A family
It had been over a week since Draco sent the note announcing Andromeda's passing, and until now, Potter hadn't even bothered to show up. Not that the blonde cared—at least he would never admit it, not even in thought. However, it wasn't the attitude he expected from the savior of the wizarding world, but he was tired of trying to understand the Gryffindor's mind.
The blonde was pulled from his reverie by the sound of the doorbell. For some reason, Harry's face flashed in his mind. He imagined what it might look like—perhaps guilty for not having come sooner, or sad and frustrated by the situation, maybe even worried about Teddy being in the hands of a Death Eater. In an automatic act, Draco ran his hand through his hair, straightening it gracefully, took a deep breath, and opened the door with his usual casual, sarcastic smile.
"Oh, it's you."
"What a warm welcome." Astoria Greengrass, Draco's ex-girlfriend, and most of the time a spoiled little princess—yet a good person.
"I thought it was someone else."
"Would that other person be Harry Potter? Hasn't he shown up yet?"
"See him around here?" The blonde couldn't contain himself. Astoria placed her hand on her chest, feigning surprise.
"Sorry, I'm just a little stressed. Teddy doesn't give me a minute, except now that he's sleeping. And my aunt, my mother... it's a lot to deal with alone." There was more to say, but he was so tired he couldn't even put it into words.
"Hey, you're not alone. I don't know much about kids, but you know I can help you."
There was a moment of silence. Both were thinking the same thing—how different their lives would be if they hadn't given up on the marriage. The decision had been mutual, but Astoria had liked the idea of marrying Draco. She just wasn't prepared to live the rest of her life with someone so soon after Hogwarts. She wanted to travel, meet new people, and not be tied down—she didn’t want to be known as someone’s wife, but by her own name.
Draco didn't feel prepared for it either. He knew he didn't like Astoria enough, though it had never been a priority for him or his family. As much as he denied it, he knew who his heart belonged to. He’d used his college as an excuse when he spoke with Astoria and saw that she felt the same. He had no doubts—this marriage wasn’t going to happen.
"Sorry, do you want to come in?" He realized they were still standing at the door.
"I thought you'd never ask."
At first, it felt a little strange. The last time they'd talked for so long was when they were engaged. That seemed like a lifetime ago, but it had only been a year.
Astoria talked about her trip to Paris and how everything they'd heard about the people there was a lie. Everyone was stressed, the Eiffel Tower wasn't impressive up close, and the heat was unbearable. She was a good listener, and Draco was grateful to vent to someone he trusted so much. He was so tired of everything—having the Ministry on his back all the time, waiting for a slip-up, knowing that at any moment, Teddy's custody might be taken from him. That little boy seemed like the only thing that made sense in his life, the only thing worth fighting for. His father was in Azkaban, unable to receive visitors—though Draco wasn't sure he'd visit him if he could—and his mother didn’t respond to him, didn’t even seem to notice he was there. And now, he had lost his aunt.
It was good to have someone to talk to about it. He would have preferred to talk to Pansy or Blaise, but the Ministry had banned him indefinitely from meeting with any of the old crowd or people with connections. Luckily, Astoria hadn’t been included in this; despite her family’s staunch belief in pureblood ideals, she had been underage at the time and wasn’t considered involved. Draco was grateful for her presence, for her being such a good listener.
"Now you're making me feel ashamed. I sound like a spoiled brat badmouthing France, and you're talking about real-life problems."
"Well, that's because you are, in fact, a spoiled brat."
...
Draco had just finished reading a story to Teddy. It was already night, and the little boy was ready to sleep. But unlike other nights, he struggled to keep his eyes open.
"What happened, Ted?"
"Why me not have mommy?"
The somewhat confused question, formed with the few words he knew, left Draco speechless. How could he explain that his parents had died? Had anyone already talked to him about it?
"You have, silly boy." Draco replied, smiling, trying to hide his nervousness. How to explain? He wished someone else were there—Andromeda, or even Pansy, or even Astoria. He didn't want to admit it, but Harry would be a great help. He knew Teddy's parents.
"Where is she?"
"She is with Grandma Dromeda in a really distant place, but she let a star up in the sky for you to remember her. Because she loves you a lot." Draco spoke hesitantly, slowly, searching for the right words, but he couldn’t find them. And as the little boy’s eyes grew downcast and sad, Draco realized he was making a mistake.
"She star?"
"Maybe when you're older, you'll understand that this is more complicated than it seems now." Draco's heart broke with every word—sadness and despair filling him. Teddy's gaze was lost, and he wanted to say something to comfort him, but the boy didn’t even understand the situation.
