Chapter Text
The first time Harry sees Malfoy again, he’s in the sweetest little skirt.
The thought alone is sobering, enough so that Harry pauses and casts a series of surreptitious spells on himself to ensure that he’s not under Imperio.
The remaining Malfoys are a pretty reclusive bunch, despite their assets being restored to them, and they’re no longer living in what Ginny calls “genteel poverty.”
He’s known that Malfoy comes to tea at Andy’s twice a week, but Harry’s schedule is so sporadic that he hasn’t seen head or tail of him in all this time.
Today, though, that changes. Harry comes straight from work, as he’d missed seeing Teddy last week because the Faceless have been wreaking havoc in Manchester.
It’s only a matter of time before the terrorists make it to London and consume what’s left of Harry’s free time.
It’s been five years since Harry was resurrected, and while the gnawing terror he’d grown up with has shrunken, it has become something measured and cold instead.
He now has a golden pin on his red Auror robes that cites him as the most feared authority in the Ministry, barring Shacklebolt, and the walking corpses that call themselves the Wizengamot.
Harry shakes his robes out as he enters the house and sends them flying toward Andy’s coat rack with a wandless wave of his hand. The rack shivers upon impact and Teddy makes a gurgling sound of joy at the sight. This little show is often his first indication that Harry is visiting.
Harry’s already waved a casual hand toward his person and the top two buttons on his dress shirt undo themselves and settle his lapel flat against his throat.
Andy’s home is rather lavishly appointed, courtesy of a pureblood upbringing and a Black trust fund that her bigoted family could not withhold by right of hereditary magic and law.
Malfoy is drinking a cuppa at a stained teapoy in the corner of the living room. He looks right calm, as though he listens to Teddy shriek for his godfather every Tuesday at half-past six.
Harry catches Teddy underneath an arm and spins him round in a circle until the little boy’s hair bleeds a sickly shade of green.
Andy comes into the living room, passes a thin hand across Malfoy’s forehead, and uses that same hand to pop Harry in the lower back.
“Set him down, will you? Be the death of me if he vomits all over my new upholstery.”
Teddy, who is five and very fond of making messes, giggles to himself as Harry deigns to set him upright.
Malfoy doesn’t say anything this entire time, and Harry resolves to completely ignore him until he’s finished visiting, when Malfoy stands up.
Malfoy is a tiny thing. Harry notes this like one would check the sky for rain. Privately, Harry thinks this is part of what made him such a git in school. One has to have some spine to get over the lack of height.
Malfoy drops to his knees and Teddy scrambles away from Harry and into his outstretched arms. It’s at that moment Harry sees the skirt.
It’s cream-coloured and pleated like the uniforms girls wore back at Hogwarts. It ends at the tops of his thighs, offsetting his pale legs.
He’s wearing a pale yellow jumper up top, and it’s made of a fuzzy sort of fabric. Harry has a moment where he thinks about touching it.
It’s such an unexpected outfit that Harry stumbles into the corner of Andy’s couch and almost over the back of it.
Malfoy leans back onto his heels, seated on the floor with Teddy cradled in his lap. The skirt is fanned out across the tops of his thighs and Harry allows his gaze to travel the length of his body to meet Malfoy’s eyes.
Malfoy's hair is in a bun atop his head and there are stray tendrils of hair framing his face.
“See something you like, Potter?” Malfoy says, gently swaying Teddy from side to side. Teddy’s giggles are muted, his lavender-coloured hair buried in Malfoy’s neck.
Harry opens and closes and reopens his mouth like a fish.
Andy sails past him, a row of levitating tea snacks trailing behind her in an orderly line. It reminds Harry of that Muggle film, Beauty and the Beast.
“Close your mouth, Harry, dear, before you catch a stray stupefy to the face and you’re frozen like that.”
Teddy squeals, scrambling off of Malfoy’s lap and likely scraping the pale skin of Malfoy’s thighs with his trainers.
“Nana got Chocolate Frogs because I got an Exceptional on my project! You and Cousin Draco can have one each,” Teddy offers magnanimously, running ahead of Andy to sit in the middle seat of the expansive dining table.
