First fight
Living with Teddy Lupin had reshaped Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter's lives into something neither could have imagined—balanced, chaotic, and oddly… manageable. Teddy was at the center of it all, a whirlwind of energy, laughter, and occasional tears. His presence was grounding, forcing Draco and Harry to co-exist in a way that went beyond tolerance or obligation. They were building something fragile but genuine—an understanding that didn’t quite reach the warmth of true friendship but was far from the bitter enmity of their past.
Draco had taken on bedtime rituals with a precision Harry found both amusing and endearing. He claimed it was to maintain order, but Harry suspected Draco secretly enjoyed Teddy’s enthusiastic requests for “one more story.” Meanwhile, Harry often found himself mediating between Draco and the toddler when their stubborn personalities clashed. Yet, it was Draco who always managed to coax Teddy into a better mood with a conjured butterfly or a perfectly-timed distraction.
Their dynamic had settled into a rhythm. They weren’t friends in the traditional sense—there were still sharp edges and moments where irritation flared—but there was also camaraderie in shared routines and mutual respect. Draco’s biting remarks had softened into sarcastic quips, and Harry found himself firing back with a wit he hadn’t realized he possessed. It wasn’t peaceful exactly, but it was enough.
Draco leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching as Harry methodically wiped down the table. His brow furrowed slightly as he observed the dark-haired man work, sleeves rolled up, hands brisk and efficient.
“Why haven’t I met your house-elf?” Draco asked, the question slipping out with a tinge of suspicion.
Harry paused, turning to him with a genuinely confused expression. “What house-elf?”
Draco gestured vaguely toward the room, his tone exasperated. “The one who’s been cleaning, doing the dishes, and cooking our food?”
Harry straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. “We don’t have a house-elf. Well, I had one, but he’s working at Hogwarts now.”
Draco’s face froze, his eyes narrowing. “Then who’s been doing all the chores?”
Harry’s mouth quirked into a smirk, though his tone remained sharp. “Me, you bloody slob.”
There was a beat of silence. Draco blinked. “Oh.”
Harry tossed the damp cloth into the sink and turned back to Draco, crossing his arms. “Good that you brought this up because I’ve been meaning to ask you for some help. I get it, you’ve got a lot on your plate with studying and looking after Teddy, but maybe—just maybe—you could clean your room? That’d be a start.”
Draco stiffened, his voice rising defensively. “You’ve been entering my room!”
It wasn’t a question, and the indignation in his voice made Harry snort.
“How else am I supposed to clean it? It’s a bloody disaster there.”
Draco’s face turned a shade pinker, his usual poise slipping. “You could’ve just left it!”
Harry rolled his eyes, stepping closer and leveling a gaze at him. “Left it? The pile of dirty clothes in the corner was starting to smell. And don’t get me started on the stack of parchment spilling ink everywhere. Merlin, Malfoy, it’s like living with a teenager.”
Draco huffed, straightening his posture as if trying to reclaim some dignity. “Well, maybe I would’ve cleaned it if I’d known you were the one invading my space.”
Harry grinned, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, so you don’t mind if it’s a house-elf, but when it’s me, suddenly it’s a problem?”
Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line, his arms tightening around himself. “That’s different. House-elves are—” He stopped himself, catching Harry’s raised eyebrow.
“Go on,” Harry said, his voice challenging but light, leaning against the counter opposite Draco. “Say it. House-elves are what?”
Draco sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Never mind,” he muttered.
Harry chuckled, pushing off the counter. “Thought so. Anyway, you’re on dish duty tomorrow. No excuses.”
Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Harry was already heading out of the room, his footsteps fading up the stairs. Left alone, Draco stared at the spotless kitchen, suddenly acutely aware of just how much effort Potter had been putting in to keep everything running smoothly.
He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Dish duty. Bloody hell.”
Draco stood at the kitchen doorway, arms folded, watching Harry stir a pot on the stove. There was something both fascinating and irritating about how effortlessly Potter seemed to move around, like he belonged there. The smells wafting from the pan were undeniably appealing, but Draco couldn’t stop himself from glaring at the scene.
