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Chapter Text

It was a cold, rainy evening when Draco Malfoy-Potter heard tapping at his kitchen window. Scorpius let out a gleeful cry, running to open up the window. Draco smiled, summoning their owl treats in his hands before walking to his son, putting a handful in his small, sticky hand. 

"Here, my star. Give this to the kind owl." Scorpius' smile blossomed, doing exactly as his papa said while Draco took the letter in hand. 

When he finally saw where the owl came from, Draco stumbled to the kitchen table before falling into one of the chairs. A letter directly from St Mungo's could never be a good thing, especially with an unruly teenager at Hogwarts and a potioneer wife. Trembling, Draco opened the letter, seeing Scorpius let the owl go in his peripheral vision. His son was distracted enough, watching the owl leave by the window. 

Dear Mr. Draco Malfoy-Potter,

I am writing to you to inform you that your husband, Harry Potter-Malfoy, has woken up on the evening of October 23rd, 2020. I assume you already know his room number but, to err on the side of caution, your husband is situated in the Intensive Care Unit of St Mungo's, in room 017.

I know this may be a lot for you, but know that Mr. Potter-Malfoy has been asking for you and your son since he woke up. 

Respectfully,

Patricia Comberstone, Nurse. 

This was so much worse than anything Draco was expecting. Harry... Draco's ex-husband had woken up from his coma. 

Thirteen years ago, Harry had left on what was supposed to be a normal Auror mission. After the war, Harry had sped through his training with Ron to continue putting stray Death Eaters to Azkaban. While he was busy saving the Wizarding World over and over, Draco had thrived being his stay-at-home husband, hiding from the world by focusing all his energy on their humble garden, and being a good host for Harry and his’ friends. After some time, though, he became a stay-at-home father, for his little James Sirius Potter, Draco and Harry's own little miracle. 

Their lives were as perfect as could be; they hid from the Prophet, they helped with the reconstruction of Hogwarts, and they loved their son more than anything. Of course, nothing can last forever–especially with Harry Potter as your husband, Draco had learned quickly. 

It took Ron five days to give Draco the news. "We got them," he had said, "thanks to Harry, but... he got pretty banged up, in the process. One guy got a killing curse out before we could get him, and it hit Harry right in the chest. He's not dead but... the doctors at St Mungo's say it doesn't look good. He might never wake up again, they say." When Draco took James to see his dad, the three year old climbed on, latched onto Harry and refused to let go for hours, until his crying made him pass out. 

The first year was the worst. Everyday, during visiting hours, Draco and James stayed in Harry's room with him. Draco had read that sometimes, coma patients could hear what was happening around them, so Draco did his best to talk to him, to try to coax him into waking, and he always brought a book with him to read aloud. Sometimes he and James would simply play games in the room, but it had been hard at first. James simply sat and stared at his sleeping daddy, willing him to wake up. 

It broke Draco's heart that such an unruly and hyperactive child could sit still for hours, not uttering a single word to anyone. Draco gave birth to James, carried him for nine months, so they always had this special connection. Still, Harry and he had been simply inseparable, best friends; everyone kept saying that James was a mini Harry. Draco feared that Harry had taken James' light with him in his coma. 

After a year, Draco stopped going every day. James, resilient child that he was, got his light back and became again his mischievous self. He still loved to cuddle up to his dad in his hospital bed, just staring at his face. 

But, after five years, James started complaining about going to see Harry every two weeks. He had lived more than half his small life with his dad in a coma.

Draco didn't know what to do. He didn't want James to forget Harry, to lose his father even more than he already did, but what was Draco supposed to do, to say? James had just turned eight, and he was old enough to make at least some decisions for himself. So, Draco left him at home during his now monthly visits to St Mungo's. 

Now, James Sirius was in sixth year in Hogwarts, the Gryffindor spitting image of his father. Draco saw his husband in his son's hair, his selfless and foolish tendencies, his obsession with quidditch, in his hate for potions and love for DADA. But James had not mentioned Harry since his second year, when Draco gave him the Marauder's Map. 

"Papa?"

Draco shook out of his thoughts at Scorpius' voice, giving him his undivided attention. "Yes, my star?" 

Scorpius, ever perceiving of his papa's emotions, raised his arms to get picked up. His head fell on Draco's shoulder and Draco held his son tight, taking deep breaths. "Would you like to see mama and James today, Scorp?" It was a school day, but Draco knew Minerva would let James go. 

"See mama!" Scorpius yelled joyfully, squirming out of Draco's hold to run around the kitchen excitedly as fast as his chubby legs would let him. "'ames!"

Draco forced a smile for his son and stood up. "Let's go get dressed, mmh?"

***

Astoria, bless her, understood Draco and his relationship with Harry. When they got engaged, Draco explained everything to her; he was already married, he came with a thirteen year old boy, and he still carried affection to his comatose husband. He might never stop loving Harry. She had understood perfectly, as this wedding was only supposed to be for the pleasure of their parents and to continue the pure bloodline. They could be friends, she told him, friends who had to perform their married duties from time to time. She became his rock when his guilt became him, when he woke up one day and realized he missed six months of visits to Harry. When he became pregnant again after their first time as husband and wife, she helped him and let him continue to stay at home. She was a renowned potioneer, and made enough money for them both. Them, and their son Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. 

When he and Scorpius flooed to her work, he knew she would come with him to St Mungo's and support him. He only had to explain the situation to her. 

"Mama!" Scorpius ran the second he saw her, colliding with her legs. Astoria laughed, a crystalline sound, and kissed the top of his head. 

"Hello, my son." She smiled at Draco, giving him a kiss on his cheek. "Hello, dear. Did James get in trouble again?"

"No," he said, smiling a real smile. His wife could always lift his spirits up, simply by being in the same room as him. "But we need to go to St Mungo's. Harry... he woke up today. James is going to meet us there, I floo-called professor McGonagall and she said he'll floo directly to the ICU."

"Oh, darling," she took him in her arms, holding him tight. She knew how hard this must be for him, getting thrown back into the part of the husband with a comatose war hero. He burrowed his face in her soft neck, inhaling her vanilla and jasmine perfume. It was only now that he realized he was trembling, held tight like a string about to snap. He took a deep breath and stepped back, squaring his shoulders. He picked up Scorpius, who had lost interest in his parents' embrace and had drifted off to a shelf with a lot of brightly colored bottles, taking as much comfort as he could from his son. 

