Chapter Text
Harry Potter thundered down the stairs and stalked round the hallway, his green eyes — behind a battered pair of round spectacles — narrowed as he searched under piles of Quidditch boots, shopping bags, boxes and umbrellas, muttering to himself.
“What have you lost this time?” It was Draco whose voice called through from the living room.
“Shoes!” Harry answered, exasperated.
“And to think you were once a brilliant Seeker...”
Ron came through into the hall with a corner of buttered toast dangling in his teeth, his shirt half buttoned, feet bare. Harry gave him a hapless look.
“Under the sofa, love,” he said. Breadily.
Harry flashed him a grateful smile and went through to where Draco was sat thumbing the last of the tape onto Teddy’s present - a small box wrapped in shiny purple paper, covered with snitches. He shooed Draco’s legs out of the way and dove under the sofa to grab his shoes.
“Aha!”
“You realise you’re a wizard, right? A simple Accio would’ve sufficed.”
“Yeah yeah. Git.”
“Prat,” Draco replied, standing and pecking him on the cheek. “Ron, you almost ready? You’re not are you, you haven’t even brushed your hair...” Draco continued as he herded Ron back into the hall.
They’d recently moved into the new place and were still in the process of unpacking, which meant Harry couldn’t find half his things in the resultant chaos. That, and Draco was fighting a losing battle keeping their home in any kind of order, generally. Ron and Harry were of a similar mind: why tidy up when you could be doing something much more entertaining with your evening?
The old flat had done them fine a few years but, though they’d loved living in the hustle and bustle of central London, it had started to feel a bit squashed. So they’d upped sticks and moved to a far roomier house a little further out of London, with vines that had chipped mortar from the brickwork and a roof that leaked, but that was otherwise just perfect. Now, they had a garden, and a guest room for when Teddy, Victoire, Rose, Sam or any of the kids wanted to come and stay.
Harry felt rather like this was his first proper grown-up home.
In the last decade, he’d never ended up going back to Grimmauld Place. He kept meaning to do something with it, yet he could neither bring himself to set foot in the house, nor give it up. Maybe one day he would be able to decide. In the meantime, Kreacher took care of the place, often hosting dinner parties for the other House Elves in his impressively widening social circle. Apparently, they were the talk of Elf society.
Harry had wanted a fresh start — something new, that wasn’t tainted with the memories of Lord Voldemort, his godfather, or the war.
When the three of them had graduated from Hogwarts, they’d hopped from rental to rental before Harry decided to put some galleons behind getting them their own flat. Draco had insisted on waiting until he could contribute to the the deposit. Since he’d been cut off from the Malfoy fortune and had stoically refused his mother’s money, this had taken some time. Ron decided he wanted to do the same, so even though Harry could’ve bought the place outright, they all cobbled in together, sharing the costs equally.
Then, they’d bought this place, painted the kitchen yellow and fixed the hole in the roof (which was a lot easier with flying broomsticks to hand).
Harry finished tying his shoes and wandered into said kitchen to find Ron, now shirtless, making out with Draco on the countertop. He sauntered up and rubbed his hands appreciatively across Ron’s broad, freckled shoulders. He kissed his back and walked his fingers exploratively up Draco’s thigh.
“Thought we were meant to be getting ready?” Harry queried.
Ron parted lips from Draco’s, whose eyes flashed crimson with cut-off desire.
“You know this wasn’t my doing,” Ron said defensively, moving to Draco’s neck. “He seduced me.”
“I was just standing in front of you!” Draco protested.
“Exactly. Seductively.”
“Neutrally!”
“No such thing.” Ron was clearly doing something right because Draco’s retort was swallowed by a moan. Harry, too, was somewhat lost at the sight of Ron’s now-expert hands and lips doing all the things that were guaranteed to rile Draco into the frenzied, keening, wild creature he could see in his mind’s eye, the sight burned into his memory from all their years together, never once tiring of one another. He knew, too, what Ron’s hands could do to bring him to that same height of mindless pleasure, what Draco’s god-like tongue could do when wrapped around his-
The chime of the clock knocked him out of his reverie.
