Harry didn’t think he knew how to be a good dad. It's his first time with their baby alone and he keeps crying and all Harry can do is stare down at her face, scrunched, blotched in red patches, but still beautiful.
“I'm sorry, Lyra.” he says, reaching out to hold her to his chest, he does that thing where he gently rocks her, his body forming around her, protecting her because that’s what he does know how to do, because he’s been doing it all of his life.
“You and I are both new to this. It’s my first time too.” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to that scrunchy face, and eventually the crying stops.
“I'm going to make sure that you’ll have such a good life. I think I'm going to mess it up a lot, but I'll get the hang of it. I know I can." She's staring up at him, her eyes so small, he reaches a finger out to gently wipe the tears away before his fingers slowly trail over her face. He didn’t know affection until a couple of years ago, after the war when the deaths were still fresh in his mind, when all he could think about was the flash of emerald magic, and the bodies of people that he loved.
He remembers how he had one bad night, remembers how his body sunk into the bed, and his thoughts were just a blank space, he felt the body next to him, remembers feeling fingers touch his face, over his eyes, his cheeks, the curve of his jaw, his scar on his forehead, but his favourite place had been on his nose. It had grounded him at the time, and still did now.
So he does the same for her, fingers tracing over her face, her eyes, her cheeks, the curve of her soft jaw, the scarless forehead, the perfect nose. She makes a small noise, her tiny hand reaching out for his finger, she squeezes it with all her tiny might.
Harry sits in the rocking chair, she’s laying against his chest, and he looks at her magical little room, full to the brim with protection wards, he might have gone overboard with them, but there’s something to be said about protecting a defenseless child when you were once defenseless child yourself. No cupboards, no spiders in the corner as your only friends, no messed up toys, no darkness. The ceiling is charmed at night to light up with constellations and stars so she’d never be alone. Lyra the constellation above her crib.
Harry didn’t have many mementos to give her from his own childhood, just the promise that he’d make new ones for her.
She was everything good in this world, when they decided to name her it wasn’t going to be after anyone. it was just because they liked it. It didn’t seem fair to name her after people that were gone, she deserved to have a name that they had picked out because it sounded nice, no weight of other people’s legacies hanging on her shoulders.
When he looks down at her, he thinks about who she’ll become, and how he was so excited to get to see it front and center, letting her have the space to be who she wants to be without it being conditional.
“You made me get my patronus back, you know.” he whispers, his finger combing through the small tufts of hair. “I haven't been able to do one in years. not even when I fell in love. Something happened you see, a war, and because of who we are you’ll hear about it someday. But not from them but from us. And one day, if you’ll let me, I'd like to teach you the charm. Someone who loved me very much taught it to me, and then we’ll teach it to you.”
He hears a soft sigh, fingers moving in her sleep, a nuzzle to the chest.
When she was born they didn’t tell anyone. No one cheered for her arrival other than them. There were no expectations on her birth, she came when she was meant to, a couple days late, a summer night in August. Her other dad had argued that she came just on time, when you can see Lyra perfectly in the summer sky. It was destined, but not prophesied, loved without expectation. He was right, in the end, her other dad was always right, it had made him laugh, and Harry remembers shaking his head, a small secret smile on his face as they did skin to skin.
He can feel the magic before the wards tell him that someone is opening the door, a small crack at first, and then Daco walks into the room, and sees Harry and his baby. Draco walks over towards them and reaches out gently to grab her, and he looks down at his daughter's face, his finger tracing over her perfect nose. She doesn’t stir, and then he places her in her crib, and Harry joins him in staring down at her, fingers reaching out to grab Draco’s hand.
“She's perfect.” Draco whispers, so quiet that only Harry can really hear it. “I liked your speech.” Draco smiles, squeezing Harry’s hand. Harry rolls his eyes, head leaning against his shoulder, and he feels the tiredness from the day finally hitting him.
They each rub her nose, her scarless forehead, fingers gently coursing through the little bit of hair, a whisper of a kiss, and quietly leave the room, the constellations and stars in the sky light up, Harry looks up at the ceiling, he finds all the stars and constellations that matter to him the most, as if it was some sort of protection, always watching, always looking out for her, always willing to guide her home.
If ever in the future she can’t find it, well, they’ll always be there to help light the way home. She belonged to them after all.