He had known Harry cooked on occasion—there had been evidence of that, and Teddy had casually mentioned Harry’s pancakes being "the best ever" more than once—but Draco had never connected the dots. The pristine house, the folded laundry, the stocked fridge—it had all felt like the work of an invisible hand, a house-elf he’d never seen. He hadn’t asked questions. Why would he?
But Potter had burst that bubble with his infuriatingly casual, "I do the chores, you slob." And now, Draco couldn’t unsee it.
How? How did Harry manage it all? Being an Auror alone seemed demanding enough—chasing dark wizards, getting home at all hours, looking like he’d been through hell. And yet, somehow, he kept the house running. Perfectly. It made no sense.
Draco scowled, shifting uncomfortably. He didn’t like the twist in his chest, that unwelcome feeling crawling up his spine. Guilt. He hated it. Growing up, he'd never had to lift a finger. House-elves had always managed everything. There’d been no reason to learn how to cook, or clean, or even make his own bed.
It wasn’t just that Draco didn’t know how to do any of it—cooking, cleaning, organizing—it was the fact that he was now expected to learn. The thought grated at him. He was Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the most powerful wizarding families, not some... Muggle housewife.
And yet, here he was, staring down at his own useless hands, wishing he had his wand, cursing the Ministry for taking it from him, and trying to muster the will to admit that, fine, maybe he could contribute more around here. Begrudgingly. For Teddy.
His eyes wandered to Teddy, who was seated at the table, happily coloring. The boy’s face lit up with every swipe of crayon across parchment, his tongue poking out in concentration. Draco felt the guilt twist harder. Teddy deserved better than a deadbeat godfather who couldn’t even make tea without Potter’s supervision.
He clenched his fists. This wasn’t about Potter. It wasn’t about his pride. It was about Teddy.
“Alright, fine,” he muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” Harry asked, glancing over his shoulder. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the heat, and his hair—somehow messier than usual—made Draco want to roll his eyes. Of course Potter could look both ridiculous and effortlessly capable at the same time.
“I said, I’ll help,” Draco repeated, louder this time, his jaw tight. “What else can I do?”
Harry blinked in surprise, then smirked. “About time. I was starting to think you’d never offer.”
“Don’t push it, Potter,” Draco snapped. “I’m not scrubbing floors or anything absurd like that.”
“Noted.” Harry turned back to the stove, but Draco didn’t miss the grin on his face. “You could start with your room. Or the laundry. Or maybe—and this is just a wild suggestion—try not to set the kitchen on fire next time you attempt toast.”
Draco glared. “That was one time.”
Harry’s laugh was infuriatingly warm. “Whatever you say, Malfoy. Just... thanks. It’ll help.”
Draco shifted on his feet, refusing to acknowledge the gratitude in Harry’s tone. He wasn’t doing this for Potter. He didn’t care what the Gryffindor thought of him. But the idea of Teddy growing up thinking his godfather was useless? That was unbearable.
He didn’t have to like it. He just had to do it.
His eyes flickered to the small, tidy corner of the kitchen, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe Harry wasn’t just some infuriating, overly nice person. Maybe he was actually just... good—in a way that made Draco uncomfortable to admit, and even more uncomfortable to face.
…
Ron Weasley was drained. All he wanted was to see Hermione, but work at the Ministry had kept her busy, and he was often away on his own assignments. Yet, here he was, reluctantly sitting in Harry's flat, because whatever it was that Harry needed to tell him sounded serious.
"I need to talk to you and introduce someone. Well, you already know him."
"I saw Teddy this morning," Ron said, sprawling on the couch. He leaned forward, eyeing the papers on the coffee table. "What’s all this?" He gestured to the cluttered mess of documents.
“Oh, Malfoy’s fault,” Harry replied, distracted as he glanced over at the baby.
"Is that some kind of new expression?" Ron raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with disbelief. "I swear, Harry, parenting it’s already affecting your brain."