He pulled Ron back by his belt, spun him round and snogged the grin off his face. Ron’s blue eyes locked with his, sparking with mischief, his red hair cascading round his shoulders and the bristle of his neatly trimmed beard setting off a jawline Harry longed to latch onto. His amulet hung around his throat, nestled in the hollow right at the centre.
Harry drank in the sight of him.
“Later. On this counter.” He made it sound like a promise. it was one he planned to keep.
“Hmm, fuck yeah,” Ron replied.
Draco was gazing at them both with hooded eyes, nibbling at his pink just-kissed lips like a vampire hungry for a snack. Harry could see he was a bit far gone to pump the breaks all at once, but they did have to leave in a couple of minutes so he opted for a bit of teasing. Draco was always so vulnerable to teasing when aroused. He reached for him, Draco’s body responded... then stiffened when he went round him, his hand reappearing with the kettle.
“Seen my thermos?” he asked, sweetly.
Draco smoothed his white hair back in a familiar gesture, gathered himself and rolled his eyes. “’Thermos’ should be our new safe word. Least sexy word in existence.”
“Aw, I kinda like ‘Fluffy’,” Ron said, pouting.
Despite distractions, the three of them eventually managed to get themselves ready to go. Harry donned his lime-green Healer’s robes with the crossed bone and wand on the lapel. Ron shrugged on the hideous magenta of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes (Franchised Emporium), then pinned his ‘Flagship Area Manager’ badge to the front. They made a colourful pair.
Draco, by contrast, looked very much out of place in a simple checked shirt, tie and trousers, with a shoulder bag and a pair of headphones around his neck, the wires disappearing into the iPod in his pocket. If anyone were to look at him in the Muggle world, they’d think nothing out of the ordinary.
“Ready?” Harry asked.
“Oh! Teddy’s gift!” Draco said, wide-eyed. He fetched it and returned.
Ron then held both their hands and the three of them Apparated from the hallway with a pop. In a corner of the living room, inside a glass terrarium that was bigger on the inside, a large white snake with a scoop-shaped nose lifted her head at the sound, tasted the air with a flick of her tongue and went back to sleep.
They arrived on Platform 9 3/4 within a roped-off area manned by a bored attendant. The hulking black Hogwarts Express loomed over them, belching steam as if a dragon were contained inside its steel engine cart. For all Harry knew, one might be. All around them were hundreds of children and older witches and wizards, along with a few bewildered-looking people who were clearly Muggles.
“Oh blimey, there’s Mr and Mrs Damson. I’ll catch up with you in a couple of minutes. He’s on the brink of another TMFO, I can tell,” Draco said. ‘TMFO’ stood for ‘Total Magical Freak-Out’, a term Draco had coined for one of the many common reactions of Muggle parents finding out about the magical world. There was also ‘WTF’ (Wizard-Tolerant but Flummoxed) and ‘GTFO’ (Golden-retriever Tornado Feels Overwhelmed’).
He made a beeline for a couple who were sat on a bench, the woman rubbing the man’s back, who himself was hunched over with his head between his knees. Their daughter was sat beside him, paying no attention, her eyes wide as saucers taking in everything round them.
These days, Draco was more embedded in the Muggle world than the Wizarding one. Since leaving Hogwarts, he’d taken it upon himself to work in Muggle environments, from hotels to offices, eschewing using magic (mostly) and getting by on his wits. Thankfully, though he got odd looks occasionally, most people chalked his strange appearance up to albinism. He only had to obliviate one or two people after mis-stepping once too often in the early years. He’d said at the time this was all for research purposes, but Harry rather suspected he didn’t much like using his new wand, which he’d given in and gotten after they graduated, but had never quite sat right with him, nevertheless.
Draco then set up an agency that partnered with the school board to educate Muggle-borns before they got their Hogwarts letters. They commissioned his services, so he had a bit of funding to get by, though it was hardly a glamorous job. Still, he fell in love with it. He’d wanted to make sure that all Muggle-born children and their parents were properly prepared for the magical world from an early age, so that they had the same advantages those who grew up in magical homes had. Hermione had helped him with the legalities. And McGonagall, who was still going strong as Headmistress of Hogwarts, arranged the means for him to contact such families.