He picked Teddy up in his arms, holding him tightly, trying to offer comfort, praying that his embrace would convey what words could not.
"You're not alone, Teddy. Draco will always be with you." He caught the little boy’s attention, who had been staring at his hands, lost. He wasn't sure if Teddy could understand the meaning of the words, but he hoped he understood the feeling, or at least felt a little better.
He laid the boy down on the bed and covered him. He thought about what Andromeda had said—raising Teddy without prejudice. It was important to teach him these things from a young age, so Draco took the opportunity, while Teddy had his attention, to introduce the subject.
"Look, not everyone has a mommy and a daddy. Some people have two mommies or two daddies, and some people have just one mommy or just one daddy. But they are all a family. Do you understand?" The oldest had no idea why he was saying these things. The words just came out, perhaps in an attempt to avoid the subject.
"Emily?" he tried to speak, and Draco nodded, smiling. He gently stroked the boy's blue hair, who, in turn, smiled proudly.
"A family, like us," Draco muttered, immediately regretting the words. He couldn’t help but recall his aunt’s words: "You and Harry are Teddy's only family."
"Hawee... 'Emily' too?" Teddy's question surprised Draco, almost as if the boy had read his mind.
"Of course, Harry too."
"So I have two daddies?" Teddy’s innocent question left Draco momentarily speechless. The idea of a family was so much more complicated than what a two-year-old could understand. How could he explain that families could be made up of more than just fathers and mothers, but also uncles and cousins?
"Don’t think about it too much, okay?" Draco tried to steer the conversation away. "Do you want some milk so you can sleep?"
The little boy nodded eagerly, and Draco kissed him on the forehead before leaving to prepare the milk.
Hours later, it was 3 AM, and Teddy was crying—babbling unintelligibly, his words impossible to understand. Draco, desperate, regretted not paying more attention during his Healing classes on pediatrics. He had only attended the mandatory months, always copying notes rather than listening, but he never planned to work in that field, and a "son" had never been in his future plans. How could he possibly know how to deal with this?
"Come on, Teddy. Dwaco has no idea what you're saying, and would really appreciate some sleep," Draco muttered, attempting humor. He mimicked Teddy's way of saying his name to lighten the mood.
"Maybe it’s the diaper? No? Maybe you’re hungry? But you refused the bottle... Maybe a stomach ache? But how would I know?" Draco’s thoughts raced, trying to think of a spell that would help him diagnose colic, but his mind drew a blank. He remembered seeing a similar spell in a textbook once, but it was useless now—he hadn’t truly learned anything in those classes.
In his frustration, Draco did what his aunt had done when Teddy had a stomach ache. He laid the boy on his back, lifting the small shirt to expose his belly. Gently, he placed his left hand on Teddy’s stomach and tapped lightly with his right hand. The sound that followed confirmed it—gas.
Now calmer, Draco felt a sense of relief. He grabbed some Muggle medicine from the shelf, remembering that his aunt claimed it worked better than potions.
"You’ll feel better soon. Sorry it took me so long to figure it out," Draco spoke softly, feeling guilty. "Though, if you could talk, it would have been a lot easier."
The medicine began to take effect, and the sound of Teddy passing gas made Draco smile. He clapped his hands in relief, knowing that if Teddy held it in, the gas would cause more pain. At least one thing from those classes stuck.
"Is the pain gone, Teddy?" Draco asked as he cuddled the boy, whose eyes were already heavy with sleep.
"Yep. Thanks, Dwaco."
“It’s okay, just sleep,” Draco whispered gently, lowering Teddy into the crib beside his bed. He lingered for a moment, watching the boy’s tiny body settle, his chest rising and falling with the soft rhythm of sleep. When Teddy’s grip finally loosened, Draco quietly slipped away, careful not to disturb him. But as he stood there, he felt a quiet, gnawing ache deep in his chest—a strange, hollow feeling that settled over him like a thick fog.
He stood in the dim light, his gaze unfocused, the weight of it all pressing down on him. Two years. Two years he had known Andromeda, and in that time, she had become something he didn’t know he was missing—an anchor in a world that had always felt so fragile, so volatile. He had only just started to understand her, to learn what it meant to have a person who cared for him without hesitation, without judgment.
Draco couldn’t help but let out a long, silent sigh as he stepped back. His mind, always restless, was swirling with thoughts—fragments of everything and nothing at once. The weight of his new responsibility was heavy, settling into his bones like a cold, unshakable burden. He had been prepared for a life full of complications, full of uncertainty, but this? This was something else entirely.
