Teddy is mine!

It had definitely been a terrible idea. Potter was already fast asleep, and, needless to say, he wasn’t exactly a quiet sleeper. Meanwhile, Malfoy hadn’t even managed to close his eyes. He was far too aware of everything around him to relax. Staying alert felt like the better option; that way, he could make sure Teddy was okay. Every now and then, he placed a hand on the little boy lying next to him, but Teddy seemed bothered by the cold touch, shifting uncomfortably.

At some point, however, sleep hit the blonde so suddenly that he couldn’t fight it.

“Dwaco…” Luckily, his sleep had been light, and the softest murmur from the boy was enough to wake him.

“What is it, little monster?” Malfoy responded groggily, reaching out to touch Teddy’s face.  

Malfoy had a repertoire of nicknames for the boy, using whatever came to mind depending on his mood or the moment. On most days, Teddy was a little monster,ma puce or even imp, but when Draco was feeling particularly affectionate, softer terms slipped out, like mon cheri or mon chaton, borrowed from the French nannies who’d raised him. Tonight, though, little monster seemed to fit best—it was endearing and exasperated all at once.

He frowned when he realized the child felt slightly feverish.

“It hurts…”

“Where?”

“Here.” Teddy didn’t know the name of the body part he was pointing at, and it was far too dark for Draco to figure it out.

“I’m going to turn on the light. Wait here.”

After stumbling a bit, Draco reached the light switch. He glanced over at Harry, hoping he would wake up too, but the man just pulled the blanket over his head.

“Useless savior…” Draco muttered, already frustrated, as he turned back to Teddy.

When the light finally illuminated the room, Draco examined the boy. His throat seemed red, likely inflamed from the cold, but the lighting wasn’t good enough to be certain. Reluctantly, he decided it was time to wake Harry, not just because of Teddy’s condition but also because Draco refused to be the only adult dealing with this in the middle of the night.

“Hawwy, wake up!” Teddy tried to pull the blanket off Harry’s head, but it seemed Harry was holding onto it. The little boy wasn’t strong enough to win the tug-of-war.

Harry remained completely still, facing the wall. That’s when Draco decided more drastic measures were needed. He began shaking Harry and making enough noise to force him awake.

“Harry Potter!” Draco and Teddy were now both kneeling on the bed, jostling him back and forth.

“What is it?” Harry startled awake, confused and clearly unaccustomed to being woken up by these two.

“Come check Teddy’s throat. I think it’s inflamed.” Draco’s tone was serious.

“You can check it yourself. You don’t need my eyes for that.” Harry’s reply was gruff, his voice still heavy with sleep and impatience. Harry groaned, burying his face in the pillow.

“I can’t see well enough in this light. Do something useful for once!” Draco snapped.

“My eyes don’t even work properly without my glasses, Malfoy. What do you expect me to see that you can’t?” Harry’s voice was thick with sleep and irritation, but he still pushed himself up, rubbing his face.

“This isn’t the time for your bad sarcasm, Potter. Cast a lighting spell! Now!”

Grumbling the entire time, Harry reluctantly did as Draco demanded. After a few more complaints and instructions from the blonde about “holding the wand steady” and “illuminating the right spot,” Harry finally confirmed Draco’s suspicion: Teddy’s throat was inflamed, and they’d need Muggle medicine.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You want me to go to Muggle London in the middle of the night instead of just giving him one of the potions you have stocked in the cabinet?”

“They’re completely different, you ignoramus! Muggle medicine works faster and carries fewer risks than potions.” Draco’s frustration was clear, but so was his conviction.

“I trust your Healer skills. Now, I’m going back to bed.” Harry dismissed Draco’s dramatics, too tired to argue further.

“Don’t you dare, Harry Potter!”

“And what exactly can I do awake besides irritate you?” Since he’d been woken up, all Draco had done was complain about how “useless” Harry was and how he couldn’t even hold a wand properly.

“You can go get the bloody medicine!”

