The relationship between Albus and Harry was far from harmonious; their communication often devolved into a pattern of a grumpy old father and a rebellious brat. After countless arguments within the Potter household, Albus finally reached his breaking point. Shouting, "You Gryffindors are just targeting me!" he grabbed his Slytherin robes—a splash of green in a sea of red—and stormed into the Floo Network. What truly made Harry choke to the point of nearly rolling his eyes was the destination Albus yelled out: **Malfoy Manor.**
Malfoy Manor, again. Harry sat in his chair, gasping for air, exhausted by the spat with Albus and by that surname that always seemed to loom over his life like a persistent shadow.
Ginny came over and patted his shoulder, soothing him as one would a large cat. Harry glanced at the other children; every one of them immediately lowered their heads, staring intently at their already empty plates. With a dark expression and gritted teeth, he muttered that he had to go there. Ginny, however, blinked and gently squeezed his shoulder, suggesting they should give each other space to cool down.
Fine, cool down. Harry felt his temples throbbing. Oh, he knew this routine all too well: arguing with his difficult son, the explosion, and then the cold war. Just like always.
An owl from Malfoy Manor arrived the following morning. Inheriting the noble air and the annoying knack for being a nuisance typical of the Malfoys, it didn't care if people were still dreaming. It imperiously pecked at the window until Harry was shaken awake by Ginny. Grumbling, Harry got out of bed to take the letter. Still annoyed at being disturbed, he stood before the owl and glared at it, attempting to teach it the meaning of "politeness" with his eyes. But much like a Malfoy, the owl’s disdain was hereditary; it stood there ramrod straight, head held high. Harry always felt the creature was looking down its beak at him. After a failed negotiation, Harry admitted defeat, took the letter, and offered a few scraps of meat—only to be rewarded with a retaliatory peck on the finger before the bird took flight. Harry’s eyes rolled so far back they nearly disappeared.
On the envelope was Draco’s elegant handwriting, sealed with the Malfoy family crest in wax. He flicked his wand to open it and pulled out the parchment. The content was simple. Selective as ever, Harry ignored the taunts about his "incompetent parenting" and the various jeers, distilling the message into three points:
1. Albus, Scorpius, and Draco were having a wonderful time at Malfoy Manor;
2. They would be even happier without Harry Potter;
3. This was the absolute truth.
—That was why Harry Potter, clutching the letter and still in his pajamas, appeared at Malfoy Manor and immediately slapped Draco with a ***Densaugeo*** the moment he saw him. Draco reacted with lightning speed, blocking the jinx and countering with a ***Rictusempra*** .
It was a beautiful morning at the Manor. House-elves had prepared a delicious breakfast, sweet treats, and fresh fruit. Albus and Scorpius, having come down from upstairs to eat, watched in stunned silence as their fathers exchanged highly sophisticated combat maneuvers to throw childish and pointless spells at one another.
A fully awake Scorpius nudged Albus, who was still frozen in shock. "Now’s your chance for revenge!" he whispered. Albus caught on instantly, shouting "Dad!" to distract his grumpy father while providing a perfect assist for Draco. By the time Harry realized what was happening, his messy hair had already been transformed into a blooming flowerbed. With every shake of his head, petals drifted down.
Merlin’s beard! Harry’s hostility shifted instantly toward his own child, but then, his rage turned into a long, defeated sigh. *Fine, Albus,* Harry thought with a sudden, eerie calm. *Just wait until your Potions grades come out.*
Two fathers do not brawl in front of children. Thus, Harry could only smile through gritted teeth while trying to kill the older blond bastard with his eyes. Draco dodged the "eye-daggers" perfectly, cleared his throat, and acted as if the wreckage behind him didn't exist, greeting the boys as if nothing had happened.
Breakfast was eventually moved to the garden pavilion. Seeing Harry was still there, Albus stood up to leave. Draco spared him a glance, and Scorpius quickly tugged at Albus’s sleeve. Albus’s gaze darted between Draco and Scorpius before he lowered his eyelids with a reluctant expression and sat back down. Harry watched the three of them, his face practically screaming: *What the hell did you do to my son?!* Of course, he said nothing. He just stared at Albus. The silence was broken only by the Malfoys, who chatted about school life, professors, and holiday plans, like any normal father and son. But Harry and Albus were not normal; they were naturally at odds, like enemies. Yet Harry remembered they once had tender moments. What had changed? Was it his job? Or was it just the inevitable gap between adults and minors? Harry stared at the food on his plate, the conversation between Draco and Scorpius ringing in his ears, feeling a sudden surge of injustice. *This guy... he used to be such a bastard...*
Once the children were full, they ran off hand-in-hand. Harry watched his son, only to be momentarily dazzled by the other blond boy. Draco tapped the table to snap him out of it, waiting for Harry to finish his breakfast and get lost.
It was nothing new for Albus to visit Malfoy Manor, nor was it unusual for Harry Potter to chase his son there.
