Chapter Text
Harry Potter — 2005
Harry came through the floo and fought the feeling of mild nausea floo travel still gave him after all these years. As he made his way down the corridor towards the warm light spilling from the kitchen doorway, he happened to glance into the small sitting room the family favored and almost jumped at the sight of a gnarled old house elf perched on the arm of one of the sofas.
“Keacher?” Harry asked, entering the room tentatively, and the elf turned to him, wrinkled face scowling menacingly. “Is everything alright?”
In answer, Kreacher hopped off the sofa, surprisingly spry to anyone who wasn’t familiar with him—a tricky old thing he was—but since Harry was very familiar with him, far more familiar than he ever wanted to be, Harry wasn’t at all surprised when Keacher gave him a scathing look and pointed to a tuft of white-blonde hair sticking up on the sofa’s arm.
“The Young Master has called for Kreacher,” Keacher said with a challenging gleam in his eyes, as if he expected Harry to begin arguing with him.
Harry wasn’t sure how House Elf magic worked, and he had no clue how Scorpius and Lyra were able to call him, especially considering Harry himself no longer had the ability. When Harry had asked Keacher about it years prior, Keacher had simply looked at him like he was an idiot and went back to gnawing on a chicken bone.
While Keacher didn’t technically serve the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black or the residents of Number 12 any longer, he spent the majority of his time off from the Hogwarts kitchens here.
At first, when the smoke from Final Battle was still settling and Harry started living at Grimmauld Place full time while undergoing his Auror training, Harry had thought nothing of allowing Keacher to keep his nest in the kitchen where he preferred to sleep on his days off. Then, when Hermione moved in as well a year later, she insisted Keacher stay but forbade him from helping with housework or the massive renovations they began doing, room-by-room, to the old townhome. He kept to himself, and they rarely saw him, and that was fine.
It wasn’t until the twins were born that he began haunting Grimmauld Place during his hours off like a deranged, overprotective ghost, following Scorpius and Lyra around and taking care of all their needs in his strange way. It was like a flip had been switched. Suddenly, Keacher, who usually only spoke to complain, couldn’t stop waxing poetic about the twins and their ‘elegant Black cheek bones’ and ‘striking Black gray eyes.’
He took a particular liking to Scorpius. Kreacher could go on and on about how similar Scorpius was to his Young Master Regulus. Keacher coddled him, obsessed over him. Sometimes, Harry worried that in Keacher’s moments of madness he thought Scorpius was his Young Master Regulus. Hermione didn’t seem concerned and was grateful for the help, but Harry had never particularly liked Kreacher and kept a close eye.
As Harry came around the sofa, he found the head to which the tuft of blonde hair belonged, facing the back of the sofa, muffled sniffling sounds coming from him, making Harry’s heart clench.
“Scor, what the matter? Are you hurt?” Harry asked, kneeling down in front of the sofa and placing a hand on Scorpius’ back.
Scorpius shuddered a sob in response, burrowing further into the space between the cushion and the back of the sofa.
“The little muggle beasts have made the Young Master cry again. Kreacher will rip out their tongues and force them down their throats for disrespecting his good Young Master, he will. They will choke on their own blood for—”
“Kreacher,” Harry warned, voice low and dangerous, earning him an angry pair of narrowed yellow eyes as Kreacher returned to his perch on the arm of the sofa, running his long wrinkly fingers through Scorpius’ hair. Despite the fact that Hermione and Harry had spoken to Kreacher at length on many occasions about not only Kreacher’s blood prejudices but also his propensity for violence, Kreacher still slipped back into his old rhetoric on occasion, and while Kreacher was not allowed to speak in front of the children like that, he often did anyway.
Satisfied that Kreacher was sufficiently silenced for the moment, Harry returned his attention to Scorpius. His little body shook with his whimpering, so Harry squeezed his shoulder.
“Talk to me, Scor. What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Scorpius said, voice small and muffled by the sofa cushions.
Harry knew that wasn’t true, but he also wasn’t sure what to say or how to help. This was an on-going issue, and Hermione was far better at handling it. Harry had no examples from his own childhood of how to handle such a situation. By the time he had adults that cared enough about him to comfort him or offer advice, his problems had higher stakes.
Not that Harry wasn’t very much concerned about Scorpius’ issues with the other children at school or thought the problem wasn’t important. He just didn’t know what to do about it.
