Small Steps
The warmth of the moment still lingered between them—the soft glow of the enchanted train, the quiet rustling of Ron shifting beside Draco, and the hesitant, almost-hidden smiles that had passed between them. It wasn’t much, but it was progress.
Draco was quietly inspecting the toy train when Harry stood. "Alright, I’m going to make Draco’s bottle," he announced. "And get him something to eat."
Draco’s entire body stiffened instantly.
His tiny fingers tightened around the toy train, knuckles going pale as his wide, grey eyes snapped up to Harry. His breath hitched—small, sharp, as though he had been startled awake from a nightmare.
Harry barely had time to process it before Draco inched forward, his little shoulders hunching, his body curling inward like he was trying to make himself smaller. Then, hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed, Draco’s tiny fingers reached out and clutched at the hem of Harry’s pants.
The grip was barely anything—light, uncertain, trembling.
But it stopped Harry in his tracks.
His chest tightened at the sight.
Draco’s fingers, curled into the fabric of his pant, shook. His whole body was stiff, his breaths uneven, his little mouth slightly parted like he was trying to form words but didn’t know how.
Harry’s heart clenched.
Oh. Of course.
Draco didn’t want him to leave. It was such a simple thing, and yet the weight of it pressed down on Harry like a stone. The way Draco’s entire body had gone rigid at the mention of him stepping away—the way his tiny hand, hesitant and scared, had latched onto him like a lifeline—how had Harry not realized it sooner?
"Hey," Harry murmured, crouching back down instantly, his voice softer now. "It’s okay, love. I’m just going to the kitchen. I’ll be right back."
Draco didn’t answer. Didn’t move. His fingers only curled tighter around Harry’s sleeve. Ron, who had gone quiet beside them, shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t the best at handling delicate emotions, but even he could tell this was something deeper than just a small moment of hesitation.
"Hey, bud," Ron said, keeping his voice casual, but gentler than usual. "Harry’s just getting you some food, yeah? Not leaving the house or anything."
Draco still didn’t move. His little eyes flickered toward Ron, uncertain, then back up to Harry. His bottom lip wobbled, but he bit it—hard—forcing himself not to cry. Harry’s heart ached. He had seen this before—a child bracing for disappointment. A child preparing for loss before it even happened. He didn’t want to cry about it because he thought—maybe if he didn’t cry, maybe if he didn’t cause a fuss, Harry wouldn’t be angry. Harry exhaled slowly. He reached down, carefully prying Draco’s tiny fingers from his pants—not forcefully, but just enough so he could properly hold them in his own hand instead and crouched to Draco’s level.
Draco let out a tiny, sharp inhale—his body trembling slightly, as though he was waiting for something bad. Harry squeezed his fingers gently. "Draco," he murmured, soft, steady. "I promise I’m coming back. I’d never leave you, Sweetheart."
Draco’s lower lip trembled again. "You… com’ back?"
The words were whispered, hesitant, small. Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Every time," he promised.
Draco’s small fingers twitched, barely holding onto his hand now—but he didn’t pull away. Harry leaned forward, brushing his fingers lightly through Draco’s fine, pale hair before pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. "Why don’t you stay here with Ron, yeah?" he suggested gently. "You can play a little longer, and I’ll be right back with your bottle and some yummy snacks. Sound good?"
Draco hesitated. His little hand curled into the blanket wrapped around him with the toy still clutched in another, his teeth chewing anxiously at the inside of his cheek. Harry waited. He didn’t rush him. He didn’t push. He simply let Draco process. And finally—after several long moments—Draco gave the tiniest, most reluctant nod. Harry smiled. "That’s my boy."
Ron let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, patting Draco lightly on the back. "Don’t worry, Bubba. I’ll make sure your train doesn’t crash while Harry’s gone."
Draco blinked at him, his small body still tense, but after a moment, he gave the barest of nods. That was enough. With one last reassuring squeeze to Draco’s tiny hand, Harry stood up and headed for the kitchen. As he disappeared down the hall, he felt Draco’s eyes on him the entire time.
Harry left for the kitchen, quickly preparing a warm formula bottle and gathering a few things Draco could safely eat—a handful of soft blueberries and a small piece of the chocolate éclair Hermione had brought. He figured a little bit of it wouldn’t hurt and hoped the treat would make the baby eat a little more calories.