Draco still remembered when Scorpius, in his first year, dragged Albus in front of him and loudly announced he was his best friend; Draco had nearly snapped the second wand of his life. Astoria, beside him, had smilingly patted the back of his hand and stepped forward to welcome the brat who looked so much like Harry Potter. In the summer of their second year, while Draco and his wife were snuggled by the fireplace, the brat had tumbled out of the Floo covered in tears, followed closely by Harry "Grumpy Old Father" Potter—whose rage had visibly paused for a few seconds upon seeing him and Astoria. Scorpius had heard the commotion, come downstairs, and dragged Albus to his bedroom, leaving the parents to stare at each other. That was when the adults realized their Floo networks had somehow been connected. After Astoria passed away during their third year, Albus stayed at Malfoy Manor for the entire summer to keep Scorpius company. Harry, uneasy about his son being there, appeared every few days. Even though they were rivals, Draco hadn't minded the Manor having a bit more life back then, even if he spent most of his time locked in his study mourning his wife. Since then, Draco had grown accustomed to Albus storming out and Harry chasing after him. The three of them even placed bets on how many days Albus could last at home—though Albus always glanced at Scorpius and said he couldn't stay long, complaining that his mother was too overprotective, complaining about "Gryffindors," and complaining about his ever-clashing father, the Savior.
Draco, sharp as ever, saw through it all. When he watched the two boys laughing together, his mind would drift back to his own days of enmity with Potter—days when they wanted to tear each other's faces off. And, of course, more than that...
After breakfast, Harry, still in his pajamas, sat in the pavilion with Draco. Every time he moved his head, petals fell, and the floral scent made his nose itch. Finally unable to take it, he rubbed his reddened nose and demanded Draco lift the jinx. Draco simply shrugged. "Go home and kiss your dear wife, or wait three days."
Three days? Harry couldn't wait. But when he went home and kissed Ginny, only to find the flowers remained, he had to cast a ***Confundus Charm*** on himself just to cope. He spent the night in misery; the falling petals made his skin itch, and the cloying scent made him sneeze. This continued for an entire day. The concerned inquiries from those around him only fueled his irritability. He couldn't explain the petals, the scent, or his inability to focus on work—especially the parts he hated most. Everything about the day was made worse by that damned flowerbed. He charged back to Malfoy Manor, shouting "You liar!" at Draco. Draco’s perfect smirk seemed to shatter under the curse. His eyes widened slightly, the firelight making his ice-grey pupils look warm. His mouth opened and closed. A moment later, he apologized—if that condescending attitude could even be called an apology. Draco admitted he had lied; Harry actually had to wait three days. This triggered another childish magical duel between the fathers. In the midst of the chaos, Albus and Scorpius arrived. They decided that while Harry Potter might be the Savior, tonight, *they* would be the saviors of Malfoy Manor. Albus stepped forward again, shouting for his dad to stop.
—One cannot step into the same river twice, except for Harry Potter.
Struck by Draco’s spell, Harry collapsed to the floor, his eyes unfocused, grinning foolishly at Draco, only occasionally regaining enough sense to mumble insults. Draco frowned and rubbed his temples, leaning down to haul Harry up. Casting a ***Weight-Reduction Charm*** , he carried him upstairs. The *Confundus Charm* had worn off, and the flowerbed head continued to shed petals with every movement. Draco told the children that a potion was needed to break the spell and that Harry just needed to sleep through the night.
The burden of reporting this to Ginny fell on Albus. He used the Floo to explain the situation. The roaring green flames made it hard to discern his mother’s expression. Before he could even hesitate about inviting her over, Ginny ended the call. The sudden surge of flames nearly singed the hair on his forehead. Scorpius pulled him back just in time and checked his hair.
"I think," Albus hesitated, "I think she’s angry."
Ginny was always angry with the Malfoys, always hostile. Albus knew more or less that the two families were ancient enemies. The previous generation, and the one before that, had looked down on each other. But honestly, that was all ancient history. Now, Ron and Hermione could arguably be called Draco’s friends. Scorpius even told him he liked the Burrow and Rose—a thought that made Albus feel a bit sour. Regardless, he didn't understand why Ginny was so hostile toward the Malfoys. She didn't even like Scorpius, his best friend, the best person in all of Slytherin. Whenever Albus praised Scorpius, Ginny looked as if a news draft had been rejected for the hundredth time or as if he’d gotten into trouble at Hogwarts again. Then she would say: "Albus, you should make other friends, maybe date a girl." Oh, Merlin, she had no idea how good Scorpius was to him, and Albus had no intention of letting her know.
The next day, he and Scorpius went downstairs to see his father standing in the fireplace clutching a handful of Floo powder. The flowerbed on his head was gone, replaced by his usual, unmanageable messy black hair. Draco was sitting on the sofa by the fireplace, slowly sipping tea. Their appearance broke the silence between the fathers. Harry’s gaze shifted from Draco to Albus; he gave a few instructions and was carried home by the green flames. Curiously, Albus sensed that *something* had happened between them, yet it felt as if nothing had changed at all.