If it was up to Harry, Scorpius would’ve been pulled out of this school after the first day, but it wasn’t up to Harry, and Hermione had insisted that Scorpius and Lyra attend muggle primary school because she wanted them to have some connection to the muggle world. Lyra, as always, had taken to it seamlessly, but Scorpius was having a tough time fitting in with the other children.
“Does your mum know?”
Scorpius turned to face him, eyes wet and face red. He shook his head. “She’ll just say what she always says.”
“And what is that?”
“She says, ‘It’s not your fault, love. I understand. Your feelings are valid, and if you still feel this way after the spring term, we can revisit the topic,’” Scorpius repeated, nearly mimicking Hermione’s exact tone which made Harry smile. Scorpius had a habit of memorizing even the most mundane things Harry or Hermione said and repeating them verbatim. It was so cute.
“And what do you think of that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really know what ‘valit’ means, but I know she wants me to keep trying to make friends.”
Harry smiled softly. “You know, your mum is almost always right.”
Face scrunching, Scorpius took a moment to think while Kreacher continued to pet him like a cherished kitten. “It’s just—I don’t want to go to muggle school anymore. I’ve tried and tried to make friends, but it’s not good enough. I don’t want to wait until after spring term.”
If Harry could, he’d give Scorpius anything he wanted. It broke his heart to see him so sad, but Hermione wanted the twins to deeply understand muggle culture in the way that she did, and with their muggle grandparents gone, going to muggle primary was the best way.
“Maybe if you tell me what happened today, I can help you feel better about it.”
“Nothing happened,” Scorpius sniffled. “I just feel like no one likes me.”
“Kreacher’s Young Master does not need the muggle swine to like him. They are below filth, and Kreacher’s Young Master is—”
“Keacher!” Harry placed his hand over Kreacher’s lips, muffling the rest of his rant. “Please go and make Scorpius a hot chocolate. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Scor?”
Scorpius confirmed that he did, and Kreacher grimaced but apparated away with a crack.
Harry sat on the edge of the sofa, pulling Scorpius into a side hug. “Now, why do you think the other kids don’t like you?”
“Because it’s true!”
“But what makes you think it’s true?”
He shrugged and swiped a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand, leaning into Harry. “Mrs. Jones says it’s because I’m an odd duck.”
Again, Harry wasn’t sure what to say, but that hurt for some reason. Sure, Scorpius had his quirks, but he wasn’t so very different from Lyra or Teddy, and his teacher had some nerve to say such a thing. “She told you that, did she?”
“She did,” he said solemnly.
“Well, Scor, I don’t think you’re an odd duck, and even if you were, there’s nothing wrong with that.” Harry’s words seemed to have little effect on his nephew, so he tried again. “You know, when I went to muggle primary school, I didn’t have any friends. To be honest, the other children weren’t particularly nice to me at all.”
Scorpius’ eyes widened sort of comically. “What? But, you’re Harry Potter ! You’re the most famous wizard ever! You—”
Harry cut him off with a chuckle. “That doesn’t mean much to muggles, especially not when I was in primary school. Even at Hogwarts, really, I think I was an odd duck—still am, actually.”
“But you had mum—and Uncle Ron.”
“True, but they were my very first friends, and sometimes, they were my only friends.”
Scorpius bit his lip in thought. “What if I never make any friends?”
Harry squeezed him tightly, hand gently rubbing Scorpius’ arm. “That’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“For one, you’ve already got friends, so you’re much further ahead than I was at your age—Lyra, Teddy, and Victoire, to name a few.”
He shook his head. “They don’t count. They’re family.”
Considering this, Harry paused for a moment. “Ah, but the best friends are or become family, like your mum and Uncle Ron and me. They’re my family, aren’t they?”
Scorpius nodded but still looked sad. “I just—I wish I could learn at home like Teddy.”
“I know you do, but let’s just see how Spring Term goes, yeah? I’ll bet you’ll feel better after Christmas break, too. Having some time away then a fresh start for the new term could help.”
A crack announced Kreacher’s return. He held a tray with a steaming mug of hot chocolate and a plate of Scorpius’ favorite biscuits which he deposited onto the side table.
“What do you think, Scor?” Harry asked, ignoring Kreacher’s grumblings to be careful, as he handed Scorpius the mug.