Returning to the living room, he found Ron still animatedly talking about the ‘official’ rules of train racing, while Draco sat tucked into his blanket.
"Alright, here we go," Harry murmured as he set the plate and bottle down on the coffee table before lifting Draco onto his lap. "Hungry, Baby?"
Draco blinked up at him, his small fingers curling into Harry’s shirt, but nodded.
Harry adjusted him slightly in the crook of his arms and brought the bottle to Draco’s lips. The little one took a tentative sip, getting startled when milk flowed, before latching on properly, his tiny hands clutching at the warm bottle, drinking slowly. Harry rubbed Draco’s tummy absentmindedly as he kept drinking, letting the soft, rhythmic sounds of sucking fill the room.
Ron watched with a soft sort of expression, but after a few moments, he sighed and stretched. "Well, mate, I reckon we should get going before Mum starts wondering where we are."
Draco stiffened instantly. His hands trembled slightly as he tugged at the bottle, turning his head their way, still a hand on the bottle, his gray eyes darting between Ron and Hermione.
Hermione seemed to notice first. "Oh, sweetheart," she said gently, crouching down to his level. "We’re just going home for tonight. We’ll come back, I promise."
Draco's lip wobbled slightly, but he said nothing. He simply stared, his fingers still curled tightly around the bottle. His shoulders were taut, his entire body braced as though he were preparing for something—but he didn’t cry.
Harry’s heart clenched. He could see it in Draco’s eyes—that deep, familiar fear of being left behind, of being abandoned.
Ron scratched the back of his neck, clearly feeling just as awful. "Hey, bubba, I’ll bring some more wicked toys next time, yeah? Maybe we can ride on a broomstick—but only if Harry lets me."
Draco swallowed thickly, eyes flickering to Harry. Harry gave a small smile, running a hand over Draco’s hair. "You’ll see them again, Baby. I promise." Draco hesitated, then gave a small, barely-there nod.
Ron and Hermione both took turns offering him soft goodbyes, but Draco simply sat stiffly on Harry’s lap, his little fingers still gripping his bottle. When the door finally closed behind them, Harry sighed, tightening his arms around Draco, murmuring, "It’s okay, love. They’ll be back."
Draco didn’t say anything, just leaned his forehead against Harry’s chest, his little hands curled against his sleeve.
Wanting to distract him, Harry shifted, “Come on, lets finish this yummy milk, yeah? And then you can have a treat! Don’t you want the chocolate eclair?”
Draco hesitated, peeking up at the half finished milk bottle and then looking at the snack plate with blueberries and éclair on it. And then opened his mouth like a baby bird. Harry smiled warmly and brought the nipple of the bottle near the baby’s mouth, who quickly latched on, holding the bottle with one hand and sucking on it with gusto.
Draco, was almost asleep by the time the bottle finished. Harry shook him gently, not wanting the baby to go to sleep, knowing he has to adjust the sleep schedule early on, and made Draco sit up, so he can feed him the berries and éclair.
For the next hour, after Draco has had his fill of snacks (which wasn’t as much as Harry had hoped he would have, much to Harry’s disappointment) Harry coaxed Draco into looking at the new things brought for him—holding up soft sweaters for him to touch, helping him stack the enchanted blocks, and even managing to change him into one of the smaller outfits. The little one remained cautious, his small fingers hesitant as they brushed over the fabric of a tiny sweater Hermione had picked out, but he didn’t pull away when Harry gently dressed him in a soft, warm cotton shirt.
"There we go," Harry murmured, carefully smoothing the fabric down over Draco’s small frame. "Nice and cozy, yeah?"
Draco looked down at himself, running his fingers over the material as if trying to process the fact that it belonged to him. His gray eyes flickered up toward Harry, uncertain but quietly pleased.
Harry smiled, tucking Draco’s fine silver-blond hair behind his ear. "You look very handsome, little love."
Draco didn’t say anything, but his lips pressed together in what Harry was starting to recognize as shyness.
The enchanted blocks Ron had picked out sat in a pile nearby, softly glowing and shifting every few moments, rearranging themselves into new colors and patterns. Harry reached for them, setting a few down in front of Draco.