In the days that followed, Harry didn't return to Malfoy Manor. He appeared frequently in the newspapers instead—catching criminals, solving cases. The *Daily Prophet* was always filled with large, moving photos of the "Chosen One," looking either triumphant or solemn. As long as he was there, you knew there was light.
Albus had always been repulsed by his father’s heroic deeds. He was always branded as the "Son of the Savior" and expected to achieve things. Merlin! Harry Potter had more than one son! During meals, Draco would read the paper; the moment it unfolded, the front page would show his father’s moving figure. Ugh.
Albus’s summer routine basically consisted of staying at Malfoy Manor for a few days, going home to have an unpleasant encounter with Harry, and then storming back to the Manor. All in all, he spent more time at the Manor than at home. Scorpius joked with a smile that the "Lions' Den" didn't suit him. His pale blond hair shined in the sunlight. Albus squinted at him, reached out to twist a strand of hair between his fingers, and nodded. "Yeah." Then, as Scorpius obediently tilted his head, Albus leaned in and kissed his cheek. Scorpius’s ice-grey eyes snapped wide. Albus could even see his own reflection in them. Then, Scorpius suddenly recoiled, his face flushing deep red. He stammered for a while before bolting for the fireplace and fleeing home.
This incident made Albus behave for a while. The fact that Harry hadn't argued with Albus for several days gave Harry a sense of eerie, unsettling peace—like the calm before a storm. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the harmony, but his years of experience as an Auror told him there must be a cause. However, since his son wasn't talking, Harry wisely didn't ask.
The Quidditch match at the end of summer ignited the passion of all wizards. The Potters and Weasleys gathered together, a large family boisterously sharing a tent, talking about work, betting Galleons on their favorite teams, drinking with old friends, and most importantly, enjoying family. Harry loved this. He used a bit of privilege to secure a small area with an excellent view, but when he sat down, he immediately saw the dazzlingly blond Draco—and Scorpius—directly opposite.
The match began with a light drizzle and a lingering mist. Players zoomed through the air; the Snitch and Bludgers blurred in Harry's vision. He blinked, and for a moment, he felt as if his head had turned back into a flowerbed. He remembered the duel with Draco, being thrown onto the bed, his mouth filled with a strange, disgusting potion. His consciousness had drifted between clarity and chaos—one second flying in the air, the next falling into the Black Lake, and another moment returning to the time he prepared to die, searching through the ruins—
Albus let out a suppressed, delighted gasp beside Harry: "It's Scorpius."
Harry turned his head stiffly. Albus had already left his seat to navigate across the field to his friend. Ginny’s gaze followed Albus, and as Harry saw this, he felt his cheek and back burn with a sharp heat. He could only clumsily pat his wife's shoulder to comfort her. When he looked up again, the blond father and son across the way seemed to be swallowed by the drizzle, disappearing entirely.
Albus returned to his seat during the second half of the match. Harry’s gaze shifted back to him; Albus looked incredibly happy, a look Harry hadn't seen in a long time. Albus had a candy in his mouth and pulled a handful from his pocket to share with everyone. No doubt they came from the family across the way. He watched the game after sharing the sweets. Harry followed his gaze and could faintly see Scorpius waving at Albus. Beside him, the elder Malfoy remained hidden in the distant, blurry curtain of rain.
The first time Harry met Scorpius was at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, but the first real contact was in his own home. The blond child had stood before the fireplace, looking exactly like Draco Malfoy, yet entirely different from the blond bastard in his memory. Harry had been frozen to the spot until Scorpius gave him a polite and sincere smile, shattering the absurd notion that the person before him was Draco. *Draco would never have a pure smile,* Harry believed—until he charged into the Floo after his son and found the Malfoy couple snuggled together. It was then Harry realized that the marriage between Malfoy and Greengrass, long rumored to be one of convenience, might not fit the rumors at all.
In the summer of Albus's fifth year, he clashed with his family again, this time with Ginny. Harry didn't know the details, but when he returned home, Ginny was sitting on the sofa with a face like stone. He raised an eyebrow, knowing Albus had surely run to Malfoy Manor. He sat down, patted Ginny’s shoulder, and asked what happened. Ginny lowered her head and whispered, "Malfoy, Malfoy." Harry, assuming Albus had just gone to the Manor, stood up and ruffled his hair, preparing to head for the Floo.
"Wait until morning," Ginny said. "Give each other some space."
The next day, Harry, who was at work, was hit in the face by a letter from Draco’s owl. The note was brief: *Albus is here.* If Harry didn't know him so well, he would have thought it was a ransom note. Harry replied saying he was aware and returned to work. By the time he finally had a moment to play the role of a "good father" and talk to his son to mend the mother-son relationship at Malfoy Manor, Albus was fine—or at least he looked fine. Harry’s attempt at a deep conversation seemed to hit a nerve, and within a few sentences, they were arguing so fiercely Harry almost wanted to use *Legilimency* on him.