"Let's go, shall we?" Astoria looked like she wanted to argue, but she nodded and together, the small family headed to St Mungo's. 

Inside St Mungo's was the same as it always has been; a flurry of movements, people walking back and forth, patients groaning, doctors talking, nurses at the front desk. All of the sudden, memories that Draco had been repressing for the past years resurface. 

"Hello, darling," Draco sits down on the chair next to the hospital bed, taking Harry's hand in his. "I hope you're enjoying your little vacation, you fiend. You'll have so much to answer to when you wake up, you know that?"

Draco strokes Harry's hand with his thumb, and he sighs. "Teddy came over last night," he continues. "He was such a pleasure, of course, but he kept asking for you. I don't know what to tell him... the Healers say they have no idea when you'll wake up, if you wake up." Draco holds Harry's hand so hard, as if the pain alone would make him wake up. "Harry, you better wake up or I'll never forgive you. James needs you, James needs his dad... and I need my husband. Do you hear me, Potter? Your family needs you."

"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione is telling him, her hand resting on his shoulder. Draco has been staring at a fixed point for hours now, empty-headed. "You need to eat, and you need to rest. Harry... Harry isn't going anywhere, he'll be right there when you come back."

"Hello," Draco's voice came off strangled and weak, like something was stuck in his throat. He coughed, feeling his ears burn with shame. This was not the time to show weakness. He had to be strong, for his sons.

"Hello, my name is Draco Malfoy. We're here to see Harry Potter."

Chapter Text

Harry Potter, being the saviour of the Wizarding World and everything, got his own special room when the Healers realized he wasn't waking up anytime soon. His door was riddled with as many protection and privacy spells as possible, and the room was twice the size of the normal hospital rooms. Even though the Healers themselves said that Harry was not aware of the world around him, they gave him the most comfortable bed they had, with feather pillows and fluffy blankets–James had been obsessed when he was little and took many naps snuggled up to his dad on that bed. 

"Of course Mr. Malfoy-Potter," the nurse says after checking her files. "I assume you know which room it is? The password is Lion."

"'ames!." Scorpius, nestled in his father's arms, suddenly starts squirming to be let down. Draco sets him down on the polished floor and when Scorpius is stable enough on his feet, he starts running as fast as his little legs can go, to where James just stepped out of the floo network of St Mungo's. 

"Little dude!" James catches Scorpius when the toddler flings himself at him, laughing. "Oh, I've missed you! You keeping 'pa on his toes while I'm away?"

Scorpius, delighted in his older brother's arms, squeals and nods enthusiastically. James ruffles his hair and walks over to his father and Astoria, sobering up slightly at seeing Draco's permanent frown. He let Scorpius out of his arms and walked up to Draco. "Hey, 'pa. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here. Come here, Jamie." Draco snaked his arms around his eldest son, holding him tight. James allowed it, even if he felt like he was too old for such public displays of affection. "Are you ready? If you don't want to see him-"

"I want to be here with you, 'pa. We gotta do this together. He's still my dad, after all, right..?"

Draco pulled away from him, enough to look him in the eyes. He smiled down at his son and kissed his forehead, feeling his heart about to burst from the love  and pride he felt for James. After what happened to Harry, James was all he had. He used to hold James for hours, too afraid that his son, too, would leave. Whenever Draco couldn't sleep, he would stand at the foot of James' bed and watch him breathe, willing him to wake up. 

James, too, struggled for the first years. He would wake up crying for his dad, would stare at the floo or the door in hopes whenever a sound rose in the house, would go days without uttering a word. 

Their lives as father and son had not been easy.

Astoria put her hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Shall we go?" 

Draco took a deep breath, squeezed James tight, and pulled away. He took Scorpius in his arms, resting him on his hips. He needed the comforting weight of his son with him. "Let's go."

 ***

Harry Potter felt like shite. His head hurt, his muscles ached and he felt like a stranger in his own body. He was so confused; the last thing he remembered was fighting alongside Ron to catch the potions dealer they were after. He had turned his head and saw a green light coming full speed towards him. He had heard a scream, his mother’s scream, and then… here he is. In a hospital room, apparently thirteen years older. Harry’s mind felt like it would explode at any moment, and he knew his husband was the only one who would help him understand and feel better.

The first thing that popped in Harry's mind when he woke up, was Draco is definitely cross with me now . The biggest arguments they had, as a married couple,  were about Harry’s job as an auror–Draco thought it was too dangerous and kept him from their family, while Harry felt a duty to help protect the wizarding world. This would be the straw that broke the hypogriff’s back, Harry was sure. Draco would not let him hear the end of this, would demand he quit and look for another job. Maybe he was a bit right, too. The last thing he wanted was for his son to grow up without a parent, just like he did. 

To say Harry was shocked when the medi-witch told him he was now 40 years old would be an understatement. This, at least, explained his muscle ache; he did not move for more than a decade, of course he felt weak. But what was Harry supposed to say, to do? Nurses came and went in a flurry, while the medi-witch kept talking. 

"Someone hit your chest with the killing curse. I'm sorry to say, Mr. Potter-Malfoy, but you now have a scar right here," she told him, putting a hand over her heart. "Though, I guess that's the least of your worries right now, isn't it." 

Why would she think Harry cared about that? He was only half listening to her, anyway. Draco would fill him in on everything that happened, or Hermione will. All his questions would be for them, he would not panic until Draco was in front of him. "Right. You did tell my husband I woke up, didn't you? I want to see him now."

The medi-witch shot a quick glance to the nurse standing next to her, and Harry did not like that look one bit. Why did she do that? Did something happen to Draco? Did he die? Is he in a coma, too? Was he hurt because Harry wasn't there to protect him? But before Harry's thoughts could derail too out of place, the nurse smiled at him and nodded. "I will go fetch him, Mr. Potter-Malfoy. You just sit tight." And she was gone before he could answer her.

"Not like I can do anything else, can I?" He still mumbled, for the sake of the nurses that were still at his side. Some of them chuckled under their breath, but there was one nurse who couldn't seem to do anything but stare at him. A few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence, and Harry cleared his throat. "Er, thank you guys for taking care of me, but is this all necessary? I feel fine, I promise."