Over the last five years, Draco had travelled all around the country, educating parents on the history and nuances of magical society. He’d organised a network of support groups, with volunteers from the magical community coming in as guest speakers. With Bastian Collins’ ongoing mentorship and Draco’s own... talent... for getting inside people’s heads, he had been remarkably successful in his endeavours.
So, now, here he was — once again — acting the psychological support for Muggle parents, and doing a damn fine job of it. Already, he’d gotten the man to laugh and sit up from his hunched position. This sight made Harry puff up with pride.
“Hey, there’s Percy... What’s he doing? Oooh, it’s a Hermione Thing,” Ron said, eying a crowd to the left. Harry looked in that direction to see a group of witches, wizards and goblins holding signs and marching in a circle. Yep, that was a Hermione Thing, alright.
Percy had long since removed himself from working at the Ministry and, though he wasn’t necessarily against anyone working there — after all, Arthur did, still — he himself had decided to hop the fence. Now, he was most often found at Hermione Goldstein’s side, organising some protest or other. His appearance, as he waved at them, had changed to match his attitude. Gone was the prim and prissy garb and clean-cut look. These days, he was looking more like a frazzled beatnik, with long hair and loose, shabby robes.
They headed over as he gestured at them. As they got closer, they saw Hermione and her husband, Anthony, leading the pack. Despite the fact that Hermione was eight months pregnant and Anthony was wearing their (astonishingly, asleep) two-year-old in a sling, they were chanting and marching at full force. Well, Hermione was waddling. But, waddling with remarkable purpose.
“Goblins deserve equal rights, by right! Goblins deserve equal rights, by right!” she yelled, her frizzy mane of hair bouncing in time.
Aurors and guards were keeping a wary eye on the group, but they weren’t swooping in to stop her. They wouldn’t dare. She had a reputation for running rings round anyone who thought to take her in, often leaving them tongue-tied and on the back foot as she quoted her rights, legal precedents and otherwise made herself a massive nuisance. It also helped that she was married to a judge.
Percy ran up to her and grabbed her attention, with some difficulty. She handed her sign to him and headed over with Anthony in tow. She hugged them both.
“What? Just you two? Draco couldn’t make it?” She sounded out of breath.
Ron feigned an affronted look. “Are we not good enough? Your favourite is here. Just checking in with one of his Muggle families is all.”
“Yeah, he’s just there,” Harry said, gesturing along the platform. Draco was standing now. “He’ll be over in a sec, I think.”
“Ah, excellent. I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone today, since there are so many important Ministry officials dropping off their children. I don’t want to take away from their big day and all but gosh it’s just so terribly important we get this message out there, you know. The union-busting has gone on long enough and-”
“Hermione. Hush your kippers. You know I’m here for one thing and one thing only,” Ron asserted.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Rose is sleeping.”
“Actually...” Anthony said. “She’s just woken up.”
Indeed, the young girl had opened her eyes and was looking round for the source of Ron’s voice. Her face was flushed pink, with golden curls stuck to the nape of her neck. Her dad pulled her out of the sling and plopped her into Ron’s open arms, where she wriggled into her customary position, head against his chest, thumb firmly in her mouth.
Ron gave her a squeeze and jigged her up and down so she giggled. “Hello, my little Princess Rosie-posie. Have you been a good girl for your mummy and daddy? Fighting for justice and the rights of man, or, sorry, creature, and all that?”
He nuzzled her head as Draco appeared at his elbow. Draco tickled Rose’s side then embraced Hermione and Anthony. Hugging Hermione was rather tricky, given her huge swollen belly.
“You shouldn’t be on your feet like this, you know,” Harry couldn’t help but say, his Healer instincts kicking in.
“I’m taking it easy after this, I promise,” she said. Harry made a mental note to follow up on this promise. If her last pregnancy was any lesson, she would be working until her contractions started.
“I’m fine,” she reiterated. “Draco, how are you?”