"I won't tell you!" Albus shouted. "Why don't you ask Mom what she said!"
Harry tried to explain that Ginny was Ginny and he was himself, but the words stuck in his throat. Not a single syllable came out. He could only watch Albus leave. Draco appeared behind him at some point, clearing his throat. "You know there’s a spell called *Obliviate* and a potion called *Veritaserum*, right?"
Harry turned and looked at Draco as if he were a monster. "Don't tell me that's how you deal with your disobedient son."
Draco sneered. "You won't find another Malfoy as good as my son."
Harry changed his plan from talking to Ginny to discussing parenting with Draco. They talked from their children’s childhood to their adolescence, from the boys' Hogwarts to their own. They talked about Filch, Peeves, Snape. When Lockhart was mentioned, Draco laughed and sang that valentine: *"His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, his hair is as dark as a blackboard..."*
Draco stopped abruptly, forced a fake smile, and blocked his mouth with his glass.
Harry smiled. He stared at the fireplace. The longer he thought about that valentine, the more uncomfortable he felt. He took a sip from his glass and nodded. Then, he cleared his throat and spoke of Umbridge. When he mentioned Ron being hit with a Love Potion in their sixth year, Draco lost interest. He just rested his chin on his fingers, staring at Harry—or perhaps seeing something else through him. It was only after Harry had spoken at length that he realized that for Draco, Hogwarts after the end of their fifth year was a place of torment. He cursed himself internally, then noticed Astoria's photo on the small table beside Draco. She was smiling gently in the frame.
Perhaps having stared too long, Harry unconsciously sighed, "...Gentle."
Draco was startled by the word. Harry quickly explained, "Your wife."
"Ah, Cissy." Draco glanced to his side, and for the first time in a long while, Harry saw a gentle expression on Draco’s face. Harry squinted and asked, "You loved your wife... right?" The moment he asked, he wanted to bite his tongue. The emotion was written all over Draco’s face; it was impossible not to love her.
Hearing this, Draco raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "I loved her—but you must know, 'love' isn't enough to describe what we had. Cissy was... the light in my darkness. She pulled me out, stayed with me through the worst days, and even gave her life to bring me our bloodline. She practically gave me a second life, Potter... 'love' is too shallow."
Draco was honest about love, and Harry felt almost suffocated by the weight of that devotion. He began to believe that Draco and Astoria truly loved each other, and that Draco’s grief after her death was real. Then Draco stared at him, and after a moment, his ice-grey eyes blinked as he asked Harry: "And you? Do you love your wife?"
An unexpected question, yet somehow logical. Harry thought for a moment and said, "I do."
Draco’s sharp eyes seemed to see through everything. Then he spoke slowly and firmly: "People only believe what they want to believe."
Harry jumped up as if pricked by a needle. He felt insulted by Draco’s words and felt a surge of anger. He asked Draco what right he had to disbelieve his love for Ginny. Anger turned him into a prickly hedgehog. He aimed all his "spines" at Draco. "Frankly, Malfoy, you don't know me at all. What right do you have to judge my love?"
Draco sat on the sofa and nodded in admission. "I truly don't know you, Harry." Draco called him *Harry*, not Potter, not Harry Potter. Just *Harry*.
"Don't you see?" Draco gestured with his hand. "Between us, a high wall stands."
Harry stood there, sizing Draco up. Draco looked like an ice sculpture. He had never understood what lay beneath Malfoy's mask, and he had never seen through him. This realization infuriated Harry. He ruffled his hair even more messily and muttered, "How inspiring to know that." He didn't want to stay a second longer. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and stood in the fireplace. As he shouted his home address and was swept away by the flames, Draco remained in that same posture, tucked into the sofa, staring at his glass.
It took Albus about a week to return home. Something had fundamentally ruptured between him and Ginny. Luckily, there were many children in the Potter house, so Albus could always avoid awkward encounters. He dodged his mother and did his best to avoid his father. Harry could tell Albus was hiding something, but experience told him not to ask directly. Finally, he remembered to talk to Ginny. When Ginny realized his intention, her sweet smile froze. Her eyes flickered. "You have to be patient," she said.
It wasn't until Albus's sixth year that Harry finally got something. While processing endless paperwork, he received a letter from Hogwarts about Albus getting into a fight at school. Seeing Professor McGonagall’s familiar signature, Harry trembled, feeling a dull ache in his forehead. He didn't waste time and immediately Apparated near Hogwarts. He made his way to the Headmistress's office only to find Draco had been summoned too. Draco raised an eyebrow at him, a movement identical to the Snape in the portrait behind him.
Albus, Scorpius, and another student stood to one side with their heads bowed. Headmistress McGonagall adjusted her glasses and greeted Harry, briefly describing the fight. The moment she finished, Scorpius immediately said it was all his fault. Albus pulled Scorpius behind him like a protector, angrily pointing at the other student, saying he was always insulting Scorpius. The other student pointed back, yelling that Albus had started it, then pointed at Scorpius. "He hit me too!"
