Teddy is mine!

Harry stood at the counter, focused on the rhythm of his knife against the cutting board. The quiet hum of the house filled the air—the distant sound of Teddy playing in the next room, the faint creak of old floorboards, and the occasional rustle of parchment from the stack of papers Harry had shoved aside earlier. It was a rare moment of calm in their otherwise chaotic routine, but Harry should have known better than to expect it to last.

Draco Malfoy strolled into the room with the casual arrogance of someone who thought they owned the place, even though Harry distinctly remembered signing the deed himself. 

Harry didn’t look up, but he could feel Draco’s presence in the room—a swirl of sharp-edged arrogance and restless energy that made the air feel heavier. He’d learned by now that Draco never announced himself like a normal person; he preferred theatrics, whether in his words or his silences.

Draco tilted his head, studying Harry’s determined focus with the air of someone who was deeply unimpressed. “You could at least act like I’m distracting you.”

“I’m ignoring you on purpose,” Harry muttered, voice clipped, though a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

“You’re really no fun, you know.” 

Harry’s hand paused briefly over the onion, his shoulders tense but his tone dry. “Why? Because I asked you to pretend to be decent for one hour?” He was referring to the conversation they had earlier, about having his friends coming, one that didn’t go well.

“I am a very decent human being,” Draco replied, his tone dripping with feigned offense. His pale brows arched dramatically, though the faint twitch of his lips betrayed the amusement bubbling just under the surface.

Leaning theatrically against the kitchen counter, Draco contorted his face into an exaggerated grimace, as though the very idea of decency offended him. It was so absurdly over-the-top that Harry nearly laughed, but he forced his focus back to the cutting board, slicing through an onion with mechanical precision.

“Poor choice of words,” Harry admitted after a beat, not looking up from his work. “I meant… kind, maybe? Civil?” He tested the words as though they tasted bitter on his tongue.

Draco tapped his chin, as though genuinely considering the suggestion. “That’s... difficult,” he mused, drawing out the words in mock deliberation.

Harry sighed and pressed his palm to the counter, pausing for just a second. “Just be yourself,” he finally offered, though his tone made it clear that he wasn’t holding out much hope.

Draco’s silver eyes sparked with mischief as he raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to be kind or myself? Because I can’t do both.”

Harry rolled his eyes, returning his attention to the onion. He resumed slicing with brisk precision, but a stray tear escaped down his cheek, quickly followed by another.

Draco froze mid-step, his teasing smirk faltering. "Wait… are you crying?" he blurted, alarm coloring his voice.

Harry stilled, confused, then brushed a hand over his cheek. "What?"

"Merlin, I didn't think you'd cry!" Draco exclaimed, his voice unusually high-pitched as he crossed the kitchen in two long strides. "I got it. I'll behave, so don't—"

"It's the onion," Harry interrupted, turning to give Draco an incredulous look.

Draco froze, blinking rapidly. "The… onion."

"Yes, the onion. I'm not crying over you," Harry deadpanned, though a spark of amusement twinkled in his green eyes.

For a moment, Draco just stared at him, his pale cheeks faintly flushed. Relief washed over him – why, he wasn't entirely sure – but it was quickly followed by a surge of irritation with himself. Since when did he care if Harry bloody Potter cried?

Recovering swiftly, Draco folded his arms and tilted his head with mock indignation. "Well, how was I supposed to know? You've got tears running down your face, and I can be devastatingly charming."

Harry looked at him more intently, the tension between them shifting subtly. The faintest trace of worry had flickered across Draco's face, something Harry wasn't accustomed to seeing in the usually aloof Slytherin. His heart gave a little lurch, and before he could stop himself, he wondered why it mattered to Draco.

Harry snorted. "Right. Devastatingly. If I ever find myself weeping uncontrollably, I'll let you know it's all because of you."

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Harry continued, his voice quieter but no less firm. "You already said you'd behave, right?"

"You misled me by crying."

"I wasn't—" Harry began, then caught himself and sighed. "Ron and Hermione… they don't like you. At all. And their opinion matters to me."

Draco’s jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, something unspoken passed between them. The way Harry’s voice softened at the end, the almost pleading look in his eyes—it irritated Draco more than he cared to admit. But beneath the irritation was something deeper, something heavier.

Why does it matter to Potter? Draco wanted to ask but didn’t trust himself with the answer.

Instead, he forced a sarcastic smile, his lips curving just enough to mask the sudden pull of vulnerability. “I can’t imagine why they don’t like me,” he drawled, folding his arms in mock nonchalance.

“I could list a thing or two,” Harry retorted, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Draco smirked, raising his chin in mock defiance. “Well, I’ll make them like me. In fact, they’ll leave here fighting for my hand in marriage.”

Though the words were spoken with the air of a joke, Harry caught the faintest flicker of sincerity in Draco’s expression. For all his bravado, there was something else there—something almost vulnerable.

Why did he care? Draco wondered, his heart giving a traitorous flutter at the idea of Harry crying or worse, at the thought of being the reason for it. He’d known for years that he liked Harry, but it wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to get heavier with each passing day, pulling him deeper into something he didn’t know how to navigate.