Draco turned away from the crib, his heart heavy. His mind, however, couldn’t stop racing, couldn’t stop dwelling on everything he hadn’t said, everything he hadn’t been able to do for her. How had she left so soon? His mother was still bedridden, too, and the thought of losing her—of losing the only other piece of family he had left—was almost more than he could bear. His mother, who had been so distant, so lost in her own world, and yet still, she was his mother. He was responsible for her now, and the thought of facing that alone was something he could hardly fathom.
She had never been the strong, comforting presence Andromeda had been. Narcissa had always been wrapped up in her own struggles, her own pain, and now she was broken—lost in a way that made Draco want to give up on her altogether. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave her, not now. He owed her something, didn’t he? And yet, the thought of taking care of her, of shouldering the burden of her care while grieving Andromeda, felt almost too much to bear.
A sharp pain twisted in his chest, and he clenched his jaw, trying to push the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford to break down. Not now, not when there was so much to do, so many responsibilities that weighed him down. And then there’s Teddy.
Draco walked toward the door, each step slow, deliberate. He felt utterly exhausted, as if the weight of the world had been placed squarely on his shoulders. Teddy was the only one who still needed him, the only one who still looked up to him with trust and hope in his eyes. He couldn’t afford to fail him. Not like he had failed Andromeda.
He stopped in the doorway, glancing back at the crib. This isn’t fair.
The grief, the loss, the weight of everything—he didn’t know how to carry it. But he had to. For Teddy. For his mother. And somehow, in the middle of all this, for himself.
With one last breath, Draco steeled himself and closed the door quietly behind him. Teddy was safe. And that, for now, was enough.
…
Just when Draco thought he might be able to handle everything on his own, Harry barged into the sitting room, looking like he’d barely escaped a battlefield. His hair was its usual untamed mess—wild, with strands sticking out in every direction—but today, it somehow looked worse. His clothes bore smudges of dirt, and his glasses—those crooked, maddening glasses—sat askew on his nose. Despite his disheveled state, Harry carried himself with an air of unyielding resolve, as if sheer determination was the only thing holding him together.
Draco’s fingers tightened on the edge of the cabinet he was sorting through, grounding himself against the unease Harry’s presence always seemed to provoke. It was ridiculous, really, how after all these years, Harry Potter could still set him off balance. To Draco, he was the same reckless Gryffindor who acted first and thought later, yet there was something different now. Beneath the chaos, Harry carried a quiet, weathered strength that both intrigued and unsettled him.
The room itself felt heavy, the kind of weight that houses of grief tend to carry. Andromeda’s modest but cozy home—the house Draco had never visited before her death—now also belonged to Harry. The thought still grated on him, though he knew it was Andromeda’s wish. The low lamplight illuminated the corners of the room, casting shadows over the stacks of Teddy’s toys and a few untouched mementos of Andromeda herself.
“To what do I owe the honor of your dramatic entrance?” Draco drawled, turning toward the couch with an exaggerated composure. His voice was sharp, but the too-tight clasp of his hands in his lap betrayed his discomfort.
“Where’s Teddy?” Harry demanded, still catching his breath as he lingered in the doorway.
“Sleeping,” Draco answered curtly. The edges of his voice softened, though, despite himself. Then, with a dry sneer, he added, “And did it occur to you that you have a godson?”
Harry winced at the jab but didn’t retaliate. “I just got back into town and came straight here. How’s he doing?”
Draco’s posture stiffened, his tone clipped. “It’s been a week since she passed, Potter. You tell me how a child copes with losing the only parent he’s ever really known.” His voice wavered, just for a moment, before he masked it.
Harry’s expression faltered, guilt flickering across his face. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t make it to the wake, but you know I admired her.”
Draco’s jaw tightened as he stared past Harry, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I regret not getting closer to her sooner.”
The silence that followed was thick, saturated with shared grief for Andromeda. Harry shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how little he actually knew about Draco—this Draco, the one who now stayed in a house filled with reminders of loss and responsibility.
“How did you explain it to Teddy?” Harry asked quietly.
Draco exhaled slowly. “I told him... she turned into a star and is watching over him now.”
Harry blinked, surprised. “That’s... poetic. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
Draco shot him a withering glare. “Neither did I. But desperate times call for creative measures. Do you think it was a bad explanation?” His voice wavered slightly, betraying his genuine concern.
