as he shouts.

“Merlin, okay. We should head over,” he says, giving her shoulders a consoling squeeze before leading them towards Robards.

As soon as Robards catches sight of him, he grips Draco’s upper arm and hauls him towards the Floo, “Where the f*ck have you been? Come with me to the safe house now! I want to know how the f*ck someone ambushed a Ministry safe house and killed three of my top men!”

“Yes, sir,” is all Draco can squeeze out before Robards shoves him and Lavender into the Floo, shouting coordinates. They spin away, catching glimpses of various hearths, before landing in a cramped fireplace. Untangling himself from Robards, Draco steps out into the sitting room and grimaces.

The backup team on site are already clearing the space, but signs of a struggle are still present—scorch marks on the walls, streaks of blood across the pale blue carpet, and overturned furniture. The smell of smoke and coppery blood fills the air.

He glimpses light blonde hair in one of the black body bags that an Unspeakable is zipping up.

Draco approaches. “Let me see her,” he demands. The other man stops, nods at Draco, and begins to unzip the bag.

Round, glassy blue eyes stare back up at him. He crouches beside the body. This was not a simple case of Avada Kedavra. There were several deep, violent stab wounds across her chest and stomach. This was up close and personal. Vengeful. Anger suddenly fills him as he lifts a hand to carefully close her eyes. Despite this girl’s Dark life, she didn’t deserve to die, and especially not in such a painful manner.

Draco grimaces. “Please confirm the identity of this person,” he asks as he pulls out his wand and waves it over her, checking pockets and the creases of her rumpled clothing. He finds nothing.

The Unspeakable nods. “I conducted all the forensic spells necessary to determine that this is your suspect, Lena Nowak.”

Draco‘s shoulders tense, disappointment dropping into his belly like lead. He failed this girl…and now he would fail at closing this case.

“Alright, get her off to St. Mungo’s morgue,” he says softly, getting to his feet.

Draco blinks hard, swallowing a lump in his throat as he turns away, his disappointment increasing tenfold. He watches as the Unspeakables secure the crime scene to gather evidence through trace spells, syphoning fluids and collecting fibres. Draco glances over at Robards, who’s directing another Unspeakable about what to photograph. He then notices Lavender lingering near the bookshelves, a look of pure devastation on her face as she takes in the room.

The Unspeakable clears his throat, causing Draco to glance back down at him. “Auror Malfoy,” he starts, looking uncomfortable. He’s young, probably fresh out of Hogwarts. “Before I send her to the morgue, there’s something I noticed about the victim’s body—”

A hand clasps Draco’s shoulder, pulling his attention away from the Unspeakable. It’s Patterson, Forrester’s HitWizard partner.

Patterson’s eyes are bright and her chin trembles as she fights back a sob. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Auror Malfoy, but…but…I wanted to inform you that Forrester didn’t make it, sir.”

Draco blanches. f*ck. That’s the end of their chance at quickly piecing together what the f*ck happened here. “Patterson, Ericka…I’m so sorry.”

“I–I gotta go to St. Mungo’s. His wife, she’ll need…”

Draco reaches out to squeeze Patterson’s shoulder briefly. “Yes, of course, please, go. Whatever you need, you let me know.”

As he watches her go, three black body bags slowly float towards the Floo down a line of fellow Aurors, HitWizards, and Unspeakables, heads bent down as a show of respect for their fallen colleagues. The young Unspeakable is nowhere to be found.

Draco joins Lavender at the bookshelves. “There was a young Unspeakable that had something to say about Lena’s death, but news of Forrester stopped him. Do you know anything about it?”

Lavender continues to stare at the Floo as if she did not hear him. Her arms are wrapped tight around her body, and her lower lip begins to tremble as the final body, Terry’s body, exits the safe house.

“They butchered her,” Lavender starts hollowly. “Didn’t they?”

Draco swallows and nods. “Multiple stab wounds.”

Lavender’s face crumples in despair. “I failed her. I failed Terry. Both lives ruined, gone.”

Draco steps in closer. “Do you need some air?” he asks quietly.

She shakes her head and tucks a curl behind her ear. “I should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve—I should’ve been more prepared. This shouldn’t have happened. This wasn’t supposed to f*cking happen,” she whispers frantically.

Draco places a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezes. “You can’t go down that road, Lav. You’re a strong Clairvoyant, but that doesn’t mean you can see into the future. This isn’t on you. I…I picked the wrong team. Someone on Maintenance was clearly our mole. There’s no other way someone outside of that team knew about this safe house. It’s not even under DMLE watch; it’s under our new unit. It’s…it’s a gross oversight. Perhaps…we were too hasty with Boot and Liu after all.”

Lavender's head snaps up. “No, I was wrong. This wasn’t—this couldn’t have been Terry. This is my fault. I was wrong. I was so wrong,” she says tearfully.

Draco suddenly feels a twinge of discomfort. He doesn’t want to push on the topic of Terry, but he’ll absolutely be reopening the man’s files to conduct an additional review of his activities. But the idea of Antonov murdering his Ministry mole doesn’t make sense. Even with Lena gone, the mole would still be invaluable to undermining the investigation. The answer was there, lingering somewhere at the back of Draco's mind, but he couldn’t reach it quite yet. He turns to glance at the items lining the shelves: several Muggle novels, little trinkets such as seashells, oddly shaped rocks, and generic pictures of the seaside.

“Where did these items come from?” Draco muses aloud before his gaze settles on a pair of knitting needles. “These knitting needles aren’t fit for adult hands.”

Lavender faces the shelf in question as he gestures towards the needles and yarn sitting on the lowest shelf. Draco’s fingers graze the series of tiny hats, mittens and scarves in various colours. He picks one of the hats up—navy blue and decorated with tiny yellow stars and planets—and goes very still, his hands curling into fists as his eyes grow wide.

“The house-elf.” He faces the rest of the room. “The bloody house-elf! Has anyone seen her?” he shouts.

All of the Unspeakables and Aurors shake their heads. A chorus of “No…” and “I haven’t seen any house-elves,” fills Draco with dread.

Robards strides towards him, then stops short when he sees the bookshelf of tiny house-elf-sized knitwear. “That house-elf was ordered to stay with Nowak no matter what. She hasn’t left her side for the entire week we’ve had Nowak in our custody.”

“Neemy is a free elf,” Lavender inputs weakly.

Robards sneers at her. “What does that have to do with anything? She was pulled from Hogwarts and vetted for paid work at the DMLE under your orders!” Robards roars, causing Lavender to shrink back into herself. “She was not allowed to leave Nowak unattended! If she’s not here, she’s fled the scene and is in direct violation of her orders. I want her treated as a renegade. She knows what happened here! Or better yet, Nowak probably confided in her details concerning this case or, f*cking hell, maybe even the warehouses. I want that elf now!”

Draco shoves the tiny hat into his pocket. “We’ll find Neemy, sir. She’s now our only witness.”

It’s late in the evening when Draco heads to the Atrium Floos. After securing the safe house, Robards calls Draco and Lavender back to his office to discuss their next steps. They will hold their debrief Monday morning as planned, and Draco will begin putting together his task force so they can track Antonov’s next movements, the distribution centre, and the AWOL Ministry house-elf.

He’s bone-tired when he steps into the Floo.

“12 Grimmauld Place,” he mutters. Nothing happens. Draco tries again, this time a bit louder, and the fireplace belches a thin cloud of black smoke, indicating that it’s occupied.

f*cking Weasel.

He checks his watch. It could only be him who is holding up the Floo, since Harry usually pops into St. Mungo’s for follow-ups with his admitted patients on Saturday evenings. Draco rolls his eyes and makes his way towards the chutes, which lead to the telephone booth in Whitehall.

As soon as he’s out in Muggle London, the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand erect as a chill races up his spine.

There are eyes on him.

Slowing his pace on the rain-slick pavement, he makes sure his wand is within easy reach as he heads to the nearest Ministry-approved Apparition Point. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion of the day catching up with him, but he refuses to be oblivious, just in case his gut feeling is correct. His eyes furiously take in his environment, ready to rain down an unrelenting hell if he’s attacked. When he finds the dark, empty lane, he turns on his heel to Apparate.

He makes it safely to the front of Grimmauld Place, the feeling of being watched vanishing entirely as he stands under a warm streetlamp. A wave of relief washes over him as the house makes itself known to him.

Wallowing in humiliation and defeat, Draco drags himself up the darkened stairs, annoyed that the front door sconces seem to be out. He charts away a mental note to yell at Harry about the lack of outdoor maintenance.

His head is swimming with such extreme exhaustion that he stumbles over something rather large and heavy as he crosses the landing. He catches himself against the thick front door, his hands coming up to stop a full on, face-first collision. Swearing under his breath, the sconces creepily flicker on and off several times before staying lit.

Draco gazes up at the finicky sconces before slowly turning around to see what nearly sent him sprawling. Sucking his teeth, his gaze locks on a small wicker basket full of blankets. He’s ready to kick the thing down the stairs out of sheer annoyance when he suddenly hears a soft whimper.

Freezing only momentarily, Draco quiets his breaths, ears straining against the eerie quiet of the street. He must’ve been mistaken.

He’s turning back to the door, fist lifting to bang on the surface when he hears it again— it’s soft, muffled, but is unmistakably a whimper. He spins back around, his wand now slapping into his palm, adrenaline rushing through him and a Stupefy on the tip of his tongue to send whatever nightmare is in that basket back to the bowels of hell. What is it?! Some deranged gift from one of their mates? Did someone break through the Fidelius Charm and send Harry creepy fanfare? The thoughts disappear like tendrils of smoke as the next whimper that escapes from the basket sounds distinctively human. Steeling himself, Draco leans over the basket and uses the tip of his wand to slide back a corner of the blanket.

Buried under several thick towels and blankets rests a sleeping pink-cheeked baby.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Draco gasps, slowly withdrawing his wand from the chubby-cheeked baby and mindlessly stumbling back to collide against the door. The soft thud causes the baby to shift but remain asleep.

A baby.

A baby.

A BABY!!!

WHAT THE f*ck?

Someone left a sleeping baby on the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Draco carefully pushes himself off the door, frantically glancing up and down the empty road. “How did you even get here?” he whispers, shivering not just from the cold as he crouches beside the wicker basket. He casts a Warming Charm on himself and the baby before pocketing his wand.

There are tiny embroidered constellations, planets, and stars decorating the pale blue blanket covering up the majority of the baby, and now upon a closer look, the baby is shrouded in heavy knitted blankets, with what looks like a knitted stuffed toy poking out from the side. Draco draws in a sharp breath. The bonnet the baby is wearing is knitted using navy blue yarn.

With tiny yellow stars and planets decorated around the edges.

In a surge of clarity, Draco pats down his pockets until he finds the hat he took from the safe house. Holding it up to the light, the tiny stars and planets that adorn the hat in his hands match the ones decorated on the baby’s blanket.

It can’t be. This baby can’t belong to Nowak, can it?

Draco recalls the first time he met Nowak and how sickly she had looked. A flurry of questions race through his mind. When was she even pregnant? Had she just given birth when they found her at the warehouse? Was the baby Antonov’s? Had she been hiding the baby this entire time? Why would she hide the baby? WHERE had she hidden it?

There was no mention of a baby in the reports, no baby with her during the interrogation, nor when she was transported to the safe house. The most immediate conclusion Draco can come up with is that Nowak either wanted to keep the baby away from the Ministry, ICW and the MSKGB or away from Antonov. Most likely, all of the above. But Draco is part of the bloody DMLE! How did she know where he lived? Or an even better question: how did she get the baby to Grimmauld when the house is under the Fidelius Charm?

Is he sure this isn’t a trick?

Is this even a real baby?

Draco carefully pulls back the bonnet on the baby’s head to expose blonde hair so fair that at first glance, the baby appears bald. He freezes as a tiny balled fist pops up from under the massive blankets, the baby’s tiny face scrunching up as it yawns widely, its rosebud mouth opening to expose pink gums. Wide-eyed, Draco doesn’t move, doesn’t even dare to breathe, until the baby settles back down, their lips making a sucking motion before stilling and their little fist resting against their temple.

“Oh my f*cking God,” Draco exhales softly, a growing ball of something lodging itself in his chest. He hesitantly uses the pad of his index finger to touch the baby's cheek.

A flash of excruciatingly bright light momentarily blinds him, and Draco cries out as he rips his finger away from the baby’s smooth skin. A sudden onset of white-hot needling pinpricks shoot up his arm in a coiling pattern. Biting back a scream, he cradles his injured arm to his chest as the pain rushes through him and shoves himself backwards, trying to put as much space between himself and the baby as possible.

The baby opens their eyes, and the pain disappears completely.

Draco draws in a sharp breath. The baby’s eyes are a startling midnight blue colour. Draco doesn’t think he’s ever seen that shade on a person, let alone a tiny baby. The baby’s gaze is oddly focused and unnervingly holding Draco’s.

“What did you do to me?” he hisses, staring down at his arm.

His initial shock slowly turns into a dawning horror as he realises that now decorating the inside of his left wrist is a bright red symbol that looks strangely like one of those heartbeat lines he’s seen in Harry’s Muggle medical textbooks. He uses his thumb to press against the marking and flinches when he hears a fast heartbeat flooding his ears that ceases almost immediately when he removes his thumb, leaving him feeling slightly euphoric.

“Oh no…no, no, no, no, no!” Draco quavers, scrambling to his feet as the euphoria bleeds into panic. He stares down at what is turning into a huge f*cking mistake. “Whatever the f*ck this is, I want nothing to do with it, do you understand?” he snarls, pointing at the baby.

At the baby’s continued silence, Draco shakes his head, trying to calm himself so he can think rationally. He’s losing the plot. Clearly, he is. Because there’s a baby on his front step, and now he’s touched them and is…cursed? Whatever it is, this thing that’s popped up on his wrist can’t be anything good.

But he’ll have to deal with it later, even if it means going to the Unspeakables to get it sorted. The baby, however, is a more pressing dilemma at the moment. He can’t recall what department in the Ministry he can drop the baby off at, and the added complication is that this child might be part of an ongoing investigation. Or perhaps it’s St. Mungo's they send the unwanted children to first?

Merlin! There’s an unwanted child at his feet. “f*ck, what am I going to do with you?”

Suddenly, the door behind him swings open, light and warmth spilling out against Draco’s back.

“Blimey. I thought I heard the whingeing of a daft prick. What are you doing out here? What d’you got there?” comes Weasel’s amused voice.

Draco squeezes his eyes shut, the depth of his weariness rushing over him like a flooding tide. He wants to sink to the ground, but instead, he leans forward to grasp the handles of the wicker basket and slowly faces Weasel.

Draco almost wants to laugh at Weasel’s baffled expression. Not only is he dressed in a garish frilly pink and white cooking apron with his ever-present-journal poking out of the pocket, but his ridiculously large mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, shocked eyes glued to the basket.

Weasel finally closes his mouth, visibly swallowing. “Malfoy. That’s a baby.”

“No sh*t, Weasel,” Draco drawls. “Can you let me in already?”

Weasel starts and takes a step back, opening the door wider to let Draco and the baby through. As Weasel shuts the door behind them, Draco notices that the sweet smell of baked goods fills the air, and his stomach rumbles pitifully. He scowls as Weasel speeds past him to enter the sitting room first, squatting in front of the fireplace where Hermione’s head is floating.

“Hey, love. Let me call you later. It was Malfoy at the door, and he’s gotta bloody baby with him.”

Draco rolls his eyes as he enters the room fully, noticing Hermione trying to crane her neck to get a better look at him as he passes by the fireplace.

“A baby? You’re not serious!”

Weasel laughs. “I am!”

Draco can feel her self-righteous disapproval. “What’s he doing with a baby, then?”

“He’s probably f*cking with us, but I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”

Hermione looks sceptical and a little put-out. “Honestly, you two better be careful! I love you,” she says.

“I love you, pet. Talk to you later,” Weasel says, his eyes bright as he waves until Hermione ends the connection. After a long sigh, Weasel turns to face him. “Merlin, I miss her. Now, tell me about…this,” Weasel says, pointedly looking at the basket. “Is it real?”

Draco sits the wicker basket down on their coffee table and collapses onto the sofa, feeling slightly amused that Weasel thought up the same question as him. “Of course it’s f*cking real, and I have no f*cking clue where to begin.”

Weasel’s eyes narrow. “What are you playing at? You know it’s not every day someone brings home a random baby, Malfoy. I’m going to need a better answer.”

The room is suddenly spinning, and Draco groans pitifully. “Just—argh! Shut up a moment, why don’t you? Idiot.” Draco snaps, parting his knees and leaning forward slightly to draw in deep, shuddering breaths. “Merlin, I think I’m going to be sick…”

Just then, the Floo flares to life, and Draco sits up to watch Harry step out, glancing down at his watch. His lime green Healer robes are hanging open, exposing his worn Muggle jeans and simple black jumper. “I knew I timed my exit right! I only had to wait about a minute before the Floo became available. Couldn’t let the poor girl settle in, could you?” Harry chuckles.

Weasel looks sheepish as he scrubs his fuzzy head with a hand. “I wanted to make sure she arrived in Nevada safely.”

Harry smirks, crossing the room. “Yeah, right. You need to register another point at the Ministry immediately, preferably one in your room so you don’t hold up the Floo…and spare us from overhearing your Floo sex with Hermione.”

“We were not having Floo sex. This time,” Weasel says with a wink.

Draco shoots a glare at Harry as he occupies the seat beside him that’s entirely too close. He can feel the side of Harry’s warm thigh against his as Harry sinks into the sofa with a deep-chested sigh, crossing his legs as he leans against Draco’s shoulder.

“What’s for din—” Harry sits up straight, the question dying in his throat, a look of confusion melting away his playful smile as he stares into the wicker basket. “Is that a baby?”

It’s then that the baby begins squirming in their basket, soft huffs escaping their mouth, face scrunching up, and little fists punching into the air.

Looking stricken, Harry gestures towards the baby. “Why is there a baby in the middle of our sitting room?”

“Malfoy came home with it,” Weasel answers. The baby’s frustrated noises turn into whimpers.

Harry faces Draco, his tone low and dazed as he says, “Right…what’s happening here?”

Draco suddenly thinks about the young Unspeakable from the safe house. He had mentioned something about Nowak’s body…had her diagnostics shown a recent birth along with what killed her?

Draco leans forward again, placing his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face as if it’ll wipe away some of his bone-deep exhaustion. “I think this is the baby of one of my suspects in the Electric Candy case.”

Harry gasps. “The one you have in custody?”

“Had. Had in custody. There’s so much more to it, Potter, I can’t even begin—I can’t even legally begin to explain it all to you.”

The whimpering suddenly breaks into a nasal wail that nearly splits Draco’s spinning head in half. He gets to his feet, leaning over the basket to watch the baby squirm and cry, their little face turning red. Not knowing what else to do, Draco reaches into the basket and pulls the baby free, their head rolling as limp as a boiled noodle.

“Watch its bloody head!” Weasel barks, his sharp tone causing the baby to jerk in Draco’s hands.

“Oh f*ck!” Draco cries out in panic, almost dropping the baby as they jerk in his hands once more. Quickly, he adjusts his hold to support the back of the baby’s head, resting the wailing, squirming thing against his chest, one arm cradling their bum. His heartbeat is so erratic it feels like it’ll explode. It’s then that he realises the heartbeat isn’t thrumming only in his chest but painfully in his left wrist as well.

“Oh, Merlin, that was close!” Harry exclaims, stepping forward with his arms spread wide. ”You don’t know what you’re doing. Give it to me. I’m a Healer!”

“f*ck off, scarhead! You specialise in Magical creature bites or some rubbish; you know nothing about human babies,” Draco growls, his shoulders tensing as he turns away from Harry, hugging the child closer. The baby’s wailing doesn’t relent.

“I did a bloody rotation!” Harry cries out.

Draco scowls and hisses, “Three years ago! And you called the baby it!”

“No, I didn’t!” Harry shouts over the increased wailing.

Draco scoffs. “I heard you loud and clear, you liar…”

“Is the baby hungry? Maybe we should feed them?” Weasel chimes in.

“Well, we can’t bloody well feed them canapés and gin! Can we?” Draco shouts over the noise, thinking of the lack of baby-appropriate contents in the cool cabinet as he awkwardly bounces the baby. “I mean, we can’t, right?” he enquires, head co*cking to the side as he stares down at their squashed, red, screaming face. How can something so small make such a loud, terrifying sound?

Harry groans, slapping a palm to his forehead before running his fingers through his unruly hair. “Don’t be a git.”

Weasel then steps up to Draco, wiping his hands on his apron before lifting the child gingerly from Draco’s arms.

“Wait, it shocks—” Draco starts, eyebrows furrowing when Weasel begins to rock the baby with no indication of pain or discomfort from touching the child.

“Shhh…” Weasel murmurs before sticking his finger into the baby’s mouth. The crying suddenly stops.

Draco makes a gagging noise. “Are your hands even clean, Weasel?”

“Shut it. You’re just cross you didn’t think of it first,” Weasel says, his smile warm as the baby curls its chubby fingers around his hand.

Harry shakes his head in awe. “How’d you know how to do that?”

Weasel smirks. “Well, I’m pretty sure holding it like a Quaffle isn’t the right way to go about it.”

Weasel squeezes between them to sit on the sofa, strategically draping the baby in his lap without disrupting its suckling. He further proves that he has more sense than the rest of them by leaning forward to peer into the wicker basket. With his free hand, he plucks out a note, clears his voice, and reads:

Dear Auror Malfoy,

If you’re reading this letter, I’m dead.

Harry gasps, and Draco flinches. Weasel pauses to look up at them, his eyes wide to match Draco’s shocked expression. His mind begins to race as he attempts to grasp the various moving parts of the situation he’s currently in. Nowak knew that she was going to die? Maybe it wasn’t the Ministry mole. Did she take out his entire team and die from her sustained injuries? Before he can spiral out, Weasel continues on.

Since I was a small child, I’ve known that my time on this earth would be short. You cannot live the kind of life I have and believe that things will end happily ever after. I made my peace with it—or I thought I had. I did not expect to factor in the responsibility of another life when mine is meant to be cut painfully short.

I knew my position within Antonov’s gang would make childbearing difficult, even if my fiancé was initially thrilled to learn that I was pregnant. As a Pureblood, an heir is incredibly important to him, and he was eager to build a familial empire. I am a Halfblood but have been pretending to be Pureblood. When he discovered that the child I carried was a girl, he pressured me to get rid of her. According to Antonov, a girl was weak; a girl could not fight like a man or lead his empire. He promised me all the riches in the world if I got rid of her to try again for a boy.

For the first time in my existence, I chose to think beyond myself and what I could personally gain. I wanted this girl growing inside me to have a chance in this world, but not in my unbelievably cruel world. I compromised with Antonov—after all, he did adore me in his own sick way. I begged him to let me carry to full term, and I would give her away when she was born. Of course, when I suggested it, Antonov saw galleons. He already had a hand in human trafficking, and a magical, newborn baby could easily net him hundreds of millions of galleons. It made me sick to my stomach, thinking my child could be handed off to someone who would turn my child into something to be used, like me.

When she was born, Antonov allowed me to nurse her while he searched his connections for the highest bidder. He allowed me three glorious months with my daughter, whom I refused to name. Naming is a powerful kind of magic in and of itself—I couldn’t risk developing such a strong connection with her, not when I was already nursing her—though I sorely wanted to. Time was running out, as were my excuses for holding onto the baby. Antonov had found the right client.

I found some semblance of relief from my situation by turning to one of your own. I never knew their name. Antonov called them his Ministry Dog, but I believed your Ministry mole knew they were in far over their head dealing with a man like Antonov; murder did not sit well with the Dog, who simply wanted to get rich quickly. Their humanity had not yet been tarnished, and I took advantage of this. I confided in them Antonov’s plan to sell my child, and as I expected, the Dog was horrified and promised to help me if I agreed to give them access to Antonov’s financial records. They swore they would hide my daughter in the safest place in the world. I believed them. I was desperate to. And so I procured the records for the Dog.

Miraculously, the Dog honoured their promise on the day of the raid. The Dog warned me, and they prepared to transport my child mere minutes before your team arrived. In my effort to escape after the departure of the Dog and my child, I was captured by the Aurors. But still, knowing that I would go to your Ministry, that I would be sent to a safe house, and that my daughter would be safely hidden away did little to erase the fact that I was on borrowed time. Antonov is a vicious man and would eventually exact his revenge. I worried about her hidden away in this nameless, faraway place. Who would cherish her, protect her, and ensure her life is meaningful and full of love?

And then I met you, Auror Malfoy, and all things fell into place.

I have learned that not all people who partake in or benefit from terrible situations are inherently evil or untrustworthy. Perhaps a person can be so desperate that they fling themselves into a blaze of fire to spare the ones they love. I wondered if this was true of the Dog, but more importantly, I wondered if this was true of you. I saw in you the same thing that you saw in me—a darkness that’s rooted in our very core. Only, you do not let yours rule you, and I have to admit that realising that about you fascinated me. I’ve heard of your family, the Pureness of your blood, and the madness and lust for power that permeates it. But you…you do not allow history to taint your present. You do not let something as simple as blood become a weapon to wield against other people. And thus, my decision to trust you with this next step was solidified.

Who else would be better to teach my daughter that history does not rule our future? That the bonds we make with one another override the status of blood. That violence is not inherited but learned. You will teach my daughter this. I spun this wish with nothing but my feverish intent—that you two be bound as daughter and father through the first touch. May it manifest from the flesh and onto the heart. It is my last will and testament that I entrust you as the sole provider and guardian of my child.

I may not have answered all the questions you needed to hear when we first met, but for the safety of this child, all will be revealed in due time.

I have left something precious behind in the wake of so much pain and destruction. I know you will do the right thing and help her grow to become something beautiful and good. Please let her know that she was loved by her birth mother and that I am so very sorry I could not be with her always.

You’ll know to say it when the time is right, Auror Malfoy.

All my love,

Lena

Weasel visibly swallows. “Bloody hell…” his flabbergasted voice trails off.

Draco can feel the return of that painful ball of something pulse in the centre of his chest as he stares up at the ceiling, an unbidden pressure beginning to build behind his eyes. For one terrifying moment, he believes he’s going to cry, but he desperately holds the sensation in, drawing in one rattling breath after another. When he’s certain he’s pushed the feeling away, he clears his throat and meets the gazes of his housemates, both watching him with concerned expressions.

He then looks down at the baby, now quiet and cradled down the line of Weasel’s lap, her eyes closed. Lena’s baby daughter.

Draco should have done more at that first interrogation. He shouldn’t have pushed her harder instead of trying to relate to her. If he’s honest with himself, he felt that dark presence about her and wanted to get away from her as quickly as possible. It felt too much like looking into a mirror—he was 16 years old again, making all the wrong decisions. He couldn’t help this girl save herself. He couldn’t even save himself at her age.

He’d been irrational. Had he been more compassionate, he could have saved her. And now there was an orphaned child to contend with due to his mistake.

Not an orphan.

His baby.

His responsibility.

The thought is so insane it forces a wave of nausea that hits him hard. He coils in at the waist with a strangled dry heave.

Harry is beside him in a second, a hand rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. Draco knows it’s meant to be comforting, but he feels nothing but dread.

“Draco,” Harry says his name gently, coaxingly, as he inches closer, so close that his arm is now wrapped around Draco’s hunched shoulders, his lips close to Draco’s ear. “I know where your thoughts are heading, and you can’t let it go there, do you understand me? You’re scared right now; this is shocking and really upsetting, but you have to remember that this is not your fault. None of what happened to Lena is your fault, okay?”

Draco doesn’t answer. He yanks himself free from Harry’s embrace instead. “Excuse me,” he says, turning on his heel to flee the sitting room as if fire is lapping at his heels.

“Draco, wait!” Harry calls after him.

Draco ignores him. He allows his feet to carry him forward, not thinking twice about his direction until he’s at the back of the house, throwing open the double doors leading to the garden. The rush of cold November air lifts his fringe from his forehead, and Draco allows the flood of sorrow and exhaustion to wash over him. Arms wrapping around his body, he walks a small cobbled trail leading to a gnarled English oak where Harry hung two makeshift swings last summer. Draco crouches down to the base of the tree where several stones rest. He lifts one at a time until he finds the hollowed-out one holding his emergency cigarettes. When he has one lit and hanging loosely between his lips, he slumps down onto the wooden seat of the swing, closing his eyes and swaying slightly. He doesn’t open his eyes when he hears the crunch of leaves under boots.

“I thought you’d given up,” Harry says, holding out one of Draco’s peacoats.

Draco pointedly takes a long, heady drag from his cigarette and blows a cloud of smoke towards Harry before accepting the coat. “I thought you stopped stalking me,” he says around the cigarette, shoving his arms in the sleeves. Feeling pathetic with such a comeback, his shoulders sag. “I’m–I’m sorry, Potter. If you knew how endless today has been. It’s…it’s quite unbelievable that this is happening to me right now.”

Harry steps closer, his hands now in the pockets of his jeans. He’s no longer wearing his Healer robes, having switched it out for a short navy wool jacket. “I know. D’you have any idea what you’re going to do next?”

“I was going to drop her off at the Ministry or St. Mungo’s, but after hearing that letter, I don’t believe those options to be viable anymore. If there’s still a mole within the Ministry and if they did help Nowak hide the baby, Antonov will probably catch wind of the betrayal and seek the mole out to finish what he started. f*ck. It’s best not to have the baby anywhere near the Ministry right now, at least not until we’re sure there isn’t a mole, or if there is one, they are found and the case is closed. But, I will inform Robards Monday morning of these…recent developments. He’ll be able to tell me who I can safely unload the kid on.”

Harry bites his lower lip. “I don’t think you should give the baby up. Even when the case is over. It’s clear Lena believed you’d be able to take care of her daughter, and it was her dying wish. I think you should honour it.”

Draco abruptly stands from the swing, flicking his cigarette away as anger bubbles to the surface, his last bit of self-preservation melting away.

“That’s not f*cking fair. I—I owe that woman nothing! What makes you think this is what I want or what I deserve? My life…I’ve worked so hard for my life, for my job and my freedoms, for the respect I’ve earned from my peers! You want me to give all of it up for a child that isn’t even my blood…a half-blood, no less?” he snarls through clenched teeth.

“You’re really going to bring up blood? I should have hoped you’d grown beyond such prejudices,” Harry rebukes.

Even though Harry is right and Draco has worked hard to overcome such vile rhetoric, he takes a menacing step towards Harry. “Do not presume to know me, Potter. You sound like a bloody fool. This is my life—my life—do you hear me?” he hisses but then pauses and gives a fierce shake of his head. “This…this has nothing to do with blood, I don’t give a f*ck about that! I just…I can’t give up everything because some murderous teenager orphaned her own child! It’s not my responsibility! This is not how things are supposed to go. I don’t want a child, now or ever!” he bellows, panic lancing through him with each word.

Draco doesn’t realise that he’s shaking until Harry’s directly in front of him, one hand on each shoulder, his forehead pressed against Draco’s as their breaths slowly become evenly matched, Draco finding solace in the rhythm. He grips Harry’s elbows, eyes tightly closed, so Harry doesn’t see the enormity of his fear.

“f*ck,” he whimpers. “It’s not like I have a choice, do I?”

“What do you mean?” Harry whispers, his breath tickling Draco’s lips. It dawns on Draco just how intimate their position is, so he steps back, ambling towards the swing to sit on once more. He digs in his pocket for another cigarette, lighting it.

“She tapped into some primal magic to ensure that I take care of her child,” he answers.

Harry takes a seat on the swing next to Draco, his feet dragging along the grass as he sways lightly. “They’re just words on a page—there was no wand usage, incantation or physical indication connecting you to the baby.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Draco says. He then holds his left wrist out to Harry, who gently brings it closer to his face as he pulls out his wand to cast a Lumos.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. “This is a heartline, a measurement that counts the number of heartbeats per minute. Is it a tattoo?” he asks, brushing his fingers against it. Draco expects to hear the heartbeats from before, but they don’t come.

Draco shakes his head, taking his wrist back and pulling another drag from his cigarette. “It’s from Nowak. I think she placed a spell on the baby, or maybe it was the power of her intent that marked me. The first time I touched the baby, I felt a jolt of pain rush through me, and this appeared on my skin. I’m assuming it’s a Bond.” He frowns down at it. Another situation where he’s been branded against his will, a piece of his autonomy, if not all of it, once more snatched away.

“Merlin,” Harry grimaces. “Where’s Hermione when you need her, eh? How do you reckon it functions?”

Draco shrugs. “I’m not quite sure. Earlier, I touched it with my thumb, and I thought I could hear the baby’s heartbeat. It felt…I don’t know…happy.”

“Wicked!” Harry exclaims. “So, I reckon you’ll always be able to determine her wellbeing and safety. That’s pretty clever. We should do some more research into it. I’m sure we can find something on it in Grimmauld’s library or get permission to visit Hogwarts’ Restricted Section.”

Draco can’t help the corner of his lip twitching upward. “You sound like Hermione. Who would’ve thought you, of all people, would turn into a swot?”

Harry laughs. “I’m hardly a swot. Without someone actively trying to kill me all the time, I’ve been able to finally focus on the things that interest me.”

Draco nods. Harry might be laughing, but it was a sobering admission. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” He puffs on his cigarette once more.

“You really should quit,” Harry urges, frowning.

Draco smirks and, with a flick of his fingers, tosses the cigarette. “Honestly, I don’t even like them that much anymore. Guess it’s all for the best; I can’t very well smoke around a baby, now can I?” He drops his head onto his open palms with a grown. “f*ck, a baby. I have a damn baby to worry about,” he groans, feeling nauseous again.

“Are you going to tell your parents?” Harry asks.

Draco’s eyes widen in panic. “f*ck no. I just told Lucius he wasn’t getting an heir out of me. And I’m not entirely certain he wouldn’t try to find some way to get rid of her once he learns about her blood status,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

Harry’s furious glare is glacial. “Have I mentioned lately that your dad’s a real f*cking bastard?”

Draco huffs, rolling his eyes. “Every single day.”

Harry smirks. “You should at least tell Narcissa. You know how we both hate keeping secrets from her.”

Draco groans. “Harry, really, I can’t deal with your obsession with my mother. Not right now. I can’t tell either of them; they’ll just make things worse.” He groans again, running both hands through his hair and gripping his locks as he begins to disassociate, his vision blurring.

Harry raises his voice a bit. “Draco. Hey, Draco, c’mon. Look at me.”

Draco blinks, his vision clearing at once as his eyes snap to Harry.

Harry sighs. “Good. Listen to me, yeah? It’s going to be alright. You’re going to be alright. You’ll figure this all out, and you know I’ll be here every step of the way to help you.”

Draco draws in a shuddering breath and exhales messily. “How…how can you help me with something like this?”

“Well, you know nothing about children, but I have experience with kids—Teddy, Roxxie, Freddie, Victoire, and Dominique—and I can teach you. Despite my chosen focus on healing serious bites, I am capable of looking after and treating a human child. You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Draco tries to compel his nausea into subservience as he lifts his head to peer intently at Harry. “I suppose the real question is why. Why would you want to take on such an enormous responsibility?”

Once again, Harry’s strong hand finds its way onto Draco’s shoulder to squeeze consolingly. His bottom lip catches between his teeth as he holds Draco’s gaze for several tender seconds. “What are friends for?” Harry finally answers quietly as his hand slips away.

Draco feels oddly bereft from the loss of contact as something sharp twists in his belly at Harry’s words. They feel incomplete, but Draco’s much too exhausted to chase after what’s missing as the feeling slips away. “Thank you,” Draco responds.

Harry nods and gets to his feet. “We should go check on Ron and the baby.”

Draco gets to his feet too, and follows behind him. “I forgot we left her with him,” he snorts.

Harry laughs. “Me too.”

“Some caretakers we’ll be, eh?” Draco teases.

When they make it back into the sitting room, Draco stops short at the scene before him.

Weasel is still sitting on the sofa cross-legged, with the baby in the crook of his arm as he feeds her a bottle Draco’s never seen before, all while softly singing the Hogwarts school song.

The baby gurgles around the nipple of the bottle, little hands clumsily sliding down the sides of it as Weasel gently pulls the bottle away. Her tiny mouth opens in a yawn as Weasel sets the bottle down. In one smooth motion, he drapes a small flannel across his right shoulder before propping the baby against it, first rubbing slow circles onto her back before patting it.

“Where did you get that bottle, and what on earth are you doing?” Draco asks, nervously stepping into the room.

Weasel smiles up at him. “Auror Training 101, Malfoy: investigate the scene of the crime. Or in this case, this here wicker basket. There was a shrunken baby bag with a handful of nappies and about seven nine-ounce bottles of breastmilk under Stasis, according to my assessments. And this toy here,” Weasel says, nodding towards a grey-knitted bunny with long ears and a narrow body dressed in a pink pinafore dress. “A quick scan proved everything to be safe. She was able to put away three ounces, but I’m guessing you don’t know when she ate last?”

“No,” Draco says, perplexed.

“You might have to feed her again in a couple of hours, then. Maybe even overnight. And you’ll have to grab formula in the morning, seeing as, er, you no longer have access to the source. And to answer your last question, I’m trying to get her to burp.”

Draco feels dizzy with the information as he glances over at Harry, who’s currently grinning like a loon as he watches Weasel patting the baby on the back. Harry takes a seat beside Weasel to peer into the baby’s face.

“Hello, baby girl,” Harry says sweetly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’d like to run some diagnostic charms on you to make sure everything is fine. If you took the bottle, that’s a great indicator, but we want to be on the safe side, don’t we, darling?” Harry coos.

Draco continues his slow, nervous steps into the room, wary of the bizarre scene unfurling before him. “How– how do you know how to do these things?” he blurts out.

Draco almost regrets saying anything because Weasel’s pitying look is like a punch to the gut. “I come from a large family. I’m always around if someone needs babysitting.” It’s then that the baby burps.

And promptly spits up a curdled white substance.

Draco gags. “What the f*ck is that?”

Both Weasel and Harry chuckle.

“What a wuss,” Weasel mutters amusedly at the baby.

“It’s fine,” Harry assures him. “It’s probably a bit of acid reflux, or she may have gotten a bit of air in her tummy with that massive yawn of hers, causing a bit of regurgitation. We’ll keep an eye on it to make sure it’s not a constant thing.”

Draco finally divests his peacoat and sits directly in front of Weasel and Harry on the coffee table. When Weasel tries to pass the baby to Draco he shakes his head furiously, remaining still as a stone as she’s instead passed to Harry to run a series of diagnostics.

After a few minutes of wand waving and bright orbs of light appearing above various parts of the baby, Harry pockets his wand. “Everything is fine. Perfect, actually! You’re perfect,” Harry coos, smiling down at the baby in his lap. “She’s approximately three months and seventeen days old.”

Draco mentally does the maths and immediately grimaces. “That means she was born on July 31st.”

Harry’s responding grin is sh*t-eating. He gingerly places the baby back in the wicker basket, covering her tightly. “All the best people are born on July 31st! Of course I’d share a birthday with this perfect little being.”

Weasel covers his face as he shakes with laughter. “You’re so full of it!”

Harry leans towards the basket where the baby is slowly dozing off. “Someone’s jealous!” he whispers to her.

Draco begins to tap his foot. He’s staring at the little heartline on the inside of his wrist. The red mark is vibrant against his pale skin. He feels lightheaded as he’s once again reminded of the weight of responsibility now upon him. He needs to get away from it…her…everything.

He finally speaks up. “This is all awfully cute, but I need to sleep off today’s bollocks.”

Harry nods. “Let me help you to your room,” he offers graciously, gently grabbing the handles of the basket.

Draco’s head whips up to stare at him in horror. “She’s not coming with me, is she?”

Brows furrowed, Harry stills. Weasel snorts and says, “Malfoy, she’s your baby.”

Your baby. Your baby. Your baby. Your baby. Your baby.

Draco blinks. “Oh. Right. Yes. Help. That would be great,” he says wearily, getting to his feet. He glances over at Weasel. “Ah…thank you for your help tonight.”

Weasel’s smile is warm. “Anytime, mate.”

This night can’t get any stranger, Draco thinks as he follows Harry up the stairs to his bedroom. At the sight of his bed, Draco releases a loud groan and kicks off his shoes.

“Shh…the baby,” Harry admonishes.

“Ah, forgot about her,” Draco drawls before catapulting face-first onto his bed. To hell with changing into pyjamas. “Just set her over there, somewhere,” he says, not lifting his head but gesturing to the floor beside the bed.

“No,” Harry blusters, no doubt glaring daggers. Draco ignores him, his eyes blissfully shut. There’s some moving around and a certain tingle in the air that Draco associated with Harry’s casting. Curious, he rolls over onto his side, propping his head up with his hand to see what’s going on.

Harry has transfigured Draco’s chaise into a proper bassinet. It’s nothing fancy—a simple grey contraption that lines up perfectly to the edge of Draco’s bed with an opening facing him so he can easily access the baby when he needs to.

“It should hold for a good month, at least, but I recommend you purchase a real one as soon as possible.”

Draco gapes at him. “How confident are you that this won’t turn back into my chaise in the middle of the night, Potter?”

“Relax. I’m very confident,” Harry whispers, the sleeping baby now in his arms. He places her gently on her back in the bassinet and casts a warming charm wandlessly, a fond smile on his face. “She’s beautiful, Draco.”

Draco yawns. “She looks awfully like a bald little alien.”

Harry laughs softly and waves his wand to dim the lights. “You’re such a wanker.”

“Mmm, I’ve been called worse,” Draco says, settling against his pillows. “Thank you, Potter, for everything tonight.”

“Of course,” Harry says, looking around the room before he smiles sheepishly at Draco. "Would you like some company? I could stay next to you, er, with you for a while to watch the baby.”

Draco goes from half-dead from sleep deprivation to extremely, painfully wide awake in mere seconds. Indeed, the night can get stranger.

“N-no,” Draco sputters, regretting the words immediately and realising he’ll be alone with the baby. He pushes through. “I’ll be fine on my own, thank you.”

Even with the dimly lit sconces in the bedroom, Draco can see the blush creeping across Harry’s cheeks. It’s silly, really, the level of shyness that suddenly creeps up between them. Draco has seen Harry naked, flushed, with both of their bodily fluids smeared all over him. They should be beyond this—what? What can he call it? This nameless thing that feels safe but scary, teasing but sweet, warm but burning, and above all else, dangerous. So, so dangerous.

“Okay! Great, well. You know where to find me if you, er, need me—need my help with the baby and all. Goodnight, Draco,” Harry rushes out, turning on his heel and exiting Draco’s room, the door shutting with a soft snick.

“Merlin,” Draco whispers in disbelief, twisting his way under his blanket and pulling it up to his chin. Harry’s behaviour has sparked a burning feeling in his chest that Draco finds as exciting as it is alarming.

Harry, his housemate, his friend, his sometimes f*ck buddy.

Could he be…more? Maybe a lover? A boyfriend? A spou—?

Draco groans, covering his face with his hands.

No! No! No! No! NO!

He can’t entertain those slippery slopes of ideas.

It doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself as sleep creeps up on him once more. He’s simply tired and emotionally raw at the moment, and that’s why Harry’s kindness makes him feel this way. It’s his brain overcompensating with inappropriate thoughts after a traumatising day.

He feels himself floating over the edge to sleep, cocooned in his lush blanket, when a high-pitched nasally wail, followed by another and another, has him shooting upright in bed.

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake!” he cries, covering his ears.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

“You look awful!” Weasel exclaims gleefully, shoving his sunglasses atop his buzz-cut head.

So this is how my Sunday morning will begin, Draco thinks miserably as he stalks down the stairs towards his housemates gathered in the foyer— a ridiculously energised Weasel git grinning in his face and beside him a painfully at-ease-looking Harry holding the new bane of Draco’s existence to his chest.

“Thank you, Weasel. We’re all so refreshed and challenged by your unique perspective,” Draco drawls, eyeing one of Hermione’s ugly knitted scarves in Weasel’s hands.

Despite a long shower, Draco feels like the embodiment of the Thames’ dredges. Last night, he spent a good hour trying to console an irate infant before he realised she needed a nappy change. Traumatised by the brief peek into her nappy, he used his wand to Vanish the mess and dry the nappy, but this still did not soothe her wails for long. She started up a mere half hour later with the crying, and he refused to wake Harry to help him with the wailing sack of flour, so Draco had paced his bedroom while singing the Hogwarts song for almost thirty minutes before she fell into a fussy sleep. When she started to fuss again a couple of hours later, Draco made his way to the kitchen to feed the baby more breast milk, which quickly turned into a nightmare of a situation. Weasel had left a note attached to the milk that said it needed to remain at room temperature. But when Draco touched the bottle, he found that it was too cold, and tried to warm it up the muggle way by sitting the bottle in a bowl of hot water. He realised his mistake after nearly burning his skin off from testing the temperature. Frustrated, he tossed the scorched milk out and used his wand to bring a new bottle to the right temperature. He finally fed her, burped her, and cleaned off the disgusting spit-up that dribbled down the front of his shirt. She had fallen back asleep, and Draco didn’t dare move from his wooden, uncomfortable seat in the kitchen.

This is where Harry found him as the sun came up: his hair mussed, his eyes bloodshot, and his shirt smelling of soured milk.

Harry had to adjust the way Draco cradled the baby. He was surprised by how the minuscule changes made the baby grow completely lax in her sleep. He could hardly keep his eyes open while Harry had a one-sided discussion on the importance of supporting an infant’s head and neck. Harry finally took pity on him by lifting the baby into his arms and suggesting that Draco squeeze in a couple more hours of sleep and a proper shower while Harry watched her. They agreed to have a run at the local Muggle shop to gather formula when he awoke.

Draco was not expecting Weasel to join them on this mission.

Weasel snorts and, as if reading Draco’s mind, says, “Harry thought it would be a good idea if I came along to help.”

“Oh. Right,” Draco grumbles, pushing his fringe back from his eyes with both hands and a frustrated sigh. He wants this little trip to be over already.

“Here we go!” Harry coos at the baby as he presents her to Draco. “Why don’t you take her? She’s been a dream all morning,” Harry encourages.

Draco eyes the baby, feeling uncomfortable. “She was a nightmare with me overnight!” he snaps, reluctantly holding his arms out for her. When Harry pulls her away from his chest, she immediately begins to fuss. Draco shakes his head. “No! No. This isn’t a good idea,” he says, arms flopping down to his side as he tries to tamp down the burgeoning feeling of rejection. Harry immediately cradles her against his chest, her whimpers easing.