Why was playing nice so exhausting? Raising a child was already more than enough responsibility. Did it have to involve being a role model, too? For a brief, fleeting moment, Draco felt an odd sense of gratitude toward his parents. How had they managed to raise him without tossing him into the lake out of sheer frustration?

“I’m saying this one more time,” Harry said, his voice dipping into the no-nonsense authority that Draco secretly found both irritating and fascinating. “No sarcastic comments, no backhanded compliments. Just be nice. Be pleasant for once.”

“In other words, don’t act like myself. Got it, Mr. Potter,” Draco replied with an exaggerated air of obedience. Then, with a sly grin that was pure Draco, he added, “And let’s be clear, this is the only day you get to boss me around. Savor it.”

As Draco turned to leave, the sunlight streaming through the window caught the sharp angles of his profile, highlighting the mischievous glint in his silver eyes. He threw Harry a deliberate wink over his shoulder, his presence leaving a lingering air of chaos in the room.

Harry shook his head, exhaling sharply as he picked up the knife again. He tried to ignore the way his thoughts kept wandering back to Draco’s maddening smirk, the elegant grace of his movements, the exasperating allure that seemed to cling to him like a second skin.

Draco Malfoy was utterly insufferable.

And yet, Harry couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him.

…

Harry was lost in thought, watching Teddy sit obediently on the carpet, his tiny legs crossed as he half-watched a colorful cartoon on the telly. The boy’s hands toyed absently with the edge of his shirt, though his bright, ever-shifting hair suggested he wasn’t fully relaxed. Draco was always nearby, but not close to either of them, sometimes he seemed to have this need to keep everybody at a secure distance, Harry observed, thinking this was one of Draco’s many ways to cope with the whole dinner situation. 

But if it was what he needed, whatever. Put him in a corner where he could see the room fully and try to feel protected. 

The knock on the door pulled Harry back to the present, and before he could get up, Hermione and Ron walked in.

“Wow,” Ron muttered, pausing just inside the doorway. “No matter how many times I come here, this place still gives me the creeps.”

“It’s hard not to think about when we were hiding out here,” Hermione agreed, folding her arms as though shielding herself from the memories. “After Fleur’s wedding… the Death Eaters attacking—” Her voice faltered, and her shoulders hunched slightly as the memories seemed to darken her mood.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure you’ve got loads of tragic war stories to tell,” Draco drawled from his perch against the wall. His arms were crossed, and there was a faint smirk. When Harry shot him a sharp look, Draco raised a hand mockingly. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. Bravo to you. You won.”

Hermione’s expression turned steely. “No one wins a war, Malfoy. You survive it. That’s all.”

Draco opened his mouth, a cutting retort likely on the tip of his tongue, but Harry was already groaning and rubbing his face. “Merlin, this is going to be a long night,” he muttered under his breath.

Deciding to break the tension before it could escalate, Harry crouched next to Teddy and pointed toward the visitors. “Teddy, look. These are my friends. This is Hermione, and that’s Ron,” he said gently, his voice softening in a way it only ever did when he spoke to Teddy.

Teddy’s wide, curious eyes flicked to Hermione and Ron, then darted back to Harry. The little boy leaned closer to Harry, clutching his pant leg with one small hand. “Hi,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Aw, Teddy,” Hermione said, her expression instantly softening. “The last time I saw you, you were so tiny. You’ve grown so much.”

Ron crouched next to her and gave Teddy a wide, friendly grin. “Hey there, mate. Do you remember me? Big, freckly bloke?” he teased, gesturing to himself dramatically.

Teddy’s fingers tightened on Harry’s leg as he half-hid behind him. “No,” he said honestly, though there was no fear in his tone—just quiet shyness. His free hand moved to his mouth, and his hair flickered from its usual soft blue to a light pink. That happened when he was shy.

“Teddy,” Draco called from his spot, his voice dry but not unkind. “We talked about this. It’s fine, right?”

Teddy peeked out from behind Harry and glanced at Draco, then at Hermione and Ron. After a long moment, he stepped closer to Harry, lifting his arms in a silent request to be picked up. Harry obliged immediately, hoisting the boy into his arms.

“You were excited to see my friends, weren’t you?” Harry asked, smoothing a hand over Teddy’s head.

Teddy gave a tiny nod, his hair shifting back to brown as his confidence returned. “Hi, friends,” he said shyly, resting his cheek against Harry’s shoulder.

Both Hermione and Ron beamed, the tension in the room dissolving instantly. Hermione leaned in slightly, her voice warm and encouraging. “Hello, Teddy. You’ve got such lovely manners.”

Teddy’s lips twitched into a small smile at the praise, and he extended a tentative hand toward her. Hermione took it gently, her eyes bright with delight.

“See?” Harry murmured, brushing a hand over Teddy’s back. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

As the adults moved to the sofa, the atmosphere became lighter. Teddy eventually climbed down from Harry’s lap and toddled over to Hermione, intrigued by her earrings. Ron pulled a small wooden toy from his pocket—a tiny, enchanted dragon that flapped its wings lazily—and soon had Teddy giggling softly as he tried to catch it.