“Not bad. Case load will lighten after this, so I’ll be doing the early year rounds for a bit. Nice change of pace working with the younger kids. In fact, today I’ve got that three-year old girl, Grace, at the orphanage by Kensington. She’s only just come into her powers, but boy what a stir she’s made already. Had the toys enacting plays for the other children. Amazing, really.”
And this is the fortieth time Draco has mentioned Grace the Muggle-born orphan, Harry thought wryly, looking at Ron, who was playing with Rose but also clearly listening to the conversation quite intently. He rather suspected he would get to meet this amazing young witch in the near future. Whenever Draco mentioned her, Ron would perk up, too. It was rather... cute.
“And then I’ll be popping by the Dursleys. Harry, will you be free this afternoon actually? I meant to say I had them on today’s timetable.”
Harry shook his head. “Healer Ekki has me running rounds. Say hi to Dudley and Sam for me though.”
Draco nodded.
To his uncle and aunt’s horror, his cousin Dudley’s marriage to a Finnish Muggle named Kaarina had nevertheless resulted in a son that showed all the signs of magical powers. Sam Dursley was an adorable six-year-old who Harry doted on.
Dudley had grown up a great deal in the last ten years and was a much more tolerable and tolerant person than Harry had ever expected him to be. Draco had been a big help in getting him on board, too. In fact, Dudley had become quite caught up in wizarding sports, and had frequented several Quidditch matches, hollering support at Ginny and her teammates at a volume that almost matched Ron’s.
“I’ve got a pregnant kneazle that came into the shelter last night. Think you’d be able to foster her for a bit?” Hermione was asking Ron as she wiped drool from Rose’s chin with a wipe.
“Yeah probably. We’ll need to sort some stuff first though.”
“Really? You’ve been moved in a month now! Have you not unpacked yet?”
“We’ve unpacked! Right, Harry?”
“Yeah!”
Draco shook his head behind Ron’s back in an exaggerated fashion. He pointed at the pair of them as if to indicate the culprits for such disorganisation.
Just then, Harry spotted Neville coming toward them. He was as good-looking as ever, more-so given the active life he led as an Auror. He was sun-flushed, hale and statuesque in his uniform.
Draco elbowed Harry, laughing. “Better not let Blair catch you drooling.”
“Am not!” Harry protested. “Hey, Neville!”
“Hiya, Harry! What’s up? ‘Mione, I’ve just started the shift. Any trouble?”
“Not from your lot. The station security are giving us eyes but they’ve not plucked up the courage to make a fuss.”
Neville grinned. “I’ll make sure they don’t. By the way, Blair says thanks for the invite to dinner on Thursday evening. Should we bring anything?”
“The usual bottle of your spectacular homemade cider would be lovely,” Hermione replied. “Ron, if you let me know about the kneazle before then I can bring her to our place and you can get her from there. Draco, are you still bringing pudding?”
“Of course! Treacle tart alright with everyone?”
It was. For Harry, it was more than alright. Treacle tart was a firm favourite, especially the recipe Draco had perfected. His mind wandered to previous nights spent baking, Draco wearing nothing but an apron; Ron kneading butter into flour with his strong hands; Harry getting first taste of everything. He firmly place such thoughts into that evening’s ‘to-do’ list.
“Where’s the man of the hour, then?” Neville asked, looking around them.
“Should be here soon,“ Harry said, checking the time. “Andromeda’s bringing him by Portkey. Think she said it was due at quarter to, so it should be any second...”
The minute hand clicked into place and an austere older witch with a young boy popped into existence behind one of the roped off areas, both holding onto an old watering can. They dropped it in the pile of used Portkeys and the groups joined with much hugging and chatter.
Harry lifted Teddy Lupin up and span him around until the eleven-year-old boy, beet-red with embarrassment, protested loudly enough to incur Andromeda’s ire upon Harry’s head. This took the form of a static charm that stood his already unruly black hair on end even more, leaving him looking like an electrified hedgehog.
“Wotcher, Teddy?” Harry said, laughing as he set Teddy down and made unsuccessful attempts to smooth his hair. The boy rolled his eyes at him.
“Uncle Harry. I see you’ve mixed up your shoes again? Maybe Auntie Mione should check your glasses.” He was right, Harry realised. He was wearing one black shoe and one brown one. Bugger.