Before Harry could respond, a strange smell hit Ron. It took a moment before he realized what it was.
"Something’s burning," Ron muttered.
“Must be him,” Harry muttered under his breath.
"Who?" Ron asked, assuming Harry meant the house-elf, but his friend simply shook his head.
“Malfoy.”
Ron gave a short laugh. "One day, I’ll believe in myself as much as you believe Malfoy’s behind every single disaster. Look who's back in 6th year."
Harry didn't respond immediately, and the tension between them seemed to increase when the fireplace suddenly flared to life, announcing the arrival of the Weasley family. Molly was first, immediately fussing over Harry and cooing at Teddy. Arthur followed close behind, beaming as he carried a tin of homemade biscuits.
“Hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” Molly said cheerfully. “I know you only called me, but this people follow me anywhere”
“We thought we’d surprise you. Did Ron tell you? Fleur had a girl, and now I’m a grandpa!" Arthur chimed in with a cheerful grin, taking a seat next to Harry.
Ron sat up, his expression shifting from surprise to mild annoyance. “Bit of a crowd, don’t you think?”
Ginny entered next, looking curious but wary. George brought up the rear, his usual smirk in place. “Wouldn’t miss a chance to see what Harry’s got himself into this time.”
This wasn’t part of Harry’s plan. He had thought he could manage the situation, prepared to handle Molly’s well-meaning but firm lectures and even Ron’s inevitable hotheadedness. Ron, after all, would be the most vocal and aggressive toward Draco. But Harry had counted on Molly’s sensibility to keep her son in check.
What he hadn’t prepared for was the entire Weasley family showing up unannounced. Molly might keep Ron at bay, but Harry doubted she could calm an entire room filled with wary eyes and strong opinions.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he considered his options. Maybe he could delay Draco’s introduction. Letting Draco meet the Weasleys tonight, in this state, felt like throwing him into a lion’s den. Worse, Harry realized with a pang of guilt, he hadn’t even warned Draco about the possibility of company. It had seemed like such a minor oversight earlier, but now, it felt like a glaring mistake.
Before Harry could decide how to handle the situation, the door creaked open. Draco appeared, his expression wary as he cracked it just enough for Teddy to notice.
“Duaco!” Teddy squealed, immediately pointing toward the door, his voice filled with excitement. The room fell into an awkward silence as everyone turned to look.
“Potter,” Draco drawled, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. “You didn’t mention this was a family reunion. Should I have brought a casserole?”
Arthur stepped forward, his jovial mood evaporating. “Harry, explain. Now.”
“Wait,” Ginny said, her brow furrowing. “Harry, what’s going on? Why is he here?”
Harry took a deep breath. “Draco’s been... helping me with some things. I thought—”
“You thought what?” Ron interrupted, his voice rising. “That we’d just welcome him with open arms? After everything?”
Draco’s smirk sharpened. “Oh, please, spare me the moral grandstanding. It’s exhausting.”
“Exhausting?!” Ron’s face turned red as he stepped closer. “You’ve got some nerve, Malfoy.”
Draco didn’t back down, his tone growing colder. “And you’ve got an impressive knack for stating the obvious.”
Arthur’s hand went to his wand, his eyes narrowing. Before Harry could do something about it, Teddy toddled over to Draco, his face lighting up. “Duaco!” he squealed, raising his arms.
The boy giggled, and for a fleeting moment, Draco’s expression softened. But the moment passed quickly, his usual mask snapping back into place. He seemed ready to accept Teddys in his arms, but there was a wand pointed to him, so he hesitated.
“That’s enough!” Molly’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. She grabbed Arthur’s hand that was holding his wand. “Everyone, calm down. This is Harry’s house.”
“Mum, you can’t be serious,” Ron said, his tone incredulous. “He’s—”
“A Death Eater?” Draco cut in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Go on, Weasley, say it. You’ll feel better.”
“You’re one to talk about using words” Ron snapped, his fists clenching.