“I’m not going!” That was the last thing Harry said before being hit by Draco’s death glare. Begrudgingly, he threw off the covers and headed to Muggle London, still in his pajamas.

As Harry Apparated into the cold, quiet streets, his irritation gnawed at him. It wasn’t the task itself—Teddy’s health was, of course, important—but something about the way Draco had barked orders at him had struck a nerve. Or maybe it was the fact that Draco hadn’t even hesitated to wake him, as if Harry was supposed to leap into action at his command.

Yet, as Harry trudged into the all-night pharmacy, he realized the irritation wasn’t really about Draco at all. It was about the sleep. For the first time in what felt like years, Harry had been in a deep, peaceful sleep, unburdened by nightmares or stress. His body had pleaded with him to stay there, and being pulled out of it had set his nerves on edge in a way he wasn’t used to.

By the time he returned to the house, medicine in hand, most of his irritation had faded, replaced by a strange sense of guilt for snapping at Draco.

…...

That horrible situation wasn’t resolved even after the medicine arrived, because, to make things worse, Teddy decided to throw a tantrum and refuse to take it.

“Come on, ma puce. Some of us didn’t sleep last night and are on the verge of collapsing if we don’t sleep tonight,” Draco muttered, seriously considering getting down on his knees—anything to stop the crying and get some rest.

“Aren’t you supposed to be used to night shifts by now?” Potter asked, his genuine curiosity at such an out-of-place moment managing to irritate the blonde even more.

“Shut up, Potter!”

“’Ut up!” Teddy repeated, puffing his cheeks and glaring with all the conviction a toddler could muster. Draco bit back a laugh, while Harry groaned inwardly. Great, now Teddy’s first rebellious words would be courtesy of Draco.

Harry opened his mouth, ready to fire back, but decided it wasn’t worth the energy. Instead, he tried asking something that might actually help. “What did your parents do to get you to take medicine?”

Draco paused, his expression shifting to something unreadable.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I could try that... but I’m not sure if it’ll work or just traumatize him.”

Harry’s brows furrowed in concern, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. He wasn’t entirely sure what kind of upbringing Draco had endured, but something about his tone made him uneasy.

“What about you?” Draco asked suddenly, turning the question back on him. “What did your relatives do when you got sick?”

Harry blinked, surprised by the question. Then, with a bitter smile, he answered, “Nothing. They didn’t even give me food. Bold of you to assume they cared.”

His tone was playful, but Draco didn’t laugh. For a moment, the blonde just stared at him, his lips pressing into a thin line, before turning his attention back to Teddy.

“So we’re gonna go with my parents way, brilliant,” Draco muttered under his breath, though Harry barely heard him.

Draco seemed lost in thought for a moment before he sighed and picked Teddy up, rocking him gently in his arms. The motion was smooth, calming, and Harry couldn’t help but notice how naturally it came to him.

“You liked that milk you had earlier, didn’t you, Ted?” Draco asked, his voice soft as he wiped the boy’s tear-streaked face.

Teddy hiccuped, nodding hesitantly. “Y-yeah.”

Draco smiled a little too sweetly. “What a shame. It was poisoned, and here’s the antidote to save you from a slow, painful death.”

Teddy’s eyes widened in terror, and before Harry could process what was happening, the little boy opened his mouth obediently, letting Draco feed him the medicine without further complaint. But as soon as he swallowed, tears welled up in his eyes again, and he began sobbing anew.

“Draco, what the fuck was that?” Harry demanded, horrified.

“Language, Potter. There’s a child present,” Draco replied, throwing him a reproachful look as if that were the worst thing to happen tonight.

“He’s crying!” Harry gestured helplessly at the distraught toddler, still clinging to Draco. “You traumatized him!”

“But he took the medicine, didn’t he?” Draco countered, utterly unbothered. “And besides, you’re the one who told me to use my parents’ technique.”

