The months after the battle weren't a blur. Hermione said for her, they were a blur. Ron nodded sagely, agreeing or pretending to for his girlfriend's sake.
For Harry, the months after the battle were blankness. He knew there had been funerals, ceremonies, speeches. He knew he had been at all of them.
But there were too many, it was too much, and he couldn't remember any of it.
He didn't remember sleeping with Ginny. He remembers her small hands, firm as they cradled his jaw, lifting his face up to meet her warm gaze. He stared past her, as though he could see right through her to the wall. He thinks she whispered in his ear, but she didn't whisper words, she only fed the blank space between them.
She tells him it happened, but he can't remember it.
Given how little he remembers, he has no reason not to believe her.
The blankness starts to retreat when Harry finds her in the garden, arms curled protectively around her stomach.
"It's yours." She says. She doesn't say what. He doesn't need to be told.
He nods dumbly, wishing that the blankness weren't there so he could remember something, even just something to say.
"I don't think I can do this alone." She continues. She looks so young, so fragile, but then again, so must he.
"You won't have to." Harry's voice is hoarse.
He has money. He doesn't need to work. She can finish school, he's already done his.
Something inside him flutters, beating against the blankness, trying to sweep it away.
Beyond it, he sees the outline of the garden's tangled bed of daisies.
The baby has Ron's eyes, sky blue, and it makes Harry laugh. His laugh is foreign to his ears, feels fuzzy in his throat. She barely has any hair, and it sticks up in light brown tufts like a furry halo. The healer says that it'll likely grow in red, given her parentage. Harry swallows thickly as his daughter is placed in his arms.
Ginny is sleeping on the bed beside him. She wanted to name their daughter Lily. The baby in his arms isn't Lily. She isn't his mother, she isn't a memory, she isn't part of the blankness that swallowed up the casualties of the war. He remembers the daisies in the garden, how bright the world seemed when he saw them.
The world is just as bright now.
She's his Daisy, and her soft baby sigh as she turns her face into his shirt banishes the last of the blankness.
Ginny won't hold Daisy, nor nurse her. Harry rocks her to sleep, diligently feeds her, rubs her tiny back to ease her tummy. Daisy is his life now, and he loves her more than he thought he could love anything.
Ginny doesn't seem to notice Daisy, but Harry doesn't really notice Ginny.
Nobody is surprised when Ginny says she's leaving.
Nobody is surprised when she disappears without taking the baby.
Daisy's hair grows in chestnut brown, in tightly coiled ringlets. Her eyes stay blue, and Molly exclaims each time she sees her how much she looks like a Weasley. Harry doesn't see any Potter in Daisy, except in her name. He doesn't really care. When Daisy laughs, smiles, coos, Harry's world brightens.
Why should it matter what that brightness looks like?
Ginny writes every so often, but never to Harry. Molly always shows Harry the letters, her eyes glassy with tears. She pushes them forward into his hands.
"She still cares," Molly insists, her voice quivering, "She'll come back for you and the baby."
But the truth is, Daisy isn't a baby any more.
And Ginny has never once mentioned either of them in her letters.
Daisy is two when she falls down the stairs.
She's curious and bold, always toddling out of sight. Harry didn't notice her wander out of the room, but the thud sounds through his body as though he himself had fallen.
The healer says it's a simple concussion, and that Daisy will be fine. It's really just a matter of checking her magic, to make sure it wasn't addled in the fall. It should be reminiscent of Harry's aura. Share some colours, some patterns.
It doesn't.
With a roar, the blankness rushes in.
Molly doesn't ask questions when Harry silently hands over the squirming girl. Daisy plants wet kisses to her grandmother's cheek, giggling as the woman fusses with her ruffled dress. Harry sinks into a kitchen chair. If his Daisy isn't his…
He can't finish the thought.
The blankness won't let him.
It's Ron who breaks through this time, with Daisy perched on his hip.
"She's yours, mate." He says. He never really lost his bluntness.
Harry shakes his head slowly.
"I don't know whose she is."
Daisy's bottom lip is trembling, and she reaches out for Harry. He turns away slightly, vaguely registering her increasingly loud whimpers.
"She's yours. Maybe not by blood, but guess what? You and I don't share blood either, Harry. You think that your blood means you aren't a Weasley? We all know you're Molly's son as much as I am. Blood means nothing. We fought a war over blood. What matters is that Daisy is yours, you're hers, and both of you need each other."
Harry feels tears, hot down his cheeks. "I know." He says, and it hurts. It hurts because the blankness is gone, and suddenly he feels everything. He's angry and sad and he can't believe that Ginny took this away from him, took away the only thing that's ever been his.