"Don't listen to him. He is famously known for lying whilst in a hospital bed." 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and a grin spread across his face. Even at forty years old, Draco was beautiful. He was still tall and lean, and Harry noticed a few new wrinkles on his face. His hair, too, changed; it was shoulder-length, and prettier than ever. Not a single strand out of place, artfully swept away from his face. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed and his mouth was set in a line, like always. Even though it's only felt like a normal nap for Harry, he missed his husband so much. 

"Draco! You look so good. How are you?"

"Oh, Harry," Draco's voice wavered as he went to his bedside. "You can leave now," he said to the nurses, making them scurry out of the room to give the family some privacy. It's only when the door shut that Draco turned back to Harry, and hit his shoulder with the back of his hand. 

"Ow! What'd I do! I've just been in a coma, have you not heard?" 

"You prat!" Draco spat out. "I told you something like this would happen! Why did you have to go, huh?  Do you know what I went through? You selfish, self-sacrificing, horrible, beautiful man!" His chest was heaving at the end of his small rant, and his face was flushed. 

Someone cleared their throat suddenly, and Harry finally noticed the three people standing at the door. There was a woman with long dark hair and a potioneer's uniform that looked familiar. She was holding a toddler with bright blond hair and a chubby face, and next to them was a tall teenage boy with unkept brown hair and eyes an icy grey. His rectangle glasses sat very neatly on his face, and he had muscles that made Harry know he was a fan of Quidditch.

His son. 

"James?" Harry's voice dropped to a whisper. Seeing his toddler be so old, almost a man now, suddenly made the situation a lot more real. He lost his only son's childhood. All those formative years, all those memories that could've been, gone forever. Because of one stupid man. "You look-"

"Like you, yeah, I know. Can't go a day without someone telling me. With pa's eyes, of course." His voice was deep and he sounded like all other teenagers, but Harry noticed the same posh lilt that Draco spoke in. Draco, who raised their son on his own. 

Harry coughed awkwardly. How do you even speak to your estranged son? "I was actually going to say that you look like your granddad did. Same glasses, too. 

"Oh." James smiled at that. "Thanks, uhm, dad." 

"Yeah," Harry looked back at Draco, to try to ground himself. It partially worked-the love Harry felt for him filled his chest, but Draco looked so different from how he remembered him. "Could I... would you like a hug?" That's what parents did with their kids, right? Mrs. Weasley was always hugging all her kids, and Harry always wished he could've had one from his parents. He also loved when Sirius hugged him. Finally giving a hug to his teen son would probably help the situation a lot. 

But James looked awkwardly to Draco and cleared his throat. He walked over to the bed and tried to move around all the things sticking out of Harry. He crouched, and gave Harry what was probably the most uncomfortable hug of his life. 

Merlin, Harry kind of wished the killing curse actually did what the name advertised. 

"Er, I'm sorry, but I don't think I remember you, ma'am," Harry said to the woman in the room when James scurried over to stand next to Draco. He thought maybe she had been in Hogwarts at the same time as them, but he wasn't too sure. Maybe one of Draco's friends.

"My name is Astoria Greengrass, I was in Slytherin with Draco." Her voice was soft and level, but her smile was small and tight. The child in her arms had his head on her shoulder and was looking at Harry curiously, silently sucking his thumb. Now that his attention was fully on him, Harry was surprised at the uncanny resemblance the boy had to Draco. It made alarms ring at the back of his head, but Harry ignored it. He send a polite smile to Astoria. 

"Nice to meet you." Harry smiled at the kid and gave him a little wave. "What's your name? I'm Harry. Potter."

"Hi Hawwy," the child mumbled shyly. He looked over at Draco, and the man must've given him a look because the toddle turned back to Harry, raised his head from the woman's shoulder and smiled cutely at Harry. He pointed to himself and said "Sco'pus Mafoy. Das ma papa!" He continued, and pointed to Draco. 

What?

Chapter Text

Harry's mind was a jumbled mess of questions and dread. Not even thirty minutes ago, he learned that he's been in a coma for thirteen years, missing all of James' childhood. Whatever, he's Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, life has never been kind or fair to him and it probably never will. Give him a few days, and he'll get over it. Ron and Hermione will fill him in, will tell him all that he's missed, and together they will get over it. But now he finds out his husband has a two year-old son, and Harry will bet anything he did not put that thing in Draco's womb. Someone else did. 

Draco gave birth to another person's child. Are they divorced? Is it possible to divorce someone who is in a coma? Surely, this means that Draco fell out of love with him during those years. What did Draco say to James? Did someone else help him? Is there someone else that James considers his parent, instead of Harry? He felt almost lightheaded with confusion and ever-growing distress. Harry's eyes went to Astoria, who looked at him, in his hospital bed, with pity in her eyes. And then it dawned on him.

"Merlin, Harry, this is not how I planned on telling you," Draco took Harry's hand in his, and Harry could not stop the warmth that crept up from the point of contact. But just as soon as it came, the warmth became numbingly cold and he took his hand away. Draco's eyes flashed with pain, but it was immediately covered by a blank expression. 

"No?" Harry replied, clenching his fists at his side. If only his legs were strong enough to support him, he would be moving around the room, just to have something to do. But he was still too weak, and he realized it would probably be a long process to get his muscles working properly again. "I'm surprised. You did not plan on your- your son, to be the one to tell me you had sex with someone else?" When he saw James from the corner of his eye, he backtracked a little. "Sorry. I meant you were planning on telling me differently that you got pregnant with someone else's baby? Wha- Draco, are we even still married? What the bloody hell is going on right now? You bring your second family in here and you didn't think I would figure it out?" He gave a bitter laugh, because it was either that, or he would start crying like he was six and locked in his cupboard again. "Did you have an affair, or did you wash your hands of me before?" 

"How dare you," Draco sneered. His eyes were filled with fury and his posture was as straight as it ever was, making him look down his nose at Harry. "You have no idea what I went through, Potter. You have no right to talk to me this way! I get that you are mad, but that does not give you the right to insult me like this. You were gone for thirteen years, Harry. And, in case you didn't know, thirteen years is a bloody long time! You cannot blame me for any decision I made. You were not here." His voice broke on his last word, but he just cleared his throat and scowled. James put his hand on his father's shoulder and squeezed it. Draco inhaled sharply and when he breathed out, his posture relaxed slightly. Harry, expert in Draco's physical tells, knew it barely changed anything in how Draco was feeling. Harry also noticed the look James sent him-Harry was no one important to him anymore, probably, he was simply a stranger that looked like him. 

