Shards
Draco follows Charlie into the kitchen, and the first thing he notices is how at ease Charlie looks. Domestic. He knows where everything is, setting a kettle to boil and two mugs from the cupboard, one that was bright blue and proclaimed in flashing letters “BEST ASS DRAGON TAMER”. Draco looks down at the mug and back at Charlie and Charlie grins.
“A gift from the twins,” he explains. “Who was I to tell them otherwise?”
Charlie Weasley was, indisputably, gifted with a fine ass. Calling it the best, Draco thought, might be overkill. Potter’s, on the other hand…
Draco takes a sip of steaming liquid to stem that line of thought. Charlie also, Draco notes bitterly, knows how to make a damn good cuppa. Draco sighs inwardly, trying to repress mental images of Potter and Charlie spending lazy Saturday mornings together. He tells himself he doesn’t care. He really doesn’t.
“You hungry? I was going to whip up some bacon for Harry anyways.”
Draco arches an elegant eyebrow and Charlie has the decency to look embarrassed.
“It’s not – I don’t – it’s just that Harry never eats in the mornings, and it seems like he could use a decent bacon sandwich, is all,” Charlie finishes in a rush, suddenly looking as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
Interesting. One mention of intimacy with Harry Potter turns the giant dragon tamer into a stammering mess. Draco files that piece of information away for further reflection.
“Potter doesn’t happen to own yoghurt, does he?” Draco drawls, heightening his accent a bit while he has the upper hand.
Charlie laughs. “Harry? Unless you’re looking for kid’s yoghurt, not bloody likely. The man’s not exactly a paragon of health, unless it’s where Teddy’s concerned.”
“I suppose I can make do with toast then, if you’re offering.”
That’s when Draco looked at the kitchen. Really looked. And what he saw was so at odds with everything he assumed Potter to be that for a moment he thought his eyes might be deceiving him. He blinks and looks again. The kitchen is utterly spotless, with a massive planner enlarged to cover almost an entire wall, color coded meticulously with different colored sticky notes. Meals, bathtimes, playdates, all planned out to precision. What was odd, Draco realized, is it all had to do with Teddy. There was no mention of Harry at all. Draco supposed he might keep a separate one for himself, but still… On the counter opposite, stranger still. Snacks, organized in order from most healthy to least, were preplaced in child size containers. The fridge was filled with everything a baby could possibly desire, again organized with some kind of meticulous organization system that made no sense to Draco, but couldn’t be further from the haphazard, fly by the seat of his pants teen he knew from school. He looks back to Charlie who just nods.
“It takes some time to get used to,” he says, recognizing Draco’s bewilderment.
“I just didn’t expect him to be so…” Draco trails off, taking it all in.
“Anal?” Charlie smirks, his lips quirking slightly.
“Organized,” Draco responds coolly, lifting an eyebrow.
He opens the fridge again, looking back inside. “This is tits full of food for Teddy, but where is Potter’s garbage? What does he eat?”
Charlie spreads butter and jam on Draco’s toast, setting it down on the counter for him as he checks the bacon. He sighs, settling himself up on the counter. Draco notes how dwarfed everything looks around him, like an adult on a child’s play set.
“The question isn't what he eats, but if he eats” Charlie says slowly, a heavy sadness weighing down on his features.
Draco looks at him blankly. Why wouldn’t Potter be eating?
“He just forgets. At least, that’s what he always tells me. I know he didn’t really…” Charlie trails off. “And anyway, it seems like there’s something… but, I don’t know. So I try to bring food around when I can.”
Draco sits on one of the stools and thoughtfully bites into his toast. Dammit. Even the jam was good, blackberry, but not too sweet. He doesn’t like the idea of Potter not eating…he’s already too thin, muscular, but his clothes always seemed to hang off him… it leaves a bad taste in Draco’s mouth.
“I can help,” he offers. Charlie looks at him with surprise. “You know, since I’ll be here from time to time to look after Teddy, anyway. Try to make sure when I'm here to stay through mealtimes, make sure he’s taking care of himself, that sort of thing.”
Charlie looks at him oddly. “You really are pretty decent, Malfoy.”
Draco feels a slight blush heat his cheeks. “I owe Potter a favor, so.”
Charlie moves to take the bacon out of the oven. “Well I certainly appreciate it. He just didn’t deserve to go through all of this shite, you know?”
Draco wishes he didn’t hear the pain evident in the dragon tamer’s voice, the clear and irrefutable proof for his love for stupid Potter, because then Draco wouldn’t have to recognize that he’s feeling the same way, that he wants nothing more to cup Harry’s face in his hands and hold him close and keep him safe until all his darkness goes away.
