Teddy is mine!

Draco wasn’t sure what had driven him out of bed that night. Maybe it was the way his thoughts tangled in endless loops, refusing to quiet, or the suffocating weight of memories he couldn’t shake. Sleep had long since given up on him. Teddy was still sound asleep, and according to Draco’s calculations, wouldn’t wake for another three hours or so. Still, the blonde had given up trying to rest and opted instead to read or make tea until exhaustion forced his body into compliance.

The sleeping potion was there, as always, but the aftereffects were insufferable—nausea, grogginess, and that dull, heavy ache in his chest that lingered for hours. It was his last resort, and tonight, he wasn’t desperate enough.

Moving quietly through the dimly lit house, Draco made his way to the kitchen. He hesitated when he reached the living room. There, lying on the couch, was Harry Potter. The sight of him—the messy dark hair, the furrowed brow—always stirred something bitter in Draco.

He hated that stupid Gryffindor. Or at least, he told himself he did. Maybe not Harry himself, but everything he stood for—the past, the light side, hope, and triumph. The things Draco lost when the war stole everything from him.

But something shifted as he watched Harry toss and turn. The boy who had won everything looked utterly defeated. Then Draco heard the murmurs.

“Voldemort… he’s back… Sirius, no… I have to fight…”

Harry’s voice was broken, frantic, as though he were drowning in some horrible dream. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his body twitched uncontrollably.

“Potter,” Draco hissed, stepping closer. “Stop it. You’ll wake Teddy.”

But Harry didn’t wake. His mumbles became more desperate, his body thrashing. “My fault… I couldn’t… everyone’s gone… because of me…”

Draco froze. There was no way anyone could fake that kind of anguish. Draco’s hesitation vanished. Without thinking, he knelt beside the couch, gripping Harry’s shoulders and legs to stop him from thrashing. It was an awkward, clumsy attempt to hold him still, and Draco winced as Harry’s knee jabbed him sharply in the ribs.

“Potter! Wake up!” Draco snapped, gripping him more firmly.

Harry’s eyes flew open, wide and panicked. He gasped for air, his emerald gaze locking onto Draco’s.

“Malfoy?” he rasped, disoriented.

“What the hell was that?” Draco demanded, his voice sharp but edged with something Harry couldn’t quite place.

Harry shook his head, sitting up slowly. “Just a nightmare.” His voice was hoarse, unconvincing.

“Nightmares don’t make you look like you’re being under a Crucio,” Draco retorted, crossing his arms.

Harry avoided his gaze. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Draco shot back, his tone cutting. He hesitated before adding, “You need help. A potion, a mind healer, something. You can’t keep going like this.”

Harry ran a hand through his damp hair, forcing a weak laugh. “I’ve tried. It doesn’t change anything.”

Draco huffed, clearly annoyed. Without another word, he turned toward the kitchen. “I’m making tea,” he muttered, as if daring Harry to stop him.

Harry followed him a few moments later, his legs unsteady. By the time he sat at the table, Draco was already placing a steaming cup in front of him. They drank in silence, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional clink of a spoon or the soft hum of traffic outside.

Draco was the first to speak. “Your nightmare. It’s about the war, isn’t it?”

Harry studied him, trying to read his intentions. Was it curiosity? Politeness? Pity?

He hesitated before nodding. “It’s always the war. Memories mixed with… other things. Sirius, Voldemort, people dying. Sometimes it feels like it’s happening all over again.”

Draco frowned, his fingers tightening around his cup. “The war’s over, Potter. You won.”

“Did I?” Harry’s voice cracked. He looked up, his eyes haunted. “Why does it feel like I lost?”

Draco sighed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Because it was a war. No one came out unscathed. But you stopped it. That has to mean something.”

Harry shook his head, his voice trembling. “I was the reason it started. If I didn’t exist, Voldemort wouldn’t have—my parents would be alive. Teddy’s parents. Sirius. Fred. Cedric. Dobby. All of them. It’s my fault they’re gone.”

“Stop,” Draco said firmly, his voice rising just enough to startle Harry. “You didn’t kill them, Potter. Voldemort did. My father, my aunt, the Death Eaters—they’re the ones to blame. Do you know how many people screamed in that house? None of it was your doing. You were a child.” I was a child.

Harry blinked, caught off guard by Draco’s outburst.

“You can’t change what happened,” Draco continued, his voice softening. “But you’re still here. And Teddy needs you. Don’t let your guilt drown you.” He hesitated before adding, almost reluctantly, “It’d be… inconvenient if you dropped dead.”

Harry stared at him for a moment before a faint smile broke through his anguish. “Worried, Malfoy?”

“You wish!” Draco shot back, rolling his eyes as a faint blush crept up his neck. “Don’t get it wrong, I don’t care about you. But if they found your body here, I’d definitely be suspect number one. And Merlin knows they’re itching to throw me in Azkaban.”