Harry breathed in, too, to try to control his emotions that were about to bubble out of him. He could feel the air buzz with his magic, and the lights suddenly seemed a lot brighter than they were ten seconds ago. "I can't look at you anymore, Malfoy. It is only Malfoy, now, isn't it? No need to keep the last name of the man you don't love anymore, right?" He closed his eyes, and said this last part to no one in particular. "I need to see Ron and Hermione. I cannot look at you anymore, or my magic will lash out."

"Very classy, Potter. Not even awake for an hour and already dealing with this like a child." Draco took James' arm and marched back to the door, where Astoria was looking at Harry, all accusatory. Scorpius's bottom lip was wobbling and tears were brimming in his eyes. He might be a toddler, but Harry guessed that he was clever enough to be able to read a room. Draco opened the door and motioned for all of them to leave. He turned back to Harry one final time, his face flushed and eyes glassy. "You are infuriating, you know that? You will sleep at Granger's place for the foreseeable future, and we will have a civil conversation once you come back to your senses and have calmed down. Alone. Merlin knows it was a mistake to bring James here, he did not need to see his father act like you did."

"Oh, it was James that shouldn't have been here? Can't think of anyone else that could have stayed home today, like your not-so-secret second family?" 

Draco pointed his finger at Harry threateningly, his expression turning to anger. "I do not need your sass right now, Harry James Potter. And I will not entertain this version of you. Have a good day. I'll tell Granger and Weasley to come see you." And with that, he slammed the door shut behind him before Harry could even open his mouth. 

Merlin, what a nightmare this day had become. Harry wasn't sure he wasn't still in a coma, experiencing his own version of hell. This was too much for him, what was he even supposed to do, to say? To think? His family, the thing he spent so many years working for, was suddenly ripped away from him. Only yesterday, he can remember Draco and him laughing, being happy, playing with baby James, taking a stroll in the park while holding hands. Draco had kissed him so sweetly, so lovingly, right there in front of all the other families and couples who were enjoying the hot day. James was barely letting Harry out of his sight, always giving him a gummy smile that squished his cheeks and made his eyes disappear behind his baby fat. Draco loved to complain, without any real heat behind his words, that he was the one who carried James for nine months but with the way the toddler acted and looked, you would think Harry made him all on his own. Harry remembered going to sleep with his arms around Draco, content and peaceful. 

Except that did not happen yesterday, did it? Apparently, it happened more than a decade ago. Who could say they went from being twenty-seven to forty years old in one blink? Foolishly, Harry realized he had missed his thirties. The thought finally made all his anger die down, and all he was left with was heartbreaking helplessness. Even after everything he went through in his teenhood, he still wasn't the master of his own fate. He probably never will be. Tears started falling from his face, and he closed his eyes to try and pretend everything was fine. He tried to wipe his mind of any thought, but it was hard. 

This is how his two best friends found him, looking small in the middle of this big hospital room, his body trembling every now and then. 

"Bloody hell, mate," Ron's voice cracked, and Harry opened his eyes to see tears fall from the ginger's red eyes. Ron's hair was long and styled in a loose bun, which complimented well with the full beard he had. At 27, Ron only had a small stubble and his hair was closely cut to his head. The way his hair and his beard framed his face now made him look like a proper adult. And, there was no other way to say it, but Ron had the body of a proper dad. 

"Ron," Harry grinned up at him, anger and despair all forgotten the moment he saw his two favourite people in the world. After Draco, of course. And James. "I don't know how to tell you this, mate, but you look handsome as hell! But Hermione, you're still the prettiest here, no doubt about it." 

"Oh, Harry," Hermione's tone was a combination of pleased, embarrassed, and heartbroken. Her hair was as a curly and thick as ever, styled in two loose pigtails. She was dressed smartly, and Harry really hoped she became Minister of magic like she always wanted. She threw herself on the bed to hug him as tight as she could. But then she let him go and hit his shoulder with the back of her hand. Hard. 

"Ouch! Hermione, stop that! Is slapping people on the shoulder, like, a normal thing now?"

"What? No! Harry! How could you do this! You and Ron promised me you'd be safe, and you go and get yourself killed all over again! Do you think this is funny? Do you know what you're doing to us?" 

"Wow, 'Mione, being a mom really suits you." Harry looked over to Ron and mouthed "terrifying". Ron giggled wetly and walked to the opposite side of the bed from Hermione, enveloping Harry in the warmest hug of his life. "I'm sorry, guys," Harry said with a weak smile on his face. "But it's not like I was planning on getting hit with the killing curse three times, right? I also think that's three times too many, but I didn't choose this. I didn't want to lose my family."

"What are you talking about, Harry? Don't worry, mate, Draco and James have been waiting for you. I mean, us, too. Do you know how impossible it is to be a trio when you're only two people? Nightmare, so it is." As he was speaking, Ron lifted two chairs from a far corner of the room over to the bed, so he and Hermione could sit down while they were talking. Having experienced Harry in a hospital bed many times since they first met, they know just how uncomfortable Harry is when people stand over him. 

Harry chuckled, but it was a weak thing. "No, Draco has more than moved on. And James doesn't even know me, of course he hasn't waited. I just- I don't know what to do. You guys are still... I mean, right? You're still my friends, aren't you? Please, don't tell me Neville or Seamus stole my spot. I think I would welcome a fourth try of the spell."

"Of course we're still best friends, Harry. No one could replace you. We missed you so much." Hermione absentmindedly ran her hand through Harry's hair, but her eyes were still sad. 

"Yeah, mate, you're our one and only. Who else would keep us from becoming unimportant to the public?" 

"Ron," Hermione snapped.

"Right. Zipping it." 

"Harry, what he's trying to say is that we love you, and we have waited for you. We didn't let it stop our lives, but we never stopped hoping." She exchanged a look with Ron, then turned back to Harry. "If this is about Malfoy... Harry, you didn't lose him. Have you not talked to him? He did look pretty upset when he told us to come see you..."

"'Mione, you can't be serious. He has a girlfriend, or a wife or something. And another kid. We're over, he doesn't love me anymore." Harry turned his gaze away and crossed his arms awkwardly. They were both looking at him like they would do anything to never be in his shoes, and it was starting to frustrate him. 