"You used a dark curse on Albus!" Scorpius glared. The other student raised his voice: "He lunged at me to punch me! Am I just supposed to let him?!"
The boys descended into a shouting match, nearly starting the fight all over again. Harry looked at Draco, who seemed quite happy to watch the scene play out. In the noise, he thought he heard Dumbledore say how wonderful it was to be young; then McGonagall turned and glared at him before restoring order. For a moment, Harry felt as if he were back in a classroom. She was still the professor, Dumbledore and Snape were still there, and beside him were Ron and Hermione, dealing with schoolwork and Draco’s daily taunts.
Headmistress McGonagall scolded and gave them each a detention. After the boys left, she spoke to Harry about Albus’s recent behavior, telling him to pay more attention to Albus's emotions. It wasn't until he and Draco left the office that Harry realized—there were two fathers there, so why was *he* the only one being lectured?
Draco shrugged, his familiar smirk back on his face. "He’s my son."
Harry rolled his eyes. "And?"
Draco continued patiently, "I am a member of the Board of Governors."
Oh. If Draco hadn't said it, Harry wouldn't have even remembered the young Draco who would annoyingly say "Wait until my father hears about this."
They met Albus and Scorpius in the corridor. When Draco stood before Albus, Albus’s expression tensed. Harry knew that look; it was the look Albus gave him every time they argued. Just as he thought Albus would fight with Draco, Draco reached out his hand first. "Thank you for what you did for Scorpius, Albus."
Albus shook Draco’s hand. "It was what I should have done." Their eyes were steady, a silent agreement passing between them as if they were entrusting their lives to one another. Harry couldn't believe it. The scene was so impactful that he forgot what he was going to say to Albus. He gave a few last instructions and let the boys go.
Harry followed Draco down the corridor in silence all the way to Hogsmeade. Passing the Three Broomsticks, Harry had a sudden whim to buy Draco a drink.
However, Draco ruthlessly refused, giving him a look of utter contempt. "Allow me to remind you, Potter, you are a terrible drunk... I am never drinking with you again."
"How do you know I—" Harry suddenly went quiet. Fragments of the past rushed back like a tide—moments where he couldn't distinguish truth from fiction, but there were definitely one or two times he had made a fool of himself in front of Malfoy. Seeing this, Draco turned his head, apparently not wanting to mention it either. He gave a simple goodbye. Harry nodded and walked a few steps forward.
The newly fallen snow was soft. Walking now, Harry suddenly remembered how he used to wear his Invisibility Cloak to play pranks on Malfoy’s group. Time had passed so quickly, and now he could actually walk a stretch of road in peace with Draco.
Harry felt it was a bit funny. He turned back, intending to say something, only to realize Draco had already left. The space behind him was empty; their parallel footprints came to an abrupt halt.
The real reason for the fight between Albus and Ginny in their fifth year came out during a heated letter exchange in Albus's sixth year. Under the pressure of being "The Savior's Son," Albus finally snapped. He sent Harry a Howler. Harry felt his office shaking, making him dizzy—as Albus yelled about how much he hated the "Potter" name, how he hated being the only Slytherin in the family, how he liked boys... and how he liked a Malfoy.
The frantic Howler tore up every document on his desk, including the letter itself.
Harry sat in his chair for a long time, staring at the mess. As he slowly processed everything Albus had told him, the first thought that popped into his head was: *Which Malfoy does he actually like?*
—Just kidding! Harry suppressed the panic in his heart. Then he realized this might be the most of his inner self Albus had ever revealed to him. They were always arguing, always. Harry pulled out his wand and cast *Reparo*. After checking that the documents were fine, he picked up his quill to reply. He crossed out several pieces of parchment before sighing, deciding he needed to talk to Albus in person.
He received a reply that afternoon and went to Hogwarts that night with his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map. The meeting place was the Black Lake. When Harry threw off the cloak in front of Albus, Albus’s jaw dropped. Harry beckoned him. "You don't want to get caught and lose points, do you?"
Harry expanded the cloak so the two of them could huddle under it. Albus hugged his knees, clearly not wanting to be the one to break the silence.
The night was cold. Eerie cries echoed around the lake, and the merfolk occasionally broke the surface with terrifying hisses. Harry looked up from under the cloak, seeing a few stars hanging in the sky. After a long silence, he cleared his throat. Realizing he was too loud, he lowered his voice and asked Albus: "The Malfoy you mentioned... I assume it isn't Draco Malfoy?"
"What?!" Albus practically shrieked. "What the hell are you thinking?! Of course not! He’s Scorpius’s father, and he has someone he likes!"
Harry asked subconsciously, "Who?"
"I don't know!" Albus was exasperated, ruffling his hair and burying his face in his arms. "Scorpius said it. After his mother died, he hoped his father could move on from the grief, and then he found out. That’s it—is that why you came? To ask me this?! You really are a terrible father!"