The honesty in Draco’s tone caught Harry off guard. “No, it’s fine. Comforting, I guess. Though not exactly original,” he added with a faint smile, hoping to lighten the moment.
Draco’s lips twitched involuntarily, softening for the briefest of moments before he composed himself again. Harry noticed anyway, warmth flickering faintly in the dim room.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it felt fragile, like the wrong word could shatter it completely.
Draco, predictably, was the first to break it. “Merlin, Potter. When was the last time you showered?”
Harry flushed, glancing down at himself. “Yesterday. Or maybe the day before,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “Can I use the one here? We can talk after.”
Draco sighed theatrically but gestured toward the bathroom with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Fine. Just don’t flood the place. Or break anything.”
As Harry disappeared down the hall, Draco sank back into the couch, his fingers tapping against the armrest. He glanced toward the hallway occasionally, half-expecting Harry to emerge having somehow disrupted the fragile peace of the house.
When Harry finally returned, freshly showered and dressed in a simple blue shirt and sweatpants, Draco blinked. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this—Harry, unguarded and almost... ordinary. The casual clothes softened his sharp edges in a way Draco didn’t know what to do with.
“So, it’s been a while,” Harry ventured, his voice lighter than the tension in the room. He leaned against the doorframe, trying to bridge the space between them with a forced casualness.
“We saw each other ten minutes ago,” Draco retorted without even glancing up. His dry tone carried just enough bite to remind Harry this wasn’t a social visit.
“You know what I mean,” Harry replied, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “You’re taking care of Teddy, right?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Draco arched a pale brow, his expression a challenge daring Harry to question him further.
“I don’t know,” Harry quipped, his grin widening, “you look so pale I thought you might be drinking his blood.”
For a moment, Draco simply stared at him, his sharp grey eyes narrowing. Then, to Harry’s surprise, the tension cracked, and they both laughed—a short, unguarded sound that filled the quiet house. It was strange, almost unsettling, to share a moment so trivial after everything. But as quickly as it came, Draco’s expression sobered again.
“Seriously, though,” Harry continued, feigning suspicion. “I can’t imagine you with a kid. You haven’t hurt him, right?”
Draco’s gaze snapped to him, irritation flaring in his eyes. “Really, Potter? You think I’d hurt him?” His voice was sharp, defensive—but beneath the edge, there was something else, something unspoken.
“Well,” Harry replied with a teasing smirk, “you’re not exactly known for your nurturing side.”
Draco leaned forward slightly, his tone sharp enough to cut. “How did you manage to come back here in such a state, anyway? Couldn’t even clean yourself up first?”
Harry scratched the back of his neck, the motion sheepish. “I was in a rush. Didn’t really think about it.”
Draco’s gaze dropped to Harry’s arm, where blood had seeped through his sleeve in dark, uneven patches. “And healing yourself wasn’t worth the effort, either? Merlin, Potter, this will get infected.” He rose to his feet, retrieving his wand with practiced precision.
Harry instinctively tensed, the motion reflexive, his muscles coiling as if anticipating a duel. Draco paused mid-step, his expression flickering between offense and exhaustion. Then, with a roll of his eyes, he muttered, “Relax. I’m not about to hex Saint Potter. I’m going to close that wound before you end up in St. Mungo’s.”
Harry said nothing, though he forced his shoulders to relax as Draco approached. The incantation came quickly, the magic cool and efficient. The sharp sting in Harry’s arm melted away, replaced by a strange tingling warmth. Draco’s skill with the spell surprised him; it was precise, methodical—almost clinical.
“How do you know these spells?” Harry asked, his curiosity slipping past his weariness.
Draco didn’t look up as he worked. “How did you get yourself so thoroughly fucked up?” he countered smoothly.
“It’s classified,” Harry replied, his tone dry.
“Then so is my personal life,” Draco retorted. The final syllable was clipped, his words a clear end to the subject. He stepped back, turning toward a nearby cabinet. A moment later, he handed Harry a small vial, his expression unreadable. “Here. Drink this.”
Harry eyed the potion warily. “Are you sure it’s not poison?”
“I wouldn’t waste a perfectly good vial on you,” Draco replied, his voice dripping with mockery. “But by all means, if you don’t trust me—”
Harry didn’t let him finish. He uncorked the vial and drank it in one go. Draco’s brows shot up, a flicker of amusement playing across his face. “It was supposed to be a sip,” he muttered, shaking his head.