"Talk to him. He's still your husband, and he still loves you. I know you boys, and I know you both let your emotions get the better of you. Explain to him how you feel, and ask him for his side of the story." 

"Yeah," Harry tentatively smile. His heart ached, but at least it wasn't cold anymore. He had missed his best friends, too. 

Chapter Text

It took a few days for Harry to be able to leave St Mungo's. He had to go through intense physical therapy, because there was only so much that potions could do; he had to relearn how to walk, how to stand for long periods of time, how to carry heavy things,... and his magic, too, had weakened greatly. A simple accio left him exhausted the first couple of days. At least, the healers who were assigned to his care were very professional-he made sure of it. The last thing he needed was for the people who were constantly by his side to gape at him just because of his bad luck and fame. 

There was one healer, Mirabelle Spritz, who was in charge of getting Harry up to speed with all he's missed in the past years. Harry suspects she was only assigned this role because, after meeting her for three minutes, he understood she was a ruthless gossip at heart. Harry could confidently say he know knew more about the personal lives of celebrities he hadn't even heard of before than he had ever wanted to know. And Mirabelle had so much energy, too. It was like Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were combined into one loud, gossipy, but strangely competent healer. 

It was after one of his daily walks around the hospital with Mirabelle that Harry saw James waiting for him outside his room, wearing a shirt with the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes logo on it and simple jeans. Harry turned to Mirabelle and tried, desperately, to beg her not to leave him with his eyes only. She laughed at the strange expression he must've been doing, patted his shoulder soothingly, and turned to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow for our last session, Mr. Potter. Have a good rest of your day!" She waved cheerfully and nodded at James, before speed-walking over to one of her colleagues. 

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Healer Spritz." Harry shoved his hands in his pockets-but, Merlin, he was so happy he convinced them all to give him jeans and a jumper instead of a hospital gown-and gave an awkward smile to James. "Good afternoon, James. Is your dad with you?"

"No, he doesn't know I'm here. I gave my best doe eyes to Professor McGonagall and she let me travel here from her personal floo channel to come see you. It's the weekend, anyway, so it's not like I'm skipping any school."

"Alright. Come in, James, come in. Merlin, I can't believe how much you've grown. You were in your school uniform last time I saw you, Gryffindor like me! Do you play Quidditch? Your dad and I loved it, we used to play against each other. I mostly won. Erm- I guess you already know that, don't you? I'm sorry, what did you come to see me for?"  Harry internally cringed at the words that spilled out of his mouth as he opened the door to his room, and motioned for James to get in. He did, and stopped to stand in the middle of the room. Harry followed, but he knew he would have to go sit down in only a few minutes. Recovery was an annoying pain in his arse. 

James rubbed the scruff of his neck awkwardly, not quite meeting his father's eyes, and Harry drank in the act like a man starved. He was desperate to learn everything about his son, from his personality to his physical tics, his hopes and his dreams, but also his fears and his worries. Harry was ready to jump head-first into his role as father again, but he did not have the first clue how. 

Harry remembered himself as a sixteen years old, and an unpleasant shiver ran down his spine. He was moody, angry, sassy, horny, and a plethora of other unsavory emotions. In his defense, the world was against him. He was learning about Horcruxes, he was hiding from Voldemort (both physically and mentally), he was trying to uncover Draco's schemes and everyone around him were too busy snogging to do anything useful. At least, James didn't have any of that. Hopefully. Did a new dark lord emerge while he was out? No, Mirabelle would have told him. Probably. 

"I just wanted to see you, I guess," James' voice brought Harry out of his head, and he reminded himself of the situation he was in. "I've heard so much about you from family and strangers, but I don't have a single memory of you, and barely any pictures." 

"Well, if you have questions, I can answer them. I don't want to hide anything from you, but- are you sure your dad would approve of you being here? He's quite cross with me," and probably doesn't even see me as your father anymore, he thinks but does not say. "I don't want you to get in trouble for me." 

James waved a hand dismissively, and snorted. "If he finds out, then it's you he's gonna be cross with, not me. And he's not going to find out, anyway! He'd have to, at this exact moment, reach out to Professor McGonagall to inquire about me at Hogwarts. And he's never done that in the six years I've been there, so." He shrugs, and looks into Harry's eyes. They're the same height. "Did you do it on purpose? The coma thing?" 

"What?!" Harry recoiled from surprise. Of all the things James could've asked him... "Of course not! Why would I do that, I didn't even know I couldn't die from a killing curse. The first time was because my mom saved me, and the second time was because I became the Master of Death. I didn't think it would work a third time, and believe me I had no interest in trying. I'm an auror, it's was just an accident." 

"H- dad... of course you're still the Master of Death. The person that becomes the Master of Death stays the Master of Death until someone else takes their place. Destroying the wand and then repairing it didn't strip you from the title." James was speaking with an expression on his face that simultaneously reminded Harry of Draco and Hermione when they talked to him. The kid had attitude! 

"How do you know all this? Did Ron and Hermione already tell you everything about the war?"

"They told me a little," James explained. "Mostly the safe-for-kids version when I was younger, when I asked them to tell me about you. No, this is what we learn in History of Magic. We learn about you." 

At this, Harry sat down on the edge of his bed. They were learning about him in History of Magic? "You're learning about me, specifically, or about the war in general?" 

"The war," James replied while taking a chair and dropping it in front of Harry before sitting down in it, like Ron had done a few days ago. "But you were, like, the main character. Professor Patil says she was in your year in school, too, and she fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, so she knows what she's talking about."

Harry felt like he should be writing all of this down. "Professor Patil? It's not Binns anymore?"

"Who? No, our History of Magic professor is Padma Patil. Pa' says you went with her sister to the Yule Ball! He even found a picture and showed me, you looked so awkward!" James laughed happily, and Harry had the dreaded thought that James inherited a lot from his namesakes. 

"Yeah, awkward's one way to put it..." Harry chuckled. "Your uncle Ron- er, do you call him that?" At James' nod, Harry continued. "Well, he went with Padma's twin sister. I don't even think they shared ten full words, because he was too focused on your aunt Hermione. She was absolutely stunning, but her date was Viktor Krum. You know, I never told them this, but right then and there I was ready to shove them into an abandoned classroom and lock them in until they confessed their feelings." 