“Y’know it’s an energy thing? She can tell that you don’t want her,” Weasel claims.

“I don’t—that’s not—you know what, can we just get on with it? I have work tomorrow and there’s a massive amount of paperwork I need to get through today.”

“Yeah, we’re going. Ron’s going to show us how to wrap the baby in a sling using Hermione’s scarf,” Harry starts, nodding at the garment in Weasel’s hands. “Er. I reckon you can attach her to me, mate.”

Harry sidles up to Weasel, the baby now against his chest, her little cheek right over where his heart is. In several mind-numbingly complicated moves, Weasel has Harry twisting, turning, and lifting his arms until only her little head appears above the sling’s opening, now securely attached to him like the sack of flour she is.

When Weasel steps back, a burst of laughter escapes him so strong that he doubles over, hands on his knees. “Blimey! This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen! Hold on, I have to take a picture of this!” Weasel gasps, all but running out of the foyer despite Draco’s protestations.

“I don’t have all bloody day!” Draco cries, throwing his hands up. Harry’s arms cradle the baby, a tranquil look on his face. As Draco watches him smile down at her, some of the fiery indignation lodged in his chest begins to die down. He takes a moment to look Harry up and down, and another feeling settles in the pit of his stomach. He’s startled to find that it’s lust.

Draco can’t figure out why or how, but Harry looks astonishingly fitter than usual with a baby attached to him. Draco finds that he can’t look away, instead indulging in the warm feeling spreading from the pit of his stomach to the rest of his body, a hot and hungry feeling, thriving as if it’s sucking all the heat out of the air.

The sack of flour sneezes, and Harry visibly melts. “You are so precious,” he whispers tenderly, one of his massive hands coming up to gently smooth over the baby’s wispy blonde hair before placing her knitted hat on. Harry’s eyes then meet Draco’s and slowly widen. His eyebrows inch towards his hairline with every silent second that ticks by between them until there’s a blinding flash of light, startling both of them out of their locked gaze. Draco’s never been so thankful for Weasel’s timing.

“I can’t wait to send this picture to Hermione; she’s gonna go bonkers!” Weasel chuckles, snapping another picture of Harry and then one of Draco, still ruddy-cheeked and slightly aroused.

Draco groans. “For f*ck’s sake. Let’s not turn this into a photo shoot for your utterly annoying girlfriend, Weasel.”

“Fiancée, actually,” Weasel corrects, setting the camera down on the small table in the foyer.

“I see you didn’t correct me on the annoying bit,” Draco says smugly before pivoting away from his housemates. “I’m leaving now!” he continues, snatching his coat from the coat rack and making his way towards the door to fling it open. From the corner of his eye, he catches Harry tucking another blanket around the baby before putting his coat on and zipping it up, leaving just the baby’s head out. Distracted by the surge of that hot sensation again, Weasel shoves Draco too hard on his back and he stumbles, nearly sending him face-first out the front door.

“This is not baby formula,” Draco mutters darkly as he glares at the selection of infant clothing in Marks & Spencer. “We should’ve gone to that Tesco Express around the corner.”

“And have her without clothes? Don’t be daft,” Harry says absently, sorting through a rack of colourful onesies. Weasel is staring at a row of little booties, an annoyed expression on his face.

“Honestly, the selection here is abysmal,” Weasel says, and surprisingly, Draco couldn’t agree more.

Suddenly, a long-winded squeal erupts behind them, causing all three men to leap into various stages of defence. Weasel’s hand goes to his holstered wand, as does Draco, and Harry, protectively, turns his back to the sound, releasing an unseen crackle of wild magic into the air.

One of the store clerks approaches them, a stack of baby clothes in hand. She drops the clothes on a display table before wiggling past Draco to stand in front of Harry.

“Oh my God! She's just the absolute cutest!” the clerk squeals again, her eyes dancing. Harry removed the baby’s hat when they entered the shop, and now her little blonde cowlicks are as wild as Harry's, her midnight blue eyes wide. “I’ve never seen eyes that colour before! She’s magical!”

Shocked, Draco chokes on his saliva. “What? How did you know?” he struggles out.

Weasel rolls his eyes and Harry stifles a laugh.

The store clerk grins at Draco. “Well, I mean, look at her! She’s the prettiest baby I’ve ever seen, and Christ, I’ve seen more ugly babies than pretty ones in this store!” the clerk laughs. “What’s her name?” she asks, her attention on Harry. Draco tenses up and Weasel coughs.

“Er…” Harry says, staring down at the baby. “Baby girl?”

The store clerk quirks an eyebrow, her tone amused. “You named your child baby girl?”

Having recovered from the assault on his windpipes, Draco gives a short, derisive laugh and tugs on the elbow of Harry’s coat. “He’s joking! Baby girl is her nickname! Her name is…ah…it’s…” Draco stutters, the store clerk now looking properly alarmed as she stares between the two of them.

“Danica,” Weasel interjects. "Dani for short. Don’t mind my friends here. We’re babysitting for my little sister, and they sometimes forget her name. She’s still new, you know?” Weasel says with a charming wink.

This perks the store clerk right up as her alarm melts into a flirty smile. “What an adorable name. And I see good looks run in the family, too…”

Weasel’s grin is blinding and Draco finds he’s had just about enough of this clerk. He picks up the nearest white onesie and shoves it under the store clerk’s nose.

“Do you have this in green?”

With a start, the clerk reels back from the onesie. “Oh, uhm, I don’t think so,” she says.

Draco sneers. “Perhaps you should go check in the back. We’ll wait here. Ta,” he says dismissively, a fissure of pleasure racing through him at the pout on the woman’s face as she slinks away.

“You’re such a wanker,” Weasel says, roughly elbowing Draco in his side as he stalks off towards a rack of baby jumpers.

Scowling, Draco tries to smack him, but misses. “You’ll thank me later when you don’t have some Muggle hounding you for your mumble numbers!”

Weasel snorts. “You mean mobile number.”

Draco ignores him. “More importantly, Danica? Seriously, Weasel?”

Weasel waves Harry over, holding a jumper up against the back of Danica…Dani and shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve sorta been calling her that in my head since that letter. It’s quite fitting, innit? It’s not only Slavic to honour her mother, but it’s also in line with your family’s naming tradition. Danica Malfoy, your morning star.”

Draco remains silent as he turns the name over in his head. He’d hate to give Weasel even an ounce of credit or praise, but in this instance, Draco’s actually impressed. The name is fit for a Malfoy. The nickname he can live with, too.

He glances down at Danica, who’s now freed a chubby fist to gum on. Harry seems unbothered by the amount of drool drenching the front of his jumper.

Panic rears its ugly head again and his thoughts begin to spiral.

A nickname he can live with? A name fit for a Malfoy? A Malfoy HEIR? The heir he swore he’d never have? An heir he literally cannot take care of because he has no f*cking clue what he’s doing? A responsibility that cries, sh*ts, and vomits, and will need all of him in order to survive?

No. He can’t do this.

Draco takes a slow step back from them and then another. Harry turns to face him, his smile slipping from his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” Harry asks, confused, his hand coming up to absently rub at the baby’s back as if it’s second nature to him to soothe. Weasel turns to face him too, several pieces of baby clothes draped over an arm.

“I-I have to go. I c-can’t do this,” Draco croaks, dismissively waving his hands at them.

Harry steps towards him. “Draco, we discussed this last night. It’s going to be alright. I know this is all overwhelming, but if we take it one day at a time, I promise you everything will be alright.”

“No. I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t be a father. I never wanted her. I promised. I swore to Merlin I would never be a parent. And that child is the culmination of two awfully f*cked up, dangerous people. She’s…”

She’s damaged—just like him. He can’t help her. These bloody Gryffindors plunge headfirst into the unknown, into dangerous waters, without a second thought, and he’s not like them. He can’t take care of a baby.

It’s as if Harry has heard Draco’s spiralling thoughts. His face is full of devastation and, above all, disappointment. Draco hates to see it. “You have to give her a chance.”

“No, I don’t,” Draco hisses, flinching back as Harry tries to touch him.

“Mate, let him go,” Weasel says, holding Harry by the shoulder.

As Draco turns on his heels, a voice rings out. “We actually do have it in green!”

Draco collides into the store clerk. The collision sends her backwards into a maternity-attired mannequin before she lands on her bum with a pained groan.

“What the bloody hell!” the clerk cries out, one hand pressed against her lower back as she glares up at him. Draco reels back and the onesie she had brought from the back of the shop lands between them at his feet.

Suffused by his mortification, he hardens his expression. “You should look where you’re going. And for your information, that’s not green; it’s teal, you absolute daft cow,” he says coldly before fleeing the shop.

Draco can’t stop his knee from bouncing, nor can he find the energy to stop gnawing on a hangnail as he waits for Robards and Lavender to arrive at the conference room.

Draco’s always been a bit shaky when conjuring a Patronus. When he discovered that a corporeal Patronus was a requirement for a fully-trained Auror, he enlisted the help of Hermione. At the time, they were already several months into a tentative something—not quite friends but no longer enemies. She practised with him for six months, to the point of exhaustion on some days, before he was able to successfully conjure his Patronus: a cheeky fox he named Juniper.

After sending out a mostly corporeal Juniper in his state of panic and confusion, his emergency call for a meeting was met with a terse “Fine.” from Robards’ bear and a “See you soon!” from Lavender's German Shepherd.

When the door finally bangs open, Draco startles badly, teeth ripping away a bloodied piece of skin.

“Someone better be dying, Malfoy. Sending an emergency Patronus on my only day off after the sh*testorm of yesterday will warrant severe consequences,” Robards grumbles, striding towards the head of the desk. Lavender glides in afterwards, a small smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Draco knows that the news of Terry’s death deeply affected her more than she let on.

She ruffles Draco’s hair before taking the seat beside him. “I don’t mind if we’re here on bullsh*te, Draco. You saved me from a truly underwhelming brunch.”

Draco clasps his hands together in his lap. “Glad to be of some help,” he murmurs, watching Robards settle. “All kidding aside, I wouldn’t have called this meeting, what with the events of yesterday and our impending debriefing tomorrow, if the situation weren’t dire.”

Robards’ lips are pursed, his expression both grim and impatient as he waves his hand towards him. “Go on then.”

Draco swallows and stares down at his hands, unable to make eye contact with either of them as he launches into the chaos of the last twenty-four hours. He tells them about stumbling over the baby at home, defying the Fidelius Charm. He shares the Ministry mole’s role in hiding the baby in exchange for Antonov’s financial records, his suspicions about Neemy being involved in the whole ordeal, and he finds himself choking up when he brings up Nowak’s heartbreaking final wishes for Draco to raise her child as her sole guardian.

He leaves out the Bond and its mark etched on his inner wrist. When he had opened his mouth to explain Nowak’s final wishes further, he had stumbled over that bit, fear mixed with adrenaline keeping the words frozen on his tongue. For now, it will be his secret.

“And now my housemates are helping me watch the child until this is all sorted. But I’m hoping that I can hand the baby over to the Ministry’s Child Protective Services. I’m sure there’s a home or an orphanage she’d be well received at,” Draco says, his stomach twisting with unease as the words leave his mouth. He had told Harry that sending the baby back to the Ministry would be a mistake, but now? Well, now Draco was desperate to be rid of this responsibility.

Lavender’s mouth hangs open. Robards looks nearly apoplectic with his face flushed red and sweat beading along his hairline as anger rolls off of him in thick waves.

Robards slams a fist on the table. “We keep getting f*cked deeper and deeper with this god forsaken case!” he hisses, spittle landing in his scraggly beard. “The fact that this child was left in your care will bring up a f*cking vat full of suspicion, questions, and concerns I’m not wholly confident enough to answer, Malfoy. Goddamn it!”

Draco shrinks in his seat, taken aback by the immensity of Robards’ ire. He had thought coming clean about this would help them figure out how to move forward with this case, not somehow paint himself as untrustworthy, or worse, the Ministry mole. It doesn’t matter that he’s poured blood, sweat, and tears into building his reputation within the Auror Corps or in working this case, he’ll always be second-guessed because of his Death Eater past. He can hear his father’s parting words from yesterday morning whispering in his ear—your history will always find its way into your present, no matter how determined you are to outrun it.

“I’m sorry, sir. None of our intelligence indicated that Nowak was even pregnant. I’m not entirely sure why she chose me,” Draco lies. “During my initial interrogation of her—”

“Yes, let’s circle back to that interrogation,” Robards interrupts, “Auror Brown, you’ve studied Malfoy’s interrogation notes carefully. Refresh my memory on Nowak’s mental state and physical appearance that day.”

Lavender frowns, and then a dawning understanding flickers across her face as she stares piteously at Draco. “She was weak, pale, and uncooperative during the interview.”

“No medical attention was provided?”

Lavender’s brown furrows. “No, sir. No one requested medical attention, not myself or you, and we both reviewed those files immediately afterwards. Additionally, you would not sign off on a mental assessment when I brought it up yesterday!” she argues.

Robards huffs, ignoring Lavender as he glares at Draco. “And the child is currently with whom?”

“Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley,” Draco mumbles.

Robards infinitesimally relaxes. “Weasley’s always had a strong head on his shoulders. A damn shame he left the Corps. He would’ve made an excellent Head Auror one day,” Robards says bitterly as he stands from his seat, a soft “f*ck,” escaping him as he clasps his hands behind his back and stands before the wide charmed window of the conference room. The window overlooks a small courtyard, the sun high in the sky and pouring warm light into the room despite the grey, frigid November day outside. “It’s clear that you must be removed from your current position in this case.”

The words are a blow to Draco’s stomach. He wheezes from the force of it, curling slightly inward before he forces his shoulders back to sit up tall.

Draco calmly places on a blank mask as he tries to rationalise with Robards. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I have done nothing to warrant removal. I have presented you with additional information, all of which will help our situation. The child is clearly a valuable asset if Nowak went to these lengths to hide them. We now know the mole is still active and that finding the house-elf will expose the mole, who we can then interrogate for information that’ll lead us to Antonov. I haven’t even begun to work on this case as Lead—”

“I was going to share this information at our debriefing on Monday, but I suppose now is as good as any to inform you that the Healers at St. Mungo’s morgue found a lingering magical trace of a tracker on Boot, which is how the safe house was raided. Antonov obviously doesn’t trust his Ministry informants, and Boot unwittingly led him straight to our safe house. We’re officially declaring him the Ministry mole, and I take full responsibility for bringing him back on the case. I should have paid more attention to Brown’s reasoning. As a result, we will not be conducting a bloody man-hunt for your missing house-elf. We’ll track her down in due time, so the situation has changed, Malfoy; I’m sorry. Brown will now take Lead on this case. As you said yourself, the child is important, yet you’ve left our most valuable asset in the hands of civilians. Your mind is clearly not on task, and I need your sole responsibility to be the safety of the Nowak brat. Your home is protected under Fidelius, am I correct?”

Draco shakes his head, ignoring the devastated look Lavender shoots at him. He suddenly feels desperate as he tries one more time to reason with him. “We’re under Fidelius, and we have anti-Apparition wards set in place. We’ve been compromised, obviously. Otherwise, the child would not have ended up at our door. I don’t need to be there to watch the child. I can call Potter’s house-elf from Hogwarts. Or, I can simply give the child away to the Ministry—”

Robards raises an interrupting hand. “You keep missing the point. Circ*mstances have changed. Your role has changed. And you should know that if the house-elf was the one to leave the child there, they did so with ease. House-elves can travel freely between ancient homes such as Potter’s. Someone must be around the child in case the house-elf returns to take the child. And I would strongly suggest that you keep the list of people aware of the child as short as possible. If you must find a new Secret Keeper, do it now. Refrain from taking the child into magical areas. If you venture out, do so in Muggle areas only. That’s a direct order.”

Draco flinches, breathing in a sharp inhale as panic grips him once more. “I can’t do it, sir. I know nothing about children. I—”

“Auror Malfoy. Do you want to be a part of this case at all?” Robards hisses, his teeth bared. Resigned, Draco nods, and Robards continues.

“Then you will do everything within your power to keep the Nowak brat safe. Don’t make this case more complicated than it already is. You are to report to Auror Brown weekly using Ministry-sanctioned memos or through Floo. If any changes or suspicious behaviours occur surrounding your environment or the child, you must alert us at once. The child is now your only concern with regard to this case. That is my final order.”

Traumatised from his meeting as he leaves the Ministry, Draco decides he can’t go back to Grimmauld Place, at least not yet. He’s too torn up by Robards’ decision, and seeing the baby right now will do his head in. He briefly entertains the idea of visiting his mother at the Manor, but quickly dismisses it. He knows if he sees her, he’ll break down and tell her everything, and he can’t risk it. He’s almost certain that she would be delighted to have a possible grandchild to spoil, but he can easily see her wanting to throw parties and parade the baby around her society friends, Robards be damned. He also shudders to think what his father would say about the whole thing— “I told you that you’re meaningless to these people,” and “Never bring that disgusting halfbreed into my home”— his most likely responses. The Manor is definitely off-limits for the foreseeable future. His Slytherin friends have all moved to the continent post-war, and with Draco’s busy career, he hasn’t been able to arrange a portkey to see Pansy, Blaise, and Theo since the summer. So he decides to aimlessly walk the streets of Muggle London, barely taking in his surroundings and just allowing his feet to lead him.

It isn’t until a well-meaning Muggle woman asks if Draco’s alright or needs any help, that he’s jolted back into the present. He’s standing in the middle of Waterloo Bridge, staring out over the Thames. Bewildered, he glances around and realises that it’s suddenly nightfall, and he’s freezing. Embarrassed, he assures the Muggle woman that he’s fine and continues his walk. The humiliation and anger he feels from the events of today is like a tornado inside of him, uprooting every good feeling he’s ever had about his job, his place in life, and his future plans. The life he’s carefully built over the last eight years is now over, what with Robards losing his trust in him, doling out not only a demotion but a babysitter too by assigning weekly check-ins with Lavender to make sure he hasn’t lost the baby.

He is an Auror, for Merlin’s sake! Trained in stealth, tracking, duelling, and specifically in hand-to-hand combat. When Lavender became his partner, she made it her mission to train him up in the art, claiming that he needed to keep up with her speed and strength on the field. They spent months practising, even introducing muggle weapons into his training. He’ll never be at her level, especially the week leading up to her transformations, but he is proud to be pretty damn efficient on the field. What he lacks in size and strength he makes up for in agility and precision of his blows. He’s not meant to remain idle…or as a glorified nanny. He’ll never recover from the humiliation of being dismissed from the meeting with little fanfare, a huge difference from the day prior when Robards believed him to be the rising star of the Auror Department.

It’s pitch black when he finally makes it to Grimmauld Place, his feet sore and his fingers numb from the cold. The sconces are dimmed throughout the first floor. He would’ve believed the house to be empty if not for the low thrum of music and the smell of spices wafting up from downstairs.

He takes the stairs to the kitchen two at a time, and the sight before him eases away some of his anger, replacing the feeling with a dizzying sort of bewilderment.

Harry is standing before the large farmhouse sink, his hips swaying, as a suds-covered Dani smiles up at him as he gently sings off-tune,

“Hey you, with the pretty face,

Welcome to the human race,

A celebration, Miss Blue Sky’s up there waitin’,

And today is the day we’ve waited for!”

“Oh, Miss Blue Sky,

Please tell us why,

You had to hide away for so long, SO LONG!

Where did we go wrong!”

Weasel sings along, stirring a large pot on the stove. The powerful scents from the pot cause Draco’s mouth to water and his stomach to growl. He knows beef bourguignon when he smells it. It’s his favourite stew and he knows Weasel is fully aware of that fact. Draco’s sure that the meal was specifically chosen to cheer him up and he finds the gesture extremely touching.

He then notices that Dani is sitting in what looks like a large cloth cutout of a daisy, her little arms flying and small, excited shrieks of “ahhh” escaping her as she stares up at Harry. The scene is extremely domestic and Draco feels warm about it. He steps further into the kitchen, eyes now trained on the back of Harry’s head as he carefully moves forward, the parquet a battlefield, and each step a looming threat of an emotional landmine, all because he shouldn’t feel this way. He tries to shove the swell of confusing emotions away, refusing to succumb to whatever magical, emotional contortions this baby has spelled over his housemates. Eyes narrowing, he reminds himself that this sack of flour, this damning anomalous addition to his hard-earned life, has cost him one of the most important cases of his Auror career, ruining his life.

“I see the sack of flour does more than just piss, sh*t, and cry,” Draco mutters, a satisfied smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth as he watches Harry flinch, the washcloth in his hand stilling against the side of Dani’s cheek.

“She’s not a sack of flour! She’s magical,” Weasel says, imitating the M&S store clerk’s simpering voice before breaking into laughter, Harry along with him.

Draco shrugs, his attention still on Harry as he carefully wipes Dani’s face. “Why is she sitting on a sunflower in our kitchen sink?”

Harry turns to him to shoot him a smile. “We were able to find this bath chair at M&S, and since Ron wanted to cook and help out with her, we decided to kill two birds with one stone and bathe her here.”

“Oh. Right,” Draco grunts. “I told Robards about her.”

Harry’s shoulders visibly sag, and the tips of Weasel’s ears turn a bright red, like a beacon.

“So that’s it, eh?” Weasel shakes his head, a disappointed look on his face. “Merlin, Malfoy. I thought when you joined up with the Aurors, you left your cowardly ways behind you. She’s your responsibility now.”

Draco clenches his fists. “Oh, f*ck off, Weasel. For your information, I know I’m stuck with her. Robards removed me as Team Lead so I can focus my attention on her. So, I advise you to shut your mouth before I hex you to an inch of your life!”

Ron lets out a harsh breath that suspiciously sounds like bloody wanker, but Draco ignores him to instead turn his attention to a fussing Dani and a sombre Harry.

Draco watches as Harry gently wraps a lush towel around her chubby little body, carefully lifting her out of the sink. “C’mon, darling,” Harry speaks softly, cradling her against his chest as he makes his way out of the kitchen. “I’m going to take her upstairs to get her dressed. We’ll be back down for dinner in a mo’.”

“I’ll come with you,” Draco murmurs, following him.

“Okay,” Harry responds, his face guarded.

They ascend the stairs to Draco’s bedroom, where Harry nudges the door open with his foot. As it swings inward, Draco halts in the doorway.

In the several hours that Draco’s been gone, Harry and Weasel have completely transformed his bedroom. The once-white walls now sport a sage green hue. Adjacent to Draco’s bed now rests a proper cradle adorned with a mobile featuring miniature flying Quidditch players, complete with Quaffles, Bludgers, and a Snitch. A sumptuous suede nursery recliner sits nearby, a buttery-soft throw draped over the back of it. Stuffed animals occupy corners and various surfaces throughout the room. A changing station and a tall chest of drawers stocked with small bottles of baby lotions, shampoos, powders, and other necessities occupy new positions throughout the room. Framed pictures of baby animals, both muggle and magical, cover Draco’s once-bare walls.

“What the hell have you done to my bedroom?” Draco weakly questions, entering the room. His mind struggles to process the multitude of new baby items surrounding him at every glance.

Harry gently places Dani on the changing table. With a flick of his hand, several bottles glide towards him to line up neatly on the table. Another flick, and the top drawer slides open, a scarlet-coloured onesie flying into Harry’s waiting hand. Draco swallows thickly, a flutter brewing in the pit of his stomach at Harry’s effortless display of wandless, nonverbal magic. It’s quite captivating watching him.

Humming softly, Harry says, “Ron and I turned it into a proper space. Do you like it?” He skillfully applies lotion, powder, and a fresh nappy to Dani, his movements as fluid as when he summoned the items. Draco moves to stand beside him, observing the seemingly intricate process of dressing Dani in the onesie. There were so many little snap buttons.

“I’m not sure about all the baby things, but I quite like the wall colour,” Draco drawls.

Harry snorts as he pulls out a tiny, soft-bristled brush to carefully comb back Dani’s damp hair. “You’ll get used to it.”

“And if I don’t?” Draco counters bluntly.

Harry shrugs. “She needs you, Malfoy. You’re her person now.”

Draco wraps his arms around himself, a sudden chill taking over him. “You don’t understand. I don’t know how to be like you and Weasel—I don’t jump headfirst into the unknown with aplomb. I don’t even know how to take care of her, nor do I have any desire to do so. When I look at her I see everything I’m about to lose and have already lost. I’m off a case that would’ve made my career, and now I’m tied to a child that will consume my entire life. It’s not fair. I never asked for this, and I think she’d be better off as an orphan.” Draco bites his tongue as Harry flinches. “I mean—she’d have a better chance at finding someone who can truly care about her…care for her,” he finishes weakly, having royally co*cked up his words.

Harry carefully lifts the baby from the changing table to sit in the recliner to rock her. Draco follows and perches on the edge of his bed, facing Harry.

A tired sadness colours Harry’s face. “You don’t know what it feels like to grow up knowing that you’re unwanted, collecting memories of pain and resentment instead of love and safety,” he says softly, running a knuckle down the length of the baby’s cheek as she makes soft gurgling sounds up at him. “You don’t understand the damage it can cause a child.”

Draco remains deathly still, never having heard Harry refer to his childhood abuse in such a blatant way, at least not to him. It hurts too much to stare into the wrecked expression on Harry’s face, and so he fixes his gaze on the baby, Dani, watching as her eyelids begin to droop.

Harry continues. “You never really forget that pain, even as an adult. The loneliness and self-doubt can eat away at you for the rest of your life. You’ll continue to ask yourself, why didn’t they want me? Why was I not enough? Why am I still not enough? What makes me so unloveable? You find a myriad of reasons to blame yourself for being unlovable instead of the people who were meant to protect and love you. You’re meant to love her. Even if you didn’t plan it, even if you’re terrified of it, she’s now yours to love. Don’t make the mistake of pushing her away before you get to know her. And you’ll want to get to know her; I can tell you already that she’s pretty awesome.” Harry says, lifting his gaze back up to Draco.

The tenderness in Harry’s eyes causes Draco to inhale sharply, a flurry of flutters, like butterfly wings, dancing in the pit of his stomach. “Oh, Harry,” Draco says thickly, his throat tight.

Harry shakes his head as if to beg Draco off his pity path and carefully leans forward, holding out a sleeping Dani. “Please, give her a chance.”

The swell of fear returns to push out the flutters in Draco’s stomach. Even as Harry’s words turn over in his head, encouraging a leap of faith, the feelings of loss, regret, and shame grow beside it. He slowly stretches out his arms, willing his trembles away so Harry can carefully place Dani into his arms. She shifts in her sleep, tucking herself close to his chest for warmth before sticking the corner of her balled hand into her toothless mouth to suckle on.

Draco bites down on his lower lip. He wants to feel something, anything, towards this child that outweighs his fear.

It doesn’t come.

He glances up at Harry, scared to further disappoint him.

“Okay.”

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Draco rouses from his sleep with a full-body yawn, feeling warm and cosy under his blankets as he stretches out his limbs, eyes still tightly screwed shut. When his right foot connects with something icy and moving, his entire body rocket-launches out of the bed, landing him on the floor. He ends up rolling on his back, staring up at his newly painted sage-coloured ceiling, the wind knocked out of him.

The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, the slats of Draco’s blinds inviting in the pale morning light to illuminate the room in a soft, buttery yellow glow.

Harry's head pops over the edge of the bed, his hair wild and a rakish grin on his face. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he says, his tone overly sweet.

Draco groans, rubbing his face with both hands. “What are you doing in my room at this ungodly hour?”

Harry quirks a brow. “You asked me to stay last night to help with Dani, remember?” he says before disappearing from Draco’s view.

Oh. Last night had been an emotional blur. Along with the physical drain the last forty-eight hours had on him, Draco indulged in a hearty supper and promptly launched himself back upstairs for sleep. It wasn’t until an hour later that his slumber was interrupted by Harry, who was ready to put Dani down for the night. Draco vaguely remembers a rushed, mumbled plea for overnight help. He can feel a flush creeping up his neck as he eases off the floor to crawl back onto his side of the bed.

Harry’s reclining against a stack of pillows, a book in one hand. He lifts his finger to his lips and then jerks his thumb towards the pristine, cherry-wood crib that now lives next to his bed. “I put her down a couple of hours ago. I reckon she’ll be up any minute for breakfast,” he whispers.

Draco cranes his neck but can barely see Dani from his position. Giving up, he collapses onto his pillow, and it finally registers that Harry’s chest is bare. He’s dressed in nothing but boxer briefs.

Flush returning, Draco can feel his left eye twitch. “My goodness, Potter. Where are your clothes?”

“It’s a bloody furnace in here,” Harry whines. “And the book says skin-on-skin contact is good for bonding with the baby.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “A furnace? It’s perfectly fine in here, despite your toes feeling like icicles,” he teases, using a toe to poke at Harry’s foot. He then squints to catch the title of the book Harry’s reading. “My Magical Child & I. Well, look at you, Potter. And you swear you’re not a swot.”

“I bought it for you, but seeing as I have time to kill this morning, I thought I’d take up some light reading. It’s really informative. I’ll incorporate much of this material into how I manage my younger patients,” he continues, flipping the page.

Draco harrumphs, clasping his hands together under his chin. It’s then that he notices the heartline mark on his inner wrist. “Does that book happen to mention what this might be?” He lifts his left arm. The faded Dark Mark looks dull in the morning light, but the heartline is a bright red. Harry gently takes his wrist and examines it. Draco almost wants to pull his arm back, the Mark now completely exposed as his sleeve falls away. He and Harry had long since tackled Draco’s insecurity and vulnerability over the Mark, but another branding on his body brought up old feelings.

Harry presses his thumb against it. “Do you feel anything?”

Draco shakes his head.

Harry hums. “Why don’t you press it with your thumb again?” He lets go of Draco’s wrist.

Draco hesitates. What if touching it again activates something else? He shakes the thought away and lightly drags his thumb across the heartline. Immediately, his ears filled with the sound of a soft, steady heartbeat. He removes his thumb quickly.

“It’s definitely her,” Draco says as he shifts on the bed, feeling uncomfortable. “It has to be. I felt it the first time I touched her. It was like a Stinging Hex fizzled straight up my arm, and then this showed up. The stinging sensation is gone, though; it’s just her heartbeat.”

Harry’s grin is infectious, and soon Draco finds himself returning it, his discomfort over the heartline bleeding away. A twist of anxious excitement rushes through him when Harry’s eyes flicker down to his lips. Harry leans in closer and closer, and for some reason that Draco can’t fathom, he’s unable to move.

He can feel the puff of Harry’s breath against his lips when Dani starts to cry.

Harry pulls away, his gaze searching and the corners of his mouth twitching. “Saved by the wail,” he says, voice husky. He slides off the bed to attend to Dani.

Draco falls back against his pillows once more and tries to quell the racing of his heart. He knows he just crossed a dangerous line. He’s been shagging Harry on and off for ages now, and not once has he ever allowed Harry to come this close to kissing him.

He blames the baby. That’s what they’re there for, right? He stifles a yawn and bites down on his bottom lip, feeling that ever-present flip in his stomach. Harry’s muscles flex from his shoulders down to his backside as he moves across the room, cradling Dani against his shoulder. Draco watches with a strange, floaty feeling as Harry speaks softly to her, gently swaying as he places her on the changing table. He starts to recount the content he read in the baby book to her.

It’s ridiculous.

And incredibly endearing.

Draco definitely blames the baby. Before she arrived, he was able to keep his emotions for Harry in check while shagging on the regular. His Auror career was on the rise, self-doubt was a thing of the past, and he was happily fulfilling his threat of not having an heir…

Oh f*ck.

His parents.

How long can he realistically keep this from them? Forever, hopefully? What would their reaction be to this stranger passing off as a Malfoy heir—an heir he promised never to have?

He swallows hard, shifting his focus back to Harry and Dani. Dani is in a fresh nappy and onesie. Harry turns around, holding her out for him to see. With a dummy in her mouth, the sight is overwhelmingly adorable to Draco despite the increasing list of grievances he’s accumulating from the child. He quickly looks away, pretending to be interested in the baby book Harry left on the bed, flipping through the pages.

Draco can hear the uncertainty in Harry’s voice. “Er, I reckon we’ll head downstairs. My shift starts at 1 PM. You’ll be okay with her until Ron gets home from the shop at 6?”

An alarm blares in Draco’s head, a sharp, wailing sound that momentarily steals his breath before he shakes his head to clear it. How on earth was he going to survive five whole hours with this new source of torment in his life?

His expression must have betrayed his thoughts, as Harry’s forehead creases with concern and a glint of anxiety flickers in his eyes. “You have to try, Draco,” Harry urges.

Lowering the book, Draco’s face adopts a sneer. “Did I imply just now that I wouldn’t?”

“Actually, yes, and—”

“It’ll be fine, Potter,” Draco drawls.

Harry visibly relaxes. “Okay.”

Draco closes the book and casually tosses it aside. “The sack of flour and I will have a grand time,” he declares, more to reassure himself than anything else. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to have a quick shower before I deal with all of that,” he says, gesturing towards Dani. Harry rolls his eyes and exits the room without another word.

As the door closes, Draco has a sudden urge to Apparate out of the townhouse and run far, far away.

Instead, he groans and flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Once again, he questions how his entire life deteriorated in under 48 hours.

Draco surveys the transformation of Grimmauld Place’s sitting room with an air of disbelief. It is yet another room altered in record time without his knowledge. In less than 24 hours, the space has morphed into a baby’s playpen. Brightly coloured textured fabrics drape over every soft surface, and a peculiar baby-sized contraption now occupies the room’s centre, replacing Draco’s Noguchi coffee table he bought when he moved in to add some sophistication to the space.

Dani is slouched in the ghastly contraption, which had taken Draco ages to figure out how to turn on. He's reclining in an armchair nearest her, the contraption gently swaying her from side to side. Instead of lulling her to sleep, he belatedly realises, rather awkwardly, that he has entered into a staring contest with her.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not going to win this one,” Draco says, narrowing his eyes. They were starting to burn. In response, Dani’s fair brows furrow. Draco gasps. “Are you narrowing your eyes at me?”

Her brows smooth over to saddle him with an unimpressed look. For a fleeting moment, he thinks it’s a look befitting of a Malfoy, but panic chases after the thought, and he quickly squashes it.

“You’ll have to blink eventually,” he says, swallowing hard as he recovers. Dani continues to stare, her midnight blue gaze eerily piercing. “You’re a creepy little thing, aren’t you?”

As if understanding him and needing to voice her displeasure, Dani kicks her tiny feet out in front of her, one balled hand shooting out as she punctures the movement with a sharp “ahh!” sound. Her face scrunches up before she releases a mind-numbing wail.

Startled, Draco flinches back. “Merlin! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you creepy, shhh…” he urges, falling onto his knees in front of the contraption to scoop Dani into his arms. He lifts her to his face to sniff her bum and, finding no strange smell, glances up at the clock. “Are you hungry again? I just fed you an hour ago,” he muses, getting to his feet and leading the crying baby into the kitchen.

He quickly warms a premade bottle but discovers it’s not milk she wants. Her face twists as she cries around the nipple.

“I don’t know what you want,” Draco whines. A strange sensation settles over Draco at each of Dani’s strangled cries, an ache of irrevocable heartbreak stirring in his chest and further exacerbated by a deeply unsettling panic. “Maybe you need some air? I need some air. We can go for a walk!” he suggests frantically, his voice embarrassingly pitched two octaves too high as he rushes back into the lounge room in search of the baby wrap.

Placing her back into the swaying contraption, her cries grow to soft whimpers as he wraps himself up in the carrier the way Harry taught him this morning. He loops it around his waist before crossing it at his back to come over his shoulders, tucking the flaps under the makeshift pouch. He then wraps the tails around his body again before tying them into a tight knot at his left hip. With a small triumphant smile, he picks Dani up and tucks her into the wrap, ensuring the pouch and ties secure her safely to his chest, her little legs dangling and her soft cheek pressed against his cashmere jumper. He grabs a baby blanket to tuck around her and her little hat to shield her against the cold before slipping his coat on and buttoning them both up, her little head peeking out at the V of his straining coat.

As soon as he steps out the door, Dani’s whimpers ease. He wraps his arms around her as he makes his way up Claremont Square. For mid-November, the weather is agreeable, with no biting wintry winds yet, but crisp, the sun high, and the crunch of leaves beneath his shoes satisfying. He draws in a deep breath and catches the scent of freshly baked bread from the corner shop.

“Look, Dani. There's the Muggle bakery shop where Harry likes to sneak off and buy pain au chocolat. He does it so as not to upset Weasel. Between you and me, I much prefer Weasel's concoction to the shop's.”

“Here’s a rubbish bin I knocked Harry into once. The poor sod was horribly drunk and ended up falling arse over tit* in that flowerbed over there, only it was muddy and smelled strongly of horse manure. He smelled like it for days; no spell could lift it!” Draco laughs fondly at the memory.

On it goes, Draco recounts funny memories of the shenanigans he and Harry had made throughout their little neighbourhood. With each story, his heart begins to flutter more, and Draco starts to form the words in his mouth before he can stop them.

“I really do love him,” Draco whispers to Dani. “Merlin, I do. But there’s something you should know about me, Dani. I’m a terrible coward.” He gazes down at her to find she’s looking up at him. He startles a bit, those deep, dark blue eyes transfixing. The look in her eyes seems almost sad, but Draco shakes the thought, finding that impossible. He’s surely projecting.

There’s a honk of a horn, and the moment is broken as she briefly lifts her head from his chest to turn towards the sound of a rumbling lorry, her eyes open and intelligent as she coos. Draco grins, wondering if it's normal for a baby her age to follow sounds and movements, and he vows to seriously flip through that baby book Harry bought. For the sake of research, of course.

“Or maybe you're a smart baby, wise beyond your months. You're definitely smarter than Weasel at your grand old age of three months,” Draco says with a quiet chuckle, tension releasing from his shoulders as he tries to shoo away thoughts of Harry.

As he crosses the street, Myddelton Square Gardens comes into view.

“This is where I come sometimes when I need to set my head straight. I call it my special place, and I suppose now it can be yours, too,” Draco whispers.

The simple but beautiful Gothic-style St. Mark's Church stands in the middle of the garden, the pathways littered with wilted cherry blossoms still clinging to nearly bare branches. Draco thinks this is a good spot to sit and enjoy the quiet. Dani's round cheek is once more pressed against the centre of Draco's chest. He takes a seat on one of the green benches with a deep sigh, closing his eyes against the warm sunlight and wrapping his arms around Dani.

As he sits in the peaceful garden, Dani’s soft sounds wash over him, and he finds himself lost in a mix of emotions. Even as her gentle weight against his chest creates a sense of calm he hasn’t felt since the beginning of this ordeal, the apprehension continues to grow, and it’s an ugly, ugly feeling. Memories of his childhood, filled with expectations and pressures, come to the forefront of his mind as he cradles Dani’s small body in his arms. He wonders what Lucius would think if he could see him now, caring for a child that isn’t his blood, in complete opposition to the vehement vow he made just three days ago to allow the Malfoy line to end with him.

He looks back down at Dani, her eyes closed, her cheeks rosy, and fear suffuses him. Can he really do this? How can he be the father figure she needs when he’s still grappling with his demons and unsure of what fatherly love looks or feels like? The weight of the responsibility is overwhelming, and as a roil of nausea rushes over him, he knows without a doubt that he’s in over his head.

He absentmindedly caresses the inside of his left wrist with his right thumb and is suddenly attuned to the soft da-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump of Dani’s tiny heartbeat. He jerks his hand away, his own heartbeat racing. He hasn’t touched the heartline longer than a couple of seconds, not wanting to hear or feel the connection.

Feeling emboldened, he presses down on the heartline with a bit more pressure, keeping his thumb there longer than he’s dared to do before. He gasps, his eyes fluttering shut as he becomes immersed in the sensory symphony. Her heartbeat's gentle, melodic sound floods his hearing and mingles with the echoes of Draco’s own voice and his laughter. A citrusy scent envelops him, and he realises with a jolt that it’s the smell of his shampoo. Flashes in his mind’s eye of the colours grey, tinged with blue, and strands of white-blond hair falling across the eyes of those very colours come to him. He can see the shape of his hands, the way his lips turn up into a smile, and he can feel the strength of his encircled arms. But the most overwhelming sensation is the feeling of utter contentment and happiness that settles over him like a warm blanket. An overwhelming, endless feeling of love.

Draco opens his eyes, fixing his gaze on Dani, his heart swelling with a profound sense of awe.

Draco’s adam’s apple bobs as he tries to find his voice. “This is…this is how you see me? How you feel about me?” His voice cracks. “Me?”

The realisation that she’s seeing and recognizing him in such a beautiful, intimate way fills him with wonder. The certainty of her love for him is palpable in the warmth that envelops him, a love reserved just for him, attuned to him. The truth shakes him to his core, and he’s struck with shame.

As the church bells chime behind him, Draco tightens his embrace around Dani, his vision blurring with emotion. Gently, he presses a closed-mouth kiss to the cap covering the wispy cowlicks of her pale blonde hair, then nestles his nose into the soft knitted fabric.

It’s then that Draco remembers something from Lena’s note—You’ll know to say it when the time is right, Auror Malfoy.

“I’m sorry, Dani,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry for trying to push you away, for not realising just how lovely you are, darling girl. I promise you, I may be scared and not have all the answers or do everything perfectly, but I promise you this—I’m going to learn. I’m going to take care of you. I will always love you, Dani.”

With a deep breath, he embraces the uncertainty of the future, ready to navigate this new chapter of his life with her.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

It begins with faint whimpering “nehhh” sounds in the stillness of the night. Draco rolls from his stomach to his side, a groan escaping him as he gazes forlornly at the crib in the dim light, holding his breath and silently pleading to whatever unseen force might be listening that she settles back down.

Unfortunately, no such benevolent entity seems to be on his side tonight.

Dani’s whimpers swiftly escalate to full-blown cries, and a surge of concern propels Draco across his bed to reach the crib. Leaning over its edge, he finds Dani still swaddled, with her eyes tightly shut as she wails. Without hesitation, he scoops her up from her bed and cradles her close. She turns her little face towards his chest, mouthing at his Mulberry silk pyjama top.

He arches an eyebrow and offers a tired smile. “Oh, sweetheart,” he begins, his voice gravelly from sleep, “I’m sorry, you won’t find any milk there. Give me a moment, and I’ll get you fed, alright?” He rocks her gently until her cries subside to sniffles, then slips out of bed, carrying her to the kitchen for a late-night feeding.

A month has raced by since that enlightening afternoon at Myddelton Square Gardens, the clinging Autumn weather slipping into Winter with a ferocity. Icicles dangle from tree branches, and a thick coating of snow blankets London, muting the city sounds and slowing down for a much gentler pace. Grimmauld Place is bright and lively with Christmas decorations, a massive fir tree placed in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in their sitting room, and piles of Christmas presents are already stacked high under it. Draco has stayed true to his promise of learning how to care for Dani. His dramatic change in attitude toward her has not gone unnoticed by Harry and Weasel. Harry, in particular, is pleasantly surprised and touched by Draco’s dedication and growing affection for the baby. He often catches Draco singing soft French lullabies to Dani or reading her bedtime stories. The three of them often spend the evenings together. Draco didn’t know he could feel such tenderness for someone, but the more he opens himself up to this tiny being, the more the love he feels pushes away his anxiety and self-doubt. And that’s extending a bit towards Harry, too.

Weasel, on the other hand, seems to find Draco’s newfound parental instincts amusing. He often sends Draco knowing smiles and teasing grins every time Draco does something parental as if he’s silently acknowledging the irony of the situation. Despite Weasel’s teasing, Draco’s efforts have not gone unappreciated, and the atmosphere in the household has shifted to one of patience and camaraderie, a far cry from the tense and uneasy dynamic they once shared years ago.

Draco is seated at the kitchen table, still feeding Dani, when Weasel enters. Weasel is dressed in his threadbare pyjamas, his eyes still puffy with sleep. Under his arm is his ever-present journal. He shoots Draco a lazy smile.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Weasel teases, shuffling towards the hob. “Fancy a cuppa?”

“Yes, that sounds perfect. Thank you,” he responds.

Weasel hums in response, his movements slow as he prepares the kettle and tea with his wand. Draco watches as he rests his hip against the edge of the kitchen island while the tea steeps, crossing his bare, freckled, scarred arms against his chest as he stifles a yawn.

“Can’t sleep?” Draco asks casually, checking the amount of formula left in Dani’s bottle. As Draco feeds her, her tiny hands attempt to hold the bottle with determination, her eyes wide with focus as she drinks heartily. A swell of pride fills Draco at her surprising strength and resolve.

Weasel sighs, and Draco catches the sad look that flits across his face. “It’s, ah, always a bit rough, you know? Sleeping without Hermione,” he says with a frown. He approaches the table and places a steaming cup of tea in front of Draco before sliding into the chair next to him. He sets his journal down and nods at it. “It helps to write and have a cuppa on nights like this.”

Draco nods, feeling sympathy for the other man. “That’s understandable. How’s she doing?” It’s been a couple of weeks since Draco’s last Floo call with Hermione. She absolutely adores Dani and promised to take up babysitting duties upon her return from America.

Weasel’s lips twitch up into a smirk. “She’s perfect. Killing it out there, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Draco repeats, rolling his eyes.

“She told me that Adrian’s thinking about actually staying in the States after their project is over,” Weasel says off-handedly, peering at Draco inquisitively over the edge of his mug.

Draco offers a nonchalant half-smile. “Good for him. He’s always been the more adventurous one in my friend group,” he replies, noticing with a fissure of annoyance the satisfied look on Weasel’s face.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine Adrian ever settling down,” Weasel says with a shrug. “Plus, I always thought you could do way better than him.”

Draco’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’ve contemplated the depth of my romantic entanglements?” he asks with a hint of amusem*nt.

Weasel rolls his eyes, a faint blush colouring the tips of his ears. “You’re sucha knob. I’m just saying, out of the blokes you’ve brought ‘round over the past few years, he’s always seemed, I dunno, careless about your feelings.”

Surprised and more than a little overwhelmed by Weasel’s observation, Draco tries to put him off with a sneer. “Is that right, Weasel? And when did you become so perceptive?”

Weasel leans back in his seat, a cool expression on his face. “Always have been, ferret. And able to see right through you since day one.”

Draco scoffs and carefully sets Dani’s empty bottle aside. “You’re full of it! So, tell me then, of all my great entanglements, who will take care of my feelings the best?”