Scorpius thanked Kreacher. A big sip of his hot chocolate left a mustache behind. “Okay.”
“Brilliant!” Harry ruffled his hair before standing, earning a string of curses from Kreacher. “Now, where’s your mum?”
“The mother is in the kitchen,” Kreacher replied for him, taking Harry’s spot on the sofa and summoning the plate of biscuits to his hands. “But she did not see Kreacher. She has her head in the fire.”
“Aunt Andie owled early asking to talk when mum finished work,” Scorpius explained.
“Where’s Lyra then?”
“The Young Miss is hiding under the kitchen table. Young Miss listens to the mother and blood trai—Madam Tonks—speaking in the fire.” Kreacher scowled after correcting himself, holding the plate up for Scorpius to take a biscuit.
“Of course she is,” Harry said, giving Scorpius, who was at least a little happier now munching on a biscuit, a final squeeze on his shoulder as he left.
Harry wasn’t sure that he’d actually helped Scorpius in any way, but he’d at least tried. He just wanted his niece and nephew to be happy, always. Having watched them grow, been there for every milestone, every new phase of their little lives, he felt fiercely protective of them, but at the end of the day, he wasn’t their father, and he didn’t really have a say in things like their education. Still, Hermione would take his advice, of which he generally offered very little, and she would do what’s best for them. She was their only present parent, and if she wanted them to go to muggle primary school, that’s where they’d go. Harry respected that and her above anyone else, but he still planned on mentioning this after the children went to sleep.
As Harry made his way toward the kitchen, Hermione’s voice could be heard coming from the open door. He slipped in, just as the floo call seemed to be coming to an end.
“I really am sorry, dear. You know we’d love to have them, but we just can’t reschedule this trip,” Andromeda said, as Hermione stepped back from the floo looking exhausted.
“It’s alright, Andromeda, really. I’ll ask Harry when he gets home.”
“Ask Harry what?” Harry said, making Hermione yelp in surprise. He heard little giggles coming from the direction of the kitchen table. Lyra really needed to work on her spywork.
“Hermione needs someone to mind the twins tomorrow,” Andromeda’s disembodied head said from the fireplace.
At Harry’s surprised look, Hermione further explained, “That client I told you about wants to meet for lunch in Berlin to finalize specifications for her grandmother’s portrait. She’s willing to pay extra for it to be completed before Christmas—a gift for her father, but it’s such short notice—and Molly and Fleur are both sick—”
Harry shook his head apologetically. “I’m meeting with a consultant at the Yaxley hunting lodge. There’s been a bit of an incident.”
“A consultant?” Hermione asked slyly. She had a speckle of paint on her cheek, and her work smock was still on, black but splattered in various colors. “You can just say Theo, Harry. We know you’re his liaison.”
“Right,” Harry said, annoyed, refusing to acknowledge the knowing look Hermione gave him or the heat creeping up his neck, likely flushing his skin.
“Harry! Harry!” Teddy’s voice came from the floo, stifled as he was behind Andromeda. “Can I come through? Please, please, please!”
“It’s getting late, love.” Andromeda said.
“But I got a new set of Gobstones, and I need to show Scor! Please! Please! Just five minutes. Please!”
Harry thought seeing Teddy would definitely cheer Scorpius up, so he made a quick decision. “If it’s alright with you, Andromeda, he can come through and stay for dinner. We’re having pizza.”
“We are?” Hermione asked, brow raised, while an excited squeal came from the beneath table.
Harry winked at Hermione while Andromeda conceded and sent Teddy through the floo. “You’ll need to be back by bedtime, and mind your manners.”
“Sure thing, Nan!” he called, barrelling through the fireplace and throwing himself first into Harry’s arms then Hermione’s before running from the room in a whirls of violent green hair and lanky limbs.
“He’s in the sitting room,” Harry yelled after him as Andromeda and Hermione said their goodbyes.
A chair slid out from under the table as if by magic. Only, it wasn’t magic—it was a nosy nearly-six-year-old hellion with curly blonde pigtails and a terrifyingly sweet smile. She popped up, clutching her unicorn stuffy—Alfred—to her chest. Lyra took in their lack of surprise with pouty lips.
“You knew I was there,” she accused.
“Kitchen tables don’t giggle, darling,” Hermione said with a sigh, removing her smock and banishing it to her studio.