He must have spoken out loud, because Ron cuts in.
"She didn't take anything away from you, Harry. Daisy is right here, and she's yours. She'll always be yours."
Harry looks up, and everything else is swallowed by the blinding love he feels as he looks at his daughter, and her chubby cheeks are rosy as she smiles at him.
Harry doesn't know if Molly ever writes to Ginny about Daisy's father.
He never asks. He's not sure he wants to know.
When Daisy is five, Harry takes her to a muggle nursery school. She babbles excitedly as they walk there, talking about the friends she'll make and the games they'll play. Harry reminds her that she can't talk about being a witch, and Daisy nods gravely. He's not particularly concerned. He remembers children in his primary school pretending to be dinosaurs, superheroes, firefighters.
A witch wouldn't raise an eyebrow.
"My teacher is a wizard." Daisy announces at dinner that night.
Harry drops his fork with a clatter.
"Daisy!" He admonishes. "What did I tell you about talking about your magic at school?"
Daisy scrunches up her nose, her blue eyes widening.
"Don't be cross, Daddy!" Her eyebrows furrow. "I didn't say nothing!"
Harry's expression softens. "Go on, then," he prompts her to finish the story.
"He did a skoogerfy." She explains, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice as though this is nothing at all.
"A scourgify?" Harry asks.
Daisy nods. "Tha's what I said. A boy spilled his paint and Mr. Black went to clean it but I was sitting real close, and I heard him say the spell."
Harry frowns, unsure of what to make of this.
"My teacher read a story about you." Daisy informs Harry a week later.
Harry looks up from his book sharply.
"In front of muggles?" He's torn between curiosity and anger; This was precisely what he hoped to avoid by sending Daisy to a muggle school.
Daisy nods. "But they don't know it's a truth. They think it's a make believe." She continues matter-of-factly. "And Mr. Black told it wrong, anyway."
"So how do you know it was about me?" Harry relaxes slightly, starting to think Daisy's tales of Mr. Black might be subject to a healthy dose of childhood imagination.
Daisy rolls her eyes, a gesture so reminiscent of Hermione that Harry snorts back a huff of laughter.
"Duhhhh, Daddy," She says, tapping a finger to her forehead meaningfully.
The third time Daisy brings up her teacher, Harry bristles.
"I think I should go have a talk with your teacher," His tone is clipped, and he has to remind himself that it isn't Daisy's fault that her teacher seems at liberty using magic around muggles.
"Oh!" Daisy claps her hands together. "I think Mr. Black would really like that!"
Harry frowns, confused. He hadn't meant it to be a good thing.
"I think he is one of your fans, Daddy. Stories about you is his favourites."
Harry raps sharply on the metal door plastered with colourful drawings of amorphous blobs.
"Come in," A voice from inside calls. A low voice, smooth and pleasant.
"I'm here to speak with you about my daughter, Daisy." He says as he enters.
"Potter?"
Harry snaps up towards the voice.
Draco Malfoy stares back at him.
Harry turns on his heel and walks out the door.
The telephone rings late, long after he's put Daisy to sleep.
"Hello?"
"Potter?"
Harry sighs, but doesn't hang up.
"I didn't mean to freak you out earlier. I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Okay." Harry responds, taken aback. He doesn't know where to put Malfoy's tone, or how to react to this out-of-the-blue call.
"No, Potter. Not about this. I'm sorry. About everything. I'm…" The man on the other end of the line takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm really sorry."
Harry feels a little numb, and is startled to feel a strangled laugh escape him.
Malfoy responds in kind.
"I'll come in tomorrow to talk," Harry says finally, because he can't think of anything else to say.
"Nobody in the wizarding world would ever hire me." Draco explains with an almost timid shrug.
Harry has spent the past hour with him, talking.
Meeting, really.
He has no idea how he feels about the man in front of him.
He knows its different from how he feels about Draco Malfoy.
But he knows the flip flop at the bottom of his stomach, the knots and the butterflies, are the same.
They've all changed.
Harry has changed. Ron and Hermione, too.
If Ginny could become the person she became, changing so much for the worse…
Why was it so hard to swallow the fact that Draco had changed as much for the better?
"It might sound paranoid, but they're the only people I trust." Draco says with his shrug when Harry asks why here, why children, why teaching.
Harry wants to say something snarky, but it gets caught coming out.
He nods tightly instead.
He understands.
Daisy's stories of Mr. Black never diminish. It helps Harry when she calls him Mr. Black, because he doesn't feel guilty about liking Mr. Black as he does about liking Draco Malfoy.
It doesn't make him feel guilty to dream about Mr. Black, the way it always did when he dreamed about Draco Malfoy.