Weasel levels him with a serious look. “You already know the answer to that, Malfoy,” he says coolly, taking another sip from his mug.

Draco flinches and falls silent, dropping his gaze down to Dani and using the moment to calm his racing thoughts. He shifts her to the crook of one arm so he can drape a towel over his shoulder to burp her. It’s true that Adrian would have made a fickle partner, but he made a great casual shag.

However, if Draco is honest with himself, he's embarrassed that he once wanted more from Adrian. He actively and openly pursued him, inviting him on dates, to Ministry functions, and gatherings with mutual friends. Draco stopped asking him when, on the one occasion that Adrian agreed to attend a Ministry function with him, he ended up going home with Zacharias Smith instead. Despite Draco being clear about his intentions, Adrain chose to reject him in the harshest of ways by shagging Smith. Not wanting to dwell on the hurt, Draco shifted gears and turned Adrian into a casual fling, and promptly buried that painful memory. Deep down, Draco knew he didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. He deserves more, someone better.

Draco didn’t know anyone else recognised that.

His mind races back to the confession he made to Dani three weeks ago: he is in love with Harry. Draco always thought a relationship with Harry would be too good to be true, so he settled for playing it safe—having him for a good time rather than a long time.

But that is no longer enough. It has become nearly impossible to deny his feelings whenever Harry sings to Dani, when Draco finds them taking afternoon naps together, or when Harry joins them on their neighbourhood walks. And then there are those moments in between when the world narrows down to just the two of them, and Harry's eyes flicker to Draco's lips, his hands linger a touch too long, or he stands a little too close. They haven't been intimate since Hermione's going away party, but in those charged moments, it feels more intimate than when they’re physically together. It sparks a yearning Draco has never experienced before, and he wants, he wants so badly, to kiss him.

Draco blinks rapidly as he props Dani against his shoulder and begins lightly tapping her back. A thick, aching ball of emotion has lodged itself in his throat, and he hates that he’s thinking about this right now, exhausted and in the dead of the night when he’s particularly vulnerable.

Draco doesn’t realise that he’s trembling until it’s too late. Weasel picks up on it quickly and leans forward in his seat to place a hand on Draco’s free shoulder, unexpected and warm, and says softly, “Hey, Malfoy—Draco, it’s okay, mate. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. You know…well, maybe you don’t know, but I want the best for you. You deserve to find someone who loves you, makes you happy, and who will love your daughter, too.”

Draco clears his throat, trying to wrest away the prickling of hot tears in his eyes. “Thank you, Ronald,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Draco doesn’t think he can ever return to calling Ron “Weasel.”

“Of course,” Ron whispers back, giving Draco’s shoulder a quick squeeze before pulling away. Suddenly, Dani burps from Draco’s persistent taps, breaking the tension, and they both exchange smiles. “You’ve become quite the expert in that manoeuvre. I bet you put all the mums at the park to shame with that level of dexterity,” Ron muses.

Draco shifts Dani back to the crook of one arm so he can pick up his cup of tea. Taking an appreciative sip, he notes that it’s made perfectly to his liking. Who would have thought that Ron could be just as observant as Harry? Or perhaps, Draco thinks with a flush, it’s more likely that Harry has told Ron enough times how he takes his tea for Ron to remember.

Draco snorts, grateful for the change in conversation. “Oh, absolutely. I have them queuing up around the block for lessons.”

Ron laughs and takes a sip from his tea. “Really, though. You’re great with her. She’s really thriving, isn’t she?”

Draco smiles. “She is. I’m so proud of her.”

“And you should be proud of yourself, too, mate. Now, finish up your tea before it gets too cold.”

Draco longs to wipe his sweaty palms on his trousers as he gingerly sets his teacup onto its saucer on the table in front of him. He notices with dismay that there is no napkin in sight. Nary a one and Draco finds this utterly unacceptable. How could they have a full tea service and yet no napkins? The Malfoy house-elves are sorely lacking in their service now that they are no longer bound in servitude. At least this little gathering is on its way to being over. He’s starting to miss Dani.

“Darling, you’ve hardly touched your tea,” Mother says softly, her blue gaze warm and tender as she sips from her own cup. Father is sitting beside her, looking bored as he flips through a hardback tome, no doubt sipping on something stronger than the Darjeeling Mother decided on for this afternoon. Draco knows his father was forced to attend this week’s tea and would prefer to be in his office, alone, with a glass of the good scotch instead of Draco’s company.

Draco clears his throat. “I’m not very thirsty,” he says, opting instead to rub his sweaty palms together. He’s been careful not to mention Dani the entire time, even though she’s very much on his mind. He wonders if she’s had the chance to wander the neighbourhood, if she’s taken a liking to the new stuffed alien doll Hermione sent from America, or even how many times she’s burped today. For a fleeting moment, Draco irrationally worries that he might be turning into one of those insufferable parents who incessantly prattle on about their child. Not that he can discuss how amazing Dani is with his parents for obvious reasons, but the urge to share is nearly unbearable. Draco knows Mother would be over the moon to finally have a grandchild, especially a granddaughter.

Father grunts. “I hear you’ve been suspended from your Auror duties,” he drawls, not looking up from the tome. Draco feels the blood rush out of his face.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Draco replies dispassionately.

Mother makes a soft, placating sound as if Draco had responded angrily and needed to be calmed. “We’re only concerned, my love. To hear such news, knowing how much you love your work, was troubling indeed.”

“Indeed,” Father grunts.

Draco sighs dramatically, only slightly amused to find that his father is concerned at all. “Perhaps it’s time to expand your Ministry network beyond those who can be swayed by a galleon or two.”

Father finally looks up from his tome, an eyebrow quirking. “I never resort to payment; I prefer a more…persuasive approach, one that has proven effective longer than you’ve been alive.”

Draco’s laugh in response is derisive. “Ah, yes, the art of ‘persuasion.’ I suppose that’s the latest euphemism for intimidation?”

Father’s bored gaze grows cold. “Your humour is noted, but let us not stray into disrespect, Draco.”

Draco smiles tightly. “Of course not, Father. I would never wish to overstep and inadvertently guide you back your more charming methods of persuasion,” he says, pointedly staring at his father’s cane. Draco holds in a flinch as his father’s knee bumps into the cane, causing it to fall against the side of his armchair with a clatter. Draco’s been on the receiving end of that cane too many times to count, and the flood of memories sends a wave of nausea through him. It is time for him to leave.

Mother, looking a bit pale but always quick to read the room, jumps in. “My darling, you simply must come by for a spot of Belote next week. The ladies have been asking after you and would be delighted to see you!”

Still feeling a bit shaky, Draco offers Mother a small, sardonic smile. “I couldn’t possibly disappoint the ladies. I’ll endeavour to quill it into my schedule.” He glances down at his watch. “I must be going. I’m behind on some case notes,” he says, standing from his chair. His father has returned to the tome again and remains seated, but Mother stands with him.

“Yes, of course, darling! Allow me to escort you,” she says warmly. Draco offers her his elbow, which she delicately grasps, leading her out of the main parlour without so much as a goodbye to his father.

“You mustn't antagonise your father, Draco. He’s making a concerted effort to bond with you,” Mother says as soon as they enter her private parlour to use the Floo.

Draco grimaces. “I believe you may need to revisit the definition of ‘bonding,’ mother. What occurred was hardly an example of the concept.”

Mother squeezes his elbow. “I know your relationship with your father is complicated. But try to let go of the past, and remember, he is trying in his own way. Perhaps a little patience and understanding from you could go a long way.”

Draco, barely able to restrain his frustration, replies in an uneven voice, “I understand your desire for harmony, but it’s not a simple matter of overlooking the past; it’s about acknowledging and processing it before I can even consider any real attempts at reconciliation.”

Merlin’s beard. It’s truly remarkable how Draco has managed to develop into a functioning adult considering the twisted trauma inflicted upon him by his parents during his formative years. He’s painfully aware that his past experiences could easily seep into his parenting of Dani, a thought that makes his stomach churn with unease. Draco will do everything in his power to spare her from the haunting shadows of his upbringing; he’s determined to do what it takes to ensure she grows up unburdened by his past.

Draco really does miss her…and a certain someone else. It makes his heart race, the thought of seeing them, and he carefully removes his mother’s hand from his arm. “I must take my leave.” He steps up to the Floo, a fire immediately roaring in its hearth, and dips his hand into the small pot of powder on the mantel.

Mother’s expression softens with a gentle curiosity. “You wear the most intriguing expression. Pray tell, what’s on your mind, darling?”

Draco feels his cheeks heat, noticing his mother’s brows rise higher. “I’m looking forward to my case notes, nothing more.” He tosses the powder into the hearth, watching as it blazes green.

Mother stops him with a firm hand on his shoulder before he steps into the fireplace, leaning in with an almost conspiratorial air and a small, knowing smile. “You needn’t invent excuses about work to spend time with your Harry. I know how fond you are of him and it was only a matter of time before you two came together! I’m so happy that you’ve found love, and Harry is such a sweet boy.”

Draco fixes her with wide eyes. “‘Your Harry?’ You have it all wrong, mother! Harry and I, we, that is, there is no we, it’s—”

Mother gestures with a mime of locking her lips, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “I won’t tell a soul, dear. Although, the ladies all have a wager going that you and Harry will be married within the next year.”

“What!” he exclaims, his face now on fire.

Mother's laugh rings out, the sound as melodious as the tinkling of wind chimes. “They’re simply having a bit of fun, no harm done. But if there’s any truth to it, you’ll inform me first, won’t you? I have quite the number of galleons on your romantic success,” she asks, patting his cheek.

Helpless, Draco averts his gaze. “Yes, Mother.”

“Wonderful!” she exclaims cheerfully. “Well, off you go, sweetheart! Do give Harry my love.”

Face undoubtedly red with embarrassment, he hurriedly makes his exit, all the while feeling his mother’s knowing gaze on him as he calls out for Grimmauld Place.

Feeling world-weary, Draco steps out into the sitting room and is taken aback. In the centre of the room is Harry, standing with Dani in his arms as he gently sways her to the most enchanting classical music Draco’s ever heard. Dani is already dressed in one of her evening onesies, her eyes closed and her face peaceful as Harry rubs her little back, his own eyes closed and expression serene.

Draco is struck by too many emotions at once— warmth, gratitude, longing, and, above all, love. So much love that he’s left almost breathless, the warring emotions vying to reign in his chest too intense. Looking at Harry right now is almost painful; Draco’s yearning feels like a hot spark of metal against his skin. He would do anything right now to be in his arms—

“You’re home,” Harry whispers, his vivid green gaze on Draco.

Draco swallows, suddenly feeling raw. “Yes,” he manages weakly, stepping further into the room. His eyes drop down to Dani. “How was she?”

Harry’s smile is blinding as he peers down at her too. “She was an angel, as always. We had a lovely day together filled with toys, lots of milk, sightseeing, and music,” he says, still gently swaying her.

Suddenly, the music shifts, and Draco’s overwhelmed by its melancholy and bittersweetness, causing his shoulders to untense. “Who is this?” he asks, gesturing to the wireless in the corner of the room.

Harry looks surprised. “It’s Tchaikovsky,” he says simply.

Swot. Draco nods. “I’m not familiar with too many muggle composers. It’s beautiful.”

Harry hums in acknowledgement, making his way towards the baby bouncer to carefully place Dani in it. Once she’s safely strapped in and draped in her favourite blanket, Harry turns back to him, his lips tugging at the corners. “Looks like I’m in need of a new dance partner.” He waves his hand in a come-hither motion. “Come here.” Harry opens his arms, inviting Draco to join him.

Perplexed, Draco hesitates for a moment before his legs, seemingly moving of their own accord, carry him closer, his heart pounding in his chest. Without a word, he accepts, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders as Harry wraps his arms around his waist. As the soft notes of the waltz wrap around them, they move together tentatively at first, Harry’s bare feet stepping on his shoes more than once. Draco knows Harry isn’t a great dancer, and he’s been trained in ballroom dance since he could learn to walk. Soon, however, they’re moving together with ease, falling into a graceful rhythm that feels as natural as breathing to Draco. His body thrums as Harry pulls him in closer, and his arms gently tighten around his waist, guiding him into a lulling sway and chasing away any thoughts on their perfectly imperfect form.

Their eyes meet, and feeling heat spill across his cheeks, Draco lowers his head to Harry’s shoulder, only then realising his mistake as the world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of them. It shouldn’t feel this good, he thinks in dismay. Being in Harry’s arms shouldn’t feel like finally coming home.

One of Harry’s hands slides up Draco’s back, his fingers grazing each subtle bump of his spine through his button-down until he reaches the back of his neck, pushing his fingers into his hair. Harry turns his head, his lips now against the shell of Draco’s ear, his nose tucked into the strands at his temple. Draco shivers. He’s not sure how this happened. Or what’s about to happen. Draco pulls back, pausing their swaying as he searches Harry’s face, shocked to find yearning in the depths of those jade-green eyes.

Draco’s heart is beating so loudly that he’s almost certain the muggles outside can hear it.

“Can I twirl you?” Harry asks.

Draco blinks and slowly nods. As the music swells, Harry slips his hand into Draco’s and twirls him around the room. The twirls are choppy yet exhilarating, and they both dissolve into laughter, their faces inches apart. Harry then pulls Draco close, dipping him low into a graceful arch, his arm secure around Draco’s waist, supporting him as his body bends backwards. They linger, flushed and breathless, locked in each other’s gaze. Draco breathes in sharply as Harry’s eyes drift down to Draco’s lips…

But the ringing of the Floo abruptly snatches the moment from them. With the spell broken, Harry rights them both, and Draco steps back from his embrace.

“Oi, Harry, are you there?” Seamus Finnegan’s voice rings throughout the room. Harry’s eyes widen, and he hurries to the fireplace. They’ve been fortunate in keeping Dani a secret by closely monitoring the Floo access and going to their friends' and families’ places instead of congregating at Grimmauld Place.

The beautiful Tchaikovsky piece ends as Harry steps in front of the fireplace, blocking Seamus from seeing inside. “Easy now, mate. No need to shout the place down.”

“Can I come through? Dean’s gone and left our flat after a stupid f*ckin’ row. I need a f*ckin’ stiff drink, mate.”

Harry peers over his shoulder at Draco, who quickly scoops Dani up and pulls his wand out. He waves it across the room, any trace of Dani’s baby items now Disillusioned.

“Er, come through in a couple of minutes, yeah? We can have that drink in the kitchen.”

“Brill. I gotta put me shoes on, anyways. See you in a mo’!” Seamus says, his head disappearing from the hearth.

Harry turns to face Draco, a sheepish look on his features as he rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry about this…I was really looking forward to spending a quiet evening with you two.”

Draco holds Dani’s sleeping body against his chest. He wants to tell Harry to get rid of Finnegan, but instead, he gently shrugs. “We’ll manage just fine without you,” he says, immediately regretting the words as Harry's open expression shifts to a guarded one. Draco chews on his lower lip. “I’ll be off then…wouldn’t want Finnegan catching wind of Dani. You know he’s got the biggest mouth among all your friends.”

“Our friends,” Harry corrects.

“Sure,” Draco replies sardonically over his shoulder as he enters the foyer. He takes care not to jostle Dani too much as they ascend the stairs to their room.

Draco longs for a quiet evening too, craving anything but his racing thoughts and the gut-wrenching, burning yearning he’s left with instead.

Draco recently made the error of mentioning some lingering back pain from lugging Dani around muggle London strapped to his front, prompting Ron to tease him mercilessly about his inability to handle a bit of extra weight. Harry, being the kinder, more rational of his housemates, had only called him a wuss once.

“I have a rather slender frame! My chest isn’t built for heavy lifting!” Draco had protested, which only made Ron laugh harder.

“I have a rather delicate frame! My skinny chest can’t handle the weight of a feather!” Ron mocked, mimicking Draco’s posh accent with surprising accuracy.

Their banter had ended in Draco flinging a soiled spit-up towel at Ron, triumphantly roaring when it smacked him square in the face.

Draco decided to keep his complaints to himself, instead turning to the magical baby books to see if it was safe to cast a feather-light charm on a four-month-old. After learning that no, it was absolutely not an option, he resigned himself to a life of pain reliever tinctures.

A few days later, Draco set up a blanket fort on the floor of the sitting room, lounging on plush blankets with Dani propped up against a mountain of pillows, armed with the most recent Quidditch magazine as he read her the latest weekly stats.

They both startle as the Floo flares to life, Harry stepping out of the hearth, still dressed in his lime green Healer robes, pausing when he notices Draco and Dani. Dani squeals as she recognises Harry, her plump arms flying in front of her and her little feet kicking against the blanket. A grin flashes across Harry’s face.

“I’m happy to see you too, sweetheart!” Harry exclaims, peeling off his robes and joining them on the floor. He then lifts a cooing Dani into his arms, dropping a kiss on her forehead and cradling her against his chest. He nods at the magazine in Draco’s hands, a tender look on his face. “That’s the right idea. It’s never too early to expose her to the majestic sport of Quidditch,” Harry says.

Draco fights down a blush, desperately wanting to disappear on the spot. “I have to start her early if she’s going to be good enough to play in the major leagues,” he jokes. His face burns hotter when Harry bites his lower lip before looking away and launching into a discussion on different Quidditch positions with Dani. Draco listens, feeling like a silly teenager with a crush. He blames this feeling on a number of things— his late-night conversations with Ron, Tchaikovsky, Dani, and even his mother’s own investment in Draco’s romantic life— for being unable to stop thinking about kissing the sweet, bespectacled git. But it’s more than just wanting kisses. Draco can no longer deny that Harry is his person, and the thought of building a relationship with him is a persistent thrum of desire nestled in the pit of Draco’s stomach. But fear keeps him in its chokehold—the fear of rejection, of ruining their friendship, and of Harry not being ready to embrace a parental role for Dani. Draco is now a packaged deal and refuses to be with someone who can’t love Dani too.

That fear wavers, though, as he watches Harry with Dani, his face animated with excitement and pure adoration. Harry laughs along with her wild coos and squeals, and Draco can’t help but fall a little bit more in love with him. How could he ever think that Harry wouldn’t want to be his partner in every way, especially in being a parent to Dani? Harry’s level of care has been enviably instinctive, and obviously born from his love for her. Draco smiles confidently now as he continues to watch them, allowing himself to imagine for a moment that they’re a family. Harry glances up at Draco, his eyes twinkling with joy, and his smile blossoms into laughter that fills and brightens the entire room, warming Draco to his core. In that moment, Draco knows—he’s in love. He’s so very, very in love with Harry.

Draco opens his mouth, the confession burning on the tip of his tongue.

“Oh, before I forget!” Harry says, his laughter dying down. Draco closes his mouth with a snap as Harry settles Dani back against her throne of pillows. “You’re both going to love this!” Harry digs in his trouser pocket and pulls free what looks like a tiny black chair. He scoots back, creating more space between them before setting the little object down. With a flick of his wrist, the chair expands, and Draco gasps. It’s not a chair, but a buggy.

“Oh!” Draco exclaims, his eyes widening and his brows shooting up.

Harry rubs the back of his neck, a small, sheepish smile on his face. “I reckon you’d benefit from one of these since you’re dealing with your back pain? It’s muggle, but…” Harry scrambles to his feet, reaching out for the handles and turning the buggy to the side. “It’s fully loaded! I mean, this bad boy is lightweight but heavy-duty, and the fabric is buttery soft,” he says, sliding his hand over the fabric of the seat. “You can have her facing you or facing outward since this seat is reversible and detachable. And look, there’s this cute little peek-a-boo window in case you’re out in the rain or something and you have the canopy up but need to check on her!” Harry explains excitedly. He then squats, gesturing towards the large basket at the bottom of the buggy. “Look at all this lovely storage. I mean, Merlin, you can probably fit me in there,” he says with a wink.

Speechless, Draco bites his lip, glances down at Dani, currently trying to put her bare foot in her mouth, and returns his gaze to Harry.

Merlin. Draco is a complete goner.

Harry frowns at Draco’s silence. “You don’t like it,” he says slowly, rising to his full height.

Draco quickly shakes his head. “No! No, I–we love it, Harry. It’s—I’m just—this is just so—so bloody thoughtful. I was thrown for a bit because—you’re so,” Draco stutters, flushing hard. He’s never been so tongue-tied, and he’s more than a little embarrassed to be stumbling over his words right now. “This is so very kind of you. Thank you so much!” Draco finally manages, looping an arm around Dani and scrambling to his feet. He spreads his free arm wide, and Harry immediately understands, stepping into the space there and wrapping his arms around Draco and Dani.

“I’m happy you both like it,” Harry says, hooking his chin over Draco’s shoulder and lightly squeezing him. Draco wraps his arm around Harry and returns the squeeze. It feels right, being in Harry’s embrace once again, a reminder of their dance and the undeniable feeling that Harry feels like home, and will always be home to him and Dani.

“Why don’t we test drive it?” Harry asks, stepping back from Draco with a grin.

Draco swallows, trying to keep a neutral face. It’s hard not to look ridiculously lovesick; looking into Harry’s face is a bit like staring into the sun now, so blinding. “Okay,” Draco says. “Let me get her dressed, and we’ll take a stroll through the neighbourhood with it.”

Harry nods, lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet as Draco heads towards the foyer to grab Dani’s snowsuit. It takes him a few minutes to bundle her up, the weather now showing true signs of winter. Harry helps Draco into his coat before slipping on his own, and then they spend a few minutes figuring out how to strap Dani into the buggy. In no time, they’re out on Claremont Square, Draco pushing the buggy with Harry so close beside him that their elbows bump together.

“She looks amused,” Harry says wryly. Dani’s brows are furrowed as she stares up at them from her seat. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d wager she’s glaring at us.”

Draco chuckles. “Awww, her first proper Malfoy glare! I can’t wait until she starts calling you Scarhead. I might actually cry!”

Harry nudges him in the side, a pout on his face. “You wouldn’t dare! I hope you know two can play that game. You’ll be Daddy Ferret to her unless you know what’s good for you.”

Draco shivers at how “daddy” sounds coming out of Harry’s mouth and shoots him a side-eye glare. “Touché, Potter. My daughter will never know our dreadful nicknames. Promise?”

Harry slows to stop, and Draco pauses, lifting a brow as Harry sticks up his pinky finger. Stifling a giggle, Draco wraps his pinky around Harry’s. “Promise!” they both say together, a meaningful silence following their pledge. They don’t move to unlink their fingers, instead transfixed on one another’s faces. Harry’s gaze drops to Draco’s mouth, and Draco draws in a slow breath, the words he’s been dying to say to Harry once more burning on the tip of his tongue.

But he pauses for too long, and Harry slips his finger away. With a small smile on his face, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his puffy coat, a whistle escaping his full lips.

“We’re totally forgetting how big of a wanker Ron can be,” Harry says smoothly, filling in the silence between them. “He’s definitely going to tell Dani we’re Scarhead and Ferret.”

Draco feels as if he’s been extinguished. All the fire burning up in him expels out into the cold air, and by the next exhale, he has a firm mask of politeness on his face. “Well, we’ll have to ensure she knows he’s Weasel first. It’s only fair.”

Harry laughs. “A Ferret, a Scarhead, a Weasel, and a Baby. What an odd little group we make.”

Draco chuckles softly, the tension between them easing away as they start walking again. “Quite the motley crew, indeed,” he says playfully. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Harry’s responding beam stirs the embers of Draco’s feelings, reigniting them once more. They spend the walk gently teasing one another, all while the fire of Draco’s unspoken confession still burns hot on the tip of his tongue, remaining there in stasis.

Draco sighs. What a tortuous cycle.

Dani is fussing in his arms as Draco tries to prepare a cup of tea for himself the muggle way— there’s something about the steeping process that he finds deeply satisfying versus using magic to speed up the process. She scrunches up her face, indicating she’s a moment away from throwing a full-on wobbly, so he frantically searches the kitchen drawers for a spare dummy. He’d mindlessly left his wand in their room and couldn’t use his wandless magic to summon the bloody thing. The thought of climbing up three flights of stairs only to come back down to the kitchen already exhausted him.

“I’m sorry, darling. Daddy is a lazy sod who can’t be arsed to climb up the stairs. Can you forgive me?” Draco asks Dani, who uses her drool-covered hand to fist the front of his jumper and squeals at him. “Okay, your displeasure is noted,” Draco laughs, then realises he might have a solution to their problem. “Fear not, my dear girl. I just remembered that we have a box of your dummies and toys in the sitting room, and that’s only a short staircase away!” Draco says happily, leading them back up to the first floor.

Draco is in the hall leading to the sitting room when he hears someone laughing. He slows down in his steps, his ears prickling as he hears his name, and comes to a full stop right outside the room. He leans against the wall, feeling only slightly guilty for eavesdropping, and listens in on the conversation.

“I’m not joking, love! It’s crazy how they dance around each other! It’s so bloody obvious. It’s bloody awkward having dinner with them sometimes—they literally spend so much time staring at one another’s mouths.

Draco nearly chokes on his own saliva, accidentally jostling Dani who, miraculously, has calmed down since her almost meltdown in the kitchen, now soothing herself with several fingers in her mouth. He silently thanks her for her unwitting assistance in his eavesdropping endeavour.

Draco’s ears are ringing—Ron is talking about him and Harry! He infinitesimally inches closer to the doorway of the sitting room, his ears straining to catch every word.

Ron sighs. “Harry’s insufferable lately, whingeing on the way he does! I said, ‘Mate. Do something about it,’ but you know how bloody moody he gets when he’s in a stink. I want them to pull their heads out their arses already,” he says.

There’s a giggle, and Draco recognises Hermione’s voice as she says, “Honestly, Ronald, you must admit it’s all rather adorable! At least they’re finally starting to acknowledge that there’s something more between them than shagging. Didn’t I call it?”

“You did, love!”

“These things take time,” Hermione says. There’s a pause. “And how’s he doing with the baby?”

“Harry or Draco? Because both of them have sorta taken on the whole dad role with her. I’m happy to say I’m excelling as the favourite uncle,” Ron says proudly.

Hermione’s voice is warm as she says, “You’ve always had a way with children.”

“They see me as one big kid, don’t they?” Ron chuckles. “Oh! Did I tell you that Harry bought this really posh buggy? I’m not allowed to even breathe near it. Draco almost did my head in when I accidentally pulled the carrier bit off wrong before my walk with Dani.”

“I love how supportive you’ve been for them.”

Ron laughs. “Dani makes it easy to love her. Don’t tell Bill, Fleur, George, and Angelina, but she’s probably the most clever baby I’ve ever met. And Draco’s a good sort. I’m happy to help out when I can.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Hermione says, excited. “It sounds like Draco’s a great guardian.”

“Yeah, he’s been bloody fantastic with her. If someone had told me a year ago that Draco Malfoy would be a father, let alone an excellent father, I would’ve had them committed to Janus Thickey. Do you remember how he was when Teddy was a toddler? He wouldn’t be left alone with him until he could string together two full, coherent sentences,” Ron says with a laugh.

“Merlin, that feels aeons away now— I can’t believe Teddy will be going into Year Three at his Muggle Primary School. They grow up so fast,” Hermione says with a wistful sigh.

“I know, I can’t believe it, either.”

“I’m really happy to hear that things are going well for them, though, despite the will-they-won’t-they dilemma,” Hermione says.

“He’s really turned things around for her, ‘Mione. It’s kinda wicked to see. It, er, makes me think of what fatherhood will be like for me one day,” Ron responds.

“Oh, Ronald!” Hermione says, her tone affectionate. “You’re going to make an excellent father to our future children.”

There’s a moment of silence that feels charged. “I miss you so much, pet. I’m counting down the days until—”

Draco suddenly steps back from the doorway, his guilt intensifying at the tone of Ron’s earnest yearning. Deciding to give them their privacy, Draco opts for the back stairs to the bedroom instead of walking past the sitting room.

“We’re lucky to have friends like them, aren’t we?” Draco whispers to Dani as they head to the back of the house, tea now the last thing on his mind.

Draco’s not surprised that Ron would be discussing with Hermione the “will-they-won’t-they dilemma,” as she so interestingly dubbed the unresolved tension between him and Harry. The days following Draco’s walk with Harry and Dani have been an exercise in self-awareness. Try as Draco might to keep his feelings in check, he’s been as obvious as a bull in a china shop. And as awkward as it is to know that his interactions are being noticed and analysed, he can at least now confirm that on some level, Harry has feelings for him too.

Despite the realisation, something twists in Draco’s chest— a growing, ugly fear that stings— he doesn’t know if what Harry feels is love.

Draco shoves the feeling away as hard as possible. He finally makes it to the bedroom and finds a spare dummy before pulling a baby book free from his bookshelf with a sigh. He settles on the bed. “Let’s have some daddy and baby time, yeah, darling? I promise you I can go a few minutes without angsting after Harry. It’s not like I’m obsessed with him or anything.”

Dani happily suckles on her dummy.

“You’re right, I’m utterly hopeless.”

Later that evening, Ron, familiar with Dani’s feeding schedule, brings Draco her bottle.

Draco smiles. “Ah, thanks, mate,” he says softly, a hint of gratitude in his voice as he accepts the bottle and settles against his pillows with Dani to feed her.

Ron offers a warm smile and tilts his head to the side. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever called me your mate,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’ll cherish this moment forever.” Despite Ron’s joke, Draco feels a pang of realisation at the mention of his choice of words. He hadn’t even noticed the slip.

Draco’s smile turns impish. “Don’t get used to it,” he teases.

Ron laughs. “‘S’pose I’ll take what I can get, eh?” He nods, heading towards the door.

“Ronald, wait,” Draco says, deciding to take this opportunity to finally share some honest words with Ron.

“It’s about time I’ve said it,” Draco starts. “You’ve been an excellent friend to me. And you’re amazing with Dani. I can’t begin to express my appreciation for everything you’ve done for us— thank you.”

Ron’s smile widens as his eyes grow soft. “You don’t have to thank me, mate. I’m happy to be here for you and Dani. You’re family, Draco.”

Draco feels a lump form in his throat at Ron’s words. He nods, feeling grateful for this growth between them. “I’m glad to have you as my family, Ronald.”

“Hey Dani, should we tell Potter to go F-U-C-K himself with his No Vanishing the Baby’s Poop with Magic rule?” Draco quips to the baby, who coos back innocently. “I mean, who gets a chapped arse from magic, eh? I never had such an issue when the house-elves Vanished my poop as a baby. What Muggle nonsense, am I right?” Draco catches Harry’s disapproving glare from the corner of his eyes and adds, “Not that there’s anything wrong with Muggles.” He draws in a fortifying breath, trying and failing to steel himself for the absolute carnage awaiting him in Dani’s nappy.

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “C’mon, Draco, get on with it before she starts fussing. I already agreed to be here for moral support.”

Draco scowls. “Get over yourself, Potter, with your moral support. Moral support, my arse! You’re here to suffer this torture since you refuse to let me use magic to properly handle the nightmare that lies ahead of us. You’re in this as deep as I am now. This is on you.”

Draco and Harry had been enjoying a movie together on the couch, Dani happily snoozing in her playpen, when she’d awoken with a wail. As soon as Draco lifted her from the playpen, he knew immediately that she needed a nappy change— and he knew this was a big one.

Harry throws up his hands. “I don’t know how many articles I have to shove in your face that shows empirical evidence that repeated use of Evanesco causes severe dehydration of the skin, contributing to all manners of uncomfortable rashes or deadly skin diseases, and—” Harry spirals off into a rant as Draco says at the same time, “In all my years of house-elves Vanishing S-H-I-T from my arse, I’ve never had a single bloody rash on my perfect arse. So you can shove your ‘empirical evidence’ up your swotty arse—”

“Oi!” comes a shout from behind them, making both men flinch at the sudden loud noise.

Dani continues to gaze up at them from her position on the changing bed, mouth open in a gummy smile with her feet in the air as she tries to catch them with her hands. The Protego lined throughout the table keeps her from rolling off despite her vigorous activity.

Ron steps fully into Draco’s bedroom. “What’s this I hear, Draco? Did you just admit that your house-elves were wiping your arse well past infancy?”

Draco’s face suddenly feels like it’s on fire as he slowly turns to face Ron. “Ronald Bilius Weasley. I will hex you so hard in the arse that it’ll take Hermione a millennia before she’s able to piece you back together. Do you understand me?” he seethes, teeth bared. “And for your information, no, my arse—”

“Er, sorry. I must have missed the memo about enrolling in an ‘All About My Arse’ seminar with Professor Draco Arseing Malfoy,” Harry interrupts, laying the sarcasm on thick. Finally losing his restraint, Draco whips out his wand and sends off a well-placed Stinging Hex to Harry’s arse, his resounding yelp deeply satisfying to Draco’s ears. He watches with glee as Harry stumbles backwards, colliding into a wildly laughing, nearly breathless Ron.

“What the fu–dge, Draco! That really bloody hurt!” Harry cries, a hand massaging his left buttock. “Merlin, did you singe my bloody jeans?”

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice before providing us with your riveting commentary,” Draco retorts, turning up his nose.

Harry flips Draco two fingers, muttering what sounds suspiciously like “arseing lunatic.” Ron finally composes himself enough to slip an arm around Harry’s shoulders, the other hand coming up to ruffle his hair.

“Looks like you really felt the ‘cheek’ of Draco’s wrath, am I right, mate? Am I right?!” Ron chuckles, shaking Harry about the shoulders.

“Alright! Alright!” Harry grumbles, his lips downturned in a frown, looking every bit like a petulant child.

Draco shoots Harry a mischievous grin before returning his attention to Dani, who’s been amusing herself by tugging at her toes. Suddenly, an ominous fart escapes Dani, followed by a fit of her giggles. The room falls eerily silent.

Draco squares his shoulders. “Merlin, brace yourselves, lads,” he mutters, unfastening the nappy to finally brave the unknown.

The impact is immediate, brutal, and visceral.

“Sweet Morgana, Merlin, and Circe!” Draco exclaims, burying his nose in his elbow. “Dani, darling, what in the seven hells!”

“Fuuuccckkk—” Harry drawls out, retreating from the changing table and bumping into Ron yet again.

Ron is bent over, gagging. “Why…is it…green? Harry, why is it green? Why is it so…POTENT? Harry?”

“I don’t know!” Harry protests, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re the bloody healer, mate; how do you not know?”

“It’s—she—oh, never mind!” Harry growls, slashing his hand in the air to Vanish the smell and all traces of Dani’s nappy.

Draco slowly pivots to face Harry, his expression deadly serious. “What about your ‘empirical evidence,’ Potter?”

“It was a dire emergency, Draco,” Harry says with a firm nod, trying and failing to maintain his composure. “Surely a one-off. Now, let me cast a diagnostic on her to see why her poop was green while you put her in a fresh nappy?”

Draco smiles as he reaches for the lotion, powder, and fresh nappy. “You can do a quick check, but I’m pretty sure it’s green because of those mushy peas I fed her earlier.”

Harry and Ron exchange a grimace before Harry turns back to Draco. “Er, I think she’s a little too young for that, Draco. I’d recommend holding off on the mushy peas as a part of Dani’s diet for a few more months. Er, you should probably take a closer look at that baby book I got you.” Harry shoots him a sheepish smile as he rubs the back of his neck.

Ron nods vigorously beside Harry, looking fairly green himself as he recovers from the olfactory assault. “No more scary nappies— no more mushy peas— forever,” he adds.

Draco finishes snapping Dani’s fresh onesie and lifts her into his arms. Her smile is radiant and cheerful as Draco gently bounces her, then turns to his housemates. “We’ll wait a few months. But she absolutely loved it. And what my darling wants, my darling gets.”

A few hours later, after surviving Nappy Armageddon, Draco relaxes in the middle of his bed with a book as Dani snoozes on his chest. A soft knock on his door interrupts him.

“Come in,” Draco says as quietly as possible. Dani, clad only in a diaper, doesn’t stir, having been quite milk-drunk from her last feeding and easily falling into a deep sleep two pages into listening to Draco read to her.

Harry’s wild mane of hair pops up from behind the door, followed by his sweet smiling face. “Oh, sorry. I don’t mean to — oh, you’re shirtless!” he says, sounding slightly flustered.

Draco sets down his book. “I remember some wanker once telling me that skin-to-skin contact is good for bonding with the baby.” Harry looks too pleased, and Draco rolls his eyes, waving him in. “Come on, then, what’s on your mind, Golden Boy?”

Harry enters the room on noiseless, socked feet, clad in muggle joggers and a soft t-shirt. He approaches the bed, preparing to sit, but stops mid-way as his gaze falls on Draco’s bare feet, crossed at the ankles. Frowning, Draco’s about to ask him what the problem is when Harry’s warm, calloused hands begin to trace the contours of his ankles tenderly. Draco suppresses a gasp but can’t stop the shivers that run down his spine as Harry cradles them in his firm grasp to lift them onto his lap as he settles on the edge of the bed. Draco lets out a shaky breath as Harry continues to trace light circles on the bone of Draco’s ankle before sliding both hands down to massage Draco’s left foot, his touch gentle yet firm, eliciting a soft moan of pleasure from Draco.

“What are you—” Draco starts, but pauses as his teeth sink into his bottom lip to curtail another deep-seated moan, Harry’s fingers skillfully working their way up along Draco’s arches, applying just the right amount of pleasure that sends a tingling sensation through Draco’s body. Each knead is deliberate, each stroke a sensual caress, as Harry’s hands work magic along Draco’s skin that leaves him slightly panting against his pillows. “Harry, this feels amazing, but I’m not exactly in the position to act on this come-on,” Draco says around another little moan, waving a hand towards Dani.

Harry snickers, continuing to knead the sole and arch of Draco’s left foot. “This isn’t a come-on, Draco. I’m simply doing something nice for you.”

“Oh, and to what do I owe this pleasure you’re bestowing upon me?”

Harry tilts his head to the side and peers at Draco under his long, inky black lashes, the jade-green of his eyes glittering like jewels. "Can’t a friend just give another friend a relaxing foot rub for changing a traumatising nappy?” he asks, feigning innocence.

Draco hums. He can feel the rapid swell of Harry’s co*ck pressing against the Achilles’ heel of his left foot. He applies a bit of downward pressure, grinning with triumph when Harry grunts. “Mmm, yes. What are friends for, right?” he mocks with a scoff. “You’d be more convincing if not for your little friend there.”

“If memory serves me correctly, you’ve often found yourself choking on my so-called little friend. I’m happy to remind you of that fact if need be,” Harry says with a wiggle of his brows.

Draco stifles a laugh. “You’re incorrigible, truly. A real menace to society, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes flash as if gearing up for a challenge. “Who’s the menace here? I’m sure you’re the one with your foot on my co*ck.”

“You’re the one who put it there,” Draco shoots back.

Harry shrugs, grinning. “We’re both fiends, then.”

Draco finally laughs. “I’ll concede to that. You’ve made a valiant effort in your dawdling, Potter, but I’ve mastered the art, so why don’t you tell me what really prompted this lovely little tête-à-tête we’re having?”

Harry switches to Draco’s other foot and pouts. “You’re no fun. But fine. I’ve been doing some research into the heartline and wanted to discuss it with you.”

Draco sits up a bit straighter, the movement causing Dani to shift against his chest. His arms come up to wrap around her, and he checks to make sure she’s still peacefully asleep. “No need for the suspense; go on.”

Harry smiles impishly as he removes his hands from Draco’s feet, placing them behind him on the bed and leaning back. Draco keeps his feet in his lap.

“One theory I’ve found regarding the magical bond focuses on the mother-child relationship. In personal journals where I’ve come across descriptions of the heartline symbol, it seems to have originated from mothers who, through intent alone, wanted to transfer their maternal bond to another person. If they were successful, the heartline would appear somewhere on the other person’s body.”

“Okay, well, we already know that Lena spun a wish to make me Dani’s guardian.”

Harry nods. “From the flesh onto the heart. That line, in particular, was present throughout the journals, and I revisited Lena’s letter, and she said those same words in it. She must’ve been aware of this kind of magic in order to tap into it.”

“Merlin,” Draco mutters, his heart aching as he thinks of Lena’s desperation leading up to Dani’s birth. She must have been frantic, researching in secret some kind of way to protect her child from Antonov, preparing for the worst in case she couldn’t be there for her.

Harry continues. “Those words are rooted in magic that deals with the transference of life forces, energy that exists within every living being, but not necessarily a soul, nothing as severe as that, but in this case, the spirit of a mother’s love. It aids in creating a deep connection between the new guardian and the child. From the flesh onto the heart is then seen as a physical manifestation of a heartline, and it transcends physical bounds by creating a strong cognitive and emotional connection. That’s why you can hear Dani’s heartbeats and her moods.”

“Does this bond influence my feelings for Dani?” Draco asks, concerned.

Harry shakes his head. “No. You had the heartline on you when you were adamant about not wanting her,” he starts. His words cause Draco to flinch, ashamed that he ever thought he didn’t want her. Harry’s hand squeezes one of Draco’s ankles and continues. “It wasn’t influencing you to connect with her; that was a deliberate decision you made on your own, not the bond.”

“Alright,” Draco says, exhaling a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Can the bond ever be broken?” he asks, now peering down at the heartline on his inner left wrist, its bright red colour a striking contrast against his alabaster skin.

Harry pauses for a moment, looking pensieve, and then shrugs. “This bond's strength depends on the relationship you build with Dani. Lena's wish laid the groundwork, but its strength lies in the effort you put in. Just as being a mother doesn't guarantee a good parent, the strength of this bond depends on your actions."

“Good,” Draco says with a nod. “It’ll never be broken,” he says firmly, his gaze dropping down to Dani as he lightly smooths back her hair. In the last month the wispy strands have grown thicker and curlier, the colour like cornsilk.

“Draco.”

Draco’s head snaps up at the sound of Harry saying his name, the tone breathless and almost reverent. His breath catches as he locks eyes with Harry, the intensity of his gaze a fierce hunger. Shocked, Draco blinks rapidly. “Harry—”

“Do you know what it’s been like?” Harry’s voice is gruff and barely above a whisper. His tone sends a thrill up Draco’s spine and causes the hair on the back of his arms to stand. “Watching you like this, with her, seeing how fiercely you love. Dani will never not know how much she means to you. That bond will never waver. You must know, Draco, you must know how much—how hard—” Harry’s breath catches, and he suddenly sits upright, his hands flying to Draco’s ankles again, his palms hot against Draco’s skin as he grasps them. Draco trembles.

Harry closes his eyes as if he’s trying to calm himself before exhaling deeply through his nostrils. Draco wants, more than anything at this moment, to touch him, but he remains still as Harry carefully lifts his feet from his lap and stands. Startled by the sudden movement, Draco carefully sits up, cradling Dani against his chest and watches wide-eyed as Harry runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat.

“You deserve so much love. Do you know it’s all around you, waiting?”

Feeling almost helpless, Draco’s voice quivers as he says, “I do.”

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t believe you. I don’t think you’re that cruel.”

“Harry—” Draco tries again, his eyes stinging. The words are there, on the tip of his tongue. I love you. “I—”

Dani’s crackly whine interrupts him.

Sorrow grips Draco’s heart like Devil’s snare as Harry takes a step back from the bed. At that moment, Dani begins to cry, and he tears his gaze away from Harry to focus on her, softly murmuring words of comfort as he gently rocks her in his arms.

“Do you need any help with her?” Harry asks.

Draco doesn’t look up but shakes his head once, hard, and continues to comfort Dani, feverishly wishing that the words will comfort him, too.

“Alright. You know where to find me if she needs me,” Harry says quietly.

But I need you, Draco thinks desperately. Cowardice stops him from saying it.

Before he can look up again, Harry is already gone.

“Wow, Draco. She’s grown since the last time I saw her!”

Draco laughs, perched in his favourite armchair in Grimmauld’s sitting room. “You say that every Thursday.”

Lavender beams. “Well, it’s true,” she says softly, leaning over the lush baby playpen where Dani is currently sprawled on her back, fast asleep. “I mean it. Merlin, she’s beautiful. And that hair! It’s almost Malfoy-esque. I can’t imagine anyone looking at her and not thinking she’s half of you.”

Draco ducks his head to hide his pleased smile. “Thank you,” he says graciously.

The holidays have passed by in a blur. Christmas was a monumental affair as Draco spent it with Dani, Lavender, Ron, and Harry at the Burrow. He had turned down his parents' invitation to travel to the south of France for the holiday since they were both still unaware of Dani’s existence. Ron had asked Draco’s permission early on if he could tell his family about Dani because Molly was already asking after Draco’s plans for Christmas. Draco would never admit this aloud to anyone, but he deeply trusts the Weasley family and knows they would accept Dani and protect her as fiercely as Ron would, so he said yes. Even in a sea of ginger, Draco found himself enjoying their high spirits, relishing in all the fawning the Weasleys made over Dani.

Draco didn’t even try to hide his emotions when Molly gifted him and Dani matching cobalt blue jumpers with an elegantly woven D in glittering gold on the front.

It’s now March, and Lavender is at Grimmauld for her Thursday check-in with Draco. The routine usually entails discussing any recent suspicious behaviour when out in Muggle London, ensuring the wards of Grimmauld were holding up, and a quick update on the status of the case. Once over, Draco pours them both a glass of wine and gets the dish on the latest Ministry gossip.

Lavender moves from the playpen to flop down on the armchair next to Draco’s. When she’s settled in her seat, he takes in her appearance with growing concern. Her usually vibrant skin has slowly become more sallow and grey-tinged with each visit, made more evident with her weight loss, narrower face, and the tangled curls of her honey-blonde hair pulled back into a messy bun. He never sees her wearing makeup anymore, and her eyes are surrounded by dark circles that indicate too many sleepless nights. He knows that the full moon isn’t due soon. Draco has taken the time to check on the calendar himself over the past several weeks. Not that it matters: her hair or makeup, but the radical change in her usual upkeep and routine worries him.

He knows that she blames herself for Terry’s death, having wished she’d fought harder to convince Robards to keep him on desk duty. Draco has brought up more than once that she should see a grief counsellor. He even offered to hire her a private Mind Healer or a Muggle therapist in order to protect her privacy instead of registering with a Ministry-appointed Mind Healer and having that flagged on her permanent Auror record. She refused to go, so every week for the last four months, Draco witnessed her further deterioration.

Lavender glances down at her watch. “When will Harry and Ron be home?”

Draco shrugs. “In a couple of hours. They both had work today.”

Lavender grins. “Are you and Harry still, you know?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

Draco barks a laugh, even as his chest tightens as he thinks of Harry. “No. Not for several months now.”