Draco watched the scene from the corner of the room, his arms still crossed. A faint, unreadable expression flickered across his face as Teddy’s quiet laughter filled the space. When Harry glanced over, their eyes met for a brief moment, and Draco glanced back before approaching, but he sat the farthest possible.

“Christmas is coming soon, and Teddy’s turning three,” Hermione said, his voice carrying a lightness that hinted at his excitement.

“Yes, and depending on how the conversation with Arthur goes, we might all spend Christmas at the Burrow,” Harry added, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

Draco raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with a dramatic scoff. “Why on earth would I willingly spend Christmas crammed in the Weasley hideout?”

“It’s not a hideout. It’s a home,” Harry shot back, his tone playfully chastising.

Draco ignored him, clearly unimpressed. The truth was, he had little desire to face Arthur Weasley again. Harry had mentioned—briefly—that Arthur had regrets about their past animosity, but Draco wasn’t one to believe in sudden changes of heart. He remembered the look in Arthur’s eyes the last time they’d crossed paths. Hatred wasn’t something easily erased.

“Teddy didn’t like the Burrow much either,” Ron cut in, his tone unusually subdued, though his words carried an edge. He cast a sidelong, accusatory glance at Draco.

Draco immediately bristled. “Are you insinuating something, Weasley?”

“I don’t know, Malfoy,” Ron said, folding his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s just odd. Every kid loves my mum, but Teddy doesn’t? And who spends the most time with him? You.”

Draco’s silver eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, yes, you’ve caught me. I spend my days telling Teddy to burst into tears every time a redhead comes near him. It’s practically a hobby of mine.”

Ron leaned forward, undeterred. “Wouldn’t put it past you.”

Harry sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ron, Draco—”

Before he could say more, a small voice piped up from the corner of the room. “No fighting,” Teddy declared firmly, his tiny arms crossed in a manner that mirrored Draco’s earlier posture. His bright blue hair shifted to a soft pink as he glanced between the adults, his expression a mix of innocence and authority.

Ron blinked, taken aback. Hermione, who had been quietly helping Teddy dress a doll, stifled a laugh. Draco, however, simply rolled his eyes, entirely unphased. 

Harry grinned, ruffling Teddy’s hair, which quickly morphed back to blue. “Sometimes I wonder who the real adult is around here.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not you,” Draco quipped, bumping Harry’s shoulder lightly.

The atmosphere in the room lightened, and Harry realized he’d all eyes on him. He glanced at Hermione, silently inviting her to speak. She hesitated for a moment, then set the doll down and took her chance.

“I’m an only child, but I think Teddy seems pretty advanced for his age,” Hermione said, watching the young boy intently.

Draco’s lips twitched in what could’ve been a smirk. “He’s been talking a lot—must be all thanks to the magic television Harry bought.” His tone was laced with subtle sarcasm, though it wasn’t entirely hostile. He couldn’t help himself; there was something about Muggle inventions that rubbed him the wrong way.

“My mum tried to set up a TV, but it didn’t work too well at the Burrow,” Ron commented.

Draco had to control himself and not respond that this explained the number of children.

“I suppose it works better here, it’s closer to the Muggle world,” Harry mused, taking a sip of his drink. It was odd, but they were managing to have a civil conversation. Talking about Muggle's inventions and how the wizarding world should be more open to them was something he and Draco had disagreed on numerous times, but today, they were keeping it civil. For now.

“I don’t know… Muggle inventions can be dangerous if we just start using them without thinking,” Draco chimed in, his tone still a bit sharper than he intended. “I mean, I’m not exactly thrilled about living in a house that could explode just because a Muggle gadget malfunctions.”

“We need to know how to give in a little, so we can mix the goods of magic and technology and have the best of both worlds,” Hermione said, eyes shining with hope, she had an awful lot of fate in the world like she hadn’t seem the worst of it years ago.

“Some would call you delusional,” The blond said in an insinuating tone, a smug in his face.

Harry gave him a pointed look, but before the conversation could escalate, Teddy, who had been playing quietly by the window, suddenly tugged at Draco’s trouser leg.

“Water for I,” Teddy said, looking up at him with those big, inquisitive eyes. He reached for Draco’s leg again, his small fingers pulling at the fabric.

Draco sighed, but the annoyance faded when he looked down at the little boy. “It’s for me, Teddy,” he corrected, bending down to meet his gaze.

“Get two, for Dwaco and I,” Teddy insisted, holding up both hands as though offering a simple solution.

The adults around them exchanged surprised glances, and Draco couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself. Teddy’s confidence was beyond his years.

“Please,” Teddy added, his voice soft but firm.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Just when I was trying to prove how clever you are,” he muttered to himself, but Hermione’s voice cut through the moment.

“He’s clever, alright,” she said with a smile, laughing lightly. “Not every kid his age would say something like that. You’re doing a great job, both of you.”