Lyra rolled her eyes. “They do so . They can be enchanted.”
Harry laughed. “She’s got you there, Hermione.”
“Well,” Hermione said primly, “our kitchen table doesn’t giggle, and if it did, it wouldn’t sound like a ridiculously meddlesome little girl.” She crept toward Lyra as she spoke, ending the sentence by lifting her up and tickling her, earning a wave of more giggles from Lyra.
When they’d finished, Hermione set her down and they caught their breaths, as Harry summoned their collection takeaway menus. Lyra’s face morphed, first into a thoughtful expression with scrunched brows, then bright eyes a cat-like smile.
“Mummy,” she started sweetly, “do you think Uncle Ronald could come look after us tomorrow?”
Hermione seemed to have the same reaction to the smile and narrowed her eyes. “Why would you ask that?”
“No reason, really, Mummy. It’s just we’ve not seen him in ages, and Alfie wants to dance in the air,” Lyra answered with large, hopeful eyes.
“I can make him dance, Lyra,” Harry replied, ruffling through the menus.
“It’s not the same, Uncle Harry.”
“I suppose I can floo Ronald when he’s home from the shop,” Hermione mussed.
Lyra jumped and twirled, Alfred whipping through the air above her head.
“That doesn’t mean he’ll say yes.”
With an excited squeak, Lyra stopped spinning to smile at her mother. “But he will! I’ll go and tell, Scor!” She ran for the door, but skidded to a halt, nearly colliding with the frame. Giving Harry big, imploring eyes, she said, “You won’t forget to order a Margherita pizza, Uncle Harry?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“And chips?”
“Course, love,” Harry said, resisting the urge to look at Hermione, knowing it would make him laugh, and he didn’t want Lyra to know that they thought her little manipulations were hilarious. Lyra made Alfred clap his hooves in happiness that he’d be having chips and pizza for dinner, as well, before bounding down the corridor in search of her brother and cousin.
Harry finally found the menu for the pizza shop that the children preferred and placed their order using the old rotary phone Hermione had miraculously gotten to work, despite the high-level of magical energy in the air. They only used the “telly phone,” as Arthur Weasley called it, for takeaway and Hermione’s occasional muggleborn client, and even though they couldn’t have any food delivered due to the Fidelius Charm Grimmauld was still under, Harry never minded going to retrieve their takeaway.
“So,” Hermione began when Harry finished ordering, carrying a mug of tea with two hands. She settled into her favored chair at the scarred but sturdy kitchen table that once held Order meetings but was now the preferred location for art projects and warm meals. “How is Theo?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Harry grumbled, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own mug of tea.
Hermione took a hesitant sip of her tea, then considered his words, head tilted to the side, nose scrunching. “What do you mean?”
Harry sighed deeply and threw up his hands. “Oh, I don’t know, Hermione. He barely speaks to me, and when he does, it’s not to exchange pleasantries.”
“Really?” Hermione said with wide, surprised eyes. “Theo was quiet in eighth year, but I found he could be quite the conversationalist when the topic took his interest, and he was always polite.”
“I must not take his interest then,” Harry huffed into his mug before taking a deep drink.
“Do you want to?” Hermione asked, as if she knew his answer, and knowing Hermione, she likely did. “Take his interest, I mean.”
Harry just shrugged. He wasn’t going to reply to that; he didn’t need to, and he wanted to talk about Scorpius’ schooling before he forgot, but a crash sounded from down the corridor, followed by a round of rowdy giggling.
“That better not have been the mantle vase again,” Hermione grumbled, rising from her seat. “There’s only so many Repairing Charms porcelain can take before it gets lumpy.”
“I’d best be off anyway,” he said, banishing his mug to the sink out of laziness instead of walking it over. He didn’t mention that the old Black-family heirloom was already lumpy or that he thought it was hideous before the children started making a habit of shattering it for sport. “Pizza shop is a bit of a walk.”
Hermione stopped at the door, seeming to think for a moment before turning to him and wrapping her arms around him in a surprise hug. “It doesn’t matter if Theo Nott thinks you're interesting enough to be worthy of his time, Harry. If he truly feels that way, then he doesn’t deserve you.” She pulled back and looked him right in the eye. “One day, you’ll find someone who deserves you and all that fierce, perfect love you have to give.”