Since that last charged conversation with Harry, they’ve been slightly awkward around each other, both seeming to say more with their eyes than with their actual words. Ron had made more than a few pointed remarks on faffing about with their heads stuck up their arses, but neither of them would cease the hapless tip-toeing around the emotional landmines between them.

Despite their stalemate, Harry still tends to Dani as if she were his own child. Watching how sweet and tender he is with her ignites Draco’s longing for him like pouring petrol on a fire.

“Merlin. Is it true what they say? The sex dwindles after a baby comes? Are you suffering from a sexless marriage, Draco?” Lavender says, feigning concern.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Oh, ha-ha. Shagging Potter is the last thing on my mind right now. And anyway, we’re only friends.”

Lavender crosses her arms and glares at him. “Draco Lucius Malfoy. You are speaking to me, babes. I know you like the back of my well-manicured hand. I know you’re in love with that man, as sure as I know that you’re breathing right now.”

Draco groans. “It’s…complicated.”

“When are things not complicated between you two?” she asks pointedly. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

Draco scowls, the lie already on the tip of his tongue. “Absolutely nothing. I have too much going on at the moment to try and figure out the mess of my feelings for him.”

“Well, as long as you’re not denying they exist, it’s your marathon, babes. You figure things out at your own pace, but make sure you keep me in the loop,” she says with a wink.

“You’ll be the first one I Floo,” Draco says wryly before changing the topic. “Do you have any more information to share concerning the case?”

Lavender shakes her head.

Draco frowns. They’ve hardly discussed any Ministry-related topics today. “Would you like to stay for dinner? Ron’s promised his mother’s famous spag bol when he gets home.”

Lavender’s smile becomes tight, and her hand swipes her curls back from her face. Draco recognises it as a nervous gesture of hers. “Oh, I wish I could, but there’s some stuff at the Ministry I have to take care of.”

Draco studies her face, searching for any clues to her nervousness. “I thought there was nothing new going on with the case. Is everything alright?” he asks, his tone tinged with concern. Withholding any kind of information about the case wasn’t part of Robards’ rules, and Lavender has always thoroughly reviewed any new details on the Electric Candy case with him.

His concern intensifies when Lavender’s expression falls in dismay. “Lavender, what is it?” he asks sharply.

“Okay,” she says in a strained voice, fixing her gaze over his left shoulder. “There’s been another raid, and we were able to apprehend a few people this time, but not Antonov,” she explains. “They weren’t fast enough to pack up this distribution centre, so we collected all of their supply and found evidence that seems to indicate that Antonov is searching for Dani.”

Draco suddenly feels lightheaded. “Alright. We knew he might try to look for her. He had dreams of selling her off to the highest bidder,” Draco spits, anger burning through him at the thought. “But there’s no way he would connect her to me or where she’s located. Lena would have been too careful to leave anything behind about her plans to make me Dani’s guardian. And even if he knows about me for some unfathomable reason, Grimmauld Place is unplottable under Fidelius. Is that correct, Lavender?”

Draco freezes at the look now on Lavender’s face as if she’s a moment's breath away from crying.

“I don’t want to scare you because we are handling this, Draco, I swear to you. I’m so sorry. It’s been killing me keeping this information from you,” she pleads, rushing the words out. “We believe he’s aware that she’s in Ministry hands, based on evidence gathered from the raid. There were maps and pictures of various Aurors who were known to be involved in the case. You know the Prophet has reported on Electric Candy, even going as far as to list Aurors who have been seen at crime scenes or have provided quotes for their stories. Your photo was among the ones we found at the crime scene.”

“Lavender,” he says, trying and failing to keep the chill out of his voice. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

“One of the suspects we apprehended was hired by Antonov. He’s a Blood Magic specialist.”

Draco’s body goes numb, and his mind is unable to process the information. His hands begin to tremble, and his heartbeat races. The shock of Lavender’s words overwhelms his senses. “No,” he forces out through clenched teeth. “No, no, no,” he repeats, shaking his head slowly.

If Antonov uses Blood Magic, he can find Dani. She shares his blood.

He suddenly can’t see straight, his jaw tight as he tries to understand what this means for them. His head is between his knees, and there's a terrible wheezing sound. It's coming from him.

Lavender is suddenly kneeling in front of him, her hands on his knees. “Draco, relax, please,” her voice begs, voice strained. “Please, I need you to remain calm. For Dani, please? We don’t want to wake up Dani.”

At the sound of Dani’s name, Draco straightens up, forcing himself to draw in a breath and focus on Lavender. His vision clears, and he finally meets Lavender’s eyes, bright with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, gripping his knees. “We have things under control. I interrogated the Blood Magic specialist, and he told us that Antonov hadn’t completed the ritual yet because he’s still deciding on how best to profit off Dani.”

Draco’s stomach lurches, a hot wave of nausea rolling through him at the thought of that monster trying to auction off Dani to some equally disgusting monster.

Lavender continues. “We’re working fast to track Antonov down, Draco. And we’re so close. We’re so, so close to getting him. The specialist was an Electric Candy user. Antonov was paying the specialist with the purest form of the potion, and we confiscated over two hundred vials from his home, so we have him in holding. We think he can help us track down Antonov.”

Draco shakes his head. He’s interrogated too many Electric Candy users to believe gathering information will be an easy process. “How?”

Lavender pauses, looking uneasy before she continues. “Antonov apparently had a map of the centres locked away in an enchanted case. The specialist used runic magic to remove the enchantment, wanting to rob some of the centres at a later date. He supposedly made a copy of the map, but refuses to hand it over until we cut him a deal with the Wizengamot. He’s facing a lot of time for his parole violation and illegal potion possession. And before you ask, we’ve already searched his home and couldn’t find it.”

Draco scowls. “Dose him with f*cking veritaserum.”

Lavender frowns. “We can’t. I asked Robards already, and he shot it down. He doesn’t want anything jeopardising the legitimacy of our procedural handling of this case. Dosing him with unauthorised veritaserum will get this entire aspect of the case thrown out when we present it to the Wizengamot. If the specialist’s testimony is called into question and thrown out, we’ll effectively poison the well. That means we lose all the evidence we gathered from his home, and when we get the maps, all the distros and anything we find there can be left out of the trial against Antonov. We’re going to work the specialist over again, and if he still refuses to cooperate, we’ll put in a formal request to the Wizengamot to dose him.”

Draco runs a hand through his hair, sucking his teeth. “It’ll take those f*ckers ages to approve it, let alone convene simply to hear the request.”

Lavender nods. “Robards did say he’ll work his connections to see what kind of deal we can cut for him, so we can avoid the Wizengamot for now. That’s why I’m going back to the Ministry today.”

Draco clenches his fist, anger consuming him at once. “So, you and Robards expect us to sit here like willing prey while he networks? For all we know, the specialist is lying to us about everything! He could have completed the ritual already and is biding his time until Antonov strikes. It's ridiculous to pivot all of our attention on kissing the arse of some pointless contact to circumvent bureaucratic inadequacy!”

“You’re under Fidelius. Even if he completed the ritual, Antonov could stand right in front of Grimmauld Place and still be unable to see or access it. You know this. No one can enter Grimmauld Place unwelcomed. They can’t Apparate in, Floo, or even walk through the front door with someone who’s been here before. Not without the Secret Keeper.”

Draco nods, some of the panic easing away. Ginny is the Secret Keeper, and she’s been away in Wales training for the Harpies for over a month now.

Draco snatches up Lavender’s hands, gathering them in a tight grip as he leans forward, a flood of wanton hate pouring from him. “I want that f*cker caught, Lavender. I want him to f*cking rot for all the people who have died because of his f*cked up potions, for killing our teammates and Lena, and for threatening my daughter,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

Lavender nods again, fresh tears brimming in her eyes. “I promise, Draco. I promise he will.”

Draco releases her and settles back in his seat, a calm settling over him.

“I want back on the case. Now.”

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

When Dani turned six months old, Draco, Harry, and Ron prepared the room adjacent to Draco’s as her new nursery. They painted the walls the same colour as his room and moved all the decor, toys, books, and furniture into the new space. Harry set up monitoring charms to ensure they could hear her if she cried and protection charms in case she moved around in her crib.

Now, at eight months, she sleeps throughout the night without interruption. She's now crawling and pulling herself onto her knees using the nearest piece of furniture. Watching her reach each milestone has been a beautiful journey for all three of them, and it never ceases to amaze them how remarkably intelligent she is for her age.

Draco is finishing up her last feeding for the night when a soft knock sounds at the slightly open door. Harry pokes his head in.

“Alright?” Harry asks, flashing a smile. Draco returns it, nodding to signal that Harry should come in. He does and perches on the low footstool in front of the rocking chair. “You were really upset at dinner. I wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

Draco sighs. He had spent nearly an hour convincing Lavender to agree to discuss his reinstatement with Robards. When she finally said yes, Dani was fussing awake, ready for a nappy change and a bottle. Lavender had hugged him goodbye and slipped out the front door, promising to send word of Robards decision after her meeting at the Ministry.

The message arrived during dinner. Robards agreed to entertain a meeting with Draco for tomorrow. He relayed the entire events of the afternoon to Harry and Ron over their spag bol. They were both incensed on behalf of Draco, shocked that Lavender withheld information on such a dire shift in the investigation. They both supported his decision to return to the field and agreed to free up their schedules to help him with Dani. Harry offered to watch her tomorrow since he had a free day from St. Mungo’s.

“Here, let me help you,” Harry says, holding his arms out. Exhausted from the day's events, Draco happily passes him a milk-drunk Dani and a burping towel. Harry situates her against his shoulder, whispering sweet words against her cheek, and begins to pat her back.

Draco loves how attuned Harry is to the minutiae of Dani's little quirks and needs, and how gracefully and enthusiastically he has embraced his paternal side, his boundless love for her evident in every gesture. Draco wants so badly to tell Harry he’s in love with him that it’s hard to breathe.

Dani burps, spilling soured milk all over the front of Harry’s shirt, having forgotten to drape the towel over his shoulder.

“Oh no,” Harry says, brows furrowing as he stares down at the trickling mess. Dani makes a small cooing noise, her eyes drooping.

Draco laughs and holds his arms out for Harry to pass her back so he can clear away the mess. “Brilliant work, my little darling. Absolutely brilliant! You’re just showing Harry how much you love him, aren’t you, darling? We love our Harry, don’t we?” Draco praises, gazing down at her smiling face before pressing his lips against her forehead. He startles when he feels the tips of fingers graze his cheek. Draco’s eyes cut to Harry’s, and his breath hitches at the raw emotion he sees in them.

“I love you,” Harry blurts out. He then looks stricken, eyes widening in realisation. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I—”

Draco feels as if his heart skips a beat before thundering in his chest, and he can’t stop the words from falling from his mouth this time. “I love you,” Draco says, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes locked with Harry’s. Draco releases a shuddering breath and he feels as if a dam is breaking inside him. “I love you. I love you so much—”

Harry slides off the footstool, kneels in front of Draco, and gingerly runs his palm over Dani’s head as she sleeps soundly. His expression is a blend of surprise and caution, yet his eyes reveal a sweet tenderness. Draco leans in as Harry lifts his hand, cupping the back of Draco’s head, and pulls him down to softly press his lips against Draco’s.

Draco’s heart sings as Harry’s lips move against his; there’s a flurry of emotions in the pit of his stomach— pure excitement, hope, yearning, love and desire. A deep and wild need surges between them, so charged that Draco feels breathless from its voracity. With one arm still cradling Dani, Draco instinctively reaches out with the other, gently resting his hand on Harry’s shoulder to steady himself. He savours Harry’s touch feels it radiate through his entire body. As they part, Draco trembles, his eyes locking with Harry’s. A blush creeps across Draco’s cheeks as he becomes giddy from the rush of kissing him. They share a slow, small smile before Draco’s gaze drifts down to Dani's peaceful face.

“I’ll put her to bed, and then we can continue this conversation in my room,” Draco says, a sudden shyness creeping over him. Harry nods, rising to his feet and stepping back to give Draco space to place Dani in her crib, turning her Quidditch-theme mobile on, and spelling the lights down low. Draco leans down to kiss her forehead once more, and as he moves to step away, Harry's hand on his elbow halts him. With a gentle smile, Harry leans forward and drops a quick kiss on Dani’s forehead as well.

“Sweet dreams, baby girl,” Harry whispers and then extends his hand to Draco. Draco clasps it, and together, they walk hand-in-hand to Draco’s bedroom.

Once in the room, Draco activates the baby monitoring spell and carefully places his wand onto the nightstand. Turning to Harry, he walks him backwards towards the bed until the back of Harry’s thighs brush against the mattress. With a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder, Draco eases him to sit on the edge of the bed before crawling onto his lap.

“For how long?” Harry whispers, staring up at Draco.

“Since you pulled me from the fire,” Draco admits unabashedly, his voice a rasp of raw emotion. His fingers sink into Harry’s hair as he tips his head back and kisses him.

A fire of both their making now consumes Draco, embers roaring to flames in the hearth of his soul, illuminating the darkest corners of his being with piercing light and clarity. With each caress of Harry’s lips, the fire grows, filling him with such intense longing that Draco feels the sting of tears behind his eyes from the overwhelming sensation.

They break the kiss, their lips barely brushing as their breaths mingle, making Draco dizzy as he cups Harry’s face in his hands. Harry’s eyes are half-closed, his lips slightly parted, and Draco feels a hunger that he knows will stay with him for the rest of his life.

Harry wraps his arms around Draco’s waist, pulling him closer, as he softly murmurs, “I’ve wanted you—wanted to kiss you—for so long.”

Draco caresses Harry’s left cheek and, with his other hand, slowly drags his thumb across Harry’s bottom lip, trying to commit to memory the shape, colour, and, soon again, taste. “I’ve been wondering for ages what it would be like.”

Harry looks utterly spellbound as he says softly, “What’s the verdict?”

Draco laughs, grasping Harry’s chin to hold him steady. “I’m not sure yet. I need a bit more—” he teases, leaning in and nipping along Harry’s bottom lip before sliding his tongue soothingly across it, pulling a moan from Harry’s parted mouth. Draco then hungrily flicks his tongue into Harry’s mouth, a shiver racing through him as he swirls his tongue around Harry’s. He groans as Harry grips his narrow hips before his hands slide down to grasp Draco’s arse, his hips thrusting up.

Draco’s breath hitches against his mouth, and he melts against Harry, feeling his hardening co*ck pressing against his own, the friction maddening. He can feel the heat from Harry’s body radiating through his jeans like fiendfyre. He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and loses himself in the kiss.

Harry’s hands slide up Draco’s back, rucking his shirt up; his calloused hands are hot against Draco’s bare skin, and his nails rake across his delicate flesh, eliciting a whimper from him. Draco comes up for air, their noses brushing before pressing their foreheads together.

“I love kissing you,” he whispers reverently, affection flourishing in his chest at the soft look on Harry’s face. Draco closes his eyes briefly, exhaling deeply, giddy with anticipation. Draco aches to unravel Harry piece-by-piece with pleasure, ruining him for anyone else forever. They haven’t been intimate in over five months, and Draco is burning up from arousal. He can’t wait any longer to have him. Leaning in, he presses his lips against Harry’s ear and says, “I’ll love kissing you even more when you’re inside me.”

Harry’s arms tighten around Draco, mouth pressing against the hollow of his throat as he murmurs against his skin, “Oh, God, yes.”

They undress each other carefully. When they’re both naked, Draco sprawls across the bed.

Harry worships him.

Harry kisses the expanse of Draco’s bare skin, decorating his flesh with words of love on his lips, nibbling, kissing, and licking promises of forever along his collarbones, across his ribs, in the dip of his navel, down to the soles of his feet. Harry’s touches are gentle, his hands sliding across Draco’s skin as if he’s handling delicate silk, leaving him a shuddering, lust-intoxicated mess by the time Harry conjures lube to finally slide slick fingers between Draco’s legs. Draco cries out, nearly breathless, as Harry’s clever fingers work him open, sweetly coaxing ripples of pleasure from Draco’s body.

Harry oscillates between murmuring sweet praises and growling out filth against Draco’s skin, making his co*ck throb and his head feel hazy, his hands fisting the sheets beneath him as he begs to be touched, filled, and kissed senseless. As Harry slides up his body, planting kisses along the way, Draco wraps his arms and hooks his legs around him, spinning Harry onto his back before capturing his lips in another searing kiss, the slow slide of their co*cks together making Draco whimper into Harry's mouth.

Draco then lifts himself onto his knees to straddle Harry’s hips, slowly pumping his co*ck with the lube he collects from Harry's palm. “Wait,” Harry murmurs, jostling Draco as he sits up to rest against the upholstered headboard. With his other hand, he tucks a lock of Draco’s hair behind his ear and quickly presses a kiss on his lips. “You’re so beautiful, Draco.” Harry then places his hand on Draco’s hip, Draco reaching behind himself to wrap his hand around Harry to slick him up, and Harry helps him sink down onto his co*ck. “Just like this,” Harry sighs.

Draco’s eyes roll to the back of his head as a low, guttural moan slips from him, the stretch a satisfying burn as he’s fully seated in Harry’s lap. When he opens his eyes, Harry’s pupils are dilated, turning his usually vibrant jade-green eyes almost entirely black.

“God— so, so beautiful. And mine,” Harry says, his voice low and possessive.

Draco’s suffused with utter tenderness at Harry’s words. He runs his palms across Harry’s broad shoulders before sliding them to the base of his neck, intertwining his fingers behind Harry’s head. With a flood of longing, he crushes his lips to Harry’s in a bruising kiss, their bodies moving together desperately. Draco rolls his hips, finding a sensual, fluid rhythm as he swallows down Harry’s soft whimpers and gasps. Fire licks across his skin as Harry wraps his arm around Draco’s waist, thrusting his hips up as Draco clenches around him— wet, hot, and full. They move together as one, Harry muttering words of encouragement against Draco’s mouth, the column of his neck, and the delicate line of his clavicle. Draco tilts Harry’s chin back up and licks into his mouth, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck so their chests press together, his thrusts undulating as he lets himself sink into euphoria.

Draco breaks their kiss, his head falling back and his mouth popping open, a rumbling moan escaping him as he says breathlessly, “Yes. f*ck, Harry. Right there!” Harry pulls Draco’s hips down harder, the slapping sound of their bodies moving together filling his ears. With a frantic whine, Draco’s fingers scramble to find purchase in Harry’s hair, his grip a vice as his hips begin to stutter. His rhythm falls away to wild rocking and bouncing in Harry’s lap, heat lapping at his skin as time slows down.

Draco tenses with a sharp gasp. “Harry!”

The peak of euphoria is delicious, unadulterated pleasure that shatters Draco. He cries out, his back arching and his brain short-circuiting as he comes, spilling hot between his and Harry’s stomachs and chests. His vision blurs for a moment with tears, and he slumps against Harry, tucking his face into the crook of Harry’s neck, every nerve in his body smarting with tiny aftershocks. Harry lifts Draco on a thrust and spins him onto his back, a growl escaping him as he buries himself to the hilt inside Draco in one smooth motion, hitching his left leg up against his hip and setting an unrelenting pace. Harry arches his back and hisses, “Draco, Draco…you feel so amazing— I love you so much—”

Draco writhes underneath him, a choked sob bubbling up his throat, his body sensitive and his co*ck twitching between them with the last vestiges of his org*sm. He sobs again. Harry leans forward to kiss his cheeks, his temples, and the tip of his nose. Draco’s hands come up to push Harry’s hair back from his face, holding it back as he stares up at him.

“I love you,” Draco whispers, stroking Harry’s hair back. He watches Harry fall apart then, breathy little moans ghosting over Draco’s lips, his hips stuttering as his mouth slides open, Draco’s name rolling off his tongue as he comes.

Harry collapses against him, their chests damp with sweat, and Draco wraps his arms around Harry's trembling body. His fingers trail up and down Harry’s back, sweat cooling under his touch and a calm silence settling over them. Harry nestles closer, resting his ear over Draco’s heart. The weight of Harry against him is both grounding and intoxicating, and an intense possessiveness and protectiveness takes hold of Draco— a fierce desire to keep Harry close to shield him from all the evils in this world.

“I’m so happy that you’re mine,” Harry whispers.

Draco smiles softly. “I’m happy to be yours,” he replies, rubbing circles into Harry’s back.

Draco silently promises to cherish, protect, and love Harry, no matter what lies ahead. And he also vows never to let a day go by without savouring the taste of Harry’s sweet lips.

They wake in the middle of the night, hands seeking each other out for gentle kisses and caresses that quickly lead to them making love again. As they lay in bed together, skin tingling from a gentle cleansing charm and bodies sated, they check the baby monitor charms. A projection of Dani peacefully asleep pours out the tip of Draco’s wand, her little face illuminated by the warm glow of her mobile.

Their quiet conversation turns to Draco’s meeting with Robards in the morning. Draco throws his arm across Harry’s body, resting his head on his chest as he peers up at him from under hooded eyes. “I should be home before dinner. You won’t even miss me,” he teases.

Harry lazily trails his fingers up and down Draco’s back, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He chuckles softly. “I’ll miss you terribly, but Dani and I will hold down the fort until you get back. I’ll even make you dinner,” Harry says.

Draco snorts. “As if Ronald will let you anywhere near his kitchen.”

Harry shoots him a mischievous grin. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Ron’s going out to a stag do with George after work. Lee’s getting married to Alicia Spinnet.”

Draco frowns. “Were you invited to that?” he asks, feeling guilty for taking Harry away from a night out with his friends.

“Yeah, but I’d rather be here with you and Dani,” Harry says, his voice soft. A wave of affection rushes through Draco, and he briefly wonders if he’ll cease to feel lightheaded from the sheer depth of Harry’s love for him.

“Did you know,” Draco starts, a curious tilt to his head, “that Ronald and Hermione have been onto us for ages?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah. Ron has been quite cross with me, actually. He's tired of me mooning over you and not doing anything about it.”

Draco sighs, feigning exasperation. “He’s going to be insufferable when he finds out about this.”

Harry grins. “Yeah, he is. And incredibly happy for us.”

Draco nods. “That he is.”

In the morning, when he’s dressed in his Auror robes and preparing to head to the Ministry, Harry pulls him into a chaste kiss, Dani giggling in his arms. Draco kisses Dani on the forehead and steps into the Floo to make the necessary jumps to the Ministry.

“I love you. Show Robards what you’re made of, alright?” Harry says with a nod.

Draco laughs. “I promise! I love you. I’ll see you both later,” he says, spinning away.

Robards’ glare could freeze hell over.

Keeping his promise to Harry, Draco doesn’t bend under the intensity of it, even though it’s solely directed at him. He stands tall with his chin mulishly jutted out, dressed in Auror regalia, and hands clasped tightly behind his back. If his palms are sweaty, it’s no one’s business but his own. Lavender fidgets beside him, her bouncy blonde curls uncharacteristically in disarray from the number of times she’s run her hands through them as she argues with Robards.

“He has a right to be here, Sir. You’ve given me the authority to lead this team now and—”

“And that’s something I’m starting to regret,” Robards interrupts, his voice hard.

Lavender falters for a moment before she draws herself up and fixes Robards with an equally dangerous glare. “I’m certain this is the right move to ensure the child's safety and successfully close this case. Draco’s insights have been, and will always be, invaluable. Not only that, we protect our own,” she finishes, a low, rough growl escaping her. Draco cuts his eyes to her quickly and notices that her usual honey-brown eyes have an eerie gold ring around them. She was flashing a bit of her inner wolf. He smothers his smile by pursing his lips.

Robard glowers. “Where’s the child now?” he asks.

“She’s at Grimmauld Place, under the supervision of Harry Potter, Sir,” Draco answers. “I trust Harry with my life,” he adds, his voice filled with unwavering certainty. After last night, Draco has no doubt in his mind: Harry is the love of his life, and together with Dani, they have become a family.

Robards slumps in his chair, his usual air of authority having diminished. He then leans forward, resting both elbows on his desk to bury his face in his hands. A deep, heavy sigh escapes him, so weary that Draco winces, suddenly feeling the weight of Robards’ burdens and responsibilities etched along his posture and defeated droop of his shoulders.

Robards looks up. “For nearly eight months, this case has wrecked this department. We’ve lost three of our Aurors and had several injured, we’ve seen countless victims barely make it out of St. Mungo’s due to this damned potion, we’ve pointed fingers at each other to seek blame, and we’ve faced unimaginable betrayal from one of our own. I want to see the end of this case, too, but at what cost? How much more can we sacrifice? Are you willing to sacrifice your life, Malfoy, by rejoining this task force, knowing Antonov has listed you as a potential target?”

“I refuse to remain idle while my child is targeted, sir. I will do whatever is necessary to ensure her protection,” Draco says, a spark of intense anger animating his words.

Robards nods, slowly sitting up straight. “I’ve always admired your tenacity, Malfoy. You’re a survivor, and your ability to endure and persevere through the sh*te challenges you’ve faced in your life is truly remarkable. When you joined the Corps, I saw it up close and personal, that very strength of will and steadfast determination—you’re willing to go against the grain to do whatever is necessary for the greater good. You went up against near-impossible odds, joining us, and yet you blew everyone away in training and shut down all the naysayers with grace and integrity. I chose you to join my team because I knew then that you’d make a damned good Auror, and nearly eight years on, you’ve proved me right at every turn.” Robards sighs again. “You’re back in, Malfoy.”

Draco feels a surge of triumph and gratitude at Robards’ words, his determination strengthening to ironclad. “Thank you, sir. I assure you, your continued faith in me will not be misplaced.”

Robards gives an acknowledging hum. “Good. What’s your first action of order then, Auror Malfoy?”

Draco hardens his expression. “Reinterview Antonov’s Blood Magic Specialist, sir,” he says, his tone arctic. Beside him, he can feel Lavender stiffen.

Draco selects the interrogation room with the malfunctioning temperature charms, keeping the room slightly above freezing despite the facilities management team’s numerous attempts to repair it. Draco, as well as a number of other Aurors, use the room for some of their worst suspects, determined to make them as uncomfortable as possible during a gruelling interrogation. Draco places a warming charm on himself and begins his preparations.

He uses his wand to shave off a little over half a centimetre off the leg of the cold, steel chair he’ll have the specialist sit in. He then spells the sconces around the room to flicker almost disorientingly, but Draco’s conducted enough of these types of interrogations not to have it affect him anymore. He then checks the manacles attached to the table and charms them to be so cold they’ll make someone’s skin feel as if it’s burning. Satisfied, Draco taps his breast pocket, where his secret weapon is stashed inside his Auror robe, in case all else fails.

He settles in his seat with the specialist’s criminal file and flicks his wand at the door of the interrogation room to swing it open. A few seconds later, Lavender steps in with their suspect.

The photo in Atticus Montague’s criminal file shows a handsome, healthy man in his late 30s with thick chestnut brown hair and soft hazel eyes, dressed professorially. The picture was taken at one of his many visiting speaker lectures at the wizarding part of Oxford University, where he graduated and was celebrated as a star in the field of Blood Magic.

“Auror Malfoy, please meet Atticus Montague,” Lavender says darkly, shoving the shackled Montague into the seat across from Draco. She then pulls out her wand and binds Montague’s wrists to the manacles, who winces as the freezing metal rubs against his skin.

The man in front of Draco is a shadow of the former Montague, now squirming in his unbalanced seat and flexing his hands. He’s paler than Draco, with purplish bags under yellow-tinged eyes that are sunken into his gaunt face. Bright red scabs and open sores are scattered across his face and at the corners of his mouth, and his hair has thinned to the point that Draco can see the white of his scalp. His chest rattles with each slow and uneven breath he takes.

“A pleasure,” Draco says wryly and glances up at Lavender. She’s biting her lip as her gaze shifts between Montague and him, her grip on her wand tight.

“Perhaps I should stay for this lovely conversation?” she asks him carefully. Draco squints up at her, hoping to convey his absolute confusion over her suggestion. After leaving Robards’ office earlier, he made it quite clear that he wanted a go at Montague alone.

“We’re good here, wouldn’t you say, Montague?” Draco asks cheerfully, turning to the other man. He receives a cold glare from him in response.

“Okay. Let me know if you need me,” Lavender says, tone resigned. Draco peers up at her one last with a questioning look before she backs away from the table. She shrugs at him and finally takes her leave. The door shuts quietly behind her.

Draco smiles at Montague and takes note of his body shifting from the unevenness of his chair and his trembling hands from the icy cold manacles. Or withdrawal.

“I’ve been doing some light reading on you, Atticus. You’ve made quite the mess of things for yourself these last few years, haven’t you?” Draco starts, lazily flipping through the man’s thick criminal profile. “Over ten separate run-ins with Aurors over the last 18 months due to potions possession, a stint in the Janus Thickey Ward for rehabilitation, and when that failed, you were sentenced to three months in Azkaban for possession, battery, and theft.”

Montague doesn’t respond. He’s instead staring at a flickering sconce with a scowl, still flexing his hands. Draco can see the sweat beading along his receding hairline, even as a puff of visible air escapes his lips.

Draco smirks. “You’re not looking too well. We’ve had you in holding for what, 36 hours, give or take? How’s that comedown treating you?”

This gets Montague’s attention as he fixes a dark gaze on Draco, baring his yellow, rotted teeth. “Go f*ck yourself.”

“I’m going to hold off on that for now since I have a few questions I’d like to ask you,” Draco says, feigning politeness.

Montague coughs, wet and phlegmy, wincing as if in pain. “I already spoke to that wolf bitch,” he wheezes.

Draco’s quirks an eyebrow. “For someone with such impressive accolades, your vocabulary is surprisingly underwhelming.” He flips another page in the file. “Ah, here we go. Graduated top of your class at Durmstrang and then attended Cambridge University to complete a dual degree in Arcane Haematological Arts and Runic Studies and Cursebreaking Theory and Practice. Completed postgraduate research on Blood Magic ethics and rituals at Oxford University. You became a leading specialist in treating blood-borne illnesses and curses, strengthening ancient familial wards, and reversing magical core deterioration for people who’ve suffered Dark curses based on your brand of Blood Magical Rituals.” Draco shakes his head, offering Montague a pitying look. “All that work for nothing.”

Montague snorts. “One word: deal,” he says smugly.

Draco scoffs. “You’re going to Azkaban, Montague. This time for longer than three months, maybe for life if I have any say in it.”

“Life?” Montague says sharply before breaking into a coughing fit that wracks his entire body. “I want a solicitor, now!” he struggles out.

Draco leans back in his chair. “Yeah? We can find you a public one, but once I get them, there’s nothing I can do to help you.”

“I don’t need your help; this is not what I was promised!” Montague shouts, trembling and wincing painfully. “I want a solicitor!”

At that moment, there’s a knock on the window of the interrogation room. Draco ignores it. He isn’t going to give in to Montague’s request that easily.

Draco clicks his tongue and crosses his arms. “Promises? What do you possibly think a solicitor can do for you? Do you really think they can convince the Wizengamot to care about you? Or anything outside of their own pockets and pension? You’re an annoying piece of lint on their couture robes. They will flick you away the moment they see you. Flick you all the way to Azkaban.”

“I’m not going away for taking some bloody potions!” The rattling sound in Montague’s chest worsens as he twists around in his seat.

Draco quirks a brow. “Who said it’s just potions? Your file shows you’re a textbook example of an escalating offender. You were last arrested for theft and battery, and now you’re facing potions smuggling, illegal potions brewing, attempted kidnapping, and attempted murder charges. Oh, and obstruction of justice for being a pain in everyone’s arse here. We have evidence of you committing all these crimes. You’re going away for good.”

“I don’t brew or smuggle potions, and I’ve never kidnapped or killed anyone!” Montague says, growing panicked.

Draco tilts his head to the side. “Montague, we’ve got you dead to rights,” he says and starts to count on his fingers. “You’re withholding information on multiple distribution sites to smuggle out potions later on. You were found at one of these sites, which we’ll argue is because you were brewing them and using. You admitted to helping Antonov use Blood Magic to illegally locate and abduct a child, and you attempted to kill some of my colleagues while you were being apprehended.”

“No!” Montague shouts, wild-eyed, as he jerks back from the table, crying out as the manacles keep him from completely moving away. “No. I didn’t do any of what you’re saying. I’m not going back to that f*cking hell on earth!”

Draco shrugs, ready to make his next move. “Maybe you did these things because Antonov had a strong hold on you. It would make sense, really, having to work under duress to appease a man as powerful as Antonov. These crimes wouldn’t be your fault, but his.”

Montague nods. “It’s his fault, yeah. I just wanted a fix. I need a fix,” he moans, his body squirming again in his wobbling seat. “I’m hurting so bad right now, I can’t keep it back anymore, please…I need something, just a little…”

“You’ll never get another fix if they send you to Azkaban for life,” Draco says solemnly.

This seems to break Montague, who finally caves into his pain and doubles over, head between his bound arms, and begins to sob.

“I didn’t know what he wanted when I came by that day! I just needed to get a little taste. I swear.” Montague closes his eyes, tears sliding down his cheeks, and starts to mutter incoherently to himself. His hands are trembling so badly that the manacles begin to rattle against the desk.

Draco nods. “So, you have knowledge of the distribution sites, and you know where Antonov is. Is that correct?” he asks, raising his voice over Montague’s muttering.

Montague finally opens his eyes. “Please. I don’t want to go back to Azkaban,” Montague whimpers. “Please, I’m hurting real bad. Please let me go.”

“I want to help you, but you’re not telling the truth, Montague. You stole Antonov’s list of distribution sites, didn’t you? You know where your supplier might be hiding, yet you’re withholding that information from us. What else are you hiding?”

Montague shakes his head several times, sweat running down his temples. “Nothing, nothing, I swear…” he mutters, pulling against the manacles with a hiss. “I’m hurting.”

Draco’s voice hardens. “Did you complete the Blood Magic ritual for Antonov?”

“I don’t remember!”

“Tell me the truth. As I said, you were under duress. Antonov was probably going to kill you if you didn’t. You should trust me when I say I’m trying to help you. You completed the ritual and tried to run from Antonov, didn’t you?”

“Please. I need to get out of here…Please, please, please…” Montague begs.

“FOCUS, Montague!” Draco shouts over his whimpering pleas. Montague violently flinches at the sound. “The sooner you tell me the truth, the easier things will be for you. Did you or did you not complete the ritual?”

Montague trembles from head to toe. “The werewolf Auror told me not to say anything about the first attempt!” he whines.

Draco freezes, his blood running cold. “What did you say?” he hisses.

Montague cringes. “The first attempt,” he repeated, rocking back and forth in his seat. “I found the neighbourhood…Islington. Too high to complete it. Antonov Crucio’d me,” he says through gritted teeth, wincing in pain with each word.

Draco slowly turns to stare at the blacked-out window. “What else did this Auror tell you?”

“I did what she told me to do! I don’t know. But I know her. I do,” Montague whispers. “I’ve seen her change. Right before my eyes. Not the potion. She’s real. She’s real to you and me. I had to make sure,” Montague babbles, his breathing now laboured. “I have proof. I do.”

“Proof of what?” Draco asks, perplexed.

“Of my salvation,” Montague says tearfully. “I was good. I was always good! And promises were made all for me. Please, I need–I need the pain to stop–please help me…”

Draco waves his hand dismissively, standing from the table as he loses his patience. “Enough of this,” he says, tired of Montague’s incoherency.

Draco then braces himself for what he’s about to do next, his mind filled with conflicting thoughts. On one side, his conscience screams at the bloody unethical nature of his actions. On the other, he recognises the necessity of ensuring everyone’s safety, including Montague’s, who is slowly succumbing to painful delirium. Allowing Montague’s withdrawal symptoms to progress this far without medical intervention was a dangerous oversight by the team. Draco resolves to act.

He extracts a piece of parchment from his folder and rummages in his pocket for his self-inking quill. Sliding the contents over to Montague, who awkwardly picks up the quill, Draco then plants both of his hands on the table and leans forward.

“Listen to me carefully, Montague. Are you listening?” At the other man’s nod, he continues. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you’re someone who’s fallen on bad times and has made some bad decisions. I’ve read your work from your time as a researcher, and you’ve always been consistent in honouring the principles of blood magic by harnessing its powers for good. To heal and protect people.”

When Draco discovered that the specialist was Atticus Montague, first cousin to Draco’s old classmate Graham, he was shocked. Montague had enjoyed an illustrious academic career. The realisation that he’d fallen victim to addiction was jarring, but Draco had to remind himself that this tragedy could befall anyone, even someone as brilliant as Montague.

Despite this, Draco knew he had to do what was right, even if it felt morally wrong.

“I’m going to help you,” Draco starts. He slips his hand into his inner robe for his secret weapon and pulls out two small vials with a light blue potion inside. “Do you know what this is?”

Montague’s whimpering fades as he falls silent, his gaze fixed on the small vials. He nods slowly. “Serenequil,” he whispers.

“That’s correct. The synthetic potion was created to help relieve the symptoms of your Electric Candy withdrawal. If you take both doses, your pain will completely disappear for 72 hours while your body continues to process the toxins out of your blood from the potion abuse.” Draco sets the vials on the table in front of Montague, who hungrily stares at them.

“72 blissful hours,” Montague says reverently.

“I will give you one potion first to help restore your cognitive abilities. You will write down every single address to Antonov’s distribution centres. You will then tell me where you’ve hidden the original document, and I will give you the second dose to clear away your pain completely. If I discover that these addresses do not match up, you will go to Azkaban, where there is no Electric Candy or Serenequil. You will suffer without ongoing treatment.”

Montague nods vigorously, his eyes rapturous as Draco plucks one of the vials up, pops the cork, and comes around the desk to stand beside him.

“Open your mouth,” Draco demands. Montague does as he’s told, and Draco pours the potion down his throat.

Montague swallows. The results are immediate as he sighs deeply, closing his eyes. A little colour creeps back into his cheeks, and the sweat on his forehead dries. When he reopens his eyes, they look clear, focused, and intelligent.

Draco feels as if he’s seeing a bit of the old Montague and nods. “Write,” he demands.

He stands beside Montague for nearly half an hour, watching as the man carefully writes out addresses, the descriptions of buildings, and coordinates for a total of fifteen distribution sites scattered across London. On the back of the document, he provides coordinates for the original document.

“Where is this place?” Draco asks, staring down at the unfamiliar coordinates, appearing to be outside of London.

“Guildford Borough in Surrey,” Montague starts, his voice strong. “It’s a Muggle grave in the Compton Village Cemetery. You will find a small pot of sunflowers next to it. Underneath it is the original document. No protective spells or anything.”

Draco’s brow furrows. “Why? Whose grave does this belong to?”

Montague’s eyes appear haunted as he gazes up at Draco. “My wife’s. She died two years ago. I haven’t been the same since,” Montague says quietly.

Draco’s heart clenches as sorrow suffuses him. He holds up the second vial, and Montague slowly opens his mouth. “I’m sorry,” Draco whispers, pouring the liquid down.

Montague swallows, blinking rapidly as his eyes become bright and his shoulders hunch inward. “Me too,” he croaks, lowering his head to the table and falling silent.

As soon as the interrogation room door shuts behind Draco, he whirls on Lavender, seething. “You said he told you he didn’t complete the ritual, you f*cking liar!” he snarls.

Lavender flinches but doesn’t recoil from him. “There was no need to worry you about a failed first attempt. You still have Fidelius—”

“Don’t talk to me about that f*cking charm. There’s only one known magical house in Islington, and Antonov is a Pureblood. He might not be able to enter, but he'll know all about the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black! How can you be so irresponsible? I’m your bloody partner. You’re supposed to be transparent with me, not hide things because you think it serves some sort of higher moral purpose of sparing my f*cking feelings. By keeping that information from me, you’ve risked the lives of the people I care about. Now get out of my way,” he says coldly, attempting to move around her.

Lavender steps to the side to block him, arms crossed and a furious expression on her face. “Do you honestly think, for even a second, that I would put any of you in harm's way, Draco? I didn’t tell you because your responding behaviour could risk this entire operation! When Aurors act out of anger, hate, or vengeance, they die, or the people around them die.”

Draco’s lip curls with disdain. “Oh, f*ck right off, I’m hardly a threat to this operation! I’m the only one gathering useful intel to close the case, and you’re the one withholding it! Who knows what else you’re keeping from me, from Robards!”

“How dare you! And you did this department no favours in there, Draco! His confession will never hold up in front of the Wizengamot.”

“You don’t say,” Draco spits, sidestepping her finally.

Lavender’s hand darts out to grab his elbow, forcefully tugging him back. “I’m serious, Draco! He was out of his mind from withdrawal, and your interrogation technique was deceitful and obscenely manipulative. Any solicitor worth his salt will get his confession thrown out.”

“What makes you think that’s not exactly what I intended?” he snaps at her. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I don’t think he’s a bad person, just someone who’s made some f*cking terrible decisions. He doesn’t need to go to Azkaban for being sick with addiction; he needs help.”

Lavender laughs, low and cruel, and she briefly covers her mouth. “Oh. Oh, you foolish man. D’you think that little act of mercy at the end of your f*cking brutal interrogation absolves you? You emotionally broke that man! Do you think that’s okay?” Lavender shoots back in disbelief. Furious, Draco steps up to her, looming and imposing, as he stares her down. Lavender bares her teeth, a growl escaping her and eyes flashing, that eerie ring of gold reappearing around her pupils.

“Who’s side are you on? I’m doing what I have to do to save my child from a monster hellbent on selling her and killing a bunch of innocent people with deadly potions. So yes, I broke him down emotionally and then pieced him back together because that’s what needed to be done.” Draco shoves the list of distribution centres against Lavender’s chest. “Now you do your f*cking job.”

She snatches the parchment before it flutters to the ground. “f*ck you, Draco! You have no idea the sacrifices I’ve made, the heartache and utter chaos this entire operation has been for me! The pain of—”

Tired of the conversation, Draco nudges her aside with his elbow to storm off down the corridor. “Go wax poetic to someone who cares!” he shouts over his shoulder before rounding the corner for the lifts.

He has a cemetery to visit.

Draco Apparates directly into the rural English churchyard, having Disillusioned himself prior to making the jump. The cemetery is quiet and empty, a thick haze of fog hanging low across the expanse of the sprawling gravesite. Laura Forrester Montague’s tombstone is a beautiful black granite with diamond engraving: In Loving Memory of a Beloved Wife, Daughter, and Friend.

Just as Montague had described, a short, wide marble planter sat beside the tombstone, its rim adorned with long-stemmed sunflowers that were gently sagging. Draco carefully lifts the pot, revealing a dirt-covered manilla folder tucked underneath. He removes it, setting the pot back down. With a quick glance around, he pulls his wand out and charms the flowers back to life, filling the pot to the brim with more sunflowers, daisies, tulips, and lilies before placing a permanence charm over them. Draco opens the folder. He finds the map Montague copied from Antonov’s office, recognising the coordinates as the same ones he jotted down in the interrogation room.

Draco then notices the stack of photographs. Some of them are blurry as if the person taking them didn’t have a steady hand. But the ones that are clear make Draco’s blood run cold as he flips through them.

There are photos of Terry Boot, dressed in casual Muggle clothes, walking into what looks like abandoned warehouses.

And photos of Terry Boot walking out, ducking behind buildings and shifting into Lavender Brown.

Draco drops the file. His hands are shaking as hard as his thudding heart is racing in his chest, his mind trying to make sense of what he’s seeing in these images. It’s then that Montague’s pained words fill Draco’s head, clarifying everything.

“But I know her. I do,” Montague had whispered. “I’ve seen her change. Right before my eyes. Not the potion. She’s real. She’s real to you and me. I had to make sure,” Montague had babbled, his breathing laboured. “I have proof. I do.”

Draco drops to his knees, his stomach churning dangerously. The photos spill out in front of him, each showing Terry Boot entering different locations and emerging from the buildings to find a secluded spot to shift into Lavender. Montague must have been stalking her to capture these images, trying to prove to himself that what he was seeing was real and not a delusion.

For a moment, Draco entertains the idea that this is still Terry, that perhaps he was framing Lavender—after all, they did have a rather tumultuous sexual relationship. Draco checks the back of the photographs and finds the dates printed on the back. The images date back to Terry’s desk duty when he had absolutely zero details on the case. Draco rationalises that not only would it have been impossible for Terry to be in two places at once, but Draco saw Terry almost every day, sitting at his desk right outside Robards’ office, offering to grab coffee or tea for everyone. No. Draco feels this in his gut, and he knows it to be true.

Terry wasn’t the Ministry mole.

It was Lavender.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

None of it makes sense.

Draco’s hands are numb as he tries to gather up the photos, but the task feels impossible. His vision blurs as his head spins, and he struggles to breathe. His mind races as he tries to process Lavender’s betrayal. It didn’t make sense: Lavender joining Antonov’s team as a mole. She had fought Robards tooth and nail to protect Lena, and her hatred for Antonov was palpable.

But Draco takes a moment and recalls how sickly and exhausted Lavender has been lately, the resentment she has for Robards, the Wizengamot, and the overall lack of empathy at the core of the Ministry’s procedures and policies. And didn’t Lena’s letter say the Ministry Dog helped her, finding that they were unable to stomach Antonov’s cruelty? Lavender entered into a situation and found she didn't have the stomach for it, and multiple people lost their lives over it.

Shaking off his dismay is like swimming through mud, and after several fortifying breaths, Draco gathers the incriminating photos and stuffs them into the inner pocket of his robe, his thoughts now consumed with the urgency to reach Grimmauld Place and make sure Harry and Dani are safe. Draco clambers to his feet and turns on his heel, Disapparating immediately to the front of Grimmauld Place.

Draco races up the stairs, the house sensing his urgency and swinging open the front door before he even reaches the landing. He freezes as he crosses the threshold into the darkened foyer. The air around him feels thick with tension, making it hard to breathe, and he notices why immediately.

The wards have fallen.

Draco immediately Disillusions himself and aims a Muffliato at his feet, keeping his wand at the ready and his back to the wall as he moves cautiously, his every nerve on edge navigating the still silence of the house. He’s nearing the sitting room when he steps on something.

It’s a toy. One of Dani’s favourite dolls, now broken.

Draco’s instincts drive him to his inner left wrist, pressing down on the heartline. It's a move born out of his desperation, a need to confirm Dani's safety that hits him like a bolt of lightning. The familiar sound of her heartbeat, strong and steady, fills his ears, flooding him with relief. She's alive.