Draco and Harry exchanged a glance. For just a moment, their smiles were genuine, and there was something almost affectionate in the air. Even Teddy seemed to sense the shift, looking between them with a shy smile of his own.

Harry stood up abruptly when the smell of lasagna wafted from the kitchen. “Right, I’ll grab the water and check on the lasagna,” he said, his voice a little too bright.

“Do you need help?” Draco asked, though his tone suggested he was more eager to avoid being alone with Harry’s friends than actually wanting to assist in the kitchen.

“No, stay there,” Harry answered quickly. It was a simple response, but there was a tension in his eyes that made Draco suppress a frown.

Harry had barely stepped out when Ron slowly leaned toward Draco and muttered under his breath, “I don’t like you.”

“Ron—” Hermione didn’t even get the chance to stop him before Malfoy shot back immediately.

“Really, Weasley? And now, how am I supposed to live with the pain of knowing that every fiery strand of that carrot hair doesn’t love me?” Draco placed a hand dramatically on his chest and flung himself backward, exaggerating the gesture as though struck by some deep, emotional wound. He quickly recovered, returning to his usual sardonic smile and malicious gaze.

Hermione frowned, clearly baffled by the absurdity of their interactions. She gave up trying to make sense of it and walked over to Teddy, who was deliberately ignoring Draco as he scooted closer to him. The little boy leaned his back against Draco’s leg, and every now and then, he would glance up at him.

“I don’t like you,” Ron continued, his voice growing more heated. “You’re arrogant, a jerk, prejudiced—”

“Oh, Merlin. I cannot live with this rejection. Should I jump from the bridge?” Draco shot back, still sarcastic, but his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Ron didn’t let up. “Not yet. I just want to say that, even though you’re all—” he gestured toward Draco as though he were something contagious “—I can try to tolerate you. Don’t think I like you, but... you’re not rejected.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the childish bickering before turning to leave. She pulled Ron aside for a serious talk after Harry went to invite them to the dinner. The two had concluded that, whatever kind of relationship Draco and Harry had, they’d support it as long as Harry was happy. But Ron didn’t seem to be showing much support. It felt more like a father trying to chase away his daughter’s new boyfriend. Of course, Draco never took any of this seriously.

“Oh, the little pauper Weasley is asking me out? What a momentous occasion, Where you are going to take me?” Draco said dryly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. But even as he spoke, he made sure his tone didn't go too far. He reminded himself of the boundaries they had set—no more provoking the Weasleys.

Ron scowled, the vein in his neck visible as his anger flared. Draco could see him fighting to keep his composure, but Draco wasn’t here to make things worse—not today. It was a fine line to walk. He had his pride, but he wasn’t about to jeopardize Harry’s peace.

“The only place I would take you is in a fight.”

Draco sighed inwardly and leaned back slightly. Keep it civil , he reminded himself. “I would never go any place with you, so I suppose that’s a victory of sorts, Weasley.” He gave Ron a look that could have been interpreted as somewhat resigned, though his mouth still curled in a faint smirk.

Ron stared at him, blinking in disbelief. "What, are you going soft now, Malfoy?"

“I’m not going soft. Just... there are some words that I will never say. Teddy should never hear them.” Draco’s voice was more measured this time. It wasn’t easy, especially after everything, but he’d made a promise to himself, to be a better person. He wasn't going to break that just to win some petty argument with Ron.

Hermione gave a small, approving smile from the other side of the room, watching the exchange quietly. Draco had to admit, it felt strange—almost foreign—being civil with the Weasleys. But for Teddy, he could manage it.

“I’d say it’s a start,” Hermione commented, her voice warm but teasing. “You two are tolerating each other. Progress, I’d say.”

Teddy, who had been quietly playing at Draco's feet, suddenly looked up, his blue hair flickering to a soft pink as he tilted his head curiously at the adults.

“Is it better now?” Teddy asked innocently, his voice high-pitched but with a surprisingly perceptive tone for an almost three-year-old. The room fell silent for a moment as the adults looked at the little boy, who had picked up on the tension between Draco and Ron.

Draco couldn’t help but smile faintly, his heart softening at Teddy’s question. "I think it's better, Ted," he said quietly, running a hand through the child’s hair. He felt a warmth spread through him, reminded of his commitment to making things right for Harry—and by extension, for Teddy.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” Ron muttered, trying to hide his smile but failing. Even he couldn’t resist the charm of Teddy’s innocent wisdom.

"The dinner is served," Harry announced as he appeared in the doorway, his smile wide as he took in the food, unaware of the tension lingering in the room.

The dinner went smoothly. Draco, however, seemed to be entirely focused on Teddy, helping him eat and casually wiping his mouth whenever necessary. It made enduring Ron and Harry’s chatter about work and the Ministry and the occasional gossip. Especially when Ron’s expression shifted, clearly surprised by Draco’s behavior. He had never seen Malfoy smile in a way that wasn't laced with sarcasm, but now Draco was smiling at Teddy genuinely, and perhaps even deliberately, with a sweetness that seemed almost... out of place.