“Stop it!” Harry finally shouted, stepping between them. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go.”
“Really?” Draco said dryly. “Because I think it’s going swimmingly.”
“This is not a place for him" Ginny’s voice was sharp, disbelief and anger in her tone.
“And I suppose your place is Hogwarts, brat” Draco shot back, his voice dripping with disdain, but the comment only heightened the tension.
“Watch your mouth, Malfoy,” George said in a low, but strong voice. It was the first time he said something in the fight, he didn’t look as angry as the others, but it was somewhat a powerful warning
“I can’t believe you’d let him into your house, Harry.” Ron accused
The room was thick with hostility. The Weasleys were angry, the tension too high to ignore, and Harry suddenly regretted thinking he could make this work. Teddy, scared by all the shouting, clung to Harry’s side, his eyes wide and confused.
"Enough!" Harry shouted, trying to bring order to the madness. "This was a bad idea. I get it, alright? Can everyone just stop for a second?"
But Draco wasn’t done. "Not as bad as yelling at me while holding Ted, Harry."
Draco grabbed the child out of Harry’s arms, his movements swift but controlled, though his face remained a mask of barely contained rage.
"Don’t touch him!" Arthur's voice had a dangerous edge now, his wand was with Molly now, but he raised his hand in reflex.
“I’m not afraid of you, old man!” Draco’s voice cracked through the air, his defiance obvious as he held Teddy firmly in his arms. Harry quickly stepped in front of Draco, his hand raised, trying to protect both Draco and the child.
"You’re wicked! You can’t hurt Duaco!" Teddy shouted, his small voice ringing out, cutting through the noise.
Arthur, momentarily stunned, blinked. "Am I wicked?"
“Yes!” Teddy replied, his tone resolute, his loyalty to Draco unwavering.
“You’re just a child,” Arthur muttered, his gaze flicking to the boy. “You don’t know who this man is—he’s the wicked one.”
“He care of me,” Teddy said simply, his words laced with innocence and trust.
A deep silence settled over the room, all eyes now fixed on Draco, who stood frozen as he looked down at Teddy, who smiled up at him. Teddy's hair shifted from blue to blonde as he hugged Draco tightly, his small arms wrapping around the older man’s neck.
Draco’s voice was soft, almost defeated, as he broke the silence. “I guess we’re not wanted here.” With a look of disdain, he shot one last taunt in Arthur’s direction. “Just be careful not to hit Ted while you’re aiming for me.” With that, he turned, carrying Teddy upstairs.
No one spoke for a moment. Arthur, still in shock, slumped into a chair, while Molly rushed to soothe him, murmuring about his health. Ginny stood silently, watching Harry with a mix of confusion and concern.
As Draco disappeared upstairs, the silence that followed was thick with tension. George, ever the one to break the ice, let out a low whistle. “Well, that was cheerful,” he said, his tone wry. “Anyone else up for biscuits? Or maybe I’ll just head home to see my niece. Much more uplifting crowd there.”
The humor didn’t land. The room remained heavy, his words dissipating like smoke in the air. Ron shifted uncomfortably, his jaw clenched as he avoided meeting anyone’s gaze. Finally, he turned to Harry, his voice low but loaded with frustration. “How can you forgive him, Harry? After everything he’s done to us—to you?”
Harry ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly as he searched for the right response. “Ron, this isn’t about forgiveness,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with weariness. “It’s about moving forward. I thought we could try having dinner together, maybe talk it through, but... I see now that it was a mistake.”
Ron, still standing near the couch, laughed bitterly. “You don’t get it, do you, Harry? You think you can just invite him into your house and expect everyone to be fine with it?”
“Ron, I’m not asking for permission,” Harry snapped. “I’m asking for understanding. And Draco isn’t invited here. He lives here now. And it’s going to stay that way until Teddy is grown up and doesn’t need us anymore.”
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Harry’s words sinking in. Ron looked stunned, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form a retort.