But beneath Dani’s steady heartbeat, Draco senses something else—lingering stress and fear. His child is scared, and the reality of that grips his heart like a vice, squeezing tight until Draco stumbles against the wall. His eyes begin to sting, a physical ache growing in his chest as he feels helpless, unable to help his child, and unsure of Harry’s wellbeing. A deep, gnawing ache settled in his stomach at the mere thought of losing Harry. He imagines a world without his infectious laughter, comforting touches, and sweet kisses and can’t stand it. Imagining a life without his child and the love of his life pierces through his very soul, a pain so profound that he has to cover his mouth to muffle his anguished cry.

Every second counts.

Draco draws in a breath. Then exhales.

Every second counts, he tells himself again.

It’s the first thing he was told in Auror training. Swift action is a must; every second counts. Even with his worst fears confirmed, Draco was further risking Dani and Harry’s safety with every second wasted by allowing his emotions to overwhelm him. He shakes his head, chastising himself—five months out of the field shouldn’t have him acting this green. He needs to keep his head on straight.

Taking another deep breath, he pushes aside his turmoil to focus on properly analysing and securing the scene.

“Homenum Revelio!” he says quietly. His eyes narrow as a marker appears before him, leading him into the sitting room. Once there, he notices that several of the sconces are burned out; an eerie glow is cast across the room from the waning sunlight pouring through the windows and the shadows cast by the remaining flickering sconces. His eyes adjust to the poor lighting.

A scene of utter destruction greets him.

The furniture is overturned, shelves are scattered, and the walls are scorched and cracked from spell damage. A chill runs up Draco’s spine as he registers the streaks of blood on the walls as well. Dani’s baby toys and books are scattered across the floor, some broken and others charred. A wave of nausea rolls through him as he takes in the violence haunting the room.

The marker lingers by the fireplace. The hair on the back of his neck stands erect as his eyes come to rest on what appears to be a figure lying motionless on the floor, a cloak thrown over its body and half-hidden in the darkness.

No, no, no…Harry, no, Draco’s mind pleads. He approaches the incapacitated figure, his wand held in a combative position. He kneels beside the crumpled body and tugs the thick cloak off.

Shocked, Draco sobs.

It isn’t Harry.

It’s his Mother, her face bruised and bloodied.

“Mother!” Draco shouts, placing a hand on her shoulder to shake her. When she remains still, he presses two of his fingers against her cold neck and feels her heartbeat. He doesn’t spare another moment to think before he casts.

“Enervate!”

His mother gasps awake, her eyes flying open, a pained moan slipping from her, followed by several terrible, broken whimpers as she kicks, scratches, and punches him away from her.

When her fist meets the underside of his jaw, Draco grabs a hold of her wrists before she can break his nose next, holding her steady as he rushes to calm her. “Mum, Mum! It’s me. It’s–it’s Draco,” he says. She stiffens against him, and he releases her wrists to cancel the Disillusionment charm quickly.

The fight leaves his Mother, then, and she grows slack against him as she breaks down into tears. Draco pulls her small body closer so she can better see his face.

“Draco?” she sobs. There’s a maelstrom of emotions flashing in her eyes—confusion, fear, anger, and pain—as her bloody lower lip trembles. Her hand reaches up to grasp the front of Draco’s robe, and he helps her as she pulls herself up into a sitting position, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck as she continues to cry against his chest.

“Who did this to you?” he asks gruffly, blinking rapidly at his Mother’s sobs. She pulls back and shakes her head as if trying to clear it.

Draco takes the opportunity to look over his Mother’s injuries. She has a terrible purple bruise blossoming around her right eye, a bleeding gash across her forehead that’s dripping into her eyes, and her lip is split and bleeding. A raw, keening sound escapes him as he notices her torn white silk blouse and mottled bruises around her neck and across her chest that disappear beyond her bra and the ripped fabric. A white-hot rage clouds Draco’s mind, blanking out all further thought as he reaches out to close her blouse before continuing to check her over. There are streaks of soot and blood in her hair, but the rest of her seems untouched.

“Tell me,” he urges, his finger grazing the bruises on her neck. “Did they hurt you anywhere else?” he asks carefully as he begins to heal her to the best of his abilities.

His mother shakes her head hard. “No. And I didn’t recognise them. There were four men who grabbed me,” she said, touching her neck and clearing her throat, her voice growing stronger. “I…I was making my way to Imogen Rowle’s birthday soiree in Diagon Alley. They brought me to what looked like an abandoned warehouse and demanded that I take them to you, and when I refused, they used Crucio and beat me,” Mother’s voice hitches, her hands now gripping Draco’s shoulders. “When I continued to refuse, one of the men shoved his wand in my face, and—and that’s when things became hazy. I knew what it was. They Imperiused me, and I tried, Draco. I tried so hard to fight it. I brought them here…and Harry was here with a baby. He tried to fight them off, and then I fainted, or someone Stunned me.”

Draco swallows thickly. “Was…was Harry alive before you—”

Mother’s face crumples. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Draco. I’m so, so sorry—”

It takes every ounce of Draco’s willpower to remain present, the room feeling as if it’s closing in on him as rage burns through his entire body. This was his fault. He’s been so limited in his interactions with his parents the last several months that it didn’t even occur to him that he should have warned them about the possibility of being targeted by the people trying to hurt him. He wraps his mother in a tight hug. “It’s okay. This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. I should have—I should have warned you that there was a threat to the family. I’m sorry.”

Mother pulls away, her hands going to his face as she looks him over. “Are you hurt? Have they hurt you?”

“No,” he whispers, covering her hands with his. “Can you stand?”

“Draco, whose baby—” she accepts his help to stand.

Draco tamps down on his guilt. “It’s a long story, and when I get her and Harry back, I’ll tell you and Father everything.”

Draco searches the fireplace mantel for the jar of Floo powder. He uses his wand to light the fireplace and throws the Floo powder in. “Go to St. Mungo’s. You’ll be safe there. I’m going to call for backup, and then I’m going to find Harry and the baby.”

Mother’s eyes brighten with tears. “I’m not going to leave you here; you have to come with me,” she says, an edge of desperation in her voice.

Draco shakes his head. “Mum. Please, listen to me. Go to St. Mungo’s so they can fully heal you, and have them contact Father so he joins you there. I need to make sure you’re both safe. I’ll make sure there are Aurors to protect you. I can’t risk you being here in case they come back.”

Mother seems to waver a moment longer before she throws her arms around him. “Please be careful, Draco.”

When his mother is whisked away, he begins to work on his immediate tasks: issuing a Code Red to the team for backup and casting the appropriate spells to secure the crime scene.

Draco struggles to summon a happy memory but, on his third try, is able to conjure a corporeal Juniper. “Alert Robards. Grimmauld Place is under Code Red. Wards breached. Possible kidnapping of Danica and Harry. Auror Brown is untrustworthy. Immediate deployment of forces required,” Draco says urgently, keeping his voice steady. He watches as Juniper hurries out of the sitting room to relay the message. Draco then casts an altered version of Protego, creating a protective barrier around the sitting room to preserve the crime scene. He hesitates for a moment before casting the next spell. Closing his eyes briefly, he prays to any and all of the Gods for mercy before casting a blood-identifying spell, the name of the blood’s owner appearing in the air like the result of a Flagrate. The spell confirms his worst fear: the blood belongs to Harry J. Potter. As much as it pains him to see Harry’s name lingering above the blood splatters on the wall, Draco keeps the spell up, adding it under the protective barrier.

Draco touches the heartline again, Dani’s heartbeat still strong, and her fear still overwhelming. He’s so focused on the tendrils of anxiety his child is feeling that he doesn’t immediately register the tip of a wand pressing into his back until a voice interrupts him.

“Drop your f*cking wand, now,” says a chilling voice, jabbing the tip into him.

The voice is one he recognises. He’s heard it almost every day for the last two years.

Lavender.

“I said drop it and put your hands above your head,” she growls.

Draco carefully places the wand on the floor, straightening back up with his hands held high, palms facing up. Lavender kicks his wand out of his reach.

“Don’t move, or I’ll send a Bombarda straight to your f*cking head.”

“How dare you,” Draco spits, full of vitriol. “You f*cking piece of sh*t. How could you do this to me…to my f*cking family?”

A silence falls over the room. The pressure in his back from the wand tip eases. “What was the last meal Draco Malfoy offered Lavender Brown?”

Draco’s mind scrambles for the answer. “Ron Weasley’s spag bol.”

The wand tip disappears completely. “Turn around slowly.”

Draco does as told, his hands still in the air. Lavender’s eyes fill with concern.

“Draco, I’m sorry. I had to make sure—”

He doesn’t let her finish, his hand darting out to grip Lavender’s wrist, twisting it back so hard he hears a pop. She screams out in pain and drops her wand, and Draco uses the distraction to flick his wrist and summon his wand, snatching it out of the air and training it on Lavender. She’s doubled over, cradling her wrist as she gasps through her pain.

“You f*cking idiot—”

“Don’t move!” he bellows, summoning her wand to him and pocketing it. Lavender glares up at him, slowly straightening to her full height, her face darkening with anger. “Tit for tat, am I right?” he spits. “Robards and the team will be here any minute. It’s over for you, Lavender. I know you’re the Ministry mole,” he says, unable to keep the hurt from his voice.

Lavender flinches, her mouth sliding open in shock. “Draco, no. You don’t understand! I’m not a mole!”

Draco laughs hollowly, his wand trained on the centre of Lavender’s chest. “Oh, I understand completely. You were driven by greed and possibly jealousy. You always felt insecure about Robards treatment of you, and you thought you’d make a quick buck while saying a big f*ck you to the DMLE!”

She shakes her head. “That’s not true, Draco. You know me; you know me more than anyone else. I want to explain everything to you, but we don’t have enough time if you called—”

Draco recognises his error a moment too late as several terrible, terrible things happen at once.

The sound of multiple Apparitions rings out, and a voice from the foyer calls out, “Auror Malfoy! Make yourself known!”

Draco begins to turn towards the entrance to respond with the correct Code Red response when the Floo flares to life. Ron steps out, looking around the destroyed room with wild eyes, shouting, “What the bloody hell happened in here?”

And finally, Lavender darts forward with inhuman speed, leaping onto Draco’s back. Her arm wraps around his neck, the other pressing against the back of his head as she applies brutal pressure to his carotid arteries. Draco tries to throw her off, flinging himself backwards against the nearest wall, but he’s struggling to breathe. He barely notices when Ron charges towards him, his hands tugging at Lavender’s arm.

There’s a lurching tug behind Draco’s navel and he can hear Ron’s frustrated scream. The last thing he thinks before he loses consciousness is that he knows better than to expose his back to an enemy.

When Draco regains consciousness, he’s sitting with his arms and legs tied to a chair.

“Oh, good. You’re awake, too,” Lavender says, swooping into his line of vision.

Draco blinks rapidly in the low light and groans, his head still groggy. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere safe,” she answers.

“The hell we are!” snarls a voice.

Draco’s head snaps to the right of him, and he gasps. Ron is sitting beside him, also bound to a chair. His freckles stand out like ink spots on a sheet of paper, stark against his fear-induced complexion. “Are you alright?” Draco croaks. His vision finally adjusts to the lighting, and he realises they’re in a small, cramped room he doesn’t recognise.

Ron’s eyes cut to Draco quickly before returning to Lavender. “She could’ve splinched us,” he says, a hint of a tremble in his voice. Draco has heard the story about Ron nearly bleeding to death from a splinching accident during the war and feels another surge of anger towards Lavender. “And she refuses to tell me why we’re here, why she attacked you, or what the hell happened to our sitting room.”

Draco keeps his voice calm and even, and says, “Antonov has Dani and Harry.”

Ron gasps and suddenly looks as if he’s about to vomit. “No…we’re–we’re under Fidelius. Harry and I know not to travel beyond the area with Dani…we’re always careful; there’s no way—”

Draco continues, his throat feeling tight. “The men who took them Imperiused my Mother to enter Grimmauld Place, and…Lavender is the Ministry mole.”

Ron splutters. “What? You’re the Ministry Dog? You— you betrayed us?” he spits, straining against his binds, his face reddening.

Draco stares Lavender down. “If you ever gave a single f*ck about me, Dani, or Harry, you’ll let us go so we can save them.”

Lavender suddenly looks troubled but continues to ignore them as she begins searching Draco’s pockets.

Ron pleads with her, “You can’t be serious, Lav. This is mad! Whatever the hell you were promised for betraying us isn’t worth it. Nothing is worth the lives of innocent people: people who trusted and befriended you. You need to let us go…you don’t want to have blood on your hands.”

Lavender finally finds her wand, and her hand brushes against Montague’s manilla folder. She glances at Draco with curiosity as she slips her hand into the inner pocket of his robe to pull the folder free, straightening up and flipping through the images.

She visibly blanches.

“Well, I can see why you think I’m the villain here,” she says, eventually.

“I’m pretty sure it has to do with you threatening me with harm, abducting me in the middle of an urgent rescue mission, and cutting off the circulation of blood to my brain to lure me to an abandoned broom cupboard to kill Ron and I,” Draco drawls.

Lavender sighs. “You’ve always been a drama queen, Draco. It’s cute sometimes, but right now, I can do without your lip. This is why you’re tied up. I need you to actually listen and not try to break my wrist again.” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose as she growls, frustrated. It appears she had the opportunity to heal herself. “Antonov is a monster, but he’s also a greedy monster. I wasn’t exactly lying to you when I told you he’s waiting for the highest bidder to sell Dani to. He’s not going to hurt a single hair on her head if he wants his payout.”

“Sell?” Ron asks, panic flashing across his face as he whips his head over to Draco. “What is she on about?”

Exasperated, Lavender crosses her arms. “Antonov is auctioning Dani off to the highest bidder, Ron. She’s a hot commodity as a magical child that can be moulded into whatever anyone wants,” she says.

Ron suddenly looks green. “You can live with that on your conscience? You’ll have to if you don’t let us go.”

“If you’d listen to me, you’d hear my plan to get her back,” Lavender says impatiently.

“And what about Harry? Do you honestly think Antonov will spare Harry’s life?” Draco snaps.

Lavender grimaces. “I can’t speculate on what Antonov might do to Harry. He’s no Death Eater, but he’s also not a paragon of virtue. Killing Harry wouldn’t be personal; it would be because he’s in the way. However, if we go off Antonov’s M.O. and profile, he’ll likely try to profit from Harry. A ransom or selling him to an actual Death Eater are possibilities.” Lavender glances at her watch. “Antonov won’t make a move until the auction for Dani starts tonight in a few hours, precisely at 22:00. We still have time to resolve things between us.”

“Sod off!” Ron swears, rocking back in his chair. “You’re off your rocker! No one wants to sit here and listen to this rubbish while Harry and Dani are held captive by a madman.”

Draco speaks up. “Every second counts, or did the Belgians not drill that into their Aurors’ heads? Ron’s right! You’re wasting time and risking Dani and Harry’s lives. Your incompetence does nothing to reassure us of their safety or your innocence!”

Lavender calmly explores the area around her, discovering a small wooden box of tools. With a flick of her wand, she transforms it into a stool and settles herself upon it, crossing her legs elegantly. She runs a hand through her hair and sighs softly before responding. “I already told you both. Antonov won’t make a move until the auction starts.”

“Merlin, you’re as daft as you were at Hogwarts, d’you know that?” Ron says cruelly. At this, Lavender scowls, baring her teeth and gripping her wand tightly.

Draco strains against his binds. “If you’re not a bloody mole, how do you know any of this?” he questions.

Lavender drags her eyes away from Ron and holds up the folder. “Never trust a junkie as a middleman.”

Draco shakes his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Draco. I’m a double agent for Brussels and the ICW,” Lavender reveals.

Draco scoffs in disbelief and says, “f*ck off!” at the same time that Ron hisses, “You backstabbing sociopath!”

Lavender shoots another glare at Ron. “I’m reminded of all the very real reasons why I ended up despising you at the end of our relationship.”

Ron lets out a huff. “Oi? Well, the feeling’s mutual.”

Sneering, Lavender turns her attention back to Draco. “Think about it. I was happily living my life in Belgium. Do you really think I wanted to return to the world where I was traumatised and turned into a werewolf? I was the Executive Director of Brussels’ Survivor Care Unit. I was happy there, working with other survivors of various traumas in helping them reclaim some semblance of normalcy and safety in their lives. Then Lena came along.”

Draco's brows furrow. “She was a part of your program?”

Lavender nods. “She was fourteen years old when she was placed in it, and I immediately grew attached to her. For over two years, I oversaw her rigorous deprogramming, which was centred on rebuilding trust, empathy, and everyday living so she could eventually function in the real world. I saw her blossom into a young woman ready and eager to live a happy, civilian life. Everything was fine until I was approached by the Head of the Belgian Federal Auror Department, Pierre Janssens, about Lena. He knew her history and asked if she could handle an espionage mission for Belgium and the ICW to tackle Antonov’s growing network throughout Europe.

“I immediately said no. She had just moved into shared housing with another young woman in the program, working a part-time job at a clothing boutique, and was making friends with her coworkers! I told them that sending her back into the underbelly of the crime world would jeopardise her progress, but I was outvoted by Belgium’s Prime Minister of Magic, BFAD Head, and the Head of the ICW. I figured if I couldn’t beat them, then I sure as f*ck was going to join them to protect Lena’s interests. They agreed to let me be her handler, and I followed her to London to help her succeed in dismantling Antonov’s crime syndicate.”

Draco thinks back on Lena’s criminal report. There was documentation that Lena was feeding information to a handler on her rise in Antonov’s ranks, as well as receiving approval from this person on eliminating Antonov’s partner, Jakob Ramsey, to keep her cover as a double agent secured.

Ron scoffs. “Well, your actions clearly prove that handlers with emotional ties to their subjects shouldn’t be bloody handlers!” he says.

Lavender points her wand at Ron’s face. “One more word out of you, and I’ll seal your lips shut. You have no f*cking clue what you’re talking about, and I’m tired of your running commentary. Shut up or feel the end of my wand.”

Draco turns his head to look at him. “Ron,” he warns, his heartbeat ticking painfully in his chest as a spike of fear shoots through him. “I don’t want her to hurt you.” Ron’s blue eyes are lit with a fire, but he falls silent.

“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted...my team in Brussels easily convinced the British Ministry to hire me under the guise of developing a new Survivor Care Unit in England. It is a huge success in Brussels, after all. The British DMLE has a reputation of being quite sh*te, to be honest. Robards is widely known as a difficult person to work with, the Wizengamot is a laughing joke, and their government policies and procedures are riddled with corruption and greed. The ICW knew that leaving the DMLE in charge of taking down Antonov would’ve had dire consequences internationally, so they used Lena and me to help guide the investigation. That being said, I didn’t think Robards would be that big of a dick on every bloody suggestion I made. Regardless of his stubbornness, Lena was doing well. We set up dead drops around the city to exchange information. I regularly continued her mental health counselling, and she was close to gathering all of the locations to Antonov’s distribution centres. Until she became pregnant.”

Lavender suddenly covers her face with her hands. When she finally lowers them, there’s a haunted look in her eyes. “It made me sick to my stomach knowing that Antonov wanted a sexual relationship with her, but Lena said there was no way for her to avoid his advances and still get close to him for information. The pregnancy was incredibly rough on her. She was sick all the time. As she entered her third trimester, she couldn’t make the drops anymore; she couldn’t do much of anything because she was so ill, and Antonov watched her like a hawk, thinking she was carrying a son.

“You have to understand, Draco. I loved her very, very much. She was unlike any other person I’ve ever had the pleasure of helping through my program. Her desire to be more than what people made her into was so inspiring. I understood her. Her drive reminded me a bit of myself right after the war. People at Hogwarts put me in a box—ditzy, flirty, unserious-wanna-be-mystic Lavender Brown. I no longer wanted to be what people made me, either. But she was much stronger than me, obviously, and wicked smart and funny! I wanted her to have her happy ending after this f*cked up mission. I wanted her to come back to Brussels with me afterwards and return to our community and support systems. So, I made the decision to shoulder some of her burdens in this mission—I infiltrated the ring.”

Draco’s jaw tightens. “Using Terry’s face!” he spits out.

Ron looks distraught. “What the hell does that mean? Wait, no. I don’t think I can handle any more of these information bombs!”

Ignoring Ron’s outburst, Lavender slowly nods before succumbing to sobs once more. After a few moments, she gathers herself, her eyes red-rimmed and face tear-streaked. “I was so desperate to help her, I didn’t think; I simply acted! I had been seeing Terry on and off for a shag when he was injured in the field and put on desk duty. I reviewed his files until I could recite them verbatim. He really was a decent, honest guy. I knew he had zero knowledge of the Electric Candy case, and he wasn’t really publicly known as an Auror. He wasn’t very popular. He lived alone, didn’t have many friends, and didn’t have any family in the UK. His parents were deceased, and he had an uncle somewhere in the States, so I figured there wouldn’t be a risk of Antonov threatening family members to manipulate him as his mole in the Ministry. I stole some of his hair one night for polyjuice potion and, for several months, infiltrated Antonov’s ring as Terry. Without Terry, this case would’ve failed long ago, and Dani would either be dead or already auctioned off. When Terry was killed, I had to bribe someone already within the ring to provide me with the most updated information. That’s how Montague came into the picture. I didn’t know he was f*cking following me, probably to have some collateral on me or to blackmail me later. Still, he was able to get the list of distribution centres and provided me intel on the auction for Dani before I pulled him out for his own safety under the guise of arresting him.”

Draco’s mind goes reeling as the pieces begin to come together. He thinks of his interrogation with Montague. How he had said promises had been made to him. “That’s what you meant by never trusting an addict? You used a vulnerable person as your middleman. And you promised him he’d get a deal on the potions possession charge if he worked for you, am I right?”

“Yes. I did what I had to do to continue to gather intel,” Lavender says dispassionately.

Draco feels a wave of disgust and anger rising within him. This person sitting in front of him, this Lavender, is a stranger to him. He realises that the playful and hardworking woman he once knew is long gone, replaced by someone willing to manipulate and betray others for the sake of her mission. The truth leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Ron speaks up. “So, let me get this straight— you purposely found perfect throwaways as your targets. Terry was a bit of an unpopular loner, and Montague is a potions addict, so their lives were expendable. Got it. That’s rather big of you,” he ends sarcastically.

“No!” Lavender cries. “I will never forgive myself for what happened to Terry! Regardless of how much I bitched about him, I truly liked him. I thought he was someone I could one day fall in love with after all of this sh*te was over. I tried to keep him safe. I didn’t know Robards had asked Terry to join the Canary Wharf raid until it was too late. Someone from Antonov’s team must’ve seen Terry fighting, thought he betrayed them, and put a tracker on him in the middle of the confusion. I swear to Merlin, I never wanted him to get hurt. And…and Montague was on his way to killing himself! I gave him the option of doing something meaningful for once!” she says, sobbing again.

“f*ck you!” Draco roars. “For all your bloody talk about supporting victims, you sure as hell failed one! The man was a world-renowned Blood Magic specialist who saved people with his knowledge. He lost his wife and turned to potions to numb his pain. He’s a human being you put in a cell to dangerously go through detox without medical assistance.”

Ron shakes his head, a disappointed look on his face. “Merlin, Lavender. It sounds like you’re a bloody pox to everyone that has the misfortune of crossing paths with you.”

Lavender flinches, her shoulders curving forward as she cries harder. “That’s not— I wasn’t— I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Draco wants everything to stop, suddenly feeling sick. The more Lavender peels back the layers of her duplicitousness, the more Draco wants to wrap his fingers around her throat and squeeze. People are dead. A mission is in jeopardy of capsizing. His mother was brutally attacked. His daughter and the love of his life are still in grave danger, and he’s stuck here, listening to her f*cked up reasoning, apologies, and bullsh*te tears.

And he needs to know one thing for certain.

“Why me?”

Lavender wipes at her eyes, sniffling. “Oh,” she said gruffly. “Lena kept saying she wasn’t going to live, that it wasn’t in the cards for someone like her. She started obsessing over finding a way to get the baby away from Antonov. I couldn’t take the baby. I wanted to, but I couldn’t take care of a baby and still manage the Ministry, Brussels, and ICW intel. I promised her I’d find the baby a good home, and then I realised how much you both look alike, so much so that you could be siblings. You’re all cold and hard on the outside, but on the inside, Draco, you’re a gentle, amazing person, and I knew you’d be an amazing father. I showed Lena your picture, and she agreed to choose you, already knowing about your family. That’s why she was so enamoured with you when you interrogated her. She thought because of your upbringing and who you are now, that you’d teach Dani how to be a good person, no matter her or her mother’s history. She said in her soul she knew you would do right by her daughter. So I helped her write that letter to you, and she researched ways to provide protection as well as relinquish any magical maternal ties to the baby.

“When Lena finally gave birth, we had to act quickly. As you know, Neemy was a Hogwarts house-elf that the Ministry recruited to help me with the Survivor Care Unit. I asked Neemy to help protect the baby by hiding her at Hogwarts until I called for her. When she saw you leave the Ministry the night the safe house was attacked, she left Dani at the doorstep of Grimmauld Place before you arrived home. Otherwise, she would have Apparated into your home in the middle of the night to leave her. I’ve since sent Neemy to Brussels. Robards was like a rabid dog with a bone about her, so I couldn’t risk her returning to Hogwarts or, worse, being seen associating with me. She’s a free elf and would have been compelled to tell the truth about me if interrogated by Robards.

“And I was right to suggest you as Dani’s new guardian, Draco. You’re amazing with her and provided her with a loving home. You must understand. I had to do what I thought was necessary to protect the baby, the integrity of the case, and my role in it.”

Ron’s mouth is slightly open in astonishment as he bursts out, “f*cking hell, d’you hear yourself? You sound delusional! All of this chaos is your bloody fault! The only good thing to come out of it is Dani, and you’ve f*cked that up too now.”

Draco can’t agree more, and he studies Lavender’s face, trying to find the madness that surely exists inside her. “I don’t care if you thought you were doing the right thing or were forced to make unimaginable decisions for the greater good. You have completely manipulated your colleagues and this case, meddled with my f*cking life, and have now put my entire family in danger. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now and turn your lifeless body over to Robards and the department you f*cking hate so much!”

Lavender’s expression is contrite as she says, “I have immunity to conduct my role as I see fit, granted by the ICW and Brussels. I understand you believe my role in this situation is untenable, but I believe, deep down, that you would’ve done the exact same thing for the people you care about and a mission you believe in. It’s why I finally brought you here: to tell you the truth and to help you get Dani and Harry back.”

Draco glares at her. “I’m nothing like you. And I don’t want anything to do with you ever again. If you really care about helping me, you’ll let Ron go and then tell me where Antonov will be tonight so I can bring the team there to take Antonov down.”

“Tell him, Lavender. You don’t want more blood on your hands,” Ron adds.

Lavender swipes at her eyes once more. “You don’t understand. I’ve been following this case longer than you and the DMLE have. This is bigger than what you, Robards, and the entire British Ministry of Magic can possibly imagine. Antonov has monopolised over seventy-five percent of the underground criminal syndicate in Europe. The British only care about themselves. Electric Candy hit the streets of London a year ago, and suddenly Antonov is their Undesirable No. 1— but oh, let’s ignore the fact that the Wizengamot and Ministry as a whole have been aware of Antonov’s growing power for the last decade! So, no. I’m not delusional, nor am I ashamed to admit that I don’t trust Robards and his team of corrupt merrymen. I will be present when Antonov is brought down, and it will no longer include the help of the DMLE or Wizengamot.”

Draco’s lip curls. “Robards was right— Brussels and the ICW really were sticking their noses in matters of the DMLE just to snatch the case from us after we put in all the money and work.”

Lavender bristles. “You’re still not getting it. This case was never meant for the DMLE long-term. Your team is a sort of pawn in this international game of chess we’re all playing against Antonov. We only needed the DMLE to provide me with a cover and help protect Lena once her cover was inadvertently blown. Brussels and the ICW jurisdiction would continue tracking Antonov on British soil with Lena’s help. Nothing more. But that being said, you’ve worked this case beautifully, and if I thought you’d agree to it, I’d recruit you for my Brussels team in a heartbeat.”

“I’d rather eat sh*te, traitor,” Draco says vehemently.

“Don’t tempt him— he’s seen a lot of scary nappies lately,” Ron says.

Lavender presses the heel of her palm to the middle of her forehead as if she’s staving off a headache. “Look. The only way we’re going to get Dani and Harry back is if you and I work together, Draco. I don’t know why Ron is here in the first place, so I’m happy to send him back.”

Ron scoffs. “I caught you choking out Draco, tried to stop you, and then you f*cking Disapparated with an unconscious person and an unwilling traveller. That’s why I’m here.” Ron says slowly as if he’s speaking to a child. He then narrows his eyes. “And I gotta remind you that you could’ve killed all three of us with that Side-Along. You could’ve sent me back the moment we got to this cupboard, but instead, you Disarmed me and tied me up. No one is feeling sorry for you right now.”

“Oh my God, will you shut the f*ck up already?” Lavender explodes, throwing her hands in the air.

Ron grins, looking sardonically amused. “You made your bed; now you’re going to lay in it, Lavender. You had the chance to do the right thing a long time ago, but you chose to betray us instead. And you continue to betray us with every minute that passes with us tied up here.”

Lavender runs a hand through her curls. “No one is leaving just yet,” she says, frustrated. “I promise you, we can get them back if we work from the inside out. I’m all you’ve got now in saving them. If you choose to go in with the full force of the Ministry, they will kill everyone and run. That is Antonov’s style when he’s backed into a corner.”

Draco’s chest tightens. He knows what she’s said is not an exaggeration. Antonov is volatile enough to take everyone around him out if he thinks he’s going down. Reluctantly, Draco nods, intrigued by what Lavender has to say. “If you truly believe you have a handle on this situation, why don’t you walk me through your proposed course of action?”

Lavender crosses her arms. “Antonov has been creating all kinds of buzz on the muggle Dark Web and Black Market for Dani over the last 24 hours. Brussels follows all the channels— muggle, magical, sentient creatures— unlike the DMLE. Antonov is gearing up to say a big f*ck you to the Statute of Secrecy by inviting muggle criminals to his Auction soiree tonight. In order to receive an invitation, you have to have a buy-in of one million galleons or five million pounds. And to get a seat at the table of live items, you need to pay three times as much as that, so we’re looking at an intimate gathering for the main attraction. My team has created a fake profile and provided the funds and two identities to enter the auction as bidders for live items. We will get Dani back by offering the highest amount. While I work on securing the bid, you can work the room to figure out any information on Harry’s whereabouts. Once we secure them, my team from Brussels will be at the ready to raid the auction, taking down every sick f*cker in there.”

“How bloody gallant of you,” Ron drawls.

Draco’s heart is racing. It sounds too good to be true, but he doesn’t know how else to plan to get Dani and Harry back to safety that doesn’t include storming the place with the DMLE. “Why should we trust you?” he asks.

Lavender’s eyes soften. “Because despite what you may think of me right now, Draco, I love you. You’re my best friend, my partner, and Dani’s father. I would never, ever hurt you, your daughter, or Harry. Let me prove it to you. Let me help you get your family back.”

Draco purses his lips, desperation and scepticism warring in his mind at Lavender’s words. He exchanges looks with Ron, who gives him a slow nod, his light blue eyes shrewd and calculating. Draco knows Lavender has her own motives in helping him that rest beyond friendship—she’s proven herself to be lethal in her drive to take Antonov down at any cost. Yet, her words still stir a turmoil of emotions within him—she was someone he once trusted implicitly, someone he could honestly say he loved. But it’s shattered now. Nothing will ever be the same between them again. But with Lavender providing this flicker of hope, this chance to get his family back, not trusting her could mean losing them forever. And he’d sooner die than let that happen.

Ultimately, it wasn’t much of a choice but a necessity. No matter the cost.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

When Draco assures Lavender that neither he nor Ron will try to harm her, she cautiously removes their magical binds.

“This doesn’t mean we like you,” Ron murmurs, standing and cracking his back. The top of his head nearly touches the ceiling of the cramped space.

As feeling returns to Draco’s arms and legs, he immediately presses the heartline, closing his eyes in relief as Dani’s strong, melodic heartbeat fills his ears, bringing a peaceful calm that settles over him. Focusing on the sensation, he feels reassured that Dani is asleep. Desperately wishing he could hear Harry’s heartbeat too, Draco fights down a wave of anguish and begins a chant in his head— Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe— until a hand grips his shoulder. When he opens his eyes, Lavender and Ron are watching him with concern.

“Are you alright?” Lavender asks quietly.

Draco jerks away from her. “Don’t touch me! Just let me out of this f*cking makeshift prison of yours.”

Lavender’s expression hardens, and she trains her wand on him. “You two first,” she says, sweeping her other arm towards the door. As they exit what is indeed a broom cupboard, Draco realises that they’re a few paces away from the Hall of Prophecies. The door closes behind them.

“How the hell did you Apparate us into the DoM?” Draco asks in disbelief.

“Perks,” Lavender responds cryptically, turning to face the closed door. She waves her wand in an intricate, complex pattern before knocking twice and reopening the door to what is now a vast, sprawling office.

“Bloody buggering hell!” Ron exclaims.

Shocked, Draco realises that an entire faction of the ICW and the Brussels’ Auror Department is operating within the Department of Mysteries.

As Lavender leads them through the labyrinthine space, she explains, her voice tinged with pride, “We’re quite the hidden gem here! The Department of Mysteries is unique in that it doesn’t answer to the DMLE and maintains a positive relationship with both Brussels and the ICW. Our Bureau of Secrets and Anomalies frequently collaborates with the DoM on special projects. They graciously accommodated our need for space once Brussels intervened in the DMLE’s handling of Antonov’s investigation, given their lack of progress. It’s especially busy tonight as we prepare for the auction raid.”

Draco’s eyes widen as he takes in the sea of people clad in light blue robes adorned with the Brussels’ Auror Department insignia on them-– the Atomium encircled by a ring of intertwining red, yellow, and black colours. There’s a charged, excitable air about the room. Several agents pause to greet Lavender as she moves through the crowd, responding with either a smile or a cheerful wave, wholly in her element.

Ron’s eyes narrow as they pass a small office with agents from the ICW’s International Wizarding Police, recognised by black and white tunic uniforms. “How has this operation remained unnoticed by the Ministry?”

Lavender rolls her eyes. “Could it be that the Ministry is flawed? My team has been stationed here for over a month now. Robards only sees what he wants to, and believe me. You both haven’t even seen the tip of the iceberg yet. The influence the ICW wields here would blow your mind,” she says, her chin raised defiantly.

Draco bristles at her patronising tone and grunts in response, following her into a room filled with what appears to be several muggle television screens, a group of Aurors watching them, and other peculiar gadgets.

“Whoa! This is absolutely wicked!” Ron exclaims excitedly, stepping up to the screen nearest the door.

Lavender gestures towards the same screen, and Draco catches the small flash of a smile on her face before her expression smooths to a neutral one. “Our Bureau of Secrets and Anomalies has adapted various muggle technologies for magical purposes, including televisions and security cameras for CCTV. We’re currently monitoring all the distribution centres, and our appointed house-elves are on site at the auction, setting up cameras as we speak.”

Draco raises a brow, intrigued. “Is house-elf assistance a regular practice?”

Lavender nods. “It’s another one of our innovative initiatives supported by the ICW. Brussels has house-elves on staff to assist Auror teams in areas of stealth and tracking, and the practice is gaining traction across other European Auror departments. They help us gain crucial information on hard-to-reach or dangerous locations, and then we move in to apprehend or neutralise our targets.”

Ron raises both brows. “That’s dead clever,” he says, his tone admiring.

Draco approaches one of the screens being monitored by a woman who seems to be around their age. “Indeed. It is rather Impressive,” he admits.

Ron begins to fiddle with what Draco recognises as a keyboard, causing the image on the screen— an empty alleyway— to zoom in. “This is downright legendary. Can you imagine the increase in case closure rates if the DMLE had something like this?”

Lavender sighs heavily. “I’ve pitched it to Robards, and he seemed interested, but the Wizengamot won’t approve a budget increase for the technology or training.”

Ron hums and continues to press different keys, making the camera move, shift angles, and zoom in and out.

“How do you know what to press?” Draco asks.

Ron shrugs. “Some of the symbols remind me of Harry’s Playstation controller.”

Draco rolls his eyes. Harry hadn’t played with that thing in ages, and Draco had always been wary of the violent images he’d see flashing across the screen while Harry played some game called Call of Duty. Harry claimed playing it was therapeutic.

Draco can’t help but be in awe of the advanced integration of muggle and magical technology and can easily imagine how effective it would be within the Auror department. He isn’t blind to the shortcomings within his department, or Robards for that matter. He holds an optimistic belief that the integrity of his own work, alongside that of like-minded peers, will eventually turn some of the department’s pitfalls around. It’s a long-held dream of his to one day become Head Auror and later on, Head of the DMLE, and so he is determined to make change from the ground up. But faced with the extreme competency of the technology and cohesiveness of the Brussels’ Auror Department, Draco feels aeons away from scratching the surface of their advanced level. Not that he would ever admit that to Lavender, already knowing what Lavender’s haughty response would be.

Lavender checks her watch. “eighty-one minutes until tea time,” she announces. Draco shoots her a puzzled look. She smiles and explains, “It’s our little code word for the raid.”

Just then, a black, handheld-sized box emits a hissing sound reminiscent of static. The woman in front of Draco picks it up, presses a button on its side, and speaks into it. “10-1, unable to copy.”

A small, high-pitched voice responds, “Ah, 10-14, we’re secured here. Prepare for connection. Over.”

The woman acknowledges the voice with, “Roger. Wilco. Standby.” She then turns to Lavender and asks, “Are you ready?”

Lavender’s expression turns solemn as she nods. Draco tenses beside her, sensing that something significant is about to happen.

Pressing the button again, the woman says, “10-6. Please begin the video feed. Out.” She sets the black box down and starts typing on a keyboard. Rows of tiny green numbers appear on the black screen in front of her, while the one beside it begins to flicker.

“Let there be light!” Lavender quips, eliciting a smattering of laughs around the room.

Captivated, Draco’s lips part as a four-way split video appears on the screen, each showing a different angle simultaneously. The videos depict various angles of different locations around a venue: hallways, a ballroom, the kitchens, and a grand entranceway.

Ron is busy staring at the small black box. “They’re like mobiles.”

“They’re called Walkie-Talkies in the muggle world,” the woman says, handing him one.

Ron hums as he turns the box over in his hands. “I’ve been looking into adapting muggle mobiles for usage throughout the wizarding community. Who here can I speak to about—”

“Now is not the time, Ron!” Lavender interrupts, looking exasperated.

Ron pouts. “You’re a bore.”

Draco’s thoughts return to the house-elves as he continues to stare at the video feeds. “If the house-elves can slip in and out unnoticed to set up these cameras, why can’t they engage with the targets? Or find and bring Dani and Harry to us?”

Lavender gives him a sympathetic look. “Oh, Draco. We’ve only located the auction, not Antonov’s whereabouts. The house-elves are briefed and ready to incapacitate any threats and rescue any hostages if they encounter them, but for a mission this large and important, Aurors need to be leading the raid. And Antonov has been extremely cautious since we started hitting his distribution centres. He’s desperate, looking to make a quick profit tonight on Dani and potentially Harry, and flee. But we won’t let that happen.”

Draco carefully keeps a neutral expression, even as disappointment tugs at his heart. “He’d be careful about how they’re transported to the venue. Probably under heavy protection charms to prevent interception or escape,” he says, frustration edging into his voice. “Does this venue have a cellar or basem*nt?”

“That’s an excellent question,” Lavender replies. “Sarah, do we have surveillance on those areas?”

Sarah, the woman speaking through the black box, responds, “I’ll bring it up right now, Agent Brown.”

“You should livestream it on a separate screen. You’ll need to observe those areas closely in case Antonov uses them as holding spaces,” Ron suggests.

Lavender looks startled but quickly recovers as she turns back to Draco with a frown. “Yes. Ah, good thinking, Draco,” Lavender says. “And Ron,” she adds reluctantly, her face pinched in distaste. The video feed appears on two separate screens, both active but displaying two dark rooms, both with a single candle flickering in a corner, barely casting any light across the space.

Ron smirks. “Bet that just hurt to say, didn’t it?”

Looking crossed, Lavender opens her mouth, no doubt with something cutting, but a knock at the door gives her pause, and the room falls silent. A short, senior man with dark skin and warm, amber eyes enters. Beside him stands a freckled, lanky, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair. Draco recognises the shorter man as Babajide Akingbade, the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW.

“Supreme Akingbade, welcome,” Lavender greets warmly, stepping forward to shake his hand. “It’s an honour to have you here on this critical day, sir.”

Akingbade nods graciously. “Leadership becomes you, Agent Brown. I am happy to support your team in any way possible,” he says and then turns to Draco. “And Auror Malfoy, it is my pleasure to meet you. I have heard so much about your talents as an Auror. You have been a vital figure in the progress of this operation, and on behalf of the ICW, I thank you for your service.” He extends his hand.

Draco is surprised by the genuine warmth in Supreme Akingbade’s words. It’s such a stark contrast to the usual political pleasantries he’s experienced. He shakes his hand firmly. “Thank you, Supreme.”

Lavender introduces the taller man. “And this is the Head of the Belgian Federal Auror Department, Pierre Janssens.” Draco inclines his head, shaking Janssens’ hand.

“Auror Malfoy. We are always happy to have a competent DMLE Auror on our team,” he drawls, dropping Draco’s hand.

Draco smirks, his annoyance thinly veiled. “I am the product of a superb department, sir. So, your team is in for quite a treat.”

Janssens’ lips purse as he fixes Draco with shrewd eyes. Lavender, appearing anxious, claps her hands together to draw attention to herself. “And this is Ron Weasley,” Lavender says, gesturing towards Ron. “He’s, ah, an ex-Auror, and—”

“One-third of the Golden Trio! What an honour to finally make your acquaintance, Mr Weasley,” Supreme Akingbade says, offering his hand.

Ron grins and shakes the Supreme’s hand warmly. “The pleasure is all mine, sir!”

Lavender clears her throat. “Well, I’m ready to prepare for tea time! So, shall we?” she exclaims.

“Oh, I would love a cup of tea,” Supreme Akingbade says.

“Me too!” Ron says jovially.

Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe. Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe. Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe, Draco repeats.

Dani’s heartbeat thunders in his ears, entwining with his chant. He clings to the sound, even as his skin feels on fire as it bubbles, stretches, and contorts—a sensation both terrifying and exhilarating.

He stares at his reflection in the small mirror of the makeshift dressing room Lavender’s team threw together for tonight’s operation.

A stranger stares back at him. Handsome and brunet, with a chiselled jaw and patrician nose, he stands much shorter and stockier than Draco's tall, slender frame. Long, dark lashes frame his intelligent light blue eyes, and his voice, though the same deep baritone of Draco’s, now carries an American accent. Dressed in a finely tailored tuxedo, he radiates an easy confidence and elegance that’s bred, not simply born.

“Thirty minutes until tea time with dispatch in fifteen!” shouts a voice from beyond the door.

This mask will do just fine.

Draco had meticulously studied the fake backstory the ICW provided of his carefully constructed character before polyjuicing into him. Richard Perkins was a wealthy, self-made billionaire who had embarked on his entrepreneurial journey in the pharmaceutical industry. On paper, Perkins believed himself to be the epitome of the American Dream— he came from humble beginnings and transformed into an extraordinary success—with only a modest initial investment of a quarter of a billion dollars from his father to kickstart his business. However, in reality, Perkins was a crooked financial opportunist who had been found guilty in the past for illegally smuggling rare artefacts internationally and was currently being investigated for securities fraud. Additionally, he was labelled “the Villain of Big Pharma” for amassing his fortune by exploiting his pharmaceutical company to secure manufacturing licences for popular drugs and shamelessly inflating the prices.

Perkins fancied himself a connoisseur of beautiful and unique possessions. He possessed the rarest jewels, artworks, and properties, and now, he also desired magic. Perkins had always been aware of the existence of magic, recounting a childhood memory of seeing a friend float in the sky to avoid being struck by a car. Among Perkin’s inner circle, it was common knowledge that his greatest aspiration was to be surrounded by magic, even to the extent of acquiring and bending it to his own will.

It was fate that his longtime business associate contacted him about an upcoming auction featuring the object he had sought to possess his entire life. Perkins promptly wired the five-million-pound ticket price from an offshore account and eagerly counted down the days until his dreams came true.

A stunning, statuesque woman glides toward Draco, dressed in a blood-red, floor-length evening gown, a sensual sway to her hips. Her dark skin contrasts beautifully with waist-length, twisty caramel-coloured braids, and her golden eyes are fixed intently on Draco. A slow, feral smile spreads across her face, adding to her captivating presence.

She slowly turns in place, her arms held wide as she asks, “How do I look, Richard?” Her southern accent adds a sweet lilt to her words.

Draco drops into a low bow before straightening up and holding his elbow out, which Lavender takes graciously. “You look phenomenal tonight, Mrs Daysha Perkins.”

Lavender lifts her chin high, a smug smile playing on her full, cupid-bow-shaped lips. Like Perkins, her demeanour exudes the confidence of someone unaccustomed to hearing the word “no.” They turn to Ron, the Supreme Akingbade, and Head Auror Janssens, who observe their interaction with expressions of approval.

Ron gives a low whistle, lowering his teacup onto its saucer. “You both look like dishy, rich twats. I’m sure you’ll fit right into that fancy auction,” he jokes, even as his hands slightly trembles. Draco knows that beyond the surface of Ron's humour, he's just as worried as Draco is.

Janssens speaks. “I agree.” He pauses and clears his throat. “I mean, you both look good. You’re ready,” he declares, holding in his palm what appears to be two transparent Bertie Botts beans. “These are your micro-earpieces. Once you place them inside your ear, they will become invisible. You will be able to speak to each other and communicate with the team as we guide you through the venue— completely nonverbally. All you have to do is think and then direct your responses to the correct person,” He continues, his tone authoritative yet encouraging. “Despite you both being muggles tonight, I would recommend holstering your wands in one of the expandable pockets— Auror Malfoy, that is the left pocket of your tuxedo trousers, Agent Brown, the inner pocket of your clutch purse— you never know when you’ll be subjected to a random pat down.”

“Constant vigilance,” Draco responds, his voice steady and determined as he takes one of the earpieces and slips it into his left ear. Lavender and Ron smile at him, and Lavender reaches for her own earpiece. For a moment, Draco almost forgets that she’s brutally backstabbed him, his family, and the entire DMLE.