James laughed, delighted. "Well, why didn't you? Pops told me they only got together in '98, after school finished." 

"Yeah, I didn't end up doing that," Harry sighed. "At the end of the day, I was too busy trying to survive and they were too busy helping me to really do anything about their feelings. Hermione talked to me about it in sixth year and- as a matter of fact, Ron told me, too. But I was sixteen and had only kissed one girl, so what was I supposed to do? I was too busy following your father around to think about anything else."

"No way, that's real? Did you follow him around in your invisibility cloak and everything? He told me about that, but I was certain he was lying! He was still your ennemi, why would you do that?" James was leaning forward on his chair, arms resting on his thighs. His eyes were shining brightly, and Harry was surprised by the attention James was giving him though he was not about to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth. 

"Erm yes, unfortunately this is all true. My focus was constantly on Draco that year, I barely even paid attention to Quidditch. I mean, sure, it was because I thought he was a dea- uh..." 

James shook his head and chuckled, "it's ok, dad, I already know about pops' history. I know he was a Death Eater and everything. It doesn't bother me, anyway, 'cause clearly he couldn't hurt anyone even if he wanted to. Except if they hurt me or Scorpius."

At the mention of Draco's other son, all of Harry's good mood evaporated. He tried to ignore it, for James' sake, but the look on his son's face told him it didn't work. 

"Erm, dad, you know, papa still loves you. He really does. Even though that fight the other day was crazy. Clearly aunt Hermione was right when she said that you're both very emotional people." 

Harry laughed weakly, to hide his ever-growing despair. "Why does everyone tell me he still loves me? He got another family without me, I feel like that speaks for itself. I wouldn't have done that. I would have waited for him to wake up, if our roles were reversed. Even if it took longer." He suddenly remembered he was talking to his son, who obviously did not need all of this thrown at him. "Hey, don't worry about it, kiddo. This is between Draco and I only. You don't have to try to defend him." 

James huffed, straightening. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, a small annoyed scowl on his face. "I'm not a child, Harry. Dad, whatever. You don't know what he went through, so stop acting like he did it on purpose to hurt you, or something like that. Astoria once asked me to call her mom, and you should've heard the fight she and papa had. He said he would leave with Scorpius if she tried to replace you again. I'm pretty sure he was just being dramatic, like always, but he still said it. He tries to hex every person that speaks bad of you, or that tries to tell him to let you go. He and Uncle Blaise don't really talk anymore, because he said you were good as dead and papa did not like that."

"Draco doesn't talk to Zabini anymore?" Harry furrowed his brows, perplexed. Draco and Blaise had been as close to best friends as purebloods could be, and he had played a big part in making Harry and Draco realize their feelings for each other. To learn they weren't on speaking terms at the moment, because of him, left a sour taste in his mouth. "Listen, I'm sorry kiddo. James, sorry. It's just that I still don't understand what's happening, and everyone just tells me to talk to him. But I tried that, and he just kept screaming at me and insulting me. So, that's not really promising, you understand." 

"Yeah, you're right," James conceded. "My dad is a stubborn git -his words, not mine- and it can be really, really hard to get anything out of him when he's emotional. And, let's be real, he's always emotional. It's kind of his thing." 

Harry could not believe he was getting dating advice from his own surprisingly mature son. "Alright, you win. I'm gonna send him an owl, see if we can meet."

James smiled winningly at him, and Harry vowed to himself to always try his hardest to put that smile there. Without a conscious thought, he reached forward and ruffled James' hair. James rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but did not move away. Instead, he exclaimed, "let me know when you do that, 'cause I wanna come, too!"

Well, so much for maturity. "In your dreams, mate. Now, get out of here, go enjoy the rest of your day with your friends. I'm going to right that letter now."

James stood up and put his hands in his pockets, grinning down at Harry. "Okay. Thanks for talking to me, dad. It was fun." But he didn't make a move to leave; he was just standing there, looking at Harry with hopeful eyes. 

Harry got up off the edge of the bed and crossed the small distance to stand in front of his son. Slowly, he took James in his arms and held him tight. James' hands came up to fist the back of Harry's jumper and they stood there for a few seconds, breathing in sync. James was the first to pull away, giving his dad one last smile before leaving, softly humming to himself as he did. 

Harry smiled, content as he's ever been since he first held his son in his arms. Talking with James had been eye-opening; he was going to talk to Draco, to try and work things out. And, if he was right and Draco did not love him anymore, he would at least fight tooth and nail to be able to stay in contact with James as much as he possibly could. 

With this in mind, Harry turned around and laid down in his hospital bed. He would take one small nap, before writing a letter to Draco.  

Chapter Text

Dear Draco,

I don't really know how to start this letter. Don't be mad at him, but James came to see me Saturday. We talked a bit, got to know each other. You raised him to be a fine young man, Draco, and you should be proud of yourself. 

He mentioned that I should probably talk to you. So, strangely enough, I decided I'm going to use my son's advice.

Can we talk? Just you and me. Alone. (That means without your second family) I don't know what happened in all those years I was in a coma, but all I do know is that you replaced me. When I woke up I was sad, angry, and a bit heartbroken. Everyone (Hermione and James) seems to think you had a good reason to have a child with someone else but, for the life of me, I cannot understand it. 

So, will you come see me? Because I would be really curious to hear your side of the story. 

I just want to know if you still love me, or if I need to let you go.  

Harry J. Potter-Malfoy

It took three days for Draco to respond. Harry thought he would have been gone from St-Mungo's by that time, but he sorely misjudged just how unused his muscles were. It was embarrassing, quite frankly, to be unable to run for more than thirty minutes as the Boy-Who-Lived, but there was nothing he was able to do except do more physical therapy, every day. 

Harry had just come back from one such session today, where he met his personal trainer every two days. These sessions always left him a sweaty mess, so he was excited to get a hot, hot shower. But right as he was collecting clean clothes, Mirabelle stuck her head in and smiled brightly at him. 

"Hiya, Harry! I hope your therapy session went well, just wanted to let you know there's someone here to see you." She barely had time to finish her sentence before Draco strode in, head held high and hair combed to perfection. Despite everything that went down between them when Harry woke up, he couldn't help but smile when he saw Draco walk in. He was wearing a light blue button-up that brought out his eyes, and trousers that made it seem like he had legs for days. 

Maybe Harry was going to need a cold shower, after all. 