Harry laughed quietly, the sound strange but not unwelcome. “Thanks, I guess.”

Draco huffed, his cheeks still flushed. They lapsed into silence again, but this time it felt lighter, less oppressive.

For the first time in a long while, Harry felt like he could breathe.

“What if they don't recognize us as Teddy's guardians tomorrow?”

It was so sudden that Harry needed a moment to understand. They were sitting in the kitchen, the atmosphere calm, just enjoying the tea. Harry felt better now, but the question hung in the air like an unexpected storm cloud.

He hadn't noticed Draco’s tension until now—sitting there, nervously tapping his fingers on the table, his leg bouncing as though he couldn’t stop. There was an anxiety about him that Harry hadn’t seen before.

“They don’t have a reason to,” Harry replied, trying to sound more certain than he felt. 

They had reasons, they both knew.

Draco didn't seem convinced, so Harry shifted in his seat, trying to come up with something reassuring to say. It was strange, he thought, how the roles had reversed—Draco had just comforted him, and now it was his turn to offer some kind of support.

“If it gets to that point, I have a plan,” Harry said, trying to sound confident.

Draco frowned immediately, skepticism clear in his expression.

“I have a bad feeling about this plan,” Draco muttered, leaning back in his chair.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, genuinely confused.

Draco, always quick with words, held back a bit. He wasn’t used to being nice, and he certainly didn’t want to sound too soft. He tried to keep his tone light.

“Do you ever get that voice in the back of your head telling you an idea is stupid?”

Harry blinked. “No?”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Draco shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Harry's lips twitched at the sarcasm, but he couldn’t help himself. “To be honest, I had that voice in my head once. It was just Voldemort. Since he’s gone, my head’s pretty light.”

"Of course, it must be empty," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. At this point, he was giving up on trying to be nice, it took too much energy to hold back.

Harry grinned, enjoying the moment of teasing. "You know, I don’t mind when you’re being mean to me. It’s the only time you’re not talking about yourself."

Draco froze, his gaze lingering on Harry for a moment. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but there was a flicker in his eyes, recognition, maybe confusion. Whatever it was, it made Harry's heart race a little.

"Cunning," Draco muttered, shaking his head. "Maybe you were a Slytherin after all."

Harry let out a quiet chuckle, not because he liked the idea of being called a Slytherin, but because he knew it was the closest Draco would ever come to giving a compliment.

…

After both of them had calmed down, they tried to sleep, knowing the next day would be a big one, and they needed to be in good shape. Draco returned to his bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. The thought of going back to the courtroom terrified him.

The last time he was there, two years ago, felt like a lifetime. He hadn't met Teddy then, and he was being accused of killing Dumbledore and being part of the Death Eaters. He couldn't deny the latter; the Dark Mark on his arm was enough to speak for itself.

Then Harry Potter had appeared, like the saint everyone made him out to be. Even though Draco hadn't asked, even though they weren't friends, Potter had saved him once more. To Harry, it hadn't been a matter of kindness—he was just doing what he believed was right, sticking to the truth. He hadn’t been nice about it, either. He'd said the worst things about Draco, stating he wasn’t there to defend him but to be fair. But Harry had saved him anyway.

Harry's testimony, confirming that Snape had killed Dumbledore and not Draco, had been crucial in the judge’s decision.

And then there was Luna Lovegood, someone Draco never expected to see again. She too had been key in helping him avoid a near-certain sentence to Azkaban. Back when she had been a prisoner in the Malfoy Manor, Draco had tried to help her in his own way. At first, he hadn't understood why she showed up, but now, looking back, he thought it might have been out of sympathy for the small act of kindness he’d shown her. Maybe it was that simple.

Draco remembered sitting next to her in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor, watching as she looked absolutely miserable. He’d always finished his meals first and would often pass by the kitchen, grabbing extra food to bring her, pretending he was still hungry. Dobby knew the truth but never said a word. His mother would have been furious if she knew what he was doing. But he couldn’t just stand by, not when it was classmates being tortured. Tomorrow, it could be him.

“Nobody will touch you,” he had told her one evening, surprising even himself with his words. “Surprisingly, it was my father’s wish.” He had spoken without thinking, but there was a strange sense of comfort in those words. He had never told anyone about his father's twisted rules. “Did you know? Your mother’s my father’s cousin. They were probably close, if my father was willing to spare you.”

Luna hadn't spoken much, but her murmurs had been enough to fill the silence. The other prisoners were kept apart, and the loneliness was something Draco couldn't ignore. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe it was because he wasn’t a complete monster. Either way, he couldn’t let her go crazy in that dungeon.