More often than not, Teddy really seemed older than he was. He hated to be treated like a child, yet allowed Harry some leeway on that front, since he was his favourite uncle. He was the perfect combination of Tonks and Remus — serious, but funny as anything, and smart as a whip. Harry blamed the Black family traits from his grandmother and a certain white-haired relative. Speaking of which, Teddy caught Draco’s eye with a smirk.
“Cousin,” he said, primly acknowledging Draco with a formal bow. Draco swept in a bow so low his nose almost hit the floor. Teddy giggled. He turned to Ron.
“Moron,” he said by way of a greeting, surreptitiously giving Ron the finger, a gesture that Ron gleefully returned.
Harry tried to remember which one of Teddy and Ron had scored the last points in their mutual prank war. Was it last week that Ron had turned his chocolate frogs into real mice? Or was that before Teddy sent him a Howler at work? No, it was definitely Ron who’d gotten Teddy last, so that meant...
Casually, Harry sidled up to the young Lupin and, with a bit of wandless magic, hovered the stink bombs out of his pockets. Teddy noticed at once and snatched at them, too late. Harry pocketed them.
“No pranks with Uncle Ron until after term,” he said. “Besides, that’ll give you loads of time to think up something really good.”
“No fun, Uncle Harry! That’s my only stash and Gramma Minnie’s not going to let me get more.”
“Mind and call her Headmistress McGonagall while you’re at school, too,” Ron said. “Still can’t believe you get away with ‘Gramma Minnie’. She tried to give me detention last month, you know. In my own home!”
“It’s cause she loves me best,” Teddy mocked, sticking out his tongue, which he then split into two in order to waggle two points at Ron like he was a snake. Ron recoiled.
“Ewwww, I hate it when you do that! Put it away, put it away!”
Teddy had inherited his mother’s shape changing abilities, a power which he used in much the same way as she had done.
“If you’re quite done terrorising Ron, here, this is from us,” Draco said as he handed over the gift.
Teddy’s eyes lit up (literally) and his hair turned a matching shade of purple.
“Ron didn’t knit it, did he?” he asked, jumping behind Harry as Ron lunged for him, making Rose squeal in his arms at the sudden movement.
He ripped open the package and beheld the contents.
“You’re not serious. Is it the snitch?” he said, awe-struck, holding the golden sphere. “It is, isn’t it! No way! Thank you!” he bounced up and hugged Harry, Draco and Ron in turn. “This is so cool!”
He ran off to show his new prize to the others. The three of them exchanged a grin.
“That went well,” Ron said. “Good idea, Harry.”
Harry blushed. “Thanks. Maybe in a couple of years I’ll give him the map. He should have it, really. But Hagrid reckoned ‘Minnie’ would kill me if she found it on him in his first year. Figure he can’t get into much trouble with an old snitch, right?”
“He’s got Marauder blood, and not to mention Black heritage. He’s going to get up to all sorts from day one, guaranteed,” Draco said. “No matter what House he ends up in.”
“Oh Godric, what if he’s in Severens...” Ron said.
“Hey!” said Draco.
“No I mean Tang’s the Head of House and she’s smart but too gullible by half. He’ll be elbow deep in that Potions store cupboard the minute she turns her back. Then who knows what he’d do with that. He’ll be too powerful.”
Harry laughed. “Hmm, well if he’s in Gryffindor then we wouldn’t have the same trouble with Hadley. She’s got good instincts. I’d like to see him try anything under her nose.” Rather gratifyingly, the curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position had met its match with the burly and cheerful Professor Hadley. She had decided to stay on at the school and hang up her Auror robes for good.
Draco patted his shoulder. “I think whatever House he’s sorted into, he’ll live up to a long family tradition of ‘being up to no good’. I expect nothing less.”
Poor McGonagall had had a relatively peaceful decade. No major incidents. Nothing but Peeves causing a bit of mischief. Harry suspected this would not last.
The rest of the Weasleys arrived so that the crowd of those seeing off Teddy Lupin on his first day of school swelled to far beyond anyone else’s on the platform. It compared more to Hermione’s group of protesters in size, in fact.