Harry was certain the smile had been calculated. It came at the exact moment he had stopped talking and noticed Draco murmuring something about how well Teddy had eaten. The smile was small, yet it held an elegance, a subtle sweetness. The dim light of the room made it even more striking, as Teddy, with his usual innocent joy, smiled back, his blue hair shifting slightly to reveal a few streaks of blonde.

And then, in another carefully timed move—one that was meant to seem natural—Malfoy realized he was being watched and quickly turned the smile toward the others. This time, there was a touch of shyness. Harry barely managed to stifle a laugh. If he didn’t know Draco so well, or understand what he was doing, he could’ve easily fallen for the act. But deep down, Harry knew the performance, and yet... a part of him still wanted to overlook it and just be swept away.

Hermione, once she snapped out of her trance as if breaking free from a Veela’s charm, gave Ron a gentle nudge. Ron, of course, didn’t try to hide his reaction. He shook his head, his face contorting in disbelief, and anyone could guess what was running through his mind: Merlin, I can’t believe I almost thought Malfoy was... handsome! Malfoy!

Draco, now with his usual sly grin returning, directed it at Harry. It was clear that he was reveling in the small victory. He mouthed the words, I did it, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

...

As dinner wrapped up, Draco took the little one upstairs, handling the bath and putting him to bed. Teddy seemed genuinely tired, though he didn’t like the idea of sleeping while the adults stayed up. Harry knew Draco wouldn’t have the patience to convince Teddy, so he was prepared to let Draco give in and wait for him to handle it.

The trio was finally gathered in the living room, sitting near the fireplace as they chatted casually. But in a sudden shift, Harry’s mood brightened, and his tone became animated.

"Don’t you think he’s a Veela now?" Harry grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Sort out your sexuality issues on your own," Ron shot back, rolling his eyes.

"Harry knows what that is, right?" Hermione asked, glancing at him with a frown. She was almost certain Harry had figured it out after Cedric.

"Hum, straight," Harry answered quickly, almost too quickly, like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. His voice faltered for just a second, but he quickly recovered.

"You’re as straight as Malfoy," Ron teased with a raised brow.

Harry blinked, looking back and forth between them. "I don’t get it."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance, a silent debate passing between them about who would break the news. Ron sighed and shrugged. "Mate, everyone knows Malfoy never played for that team."

"Malfoy’s gay?" Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes wide with shock, as though he’d just uncovered a hidden truth. All he received in response was a nod, and before he could ask more, a sudden gust of wind caused the lights to flicker, and the window to slam open with a loud bang. The cold air swept into the room, but it was too weak to cause any damage.

Harry’s green eyes wandered, lost in thought, as his friends looked at him knowingly. They all turned to him, waiting for him to process, but his expression remained distant, a faraway look in his eyes.

Hermione sighed, clearly frustrated. "Are you seriously telling me you don’t remember? Pansy Parkinson freaked out one night at dinner, saying Draco shouldn’t spend his whole life in love with the same guy—right in the middle of a meal! Everyone heard!"

"Malfoy liked a guy? Who?" Harry’s voice was thick with disbelief, his mind racing to put the pieces together.

"Theodore Nott. They kissed in the middle of class," Hermione said, almost in disbelief that Harry hadn’t caught on.

"It became the biggest topic, and no one confirmed it, but Blaise told me they didn’t date," Ron added, still looking at Harry, whose expression had shifted to something that hinted at dawning realization.

What in the world had Harry been doing at school that he hadn’t noticed this?

"I used to partner up with Blaise for some class. Don’t remember which one, but we’d talk sometimes. He was a decent guy, despite everything," Ron said, shrugging.

"I think I remember that," Hermione laughed, "but then the professor swapped you two around because you talked too much."

Harry, however, remained still, his mind racing with this new information. His words came out in a whisper, almost as though he couldn’t quite believe it. "He kissed a guy... in the middle of class?"

Before anyone could respond, Draco’s voice broke through the tension. "Harry, I know you’re not the most observant, but this is next-level."

The trio looked up in surprise, not noticing Draco had come down the stairs. He stood in the doorway, his arms folded with a faint, knowing smirk. His eyes locked onto Harry’s for a moment, as if searching for something. Harry, still lost in his thoughts, met his gaze, the pieces finally starting to click into place.

As expected, Teddy was with Draco, looking somewhat triumphant, and Harry needed a second glance to understand the reason. The little boy was without his trousers. There was no apparent issue; Teddy had simply decided that he didn’t like pants, and now, every day was a struggle to get him to wear them. He’d wear his nappy and underwear without complaint, sometimes even a pair of shorts, but pants were simply unacceptable. Harry could usually persuade him with a deal about sweets or extra time in the park, but Draco had far less patience for it. Either Teddy would end up crying, or Draco would get irritated—sometimes both. Not wanting to ruin his mood, Draco had decided to let the little one win, knowing Harry would be the one to deal with it later.

Harry didn’t particularly enjoy being the "adult" in these situations and made a mental note to talk to Draco about it. It was frustrating to always be the one to argue, especially when Draco was so much more devious with the child than he was.

"Teddy, trousers," Harry said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. Teddy looked at him in surprise, as if he’d been attacked.