"Hello, Potter." Draco's voice was guarded, but Harry was not fooled- he could clearly see the way his husband's eyes were looking him up and down. He remembered how much Draco loved when Harry came back home from his runs or workouts, all sweaty and hyped up. 

"Oh, so back to Potter, are we?" Harry noticed Mirabelle slipping away, and he used that opportunity to reach around Draco and close the door. Caged in between Harry and the door, Draco didn't have any other choice than to feel Harry's warmth and to smell his sweat. His nostrils flared for the tiniest second, before he lightly pushed Harry away, his hand straying a second too long on Harry's chest. 

"Stay away from me, Harry Potter. I know exactly what you're trying to do, and I can tell you right now that it won't work. I am here to talk, just like you requested, so let's talk." Draco sat down on the bed and crossed his legs. He was looking up at Harry with steel in his eyes, and Harry knew him enough to know Draco was gearing up for a fight. Too bad for him, Harry was going to try his hardest not to give it to him. 

"Alright. I don't want to fight with you, Draco, I just want to know what's going on. What happened when I got in a coma?" 

Draco sighed deeply, and closed his eyes. He looked ethereally beautiful, even under the bright hospital light, but there was this air of sorrow surrounding him. Suddenly, Harry felt bad for everything that Draco must have experienced. Living for more than a decade without Draco, without even knowing if he was going to be okay or not, sounded like the worst thing that could happen to him and since Draco did experience this, the least Harry could do was listen to him. 

"You left me, that's what happened," Draco started, his voice low. "I woke up one day, alone with a toddler, with no idea if you were even going to survive. Do you know how many of our friends told me to let you go? I used to come see you, every single day, but then... even the healers looked at me so judgingly. 'Here goes the melancholic husband, can't let go of a dead man'. That's what they thought of me, I just knew it! You know," Draco laughed, a sharp and horrible sound that spoke of desperation, "they gave me pamphlets of support groups for widowers. Widowers! My husband was fine, thank you, merely... asleep! You're the savior of the Wizarding World, aren't you? I knew you would be okay! But, then... you never did wake up. Weeks turned to months and months turned to years and then... well, you never woke up." 

Harry could not take it anymore, and sat down next to Draco so he could take him in his arms. After a few moments of silence, Harry noticed his shirt getting wet from Draco's tears. He shuffled a bit but simply held his husband closer. 

He had not shaken the feeling of discomfort that people crying gave him. He still did not know what to say or do in situations like these, so all he could do was be a shoulder to cry on. Thankfully, after a few minutes, Draco straightened up and chuckled wetly, a self-deprecating sound. 

"One day, I woke up and I looked at James, but all I could see was you. Your hair, your smile, you heart... except for my eyes. To prove he's a true Malfoy. And the only thing in my mind was that... I couldn't let him become another you." At Harry's puzzled frown, he continued, "what if something happened to me? You know there are people out there who still want me dead. What if I die, and my Jamie becomes an orphan? He would spend the rest of his life hearing how much he looks like his father, but has my eyes. I had to give him at least one person that would be there for him. But I knew I couldn't remarry to a friend, or to someone who was okay with never become romantic. I had to follow what Mother wanted, which was for me to remarry so I could have a new heir. She had been talking about this since your second year- away, and I had started to believe what everyone was telling me. So, I... I contacted Astoria."

Harry blew out a breath, still frowning at Draco. "You remarried because you didn't want James to become an orphan?" 

"Okay!" Draco leapt to his feet, throwing his arms up in frustration. "I know it doesn't make sense to you, but I was so empty, all the time! I used to-" but he cut himself short, and curled his fists. "I did what I thought I had to do, both for James and for me. I see Astoria as my partner, but I have never loved her the way I love you a single day in my life."

Silence followed for a few seconds, until Harry opened his mouth. "So. Scorpius, he was planned?" 

"Do not talk about my son. You may not be his father, but that child is mine and I love him just as much as I love my Jamie," Draco cut in, getting on the defense. 

"Draco, I told you, I didn't ask you to come so I can argue with you. Scorpius seems like a great kid." Harry threw his hands up slightly to indicate he meant no harm, and stood back up to be level with Draco.

Draco's shoulders slumped a little, and he cracked a smile. "Yeah. He's a Hufflepuff in the making." 

Harry took his ex-husband's hands in his and kissed his knuckles. Draco flinched at the touch, but didn't say anything. Harry said, in a soft whisper, "I know you've always planned on having a son named Scorpius. I'm happy for you, truly, even if it's not my son, too."

The blond chocked back a sob, and threw his arms around him. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I should have waited." Harry put an arm around Draco's head so he could nudge his face in the crook of his neck. Draco's hands came up to curl on Harry's shirt and he started to shake.

"It sounds like you did, Draco. You waited for me for as long as you could and... I can't fault you for giving up on me. But, baby... if there is even the smallest part of you that thinks you could love me again, please tell me, and I will do everything in my power to convince you to try again. All I want is for you, James, me and Scorpius to be a family. Just because you raised one child alone, doesn't mean you have to do the same for the other."

"But-Harry..." Draco frowned, but its effect was lowered by the blush that crept up his face the more Harry talked. "I wouldn't raise Scorpius alone. Astoria is still his mother, and she loves him, and she couldn't simply let him go like that. I couldn't do that to her. And what about her, anyway? I can't abandon her!" 

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, frowning down at Draco's shiny shoes. "Yeah, maybe you're right. But you don't love her like that, right? So you can just divorce her!" He brightened, and looked back at Draco with hopeful eyes. "Your mother must be satisfied with Scorpius, right? And you said so yourself, you told her you couldn't be together together so she doesn't love you, either! Draco, I'll beg if I have to." 

Draco backed up from Harry, and slowly made his way to the door, walking backwards. "Let me think about it. Please, Harry, you must understand. You're asking me to abandon the life I've had for the last two years, for you. It's complicated."

Harry was following Draco to the door, a sense of dread growing in his stomach. This had to work, he had to get Draco back. If he refused, this might be the last time they talk to each other. Harry would not survive that. "But I was your life for more than that! You replaced me with her," he said childishly, "so couldn't I replace her back?" 