“I didn’t think they would do it!” Harry threw his hands up, exasperated. “You really grew up in a messed-up household.”

“You are one to talk, just confessed to be starved,” Draco shot back, his tone sharp.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Harry lied to himself, “they are your parents!”

“Oh, good. Potter’s finally pieced together the obvious. Shall we alert the Prophet?” Draco snapped, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Harry sighed, shaking his head. No matter how much progress they made, Draco’s defense mechanisms were always on high alert. Despite his irritation, Harry couldn’t help but think of the stark contrast between them. The Dursleys hadn’t cared about him enough to force him to take medicine, let alone invent some dramatic lie to get him to cooperate. And yet here was Draco, unflinchingly devoted to Teddy, even if his methods were questionable.

Flawed methods and all, they were trying to raise a child. 

Draco sighed, rocking Teddy a little more as the boy’s sobs finally began to subside. “There now, mon chaton,” he murmured, his voice softer. “You’re safe. No more poison, I promise.”

Harry shook his head, torn between disbelief and admiration. “You’re unbelievable, Malfoy.”

...

Draco had been staring at his sandwich for what felt like an eternity, chewing slowly as if trying to gather the energy to say something. He had hoped for a quiet morning, a brief respite after the chaos of the night, but it seemed impossible. The kitchen was empty save for them, the soft hum of the clock ticking in the background, marking the passing time as both of them sat at the table in silence, exhaustion settling like a weight in the room.

Draco stared blankly at his sandwich, taking slow, deliberate bites as if the act of chewing could somehow give him the energy to speak. The morning, still shrouded in darkness outside, felt like an extension of the previous night’s exhaustion. 

Neither of them had truly rested, both trapped in an unspoken agreement to stay awake. Caring for a child was hard work. In the end, neither of them could bear the thought of letting the other sleep while they stayed awake. Since someone had to watch over Teddy’s condition, the other made sure the first wouldn’t nod off in the process.

The kitchen was quiet except for the ticking clock, the sound filling the empty spaces between their thoughts.

“I made coffee,” Harry murmured, setting his mug on the table without looking up.

Draco wrinkled his nose, taking another bite. “I hate coffee.”

Harry shrugged, not bothering to meet Draco’s eyes. “I didn’t make it for you.”

“Then why tell me?” Draco’s voice carried a sharpness, a defensiveness that lingered longer than necessary.

“Starting a conversation,” Harry replied with a casual flick of his eyes toward Draco, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Draco scoffed. “That’s a terrible way to start a conversation, Potter.”

“Eh, but we’re talking anyway. Checkmate.”

“Pathetic,” Draco muttered under his breath, though a brief twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed the crack in his stoic mask. For a fleeting second, his guard lowered, his tiredness pulling his expression into something softer—vulnerable even—but it was gone almost immediately, hidden beneath the familiar scowl.

The silence stretched between them, the weight of their exhaustion settling into the space like a quiet storm. It wasn’t just the coffee or the sandwich—it was everything. The unspoken tension, the things neither of them knew how to voice. The war, their differences, and everything that had happened between them. They were close, but never really close enough. They shared the same house, the same responsibilities, and even now, they shared this moment. But it was awkward, fragile. Neither of them could seem to define the space they inhabited, not really.

Draco shifted in his chair, stiffly crossing his arms over his chest as if trying to keep himself together. He suppressed a yawn but failed, his shoulders slumping. His tired eyes briefly flicked to Harry, but the other man was too lost in his own thoughts to notice. Draco’s jaw tightened, and for the briefest moment, Harry caught a glimpse of something raw in his gaze—a moment of vulnerability, one Draco quickly masked, like it was a reflex.

Draco hadn’t slept at all. His shift at the small healer’s clinic had been tough, even though the night shifts were easier, there weren’t many patients, just the occasional emergency or check-up for those still hospitalized.   