"Do you want to try?" he asked, holding out a bright blue one. "You can stack them however you like."
Draco’s small fingers twitched, his gaze darting toward the blocks, then back at Harry. He hesitated before reaching out, taking the block so gently it was as though he feared it might shatter in his grasp.
Harry kept his voice light. "That’s it, love. You can put it on top of this one." He placed a yellow block beside them as an example.
Draco copied him, carefully stacking the blue block on top of the yellow one. He sat still for a moment, as if waiting for something—for the block to vanish, for Harry to tell him he’d done it wrong—but nothing bad happened.
Harry smiled warmly. "Perfect, Draco."
Draco’s lips parted slightly, his little fingers reaching for another block. He placed it just as carefully on top, his gray eyes wide and intent as he focused on keeping the structure steady.
For the next few minutes, Harry let Draco take the lead, simply handing him new blocks and watching as the little one built a small, wobbly tower. The concentration on Draco’s face was almost adorable—his tongue poking out slightly in focus, his small hands adjusting each block with delicate precision.
When the tower finally tumbled over, Draco startled, flinching slightly as if expecting… something.
Harry quickly ran a hand over his head. "That’s alright, little one. You did amazing."
Draco hesitated, glancing between the fallen blocks and Harry’s calm expression, as if trying to determine whether he’d actually made a mistake.
Harry tapped the topmost block playfully. "Want to build it again?"
Draco blinked at him, hesitated… then nodded.
Harry beamed.
They played like that for a little while, slowly and carefully. Draco never said much, but he was engaged, and every once in a while, when he managed to stack several blocks without them falling, a tiny hint of a smile would appear on his face.
After a while, Draco’s small hands stilled on his lap, his body shifting slightly where he sat.
Harry recognized that look immediately—he needed a change.
He leaned forward, running a gentle hand over Draco’s back. "Time to get you changed, love."
Draco tensed.
Harry’s heart clenched when he felt the little one go stiff under his touch. His tiny fingers curled into his lap, his breaths going shallow, as though bracing himself for something.
Harry kept his voice gentle. "It’s okay, Draco. Just a quick change, and then we can play some more."
Draco’s little shoulders shook. He kept his head bowed, his fingers clenching at the fabric of his shirt. "D-Daco do?" he mumbled, voice trembling.
Harry frowned. "Do what, baby?"
Draco sniffled, his voice almost inaudible. "Daco c-chang’ self…?"
Harry’s heart ached at that.
Draco wasn’t asking because he thought he could—he was asking because he thought he had to.
Harry shook his head softly, reaching out to tilt Draco’s chin up so their eyes met. "No, love. You don’t have to do it alone. I’ll help you, okay?"
Draco’s gray eyes were wide, uncertain. He searched Harry’s face, as if trying to understand.
Harry ran a gentle hand over Draco’s soft hair. "I’ll be very careful, I promise."
After a long moment, Draco gave a small, hesitant nod.
Harry lifted him carefully, carrying him to the bedroom where he had set up a small changing area. He moved slowly, giving Draco plenty of time to see what he was doing.
When he laid Draco down on the soft blanket, the little one fidgeted, his small hands clutching at the hem of his shirt. His breaths were uneven, his tiny body tense.
"Shhh, love," Harry murmured, rubbing slow, soothing circles over Draco’s belly. "I’ve got you."
Draco’s fingers clenched, but he nodded, his little chest rising and falling in small, careful breaths.
Harry worked quickly, murmuring soft reassurances as he changed Draco into a fresh nappy and a new pair of soft cotton trousers. The entire time, Draco stayed rigid, his little hands twitching, his gaze darting toward Harry every few seconds as if making sure he wasn’t angry.
When it was done, Harry didn’t rush to pick him up.
Instead, he cupped Draco’s small face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over his pale cheeks.
"You did so well, baby," he whispered.
Draco blinked, his lips parting slightly. "Daco… did?"
Harry smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Yes, love. You did."
Draco blinked again, then, hesitantly, reached up—his tiny hands pressing lightly against Harry’s shirt. He was seeking comfort, Harry realized.
Harry gathered him up, pressing a kiss to his soft blond hair as he whispered, "You’re safe, little one. Always."