“’Arry!” Fleur cried, kissing both his cheeks twice. “Where iz dear Theodore?” she asked, pronouncing the ‘Th’ as a hard ‘T’. Harry pointed at the purple haired boy in the sea of redheads.
“My dear Victoire 'as made ‘im somezing. She iz quite embarrasseé but I think it iz charmant.”
The young girl at her hip went bright red. She was holding a card. Victoire would not go to Hogwarts until next year. Harry was immediately reminded of when he first saw Ginny, on his own first day, when she had been hiding shyly behind Molly Weasley's skirts.
Speaking of Ginny, she was looking well. She was chatting away with her arm hooked through her girlfriend’s elbow, her other hand holding the leashes of two enormous greyhounds. She was attracting quite a bit of attention.
These days, her fame practically outstripped Harry’s own. He was old news and hadn’t done anything of public interest in a decade. Ginny, on the other hand, was a record-breaking Seeker for the Flying Firebirds and topped the league tables on a regular basis. She’d had her share of whirlwind romances, if the tabloids were to believed, but had lately settled down with the Editor in Chief of the Quibbler — a familiar, radish-earring-wearing blonde. Luna Lovegood, as if sensing his eyes on her, turned around and winked at him.
“George not coming?” Harry asked Ron.
Ron shrugged. He worried at his lip. “Late night. Sent an owl earlier. Said he’d open shop. I’ll talk to him later in any case.”
George had his good days, his good months or years, even. And he had bad days, too. Harry could sympathise. He still had the occasional nightmare himself. He had his ghosts. He had his shadows. Just George’s shadow looked back at him every time he looked in the mirror, so he turned to drink to blur that sight, at least a bit. It wouldn’t be the first time Ron picked him up out of the darkness, brushed him off and brought him back into the land of the living. It wouldn’t be the last.
For the most part, though, George was doing well. The shop had expanded, with new locations across Britain. When George was in a good place, he was a force to be reckoned with, making up new lines of product, negotiating partnerships and starting trends. Rocket roller-skates had become all the rage around the world because of him.
Ron was his second in command. He’d gone to work for his brother right after graduating, which was all he’d ever wanted anyway. And Harry had to admit, he was brilliant at it himself. He was as in love with the job as he’d ever been. These days, he was known as a ruthless site inspector. It was easy for him to be so. No-one noticed a ginger tomcat slipping into their branch of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, not until it was too late and he’d already made his evaluation. Between this, and Ron’s reputation as his brother’s fierce protector, he was know by the Wheezes employees as ‘The Tiger’. Given Ron’s history with nicknames, this was a welcome development.
Soon enough, the platform began to empty as students boarded the Express. Harry helped Teddy get his trunk onto the train. This provided a moment’s privacy for Harry to get all choked up as Teddy gave him one last lingering hug.
“I’m so, so proud of you,” Harry said, sniffing, as Teddy finally let him go.
His godson sniffed back, eyes equally watery. “I’ve not even done anything yet,” he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
‘You will,’ Harry thought as he stepped down onto the platform and watched everyone else say their goodbyes. ‘You’ll be bloody brilliant. I just know it.’
”Yeah, he will be,” said Draco, in his mind.
Harry re-joined his two partners on the platform as the Hogwarts Express set off with great plumes of steam and the chug chug chug that was so familiar. Teddy was hanging half out the window waving at them all as they waved back. They kept cheering even when the train disappeared around the curve, on its way to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
“You err... you think one day we’ll be watching a kid of our own going off to Hogwarts?” Ron asked, squeezing Harry’s hand. Rose was asleep, once more, on his shoulder.
Harry blinked and grinned at him, then grinned wider as he caught Draco’s expression, which was one of pure, unfiltered delight. Little Grace the orphan mightn't be an orphan for much longer...
“Yeah. Yeah I think so,” he said, then jumped as the clock rang for the top of the hour.
Until then, he had healing to do. And if, occasionally, his duty to cure magical maladies called for the use of phoenix tears... then, wasn’t it a good thing that he always carried a bottle in his pocket?