Harry snaps his mouth shut.
Malfoy sails past him, and all Harry can focus on is the soft swishswish of the fabric as it caresses Malfoy’s legs.
-
Teddy’s asleep between the two of them when Harry finally dares to ask.
It takes him a healthy dose of that Gryffindor bravery to do so.
Teddy is mostly curled in Draco’s lap, his hair Malfoy-blonde and blending into Draco’s skirt.
“What’s the skirt about?” Harry asks, mentally slapping himself for his bluntness. He’s used to interrogating rogue wizards.
Malfoy tips his head back and Harry’s eyes are drawn to the long expanse of his neck. Settled so close to one another, Harry can really see the difference in size. He’s got to have at least a foot on Malfoy.
“Clothes, Potter. You wear them too,” he says quietly, careful of Teddy.
Harry snorts to himself. Adherence to gender-specific clothing isn’t especially strict in the wizarding world, unlike for Muggles, but it’s strange to see Malfoy’s style take such a sharp turn.
“Sure, but I don’t think I’ve got the legs for it,” Harry says, gesturing at Malfoy again.
Malfoy tips his head to the side, one slender hand buried in Teddy’s hair.
“Haven’t you ever wanted to be someone else, Potter?” Malfoy asks, no ire in his voice. He’s speaking so softly he could be whispering.
Harry blinks.
He thinks about being born an already completed story, with a beginning, middle, and end.
“Who would I be?” Harry asks, feeling stupid.
“Exactly,” Malfoy breathes, one hand rubbing the pleats of his skirt in between two fingers, back and forth, back and forth.
-
Harry sees Malfoy every week after that first time.
It’s as though the gates have been opened and neither party has to pretend the other doesn’t exist anymore.
Harry’s in the office late most nights, and others he’s in St. Mungo’s, sheepishly explaining his injuries to the Healer of the day.
He’s just come from a meeting that should have been a succinct owl, and he’s got his cloak slung over one shoulder.
He’s bid Ron a terse farewell, the both of them too exhausted to function, and he promises to come by for dinner at the Burrow this weekend.
Harry thinks about riding the lift all the way to the ground floor and queuing up for the Floo and he just can’t stomach the idea.
It doesn't matter that people practically crawl out of the way to give the Chosen One first access to the Network.
Right now, Harry just doesn’t want to be touched.
He Apparates on the spot, his wand tucked into one of the seven charmed pockets on his robes.
He tumbles into being in Andy’s sitting room, and when his ears give the customary pop after travel, he can hear high-pitched squealing that doesn’t sound like Teddy and would definitely never come from Andy.
Harry tosses his robes onto a chair and undoes his dress shirt until you can see his undershirt.
The laughter is coming from the garden, and Harry removes his glasses for a moment, scrubbing a calloused hand over his eyes.
Andy’s garden looks as though it comes from a book, the flowers in constant bloom. Harry knows that wizarding gardens cost a pretty penny, and the spellwork is incredibly delicate. It’s difficult for Harry to be delicate. His power has always been explosive.
But Harry can’t help but gasp when he sees the way the orchids are winding their way around the pillars of Andy’s gazebo and Teddy’s ever-growing treehouse. The treehouse has a sturdy expansion charm attached, and it’s well on the way to being as large as Malfoy Manor when Harry has the energy to crawl inside and check for himself.
There’s a pond nearby, warded to hell and back so that Teddy can’t accidentally drown with no magic to save himself, but Harry can see the way the lotuses are changing colour, going from pink to red to peach and then frosting over entirely, icicles hanging like fangs from petals. The transformation loops itself, making the pond resemble a self-contained rainbow.
Harry is transfixed, so much so that when a small child runs straight into his shin, he curses out of reflex.
The child scrambles back–and it’s a little girl.
Harry casts a wandless numbing spell and the bright flare of pain in his leg fades to nothing.