But before Draco can respond, they’re interrupted by shouting from above, mangled and raw and intermixed with sobs, and Draco startles from his seat. Potter. He must have broken through the Silencing Charm, somehow. Bloody hell. Draco doesn’t even want to think about the sort of visions that may have caused such a strong surge in Potter’s magic, and suddenly he doesn’t feel very hungry anymore. The charm on Teddy remains quiet, so somehow the baby must have slept through Potter’s screams. Draco wonders absent mindedly just how much of himself Potter is breaking into pieces for Teddy’s sake, when a loud thumping disrupts his thoughts. He looks up to see Charlie kicking the kitchen cabinets over and over, having cast a tempus to find Potter only managed another thirty minutes sleep. He looks distraught.
“Weasley,” Draco says calmly, wondering if he needs to physically intervene for the cabinets’ sake. “You’re exhausted.”
Charlie looks up, eyes red. “Sorry,” he says gruffly.
“I’ll make sure Potter eats tonight.”
“Thank you.”
They don’t talk much more after that, listening to the shower running as Weasley assembles a bacon sandwich for Potter and eats his own unhappily. Charlie begins to fuss with another machine and an unfamiliar scent fills the air – Potter must be a coffee drinker – Draco realizes, as Potter comes downstairs in his Auror robes, Teddy on his hip.
Teddy is gurgling happily and demands to be given to Draco – “Da Co!” he squeals, plump fingers grabbing greedily – but Potter, on the hand, looks worse than when he went to sleep. His skin looks positively gray, eyes bloodshot with the redness expanding into two red rims around both eyes, his hands have a constant small shake to them. Is it Draco’s imagination, or does Potter look sharper around his cheekbones? He keeps rubbing at his chest absentmindedly, barely looking at Draco or Charlie at all, except to thank Charlie for the breakfast, and immediately sets to work on making breakfast for Teddy.
“Harry, why don’t you sit down, and I can do that?” Charlie suggests quietly, as Harry begins cutting up fruit, despite his shaking fingers.
“I think I can handle a cutting knife, Char” Harry says jokingly, but there is an aching exhaustion underneath the words that all but knocks the air out of Draco’s lungs. Once again, he tries not to intrude, entertaining Teddy.
“But you don’t need to. Maybe you should take a sick day, Harry, you look pretty - “
“Charlie, please don’t.” There is a slight firmness now. The Savior is nothing if not stubborn.
“I know how to make Teddy’s breakfast Harry, please, let me – “
Charlie puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder from behind, and Harry goes rigid, something flashing across his face that Draco can’t name. Harry gasps, dropping the knife, and the movement knocks the plate and remaining fruit onto the floor. It falls with a spectacular crash, the plate shattering. Teddy laughs, thinking the noise is a game, but Draco’s eyes remain on Harry. He has skittered back from the mess looking positively terrified, his entire body shaking, breathing hard, arms wrapped around himself.
Charlie moves to take a step towards Harry, but Draco stands, stopping him with his words. “Weasley,” he snaps curtly. A warning. He doesn’t know what Harry needs right now but it’s definitely not an invasion of personal space. His voice sounding angry must upset Teddy, because moments later, the baby starts to cry. Soft, tentative whines. But that alone is enough to snap Harry out of wherever he is and back to reality, because his eyes shoot to Teddy, a startled, panicked, guilty, green, and immediately he’s striding across the room, seemingly not caring or oblivious to the fact that he’s walking on shards of china in socks, even as Charlie tries to stop him.
He takes Teddy in his arms and the baby soothes instantly. “It’s okay Teds, it’s okay, I’ve got you, I promise. I’ve got you. I would never. I would never. I love you so much, Teddy Bear.”
Draco wonders whom Potter is soothing, the baby or himself, as Teddy obliviously nuzzles into Potter’s robes and Potter covers the floor in bloody footprints, seemingly not noticing. Charlie looks stricken.
At that moment, a Patronus flies into the living room, requesting Potter’s presence at the Ministry immediately. Something about an emergency. Potter turns to Draco with urgency in his eyes.
“You know about his mealtimes?”
“Yes, Potter, I – “
“And his snacks?”
“Yes – “
“And his nap schedule?”
“Potter I’ve looked after Teddy before. We’ll be fine.” Draco looks deep into those green eyes, trying to show Harry just how much Teddy means to him. After a moment, Harry nods, and kisses Teddy’s hair, whispering something Draco can’t hear.
He gives Teddy to Draco and the baby gives a little bereft cry. Potter looks back at the baby. “I’m coming back”, he says quite seriously. “I promise.”
Harry grabs his boots and Charlie makes a noise of protest. Draco had almost forgotten he was there. “Harry, your feet! Let me heal them first.”
“I’ll get them healed during the briefing.” He shoves his feet into the boots and Draco winces, it had to hurt like hell.