Draco let out a tiny sigh against Harry’s shoulder, his small hands curling into the fabric of his robes.
For the first time since arriving, he felt warm.
And for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could believe Harry’s words
After a while, just as Draco was starting to grow sleepier again, the Floo suddenly roared to life.
"Harry James Potter, you let me in this instant!" came Molly’s voice.
Draco jerked, eyes widening in fear as he clung to Harry.
Harry sighed, rubbing Draco’s back before waving his wand to let Molly through.
Molly practically burst into the room, a large bag clutched in her hands. "Oh, Harry! Why on earth didn’t you tell me sooner? I had to hear from my own son that you’ve taken in a Little, and it’s Draco Malfoy!"
Draco whimpered softly, burying his face into Harry’s chest.
Molly immediately softened. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed, moving forward, setting down her bag. "You don’t have to be scared of me, love."
Draco trembled but peeked up cautiously. Harry looked down at the little in his arms, “She’s Ron’s mum, love. She’s nice. Say hi to her, baby” Draco didn’t open his mouth but after a brief hesitation and looking at Harry for confirmation gave her a small shy smile.
“Oh my! You are so precious aren’t you, treasure?” Molly cooed, gently petting Draco’s hair. Draco relaxed slightly after a few moments.
“Now then,” Molly said, hands on her hips. “You, little man, need fattening up. Lucky for you, I’ve brought plenty of yummies all for you.”
Draco tensed slightly in Harry’s lap, his small fingers curling into the fabric of Harry’s shirt as he eyed Molly warily. His wide gray eyes flickered between the bag she had set on the table and her warm, expectant expression.
Harry felt the tension in Draco’s tiny frame and instinctively rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles. "It’s alright, baby ," he murmured. "Molly just wants to make sure you’re taken care of."
Draco didn’t say anything, just tucked himself tighter into Harry’s chest, his small hands still gripping the front of his shirt.
Molly, ever patient, sat down in the armchair across from them and began unpacking the contents of her bag. “Let’s see what we have here,” she said brightly, pulling out a small container of soft mashed fruit. “Lovely and fresh—perfect for little tummies."
Draco blinked at the container but said nothing. The smell of delicious goodies wafting in the air.
"And this," Molly continued, pulling out a plate wrapped in a cloth, "is my homemade treacle tart." She gave a knowing smile toward Harry. "I made it for you, dear, but I think our little Draco here might like a bite, too."
Harry huffed a quiet laugh. Of course, Molly had sent something for him, even when she hadn’t known about Draco. But he barely paid attention to the treacle tart—his focus remained on Draco, who was still nestled against his chest, unmoving.
Molly, noticing Draco’s hesitance, softened her tone. "Sweetheart, I promise, you don’t have to eat anything if you don’t want to."
Draco fidgeted, his fingers twitching against Harry’s robes.
"But," Molly added lightly, "I do think my biscuits would be very sad if you didn’t at least try one."
She pulled out a small, soft biscuit—one that smelled like cinnamon and honey—and held it up for Draco to see. The little one’s gaze flickered toward it before quickly darting back down.
Harry could see the conflict in his expression—curiosity warring with fear.
He squeezed Draco gently, pressing a kiss to his soft hair. "It’s alright, little one. You can try some if you want."
Draco hesitated, then, with a tiny, unsure movement, nodded.
Molly beamed.
"That’s my sweet boy," she cooed, breaking off a small piece and holding it out for him.
Slowly, cautiously, Draco reached out, his tiny fingers barely brushing against Molly’s as he took the piece. He held it in his palm for a moment, staring at it, before finally bringing it to his mouth.
The biscuit melted easily on his tongue, soft and sweet, and Draco’s lips parted slightly in surprise.
Molly clapped her hands together. "Oh, I knew you’d like it, dear!"
Draco blinked up at her, still chewing, then hesitantly reached for another piece.
"That’s it, sweetheart," Molly encouraged, breaking off more and placing it in his little hand. "You take your time."