“Er, hello?” Harry says, and the girl scrambles backward. She looks like a little doll, dressed in a Slytherin-green pinafore with a ruffled blouse underneath. She hasn’t got on any shoes, and Harry would bet 100 Galleons there’s a No-Tear charm on her stockings because they’re frightfully stained with grass and should be ripped to shreds.
“Where’s your…person?” Harry asks dumbly. He’s quite fond of children, and pretty good with them too, but he wasn’t expecting to be confronted with a strange one.
“Draco!” She says primly, although she’s got a sweet lisp that turns the r into a soft w .
The man in question comes crawling out of the entrance to the treehouse, his long hair down and messy, the wind blowing the strands haphazardly.
“You phoned?” Malfoy says, just as primly. Harry guffaws. He can see exactly how this child is related.
“Stranger!” She points accusingly at Harry.
Malfoy’s eyes widen and he ducks back inside the structure so quickly that he hits the top of his head.
The girl laughs once more, doubling over in the dramatic way children do.
When Malfoy appears again, he’s got Teddy by the hand and he levitates them both to a soft landing on the grass.
Malfoy is barefoot today, in an oversized jumper and shorts so small Harry can only guess at their colour from where they peek from beneath the fabric.
Harry watches Malfoy’s toes curl in the grass beneath their feet. Small toes, like the rest of him.
Malfoy reaches out for the girl. “Delphini,” Malfoy says sharply, and the girl laughs.
“You have a scar,” Delphini says to him, and Harry looks down on the three of them. He can see right over the top of Malfoy’s head.
Draco’s hair is slightly tamed, but it still hangs down his back, like his father before him.
Harry drops to one knee.
“I do,” he says simply.
“How did you get it?” Delphini asks, her red mouth pursed. She looks remarkably familiar.
It’s Teddy that pipes up, his hair Weasley-red. “A bad wizard gave it to him when he was just a baby! Even littler than you, Delphi!”
Delphi has silvery hair, almost the same shade as Malfoy’s eyes.
Harry glances up at Malfoy and finds his gaze far off. He’s holding tightly to Teddy’s hand, and Teddy seems to be trying to pull free.
“Malfoy,” Harry says, standing up from his crouch. “Malfoy,” he says again, a little louder.
It’s Delphi that seems to get through to him. She throws her little body into his legs and wails his name. Her response is so over the top that Teddy stops struggling and Malfoy blinks his eyes rapidly.
“Delphini,” he says, “what have we said about yelling?”
Delphi crosses her arms. “It’s for Howlers and Mipsy when I forget to put Salazar away.”
Harry’s mouth twitches and Malfoy looks up at him helplessly.
“Her snake. She’s had him since she was three.” Malfoy rubs at his temple in consternation.
“I came to give Andy a hand,” Harry begins, stepping backward as the two terrors go running off in the direction of the jungle gym.
“She’s with my mother,” Malfoy offers, falling into step. The sun shines against Malfoy’s platinum hair. He’s so close Harry can tell he’s got a flower tucked behind an ear.
“They’ve gone to see about enrolling Delphi in Tiny Warlock Primary, or whatever it’s called,” Malfoy says airily.
Harry laughs aloud, fascinated by the way Malfoy’s small ears bleed red.
“Little Wizards Primary,” Harry supplies. Malfoy hops over a log, his bare feet landing soundlessly in the grass. He used to be so swamped by the black of his robes, the colour washing him out.
Harry remembers how frail he had looked during sixth year. You could have counted his veins beneath his skin.
He looks better in colour, his hair curling softly against his shoulders.
“Yes, that,” Malfoy says, plopping down against a large redwood for shade. He draws one leg up and rests his chin on his knee.
“Delphi’s had to start primary late,” Malfoy explains, sucking his lower lip into his mouth.
Harry’s looking at him too long without answering and Malfoy’s hackles visibly raise.
“She’s quite bright,” he spits, “she just–she had some behavioural issues. I think we’ve got them mostly sorted. Teddy’s a great influence,” Malfoy adds, contemplative.
“I’m sure he is. He’ll force you to learn something new; whether he drags you there kicking and screaming is a non-issue, apparently,” Harry says.