Janssens, visibly impressed, raises his eyebrows. “Yes, Auror Malfoy! That’s exactly what I want to hear!” he says, the significance of Draco’s words lost on him. “And Agent Brown, I would also recommend—”

Ron steps in close to Draco, his tall form towering over the borrowed body, a noticeable difference from the few inches Ron had on Draco usually. “Mate, are you a hundred percent sure about this? I get the urgency of this mission, but don’t you think we should contact the DMLE to let them know what’s going on here?”

Draco runs a hand through his hair. “Robards will want to flood the gates of the auction soiree with Aurors. It’s his style— go big or go home. As much as I want to expose Lavender as a turncoat to the DMLE, I can’t risk the safety of Dani and Harry.”

Ron turns his back to the rest of the people in the room, inclining his head towards Draco as he whispers, “Well, if I can’t join you at the auction, tell Lavender I want eyes on the video feeds. I can work the screens, and if I have access to the entire layout of the event, I don’t see why I can’t be the one to lead you through it. Better me leading you than one of her people.”

Draco leans in closer. “Are you sure you’ll be able to work the screens? You’ve barely spent five minutes on it.”

Ron smirks. “Mate, I can do this. I didn’t leave the Aurors cause I was sh*te; I left because it made me feel like sh*te. I’ve got a damn good strategic mind, and Hermione says I’ve the memory of an elephant. I got to see what the rest of them did to control the screens, and if I have access to all the routes in the venue, I’ll get you, Dani, and Harry out safely. Trust me.”

Draco’s hand darts out to squeeze Ron’s shoulder briefly. “I do. With my life.”

When Draco approaches Lavender, the Supreme, and Janssens, the former’s borrowed face is sour, and her eyes are narrowed in suspicion.

“Ronald will be the one guiding me through the venue,” Draco announces.

Lavender’s sour look darkens. “Absolutely not! He knows nothing of the layout.”

Draco gestures to the Brussels and IWP agents in the room. “Neither did they up until the house-elves connected the video feeds all of five minutes ago. Ronald isn’t a typical civilian— he’s an ex-Auror and a member of the Golden Trio. He was one of the best strategists our department has ever seen, and I trust him with my life. I need him to be the one to do this.” Draco then glances back at Ron, who is now studying the multiple screens, teacup gone and hands clasped behind his back.

Supreme Akingbade smiles. “I was there when the Order of Merlin, First Class, was pinned on him. He’s a very brave young man. I think we shall see many great things tonight from these young wix, don’t you agree, Janssens?”

“I don’t think—” Janssens slightly flinches in the face of Supreme Akingbade’s unblinking stare. “What I mean to say is, ah, it might be interesting to see his talents in action, sir,” he says, an uncomfortable look on his face as he glances at Lavender.

Supreme Akingbade nods. “Then it is agreed. Mr Weasley,” he calls out. Ron turns to face him. “You will be Auror Malfoy’s handler and provide him with the logistics, intelligence, and operational support during tonight’s mission.”

Ron stands a little taller, an air of confidence sweeping over him as he tilts his chin up. “Brilliant, Supreme Akingbade. Let’s get this party started, eh?”

Draco’s hands are clammy as he sits in the back of the sleek, black stretch limousine driven by an undercover IWP agent, Lavender at his side.

“You’re fidgeting,” Lavender says from the corner of her mouth. She opens her clutch and pulls out a small compact mirror to check her reflection.

Draco shifts uneasily in his seat. “It’s not often I find myself undercover. There’s a lot riding on everything going perfectly.”

Lavender touches up her lipstick, her tone devoid of emotion as she asks, “Do you have your polyjuice capsules?”

Draco nods, recalling how Lavender had ingeniously provided the potion in oblong pill capsules to avoid suspicion. They were stashed inside the cuffs of his tuxedo jacket, ready to be discreetly ingested. All he needed to do was pop one out, bite down to release the potion, and it would dissolve in his mouth without a trace. It was a clever method to ensure that his borrowed identity remained undetected.

“And you’ve memorised the exits?” she continues. Draco nods again. “And you trust that Ron will guide you if there’s danger, just as Janssens will guide me?” Another nod. “Then we will be fine; the toughest part will be getting through the front door. Antonov will be a preening little peaco*ck tonight and won’t be hard to find or follow. As we agreed, we’ll enter together, do our introductory rounds, have a co*cktail, and then separate. We’ll then meet after the first round of auctions to debrief.”

“Confirm the code word for the secured bid?” Draco asks.

“Pineapple.”

“And for backup?” he continues.

“Oysters.”

“It’ll be a miracle if we’re in and out in under an hour,” Draco remarks, trying to contain his nerves.

“Doubt it,” Lavender says, snapping her compact closed. “Relax. I won’t let anything happen to you, Dani, or Harry. And as much as it pains me to say this, Ron is sharp. My team will have him up to speed on managing the video feeds and the venue's layout. We’re going to be fine. Now, activate your earpiece and make contact with your handler,” she says, tapping her own ear.

Draco draws in a fortifying breath and taps his right ear, activating the earpiece.

“Ronald?” Draco says inside his head.

“I hear you loud and clear, Draco!” Ron responds, then laughs. “This is so ace!”

Draco smiles. “Glad you’re enjoying all the tech. How do you feel about the info dump from the Brussels wankers?”

Ron laughs again. “They’re not so bad. I’m fully prepared to kick some arse with you.”

Draco relaxes. “Good.”

“I’ve set a timer to remind you when to excuse yourself to take your PJ capsule. Merlin forbid you shift back into yourself in the middle of the auction floor.”

Draco shudders. “Thanks for that horrific image. Any updates on the entranceway? We’re a few minutes to our destination,” he says, peering out the black-tinted windows. They’re somewhere in West Sussex, where there are miles of land stretched between sprawling manor houses that would put Malfoy Manor to shame.

“Yeah, there’s activity at the main entry point as guests arrive. I’ve been able to run facial recognition against international and national muggle and wizarding databases for everyone coming in, as well as the two wanker security guards up front— and, I have to admit, this program is bloody amazing! I was able to run the two thugs in just a few minutes, and we’re working on identifying all of the people who entered the venue, too. There’s about thirty guards in total working the entire event.”

“And the thugs? What of them?”

“There’s two of them. The tallest thug is Bujar Shkreli, and the other, shorter thug is Damon Nikolla, both muggles. These two aren’t regulars in Antonov’s crew, but I would keep an eye on them as they’re known contract killers and surely carrying guns,” Ron says.

Draco smirks. “I know how to shoot a gun.” It was one of the things Lavender taught him how to do when she became his partner, having acknowledged the uptick of its use in crimes within the magical community. She had learned how to shoot in Brussels. He glances over at her and finds a look of concentration on her face, probably having a similar conversation with Janssens.

“Well, you’re not carrying one, are you?”

“Nope. But the night is young; I might be able to lift one off someone if it comes down to it.”

“Or you can, I don’t know, stick to your wand?”

Draco snorts. “I’m no longer that fresh-faced Auror you partnered with back in the day, Ronald. I’m an equal opportunity fighter— wand, guns, fists, jemmy, a f*cking katana. Whatever comes my way, I’ll use it to take someone out.”

“And here I thought you were still a skinny, delicate little wallflower!” Ron teases.

“That’ll teach you not to judge a book by its cover,” Draco snarks, wiping his sweaty palms down the knees of his trousers.

“Mea culpa! Believe me, I remember what you were like when we were partners. A skinny thing quick on his feet and ruthless when you needed to be,” Ron says, snickering.

“Damn right.”

Ron clears his throat. “Alright, mate. You’re at your destination. Stand by for instructions once you’re past the two bumbling thugs.”

“Got it,” Draco says.

The limousine smoothly turns, and Draco peers once more through the tinted glass, his jaw tightening as they navigate onto a winding driveway. In this body, the heartline is gone, but Draco still chants— Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe. Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe. Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe. And for a moment, everything feels in his control.

The car glides to a stop, and Draco gathers himself as the door swings open, revealing a plush, black velvet rug leading to a grand towered entrance. As he steps out, the night sky stretches above him, a vast, inky black expanse devoid of stars, casting a shadow over his arrival. The Tudor-style manor house stands as a colossal giant, its towering façade looming over meticulously landscaped gardens, a ghost of a bygone era. Tall brick chimneys pierce the stillness of the sky, the weathered sandstone exterior exuding an ancient, almost spectral energy. Flickering lights from lit sconces beyond the towered entrance add an eeriness to the ambience, enveloping the imposing structure in an atmosphere of haunting mystery. It sends a shiver up Draco’s spine as he offers a hand to help Lavender exit the car. She takes it, and as they make their way down the velveted path, she tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow and shivers as well.

She leans in close. “Is it me, or does this place give you the creeps?”

Draco’s gaze lingers on the manor, a shiver running up his spine. “It’s not just you. This place is sinister as f*ck,” he whispers back, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of classical music and laughter.

As they approach the grand doors, the sounds of merriment grow louder, mingling with the soft glow of light spilling from the windows above them. A line of elegantly dressed guests waits before them, each eagerly anticipating entry. Standing guard are the two security thugs, Shkreli and Nikolla. Their eyes scan the crowd with a bored air as they cross names off a clipboard before letting each person in. Draco’s eyes narrow as he notices the holsters strapped to their waists and ankles, undoubtedly concealing their guns. He makes a mental note of their positions, mapping out the best approach to disarming them if something goes wrong.

Draco’s attention shifts to the people in front of them. Intrigued, he observes a couple undergoing a thorough pat-down, followed by a demand to surrender their wands. Reluctantly, the couple comply, though with hesitation.

“All this money spent, and we have to hand over our most prized possessions? How absurd! Do you even know what you’re holding?” the wizard snaps, handing over his wand.

“A wand?” Shkreli says, his tone bored, taking the witch’s as well.

The wizard’s tone is laced with disdain, dripping with superiority. “A wand, yes, but clearly, you have no appreciation for its true power. Filthy muggles will never understand the intricacies of magic, even if it dances in front of your eyes.”

Shkreli’s face remains stoic. He turns to a tall, elegant chest adorned with numerous little drawers, each meticulously labelled with numbers reminiscent of Ollivander’s wand shop. Set on top of the chest is a small, ornate wooden box. Shkreli slips both wands into the box, retrieving a small piece of paper from inside the drawers before closing it shut. “Maybe I break this wand, then break your neck? Then we both will never appreciate its true power,” he says tonelessly.

The witch raises her hand placatingly. “That won’t be necessary. If that’s all, we’ll be going,” she says nervously.

Shkreli shoves the paper, a ticket, into the face of the wizard, who snatches it. “Go.”

When it’s their turn, the stockier one, Nikolla, gazes at Lavender, a predatory gleam in his eyes. She smiles prettily back at him.

Nikolla steps close to Lavender. “What is your name, printsessa?”

Lavender giggles. “My name is Daysha Sienna Perkins, and this is my husband, Richard Oliver Perkins.”

Nikolla shoots Draco a glare full of jealousy before he scans the list on his clipboard. Draco wears a mask of bored indifference even as he catalogues every possible vulnerable spot on both thugs, as well as the location of the manor’s front entrance security cameras. After a few moments, Nikolla nods, crosses their names off the list, and glances at Shkreli. “Oni priyekhali za magiyey,” he says. (1) Shkreli nods.

“We must check you now,” Shkreli says, his hands on Draco’s body before he can even get a word out. Shkreli’s quick and clinical about the patdown, but Draco notices that Nikolla’s hands linger a bit too long on Lavender.

“I’d advise you to move it along,” Draco says icily. Nikolla pauses just as his hands are about to run down Lavender’s backside a second time.

Lavender clears her throat, a bright smile on her face that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, we don’t want to miss the festivities,” she says vapidly.

Shkreli shoots a disapproving look at Nikolla and then turns to the wooden box on top of the chest of drawers. He shoves his hand in, pulls out two small lapel pins shaped like black roses, and hands one each to Draco and Lavender. “You are special guests. You must wear. Enjoy,” he grunts, nodding towards the double doors.

“Thank you,” Draco says, pinning the small enamel rose to his tuxedo. Lavender frowns at it.

“This doesn’t go with my gown, but needs must,” she says, pinning it to her dress.

As they cross the threshold, Nikolla shouts after them, “O, kakiye gryaznyye veshchi ya khochu sdelat’ s toboy, printsessa!” (2)

Lavender pauses, making Draco stop beside her. As she turns around, she tosses her long braids over one shoulder and grins, saying, “In your dreams, baby.”

Nikolla laughs and blows kisses at Lavender as she turns back around, tugging Draco along with her as they cross an opulent foyer, the sound of classical music enveloping them.

Bewildered, Draco asks, “What the hell was that about?”

Lavender's eyes flicker around the space. “Oh, just a little banter for me to think back on later, right before I slice his throat open,” she says, her tone arctic. Amused, Draco is about to respond when they finally enter the grand ballroom.

The ballroom within the manor house is a breathtaking sight, a union of elegance and grandeur. Oriel windows grace both sides of the room, their panes kissed by the moonlight and framed by rich, purple velvet drapes pulled back to reveal the night sky. The sconces around the room add to the enchantment of the space, casting a warm, flickering glow that dances across the neoclassical, gilded columns with intricate carvings and a golden sheen, reaching up to the ceiling. Draco watches as elegantly dressed guests fill the room, their attire adding to the air of opulence and sophistication. Women in flowing gowns, adorned with jewels that catch in the light, glide gracefully across the floor in a kaleidoscope of colours as they move. Men in tailored tuxedos stand tall and confident, their eyes sharp and watchful. There’s a sense of timelessness, a tableau that seems to have been plucked from Draco’s own memories of ballroom soirees at Malfoy Manor.

Soft, classical music drifts through the air, mingling with the hushed conversations, tinkling laughter, and the clink of champagne glasses. The room hums with anticipation, an atmosphere charged with excitement, yet beneath the veneer of sophistication and polite decorum lies a palpable malevolence. Draco knows that despite the opulence of his surroundings, an undeniably unsettling aura permeates the space, hinting at the hidden shadows and nefarious intentions lurking beyond the surface and the darkness in the hearts of every person in this room.

“There are at least a hundred people in this room— at one million galleons an invite; he’s a rich man simply from throwing this obscene party.”

Lavender snorts. “He’ll clear twice that collective amount on Dani alone. And who knows what he’ll snag for Harry.”

Draco scowls at her. “No one is snagging anyone tonight. We’re extracting them from this hell on earth.”

Lavender subtly nudges him, her smile strained as she whispers, “Calm down and stay focused on the task at hand. We’re to have a glass of champagne and mingle before the auction begins. Have you noticed how many people are wearing these pins? I’ve counted twelve, maybe fifteen, so far. We are a small group.”

Draco nods, adopting an air of aloofness as they take a turn around the room. A server approaches, offering a tray of champagne flutes. Draco accepts one, passing another to Lavender. He pretends to sip, raising an eyebrow when Lavender practically drains her glass.

“What? I’m thirsty,” she explains with a shrug. Draco fights the urge to roll his eyes. “See that woman in that garish magenta gown? Twelve o’clock.”

Draco follows her gaze, pretending to admire the mosaic ceiling before subtly scanning the room. His eyes settle on an older woman in a magenta gown, flanked by two men, one of whom was facing away from Draco. All three of them seemed engaged in what appears to be an animated conversation near the farthest oriel window.

“Yes,” Draco says, his eyes now watching the people waltzing on the dancefloor.

“That’s Sophia Marchbanks, daughter of Griselda Marchbanks of the Wizengamot. She’s taken the seat now that her mother is retired.”

Draco’s eyes narrow, suddenly recognising the woman from an article in the Daily Prophet. She had recently taken over her mother’s Governor role on the Board at Hogwarts, as well.

“And the brunet that looks like he’s been sucking on a lemon all night, next to her? He’s also on the Wizengamot and related to Cornelius Fudge.”

“Something tells me they’re not here on a stakeout,” Draco drawls. “Why in the world would they not disguise themselves?”

Just then, the third man turns around, and Draco can see his face. He bites back a gasp as he recognises Michael Rookwood, Augustus Rookwood’s younger brother. The last time he saw Michael was at Malfoy Manor, sat at the dining table on the night Professor Burbage was murdered.

“A known Death Eater is present, too,” Draco says through gritted teeth.

Lavender harrumphed. “I’m surprised the place isn’t crawling with more of them. But honestly, how many are left with enough money to afford this kind of company?” She sets her empty flute down on a passing server’s tray. “And to answer your question, these are their people, I’m assuming. You know, their community. It’s the only explanation I have for their appearance here, and I’ve made Janssens aware of it. I’ll be keeping an eye on them. I’d wager a million galleons that Marchbanks and Fudge-lite over there are actual Ministry moles helping Antonov.” Lavender pauses. “Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear,” Lavender says, her tone hushed.

Draco turns to face the Devil, an uncontrollable rage suffusing him at the sight of the man.

Flanked by an army of security guards dressed in black, Ikarov Antonov enters the ballroom. Instead of a muggle tuxedo, he’s wearing simple black robes. His receding blond hair is combed back, accentuating his widow’s peak, and his uneven yellow teeth flash in a large, menacing grin as he surveys the room. He pulls out his wand, causing several people to wince, and points it at his throat with a Sonorous.

“Good evening, my friends, family, and colleagues. I am so happy to have you here for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to obtain some of the rarest and most exotic items that collectors like yourselves would want. We have many wonderful surprises for you tonight— you will not be disappointed. On the second floor, there will be private viewing rooms for all items available for sale. During this preview, you may note which of these unique, special pieces you would like to bid on. For those wearing tonight’s special pin, you will be directed to your own personal suite on the third floor when auctioning begins. So, please enjoy the champagne, food, and dancing. We begin in an hour! Thank you.” With that, Antonov turns and leaves the ballroom, his guards following after him.

“I’m going to kill him,” Draco says calmly, his wand hand itching.

Lavender’s responding smile is small and cruel. “Not if I beat you to it first.”

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

“I’m ready, Ronald.”

“It’s about time you’ve checked in! I was halfway out the door to come take down Antonov myself,” Ron jokes, but Draco can hear the relief in his voice.

“Sorry, old sport, not this round.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, let’s see here. I’ve been viewing all the video feed angles — you’re in the eastern wing of the manor house, and I’ve counted at least ten security guards in the auction room on the second floor. There are about fifteen private suites on the third floor, each with a guard stationed at the door. There’s also activity in the corridor leading to the cellar, so I would check that area out first. Have you done any mingling yet?”

Lavender had excused herself several minutes ago to observe guests and spark conversation, specifically with the Ministry employees. Draco had managed to learn from his conversations that over twenty live items were being auctioned off tonight. One man, a muggle, claimed to have travelled all the way from New Zealand to bid on a manticore.

Another guest had provided enough speculation for Draco to confirm that, yes, Harry was going to be auctioned off tonight.

Draco had “accidentally” bumped into Rookwood and started a conversation, not knowing that Draco’s borrowed persona was a muggle. Thankfully, Rookwood was on his way to becoming inebriated and was more amenable to discussion than Draco would have assumed. He’d commented on the manor, the food, the sh*te champagne, and then mentioned that he had his eye on a manticore, borrowing the idea from the New Zealander.

Rookwood had looked impressed. “I didn’t know Manticores were on the auction block. I’m really only here for one thing, though,” he’d said and tossed back his drink, signalling the nearest server for another. He leaned in close to Draco. The black rose pin on his grey robes glinted in the low light. His breath was hot and sour as it grazed Draco’s face. “There’s word that Harry Potter is here.”

Draco held in his relief and feigned shock. “The Harry Potter as a guest?” He glanced around. “Where?”

Rookwood snorts. “No, you idiot. They’ve caught him! They’ve got that f*cker locked away here, ready to be put out on the auction block like a piece of bloody meat. I’m gonna get him and use him to bring back my Master. I’ll become the highest in his favour, and he’ll free my brother from Azkaban. There’s a message there to be had for the wizarding world: buying Harry Potter and breaking him to bend to my will. Everyone will fear me.”

A violent, malicious anger gripped Draco then, and he imagined his hand darting out to wrap around Rookwood’s neck to crush his windpipe. “Oh, right. Sounds like a great plan,” he had said instead and cheered Rookwood with a glass of champagne. Draco decided he would deal with Rookwood later if he came between him and Harry. At the moment, his sole focus was on extracting Harry and Dani from whatever hell-hole Antonov had his family in before the auction commenced. The sheer relief of knowing Harry was alive was enough to fuel his thirst to annihilate anyone who got in his way tonight.

“I’m done with the bloody mingling. It’s time to put those video cameras to use. Lead me to the cellar and basem*nt.”

“You’re on. I’ve got a video feed there, but the room is pitch-black at the moment. It’s best if you go investigate to rule it out,” Ron says. “There’s three guards stationed right outside the ballroom, to your left. I think they’re muggles.”

Draco sets his champagne flute down and strolls through the crowd towards the entrance. His gaze locks with Lavender’s as he passes by the bar; she nods before returning to her conversation with Marchbanks.

Draco enters the corridor. The three guards Ron warned him about are staring at the screen of a mobile phone, their heads bent over the object as one of them laughs. Draco moves towards a large muggle painting of a rolling meadow and pretends to be interested in it, his hands clasped behind his back as he studies it.

“He’s a fighter, this one. Whatever idiot that buys him is gonna have their hands full,” a guard snorts.

“Oh, Christ, he’s high off his arse,” another says, his young face stricken.

“They say he’s a powerful wizard, but he went down like a ragdoll when he was dosed up,” another says with a dark chuckle.

Draco’s jaw tightens, anger sparking against his skin. Dosed him up? He can only imagine what they pumped Harry with to take him out. The callous way they’re talking about Harry, the man he loves, as if he’s just some object to be played with, infuriates him. He knows he needs to be careful and plan his next steps wisely. These guards are not to be underestimated, but that being said, they shouldn’t underestimate Draco, either.

“They’re talking about Harry, these guards. I know it. They…they’ve done something terrible to him. I think they might’ve drugged him.”

Ron’s voice comes through. “That’s likely. Harry wouldn’t go down without a fight. Just keep your cool. Guests have been roaming the corridors all evening. Just keep doing what you’re doing, but move along.”

“And the baby he came with?” the first guard asks.

The second, younger guard speaks up. “I was there when Madame was able to finally get her to sleep. I, uh, tried to help, you know, told her to sing to it.”

The first guard laughs. “You’re a soft ponce, Gaven.” The younger guard, Gaven, purses his lips as a flicker of anger flashes across his face, but he remains silent.

The third guard speaks up, his tone dripping with yearning. “I wish I could afford her. Can you imagine raising up one of those things? The power you’d have at your fingertips?” he says wistfully.

The first guard laughs. “You wouldn’t know what to do with all that power, Leon.”

“Bollocks, Günter. I’d make an amazing master to that little monster bitch,” Leon says.

Draco bites back a growl. “I should approach them.” He balls his hands into fists to curb the pull of drawing his wand.

“Steady on! You’re not one for impulsivity, Draco; that’s Harry’s shtick. Let’s think of this as a marathon and not a bloody sprint, yeah? Leave, now.”

Draco releases a silent exhale and steps away from the painting. As he passes the guards, he catches the eyes of the guard Leon— a broad man with a squashed nose and thick, hairy eyebrows over watery blue eyes. Draco commits his face to memory.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Draco says smoothly, slipping on his most charming smile. The third guard, much younger than the other two, flushes and averts his gaze from Draco.

“I said to move on!” Ron snaps. Draco ignores him.

“Good evening, sir. We hope you’re enjoying the festivities?” Günter asks.

“I am, thank you for asking. I’m in love with the opulence of this manor house. I just had to explore the interior some more.” Draco looks up at the ceiling, awestruck.

“It is quite beautiful,” Gaven says shyly. Draco grins at him, and the younger man’s cheeks grow redder. “Enjoy your evening, Mr…?”

“Perkins, Richard. But you can call me Dick,” Draco says smoothly as Gaven visibly swallows. There’s an air of disgust radiating off Leon. He and Günter both roll their eyes and return their attention to the mobile screen.

Draco makes his way down the corridor, stretched out like an abyss before him, the walls adorned with faded tapestries and gleaming paintings depicting scenes of grandeur long past. Several guests have taken the staircase in the middle of the corridor up the second floor, eager for the previews to begin, but the majority have stayed in the ballroom, indulging in the drinks and food and lustrous conversations. The flickering candlelight dances along the intricate patterns of the wallpaper, creating an illusion of movement that causes a rush of adrenaline through Draco. As he ventures further, the silence becomes almost oppressive, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric or the distant echo of footsteps. Tall, narrow windows line the wall at the end of the corridor, their panes covered in a thick layer of dust that filters the moonlight into ghostly beams across the polished but cracked stone floor. Despite the opulence of the manor, Draco realises that there’s a layer of decay beneath the illusion of beauty.

“Merlin, you’re bloody hardheaded, do you know that? This place is a maze of corridors; you need to pay attention to my instructions, Draco. No more flying off out of anger. There’s a guard posted up ahead around the corner. He’s manning the cellar door, and after zooming in, he’s definitely armed. And head’s up—you’re almost due for a re-up on your Polyjuice.”

Draco turns down another corridor, cold and cloaked in near darkness, seemingly empty. “Are you sure there’s someone down here?”

“Yes. He’s at the very end of the next corridor, about 10 metres, so stay on guard.”

Draco pauses as the air around him changes; the shadows between the beams of light seem to shift around him.

“There’s someone close to me.”

“I’m not picking up any movement beyond you.”

Draco hums. “Perhaps it’s the trick of the light.”

“Keep your head,” Ron urges.

Draco ignores the warning. He doesn’t need to be told something he already knows.

“Why is this corridor so empty?” Draco asks, the hair on the back of his neck standing.

“I reckon there’s some sort of muggle-repelling charm, maybe?”

“There are wizards here too, though. Why haven’t they ventured out this way?”

Ron’s voice cuts in, panicked. “Draco, you were right. There is someone else in the corridor with you. I don’t know how he didn’t come up sooner on the feed. He’s almost behind you.”

Draco turns quickly on his heel, coming face-to-face with the second guard, Leon, the one who called Dani a little monster bitch.

“What are you doing down here, Mr. Perkins?” Leon asks, his eyes dropping down to the rose pin. “You’re in the wrong place. If you’re ready to see your private suite, it’s on the third floor.”

Draco takes a step back into the shadowy part of the corridor, an apologetic look on his face. “Like I said, I love these old manor houses. I want to look around.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Leon says, his hand darting out to grasp Draco’s elbow. “Come with me.”

Draco wrenches himself free. “Unhand me. I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself around—”

“This is not for you to see!” Leon lunges for him but cries out when he grabs Draco’s wrist, quickly releasing him and stepping back, a look of horror on his face.

Draco freezes, and biting back a pained gasp, he doubles over.

“f*ck, what’s wrong with you?” Ron asks, concerned.

There’s a stabbing sensation in his stomach, spreading across his body as his insides twist, his skin bubbling, his bones and muscles shifting. He steadies himself against a wall, drawing in pained, uneven breaths.

“The Polyjuice is wearing off.”

“Don’t let your disguise slip! We don’t want to blow your cover; it’ll f*ck with Lavender’s side of things!”

Draco grits his teeth and says with a low growl of frustration, “No. I’m going to deal with this bastard my way, Ronald.”

“Draco, I said no!” Ron shouts.

Shaking his head, Leon gapes at Draco as he begins to shift back into his body. “You’re a wizard…” In a swift motion, he withdraws a switchblade from his pocket, the metal glinting in the low light as he flicks it open. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing down this hall, you abomination,” he says, his voice low and threatening.

Draco’s eyes flash. “f*ck this! I’m through playing nice.”

“I’m here to take back what’s mine, you f*cking Neanderthal,” Draco hisses, his eyes locking on the other man, lit with fire.

Leon grins. “Oh, you’re in the right place, then, little man,” he says, lunging at Draco with the knife. Draco’s never been the biggest or strongest person in the Auror Corps, but he is the fastest.

He easily sidesteps the thug's charging knife thrust and launches forward to close the distance between them, relishing the flash of surprise on the man’s face as he seizes the wrist holding the knife. With practised precision in disarming, he wrenches the thug’s arm upward, leveraging the momentum of his lunge to slam the thug forcefully against the wall. The impact stuns the other man momentarily as his head collides against the stone wall, allowing Draco to follow up with a swift, targeted blow to his temple with the elbow of his free arm, eliciting a howl of pain from the man that echoes around them. “That’s for calling my daughter a little monster bitch,” Draco spits in his face.

“There’s movement from down the hall! Someone else is coming!” Ron says, his tone heated.

“f*ck them!” Draco shouts back at Ron.

Maintaining his grip on the wrist, Draco drives the thug's hand into the wall—once, twice, three times—with a sharp motion, forcing him to drop the knife. Driven with rage, he balls his hand and, with an anguished cry, smashes a decisive blow against the man’s temple again, stepping back as the thug crumples to the floor.

Draco quickly snatches up the knife, turning on his heel to face the person charging towards him from down the corridor. He recognised the guard who had the mobile.

Draco grins and tosses the switchblade up in the air, catching it by the handle and flinging it down the corridor, baring his teeth as the knife strikes the man in the middle of his stomach. The man stumbles forward, his mouth hanging open as he stares down at the knife protruding from him before he glances back at Draco, and yanks the knife free. There’s a sickening rush of blood as he stumbles a few more steps forward before he falls to his knees, the knife clattering to the ground. He drops to his side with a pained groan.

“What. The. f*ck,” Ron says, shocked. “I haven’t seen you move like that in…ever, I think. That was bloody insane!”

Draco smirks, and quickly digs in his pocket to pull his wand out, making sure the guard is knocked out and doesn’t bleed to death. He clears up the blood in the corridor. “That’s all right. It’s been years since you and I have worked on a mission together. Lavender was always a stickler about ensuring I could keep up with her level of precision, speed, and strength on the field.”

“Well, you’re no werewolf, but hell, that was pretty damn impressive! I take back ever calling you a wallflower,” Ron chuckles.

“Like I said, Ronald. Never judge a book by its cover. Now, help me figure out how this f*cker snuck up on me,” Draco replies.

“Merlin, Lavender and Janssens are going to be bloody furious,” Ron groans.

Draco shrugs. “To take a leaf out of Lavender’s book— I have to protect the integrity of my own personal interests. No one else matters.”

He uses his wand to lighten both thugs, dragging the one he stabbed to slouch against Leon, both unconscious. He searches them, discovering two Glocks, one with a suppressor, and another switchblade. He slips his finds into his extended pocket and binds both thugs for good measure.

“Told you I’d lift a gun off one of these wankers,” Draco says smugly.

Ron snorts. “That’s me told, then. It looks like a secret doorway, right next to the tapestry of that tree to the right of you.”

Walking back down towards the massive tapestry of the Tree of Life. He notices the uneven surface of the wall beside it. With a quiet Alohom*ora, the door swings open to a cavernous entryway. With a frustrated sigh, he says, “Let me guess, there are no f*cking cameras in these secret passageways.”

“Upon checking, no. They’re not on any of the blueprints of the place, either. f*ck!”

“f*ck is right. They could be moving Harry and Dani through these passageways. This is a nightmare. Nothing about this mission is going right, and I’ll snuff the life out of Lavender if her poor planning gets Harry and Dani killed,” Draco says darkly.

He glances down at the thugs, making his decision, and drags the two men into the hidden passage before casting a Disillusionment over them, exiting and quietly shutting the door. He takes this opportunity to cast Muffliato on his feet.

“I’m going to incapacitate the guard at the cellar now,” Draco says.

“Alright. The coast is clear for now, still just the one guard, and he’s f*cking about on his phone, too. Looks like Antonov really picked some winners for tonight, eh?”

“Bully for us.”

Draco casts a spell to blend into the shadows and grips his wand as he makes another turn into a different corridor, this one with better lighting. He sees the guard down the way and, without hesitation, whispers a Stupefy. He watches with a held breath as the man drops to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been clipped. He makes his way to the fallen man, conducting a quick check for weapons using his wand. Surprisingly, Draco finds a wand on the other man.

“They’ve armed this door with a wizard.”

Ron hums. “It makes sense that they’d use a wizard to watch Harry. Muggles wouldn’t be able to contain him that easily.”

“Unless they drugged him. The thug from earlier, the one I knocked out, I heard him tell his little colleagues that they had to ‘dose him up,’” Draco says, a slight tremble of anger in his voice.

There’s an ache in his chest at the thought of what they had to do to take someone as powerful as Harry down. He thinks about the blood splatters across the walls of Grimmauld Place, and he feels sick to his stomach. He closes his eyes briefly, desperately chanting, “Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe. Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe. Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe. Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe. Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe. Dani is safe. Harry is safe. Mother is safe. Ron is safe.”

“Draco,” Ron says tenderly.

Draco’s eyes fly open, a thick ball pressing up his throat. He hadn’t meant for Ron to hear that. He blinks rapidly, his eyes stinging from the pressure in his throat and the way Ron sounds right now.

“We’re going to get them back safely. And the f*cks who did this will get what’s coming to them. They will be safe. Everyone will be safe, mate.”

Draco’s grip on his wand tightens, his knuckles whitening as he nods, steeling himself. “Alohom*ora,” he whispers. The door creaks open ominously, and Draco steps into the pitch-black room, the door closing behind him with a thud. The darkness seems to swallow him whole, and he struggles to see. A faint glimmer of light in the far corner barely illuminates the room, casting long, eerie shadows.

As Draco lifts his wand to cast a Lumos, the air around him stirs, and he hears a soft, menacing voice.

“I smell you, human. Oh. You smell so sweet, so delicious. Come closer, let me taste you.”

A shiver runs down Draco’s spine, and he freezes. Suddenly, there’s a sharp, scraping sound, followed by a low guttural moan. Draco casts Lumos Maxima in a flash, flicking his wand upward so the light can float above him, just as the face of a man with a wild mane of coarse red hair and the snarling mouth of a lion, lunges at him, teeth bared and mere centimetres from his face.

Draco screams, a primal sound filled with fear, and stumbles backwards to flatten himself against the closed cellar door.

“Bloody hell! It’s a f*cking manticore!” Ron shouts frantically.

The beast’s anguished roar fills the air, shaking Draco to his core as he throws himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the deadly strike of its scorpion tail. As he lands, the ground jars him, the wind knocking free from his lungs. With a pained groan, he tries to catch his breath and struggles to scramble to his feet as his eyes lock on the seething monster behind him. The creature is massive, its lion-like body bristling with fury. Heavy metal chains encircle its neck, anchoring it to the wall behind it, but they seem to only enrage it further as it struggles against them. With a swift motion, it lunges at Draco again, the chains straining and sparking with magical energy, barely containing the beast’s ferocity.

“DRACO! GET THE f*ck UP NOW!” Ron roars. “YOU HAVE TO MOVE! YOU HAVE TO f*ckING USE YOUR WAND—”

Draco wants to scream back that spells will do nothing to a f*cking manticore, but he screams at the beast instead, the sound unholy, as he tries to kick away from it. A massive paw lashes out, catching Draco’s leg as he kicks, and the beast drags him back.

“NO!” Draco cries, his pain and fear echoing off the stone walls. Desperately, he claws at the ground, his tuxedo cuff catching and ripping on a jagged edge of stone. Bloody streaks mark his path as he tries to pull himself away from the creature’s grasp.

“Mine! MINE! Your bones shall be my toothsome delight, human! I shall pick them clean and consume you with ravenous joy, relishing every tender bite! Come to me! Come to me NOW!” it croons. Drool begins sliding down into its bearded mane as it finally draws Draco under him, its heavy paw a brutal weight on top of Draco’s chest. Its teeth snap as it opens its mouth wide, its poisonous tail looming above its head, ready to strike.

Ron’s frantic screaming fades to the back of Draco’s mind as everything around him slows down. His wand. It’s still in his hand, and his bleeding fingers tighten around it as he does the only thing he can think of.

As the beast continues to croon its horrifying promises of devouring him, it leans in, its foul breath hot on Draco’s skin. In a split-second move, Draco lunges forward, driving the tip of his wand into the beast’s right eye.

The beast’s roar reverberates throughout the cellar. The force of its movement lifts Draco up, and he struggles to maintain his grip. As the beast reels back onto its hind legs, Draco seizes the opportunity to free his wand by kicking against its chest and pulling hard until he lands on his back with a thud on the stone ground, his wand bloodied but clutched tightly in his hand. Blood gushes from the beast’s injured eye, its furious howl shaking the very stones around them. With a fierce snarl, it swipes its massive paw in Draco’s direction, teeth bared in a menacing growl. Rolling aside just in time to miss its claws, Draco aims his wand at the ceiling above the thrashing, howling monster.

“BOMBARDA!” he bellows.

The spell strikes the ceiling with a thunderous blast. Chunks of stone and metal rain down, most crashing onto the creature, the rest slamming around Draco as he covers his head, shielding himself from the cascading debris. Dust and rubble fill the air, momentarily obscuring everything in a choking haze. As the rumble settles, the cellar falls to silence, the once grand ceiling now a chaotic jumble of broken stone and twisted metal. The manticore lies motionless, buried under the rubble, a metal pole having pierced through its body.

Draco suddenly hears the sobbing in his ear. “Draco, you son of a bitch,” Ron sobs.

Shaking, Draco pulls himself out from under the rubble, his body aching and his clothes coated in a fine layer of dust and tiny pieces of stone as he gets to his feet. “How dare you call my mother a bitch, Ronald,” Draco says weakly.

“You–you could’ve died. You—you took out a f*cking manticore!”

“Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t recommend it,” Draco says, wincing as he hobbles on his injured foot to survey the rest of the cellar. In the poor lighting, even with the Lumos, he can barely make out the far corner of the room, but he sees him.

He sees Harry.

Draco cries out in relief, his body trembling as he limps towards Harry, unconscious and tied to a chair up against the far wall of the room. “I’ve found him, Ron. I’ve found Harry.”

Ron sighs with relief. “Draco, listen to me. I know you’re probably in shock right now, but you have to check the parameters and make sure Harry’s not under some kind of protection or alarm charms. I’m checking all the video feeds, and the Bombarda definitely alerted the guards to the far east wing. You have to hurry and get Harry out of there. I bet you’ll find another secret passageway. There’s no f*cking way they put that manticore there and took a chance walking past it again.”

“Yeah,” Draco grunts, wiping the blood from the beast onto the leg of his trousers before casting several detection spells in rapid succession. “I don’t think they thought anyone would survive the f*ckin’ manticore. And honestly, how the hell were they going to put that thing in a room to auction off? f*cking idiots,” Draco mutters, his voice quivering as he sways on his feet, feeling lightheaded.

“Are you okay?” Ron asks, his tone tinged with concern.

“No, I’m not f*cking okay.” Draco groans and dismantles an alarm that pops up from his detection spell. “But I refuse to give up now. Keep an eye out for the surrounding area, alright? I’m going to try to heal my leg and get Harry up.”

“Got it. Draco— two minutes.”

“Okay,” Draco says through gritted teeth. He suppresses a shocked gasp as he takes in Harry’s pallid complexion, beads of sweat forming on his hairline, and the tape sealing his lips shut. His face is bruised, one of the lenses of his glasses is cracked, and there’s a bloody gash across his chest, his shirt tattered and soaked in blood. With a wince, Draco kneels beside him.

“Ennervate,” Draco whispers, a flood of relief washing over him as Harry’s eyes flutter open. Moving swiftly, Draco releases the magical binds but flinches as Harry slides off the chair, landing on his side with a heavy thud on the ground.

“f*ck!” Draco cries out, scrambling towards Harry and lifting his head onto his lap. Harry’s eyes are unfocused and heavy-lidded.

“Are you real?” Harry’s words are horribly slurred.

“They definitely drugged him with something.”

“You have to move soon. I’ve counted five guards gathering at the mouth of the ballroom, and they’re headed in your direction. Heal yourself and cast a feather-light charm on Harry. Find the secret passage, seal the f*ck out of it when you enter so they can’t follow you immediately. I’ll watch the cameras for your re-emergence. Okay?” Ron answers.

“Harry, it’s me. Do you know what they gave you?” Draco’s voice is urgent as he checks Harry over for any more injuries. His hand stills as he finds on the side of Harry’s neck a cluster of small, neat puncture wounds surrounded by red, inflamed skin. Each sinister mark is tiny, barely larger than a pinprick.

“No,” Harry whispers, panicked, his voice barely audible. “You’re not real…”

“I am. Listen to me,” Draco says, his tone pressing. “You told me the first time you decided to call me Draco instead of my surname was the night I saved you from the hags. You said you trusted me after that experience, and I told you that I would never, ever take that trust for granted.”

Harry’s eyes gain focus as he studies Draco’s face, and he weakly lifts his hand to touch Draco’s chin. “Draco,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “They took Dani. I’m so s-sorry, Draco. I tried–I tried so hard to keep her with me. I didn’t have my wand on me…one of them injected me with–with something,” he slurs, tears sliding down his cheeks. Draco notices then that Harry’s palm is blackened with burns. Evidence of an overuse of wandless magic.

Draco’s heart aches with guilt at Harry’s words. He knows deep down that this situation is entirely his fault, not Harry’s. Harry always sought tranquillity and ease in his post-war life, far removed from the flux of violence and death he experienced for the first 18 years of his life. That’s why he chose to become a Healer— instead of an Auror— in one of St. Mungo’s more benign departments. Harry was determined to avoid diving headfirst into danger, and yet, Draco has inadvertently thrust it upon him. He pulls Harry close, running his fingers through Harry’s hair in a futile attempt to soothe him. “Shhh, it’s not your fault, my love. It’s mine, I’m so sorry,” he says. He then casts a quick spell to mend Harry’s injured chest, hand, and neck as best he can, and then tries to heal his own injured leg and fingers. Wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist, he helps him to his feet.

“Hold onto me,” Draco says softly. “We need to get out of here. Lavender is here with me also, but she’s under Polyjuice.”

Draco guides Harry along the back wall, searching for a hidden passage. His hand brushes against a jagged stone, and with a surge of hope, he finds the hidden doorway. Using Alohom*ora, the wall shudders before it swings open, revealing a wide, dimly lit pathway beyond.

“Do you have news on Lavender?” Draco asks, his voice tense, making sure he’s a good distance away from the door before he turns around to seal the door with the strongest Locking Charm he can muster.

“Yes,” Ron responds. “I just received an update from Janssens. She’s on the third floor, in the private suite, waiting for the auction to begin. The guards haven’t cottoned on that it’s you causing all this commotion, but it’s a matter of time before they check all the cameras. You weren’t completely hidden in the shadows in the corridors, and you lit your wand during your skirmish with the manticore. I don’t know how much of your face they were able to see, but that blond hair of yours will be a dead giveaway,” Ron explains.

“f*cking hell.”

Ron sighs, frustrated. “The only good thing about this situation is that this place is a bloody labyrinth, so while they’re looking around for a wounded man with blond hair, covered head to toe in dust, you should Polyjuice back into Perkins. The guards won’t be looking for a brunet male, then you just have to Disillusion Harry and get your arse to the suite immediately.”

Draco glances down at his torn cuff, a fissure of panic racing through him. The Polyjuice capsules are gone.

“f*ck. I’ve lost my PJ capsules to the rubble.”

“Damn it,” Ron swears. “It would’ve been the best option to avoid the guards.”

“I’ll continue to take my chances without it,” Draco says, his heart swooping with relief as they come across a spiral staircase. He peers up, and the length of it disappears into the shadows. Draco cast a low ball of light.

“Okay, seriously? f*ck off, Draco. You’re not allowed to make any more reckless decisions, mate. Use your head and listen to me! Get out of that bloody passageway before someone comes through. Disillusion yourself and Harry.”

“I will once we get to the third-floor landing. The staircase looks old. I don’t want us tripping all over ourselves trying to make it up there,” Draco says.

Ron groans in frustration. “Fine! But the minute you get to that landing, you better Disillusion yourself! I’ll direct you once you’re there. So far, the commotion is contained to the east wing. Keep moving.”

“I hear you loud and clear.”

As they take the first few steps up the staircase, Harry suddenly groans, his head lolling on his shoulders before he presses his face into Draco’s neck. “I feel like I’m going to sick up,” he whimpers.

Draco drops a quick kiss on Harry’s sweaty forehead. “I’m sorry, my love. Please hang on; I’m going to get you to safety.”

“But they have Dani—”

“We’re going to get her out, and then we’ll get the f*ck out of here,” Draco says defiantly.

His grip on Harry’s waist tightens as a grim determination drives him up the spiral staircase despite the sharp protests of his barely healed leg and the agonising ache in his chest. Each step seems to reverberate through his ribs, sending jolts of pain throughout his body, but he pushes on, his focus solely on getting to the suite.

“They had Narcissa. That’s how they got in. Is–is she okay?” Harry murmurs.

“Yes. I was able to send her to St. Mungo’s,” Draco says as they carefully make their way up the staircase.

Harry’s voice sounds haunted as he says, “There were too many of them. I had D-Dani under Protego and I couldn’t hold all of them off. They sent a Diffindo that I couldn’t b-block, and it hit me. While I was down, they stabbed me in the neck with a needle. I woke up in the cellar. There was a w-woman holding Dani—”

Draco’s grip tightens around Harry. “Do you know what she—?”

“Marchbanks,” Harry interrupts. “The guards called her Madame Marchbanks. She took Dani away from the cellar. The last thing I remember is fighting off the guards again.” Harry holds up his charred hand. “I tried to use wandless magic, but I-I couldn’t block e-everything. They had another needle—” Harry’s breath hitches. “I failed her.”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat, sorrow and anger at Harry’s pain suffusing him as Harry starts to shudder against him. Draco holds him close, burying his nose in Harry’s hair as they reach a landing. “Harry. Harry, no. You didn’t fail her. You fought for her. You did everything you could to protect her. We’ll find her, and we’ll get her back,” Draco reassures him, trying to pour his love and his compassion into his words.

Marchbanks. Draco’s stomach churns. He doesn’t understand yet the depth of her connection to Antonov, but if Antonov trusts her enough to see to Dani’s wellbeing before the auction, it must be significant. For a splintering moment, Draco wonders if Lavender knew about Marchbanks and decided to keep this, too, from him.

As they continue onto the next floor, they come across a closed door, beyond which the muffled sounds of music and conversation linger. His senses heighten as he strains to detect any approaching footsteps. Confident that no one is coming, he urges Harry on, his movements deliberate and cautious, until they finally reach the third-floor landing. Harry’s breathing is laboured, his body trembling against Draco’s.

“I’ve got you, Harry,” Draco whispers against his ear.