Harry didn’t know what to say, but pulled her back into another hug, putting all his energy into it. “You, too, Hermione.”
Lyra Granger — 2005
After her Mummy kissed her forehead and tucked her in and Kreacher told her a bedtime story, Lyra waited a few minutes until all was quiet and still in Grimmauld Place. She slipped from the warmth of her duvet then crouched down, pink nightie flowing around her, and opened the bottom drawer of her dresser, finding the box she was searching for with ease despite the darkness of her bedroom.
“I’ll be back,” she whispered to Alfie, who was still tucked in. “Do try and get some sleep. You’re a horrible grump when you don’t get enough.” Satisfied that Alfie took her advice when he made no argument, Lyra padded away from her bed.
When she opened her bedroom door, just a bit, one slight stream of light appeared on the floor, and she listened, scarcely daring to breathe. Hearing nothing, she snuck out of her room, gliding along the wall.
She didn’t need to go far, of course, since her brother’s room was right next to hers, but Lyra never did anything by half measures. Coming to his door, she turned the brass handle with care and pushed then snuck in quickly and shut it behind her.
Scorpius still slept with a night light. Mummy conjured a Ball of Lumos for him every evening when she tucked him in. The glowing orb floated around the ceiling, illuminating Scorpius’ pale face peaking above his bed covers.
He lifted his duvet at the corner without speaking like always, and Lyra slid in beside him, taking care to place her box on his nightstand first.
“Are you alright?” Scorpius asked shifting to his side to face her like she faced him.
Lyra nearly giggled. Of course Scorpius would assume something was wrong. He always did when she came to his room at night, even though she was almost always there with happy news.
“No, silly!” Lyra said. “Today has been nearly perfect. School was amazing, Teddy came round, and we had pizza, and Uncle Ronald agreed to watch us tomorrow.”
Scorpius just stared at her.
“This is our chance, Scor,” Lyra whispered.
“Our chance to what?”
Lyra rolled her eyes. Sometimes it felt like her brother was always a few steps behind her. “Our chance to meet Draco Malfoy.”
Scorpius’ eyes widened, and he shook his head. “No, Lyra.”
Lyra sighed and sat up, Scorpius following her lead. She grabbed her box from the nightstand. Opening it carefully, she said, “Aunt Andie read my new article from The Prophet to me.”
“Okay,” Scorpius said skeptically.
Lyra pulled a piece of newspaper from the top of the seemingly never-ending pile of them in her magically expanded box. “Look.”
She handed the article to Scorpius, and they both looked at the large picture beside the words. A very pretty blonde woman wearing sleek silver dress robes smiled at the camera, then at the massive ring on her finger, and then at the man beside her—the man they knew to be their father. Draco Malfoy, with his platinum hair just like theirs and his gray eyes just like theirs, smirked right at them, ending the magical photograph’s loop with a wink.
“Andie says they’re engaged,” Lyra told her brother, pointing at the ring.
“Okay,” Scorpius said again, handing the article back to her.
“You do know what that means, don't you?” Lyra asked.
“That he’s going to be married.”
“Yes, but it means more than that.”
“More what?”
“It means he’s ready to have a family.” Lyra carefully returned the article to her box and set it aside. Then turned back to her brother, looking him right in the eyes. “It means he must have time—time for us.”
Scorpius frowned. “I don’t think it means that, Lyra.”
“Of course it does! If he has time for a wife he has time for children, and we really don’t even need that much time if you think about it. Just a small bit, really.”
“I think if he had time for us, he’d come to see us,” Scorpius replied, grabbing his sister’s hand. “Mum says he’s very busy.”
“That was before.”
“Then why hasn’t he come? Or owled? Or anything?” Scorpius was getting a bit too loud, so Lyra squeezed his hand.
“Maybe he’s forgotten us,” she insisted. “Maybe if we just remind him, he’ll want to see us.”
Scorpius bit his lip and shook his head.
“Trust me, Scorpius. I know he’ll want us if he just meets us. Harry says it’s impossible not to love us, so I know Draco Malfoy will. We just need to meet him.”
“Okay,” Scorpius breathed after a moment. “What’s your plan?”
Lyra almost squealed with excitement but settled for kicking her feet and smiling at her brother. This was it. As long as everything went according to plan, they were finally going to meet Draco Malfoy.