Harry watched the exchange with a strange, tight feeling in his chest. He had never seen Molly mother anyone but her own children like this. She was so natural, so effortless. And Draco—scared, fragile, hesitant Draco—was responding to it. Slowly after several long minutes, Draco was moved from Harry’s arms to Molly’s lap, while she kept on giving small bites of everything she has brought, while she ordered Harry to take a look into the contents of the other bag that was left at the floo, which had plenty of nappies, little worn sweaters, a shrunken changing table and a shrunken white wood crib and several more things that Harry wouldn’t have thought of like rash cream, burp clothes, little booties and gloves.
A part of Harry felt relieved. The other part…
The other part felt like he wasn’t enough.
Molly was everything he wasn’t—gentle, knowing, experienced. Harry had barely figured out how to feed Draco without overthinking every step, and here Molly was, effortlessly getting Draco to eat biscuits like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Could he ever be that for Draco?
His thoughts were interrupted when Molly unwrapped a soft bread roll filled with butter and honey. "Let’s try this next, love. This Ron’s Papa’s favourite treat. And I brought it just for you" she said, placing a small piece on the plate in front of Draco.
Draco hesitated, but after a brief glance at Harry, he reached for it.
It started slow—Draco nibbling at the bread, occasionally glancing up at Molly as if waiting for permission. But the more he ate, the more he wanted.
Harry should have noticed it sooner.
The way Draco’s little fingers trembled as he reached for another bite. The way his chewing became more hurried, his body tense as he took bite after bite, his little shoulders curling in as if expecting something to be taken away.
But by the time he did, it was too late.
Draco let out a tiny, pained whimper, his hand pressing to his stomach.
Harry immediately straightened. "Draco?"
Draco whimpered again, his face scrunching up as his small frame began to tremble. "Daco tummy… hurts…" he mumbled weakly. Harry was quick to rush to his little.
Molly’s face fell. "Oh, sweetheart—"
And then, before anyone could react—
Draco vomited.
Right onto Harry.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Draco froze. His breath hitched, his tiny hands shaking. Then, his whole body crumpled.
A broken sob tore from his throat, and before Harry could even think, Draco was babbling between panicked gasps.
"S-so’y! So’y, so’y! Din’ mean—D-Daco din’ mean!" His small hands clutched at Harry’s robes, his little fingers desperate, terrified. "No mad! No mad, p-p’ease—p-p’ease, no send ‘way! No wan’—no wan’ bad place, no Az’ban—"
Harry’s chest ached.
Molly looked heartbroken.
"Oh, love, no one’s mad at you," she tried to soothe, but Draco wasn’t hearing her.
He was panicking.
His whole tiny body shook with each desperate sob, his breaths coming in short, gasping hiccups, his little fingers clinging to Harry’s robes like he was begging not to be thrown away.
Harry barely had time to register anything before instinct took over.
He wrapped Draco up in his arms, pulling him close. "No, no, no, baby," he murmured, rocking him gently. "I’ve got you, you’re okay, Shhh."
Draco hiccupped against his chest, still trembling. "N-no send Daco ‘way? N-no bad place?"
"Never," Harry whispered fiercely. "You’re safe, love. I promise. You are never leaving me to go anywhere."
Molly, looking utterly distraught, wiped at her eyes. "Oh, Harry, dear, I—"
Harry shook his head, sending her a small, grateful look, trying to convey he wasn’t mad at her. "It’s okay, Molly. But… I think it’s best if we keep the food slow from now on."
Molly nodded hurriedly, still looking horrified. "Of course, dear. I should’ve been more careful—"
Harry exhaled, shifting Draco in his arms. "Why don’t you head home, Molly? You look tired. I’ll take care of him from here."
Molly hesitated but nodded. She leaned forward, brushing a soft hand over Draco’s curls. "I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon, alright?"
Draco, still hiccupping, gave a tiny, unsure nod.
Once Molly was gone, Harry pressed a kiss to Draco’s damp hair. "Let’s get cleaned up, love. How about a bath?"
Draco, exhausted and clinging to Harry, nodded against his chest.
Harry carried him to the bathroom, murmuring soft reassurances, feeling the tiny weight of Draco against him, and knowing, without a doubt—
Draco was his. His little boy. His baby
And he would never, ever let him go. And he might not be as good as Molly. But Draco looked for him for comfort and damn him if he ever hesitated to provide what Draco needed.