With a steadying hand on Harry’s back, Draco extends his wand towards the door to cast a detection charm. A complex web of protective wards shimmer before him to illuminate a formidable barrier. Draco’s brow furrows in concentration as he begins to dismantle the wards, his movements quick. Beads of sweat form on his forehead, trickling down his temples as he works tirelessly. With a final flick of his wand, the last layer of wards dissolves, cascading down the door like the rush of a waterfall. Before Draco can cast the Disillusion Charm, the door swings open.

And Draco is met with the end of a gun barrel pointed squarely at his face.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Harry draws in a sharp breath as Draco swallows thickly, quickly stepping back and shielding him.

The person behind the gun is Gaven, the shy, young guard from outside the ballroom. As Gaven steps forward onto the landing with them, Draco can see his face better and thinks that the other man can’t be more than eighteen years old.

Draco’s eyes narrow. “You don’t want to do this, mate,” he says evenly, and keeps his wand at his side but pointed at the guard. He’ll take this kid out if he has to.

“Draco?” Ron’s voice fills his ear. “What’s going on? Have you entered the third floor yet?”

“We’re on the landing.”

“You’re the man they’re looking for, so don’t tell me sh*te!” the young guard says, the gun now shaking in his hands. “I’ve got a good thing going here. If I take you down, there’s nothing and no one that can ever hurt me or my family ever again! Antonov will protect me forever!”

Draco feels frustration and pity as he looks at the young guard. It’s like a cruel twist of fate, he thinks, to stumble upon someone so misguided, willing to jeopardise everything for a false promise of protection. He knows that desperation all too well when it comes to protecting those you love at any cost. But he also knows the harsh reality of such choices. He can only hope that his words will be enough to break through to this kid’s misguided loyalty to Antonov.

Draco takes a step forward, a calm settling over him as he tries to diffuse the tension. “Antonov doesn’t care about you or your family. He’s using you,” Draco says, his voice firm but gentle, hoping to connect to the young man’s vulnerability. “You don’t have to do this. Put the gun down, and we can figure this out together.”

The guard’s eyes flicker with uncertainty, but the gun remains trained on Draco. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through. Antonov promised me—”

“I know that Antonov is a liar and a criminal,” Draco interrupts, his tone unwavering. “I’ve been where you are. I’ve had my back up against the wall, desperate to protect my family, and do you know what that kind of sh*te desperation like that draws in? People like Antonov. He’s a manipulator and an opportunist. I once made all the wrong choices and I paid for it dearly for years until I decided to take control of the things I thought I couldn’t change. You can do that, too. All you have to ask yourself is this— can you look at yourself in the mirror, every day, for the rest of your life, and feel nothing but self-hatred and regret? You don’t have to throw your life away for Antonov.”

The guard visibly swallows, his grip on the gun faltering. Draco sees the doubt in his eyes, the conflict waging just below the surface. Harry watches, holding his breath, hope and fear warring on his pallid face. “Your name is Gaven, right?”

Gaven flinches. “How do you know my name?”

Draco takes a deep breath. “I met you outside the ballroom and introduced myself as Richard Perkins. Call me Dick, remember? I’m a wizard. I was wearing a disguise earlier,” he explains, hesitating a moment at the younger man’s fearful expression. Draco softens his tone. “Listen to me, Gaven— Antonov has my daughter. He’s trying to sell her to the highest bidder. She’s only eight months old. She's innocent in all of this and doesn’t deserve to be sold to some monster to be used and abused.”

Gaven bites his lip, his shoulders quivering.

“Please, let me save my daughter. Put the gun down, mate,” Draco repeats softly, holding his hand out in a gesture of peace.

The younger man wavers for a moment longer before he lowers the gun, his shoulders sagging.

Harry lets out a breath as Ron's voice crackles over the earpiece, “Merlin. Excellent job deescalating that, Draco.”

A dry sob escapes Gaven. “I’m sorry. Antonov auctioning off your baby is—it’s f*cked up. I—I never wanted to be someone who could turn a blind eye to something so evil. I don’t want to be a bad person.”

“You don’t have to be.”

Draco jolts in surprise at Harry’s weak but gentle voice, shifting his weight to stand without Draco’s assistance.

“Today, and all the days following, you can choose to be a better person. This doesn’t have to define you for the rest of your life,” Harry says.

“Draco, there are still guards posted around the corner on this floor. Disillusion yourself and Harry and have this kid escort you to Lavender’s private suite,” Ron says.

“Got it.”

“You can help us,” Draco starts, his tone earnest as he carefully studies Gaven’s face for any signs of hesitancy. “You can help me in reaching my private suite so I can place a bid to secure the return of my daughter.”

Gaven slowly moves to place his gun back into his holster with shaking hands. His eyes flicker between Draco and Harry, and after a moment, he nods slowly.

“I-I can do that,” he stammers.

Draco’s face remains composed, masking the flood of relief that rushes through him, easing the tension in his muscles and calming his frantic heartbeat. “Thank you for your cooperation, Gaven.”

“Ron, what kind of security are we looking at on this floor?”

Ron speaks up, his tone serious. “With the commotion still ongoing in the east wing and the majority of guests preoccupied on the second floor for bidding, Security’s left two guards for your floor, likely because everyone’s gathered in their suites for the auction. They’re stationed just to your left as you enter the main corridor. Stay alert, mate. Janssens reported that bidding has started in the suites, and it looks like Dani will be the last ‘item’ for sale,” Ron says, his voice tight with clear disgust.

Draco’s focus sharpens as he draws himself up despite the tendrils of exhaustion that wrap around him like a vice. “I’m going to conceal myself and my partner here so we blend in with our surroundings like a chameleon. You won’t see us, but we’ll be right behind you.”

Gaven looks uncomfortable but nods. “Quickly.”

Turning to Harry, who trembles as if he’s cold despite the sheen of sweat on his face, Draco asks, “Are you okay to walk?”

Harry grips Draco’s shoulder, his eyes closing briefly as he swallows. “I can.”

Draco cups Harry’s cheek. “I love you. We’re going to get through this.”

Harry covers Draco’s hand with his own, his feverish eyes shining. “I love you.”

Harry lowers their clasped hands, tightening his grip, a squeeze of reassurance passing between them. Not letting go of Harry’s hand, Draco casts the Disillusion charm on them and faces Gaven. The young man’s cheeks are flushed pink as he stares at the ground. Draco feels a stir of empathy at the reality that Gaven is just a kid caught up in a dangerous game.

“We’re ready. Remember, we’re going to be right behind you.”

Gaven starts, glancing back up, his eyes widening. “Wicked! Yeah, okay. Follow me,” he says, leading them into the corridor. Draco falls in step with him, Harry a warm presence beside him.

As they round the corner, the corridor opens up, lined with numerous closed doors. Draco sees the two guards Ron mentioned standing sentinel halfway down the expanse. Time feels as if it’s stretching with each step Draco takes towards them, his wand hand itching. Holding his breath, he steals a glance at their stoic faces as he passes, waiting for any sign that they can see or feel their presence, not knowing if they’re muggles or wizards. Draco relaxes as soon as they pass them.

Ron’s voice fills his ear. “Almost there, mate. Janssens says the room number is 344. You should ward the door as soon as you can. From what I can see on the cameras, some of the guards that are wizards are trying to remove the dead manticore, and the other guards are now actively searching each room in the manor.”

“How much time do you think we have before they make it up to the third floor?”

“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. If you ward the door using DMLE protocol, you can add a good seven to ten minutes on top of that. Lavender reported to Janssens that the auction was going by quickly. The ICW and Brussels are waiting to swoop in once they receive confirmation of Dani’s retrieval.”

“I’m in room 344. My, uh, wife is waiting for me,” he whispers cryptically. A look of understanding flashes across Gaven’s face, and he nods.

As they approach the door, Gaven pulls a card from his pocket, tapping it against a flat, black pad above the doorknob. With a soft click, the door swings open, revealing a dimly lit room adorned with dark wooden walls and plush furnishings. As they enter, a thick carpet muffles their footsteps, the door closing behind them. Seated on a sofa is Lavender, her attention momentarily drawn from the scene outside the large glass window before her. Beyond the glass is a large elevated dais, bright lights illuminating its currently occupied live auction item, a Demiguise chained to the ground, its large black eyes fear-filled.

A female voice announces, “Bidding starts at 250,000 British pounds…275,000 British pounds…300,000 British pounds…” the amount continues to increase.

Lavender slowly rises from her seat, a confused look on her face. Draco quickly cancels the Disillusion charm.

Lavender gasps. “Harry!” She comes around the sofa. It’s then that Draco notices two unconscious figures tied up and slouched against the far wall of the room. “And…why are you here? And more importantly, why is there a guard with you?” Lavender snaps.

Gaven clears his throat and gives a quick bow in Lavender’s direction. “I don’t mean to alarm you, ma’am. I’m just escorting your husband to the correct room,” he says pointedly before turning to Draco. “Mr Perkins, is there anything else I can do for you this evening?” Gaven says politely, not batting an eye over the unconscious people on the ground.

Draco gives him a grateful smile. “You’ve been an excellent help, Gaven. I won’t forget it,” he says, extending his free hand which the younger man shakes. When the door shuts behind him, Draco leads Harry to the nearest armchair and gently helps him sit. Lavender’s hands are on her hips.

“What the hell have you done?”

Draco shakes his head, turning back to the door to cast several wards to seal it from muggles, and making it an ordeal for any wizard to break through. “I’m sure you’ve heard the jist of it. I’ll fill you in on the juicier bits later. He glances over his shoulder, jutting his chin out towards the unconscious pair. “Who are our guests?”

“The actual owners of this suite. When Janssens confirmed the absence of cameras in the personal suites, I had to switch things up when he told me that you blew a hole into the ceiling of a cellar. I for sure thought you blew your cover and that I could do with some more time. Switching the rooms up would throw them off for a bit longer.”

“And now we have Auror-grade wards to give us even more time,” Draco says confidently, nodding at his work and returning to Harry’s side.

“Hopefully, long enough! We still have to incapacitate the person that brings her to us after the bid!” Lavender says shrilly. She briefly closes her eyes, visibly calms herself, and turns to Harry. “I’m so happy you’re safe, Harry. Are you alright?” she asks, her hand resting on Harry’s arm. Harry flinches away. Lavender looks stricken as she snatches her hand back.

Tamping down his surge of panic, Draco drops down to his haunches beside Harry. “It’s Lavender, Harry. Remember, I said she’s under Polyjuice, too,” he says gently, meeting Lavender’s concerned eyes over Harry’s head. “They’ve been drugging him since Grimmauld.”

Harry lifts his uninjured hand to push his glasses up into his hair and rub across his face. “M’fine,” he mumbles against his hand, even as he gags. “Water. Water will help.”

Lavender quickly retrieves a water bottle from a small cooling cabinet. Draco watches as she uncaps it before handing it to Harry, who eagerly gulps it down. “There’s a spell I used to administer on some of my clients struggling with a drug relapse. It's only good if you’ve been dosed within the last five hours. I can give it a go on you,” she suggests.

Harry nods, his complexion gaining a bit more colour. “Yeah, do it,” he agrees, pushing his sweaty fringe back from his face.

Lavender retrieves her wand from her clutch and begins to trace a complicated pattern, her movements graceful and purposeful, as she murmurs the incantation under her breath. A soft yellow mist emanates from the tip of her wand to settle over Harry’s chest, pulsing before slowly sinking in. Harry closes his eyes and sags against the back of the chair. When he opens them again, they are clear and alert, the distress and fatigue smoothed away from his face.

Harry takes a deep breath, the tension visibly leaving his body. He looks up at Lavender, a small, grateful smile on his face. “That was brilliant, Lavender, thank you,” he says, his voice stronger and more steady. “Have you heard anything else about Dani?”

Lavender’s eyes flicker over to Draco, and she nods. “She’s last on the auction list.”

Draco straightens up, his nostril flaring. “That’s all you can tell us?” he hisses, taking a menacing step forward.

Lavender tenses. “I’ve been monitoring the auction, as I said I would. We wouldn’t be this hard up for time if you hadn’t acted so foolhardily! You brought unnecessary attention to yourself, and now we have to worry about the guards finding us before we call for backup.”

Draco feels his cheeks flush with anger and disgust as his lips curl in a sneer. He curses himself for ever trusting Lavender’s reckless idea to attend the auction without Robards or DMLE support. She had proven herself to be a lying, backstabbing turncoat. This rescue mission was doomed from the start due to its poor planning, and now Draco was forced to take matters into his own hands, guided only by Ron’s directions. Ron was the only one he trusted not to lead him into Antonov’s clutches.

“Who is Marchbanks to you?” Draco demands in a scratching tone. “And how long have you known about her involvement? Did you know she had Dani after Antonov’s people took her?”

Lavender takes a step back, her hands raising in a placating manner. “Whoa, wait a minute, Draco! You’ve got this all wrong— I don’t personally know Marchbanks, and I found out about her presence here at the same time you did. I didn’t confirm the depth of her involvement with the auction until I entered this room and heard her voice over the bloody intercom announcing bids!”

Harry’s hand suddenly darts up, gripping Draco’s wrist with a painful intensity. Startled out of his anger, Draco stares down at Harry’s face. He’s shocked to find Harry’s mouth hanging open, his eyes wide with horror behind his broken glasses, his breathing fast and heavy, nearly hyperventilating.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Draco starts.

“Dani—” Harry chokes out.

Draco whirls around to face the window. “Oh. Oh God!” he cries out.

His legs suddenly feel heavy, as if they’re ladened with cement, and he struggles through the slow prowl towards the window where Dani is on display in a circular room, propped up in a wicker basket not unlike the one he found her in all those months ago. The room is surrounded by tall, black-tinted windows, each stretching from floor to ceiling. Between the windows hangs tapestries depicting various magical beasts in vivid colour, the embroidery intricately detailed. He stares out the glass window, eyes roaming over her tiny body, taking in her closed eyes and the steady rise and fall of her chest, her wispy, fair blonde hair and the heavily embroidered white dress she’s wearing, and something inside of him breaks—a cascade of pain explodes across his chest, and panting, he places his hands against the glass and screams her name.

The mysterious voice— Marchbanks’ voice— fills the room again.

“We’ve saved the best live item for last tonight, ladies and gentlemen. In front of you is an eight-month-old, female, magical child. With its one hundred percent pure magical blood, this item is unfailing. For those new to magic among us tonight, this item promises a lifetime of potent, magical delights with minimal upkeep. You can shape it to your desires and even create more magical beings from it in the future. We’ll start the bidding at fifty million British Pounds…”

“It’s starting!” Lavender exclaims, rushing back to the sofa to snatch up a small, flat box with a red button. She presses it down firmly.

“Seventy five million British Pounds…one hundred million British pounds…” Marchbanks says.

As Draco continues to stare in horror, the bidding war escalates rapidly. He can hear Lavender’s frantic whimpers as her fingers fly over the tablet, increasing their amount in a fraught attempt to secure the highest bid. Harry stands beside Draco, his jaw clenched and his eyes ablaze with fury.

Draco slams his fist against the glass. “We have to stop this!” he says wildly. “We need to find a way to disrupt them!”

“Ron! Is there any way to access this auctioning room?” When Ron doesn’t respond, Draco grows panicked. “Ron, what the f*ck, respond to me!” At his continued silence, Draco begins to hyperventilate.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m here. None of the private suites have cameras in them, but we’re working on finding a way in, Draco. There must be a hidden passageway somewhere in the room that leads to it. Janssens and the Supreme want to flood the venue to apprehend the guests now.”

“That’s exactly what they wanted to avoid in the first place; now they want to send their agents in wands blazing? We don’t have Dani yet!” Draco roars.

Lavender sucks in a breath. “No, they can’t, not yet! Janssens promised he’ll hold them off to give us time to rescue Dani,” Lavender says helplessly. She continues to press the tablet, the bid now over four hundred million British Pounds. “NO!” she cries. “NO, NO! Someone is overriding my bids—”

Ron’s voice fills his ear, rushed and feverish. “Draco, Draco…the guards are now moving from the second floor to search the third-floor suites. There’s…there’s too many guards, mate.”

“Ron. Please. They can’t come yet…I haven’t—I haven’t saved her, please—someone will whisk her away the moment the manor is breached. I can’t lose her, I won’t lose her—”

Ron’s voice is tight as he says, “Draco. I know you’re scared, but you have to keep your focus. You need to find a way to access that room right now.”

With a frightening howl, Draco slams his fist against the glass. Harry’s hand comes down on his shoulder, and Draco turns to him. “I’ll blow this f*cking window out if I have to! I’m not letting them take our daughter!”

He can hear the tears in Lavender’s voice as she sobs, “I’m so sorry, Draco! I ran a detection charm on it when I entered the suite. It’s impenetrable—”

Lavender’s words fall on deaf ears as Harry approaches Draco from behind, gently covering his clenched fist with his hand. Harry's breath is warm against Draco’s ear, his voice a soothing murmur within their quiet shared space. “I want you to focus on our daughter,” Harry says firmly.

Draco’s shoulders curve as a sob escapes him. He’s doused with fear, icy and relentless. “I’m so afraid, Harry. We can’t lose her.”

“We won’t,” Harry says, his voice unwavering. “Look at her.”

Gradually, a sense of calm settles over him as the world around Draco seems to dissolve, his gaze solely focused on Dani: her pale eyebrows furrowed in her sleep, her soft, round cheeks, her fisted little hands, and her rosebud lips. Leaning his forehead against the cool glass, Draco spreads his fingers beneath Harry’s touch and a quiet understanding passes between them. They can finish this together.

“There’s no one else around us, Draco—just you and me, and our love for Dani. The people who took her are nothing in the face of what we mean to one another, and nothing is as impenetrable as that. This barrier is nothing, and it cannot and will not keep us from being a family. We can do this, Draco. We can get rid of this f*cking piece of glass.”

Harry’s words become a lifeline for Draco, cutting through his fears and uncertainties like a sharp blade. An electric current of wild magic, unmistakably Harry’s, courses through Draco’s body to envelope their entwined fingers. Draco has always revered Harry’s power— his intuitive magical sense, healing powers, wandless casting, intellect, and compassion. Draco’s palm burns with the thrumming force of his own magic melding and intensifying with Harry’s. An emerald green glow encases their hands, growing stronger and spreading wider and higher with each passing second until Draco feels consumed by what it symbolises— their radiant hope.

“It’s just a piece of glass, Draco,” Harry urges. “Now, let’s get rid of it.”

Together, they push against the glass, the emerald green glow of their magic spreading across the surface like intricate veins, casting a surreal, dancing light across the room.

A sharp, piercing crack rents the quiet air, followed by the sound of tinkling chimes as the sounds from the world around them rush back in. Draco’s chest rises and falls with each rapid breath, his eyes tracing the blazing pattern stretching across the glass in awe as it shatters and falls beneath their entwined fingers, scattering around them like glittering rain.

For a moment, he’s stunned, his lips parting in disbelief, but a blaring alarm sounds off around them, jolting Draco out of his daze.

“C’mon,” Harry says, tugging Draco’s hand as they quickly haul themselves over the edge of the wall and climb up onto the dais. Dani, now awake and crying, her midnight blue eyes moving between them as her arms stretch out, her hands opening and closing. Draco sobs at the sight of her, his heart breaking and mending in one fell swoop as he lifts her from the wicker basket to cradle her against his chest. He buries his nose into her hair, breathing in her scent as he tries to soothe her with soft, calming words even as his body trembles.

Draco’s pulse quickens as Marchbank’s screeching voice echoes through the intercom.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, YOUR SAFETY IS OUR PRIORITY. PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND IN YOUR SUITES! WE WILL BE DISPATCHING SECURITY IMMEDIATELY TO SECURE THE SITUATION!”

“We have to find the exit; it’s probably hidden behind one of these tapestries,” Draco explains. “Let me find the door, and then we’ll—” he trails off, glancing towards the shattered window where Lavender, no longer under Polyjuice, stands with her lips pursed and her stance tense. Draco carefully passes Dani into Harry’s waiting arms just as a loud boom sounds at the suite’s door, shimmering as one of the wards shake.

“Lavender, come on! We have to go!” Harry shouts. Draco glances back at Lavender and the shimmering suite door, a slow dread creeping over him. He jumps down off the dais.

“Lavender, hurry; we have to find a way out,” Draco shouts urgently over the alarms, approaching the wall and extending his hand. Lavender takes a step back, and Draco feels his stomach drop as all of his suspicions about her roar through his head.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I can’t.” She takes another step back. “I’m not leaving until I get what I came for. I’m going to kill Antonov.”

Draco’s breathing becomes rapid as his voice shakes. “Don’t do this. Haven’t you lost enough? Your happiness in Belgium, your clients, Lena, Dani, almost! Leave it to your team to handle Antonov, Lavender. Don’t let revenge cloud your judgement. Don’t lose your life. Please. Come with me.” They both flinch as another ward on the door falls.

“If I leave with you, who will stop Antonov? Who will make sure he doesn’t hurt another person again?” Lavender’s voice wavers, her eyes searching as she stares at him. “You must understand. I can’t let him get away with this, Draco. Not again. He’ll never stop coming after us— I need to finish this, for all the people he’s hurt and for those he’ll continue to hurt.” She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “I’m sorry, but I have to stay.”

Before Draco can respond, there’s a deafening explosion that sends shock waves through the ground under his feet. He then hears a series of wand exchanges from beyond the suite’s door, followed by screams and another explosion so strong Draco feels the room groan around him. The disorienting sounds quickly slip into an eerie silence before a crackling noise emanates from the intercom. Through the static, a thick, familiar drawl fills the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please? Good evening. This is the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I hope you’ve been enjoying yourselves tonight because the fun is now over, and every single one of you motherf*ckers are under arrest.”

Draco’s jaw goes slack as he turns to Harry and Dani.

Robards!

“Please try your best to remain calm while my Aurors execute our warrant to search, seize, and arrest everyone. Are you a Wix considering Apparating out? Unfortunately, you’ll find that anti-Apparition wards have been placed over this entire building. And you posh lot already handed over your wands when you checked in at the door, which we happily confiscated, so thank you for that. Are you a muggle and thinking about jumping out the windows or discharging a weapon? Try us. So, hang tight. An Auror will be around to see to your arrest shortly.”

Ron’s voice suddenly fills his ear, firm and resolute. “I’m not going to stand by and do nothing while these ICW and Brussels wankers swarm in to protect their own interests. I let Robards know that you, Harry, and Dani need protection, too. I sent a message to him the second Janssens started waffling on his promise to hold off on Agent dispatch.”

Draco is momentarily speechless, his chest tight with emotion as Ron’s words sink in. “Ron,” Draco manages, his voice barely above a whisper. “I…I don’t know what to say. I owe you more than words can express.”

“Just get our family back in one piece, alright? That’s more than enough for me. Now, I’m out of here before these arseholes cotton on that Robards beat them to the site. ‘Mione will be cross if I get arrested by the ICW for espionage or treason, or whatever.”

“You’re my hero. Be safe.”

“You too, mate.”

Draco removes the earpiece, crushing it between his fingers before tossing it away from him. He doesn’t want someone from Brussels or the ICW listening in on him.

Lavender turns hurt eyes onto him. “How could you?”

Draco tenses up at her audacity, but quickly recovers. “Lavender, please…it’s over now. It’s finally f*cking over. Help us find a way out before the guards get here.”

“Draco!” Harry cries out, panicked.

Draco whips around. One of the tapestries at the far wall shimmers and falls to the ground, and an outline of a doorway appears, lighting up in a red glow. Realising immediately what’s happening, Draco steps in front of Harry and Dani, blocking them as he lifts his wand and flings the strongest warding spell he can muster at the door. It slams against it in a get of neon orange light, spreading across the surface before seeping into the door. They have two, maybe three minutes with just that spell. He inclines his head when a hand touches his back.

“Take a step back from him, now,” Harry immediately hisses at Lavender, who is now standing behind them.

She does as told, sadness clouding her features as she says, “We’re trapped. We can try to fight our way through the suite door, or handle whomever is out there in the passageway and try our luck in escaping through there.”

Draco runs a hand through his hair, his mind racing. A part of him wants to shove her away from them, not willing to have her fighting beside him in case she tries to go rogue. But with Harry holding Dani, there’s no way Draco will be able to take on a horde of guards by himself. He makes a decision. “Quickly. Continue to ward this door here. Whatever is happening in the corridors doesn’t need our attention as long as my wards stay up, and there hasn’t been another attempt on the door so I hope that’s the DMLE’s doing.” At the mention of the DMLE, Lavender’s face sours. Draco ignores it. “I’m going to check all of these tapestries for another entrance.” At Lavender’s nod, Draco flicks his wand at each tapestry to lift it up and then another flick as he casts a detection spell to find any secreted entrances. He does this around the room until he reaches the tapestry next to the broken window of their suite, revealing an alcove.

As Lavender continues to stabilise the passageway door, sweat beading across her face, the lights in the room suddenly flicker out, plunging them into complete darkness. A bolt of magical current ripples along the walls, shaking them in its wake, and they all cry out in shock, Dani whimpering. Draco throws up a Lumos Maxima to illuminate the room and finds that the hidden door has been stripped of Lavender’s wards, the red outline once again present and growing brighter. Lavender stumbles forward, her face ashen with horror as she flings another ward against the door that settles over it to dim the red glow. Draco feels a sickening sense of resignation settling over him. He knows they can’t stay hidden here for long. They’re going to have to fight their way out.

He turns to Harry with a grimace. “That door is going to give, and the minute it does, I don’t want you and Dani anywhere near this.”

Harry’s nostrils flare, his gaze hardening with a flash of anger. “We can keep warding the door until Robards sends his team in.”

Draco nods. “We could, but for how long? There are over a hundred guests here, this manor house will be searched from the ground up. It could take some time before we’re reached. We’re going to deplete ourselves from exhaustion, and the minute we stop, they will take the opportunity to break through our wards. There’s some kind of magical hold they have on this room that’s keeping us from completely warding them out.”

Harry leans forward, his teeth bared and his hand rubbing a fussing Dani’s back. “Then I’ll help! We can all switch off on warding the door and—”

“No. Harry. No. I’m not going to risk your life again! Or Dani’s. There’s an alcove, and you’re going to hide there with Dani. The least I can do is ward the f*ck out of the tapestry to keep you both safe while Lavender and I focus on neutralising the threat behind the door. When it’s clear, then I’ll lift the ward, and we’ll leave.”

Harry’s face twists up as tears shimmer in his eyes. “And you’re willing to risk your life?”

Draco doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. For yours and Dani’s safety, yes, a million times over.” He takes hold of Harry’s elbow, leading him down the dais and to the alcove. “Don’t leave this spot, no matter what. Your only focus is protecting yourself and Dani.” Draco runs a hand over Dani’s head before surging forward to press his lips against Harry’s, trying to put all of his love for him in it. “I love you so much. I love you both so, so much. Please listen to me, Harry. Don’t come out of here,” Draco whimpers against his lips. Harry nods, and Draco pulls back. They both search one another’s faces, Draco committing every aspect of Harry’s face to his memory before he drops down to Dani, her unique eyes staring at him as she softly sniffles.

He clenches his jaw and raises his wand, swiftly dropping the tapestry back over the alcove. He then casts Protego and Auror-grade wards, each spell slamming into place with a crackling energy. He adds a silencing charm as well, so as not to alarm Harry and Dani of the explosions…or anything else. He knows that if Harry truly wanted to, he could break free from the tapestry, but Draco trusts him, and knows he will not risk breaking his trust or jeopardising Dani’s safety. The room shudders once more as a surge of magic pulses through the walls again, followed by another deafening boom from beyond the suite’s door. Draco casts another ward, weaving a web of shimmering light across the broken window. It would hold temporarily, providing some extra protection from that direction.

“Draco!” Lavender’s voice rises in desperation. “Help me, I can’t…I can’t hold it any longer—” She staggers back from the door, her spell wavering. Draco sprints towards her, but before he can reach her, the door lets out an ear-splitting screech. It flies open, slamming against the wall with a thunderous crash, ripping it off its hinges and sending dust and debris swirling into the air. Draco shields Lavender with his body, throwing up a hasty Protego in time to deflect an assault of spells aimed their way.

As the chaos around them settles, Draco counts seven guards swiftly entering the room, their wands held aloft. At their centre stands Antonov. He surveys the room with cold, calculating eyes and an unreadable expression. His dark robes billow around him as he moves, the fabric whispering against the floor with each step, eerily reminding Draco of Voldemort.

But he’s no Voldemort.

Antonov stops right outside Draco’s Protego, his guards flanking him closely.

“We meet, at last, Auror Malfoy! I believe you have two of my belongings in your possession. I’d like to have them back now,” Antonov says with a sneer.

“I’d rather put you in an early grave, actually,” Draco growls. “You’ve caused a lot of chaos around here, and I’ve grown tired of your sh*t, Antonov.”

Antonov hums, an amused look on his face, and begins to walk a circle around the Protego, his hands clasping around his back. “Let me think. If I were an Auror trying to save the day, where would I hide the objects of my care?” He stops near the warded tapestry. “How about the only alcove in the room? Get rid of the wards,” Antonov hisses.

Three of the guards step forward then, flinging Bombardas to explode against the protective wards against the tapestry.

Rage courses through Draco like fiendfyre, consuming him from the inside. His eyes blaze, every muscle in his body tensing, coiling like a spring ready to snap. He glances over his shoulder at Lavender, her face equally ablaze, and asks with his eyes. She nods.

Draco drops the Protego.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

As Draco flings his arm wide, a blazing torrent of acid-green slime shoots forth, sizzling and bubbling as it spreads across the ground in front of the advancing guards. At the same time, a dazzling explosion of fireworks shoots out from the tip of Lavender’s wand. The slime seeps into the ground with a hissing fury, shooting up tendrils that wrap around the legs of the nearest guards. Two of them scream out in agony as the acid burns through their clothes and skin, sending them crashing to the ground, writhing in pain. With a ruthless fervour, Draco hits them with Oscausi, sealing their screaming mouths shut. The air fills with the acrid scent of burning flesh, and the remaining guards reel back from the sizzling pool of slime in terror before quickly recovering and flinging up a Protego and shooting out spells.

Antonov’s taunting voice cuts through the chaos as Draco throws himself to the ground and rolls into a kneeled position to throw up his own hasty Protego as a barrage of spells soar towards him.

“Auror Malfoy! Those are dark spells! I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, considering your family. We’re a lot more alike than you think!” Antonov shouts.

Draco scowls. “We’re about as alike as a flobberworm is to a Phoenix, you piece of sh*t,” he sneers, flinging a Diffindo at Antonov, who raises a Protego just before Draco’s spell crashes against the barrier, sending red sparks flying.

At that moment, another guard charges at Draco, his Protego flickering. Draco swiftly traces his wand in the air and sends an Expulso at the guard, blasting through his weak shield and sending him hurtling backwards with a sickening thud against the glass of a window. He continues to cast at the remaining guards, aiming to break down their shields, all while Antonov does the same to his.

Lavender’s fireworks continue to streak through the air, leaving a trail of smoke that surrounds the guards attacking the tapestry, singeing and disorienting them. With a primal growl, Lavender charges forward with her inhuman speed, cutting through the smoke and exploding lights. She lunges onto the back of a staggering guard, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing until he collapses, lifeless. As she falls with him, Lavender swiftly casts Stupefy at the other two guards, knocking out one before engaging in a fiery exchange of increasingly dangerous spells with the other. Using her speed, she grabs the unconscious guard and shields herself with his body as the last standing guard unleashes a bolt of lightning. The lightning strikes her human shield, and she retaliates with her own bolt that strikes the guard in the chest, blasting him off the dais. Draco watches in awe as Lavender turns her attention to the remaining guards, bombarding their shields until they begin to flicker.

With a final combined blast from Draco and Lavender, the shields of the remaining two guards drop, leaving them exposed. Draco lunges towards them while Lavender spins on her heel to attack Antonov. Draco’s Protego shatters from one of the guards’ spells, but he swiftly nonverbally casts Expelliarmus at them both, snatching their wands out of the air as it soars towards him, quickly pocketing them. Defenceless, both guards begin to physically attack Draco.

The first guard swings his fist, landing a punch in Draco’s right side. He grunts in pain through clenched teeth as the second guard comes at him from the other side, backhanding Draco hard across the face and knocking him to the ground. Pain explodes across his cheekbone, leaving him dazed and filling his mouth with blood. He spits the blood out, gasping as the guard who backhanded him grabs the front of Draco’s jacket, yanking him forward to deliver another blow to his face. Meanwhile, the first guard tries to wrest his wand free. With a furious howl, Draco kicks at the second guard in front of him, struggling to aim his wand at the other guard’s face to hex him, but another punch from the first one sends him falling onto his back. His hand flies out of the other guard’s hands. Draco loses his grip on his wand, and it tumbles over the edge of the dais. Swearing under his breath, Draco growls as the first guard then grabs his jacket again, as if searching for their stowed wands as the second guard seizes him by his sweaty hair.

f*ck it, Draco thinks. If it’s a muggle brawl they want, he’s ready to give it to them.

Draco jerks his head forward, some of the strands of his hair ripping in the first guard's grasp as he smashes his forehead into the other guard’s face. The impact is brutal, eliciting a sharp cry from the guard as Draco feels a burst of satisfaction from the crunching sound, even as his own head spins. As the guard stumbles back, stunned as blood pours from his nose, Draco uses this brief distraction to grab the first guard’s arm. He plants his feet firmly on the ground, using the momentum of the guard’s recoil to push himself onto his feet. Releasing the man’s arm, Draco swings his fist, punching him across the face with a brutal precision before grasping his shoulder. He yanks him forward, driving his knee into the man’s solar plexus. The guard falls to his knees, clenching at his chest and wheezing before he collapses forward, unmoving. The bloodied guard then grabs the back of Draco’s jacket, tugging him around.

“What the f*ck is it with you and my f*cking tux?” Draco cries out, blocking the man’s punch with his forearm, and swings his fist.

The guard dodges it and lands a punch to Draco’s chest, making him stumble back. The blow makes his heart feel as if its quivering behind his ribcage. Draco chokes out a gasp, sidestepping the guard. He shakes his head, trying to remain focused through his pain. As the guard advances with his fist raised, Draco sidesteps him again, shuffling deftly to evade several punches, trying to tire the guard out. As the man growls in frustration, Draco charges forward, using the heel of his hand to ram against his broken nose. The guard screams out, covering his face once more and stumbling backwards.

Suddenly, there’s an explosion of light that illuminates the room in a white-hot light as sounds from Lavender’s duel with Antonov reach a staggering height, the room smelling of ozone and smoke. Draco decides it’s time to stop playing around with this thug. He rounds the guard, throwing himself forward; Draco wraps his arm around the guard’s neck and pulls him flush against him, using his other arm to press against his head as he squeezes. The guard gurgles out a sharp cry, his hands shooting up to wrench Draco’s arms free, thrashing about in his grip, but Draco’s like a devil’s snare as he continues to apply pressure.

“You’re lucky I don’t f*cking kill you,” Draco hisses in his ear. The guard’s movements begin to slow. “That’s it. Just let go.” The guard finally goes limp, and Draco releases him, dropping to the ground like a ragdoll.

Panting heavily, his aching chest heaving with exertion, Draco turns towards the source of the light and noise and sees Lavender locked in a fierce duel with Antonov. With a twitch of his hand, his wand comes soaring into his grasp, and he casts a Protego just as Antonov shoots a spell at it. It collides against Draco’s shield, the force pushing him back, but he whips his arm through the air and shoots a blasting charm at Antonov’s weakening shield.

“Nice of you to finally join me!” Lavender shouts at him, her face flushed and sweaty. Draco grins at her, and together, they work at breaking down Antonov’s shield.

Antonov’s face contorts with anger as he tries to hold his shield against their attack.

“Stand down, you stupid f*ck! You’re fighting a losing battle!” Draco shouts against the ferocious boom of their spells colliding and ricocheting off their shields.

A sly grin slips across Antonov’s face as he slips his free hand into the pocket of his robes. “If you think this is over, Auror Malfoy, you’re sorely mistaken.” He withdraws a vial and hurtles it at Draco’s feet. It breaks right outside the shield and Draco ignores it, sending another Confringo at Antonov. He doesn’t notice the black smoke until the fumes reach his nose, the smell strongly reminding him of blood. Lavender’s cries and Antonov’s taunts become a distant, ringing cacophony in Draco’s ears. They are mere background noise overshadowed by the swirling, suffocating cloud of black smoke that surrounds his body, wrapping him in a tight, oppressive embrace. It’s as if the darkness itself is trying to devour him, pressing him in from all sides and engulfing him completely.

In the whirlwind of Draco’s panic, an image of a blooming rose slowly fills his mind’s eye, its petals unfolding with a haunting beauty before they drip crimson blood.

He’s seventeen years old. He’s standing in mother’s rose garden where Fenrir has just chased down a muggle boy barely older than Draco himself. Draco stands frozen, unable to look away as Fenrir sinks his teeth into the boy’s neck, ripping out a chunk of flesh. Blood sprays across Draco’s face.

The boy’s screams are swallowed up by Fenrir’s gleeful howls, sending a chill through Draco’s body, and he shakes uncontrollably. He’s unable to stop the overpowering scent of blood that fills his nostrils, the metallic tang clinging to the air. The blood trickles down Draco’s face, staining him forever, and drips onto a rose in full bloom, now tainted in a macabre reflection of his own corruption.

He’s sixteen years old. His body is betraying him, appetite lost to the relentless decay of depression. His friends are either too powerless to help him or too afraid. He’s on his knees before Lord Voldemort. Aunt Bella grips his pale forearm, her nails digging into his soft flesh. Voldemort approaches, his crimson gaze fixed on Draco’s face before he places the tip of his wand below the crease of his elbow.

“Morsmordre,” Voldemort hisses. Agony sears through Draco, as unbearable as the Cruciatus Curse. The Dark Mark etches into his skin. Blood cascades down his arm, and Draco collapses forward onto his hands, his sobs filling the chamber. Aunt Bella yanks his head up by his hair to force his tear-blurred gaze upward to meet her twisted mask of rage.

“You look upon our Lord and thank him!” she screams into his anguished face.

He’s fifteen years old. Home for Easter break. The air is heavy with the pungent scent of his father’s scotch. Before he can react, Father’s cane lashes out, cutting through the air and striking him across the back. The force of the blow sends him crashing to the floor of the office, the impact jarring his senses.

As he lies there, the sting of the cane’s strike fades to a pulsing ache, and the sickening sensation of blood floods down his back, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. Father’s icy voice slices through the silence. “Yet again, the mudblood remains first in your class. This is unacceptable for a Malfoy. You continue to be a disappointment, a failure, and a poor excuse for an heir.”

Father’s words are like knives, carving to the bone Draco’s already wounded pride. He curls into a ball, the urge to cry almost overwhelming, but he fights it, afraid of another lash if he shows another weakness in front of his father.

Draco’s fourteen years old. It’s the night of the Yule Ball. Envy courses through him as Potter enters the Great Hall with one of the Patil girls on his arm. A burning shame heats him from the inside out as he realises that it’s not Potter he’s jealous of, but the Patil girl. Something sharp and ugly twists in Draco’s chest. He clenches his fists so tightly that his nails draw blood.

Draco knows that Potter will never look at him with the same longing and will never understand the depth of Draco’s feelings. Potter will never know the deep, agonising yearning that Draco suffers every day because of these forbidden desires.

Draco’s self-loathing eclipses any hatred he could ever muster for Potter, fueled by the shame of his own foolish, unrequited longing.

Antonov’s voice is a sinister presence that suddenly fills Draco’s mind, each word dripping with malice. “I had the finest minds craft this potion, Auror Malfoy. Rumour has it that even the Dark Lord himself dabbled with such a brew, concocting a potion that ravages the mind with fear and delirium. Despite your despicable attempts to forsake your Pureblood lineage by consorting with filthy mudbloods, half-breeds, and werewolves, you will never outrun your past. Embrace it, and let it consume you, you pathetic waste of a Pureblood.”

Draco screams.

He screams until his throat feels as if it’s shredding apart, copper filling his mouth, and all he can think about is blood—so much blood. It stains every memory that has ever made him happy. He can’t break free from the despair that grips him, sinking hooks deep into his soul. Terrible memories replay endlessly, and he crumples to his knees, blinded by pain, terror, and a seething self-hatred. He recalls Lena’s lifeless body, covered in blood, Harry’s blood splattered across the walls of Grimmauld Place, and his mother’s battered, bloodied face. The image of Harry’s chest, covered in blood, haunts him, as does the memory of his own chest, of the blood that once spilt from him.

The metallic scent fills his nostrils, and he sobs uncontrollably, his body wracked with grief. How could he ever have deluded himself into thinking he could find happiness after the horrific pain he’s inflicted on others in his past? He can hear his father’s chilling voice in his head, “Your history will always find its way into your present, no matter how determined you are to outrun it. You’ll learn the importance of family soon enough, but it will be too late.” It was too late— he had discovered the importance of his family, his chosen family, and he’d brought suffering to their doorstep. Draco knows he will never be worthy of them. The darkness around him presses down with an unbearable weight, and he struggles to breathe as the smoke insidiously seeps into his mind, tearing him apart. Shattered fragments of what once made him whole are now painfully scattered within his mind.

A child is crying. His child. Her cries intensify and blend with his own. No, no, no, please! He pleads with the dark swirl of magic surrounding him, begging it to spare him from witnessing or hearing his daughter in pain.

There’s a burning sensation on the inside of his left wrist, and the throb of a heartbeat begins to chase away the cries. The rhythm grows stronger, pulsing in his ears, and Draco grasps it, letting it guide him through the tumult of his fracturing mind. The sound is a pure, unadulterated joy that pierces through his grief, opening him up into a vast chasm. Draco finds himself at the heart of it all. He knows without a doubt that it’s Dani’s heartbeat reaching into the deepest, darkest corners of his soul, coaxing him back to life, and suddenly, he’s flooded with unfamiliar memories.

Draco is immersed in a world of sensory delights. He sees flashes of vibrant colours— the soft pastels of her baby clothes, the bright hues of her favourite toys. Shapes dance before his eyes, simple and playful, filling him with her unbridled excitement. He can smell the familiar scents of talcum powder, milk, and her freshly washed blankets. Memories of Ron flood his mind— Ron’s long nose and the constellation of freckles across his face. He can hear Ron’s startlingly loud laugh, a sound that never fails to make her giggle in what Draco can only describe as sheer amusem*nt. Then, there are memories of Harry. Draco hears Harry’s soft voice, a blanket of safety for her. He sees Harry’s eyes, strange and beautiful in their colour to her, always full of tenderness and love. Harry’s smiles are etched into her memory as an unending source of happiness.

Draco sees himself.

In these memories, he’s larger than life, bathed in a warm, radiant light that seems to emanate from within him. His grey eyes are vivid in her memory, catching the flecks of baby blue in his irises and sparkling with adoration. His smile is infectious, bringing her joy and comfort, and his hands are large; strong yet gentle, with arms that radiate warmth through his hugs. Draco can smell his cologne and the scent of his skin; both are familiar to her and always bring her a sense of calm and security. He hears his voice, and though a mishmash of words to her young ears, he can make out the gentle melody that she finds deeply comforting— it’s the lullaby he sings to her sometimes to lull her to sleep. But most poignant of all is a memory of Dani cradled in his arms, her ear pressed against the centre of his chest to hear his heartbeat.

Draco is the brightest constellation in her sky— and she is loved.

The chasm within Draco widens, stretching into an endless ocean, and he clutches his wand tighter, finding solace in the precious, remarkable memories Dani has somehow gifted him. He's suddenly reminded of the time he felt Dani's feelings for him all those months ago at St Marks. He didn't understand how Dani did it then, and doesn't know how she's doing it now or if it’s even her, but he clings to these memories, holding them close in his mind. A sense of grounding washes over him as the suffocating hold of the black smoke loosens its grip. With a sudden clarity, Draco’s eyes snap open, the world around him a pitch-black void. Summoning all his strength, he raises his wand and casts his Patronus. The thick black smoke parts not to reveal his fox, Juniper, but a majestic stag. It charges through the oppressive darkness, each stride of its powerful legs an act of defiance against the shadows. With each toss of its head, its antlers pierce through the obscurity with a fierce determination. His eyes follow the beautiful creature, breath hitching and heart racing at the weight of the stag’s significance.

Draco struggles to his feet, exhaustion pressing down on him. He fights back the vicious onslaught of nausea as the now-darkened room gradually comes into focus, the black smoke dissipating rapidly. Sounds rush back to him— explosions, glass shattering, and cries of distress. Another blast sounds off through the room, shaking the walls, and Draco realises that someone is once again tearing down the wards to the suite. The Lumos spell gone, the room flickers with an electrical current of magic as the wards are dismantled, casting an eerie, ghostly white light between plunges of pitch-black darkness. Panic grips him, and he clutches his wand in trembling hands, watching as the stag clears the last traces of smoke before circling protectively around him.

His gaze snaps to Lavender, her face blank, sweaty, and on her back in the middle of the dais, a wound visible on her stomach. Draco takes several steps towards her, believing the worst, but as she notices him, her eyes becoming wild, almost pleading. Understanding her, he quickly waves his wand to cancel the Petrificus Totalus, and she immediately sits up with a violent wince as her hand flies to her bleeding wound.

“Harry!” Lavender cries out, her voice joining another blood-curdling scream that fills the air, diverting Draco’s attention.

Rage, unlike anything Draco has ever experienced, is a fist to his chest as he hears the raw, agonising cries ripping from Harry’s throat. Harry is on his knees, bent over in pain under Antonov’s wand. Despite his charred and bleeding hand, his magic spills from him, illuminating the alcove in a golden light that surrounds Dani. She sits upright, her tiny hands curled into fists as she wails. Adrenaline surges through Draco, and he charges forward, leaping off the dais.

“ANTONOV!” Draco roars, drawing the man’s shocked attention and ire.

Draco slashes his wand through the air, sending the stag leaping over him, hurtling towards Antonov. With a pained cry, Antonov staggers back, arms flailing in a futile attempt to shield his face from the stag’s intense light. Temporarily blinded, Antonov shouts in fury, firing off a barrage of hexes in Draco’s direction, but all missing their mark.

As Antonov continues his blind assault, Draco is consumed by a crescendo of hate. The thought of killing Antonov crosses his mind, fueled by the visceral image of Harry’s tortured body in his head. Just two words. And he would mean them.