Being accused to his face made Harry feel awkward. He patted Albus and organized his words, telling him not to care about others' opinions or his House—Harry had said all this before. Then Harry realized that what truly troubled Albus was liking a boy, liking his best friend—and fearing the response.
Albus kept his head buried until Harry said he understood that liking someone could be very difficult. Albus shook his head and mumbled, "You don't understand."
"I do." Harry gently patted Albus’s back and sighed. "Albus, trust me—"
"Are you going to tell me you had a desperate crush on Uncle Ron?" Albus snorted. "If not, you don't understand."
"Well..." Harry felt a slight discomfort at that possibility, then fell silent. The wind from the Black Lake brushed against their ears, the rustling of leaves a constant backdrop. It wasn't until Albus was beginning to drift off that he heard Harry whisper: "I once liked a boy."
Albus was wide awake. His neck actually made a clicking sound as he snapped his head toward Harry. But Harry didn't notice, nor did he look at Albus. He stared at the surface of the lake, as if looking at the shadow of an old memory.
Harry said, "He was the person I hated most throughout my school years." He paused, then smiled and continued. "When I went to find Voldemort, when I was prepared to die, my head was filled with him."
Albus watched him as the wind carried Harry’s low voice. Harry said Hogwarts had been devastated by Death Eaters; there were casualties and ruins everywhere. When he learned he had a piece of Voldemort inside him and had to let Voldemort kill him personally, he became incredibly calm. He arranged everything, put on his Invisibility Cloak, and silently said goodbye to his friends, classmates, teachers, and Hogwarts. But just as he was about to leave, his mind was filled with that person again. Harry said he had to spend some time finding him. He said he started by walking, then began to run frantically, searching every ruin, looking for him among the wounded. When he finally found him, he pinned him against a wall, pulled him under the cloak, and kissed him with all his might. Harry said, "I thought I was going to die—that was my first and last kiss with him."
Albus didn't know what to say. He knew nothing of his father’s past, only the romance with his mother at the Burrow after the war. Harry seemed immersed in the memory; he lowered his eyes, a faint smile touching his lips before quickly vanishing.
"But you didn't die," Albus pointed out. "Why didn't you go back for him? Did he... die?"
Harry shook his head. "He suffered a bit, but he’s fine."
"Then why—?" Albus shook his head in disbelief. "You dared to kiss him before you went to die, but you didn't dare to hold his hand in a time of peace?"
Harry turned away. He was silent for a long time before finally saying, "We had to live. We were too young."
"—Anyway, we were talking about you and your secret crush." Harry turned back with a wink. He ruffled Albus’s hair and sighed, "Scorpius is a good kid."
The grumpy father and the rebellious brat didn't argue, for once. Albus poured out all his suppressed emotions to Harry, saying he had liked Scorpius for a long time, that he had never told him—that Ginny had accidentally found out and was furious... They sat by the lake until the first light of dawn, until their legs were numb. The heart-to-heart had taken up too much of their sleep. In a few hours, Albus had to go to class, and Harry had to go back to work. Before leaving, Harry gave the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map to Albus. When he demonstrated how to use them, Albus’s look changed from shock to admiration. Harry felt embarrassed, ruffling his messy hair and saying, "See, I’m not *that* Gryffindor." They laughed.
Before Harry left, Albus called out to ask if he loved Ginny and if he still liked that boy. Harry smiled, ruffling Albus’s hair and saying honestly, "The first is love; the second, I don't know... Albus, that was too long ago. I don't know."
They said goodbye. Harry walked a few steps, and when he looked back, he saw a flash of pale blond in the distance, and only then did Albus speed up to run toward him.
Harry dazed for a moment, then thought he could try to convince Ginny to accept it.
By Scorpius’s seventh year, Albus’s parents had been in a cold war for over half a year. Albus didn't want to talk much about it, only nervously rubbing his hands and saying it was probably because of him.
"Not just that, surely?" Scorpius gave him a hug. "Whatever it is, I bet it has little to nothing to do with you."
Albus’s ears turned red. He stammered but said nothing, silently accepting the hug. Scorpius only knew his father and mother were essentially separated; Harry spent most of his time at 12 Grimmauld Place. He had been there with Albus and even found his grandmother’s name on the family tapestry, as well as a picture of his father wearing a ridiculous green elf hat. It was... very funny. He and Albus had laughed hysterically. Harry had heard them and glanced over, saying it was actually quite cute.
After the ordeal of the N.E.W.T.s came graduation. Before the ball, everyone was talking about who to invite. He and Albus were among the most desired dates for every girl in Slytherin. Scorpius watched Albus reject one girl after another and grew curious, waiting to see who Albus would eventually invite. To his surprise, Albus eventually reached out to him, his face flushing red, stammering through an invitation.
Scorpius pulled out his wand and tapped Albus. Suddenly, flowers and grass began to sprout from Albus's soft black hair. Within moments, he was sporting a flowerbed on his head. With every shake, petals fell.