"No trousers”, he replied, eyes wide with defiance.

"Yes trousers. No one wants to see your pale legs," Harry retorted, trying his best to keep his tone light.

As if on cue, Draco handed Harry a pair of pajama trousers, his eyes conveying the message— he is difficult today .

Ron and Hermione watched, amusement mixed with some apprehension. It was strangely funny to see their friend so serious, already accustomed to this routine, like a real parent.

“George didn’t like to wear pants either. I guess it's a common problem with kids, mom was always mad at him. He overcame it when he was 10,” Ron said trying to be helpful.

“Not gonna put up with this for another 7 years,” Harry complained, exasperated. Draco rolled his eyes at the comment, while Hermione looked surprised.

It was hard to imagine Harry and Draco enduring this until Teddy was an adult. Not that Harry hadn’t said it before—he’d joked about the tantrums, the difficult stages of parenthood, and how they’d somehow manage to survive the chaos. But Hermione, ever the pragmatic one, couldn’t help but see how unlikely it all seemed. She had always admired Harry’s resilience, but even he couldn’t have predicted this type of domestic challenge.

The way Draco had stepped into the role of father, albeit begrudgingly at times, was something she never would’ve imagined. Turning away from the two stubborn ones, Hermione addressed Draco, who was standing by Harry and tried to catch his attention.

"Sorry we’re talking about your life so openly," she said with a friendly smile, but Draco could feel the tension inside him. He hated when people pried, though he knew he'd done much worse to Hermione in the past. Still, she tolerated him for Harry’s sake, and he couldn't help but admire that about her.

"It wasn’t a secret," Draco said, his voice controlled. "Besides, he was the one who pulled me into the kiss, and it wasn’t him I liked."

"What? Then who was Pansy talking about?" Ron asked, genuinely curious, though he had his own guesses.

"You don’t know him, forget it," Draco replied quickly, not wanting to elaborate.

"Ron, stop teasing him," Hermione intervened, noticing Draco's irritation growing. "You’re annoying him."

"Alright, I’ll stop," Ron said, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"Teddy, you put on your trousers. Good job," Hermione praised, recalling a parenting book she’d read that suggested rewarding small victories with praise. She was testing it out now, and Teddy beamed proudly.

"Thank you," Teddy replied in a tone that somehow sounded very aristocratic, a side of him that was very much Malfoy’s influence. He tilted his chin up, thanking Hermione as if he were royalty.

"Now that you’re in your pajamas, it’s bedtime, right?" Harry tried to persuade him, noticing it was getting late.

"No, I want to sleep with you," Teddy said, his eyes wide, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. It seemed he had developed a habit of sleeping between Draco and Harry after a few nights of it.

"Teddy, you’re getting bigger now. You need to sleep in your bed," Draco said, his tone soft but firm, as he sat down on the nearby sofa.

"But you’re older and sleep with Hawwy," Teddy retorted, trying to justify his request.

"Teddy!" Draco called, his patience wearing thin, but he didn’t have the energy to explain further.

"Mate, I didn’t know you were already at that level," Ron said with wide eyes and a surprising smile.

"Ronny, you’re embarrassing Harry. We talked about this, we need to support him," Hermione scolded gently.

"It’s not that," Harry mumbled, his face turning red as he tried to explain. Draco could only stare at the scene, his eyes flickering between Harry and Teddy. Teddy looked back at him with a mischievous smile, almost as if he knew exactly what he was doing. For a moment, Draco couldn’t help but wonder if Teddy already had a spot reserved in Slytherin.

…

Harry eventually distracted Ron by handing him a bowl of ice cream, which seemed to do the trick. Teddy got his serving, after Harry worked some magic to convince Draco. Neither Hermione nor Draco were particularly interested in the treat, but they both agreed to leave the room and head for the kitchen to get something stronger.

Harry didn’t quite know what had happened during their brief absence, but when they returned, the atmosphere had changed. Hermione was standing with her arms crossed, her expression stormy. Whatever had transpired in the kitchen, had set her off. Harry glanced at Draco, who looked strangely unfazed, but the tension between them was palpable.

“You know, Malfoy,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the room, “I think you should try therapy. You pay someone to listen to you talk about yourself for an hour. Sounds like a dream come true for you.”

Draco, who had just sat after pouring himself a glass of firewhisky, froze mid-step. His silver eyes narrowed as he took in Hermione’s glare. “How original, Granger,” he drawled, his tone cutting but laced with faint amusement. “I didn’t realize I was here for an amateur roast.”

Hermione didn’t back down. “I’m serious,” she insisted, her tone sharp.

Teddy, sitting on Harry’s lap with his dragon toy, yawned but kept playing, his eyelids fluttering occasionally. Harry looked up from Teddy’s dragon, his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped when he saw Draco’s expression change ever so slightly. It wasn’t annoyance or anger—it was a flicker of something else, something more complex.