He’d laughed bitterly to himself, trying to lighten the dark moment. “That makes us cousins, too. Funny, huh?” He attempted a smile, but it fell short. “If I could leave and be sure my mother would be safe, I’d help you. But I can’t risk it all.”

Luna’s response had been sharp, her voice a strange comfort amidst the madness. “They’ll kill you too.”

Draco hadn’t known what to say, the weight of her words sinking in. “I have no choice,” he muttered. “If Potter were in front of me now, if it meant protecting my mother, I’d kill him. And then, maybe, I could help you.”

Luna had looked at him then, eyes wide with certainty. “You’re lying to yourself for so long that you don’t even know who you truly are.”

Draco’s words had been angry, desperate. “I could kill him for real. Don’t you believe it? I killed Dumbledore.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said, calm and firm, her belief in him unwavering. And in that moment, Draco had felt something stir in him, something he couldn’t quite name. Perhaps it was hope—something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time.

At the moment, he said Luna was just being crazy and too optimistic of him, she would be disappointed to know he wasn't a good guy. However, some days after saying this, Potter was in front of him, and that was when he found out that Luna was right. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Harry Potter, Draco thought for a second that maybe he was worth risking it all. It had taken him some time to understand Luna’s words. He never did go to visit her after that, but he had seen her at the trial, standing there to help. And when he was declared innocent, Narcissa had wept in gratitude, thanking Luna profusely. She had looked around for Potter too, but Harry had already gone.

Draco had approached Luna afterward, feeling awkward and uncertain. He had never apologized for the things he'd done to her at school, the cruelty and disdain he had shown. But to his surprise, Luna forgave him instantly, her kindness never wavering, as if none of it mattered anymore. From that moment, their bond had grown, something unexpected but real.

He recalled, in a distant memory, when Luna had said something that had stuck with him, a reflection of the world she'd seen that no one else did. She had turned to both him and his mother, and in her usual serene manner, she spoke: “I always wondered why Narcissa wasn't named after a star or constellation like the rest of the Blacks: Sirius, Andromeda, and so on. I think about how Narcissa's love for Draco saved Harry. Again, Harry was saved by a mother’s love. That's why she was named after a flower, like Lily.”

Her words had struck a chord with Draco, and it wasn’t lost on him how deep Luna’s insight went. She saw things differently, almost always in a way that made others reflect harder than they wanted to.

Draco had since moved to London to care for Teddy, and their interactions were limited to letters now, a form of communication that had become their only connection. But knowing he'd be in the city the next day, Draco had sent an owl to Luna. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but it felt right to reach out, even if the words weren’t enough to truly convey everything he wanted to say.

The room fell into a tense silence as Kingsley Shacklebolt’s words lingered in the air.

— “The Ministry of Magic does not believe that Mr. Malfoy is capable of taking care of the child, so we would like to transfer full custody of Edward Remus Lupin to Mr. Potter.” Kingsley said it with an air of finality, as though he expected Harry to be grateful for the offer.

Harry's gut clenched, and a heavy sigh escaped him. It wasn’t just the unfairness of the situation—it was the sudden weight of what was being asked.

Draco had never been his first choice as Teddy’s guardian. Harry had spent enough time wondering how he could ever trust Draco Malfoy with the child. But the fact remained: Draco had been the one there for Teddy in Harry's absence. He had cared for him. He had kept him safe.

But this? This felt like a betrayal.

"That's messed up," Harry muttered, looking at the Minister as if to demand an explanation, but none came. "It’s not like I’ve ever dreamed of Draco Malfoy raising Teddy, but you can’t just take him away like this."

The room shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting between the two men.

Draco, who had been quietly seething in his seat, now leaned forward. His voice was sharp, barely controlled. "With all due respect, the Ministry doesn't have to believe anything. I have partial custody of Edward—my aunt's decision, not yours."

Some of the judges scoffed at his words. It was clear they hadn’t forgiven the Malfoys, despite they not being that much different. But perhaps it was not about liking or not Draco, for them, it was about cutting ties with purebloods familys as much as they could to not be perceived as the supremacists that deep down they still were. 

Omar Abasi, one of the judges, was quick to stand. "The issue here, Mr. Malfoy, is that the Ministry has the final say. We don’t care about your aunt’s wishes if we don’t believe you are fit to raise the child."

Draco’s hands clenched at his sides. He opened his mouth to respond, but Harry spoke up first. "No one’s even asked what Teddy wants," Harry said, his voice growing more intense. "He’s been with Draco, and he’s fine. He’s safe. You can’t just—"

A woman with dark curly hair, a name Harry didn’t recognize, stood up, interrupting him. "I say this with no ill will toward you, Draco, but you have a criminal record, no experience raising a child, and frankly, no dignity. This kid needs someone he can look up to, someone who can protect him. You can’t provide that."