The potion worked quickly, a faint shimmer spreading over Harry’s arm as the wound knitted itself shut. The skin smoothed over, leaving no trace of the injury. Harry flexed his fingers experimentally, marveling at the results.
“Andromeda really left us as guardians,” Harry said after a moment, his voice soft, the weight of the words pressing heavily between them. He wiped his thumb across his mouth, clearing away remnants of the potion. “What’s the plan, then? A week at my place, a week here?”
“Too far to be traveling back and forth. And Teddy’s too young for Apparition,” Draco replied, his tone brisk but practical. His gaze lingered on Harry just a beat too long before shifting away.
Harry nodded, his mind already working through the logistics. He lived at 12 Grimmauld Place, but Andromeda’s home—Teddy’s home—was in southern England, hours away. The arrangement wasn’t sustainable.
Draco broke the silence. “Besides, the Ministry sent an owl a few days ago. They want us both to go in and sign the custody papers by Monday. Otherwise, it won’t be valid.”
Harry frowned. “They don’t trust you?” He tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. “Can they even do that?”
Draco stiffened, his expression hardening. “I have a Dark Mark on my arm, Potter. Trust isn’t something I’ll ever have again. Of course they can do it.” He paused, jaw tightening. “I’m sure that bastard Abasi has something to do with it.”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “Abasi? Who’s that?”
“One of the Healers at St. Mungo’s,” Draco muttered. “He’s got ties to the Ministry and would love nothing more than to ruin my life. He’s been trying for years.”
“Why? What did you do to him?” Harry’s curiosity sparked, his green eyes bright as he leaned forward. Draco groaned inwardly. That look—he hated it. Too earnest, too hard to ignore.
“He doesn’t want me finishing my residency at St. Mungo’s. Thinks I’ll curse the patients or something equally idiotic.” Draco’s voice was laced with bitterness, and he inwardly cursed the potion for loosening his tongue. He wasn’t supposed to be telling Harry any of this.
“You’re a Healer?” Harry’s eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise lighting his face. He couldn’t hide his amazement—or the faint grin tugging at his lips.
Draco rolled his eyes. "It’s amazing how long it takes for you to understand the simplest things, Potter."
But Harry wasn’t fazed by the jab, his thoughts already racing. “So it’s his fault the Ministry’s making this hard for you?”
“Likely,” Draco admitted with a shrug. “But they don’t need much of a reason to hate me. Half the people there still act like they’re heroes for tolerating me in the same room.”
Harry’s lips twitched with a dry smile. “All this trouble over one resident? Someone must think the world revolves around them.”
Draco glared. “You’ll meet him on Monday. Then you can see for yourself.”
Harry didn’t push further, sensing Draco’s patience thinning. Instead, he shifted the subject. “Why insist on St. Mungo’s? You could work at a smaller clinic, right?”
Draco’s face betrayed nothing, his tone deliberately flat. “I completed their program. Top of my class. They offered me a position.” He shrugged again, but Harry could tell it wasn’t that simple.
“And?” Harry pressed, his Auror instincts flaring—or maybe it was just how well he could read Draco. “There’s something more, isn’t there?”
Draco hesitated, visibly weighing his words. “My mother’s a patient there,” he finally admitted, voice quieter now. “Every time I visit, they ‘forget’ her meals or delay her treatments. I don’t trust them to care for her properly.”
Harry’s face softened. “So you’re staying to look after her.You really are the same, protecting your family no matter what."
It was the closest thing to a compliment that Harry could give, and Draco’s lips curved upward slightly. For the first time in a long time, he smiled. The words, though spoken with a casual tone, mattered more than he was willing to admit.
Draco’s lips tightened, his usual defenses wavering. “I don’t need your pity, Potter.”
“It’s not pity,” Harry said, his voice firm. “It’s... admirable.”
Draco’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected compliment, and for a fleeting moment, the corners of his mouth twitched upward.
“Wait a second.” Harry squinted at him. “Did you take a Truth Potion?”
Draco rolled his eyes, the moment gone. “Trust Potion. Helps me trust myself—and Teddy. But clearly, it works a little too well.” He muttered the last part under his breath, but Harry still caught it and grinned.
“Mad at me for making you talk?” Harry asked with mock concern, though his teasing grin remained.
Before Draco could retort, Harry’s gaze shifted to something behind him. “Oh, Astoria forgot her bag.”
"What was she doing here?" Harry’s voice was sharper than he intended, but before he could apologize, Teddy’s sleepy voice interrupted.
"Hawwy!" The little blue-haired boy was standing in the doorway, his hand tugging at Harry’s pants in silent request for a lap.