Draco straightened, his gaze cool as he took a deliberate sip of his tea. “That’s an oversimplification, Granger,” he said lightly, though his voice carried an edge. “Therapy isn’t about self-indulgence. It’s a structured process designed to help individuals address emotional, psychological, or otherwise challenges. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand nuance when you’re too busy jumping to conclusions.”

Hermione blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “You... know about therapy?”

Ron, who had been silent until now, let out a surprised laugh. Clearly in a good mood after the dessert. “Blimey, Malfoy, you sound like a bloody expert. Been sneaking off to sessions yourself?”

Harry didn’t laugh. Instead, his eyes remained on Draco, observing how he shifted and his gaze flickered to the floor for the briefest moment. Harry had seen something similar before—the night he’d found Draco in the study, reading a thick tome about Muggle's mental health practices. At the time, Harry hadn’t questioned it. But now...

“Narcissa’s still at St. Mungo’s, isn’t she?” Harry asked quietly, cutting through the banter. His voice was soft, but it carried the weight of understanding.

Draco’s grip on his teacup tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t respond.

“It’s not a curse, is it?” Harry continued, his green eyes unwavering. “Whatever she’s suffering from... it’s mental. And magic can’t fix it.”

The room went still. Hermione stopped pacing, her brows knitting together as she processed Harry’s words. Ron sat up straighter, his teasing grin fading. Teddy was now leaning against Harry’s chest, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Draco finally spoke, his voice quieter now, stripped of its usual sarcasm. “Magic has its limits,” he said, his words measured. “Sometimes, it does more harm than good.”

“I’ve read about it,” Draco added, almost as if to himself. “The Muggles are more advanced in some areas than we like to admit. They’ve had to be, without magic. Therapy, medication... they’ve built systems where we’ve ignored the problem entirely.”

Hermione, now more curious than combative, spoke cautiously. “And... have you thought about it? For her? Or even for yourself?”

Draco’s jaw tightened, and he glanced at Teddy, who was now dozing in Harry’s arms.  “This isn’t a conversation I’m having with you, Granger,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

Hermione, unfazed, softened her expression but remained resolute. “Just so you know, I already suggested therapy to Harry, too,” she said, her voice gentle but unwavering. “It’s not something I just came up with on a whim.”

Harry, watching her closely, recognized the flicker of genuine concern in her tone.

“I remember,” Harry said with a short laugh, trying to dismiss the thought. “You think I’m depressed.” He did his best to sound sarcastic, but as the words left his lips, he caught the faintest flinch from Draco. It was so subtle that Ron and Hermione missed it entirely, but Harry didn’t.

Hermione pressed on, ignoring Harry’s attempt to deflect. “I just think it could help,” she said, her voice quieter now, but her conviction still clear. “After the war, I tried to establish a kind of therapy for wizards—especially for those of us who lived through... everything. But it didn’t really catch on. Wizards want results they can see, like broken bones mended in seconds. They don’t trust what they can’t measure.”

Draco’s expression shifted, his curiosity sparking to life in a way that surprised Harry. “That was you?” he asked, his voice less guarded than usual. He hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around his glass almost empty. “It was a good idea. But...” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “It lacked... insight into how wizards think. They won’t accept something that doesn’t feel magical—it’s too foreign. But...” He stopped, glancing at Hermione as if weighing whether to continue. “Maybe... you should try again.”

Hermione blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the suggestion. "Even the healers didn’t back me up."

For a moment, the tension between them softened, giving way to something almost like mutual understanding. As they began to talk—Draco’s pointed questions meeting Hermione’s impassioned explanations—he slipped in adaptations they could make for Muggles.

"What about including potions, like to relax in the beginning? They believe in this and would feel better. It's a comfort zone."

"Meeting halfway.” The woman smiled, approving how it sounded. “So let therapy be as magical as possible, that could word."

Ron shot Harry a puzzled look, his eyebrows climbing higher as if to say, Are we watching Malfoy and Hermione have a civil conversation?  

A beat later, he muttered under his breath, "If they start agreeing on house-elves, I’m leaving." But Harry wasn’t paying attention to Ron.

Instead, his eyes stayed on Draco, studying the subtle shifts in his expression—the flicker of vulnerability he tried to mask behind measured words. It struck Harry that this was rare, something delicate and unspoken unraveling in front of him.

For once, Harry didn’t feel the need to interrupt. He simply listened, watching as Draco Malfoy revealed fragments of himself, one guarded thought at a time. There was a quiet intensity in the way Draco spoke, as though these thoughts had been locked away for far too long. 

Teddy was now sound asleep in his arms, his breathing steady and calm. Harry, sensing the moment, excused himself quietly to go upstairs and settle the kid into his bed. He moved softly, careful not to disturb the peaceful rhythm of Ted’s sleep.

When Harry returned to the room, the atmosphere had shifted. Ron was sitting with a scowl etched across his face, nursing a glass of Firewhisky. His eyes flicked from Draco, who was engaged in a surprisingly cheerful conversation with Hermione, to the drink in his hand, his frustration palpable.

"What? The Northern Lights aren’t caused by magic?" Draco asked, his expression disbelieving, as he looked over at Hermione, who was sitting beside him on the sofa.

