An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
He looked back at the journal. “If you’re serious, you’ll need Ministry approval to introduce magical creatures to school grounds. Especially ones that might breed.”
“Already thought of that,” Harry said, smug. “Albus said if I put together a formal proposal with care instructions and risk assessments, he’d consider passing it onto Dippet.”
Tom stilled for a moment, fingers twirling skillfully his feather with a tilt of his head.
Then he said, quieter, “You’re really doing this.”
Tom didn’t respond right away. His eyes drifted back down to the page, fingers resting lightly on the ink. When he finally spoke, it was soft:
“I’ll help you write it.”
Harry’s brows lifted. “Yeah?”
Tom met his gaze. “If you’re going to fill our grounds with beasts just for morale, it might as well be done properly.”
He merely nods his head and looks down, trying to ignore the warmth fluttering on his chest.
“Sorry… What's your question…?” He feigns cluelessness, but the Gryffindor is nowhere near fooled with the act. Harry sighs, turning his head away from his dad as he pulls the Phoenix flushed against his chest. The bird complains through shrieks but lets himself be used as a stuffed toy as Harry mutters, “Tom wrote it.”
He doesn't have the heart to look at his dad in the silence that follows, but after several minutes of nothing, he turns to look at him.
“Are you having an old-people medical emergency?" He jokes dryly, knowing it could let him know how he really was.
“Not that old,” he replies and Harry knows he’s okay, just being dramatic.
Albus finally raises his eyes to stare at Harry. The blue in his eyes was icier than he has seen before. “He helped you?”
“And he did so… expecting nothing in return?”
“Yeah, that's why I said ‘helped’. If he was going to charge me, I would have turned in my previous proposal and let you figure it out. He writes better.” It's his last defence.
The sigh that leaves his father is so loud and deep that he ended up hunched over himself; his face pressed against his hands.
“Oh, Merlin, he's planning something.”