"It’s actually a prank spell," Scorpius said. "The scent and the petals will follow you for three days, unless you get a kiss from the person who shares your heart—"
Scorpius leaned in and gave Albus a soft kiss. Then, the flowerbed on Albus's head exploded like a party popper, and as they looked at each other, petals swirled around them. Scorpius blinked, and Albus’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Then he said, "—Wow."
The news of Harry and Ginny’s divorce was the front-page headline of the *Daily Prophet* for two consecutive months. Rita Skeeter’s talent for exaggeration grew by the day—from the division of property and custody to the relationship between the Potters and Weasleys, even claiming Harry and Ron had become enemies. Domestic drama filled the first month, and by the second, it was all about Harry’s various scandals, speculating on the Savior’s true love, even making up stories about his friends. Harry was rumored to be with everyone, regardless of gender.
Scorpius tried to get Draco to suppress the rumors, but Draco waved him off. "Don't bother. They won't let go of a 'golden bachelor'—and Potter has the power to shut them up if he cares to. He’s probably just lazy."
Scorpius and Albus went to see Draco. Before they could even explain their relationship, Draco already knew. During dinner, he elegantly swirled his glass, his only complaint being that they had wasted too much time testing each other’s feelings.
Scorpius blinked and smiled, saying nothing.
The divorce storm finally settled a year later, but it didn't stay quiet for long. The news of Scorpius Malfoy, the last heir of an ancient pure-blood family, and Albus Severus Potter, the son of the Savior, being in love swept through the wizarding world. Reactions varied: some mourned the loss of two bachelors, some sighed over the end of a pure-blood line—and some even expected a romance between Draco and Harry to be revealed. When the rumors reached Draco, he simply gave a cold snort and a fake smile. "The extinction of pure-blood families is inevitable. I won't demand of you what my father demanded of me, Scorpius. You should have your own life."
Then came the engagement and the wedding. The two older fathers fought over whether they should change their surnames, trying to outdo each other with Gringotts accounts and influence, but they were evenly matched. The question of "Malfoy" or "Potter" even led to arguments among the younger generation, evolving from small spats into a full-blown "Malfoy vs. Potter" war. It was utterly childish. The matter eventually reached Hermione and Pansy, who convinced their friends to keep things as they were.
Draco and Harry were surprisingly united on one front: "We want grandchildren!" The two men in their fifties fought from the wizarding world to the Muggle world and back again. Finally, Scorpius and Albus couldn't stand their fathers throwing childish spells like *Densaugeo* at each other and decided to elope to France.
The matter was eventually dropped. At the wedding, Draco and Harry each walked their sons from the left and right sides of the hall to the center. All the guests were their mutual friends; the once-rival Slytherins and Gryffindors were now completely mixed together—though the Hufflepuffs remained Hufflepuffs.
Draco saw Harry from a distance. He was wearing a suit and a bowtie, with those same round glasses. Time had etched lines on his face and turned his temples grey, yet he was still captivating. Those green eyes were still bright. As they walked toward each other, Draco could hardly look away. He had imagined many future scenes, but never this one.
They stopped at a distance from each other. Scorpius and Albus walked the remaining distance alone. Draco and Harry watched them take their vows, exchange rings, and kiss. As the crowd cheered, Draco stole a glance at Harry.
Golden light and petals fell from the ceiling, swirling in the air. Green eyes looked through the ethereal light and fell directly into Draco’s. Between them stood the newlyweds.
At the reception, Draco and Harry drank a lot and threatened each other with wands. Ron and Hermione forced them outside to sober up or just to let them be drunk. But the two of them just sat on a bench, feeling the night breeze and looking up at the moon. It was half-hidden by clouds, just like the night of their graduation years ago. Back then, Harry had used his drunken courage to pin Draco against a wall in a quiet corridor. Half of Draco's face was hidden in shadow, his lips slightly parted, looking glistening from the wine. Just as Harry, dazed and murmuring Draco’s name, had gathered enough courage to kiss those thin lips, the Great Hall doors had swung open. They pushed each other away, replacing the kiss with a scuffle.
Now, there was no one around. Behind them was the faint music and the laughter of the guests. No one would suddenly open a door.
Draco sat at one end of the bench, Harry at the other. They watched the moon in long, quiet silence.
After the wedding, Scorpius and Albus found a house together. Harry was alone at Grimmauld Place, and Draco was alone at Malfoy Manor. A few years later, perhaps out of boredom, Draco applied for the Potions Professor position at Hogwarts. His teaching style was like Snape come again—only slightly less stern and more fond of sarcasm. From then on, his head was filled with how to punish those brats—this continued until Harry retired from the Ministry and became the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. They targeted each other the moment they met, bringing their old school rivalries into their old age. They always bet on the House Cup, but times had changed; at their age, the winning house was usually Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, which infuriated both of them.