Ginny stepped forward, her voice softer but no less insistent. “Harry, we’re not trying to make this harder for you,” she began, her brown eyes earnest. “We’re just... worried about you. I see he cares about Teddy. But is he really a good example for Teddy? Is it even safe for him to know about Grimmauld Place?” She paused, her voice dropping slightly. “We just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Harry’s jaw tightened, but he softened slightly as he turned to Ginny. “I know you’re worried. And I know it’s hard to understand why I’m doing this. But Draco’s not the same person he was during the war. He’s trying, Ginny. For Teddy, if nothing else. He’s been through hell, just like we all have.”
Ginny hesitated, her brow furrowed, “Well, it didn’t look like he was.”
Harry let out a slow breath, glancing toward the staircase where Draco had disappeared with Teddy. “Look, I’m not asking anyone here to like him. But this isn’t about you or me. This is about Teddy. Andromeda wanted us to raise him, both of us. She trusted Draco enough to include him, and so do I.”
Ginny looked as though she wanted to argue but stayed silent, her arms crossed tightly. Ron, however, wasn’t finished. “You really think this is the best thing for Teddy? Growing up in a house with a Death—”
Harry’s expression hardened, his voice unwavering. “Teddy needs stability, Ron. He needs people who care about him, and Draco does. He’s proven that time and again. I’m not doing this for Draco. I’m doing it for Teddy.”
The silence that followed was heavy and uncomfortable. Ron shifted uncomfortably, his frustration still evident but muted by Harry’s words. Ginny looked at Harry, her face a mix of concern and reluctant understanding.
As Harry turned to leave, George broke the silence with a wry grin. “Well, this has been a lovely family chat. We should all head home, let’s go my red-hotheads”
The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched at George’s attempt to lighten the mood, but he didn’t stop. Without another word, he ascended the stairs, leaving the room steeped in unresolved tension. He could hear the steps as George was pushing his family out of the house.
Draco was going to kill him.
The thought came unbidden, vivid, and insistent. It wasn’t hyperbole; Draco had tried to Crucio him for far less provocation. And now? Now, it sounded even plausible for him to do so.
The voices from the living room had quieted, but the weight of the evening pressed down on him like a stone. Ron’s bitterness, Ginny’s worried logic, Arthur’s stern disapproval—none of it was unexpected, yet it still stung.
Why did it matter so much to him that they accepted Draco? Why was he so desperate to prove something to them, to Draco, to himself? The obvious answer—just for Teddy’s sake—began to feel like a mask, something he hid behind to avoid confronting something deeper. But Harry couldn’t quite understand it. Maybe it was more than just wanting Teddy to be safe, more than ensuring the boy had a family he could count on. Maybe, just maybe, he was trying to prove something to himself. The feeling churned in his gut, uncomfortable and unresolved. He didn’t know why he cared. It didn’t make sense. Not after everything Draco had done to him. Not after all the times Draco had tried to bring him harm. And yet, here he was, fighting for him. Fighting for a chance that seemed impossible.
When he reached the bedroom, he found Draco and Teddy on the floor. Blocks were scattered around them, and Draco was carefully stacking one onto another as Teddy watched, eyes bright with excitement. For a brief moment, Draco’s face was unguarded, his lips curling into a faint smile.
Harry hesitated in the doorway, reluctant to disrupt the fragile peace. But then Draco glanced up and saw him. The smile vanished, replaced by a familiar scowl, his body tensing as if bracing for a fight.
Then his gaze flicked to Harry, and the scowl returned like a slammed door. “Haven’t you done enough damage for one evening, Potter?”
Harry stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He lowered himself onto the floor across from them, his movements deliberate but cautious. For a moment, he said nothing, letting the silence stretch between them. Teddy, oblivious to the tension, continued stacking blocks with single-minded determination.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said at last, his voice quiet. “For what happened downstairs.”
Draco snorted, not looking at him. He kept building the blocks. “Save it, Potter. I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity,” Harry replied, a little more firmly. “It’s an apology. I didn’t know they’d react like that,” Harry started, already feeling the heat rise in his chest.