"How are you so calm about all of this!" Draco exclaimed as he opened the door. A strand of Mirabelle's hair could be seen retreating, and Harry knew she had heard every single thing that was said. They had forgotten to put a silencing spell on. "Why aren't you screaming and shouting at me?" He glared at Harry for good measure, but Harry could see right through him. Draco felt he deserved to get screamed at, but Harry would not give him the satisfaction.

"Draco... I think I'm still mad about this, and it'll take a while for me to get over it, but I understand how you felt. I forgive you. Go back home, take a hot bath, and think about it. I'll respect your decision either way, but I'm ready to fight for you. If you wanna talk again, I'll be here- or, erm, at Hermione and Ron's, I reckon, because the healers said I'll probably be let go this week." He leaned in and kissed Draco on the cheek, deciding to ignore the flinch Draco gave. "I love you, baby."

Harry then pushed Draco lightly out of the room, and closed the door on his face. 

Alone again, Harry breathed in and exhaled shakily. Thinking of everything Draco experienced, on his own, made him shiver unpleasantly. After everything he had gone through, his ex-husband didn't deserve any of this. And while Harry knew he wasn't technically at fault for getting hit by that curse, he also knew he was infamous in the workforce for being unstable and for throwing himself into danger head first. For a fraction of a second, the irrational thought to take a Time Turner and go back in time to prevent this all from happening was incredibly strong. But Harry suppressed it, knowing better than to mess with those things again. 

No, instead, he would have to focus on the future and find ways to convince Draco to take him back. With this in mind, Harry prepared himself to take a well-deserved shower. 

Chapter Text

As much as he hated himself for it, Draco did end up taking a hot bath when he got home. Scorpius was away for the day at Pansy's for a playdate with her daughter, Seraphina, and Astoria was working in her shop, so he had the whole house to himself. He was currently lazing away in his tub feeling very sorry for himself, wine bottle in hand, and the scent of vanilla and green apples surrounding him. 

With a sudden pop, his house-elf Beepy appeared at the foot of the bathtub. She didn't bother to bow, and only looked at him with her arms crossed and a deep frown on her face. Draco didn't know how old she was, but he assumed she was as old as Kreacher was, the last time he was in the service of Harry.

"Master is in the bath too long. Master is pruning, and he need to get out." Her high-pitched voice was stern, a funny thing considering she was sporting one of Scorpius' old shirts, little snitches and brooms zooming around the words "Daddy's Little Star". It was big enough to reach her knees, and the only other thing she was wearing were black and shiny mary janes, which Draco had spelled to fit her. 

"Beepy," he whined, "no one else is here. I'm not going to die if you let me soak ten more minutes. I need this, Beepy, you have no idea." He took a swig of the wine and kept the bottle cradled to his chest, tilting his head back. He sighed heavily, barely flinching at the sharp crack of apparition as Beepy left him to his misery. 

The combination of the bath and the wine made Draco feel soft. He remembered, years ago, Harry sitting behind him, wet bodies pressed together. Harry would wash his hair and massage his scalp while they talked about their day, which usually meant Draco gushing about James and Harry whining about his coworkers. They would soak and cuddle for as long as they could, until the water turned cold. Of course, they could've spelled the water hot again, but they never could get it right. After so many times of Draco yelping because Harry, over-powered bastard that he is, would get the water to an almost boiling point, they stopped trying at all. After their shared a bath, they would slip into bed without bothering to get dressed, and continue cuddling there. Harry, specifically, would become soft and pliant, all warm gazes and loving touches. 

Here, alone in the bath, Draco wondered what he was to do next. He couldn't abandon Astoria and Scorpius-what kind of man would that make him, to turn his back on his wife and son the second someone else came into the picture? Harry was his first choice; indeed, his first love. Harry made him feel things he never felt with anyone, made him say things he never would've been capable to utter to any other living soul. His relationship with Astoria is not half as powerful as the one he had with Harry, and not half as meaningful, or beautiful. 

Draco frowned in misery and turned his body in the bath, curling into himself and trying his best to gulb down his wine while sideways. A drop slowly made its way down to his neck, but he was already feeling dizzy and did not bother to wipe it off. 

If only Father could see me now, Draco thought half-hysterically. He made a pitying picture; drunk, laying in a now cold bath, moping over Harry Potter and feeling very sorry for himself. Gone was the man Lucius hoped Draco would become; Draco had made a name for himself, and in doing so, had doomed himself to a life of phantom disappointment from a dead man.

Every bone in his body was aching to go back to Harry, to kiss him senseless and beg him to take him back. He fantasized for a few minutes about a life with Harry, James and Scorpius. They would move back to Grimmauld's Place, and Draco is certain he could find a job that would accept the likes of him-this way, Harry could stay home, and not have to worry about going back to being an auror. 

But the fantasy vanished soon enough, and in its stead, reality appeared. He could not abandon Astoria this way, after making a promise to be a faithful husband. He could not turn Scorpius' life around so abruptly, either. 

But Astoria knew what she was getting into when she married him, they had a strictly platonic relationship, and Scorpius already knew about James' father. With a few hard and uncomfortable conversations, Draco technically could go back to Harry...

With a moan of frustration, Draco pulled himself up and stepped out of the bath. He left the now empty bottle of wine on the floor and he picked up the towel Beepy left for him, wrapping it around himself like a blanket. He walked, dripping all over the floor, over to his bedroom and collapsed on his bed. It felt horrible, to be wet and cold on it, but Draco was too in his own head to pay much attention to it. He stared up at the ceiling, but quickly closed his eyes against the spinning room. His whole body was tingling from the alcohol, and Draco reached into his bedside table to grab his wand. 

To use magic while intoxicated was a very dangerous thing to do, but Draco did not care one bit. Would they put him in a room next to Harry's if he was sent to St-Mungo's? 

Draco Summoned the only muggle thing he owned, and clumsily did the lubricating spell. Being drunk made him terribly horny, and having seen Harry today did not help one bit. Did he feel bad, pleasuring himself while thinking of his ex-husband in his marital bed? Of course he did. He was quite ashamed, in fact. But his needs overpowered his sensibility, and Draco closed his eyes to envision how Harry looked today; sweaty from his exercises, tank top showing off his muscled arms, alive and awake. Warm, present, and romantic. 

As much as Draco's brain told him it was a bad idea to go back to Harry, his body was missing him terribly and had other things in mind. His sex drive, which had been put in a coma along with Harry, was suddenly waking up again, and Draco embraced it; the wine had loosened him up consideringly.