"Teddy! Good to see you!" Harry scooped the boy into his arms, grinning. "You’re really fast, didn’t even see you coming."
"You don’t know how fast he is at making me mad," Draco muttered, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
"Hawwy live here too?" Teddy asked, making both adults look at each other.
"What do you think about spending time at my house?"
"With Dwaco together?"
"How about just the two of us? I missed you so much." Harry smiled, stroking the boy's blue hair. But then he closed his smile and pouted his lips.
"Together, 'emily."
"Who’s Emily? I’m Harry."
"Ted, I told you to forget about it," Draco reprimanded the boy, embarrassed. Harry looked at them, confused.
"What does 'emily' mean?"
"He meant family," Draco muttered, embarrassed. He shouldn’t have said that to Teddy. He tried to control his blush, but he was probably as red as a tomato, especially since he was so fair-skinned.
"We are a family?" Harry asked, unsure, though his words sounded almost angry in his mind.
"I shouldn’t have said that to him, but—" Draco almost apologized, but he was startled by the thought. What was that child doing to him? The old Draco would have handled it easily. Before he could say anything, he was cut off by Harry’s laugh, followed by Teddy’s.
Draco had never heard anything so pure.
"I never thought I’d live to see Draco Malfoy calling me family."
"Who said you’re included?"
"Dwaco say Hawwy 'emily." Draco wished Teddy was still a year old when he only spoke gibberish.
Draco groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Merlin, help me.”
"Looks like someone’s unmasked Dwaco," Harry teased, smiling at the blonde, who just rolled his eyes and turned his face away, trying to hide his blush.
Teddy was smiling brightly, his little face lighting up the room—until, out of nowhere, his expression crumpled. He let out a wail, startling both men into a mild panic.
“What’s going on, kid?” Harry asked, bouncing him slightly in his arms as if that might help.
“Are you hurt? Did something happen?” Draco leaned closer, concern etched into his face.
“Maybe he’s just sleepy,” Harry suggested, glancing at Draco for confirmation.
Draco frowned, shaking his head. “That’s not his sleepy cry. Merlin, that’s his hungry cry. Bloody hell, it’s way past his breakfast time. He must be starving. Sorry, poor Ted.” Guilt flashed across Draco’s face as he hurried to prepare a bottle of milk.
Harry frowned, watching the baby’s tear-streaked cheeks. “He doesn’t cry for food,” he muttered, half to himself.
Draco, already setting Teddy into his high chair, glanced back. “Normally, no. But everything’s been off lately... I think he’s just sensitive to everything that’s happened.” His tone softened, a hint of unease creeping in as he avoided saying too much in front of the boy.
Harry caught the unspoken meaning. “Does he ask for her?” He kept his voice low, not daring to say Andromeda out loud, but Draco understood.
“Sometimes,” Draco admitted, his gaze focused on Teddy, who was now drinking his milk. “It must be hard for him to understand. To be honest...” He hesitated, looking like he was about to say something he shouldn’t. “I know it’s awful, but sometimes I just wish he’d forget about it soon. Forget about her.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy.
“Don’t say that,” Harry said, his voice tinged with reproach. “What if it were you? You wouldn’t want people to forget about you just because you died.”
Draco’s jaw tightened, but his eyes didn’t waver. “I wouldn’t want Teddy to suffer,” he said firmly. “I’d want him to be happy. Anything for my Teddy.”
Harry arched an eyebrow. “Our Teddy,” he corrected.
Draco rolled his eyes, muttering a half-hearted, “Whatever.”
Harry smirked, clearly amused, but let it slide. “So,” he started, his tone more casual now, “should I stay here? At least until we go to the Ministry on Monday?”
Draco turned his gaze toward Teddy, who was now happily smearing yogurt across his face and hands. “You should ask the house’s owner,” he said, nodding toward the little boy.
Harry crouched slightly to be at Teddy’s level. “What do you think about me staying here this weekend?”
Teddy paused mid-splash, his big eyes locking on Harry as he processed the question. “Stay together? With Dwaco and me?”
Harry grinned. “Yes, together as a family.” He let the last word hang in the air, his gaze drifting to Draco, who predictably rolled his eyes, though his cheeks betrayed a faint flush.
“Family,” Teddy repeated with a giggle, pointing at them both. “Hawwy, Dwaco, and me!”
Draco muttered something unintelligible under his breath and turned back toward the sink, but Harry didn’t miss the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but for a moment, they really did feel like a family.