Days passed. When winter came, Draco grew more and more lethargic. Harry mocked him for being like an old snake, while Draco disdainfully replied that even a weak snake had fangs, whereas a lion was just an old beast with blunt claws. Harry used his aging brain to think of a retort, but by the time he found one, Draco was already asleep on the sofa.
In the earlier days, Harry would try to wake him. He had even invented a special spell for it—a very light tugging sensation. Draco would always wake up angry, squinting and raising his wand as if to cast a curse.
Harry didn't do that anymore. He couldn't always wake the sleeping Draco.
One morning, Draco didn't show up for breakfast at the high table. A grey-bearded Harry hurriedly swallowed a few bites and went to the staff quarters. At first, he walked, then he almost ran—past the corridors they had walked together, the corners where they had played pranks, the noisy portraits, and the corner where a kiss had nearly happened. He arrived at Draco’s door and pounded on it, shouting threats. When there was no response, he had difficulty pulling out his wand.
He was old; his fingers, lips, and tongue all trembled. A simple *Alohomora* was hard to pronounce. His wand nearly slipped from his wrinkled hand several times.
Finally, the wooden door opened, and he saw Draco. In that moment, Harry suddenly realized that Draco had become very, very old. He was no longer young, but that annoying, pointed chin was still there. When had that pale blond hair turned silver-white? Harry couldn't remember. He saw Draco sleeping soundly in bed, his fragile eyelids covering his ice-grey eyes. His well-designed wand was by his pillow. Beside the bed were photos of Scorpius and Albus, and of Astoria. Everyone in the photos was smiling at Harry. Harry stood for a long time. He flicked his wand to open the curtains. When the light flooded the room, Draco looked almost ethereal in his paleness.
Harry’s eyes stung. He blinked hard and cast a spell at him as usual—Harry called it the "Draco-Waking-Spell." It wasn't strong, just a gentle tug.
Harry shuffled forward a few steps and cast it again—still no response. He was deep in sleep.
Harry moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed, giving him a nudge. *He should wake up now,* Harry thought, imagining Draco’s annoyed face. *"Potter, get lost,"* Harry thought. But there was no reaction.
"Get up, stop pretending." Harry heard his own dry voice. "This must be another one of your cruel tricks." Harry babbled by the bed, and when his vision finally blurred with tears, he leaned over and whispered Draco’s name.
"Ha, you can't fool me," Harry said bitterly. "Malfoy—Draco, you can't fool me!"
But he remained in deep sleep. Harry lowered his head, his forehead resting against Draco’s. The coldness from there seeped into Harry’s every joint. At this distance, Harry was sure he could count Draco’s eyelashes, but every time he blinked, the image blurred. He tried to clear the mist, but the coldness made him unable to stop—and unable to stop shaking.
Harry babbled for a while longer, and finally, he admitted Draco had won this one. "You can stop pretending now," Harry said. The mist could no longer be contained.
Finally, Harry cast a Warming Charm on Draco, if that did any good—it would be the last time he embraced Draco’s warm body.
At the funeral, Harry saw many students. Draco used to complain that some of them were terrible at Potions. As the coffin was lowered, Harry still hoped the bastard would jump out. He would have done anything to let the annoying old man live a few more years.
However, even when the earth was leveled, Draco didn't jump out. Harry could only tuck away his regret and the image in his mind, and conjure a wreath before the tombstone. It would stay there as long as Harry could provide the magic.
From that day on, Harry always dreamt of Draco. All kinds of Draco. The blond bastard had given Harry no peace in life and gave him no rest in death. He appeared in Harry’s dreams day after day—sometimes their old age, peaceful and stable; sometimes as a twelve-year-old, sometimes seventeen, sometimes as a ferret. Harry’s dreams were like a revolving lantern: Madam Malkin's, Draco standing on a stool; the fourth and fifth years when they wanted to tear each other's throats out; the bathroom fight in the sixth year, but instead of *Sectumsempra*, they used fists and kissed after bruising each other. The dreams were sometimes illusory, sometimes real. In the real ones, he repeatedly dreamt of the kiss before he went to his death; in the false ones, he and Draco were married, their kisses never-ending. There was one he couldn't distinguish: he dreamt of being thrown onto a bed, the bitter taste of potion in his mouth. He was disoriented, like soaring in the sky, like falling into the Black Lake—but no matter what, whenever he was lost in the dream, a touch of warmth on his forehead would soothe him.
Among all the shifting dreams, the one that appeared most was the graduation ball. Draco was in his ear, mockingly singing the second-year Valentine's card with a few changes: *"His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, his hair is as dark as a blackboard. He is the warrior who conquered the Dark Lord, he is truly handsome, and I wish he were mine."*
Harry was furious, struggling through the crowded hall. But Draco used some trick to slip through the crowd like a fish. Just as Harry got close, Draco would be far away, impossible to catch. Harry couldn't find him, yet he could still hear Draco’s whisper in his ear: *"I wish he were mine..."*
annaxmalina
prguitarman
germansingergirl
janainaart
pixelskylines
theartofmadeline
2087
turnnoffyourmind