“Impedimenta!” Draco hisses, satisfaction warming his belly as his spell strikes Antonov squarely in the chest. Antonov freezes mid-cast, his mouth contorted into a terrible gash of anger. Draco slowly approaches him, warring thoughts making a frightening mess in his mind. He craves revenge, eager to end this threat to his family and others, but his desire clashes with his deep-seated reluctance to take a life for no other reason than revenge is gnawing at him. He thinks about his soul, about what murdering Antonov would do to it, even as Antonov’s gaze on him brims with hatred. For so long, Draco believed his soul was irreparably tainted by his past misdeeds.

But Draco loves and is loved. His soul may have lingering darkness, but he knows that at the centre of him, there is nothing but pure, unadulterated light.

“Expelliarmus!” Draco murmurs and Antonov’s wand flies towards him. Catching it, Draco sneers, “Incarcerous.” Ropes wrap around the length of Antonov's body, causing him to fall to his side.

Antonov thrashes against his binds. “You have no idea what you’ve started. One day, that little beast will ask where she came from, and then she’ll know all about me! And she’ll learn that she’s always been nothing, will always be worthless, like her whor* mother!”

Draco freezes, eyes flashing dangerously. He draws his foot back and kicks Antonov in the stomach, a grin spreading across his face as the man cries out in pain. He kicks Antonov again and again before he squats down beside him, rolling him onto his back to better see his panting, flushed face. “She’ll never know anything about you. You don’t and will never exist to her. You’re worthless, Antonov, and it kills you to know that Lena’s love and hope will live on in that beautiful little girl.”

Antonov sneers. “I won’t stop until you and your entire filthy brood are buried under my feet, Malfoy! I’ll make sure you suffer for the rest of your f*cking life—”

“Oscausi,” Draco says calmly, straightening back up. Antonov’s mouth disappears. “Empty threats from a coward. The only suffering will be your own in Azkaban.”

He then turns away from Antonov to approach Harry, but Harry waves his charred, bleeding hand at him, halting him in his steps. “Dani,” Harry wheezes out, a shudder rippling through his body as he falls onto his backside, a trembly exhale escaping him as the lingering effects of the Cruciatus Curse leave his system. Draco rushes to Dani, dropping to his knees in front of his crying daughter. Her arms immediately rise up, and he scoops her into an embrace, holding her tight.

“Oh, Dani,” he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion, planting kisses across her forehead and wet cheeks. Her little hands pressed against either side of his face. “You saved me. You saved me, my sweet girl,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut.

He returns to Harry, helping him to his feet the best he can with Dani in his arms. He sinks his hand into the nape of Harry's hair, bringing their foreheads together as he sobs. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry he hurt you.”

“Draco. Draco— it’s okay, we’re okay,” Harry whispers, gripping him tightly with shaking hands, and Draco sobs harder. Harry kisses him on the lips, gentle and reassuring, his arms wrapping around both him and Dani.

“Your stag,” Draco says by way of explanation.

Harry’s responding smile is magnificent. “It was brilliant. You are brilliant.”

The final layer of wards collapse around them, the shattering sound startling Dani into tears once more. The room is immediately flooded with DMLE, IWP, and Brussels’ Agents, wands at the ready as they clamber over the broken window. From the hidden passageway, Robards steps through the damaged doorway; an angry Marchbanks hauled into the room by an Auror beside him. Relief washes over Draco, but it is quickly replaced with dread as they all freeze, their eyes landing on the dais.

“Lavender, no!” Draco calls out.

Despite her bleeding stomach wound, Lavender has hauled Antonov’s bound body to his knees, one arm wrapped around his neck with her wand pressed against his temple.

Robards steps forward onto the dais and snaps, “Put the wand down, Auror Brown!”

“It’s Agent Brown, you arsehole! And I don’t report to you anymore!” Lavender says violently, her teeth bared.

Janssens stands beside Robards. “But you report to me. Stand down, Agent Brown. The suspect has been apprehended. This operation is now over.”

“Suspect?” Lavender cries in disbelief. “He’s a confirmed guilty criminal, Pierre. He doesn’t deserve a trial of his peers; he deserves to f*cking die!”

“Lavender, you don’t have to do this,” Draco says softly, Harry’s arms still tight around him and Dani.

Lavender’s eyes flash gold as she jabs the wand against Antonov’s temple, a spark of red singeing his hair, making him flinch. “Are you mad, Draco? You didn’t hear what he said! The way he bragged about finally killing you! I thought—I thought you were dead,” she whimpers. “He’s a monster! A rabid dog that needs to be put down!”

Draco had heard the horrific monologue, but he didn't admit to it. Instead, he carefully detaches himself from Harry’s embrace and takes a step closer to her. “That’s not for you to decide. You don’t think I want to kill him for hurting my family? I do, but he’s not worth the f*cking damage it’ll do to my soul. I know you’ve reached your limits, but this isn’t the way to go out, Lavender.”

“He’s right, Agent— Lavender,” Janssens starts placatingly. “Let’s all be rational here. If you try to attack him, we’ll have to respond accordingly, and I don’t want to do that.”

Livid, she recoils, dragging Antonov with her. “f*ck you! You would take me out, Pierre? After everything I’ve sacrificed for this Merlin-forsaken case? All the people I’ve lost and had to hurt to get you— all of you— to this point. So shut the f*ck up!” Lavender shouts before turning begging eyes to Draco. “Draco…you and I both planned on killing this bastard. We both said we were going to do it! Isn’t that right? Draco, please, isn’t that right?” she says manically, tears welling up in her eyes. When she is met with silence, she screams, “I couldn't save her! I—I couldn't save my friend!”

Draco’s heart breaks at the devastation in Lavender’s voice, his lips tightening as he draws nearer. "Killing him won't bring her back," he says, his arms coiling protectively around Dani, drawing strength from her small warmth and the thrum of her heartbeat on the inside of his wrist. “You saved her child,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper, “and you ensured her safety. Ensured that she’s loved. You did right by Lena, Lavender. She wouldn't want you to have blood on your hands, especially not this piece of sh*te's blood."

Lavender shakes her head. "I don't know what to do," she moans. "I just want it all to stop. I want this pain in my chest to stop."

Draco can feel his eyes sting. Lavender's weariness and hurt is palpable. "Then let it go. Let her go. It’s time for Lena to rest now, and for you to forgive yourself.”

Tears stream down her cheeks as she sobs, “Oh, Draco. I’m sorry...I'm so sorry I hurt you.”

Draco’s shoulders slump, a heavy sigh escaping him. “I know you are. But you’ve given me the most precious gift, and for that, I’m grateful to you.”

“I’m sorry for all of it,” Lavender gasps. "I'm...I'm so sick of this person I've become. I've never hated myself more than I do right now," she whispers, her grip on Antonov weakening.

“Then end this, Lavender. Let’s end this so we never have to look back on it,” he says gently.

The tension in the air is palpable as Lavender slowly releases Antonov and drops her wand to the ground before kicking it out in front of her, her eyes fixed on Draco. The Aurors move in swiftly, surrounding her and restraining Antonov.

Lavender doesn’t break her eye contact with him, her hands trembling as she lifts them in surrender as she’s escorted away, and he can feel the depth of her pain, the searing burden of it mirrored in her eyes.

Draco realises that despite his urging not to look back, from now on, a part of him will carry a shard of this burden, too.

“...And there will be talk of disciplinary action once you’ve recovered. Obviously, I understand the constraints you were under in agreeing to this hair-brained operation, but the issue remains that you were working outside the confines of—”

“Excuse me,” Harry interrupts from his bed, squinting. “We’ve just survived a really f*cked up, harrowing ordeal, Gawain. Do you think you can save the lectures for, I don’t know, any other time than now?”

Robards scowls. “This is a time-sensitive matter, Potter.”

Draco lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes as he props himself up in bed. “Oh, by all means, sir,” he retorts, his voice airy and dazed from the number of potions he’s under. “Let’s get on with the lecture, shall we? Who cares about my laundry list of medical ailments?” It was indeed a laundry list — three broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, an ankle sprain, a fractured cheekbone, countless lacerations, not to mention the physical and magical exhaustion paired with his mental anguish from this so-called f*cked up, harrowing, hair-brained mission…he was in for a lengthy recovery.

Robards tense demeanour suddenly softens, his expression becoming more gentle. “Now, come on. You know I wouldn’t waste your time or your energy,” he says, moving to take a seat next to Draco’s bed. “I know you’ve been through hell and back in the last twenty-four hours. You did a damn outstanding job bringing down that operation, and you saved your partner from making a grave mistake, even though she isn’t worth the spit you shine your shoes with, son.”

“I didn’t complete this mission alone.” Draco suddenly feels a chill as he recalls the look in Lavender’s eyes before she was led away. “Lavender did what she believed was right, sir. She’s no more guilty than I am for choosing to go on this mission.”

“She betrayed our entire unit, Draco.”

“And that burden will be hers to carry forever. Regardless, I would not have Harry and Dani back had it not been for her fast-thinking and intel. So, respectfully, sir, I have no desire to add to her condemnation.”

Robards nods solemnly. “I won’t ask you to. However, I do want to let you know that she will be transferred back to Brussels immediately. I can’t have someone like that returning back to active duty here. But we’re grateful. We apprehended over a hundred and fifty individuals at the auction, including ten Ministry officials from MACUSA, five high-ranking officials from our own Ministry, a known Death Eater, and about every type of criminal under the sun.”

“Marchbanks,” Draco interjects. “She—she played a larger role in the auctions than previously believed.”

Robards confirms, “She’s admitted to being a Ministry mole for Antonov. Apparently, they’ve had an on-again, off-again romantic relationship for a decade. She was the one to give up Nowak’s location at the safehouse, since approval had to come through the Wizengamot. It was also her idea to auction off the child when she was born.”

Draco runs a hand through his hair, processing the overflow of information. “And Fudge’s relative?”

“A grandson. He was in over his head in gambling debts with Antonov’s crew. He was used as a pawn in Games and Sports, manipulating wager outcomes and the likes for Antonov,” Robards explains.

Draco inhales sharply, his breath rattling in his chest as panic sets in. “And what of Antonov?” he blurts out, his mind racing. “With MACUSA and British Ministry officials involved, high-ranking ones at that, how can we ensure that he won’t escape prosecution or be extradited to his home country? What measures are in place to prevent him from regaining power or continuing his empire remotely?”

Robards hand curls around Draco’s, jolting him out of his spiralling thoughts. “Easy, kid,” Robards says, his tone calming. “That bastard and all one-hundred and fifty of his friends are going to prison. Azkaban, specifically, unless they’re muggles. They’ll be brought up on relatable charges according to their laws and will be locked away. No one from Antonov’s inner sanctum will get extradited anywhere unless they want to expose their country’s involvement with Antonov— and no one wants to claim that embarrassment. We’ll take the heat for letting him run rampant for as long as he has, but we’ll also show that we're relentless in our pursuit of him to the fullest extent of the law. Antonov and his closest associates will be behind bars for the rest of their lives.” Robards gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve got a lot to discuss once you’re back on your feet. You’ll need to get your head shrinked by one of our mind healers first, and then we’ll talk about a new partner. Any chance Weasley might want to join up again?”

The idea of returning to the DMLE nearly sends Draco back into a panic, but he manages to push it down enough to force a weak smile. “Merlin. Not a chance in hell.”

Robards chuckles. “It’s a damn shame. Weasley’s gotta good head on his shoulders. I heard he did a stellar job directing you through that manor house. And he was the one that alerted us of Brussels’ dirty, no good tricks.”

“I owe Ronald my life,” Draco whispers, full of gratitude. Even now, Ron was looking out for him by watching Dani at the Burrow until they reconnect in the morning.

Robards smiles warmly, a rare sight, and rises to his feet. “You, Weasley, and Potter here are heroes in my book. Now, why don’t you rest up? I’ll check in on you in a couple of days, so consider yourself on medical leave for the next sixty days, Auror Malfoy.” He nods at Harry. “You take care, too, Potter.” Harry waves.

Before Robards makes it to the door, Draco calls out, “Wait, sir! Before you go. There was a young security guard named Gaven…”

Once Robards had left, Draco lay in his hospital bed in silence, staring up at the now dimly lit ceiling. Lost in thought, he replayed the evening’s events in his mind, each moment embedding itself deeper into his consciousness and unable to shake the haunting image of Lavender’s eyes, so full of pain and regret. He swallows thickly as he admits to himself that she had been right. The DMLE and Ministry of Magic were deeply flawed, more than he ever imagined. Corruption ran rampant, infecting even the highest levels of government if people like Marchbanks and Fudge’s own grandson could be manipulated into serving Antonov’s interests. He can no longer ignore the cracks in the Ministry’s facade— that lurking darkness beneath the surface. How many more Marchbanks were there in the Wizengamot or DMLE, hiding in plain sight? Draco knows that he’ll have to make a decision about his fate at the DMLE and soon.

He’s startled out of his thoughts as the bed dips beside him. He blinks as Harry’s face swims into view.

“Hi,” Harry whispers, his brilliant green eyes shining. “Budge over, will ya?”

Draco scoots over, making room. Exhaustion settles over him like a second skin, and he melts into Harry’s warm embrace, their bodies pressed together under the thick blanket. Draco wants nothing more than to be comforted by him. He tucks his nose against the hollow of Harry’s throat, breathing in the fresh scent of his skin mingled with antiseptic and dittany potions for his needle marks.

Draco shivers involuntarily despite the warmth enveloping him, his voice a tremulous whisper against Harry’s neck as he says, “I thought I lost you.” Finding Harry the way he did— injured, drugged, frightened, and in pain— had filled Draco with horror. Once more, he found himself thrust into a situation where control slipped through his fingers, facing the stark reality that those he loved could be snatched away from him by a merciless monster. Draco squeezes his eyes shut, a strangled sob escaping his lips as tears slide down his warm cheeks. He feels stripped bare and achingly vulnerable, but a strange sense of appreciation washes over him as he snuggles closer, feeling privileged to be able to share this raw part of himself with Harry. He clings to Harry’s love and protection like a drowning man.

Harry tenderly runs his hand through Draco’s hair. “I’m here, Draco. I’m right here; you didn’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” he says. “You saved me.”

“You saved me,” Draco counters softly. “Your Patronus…”

Harry runs a hand down the length of Draco’s arm, a fond look in his eyes. “That was all you, my love, and I’m so happy for it. But something peculiar did happen. When Dani and I were behind the tapestry,” Harry starts, his eyes bright with intensity as he recalls the incident, “She…performed accidental magic. She started crying uncontrollably, and this pale blue light surrounded her, lighting up the alcove. It scared the hell out of me, Draco. I thought something terrible was happening to her, but then…I could feel her reaching out to you…I can’t explain it…I had no idea what was happening beyond the tapestry, but I just knew that her light was going to reach you somehow. That you needed it. So I held her through it until she calmed down, and the light went away.”

Draco’s breath catches as he pulls back, meeting Harry’s gaze with wide eyes. “Antonov hit me with some potion,” he explains with a sense of jittery urgency. “Said it was one of Voldemort’s creations. The fumes dredged up all these terrible memories and emotions from my past. I felt like I was losing my mind, sinking into despair, trapped in a loop of a tragedy of my own making. But then Dani cried, and I heard her heartbeat, clear as if I were touching the heartline, but I wasn’t. Her memories flooded mine, happy memories of us— you, me, and Ron. They…they broke through the potion’s effects, bringing me back from getting lost in my pain. I—I have no idea how she did it— perhaps it was our connection through the bond, she was able to sense— I don’t know, but she saved me, Harry. Her memories were a beacon I followed out of the darkness, and your stag was the force that chased that darkness away.” Draco lifts his hand to cup Harry’s cheek. “You both saved me,” he says quietly.

Harry gently places his hand over Draco’s, a small, soft smile playing on his lips. “That’s what family is for.”

Draco surges forward, pressing his lips against Harry’s, his tongue swiping Harry’s bottom lip, begging for permission as Harry’s mouth opens under him. Draco tries to drink in every pant, every moan, every whimper.

Harry’s fingers sink into Draco’s hair, cupping the back of his head. “I love you so much.”

It’s all Draco wants, all he’ll ever want: to be loved by his little family; to fiercely love and protect them for the rest of his life.

“I love you.”

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

“Oh! We’re almost flying! Go faster, Daddy!” Dani shrieks, her saccharine giggles trailing behind in the wind as Draco picks up speed down the street.

It truly feels like flying. Draco remembers the exhilaration of learning to ride a bike, a skill Hermione patiently taught him and Harry after Dani expressed interest in having one last year. They haven't mustered the courage to buy her one yet, wanting to wait until she’s a little bit older before they have to chase after her, what with her need for speed. He can only imagine what she’ll be like once they introduce her to a training broom. She’s like Harry in that regard— all Gryffindor bravado and adrenaline. In the meantime, she enjoyed glorious rides on his and Harry’s bikes. Strapped in her baby bike seat attached directly behind him and protected by several charms, she spreads her arms wide, flapping them like the wings of a bird. Her hot pink helmet with a pattern of her painted-on dark green grass snakes is securely in place, and her oversized sunglasses shield her unique, midnight blue eyes from the sun and wind. Paired with her purple dungarees and a neon green t-shirt with even more snakes printed on it, Draco thinks she’s the coolest-looking four-year-old in all the world.

Dani breathes in deeply with a “Mmm, yum!” as they pass the bakery with the pain au chocolat that doesn’t hold a candle to Ron’s version. Draco pedals past the rubbish bin and flower bed he once knocked Harry into after a drunken night out in Muggle London, and her giggles once again become wild and breathless as she points to the blossoming roses. They ride past St Mark’s Church, where he first felt overwhelming love for his daughter, just as the clock strikes noon and the church bells ring out. Dani squeals with delight as a flock of starlings, singing a lovely song, take flight into the perfect, cloudless sky.

They reach the intersection where Dani called Draco “Daddy” for the first time during an afternoon stroll when she was just shy of one year old, the bench where she called Harry “Papa” several months later, and the crosswalk where Ron claims she called him “Won-Won” for the first time before she ever said “Daddy” or “Papa.” They pass the old fat tuxedo cat that seems to rule the neighbourhood, lolling on the ground in a patch of sunlight, a cat Dani affectionately named Mr Piddles when she was two. She greets him with a cheerful hello. They wave at their favourite neighbours, Mr and Mrs Chopra, the owners of Mr Piddles, as they set out a small dish of water for him. They pass the hair salon where Draco and Harry nervously took Dani for her first professional haircut when she was three. They ride past the playground where Dani made her first best friend, a four-year-old named Kamal, several months ago. They take a bumpy ride past the chippie where she swore off meat last week (only to break that vow two days later at the chicken shop next to it). They ride past the Tesco Express, where she had her first public tantrum yesterday over a creme egg, flopping onto the floor and slapping it with her hands and feet as she screamed the entire establishment down. With a lump pressing up Draco’s throat, they ride past the primary school Dani will be attending muggle reception classes in just a few short months.

And on they go, passing four years of memories that’ll continue to grow— good, bad, funny, and sad— all beautiful and worth the experience, every single one of them.

As they round the corner to Grimmauld Place, the townhouse comes into view, and Draco slows down. Dani claps her hands, cheering Draco on as he squeezes the brake and steps off the bike, using his foot to push out the kickstand.

“What do you think about our timing, sweetheart? Is it a record?” Draco asks, unclipping his helmet and setting it in the basket attached to the front of the bike. He then retrieves the small box with little holes in it that they’ve collected for today.

“That was the fastest ever, Daddy, for sure!” she exclaims, her excitement bubbling over. She says this every time they take their favourite scenic route home, but Draco thinks this really might be their best yet at half an hour. Dani patiently waits as he unbuckles her from her seat and removes her helmet and sunglasses, dropping them in the basket. Her curly, cornsilk blonde hair tumbled down her back as Draco gently smooths back any flyaway tendrils from her flushed, happy face. She’ll be needing another trim soon, even though Draco loves her long hair. He’s grown his hair past his shoulders to match hers and to teach her how to plait hair. Harry’s obsessed with it. He lifts her into his arms, propping her onto his hip. She places one hand on either side of his face, tugging it down so she can playfully rub her forehead against his. A mischievous grin that’s all Ron spreads across her little face, both cheeks dimpling, as she quirks her eyebrow in an accurate imitation of Draco’s own quizzical expressions.

“We still need to decorate the present, so we mustn’t wake Papa,” Dani says. They noticed her verbal advancement from an early age, and Hermione had been brilliant in recommending ways to continue to support her growth, but now they’ve also noticed her accent is sometimes plummy. Draco knows it won’t be long before she’s speaking with a full-on posh accent. He only hopes that Harry’s London accent and that of her future classmates will influence her to round out her words a bit more. Harry’s definitely starting to influence Draco’s manner of speech, much to his parents’ chagrin. If Father called Harry the hoi polloi one more time…

Draco returns her grin as he carries her up the stairs. “You’re right. Papa must be tired from his long shift at hospital, but we don’t want him to sleep for too long, not on your special day.”

“It’s Papa’s special day, too! I want to make sure he knows how much we love him, especially today, Daddy,” Dani insists, her tone resolute. Her attention shifts as the house opens its doors for them. “Oh, hello, Grimmy, we missed you too!” she greets cheerfully, waving her little hand at the door.

Sometimes, Draco’s heart swells so much it feels on the verge of bursting from the sheer abundance of love he feels every waking minute. How has he been blessed with such a selfless, intelligent, gentle-hearted little girl? Even on her own birthday, she places her Papa’s happiness above her own, leaving Draco marvelling at the depth of her kindness.

Dani squirms in Draco’s arms, and he sets her down gently. She grabs his hand and puts a finger to her lips, guiding them into the sitting room. Her miniature tea set is arranged in the corner, and she takes her place among her audience of stuffed animals. Draco joins her, folding his tall frame into one of the miniature chairs. He sets the box— Harry’s gift— on the table in front of them.

Dani arms herself with glue, crayons, markers, stickers, glitter, and googly eyes from her arts and crafts box, then turns solemn eyes to Draco. “We will make this pretty for Papa, then surprise him, and then…hmmm, what will we do after?” she ponders aloud.

Draco hums with her. “How about we go out for lunch, sweetheart? Would you like that?”

Dani giggles as she uncaps the glue, which oozes out, prompting Draco to act quickly and draw his wand to protect the gift from what will undoubtedly be a deluge of glue and glitter.

“Yes! Very much. Breakfast was yummy, but I really want a cheese and tomato toastie. Can we get a cheese and tomato toastie, Daddy?” she asks eagerly, brimming with unrestrained excitement.

“You can have anything your heart desires today,” Draco replies, uncaring of spoiling her on her birthday.

“Do you think Papa will want a toastie too? ‘Cos it’s his special day?”

“Of course,” Draco assures her, holding out a massive roll of snake stickers, which Dani accepts with a polite “thank you.” He had initially been alarmed by Dani’s fascination with snakes, given his deep-rooted fear of them after living with Nagini. But Ron had poked holes in Draco’s irrational fear by joking that maybe the obsession makes Dani a true Slytherin, and that Harry might even teach her Parseltongue one day. Draco could imagine Dani becoming a polyglot like himself and Mother, especially since she already enjoys learning her French and German lullabies.

“Daddy, can I stay up all night?” Dani asks, concentrating on glueing googly eyes to the front of the box, careful not to cover any of the holes.

“If you think you can,” Draco replies, using a crayon to draw a daisy on the other side of the box. He knows she’ll be out like a Nox by nine.

She turns to him, eyes big and pleading. “Since I can have everything my heart likes today, can I have a baby unicorn for my birthday, please?” Draco smiles at her slyness. It’s a request she’s been making for months despite his repeated explanations of why she can’t have one.

Draco’s expression softens in apology as he replies, “I’m sorry, Dani. You know why you can’t have a unicorn. They’re very special creatures that need to stay in their own habitat to be free and happy. Humans can’t own them; it would be cruel.”

Dani bows her little head, her lower lip trembling momentarily before she lifts a hopeful gaze back to him. “Can I build a treehouse?”

Draco nods. How can he say no to a look like that? He’s ruined forever. “I think that would be a lovely project. We can certainly begin to plan one out for the garden. But it will take more than a day to build it.”

“Oh. Okay. Daddy, why do we wear shoes?”

“That’s an excellent question. We wear them to protect our feet from the ground and other things that might give us ouchies.”

Dani has a contemplative look on her face as she presses a pink marker against her mouth. “Hmmm, I like when my feet touch the ground! Daddy, do you think I have superpowers?”

Draco chuckles. “You have magic, sweetheart. It’s your superpower.”

“Because I’m a witch?”

Draco nods. “Yes, because you’re our little witch, and you will grow up to be a big, powerful witch.”

“Will I have to go to school to be a big, powerful witch?”

“Yes, one day you will go to Hogwarts, where they’ll teach you all kinds of magic.” Draco's chest aches at the thought. It was much too soon to think about her shipping off to Hogwarts, but time is moving fast, and she’s becoming more intrigued by the magical world with every trip to Diagon Alley, the Burrow, the Manor, and Hosgmeade, her questions a mile long after each visit.

“Daddy, what if I don’t want to be a witch?”

Draco bites his lower lip as he picks up a purple crayon to draw tulips. This is a tough one. Merlin, where was Harry— or Hermione— when he needed them? “Well, you will always be a witch; magic is inside of you. You were born with it. But you don’t have to always use magic or have a magical job. You can live whatever life you want when you’re a grown-up. Even if you want to be a—ah, a doctor or an, ah— internet expert. Your Papa and I will support your decision.” Draco had spent many a night contemplating this, even discussing it with Harry in the wee hours. Their little collection of “what if” scenarios seem to expand with each passing day, mirroring Dani’s absorption of new information and experiences. They are steadfast in their resolve to never push Dani onto a path her heart isn’t set on, but they are adamant about her attending Hogwarts. After graduation, if she wants to venture into the muggle world, apply to a muggle university, or pursue a muggle job, they’ll stand by her, supporting her every step of the way.

“What’s internet?”

“Oh, well. Do you remember Aunt ‘Mione’s laptop?” he asks. Dani nods. “Remember how she was able to show you pictures of adders on them?” She nods again. “She used the internet to do it. It’s like a big library of everything you could possibly think of.”

Dani's eyes light up. “Wow! In that little box?”

Draco laughs, nodding. “Yes, isn’t that amazing? Muggles have their own clever magic.”

She dumps a pile of green glitter on top of the box. “Like toasters! I love muggle magic!”

He smiles at her fondly. “Me too, sweetheart.”

Draco leans in close, his lips near Harry’s ear. “Happy 29th birthday, baby,” he whispers.

Harry’s wild mop of hair is the only thing visible under the piles of blankets and pillows on top of him as Draco leans over from his side of the bed. Grimmauld Place has cooled down each room to fluffy blanket-worthy temperatures to combat the end-of-July heatwave that has London in a chokehold. Just the day before, Harry spent a twenty-hour shift volunteering for a mobile clinic through St. Mungo’s. Once a week, he attends to patients who might otherwise be overlooked by the overburdened hospital. He needed all the sleep he could get before the birthday festivities. Harry cherished working through the travelling clinic, which operated out of a large suitcase and journeyed to various magical communities across the British Isles. He plans to transition fully to the travelling clinic on a part-time basis in the next couple of months so he can spend more time with Draco and Dani.

Harry snorts. “You only call me baby when you’ve done something naughty. Is this the kind of naughty I need to be naked for?” he says from under his mound of downy blankets.

“Why would you have to be naked if Daddy is being naughty, Papa?”

Harry shoots upright, his hand flying out to the nightstand in search of his glasses. Draco chuckles and hands them to him. “Oh! Treacle, I didn’t see you there! Never mind all that,” he says, his cheeks flushing as he shoves his glasses on. He opens his arms wide, leaning over the side to pull her up onto the bed. He kisses her on the forehead. “Happy fourth birthday! What have you two been up to?”

“Happy Birthday to you! Daddy and I have the best present ever in the whole wide world for you!” She brandishes the box, now covered in green and gold glitter, Draco’s poorly drawn flowers, snake stickers, and strange googly eyes that move in a circular motion whenever the box shifts.

Harry gingerly takes the gift from her. “This looks beautiful; well done!” he exclaims.

“Yay! Yay! Yay! Daddy helped, too!” Dani says, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“I wonder what it is,” Harry says, lifting the box to his head and shaking it gently. A hissing sound emanates from the box, causing Harry to immediately freeze, his eyes locking with Draco’s over Dani’s head. He then drops his gaze back down to the box and opens it, pulling out a baby albino corn snake, and hisses back at it, an apologetic look on his face.

Oh f*ck. Draco can feel his face heat up. He did not think this through! Harry sounds downright obscene talking to the little snake. How was he going to stop himself from rutting up against him every time he talks to the damn thing?

Harry shoots him a knowing look. “Someone’s realising they made a big no-no.”

Dani giggles and says, “Did the snake say something silly, Papa?” just as Draco sighs dramatically and says, “You know it’s impossible to say no to a face like hers.”

Harry laughs. “This is absolutely the best present ever in the whole wide world,” he says, leaning forward to wrap Dani in a one-armed bear hug. She throws her little arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, Treacle. I love her!” Dani then squeezes in between Harry and Draco, burrowing under the blanket and snuggling against Harry. Harry winks at Draco, “C’mere you,” he says roughly.

Draco’s breath catches as he leans forward, meeting Harry halfway. Harry presses soft, tender kisses against his lips, making Draco feel a bit intoxicated. “Thank you, baby,” Harry says sweetly as they part. Draco rolls his eyes, blushing. Even after two years of marriage, Harry still has the uncanny ability to make Draco feel like a teenage boy with a terrible crush.

Dani, poking one of the googly eyes on Harry’s box, speaks up. “Can you speak to the snake now, Papa?”

“Sure,” Harry says, lifting the little snake to eye level and hissing at it again. The snake hisses back, a soft and hesitant little sound. Draco’s intrigued.

Dani’s eyes are wide. “Wow, what’s it saying?”

Harry nods, a happy look on his face. “She is a little baby, and she’s very happy to be outside of the box, though she would like to be nice and warm, so I’m going to wrap her up in the blanket for now.”

Dani gasps, her face full of concern. “Oh no! I don’t want her to be cold!”

Harry runs a soothing hand over her head. “It’s okay, Treacle. She’s going to warm up fast.”

“Perhaps we should ask her what her name is?” Draco suggests.

“Yes! Her name!” Dani says excitedly, sitting up straighter.

Harry nods again. “Good idea.” He lifts the small snake up, hissing softly at her. Her response is longer than before, and Harry’s brows furrow. “Er…she says: ‘My name embodies the language of the arcane…’” He pauses, hisses at her; she hisses back. “...I am whispers of death and rebirth, shrouded in mystique.” There’s more hissing from the snake. “I am the very foundation of all magical connotations.’”

Dani giggles. “That’s a really long name!”

Draco laughs, shaking his head. Of course they would have a dramatic snake for a pet. He considers the snake’s sphinx-like puzzle of a name. A Lumos goes off in his head. “Runes. Is that an acceptable interpretation?”

“Hold on, let me ask,” Harry says before hissing. “That tracks with her!” Harry answers with a chuckle.

Dani claps her hands. “Welcome to our family, Runes!”

They venture into Muggle London to find the perfect cheese and tomato toasties, stumbling upon a quaint cafe near Angel Station, tucked away along Chapel Market. They not only indulged in decadent toasties but also selected a succulent plant for Dani from a nearby florist stand. With Runes in tow (who has taken a quick liking to winding around Harry’s wrist or resting on his shoulders), they made a quick detour to a pet shop. Passersby couldn’t help but do a double-take at the tiny snake, which seemed more like a living accessory than a pet.

When they return to Grimmauld Place, they spend some time setting up Runes’ new habitat before heading to the garden.

Draco throws open their double doors, sweeping Dani into his arms and spinning her around as a chorus of “SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DANI AND HARRY!” rings out across the garden.

Dani gasps, her face splitting into a blinding grin as her eyes feast on the unicorn and snake-themed birthday decorations and family, all wearing birthday hats matching the theme.

“Daddy, Papa! This is all for me?” Dani cries, smiling as Harry places a birthday hat on her head.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Draco says, hugging her. “It’s your special day, too.” He sets her down and watches as she takes off across the yard to Victoire, Roxanne, and Teddy.

All of their closest friends and families had gathered, including Ron and Hermione, standing proudly next to a magnificent cake shaped like a galloping unicorn with a snake wrapped around its horn, Molly and Arthur, George and Angelina with their children, Percy and Aubrey, Bill and Fleur with their little ones, Andromeda and Teddy, Pansy, Theo, and Blaise, Luna and Rolf, Ginny, Dean and Seamus, Neville and Hannah, and Mother. Draco’s heart skips a beat as he looks out at his chosen family, proud and humbled to be a part of such a loving group of people, all here to celebrate the loves of his life. As Draco revels in his joy, his thoughts briefly drift to Lavender, whom he hasn’t seen since the Aurors escorted her from the auction room. Her haunting gaze has stayed with him and probably will forever, but her letter, received a month after the mission, had brought him unexpected peace.

In it, she offered a heartfelt apology, and most importantly, enclosed a stack of documents that would profoundly change Draco’s life for the better.

…and I have always cared about you. That will never change, even if we’re no longer partners, even if you might hate me. The moment I realised how much you loved Dani, I decided to help expedite this strenuous process for you— her adoption. I worked tirelessly between Robards, the Ministry’s Department of Public Health, and the Division of Vital Records to register Dani’s birth and provide proof that Lena wanted you to adopt her. I may have had to strong-arm a couple of people for this next step, but I wanted the option to be available to you in case you decided to pursue it: joint adoption papers for you…and Harry. I know you love each other deeply, and he’ll make a perfect father to Dani as well.

You deserve so much love and happiness, Draco. I hope I can give you this bit of peace after so much heartache. I’m so sorry if you ever thought I was trying to take your joy away from you or hurt your family. That was never my intention. I hope one day, we can share a laugh and look back on our past together as something that made us stronger, not bitter towards each other.

Until then, babes.

After carefully reading through the scrolls, Draco cried. He cried so hard, his sobs had brought Harry and Ron running into his room, concerned. He had shown them the documents and Harry had dropped down in front of him, his hands resting on Draco’s knees.

“I’m a selfish prick, Draco. All I want is for you and Dani to be mine forever. If you’ll have me, if you both will have me, then yes. Please. I want to be Dani’s other father, and I want to be your partner in every possible way. I had planned on asking during our next evening stroll with Dani, but this feels like the right moment. So, what do you say? Will you marry me?”

Ron had gasped, his hands flying to his mouth. His eyes were so comically large that Draco had burst into laughter before quickly succumbing to tears again. He slid down onto the floor with Harry, wrapped his arms around him, and said yes.

Ron had clapped his hands together, his eyes bright and voice thick as he said, “Draco and Harry, sitting in a tree. F-U-C-K-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marri—Well, actually. First comes the casual shagging masking your love, then comes baby.”

He’ll never forget the day they initialled along the necessary dotted lines, both signing their names at the bottom of the adoption papers. They’d watched in wonder as their names glowed bright gold before settling back to black, magically sealing the contract. A few seconds later, the scroll folded into itself and disappeared, now fully registered with the Ministry.

It was finally done.

Danica Lena Potter-Malfoy was now officially Draco’s and Harry’s daughter.

And Draco had Lavender to thank for it. He couldn’t help but also think in return, until then, babes.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, a concerned look on his face.

Draco quickly swipes at his cheeks. “Yes, honey. Come here,” he says, pulling Harry into a hug. Harry holds him tightly, his hand rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“Oh! Sweetheart, are you alright?”

Draco pulls back to see his Mother standing next to the double doors of the house.

“Hello, Mum!” Harry exclaims with excitement, stepping towards her and gently taking her hands in his. He kisses both of them before doing the same to each of her cheeks, then steps back, still holding her hands, and gazes at her with admiration. He shakes his head. “You look absolutely divine, as always.”

Draco elbows Harry sharply in the side. “Can I get you anything to drink, Mother?” Draco asks, shoving Harry out of the way to hug his Mother and drop a kiss to her cheek.

“I’m quite alright, thank you,” Mother replies.

Draco Summons two cups of fizzy drink, handing Harry a cup of Tango Orange. “Enough of your flirting, Potter,” he growls, sipping at his own cup of the fizzy drink. It was Dani’s and Harry’s favourite, and Draco had to admit that it was starting to grow on him.

Harry’s rakish grin sends a thrill up Draco’s spine. “What? I can’t compliment your drop-dead gorgeous mother, Draco? Don’t be rude…or jealous!”

Draco splutters as Mother’s laughter rings out, bold and vibrant. “You kids do keep me young,” she declares, her cheeks flushed. “Now, where is my granddaughter?”

“NANA!” Dani cries out from across the garden as she breaks into a run.

“Dani!” Mother calls out, giggling.

Just then, Father steps into the garden, causing Dani to slow her pace and hold her chin high. Draco cringes, his eyes flashing with annoyance at Father. He despises how Father subtly tries to instil Pureblood etiquette in Dani. They’ve had explosive arguments about it, with Draco accusing him of trying to brainwash her in Pureblood superiority which Father coolly responds with, “Since when is basic etiquette training considered an Indoctrination to Pureblood Supremacy? You have been mingling with the hoi polloi— I mean Potter— for far too long…”

Father might be all bark and no bite lately, but Draco still keeps a watchful eye on him, just in case. Their relationship has improved over the past few years, and Draco didn’t want to overlook that progress. He still struggles to let go of the trauma and abuse he endured at Father’s hands growing up. It also doesn’t help that Father has never apologised for any of it, but he’s been kinder. When Draco came clean and introduced Dani to his parents, Father surprised the hell out of Draco by graciously accepting her as Draco’s heir. When he decided to leave the field to instead lead hand-to-hand combat, weaponry, and duelling classes for the DMLE trainees, his Father had been the first to voice his approval, having said, “You are a family man now. Learn from my mistakes. You must prioritise their happiness over your own ambitions, especially with Auror work. It is a death-wish under the guise of a thankless job.” When Draco married Harry, Father showed his acceptance by adding Harry to the Malfoy tapestry, will, and the vaults. All of these gestures were significant shows of support, and so Draco is trying to understand him, who he is now, so that one day he can reciprocate the sentiment.

When Father kneels before Dani, Draco’s irritation simmers. He watches as Dani wraps her arms around his neck, her little fingers carefully stroking his long hair. Draco realises that she does this to his father’s hair as well as his own, but only to theirs. Draco had taught her that it’s very important to ask before touching someone, even if it’s their hair, but assured her that she has blanket permission to touch his, and Father agreed as well. When Draco asked her why she does it, she simply said their hair was almost like hers, and that makes her happy. And hadn’t that just sent Draco to tears? He could never deny her happiness.

“Hello, Grandfather,” Dani says in her plummy little accent.

“Happy Birthday, my little diamond,” Father replies as Dani lets go of him. He slips his hand into his robe, pulling out a small velvet jewellery box. “A rare heirloom fit for a princess such as yourself,” Father says gently.

Touched, Draco smiles as Harry steps forward, his hand gesturing towards the jewellery box. “Er, is that heirloom safe—?”

Father’s head snaps up, his piercing grey eyes cold and narrowed in an equally icy glare. “Do you truly believe I would offer my grandchild, my living, breathing legacy, something that would cause her harm? Is that the implication, Potter? Or have I misunderstood your foolish bumbling?”

Harry sighs exasperatedly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, what d’you reckon? Must be the bumbling, then,” he mutters darkly. Draco doesn’t blame Harry; old habits die hard. It’s all a shock to see this burgeoning change in Father. They’re still catching on.

“As you were,” Father snaps dismissively, turning his attention back on Dani.

Dani gingerly takes the gift and cracks the box open, her mouth forming a little ‘O’. “It’s my baby unicorn!” Dani says reverently. She carefully lifts the delicate necklace out of the velvet box. It’s made of white gold and is, what Draco believes, a canary diamond shaped like a unicorn dangling from it. Father helps her snap it on, and she grins, wrapping her little arms around his neck once more. “Thank you, Grandfather!”

“Bloody hell, baby’s first bling,” Ron’s voice comes floating over them.

“Ronald,” Hermione warns.

Father gets to his feet, his warm look shuttering to an impassive one. Mother hugs both Ron and Hermione before sweeping Dani into a hug.

“Weasley, Granger-Weasley,” Father receives them aloofly.

“It’s actually Granger-Weasley for the both of us,” Ron corrects. Ron and Hermione had moved out of Grimmauld Place to a small house in Devon a year after Hermione returned from America. Their leaving had been extremely hard on Dani, especially because of her unbreakable bond with Ron and her strong love for Hermione. Not seeing them every day made his little girl sad, and in those few months after, she stuck to his and Harry’s side like glue. They married in a large ceremony at the Burrow just six months ago. Dani had been their flower girl.

Father purses his lips. “How…modern,” he says, disgust curling the last word.

“Oh, darling, look! It’s Mrs Thorton from the Ministry. We must say hello!” Mother says, wrapping a hand around Father’s arm and nearly dragging him away.

“I didn’t know you invited people from the Ministry, Draco,” Hermione says, surprised.

“I didn’t,” Draco snorts, appreciating his Mother’s infallible talent for reading any room.

Ron whistles. “I’m never going to get used to seeing Lucius f*cking Malfoy at family gatherings.”

“Language, Ronald!” Both Hermione and Draco cry out. Dani’s little mischievous grin is on her face as Ron shrugs and squats down beside her. Dani immediately leans against him, and he swoops her into his arms, tossing her up into the air before catching her with ease and grace that Draco always finds enviable.

Ron jostles her playfully. “Alright, little one? I hear you’re an old lady today!”

“I’m four years old, Uncle Won-Won,” Dani replies simply. “Can I have some Weasel Wheezes?”

Draco chokes on his fizzy drink as Ron glowers at him. “Treacle,” Harry starts, fighting back a grin. “It’s Weasley.”

“Wease-el,” Dani says, her brows furrowing. Draco can’t help it— he bursts out laughing, holding onto Harry’s shoulder as he sways into him.

“You think that’s funny, eh, ferret?”

“Oh! This is my favourite story!” Dani says. Ron smiles at her fondly.

“I know it is, darling,” Ron says warmly. “And I have the best Weasel Wheezes fireworks for your special day! We just have to wait until it’s a little bit darker. Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Dani says, a perfect, proud little Potter-Malfoy tilt to her chin.

Hermione opens her arms, and Dani eagerly hops into her embrace. Dani was one year old when she finally met Hermione, and they immediately got on like a sticking charm to the wall. Hermione read to her, patiently answered all her questions, babysat whenever they asked, helped Draco learn how to manage her curls, and advised them with a gentle hand in all aspects of educating such a gifted child. Draco knows they’re currently trying to conceive. Without a doubt, Hermione and Ron will make phenomenal parents, and Draco can’t wait to spoil their little one.

“Can I go say hi to Grampy and Gran?” Dani asks.

Draco nods. “Yes, sweetheart.”

Hermione smiles at her. “I’m sure they’d love to wish you a Happy Birthday,” she suggests, turning to lead the way back into Grimmauld Place, where Molly and Arthur were seeking refuge from the London heat in the sitting room. Ron hugs both Draco and Harry before following after his wife and niece, Dani’s excited squeals pouring out from inside.

Draco glances down at his inner left wrist, where the heartline still rests. Over the past few years, he’s added some magical tattoos around his Dark Mark— narcissus, lilies, a tiny stag, fox, Jack Russell terrier, and otter leaping around each other, the morning star symbol, the sequence of Dani’s and Harry’s date of birth.

Now, when he presses down on the heartline, it doesn’t beat anymore. It hasn’t since that burst of Dani’s life-saving magic. Harry and Draco poured over countless texts to figure out what might have gone wrong when the answer dawned on Draco: Lena’s wish had finally come true. May it manifest from the flesh and onto the heart.

They no longer need a physical manifestation of what already exists in their hearts.

Harry’s arms wrap around Draco’s body. “Sickle for your thoughts?” Harry asks. Draco turns around to face him in his embrace, leaning forward to wrap his arms around his neck and kiss him, deeply, surrounded by the warmth of their closest friends and family.

“I’m just so happy,” Draco whispers. “Happy Birthday, my love.”

Draco had been right.

He finds Dani slumped against Molly in the sitting room by eight, her eyes drooping and chocolate icing smeared around her mouth.

With her draped across Harry’s shoulder, they bid their guests goodbye. They soon make their way up to Dani’s bedroom, making sure she washes her face and brushes her teeth. Draco helps her into her snake-themed pyjamas. They tuck her into bed.

“Papa, can you read my favourite?” Dani asks, snuggling deeper under her blanket and cuddling her plush, overstuffed adder.

“Of course, Treacle,” Harry says warmly, pulling the worn, handmade book from her overflowing bookshelf. Draco settles on the edge of her bed, facing her, Harry perching next to him with the book A Ferret, A ScarHead, A Weasel, and A Baby.

It was a gift Ron made for her first birthday. That journal he was always writing in held more than his thoughts; it contained poetry and poorly drawn doodles. Ron had crafted a little book of poems for Dani, all accompanied by silly illustrations of Draco as a crossed ferret, himself as a happy weasel, a ridiculous caricature of Harry’s face, and a baby Dani with hardly any hair. Dani loved it, and there wasn’t an evening that went by where she didn’t request it to be read to her.

Draco runs his hand through Dani’s hair, his gaze lingering on each strand that seems touched by moonlight. He admires the delicate arch of her pale eyebrows, the perfect symmetry of her button nose, and the gentle curve of her chin. His fingers trace down the soft roundness of her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his touch, and she smiles up at him. And her eyes. So vivid. A startling dark shade of blue that shines with an emotional intelligence and wisdom far beyond her years. As he takes in every detail of their daughter, Draco feels so lucky, so unbelievably fortunate, to know, share, and grow a love like this with Harry.

“We love you, Dani,” Draco whispers.

“I love you too, Daddy and Papa.”

Harry curls his hand around Draco’s and begins to read.

In a cosy little home called Grimmauld Place,

Lived a Ferret, a ScarHead, a Weasel, and a Baby, in grace.

The Ferret was cunning, and quite liked to crow about it,

The ScarHead, so brave, casting wandless spells in a split.

The Weasel was funny, always with a trick up his sleeve,

And a Baby, so wise, you would hardly believe.

Together they lived, in a magical world so serene,

A Ferret, a ScarHead, a Weasel, and a Baby, oh, what a scene!

They danced and they sang, under the moon's gentle light,

Till the stars dimmed away, into the morning so bright.

A Ferret, a ScarHead, a Weasel, and a Baby—what glee!

A magical family, as happy as can be.

The End.