Malfoy laughs a sharp sound that cuts off almost as soon as it starts.
“How come I haven't run into you here before now?” Harry asks, settling down next to Malfoy.
The bark of the tree rubs at his back and Harry casts a cushioning charm and kindly extends it to Malfoy’s side.
Malfoy looks a little dazed at the consideration.
“The wards alert me whenever someone arrives on the grounds,” Malfoy says. “I just—Disapparate. Aunt Andromeda has a lot of friends and not all of them would be keen on seeing me when they stop by.”
Harry’s brow furrows. He stretches his long legs out and glances over at the small shape Malfoy makes.
“You’re not so terrible,” Harry teases, and Malfoy does that thing, where he slowly tips his head to the side so he can meet Harry’s gaze.
“You’ve not killed me and I’ve seen you more often than I see Ron and Hermione these days,” Harry offers.
“High praise indeed, Potter,” Malfoy says, closing his eyes.
Harry feels stupid for watching him, the way his long lashes fan against his cheeks.
“Who does she belong to?” Harry says, motioning to where Delphi is preparing to leap from the top of the slide. The jungle gym is charmed to sentience, in that it’ll re-form to prevent injury, but Malfoy still fumbles with his wand and casts a cushioning charm just in case.
“She’s Bellatrix’s daughter,” Malfoy says, his body rigid.
“Merlin’s fucking tits,” Harry says, standing abruptly. He can’t say that he’d seen Bellatrix with enough frequency to recognize her features, but there’s something wild in Delphi. It makes him shiver involuntarily.
Malfoy is standing now too, and when Harry turns back around, his elfin face is pale. He’s got his wand clutched tightly in one fist and Harry is once again struck by how delicate he seems.
“She’s a baby, Potter. She was barely weaned from her mother’s tit when Bellatrix died.”
Harry steps so close to Malfoy that his head comes to rest underneath Harry’s collarbone.
“I’m no child-killer, Malfoy,” Harry says tightly. “I didn’t know and now I do.”
Malfoy is still tense in front of him, his jumper the same shade of Slytherin-green.
“Does she stay with her father?” Harry asks when Malfoy doesn’t speak. “Lestrange, isn’t it?”
Harry tries not to think back to the Death Eater Trials very often. He was newly eighteen and had just escaped death for the second time. He remembers Hermione laying out his clothes every morning along with a rousing pep talk from Ron that just sounded like roaring in his ears.
Day in and day out, Harry Potter was meant to sentence wizards to death.
The Wizengamot made the final proclamation, it’s true, but not without Harry’s testimony. He used to wake up in a cold sweat.
Mr. Potter, what is your account of the proceedings?
They’d wanted to give Lestrange the Kiss. He’d started with the Longbottoms and never stopped.
The Wizengamot had lightened his sentence. He’s on permanent house arrest, but they’d let him return to House Lestrange. For his child, it seems. Harry looks at Delphi, who is scrambling atop Teddy’s back and attempting to ride him like a horse.
Harry himself is tense but when he chances another look at Malfoy he can see that he has that thousand-yard gaze again.
He’s swaying in place, so slightly that one wouldn’t notice unless they were looking for it. His wand is limp in his hand, jumper sliding down one pale shoulder.
“Malfoy?” Harry says, risking a hex by settling a broad palm on Malfoy’s shoulder.
He’s cool to the touch.
“Merlin,” Harry says, casting a warming charm. He tries to nudge Malfoy into sitting again but he’s so stiff, rocking in place like a toy.
It’s Delphi who manages to snap him out of it, barreling across the yard like a bat out of hell. She’s wailing at the top of her lungs, her reaction just as wild and over-the-top as before.
“Draco!” She says, her lisp prominent, “it’s me! Delphi! Please, Draco!”
She hugs him around the legs so tightly that she knocks him to the earth, and Harry drops down to one knee beside them both.
“Shite, Malfoy, are you alright?”
The fall drags Malfoy’s jumper further down his shoulder and Harry tugs it back up, his fingers brushing against cold skin.
When Harry meets his gaze, Malfoy is laughing.