“Then you at least have to eat something – “
“No time,” Harry says, grabbing his jacket and his briefcase. “It’s a Level Two. They need me now.”
“Harry!” Charlie almost shouts, and Harry turns. They look at each other for a long moment, and Draco once again feels caught in the crossfire of something far too intimate. “Please be careful.”
“I promise,” Harry says, and with a crack, he’s gone. Charlie puts his head in his hands, and then looks up at Draco as if to say “See”?
--
Draco and Teddy spend a very enjoyable day together. They go to the park, they get ice cream, Draco even buys him some new toys… he knows Harry loathes “frivolous spending”, but Draco loves to spoil Teddy. Teddy has given Draco something he thought he would never have…a new start at family. He gets Teddy to bed without a hitch and makes a simple curry. He’s not the best cook, but he’s learning… and based on what Charlie’s told him…all Harry really needs is a hot, homemade meal. He wonders why Harry doesn’t let the Weasleys do more for him. Draco’s sure they would, even if Harry isn’t really family… they sure treat him like it, from what Draco’s seen… but even after Draco’s cleaned the kitchen spotless and the sky begins to turn dark and Harry still isn’t home, Draco begins to worry. Harry had owled earlier in the day to let him know he would be late, asking if Draco would mind putting Teddy to bed, but he can’t ignore the anxiety in his gut. What If something bad happened? Harry hadn’t exactly seemed at the top of his game this morning… would anyone even bother letting Draco know?
As nine turns to ten and ten turns to eleven, Draco gives up on trying to read. He makes three more meals and freezes them for Potter to eat later in the week. Finally, he resolves if Potter isn’t home by midnight, he’s taking Teddy and flooing to the Ministry himself, protocol be damned.
A little after 11:30, the Floo chimes, and Draco jumps up from the couch, only to catch Potter as he stumbles through, trying to shrug Draco off.
“’M fine”, he slurs. He certainly did not look fine. Harry was covered in bruises and scratches and while Draco could tell most everything serious had been healed it still made him want to beat Potter upside the head.
“Merlin’s beard, Potter,” whispered Draco through clenched teeth. “You said you’d be careful!”
Potter shrugs. “I was.”
Draco sets him on the couch. “You are going to stay there and eat this,” Draco says, handing him a plate of curry, “while I fix you, you idiot.”
Potter rolls his eyes but Draco doesn’t miss the whispered thanks. After many minutes of healing spells and some applied salve, Draco sits back. “Did you have someone heal your feet this morning?”
Potter doesn’t look at him. “You know”, Draco snaps, anger finally winning out, “you’re no good to Teddy if you aren’t alive.”
Potter’s eyes flash to his and Draco immediately realizes his mistake. Hurt and pain and shame and grief and guilt wash over them, and Draco wants to curse himself. How could he have – but Potter is already on his feet, tossing a “Screw you, Malfoy,” over his shoulder – when he staggers, trying to hide the evident pain he’s in.
Draco is up like a shot. “Harry,” he says cautiously. Harry doesn’t let Draco touch him, not now, but he reluctantly sits back on the couch, and removes his boots. Draco tries not to grimace at the way the blood has soaked through his socks, or the way the tissue of the bottoms of his feet is inflamed, as he imagines how painful that must have been to walk on all day. Why, Harry.
But instead he says nothing, as Harry’s too shiny eyes scrupulously avoid his, fingers tightening around the couch cushions every so often.
When Draco finally finishes, Harry clears his throat, voice gruff. “Thanks, Malfoy. I’ve got it from here.”
Draco can’t imagine Harry getting up the stairs on his own, with his feet so tender. “Let me help you to your bedroom at least. Don’t want you doing anything stupid.” It doesn’t even earn him a smile. God, Draco wants to kick himself.
“No, that’s – it’s fine. Could you just…Floo call Charlie for me please?”
Draco tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. Charlie. Right. But he nods, standing, and brushing off his knees. “Of course.”
And Draco tries to pretend he doesn’t see the sweet way Charlie kisses Harry’s hair or carries him up the stairs, and the way Harry leans into him. He reminds himself he just wants to check on Teddy one more time before he leaves. He watches Teddy sleep for a long time, trying to pull himself together, trying to convince himself that this thing he’s feeling isn’t really real. And when he peeks through the crack in Harry’s door into his bedroom, he tells himself he just wants to make sure Harry's alright, but at the sight of Charlie Weasley wrapped around Harry Potter he stops cold. The sight of the small, muscular frame nestled in those big arms fills him with an anger so hot, so visceral that Draco hurriedly backs away and down into the floo before he can do something stupid. Shit. Maybe it’s time to acknowledge he really does have feelings for Harry after all.