Her words cut through the room like a blade. And Harry could see Draco stiffen, his usual defenses coming up. He didn’t respond, though—just looked away, somewhere deep in thought. He wasn’t angry, not even defensive, just… resigned.

But Harry wasn’t about to let that slide. "You can’t just decide that. You’re not thinking about Teddy," Harry said sharply. "What he needs is stability. And Draco’s been there. So, yes, we’ll share custody."

One of the judges, Clark Abbot, cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Well, if it’s Potter’s wishes, then… custody can remain shared. But we’ll need an official agreement on who takes primary responsibility."

A few more murmurs from the room, but Harry was already shaking his head. "No. Draco should have the same custody as me. He’s part of the family, whether anyone likes it or not."

The words stung, but Harry didn’t resist. Family , he thought, still wrapping his mind around it. Draco Malfoy was his family now, something he never thought he’d say, but here they were.

Draco would be grateful if not too worried as Abasi stood again, his voice dripping with contempt. Harry had a sinking feeling of what was coming.

"Do you want to bet he’s going to say ‘Malfoy is a Death Eater and this shit’?" Draco whispered to Harry, and before Harry could even process the words, Abasi did exactly that.

“I must remind everyone present of the Malfoy family’s past,” Abasi began, his voice rising with righteous fury. “What this man here did! Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater who fought alongside Voldemort and is guilty of the death of Albus Dumbledore—directly or indirectly. The Death Eaters were responsible for the murders of many people, including Mrs. Abbot.”

Draco’s blood was boiling. He clenched his fists, ready to retort, but before he could, Clark Abbot stood, his voice cutting through the room.

“Don’t use my wife’s death for your argument, Mr. Abasi,” Abbot said, calm but full of quiet fury.

The mention of Mrs. Abbot’s death hit Harry hard. Mrs. Abbot, a former member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, had been murdered by Death Eaters. It wasn’t just another tragedy; it was personal. Hannah Abbot, her daughter, had been one of Harry’s classmates. He could still remember her bright, friendly face, now marked by the shadow of her mother’s death.

“Even if he didn’t directly kill anyone, he’s no innocent,” Abasi yelled, his voice full of venom. “He stood by and watched as the world burned.”

Before anyone could respond, Kingsley slammed his gavel down with a force that made the whole room jump. “Enough,” he commanded, silencing the chaos.

Harry felt a shift in the room. It wasn’t just about Draco anymore. Abasi wasn’t just attacking Draco; he was attacking the judges. These were the same people who had stood by, silent and passive, while Voldemort’s influence poisoned the Ministry. They had hidden behind their need for safety, saying they were powerless to do anything. But Harry wasn’t buying it. Bullshit.

Draco’s gaze flicked to him, wide with surprise. For a moment, Harry saw something in his eyes—a flicker of relief, maybe. 

The sound of the door creaking open was rare, a disruption in the otherwise tense silence of the courtroom. Everyone turned, ready to dismiss the intruder, but when Hermione Granger walked in, none of them dared speak. Her presence was immediate, commanding, and in that moment, it was impossible to imagine anyone telling her to leave.

At her young age, Hermione already embodied the future of the Ministry. The weight of her intellect, the years of fighting for what was right, and the quiet determination in her stride made it clear to all present—she was not someone to be ignored. It was as if the room itself shifted, subconsciously aware that one day, this woman would hold the power to change everything.

She moved toward the center, her gaze sharp and unwavering. The murmurs of the room died down as she reached the front, and with the air of someone who had nothing to prove, Hermione spoke.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s something you missed,” she said, her voice cutting through the room like a knife. She held up a piece of paper “This letter arrived for the court after Andromeda Tonks’s passing, addressed to both the Ministry and the family. It was her final request.”

The letter was opened, and its contents made everyone pause.

— To the esteemed members of the court, and to those who will care for my beloved Edward,

— It is my hope that, in the event of my death, both Draco and Harry will continue to be Teddy’s guardians together. I leave this responsibility to you both. Not just out of a sense of familial obligation, but because I know that together, you will provide him the love and care he deserves.

— Do not, for any reason, consider alternative arrangements. This is not a suggestion—it is my final command.

The room was silent as the letter was read aloud. Draco’s eyes darted to Harry, and there was something soft, vulnerable in his expression—something Harry had never seen before.

Kingsley cleared his throat. "Well, it seems the matter is decided. We have a final ruling. Custody will remain shared between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, effective immediately."

And just like that, the tension lifted, but the weight of what had just been decided didn’t quite disappear.

As the room emptied, Harry turned to Draco, meeting his gaze. "You know, I still don’t really understand this family thing," Harry said with a slight grin. "But we’ll figure it out, right?"

Draco exhaled through his nose, and for the first time that day, he offered a small, genuine smile. "I guess we will, Potter."