Hermione smiled, adjusting her posture. "No, actually, Muggles weren’t sure about it for a long time, but recently, they figured it out. The particles from the Sun collide with the Earth's magnetic field, and—"

"I can’t believe he managed to infect Hermione," Ron muttered, his voice horrified as he stared at his girlfriend, who was happily explaining the phenomenon, while Draco casually sipped his drink, full again.

"Yeah..." Harry was distracted, his eyes fixed on Draco, not paying much attention to Ron.

Ron scowled, his irritation palpable. "He called me a 'pauper' the second you left."

"You provoked him first," Harry shot back, his tone stern. "Don’t try to make me choose a side."

Ron rolled his eyes, not bothered in the slightest. The kitchen was right next to the living room, and they were practically shouting. Harry had overheard everything.

"Of course, you left us alone on purpose," Ron grumbled. "Fine, he hasn’t changed, and you should stay away from him."

Draco sighed, looking somewhat exasperated. "He’s trying. Just... go easy on him."

"I’m going easy on him by not cursing him," Ron snapped back. "Seriously, mate, I approved that you like him and all, but Merlin, he’s a petty bastard."

"I don’t like—"

The argument grew louder as Draco insisted that the Northern Lights could indeed be caused by wizards, while Hermione argued they were a completely natural phenomenon. Ron, thoroughly confused, kept asking, "What the hell is that?"

Suddenly, Hermione turned her head towards Harry and fixed him with a serious gaze. "Harry, quickly, tell me something to stop me from killing Malfoy."

"There are no books in Azkaban," Harry said quickly, though there was a hint of doubt in his voice.

"Not true. If you killed Malfoy, I’d bring you as many books as you wanted," Ron chimed in, his smile mischievous as he teased Hermione.

Draco grinned, leaning back on the couch. "How kind, redhead. But Hermione won’t kill me. We’re becoming such good friends, aren’t we?" He draped his arm around her shoulders, his smile smirking as he looked at Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes, pulling away from Draco. "Knock it off, Draco."

"Draco?" Ron’s face was an amusing mixture of horror and disbelief, as he watched Hermione correct herself, calling him "Malfoy" like she always did.

"Both of you are right, if that helps," Harry interjected, his voice cutting through the rising tension. "The Northern Lights were created by wizards, but they can also happen naturally. Wizards just recreated a phenomenon that already existed." He looked around at everyone, offering a shrug. "Mr. Weasley explained it to me. He’s a nice guy, and he knows a lot about both wizards and Muggles. You all should get along so you can have interesting conversations like this together."

For a moment, there was stunned silence, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself. He tried to keep a serious face, but then the other two burst into laughter, clearly in much better spirits than before.

"Can you believe that old man pointed his wand at me?!" Draco exclaimed, completely ignoring Harry’s comment. He turned to Hermione, who was still shaking her head in disbelief.

"Don’t talk like that, but seriously, Mr. Weasley’s been difficult lately," Hermione said, her tone frustrated. "It’s getting on my nerves. Can you believe he said I should stop working? Me?"

It seemed they had found another common topic to bond over.

"I think that brought them even closer," Harry said.

"Yeah, mate," Ron replied with a shrug, taking another bite of his dessert. "You know, my dad really went off the deep end after that. He’d never talk like that to anyone, even Malfoy. It’s just... the war."

"I know," Harry said quietly, his expression softening. "It was a terrible idea on my part. Thanks for being patient with me."

Ron nodded, but his voice dropped when he continued. "He really did scold Hermione about her job, but he’s just thinking about what’s best for her. She’s always so busy with work and... well, I’ve been thinking—" His voice went low, and he leaned closer to Harry. "—about marriage."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," Ron smiled dreamily, his eyes sparkling. "It’s still early, but we’ve been talking about it. We want to get organized first, but yeah, we want to get married."

Ron wasn’t the only one making an effort to charm the group. After Draco had let slip—on purpose—that his mother had never cooked for him, Ron’s attitude shifted. He mentioned that Molly wasn’t too pleased with how Arthur had acted the other day, and she’d be happy to make amends. Soon enough, Draco was smiling and being polite with everyone, without any curses or insults. Sure, there were a few slip-ups, and some sharp comments, but they were either ignored or swiftly reprimanded. Things were going better than anyone had expected, and Draco was trying to behave.

By the time their friends left, it was already close to midnight. They were all slightly drunk from the Firewhisky, but still sober enough to Apparate. As they said their goodbyes, Draco couldn’t resist reaching for Hermione’s hand and kissing the back of it, giving her a teasing look that made Ron immediately pull her closer, his hand resting possessively on her waist.

"Oh, no need to be jealous," Draco said with a sly smile. "You know I prefer guys, Weasley."

Perhaps it was just instinct, but the malice in Draco’s grey eyes was so strong that Hermione instinctively wrapped her arm around Ron’s shoulders, hugging him from the side, while his hand stayed firmly on her waist.

"That was offensive, I have high standards, okay?" Draco laughed at himself as he observed his "high standard" staring at his own hand while taking off and putting on his round glasses, testing the difference.