Draco’s laugh was bitter. “Didn’t you? What part of that circus surprised you, exactly? The screaming? The insults? The part where every single person thinks I’m scum?
“They don’t get it, and I can’t force them to. But I expected you to try, at least.”
“Why would I? And here I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be brave. Guess I was wrong, you’re just bloody idiots.”
Harry’s temper flared.“Don't talk about them like this!” he snapped, his voice louder than he intended. Teddy glanced up, startled, and Harry immediately regretted raising his voice. Draco’s eyes shot daggers at him.
Teddy’s blocks collapsed in a heap, and Harry’s chest tightened. He hated this—this fighting, this anger. He couldn’t keep doing it, but Draco wasn’t giving him a choice.
“Keep your voice down,” Draco hissed. “If you’re going to yell, do it where he can’t hear.”
“Don’t act like you care more about him than I do.”
“Care about him?” Draco’s eyes narrowed, a bitter smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “He’s the only reason I still tolerate you and all this humiliation, Potter. I don’t want their forgiveness, and I don’t want yours either. I didn’t ask for any of this. All I want is to be with Teddy.” His voice dropped, raw and painful, and Harry couldn’t stop the flicker of guilt that surged through him.
“Yeah, I got that,” Harry shot back, his voice thick with frustration. “And maybe if you’d stop acting like a prat for five seconds, they’d see what I see.”
“Oh, and what’s that?” Draco’s voice was razor-sharp now. “What do you see, Potter? Enlighten me.”
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it, his anger tangling with guilt. What did he see? Someone trying, maybe. Someone who, despite everything, was still here. Someone who deserved a chance, even if the world thought otherwise. But how could he say that to Draco without sounding like he pitied him?
Draco didn’t wait for an answer. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, turning back to the blocks. “You don’t know. You dragged me into your perfect, shiny life, and now you want to play hero again. Well, guess what? I don’t need saving, Potter. i’m not a charity case”
“I’m not trying to save you,” Harry said, the words almost a growl. “I just—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m trying to do, okay? I’m just…I want this to work. For Teddy. For all of us.”
Draco’s hands stilled, his shoulders tense. “Well, be realistic,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual venom. “Because this? This isn’t working.”
Harry’s chest ached at the vulnerability in those words, but he didn’t know how to fix it. All he could do was sit there, watching as Draco continued to build a tower that he knew would inevitably fall.
And maybe that was the point. Maybe it was never going to work.
But he wanted it to work. For Teddy. For them. And that thought alone left him caught in a storm of guilt, frustration, and an ache that he couldn’t shake.
Draco gave up his pride for Teddy. He followed Harry around, going with the flow, which Harry initially thought was just normal behavior. But as he reflected, he realized how significant that effort was for Draco—agreeing without protest, tolerating decisions without argument, and setting aside his ego for the sake of a child who needed them both.
Draco wasn’t one to yield easily; his pride had always been his armor. Yet for Teddy, he had let go of that, adapting quietly to a dynamic that wasn’t natural for him. Harry could now see the effort it took for Draco to bite back his instincts, to defer to Harry’s lead, and to accept his role in a shared life where his opinion wasn’t always the dominant one. It struck him suddenly that Draco wasn’t just tolerating this arrangement—he was trying to make it work.
It wasn’t about convenience or obligation. Draco’s actions showed a conscious choice to prioritize Teddy’s happiness over his own discomfort. Whether it was agreeing to Harry’s plans without a fight, staying patient through Teddy’s tantrums, or even the simple act of sitting through long, mundane meetings like the one today, Draco’s sacrifices were becoming clear.
Harry felt a pang of guilt. He’d taken it all for granted, assuming this was just how things were supposed to go. But for someone like Draco—someone who had lived his whole life with a rigid sense of control and superiority—this was monumental.
Because actions like these couldn’t be faked—they were the marks of someone who cared. Truly, deeply cared. And, Harry realized, it made him trust Draco more.