When he’d finally come home, he found Harry still awake, papers scattered across the table, the faint shadows of exhaustion under his eyes. And Draco had noticed the bruise on Harry’s arm. Dark, purple, a stark contrast against his pale skin. Draco didn’t ask, didn’t need to. The evidence was clear—Harry had been in another fight, and Draco had seen the headlines. Death Eaters making appearances again, as if the war had never really ended, just paused. The remnants of it still lurking in the shadows.

Draco’s chest tightened. But they didn’t talk about it—not their wounds, not the things they didn’t want to face. So he didn’t say anything. Not yet.

The small form of Teddy, curled up in his bed, was a welcome distraction. He had taken the medicine, but now they had to wait, uncertain if it would work. Draco sat there, unsure whether he should feel relieved or anxious. Time seemed to drag as he tried to focus on the quiet rise and fall of Teddy’s breath. He hated this feeling—the helplessness. Watching, waiting, and praying it would work. The uncertainty gnawed at him.

Harry, too, was drained. He never said anything, but Draco could see it—the subtle way his body sagged with exhaustion, the barely contained tension in his shoulders. Harry was always so determined, so relentless in his need to protect those around him, but Draco saw the signs—the faint bruises, the signs of recent magic battles. Harry didn’t like to talk about his injuries, not the physical ones, not the emotional scars that lingered long after the fight was over.

“You’re not going to sleep, are you?” Harry’s voice broke through his thoughts, sharp but weary.

Draco rubbed his eyes, stifling another yawn. “Not yet. We need to make sure he’s alright. We’ve still got time.”

Harry nodded, his gaze drifting toward the boy in the next room. Teddy was calm now, his breathing steady. The worst seemed to be over, but neither of them would allow themselves to relax just yet.

Draco’s mind wandered back to the newspaper from earlier. The war had ended three years ago, but the scars were still visible in the world. The Death Eaters hadn’t all been caught. Some still lurked, waiting in the shadows. The headlines were filled with whispers of their return, their resurgence in small corners of the wizarding world. Draco’s stomach tightened with the thought of Harry getting hurt again.

Harry’s suggestion cut through the tension like a knife, pulling Draco back from his thoughts. “Maybe we should get some sleep once Teddy’s settled.”

Draco’s gaze never left the boy. He’d been awake for over twenty-four hours, and the fatigue was catching up with him. But there was no room for rest just yet. Not until Teddy was out of danger.

“Yeah,” Draco murmured quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll sleep when we can.”

...

The clock on the wall ticked toward six as he stripped out of his work clothes, relieved that the shift was finally ending, Draco was startled by the sudden flutter of a bird outside. A tawny owl perched on the windowsill, carrying a message. He frowned, surprised by the unexpected interruption.

Approaching the owl, he took the letter and unrolled it. The handwriting was shaky and rushed, he recognized Astoria’s handwriting. That alone made his chest tighten in an odd mixture of curiosity and unease. The words on the page only intensified his sense of urgency.

"Draco, I need to see you urgently. Meet me at the family house in Muggle London. I’ll be waiting. - A.G."

Draco’s brow furrowed, and he felt an odd knot twist in his stomach. There was something in her message that felt different, something that pulled him in despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on him.

He couldn’t quite place it, but there was a sense of danger hidden between the lines of her words. Astoria had always been calm, controlled, she wasn’t the type to send such an urgent message unless something was wrong.

But then again, it was Astoria. And her family’s house in Muggle London? It was familiar enough, a place he’d been to a few times, but something felt off. A feeling that lingered in the pit of his stomach. 

For a moment, he hesitated, the exhaustion of the previous night’s shift trying to pull him back into the comfortable embrace of his bed. But he couldn’t ignore it. He needed to know what this was about, even if he felt the weight of the world pressing against him.

Draco glanced toward the door where Teddy was probably waiting, safe in Harry’s care. With a deep sigh, he stuffed the letter into his pocket. “I’ll be back soon,” he muttered to himself, adjusting his shirt and running a hand through his tousled hair, ready to face whatever awaited him.