"You know, your daughter looks nothing like you." Draco tells him.
Harry swallows thickly.
"I know."
The last day of school, Daisy skips to Draco's desk after class with a carefully wrapped present in hand. She's wearing her favourite outfit, the printed floral skirt with ruffles and bows that Molly made her last year. Harry watches from the doorway, wondering when his little girl got so big.
Daisy slides the box towards Draco.
"It's magic." She whispers conspiratorially.
Harry watches Draco's eyebrows shoot up. His lips quirk in a grin. Their eyes meet over Daisy's head, and Harry can't help but return the carefree smile. A second later, the guilt punches him in the gut and he blinks, looks away, tries to forget how beautiful that tiny grin was.
"I miss Mr. Black," Daisy is walking hand in hand with Harry, her pink boots crunching in the snow underneath.
"You don't like Ms. McKay?" Harry asks, concerned.
Daisy shakes her head.
"Ms. McKay is alright, Daddy. But she isn't a witch."
"Daisy," Harry tells her, "It's a muggle school. Nobody else is going to be magic there."
Her tiny fingers tighten their grip on his palm.
"I know." She says quietly. She nods, resolute. "I know." She repeats more firmly.
Not for the first time, Harry questions whether he should have pulled her from the school the second he saw Draco Malfoy.
Truth be told, Harry misses Draco, too.
Harry's resolve breaks a week later. He dials the number with shaking fingers. He doesn't really know why he's calling Draco. He doesn't know what he wants from him.
How he feels for him.
All he knows is that he wants to hear that voice, talk to the quiet, fiercely caring man who he got to know last year while Daisy played with dolls in the corner of the class.
"Mr. Black is coming over for dinner tonight." Harry attempts to sound casual, leaning against the doorframe of Daisy's room.
His daughter looks up, her face splitting into a huge smile. Her blue eyes light up, and she is so perfect, and Harry is nearly overwhelmed with love. He wants to rush forward, hug her, kiss her, never let her go.
Instead, he tucks his hands into his pockets, clenching his fists so she doesn't notice how shaky he is.
Draco arrives with a bouquet of daisies, which he presents solemnly to the little girl. Daisy giggles and clambers to hug him.
"I can hug you now, right? Since you're not my teacher?" She asks into his ear.
Draco's laugh is warm and rich and Harry's heart squeezes.
"Mr. Black, I told my Daddy that his stories are your favourite. They are your favourite, right?"
Draco blushes, and looks down at his plate.
Harry blushes too.
"Your father is a hero. You're lucky to have him."
Draco sits at the kitchen table while Harry puts a protesting Daisy to bed.
When he gets back down, Draco is frowning into his mug of tea.
"She's such a beautiful girl." Draco tells him.
Harry knows this. She's his life.
"I don't mean to pry, but… She's never mentioned her mother."
"She doesn't have one." Harry says, his voice rough.
Draco hesitates, as though to comment, but then closes his mouth and stares at his tea again.
Harry doesn't mind when Draco becomes a weekly visitor.
He pretends it is for Daisy, whose adoration for him is almost reverent.
Every week, he sits slightly closer to Draco on the couch while they watch Daisy playing, or telling them stories, or singing them songs.
After Daisy goes to sleep, they always talk. Harry learns about Draco, Draco learns about Harry. They talk about their pasts, too. Their childhoods, their families, their lives.
The only thing that is never mentioned is Daisy's mother.
"Who is Mr. Black?" Molly finally asks one afternoon, almost absently as she stirs a bowl of cake batter.
Harry looks up from his cutting board.
"Daisy's old nursery teacher." He responds carefully.
Molly nods, her brow furrowing slightly. "I thought so. I hadn't realized you two were such good friends."
Harry stops breathing. Were they?
He supposes they are.
His heart is hammering as he considers this.
He thinks of Draco's smile, his laugh, his eyes, his hands, everything about him.
"Yeah. Friends." He spits out.
Hermione hugs him tightly after lunch one afternoon. The swell of her pregnant belly presses into his abdomen, and he's caught off guard by a flash of a memory from six years ago.
"Molly says you've been having someone round a lot." She confides when she pulls back.
"I'm not - " Harry doesn't finish the sentence, because he's not sure how.
"I think it's brilliant, Harry. It doesn't matter that it's a man. I'm so happy for you. So happy you've found someone. You know that, right? You know we don't care who it is?"
Harry doesn't know what to say.
He should correct her assumption that he's seeing anyone. Her assumption that he's gay.
He doesn't.
"Daisy's at Ron and Hermione's house tonight." Harry blurts as he opens the door.
Draco steps inside with a raised eyebrow.
"So it's just us, then."
"Just us." Harry echoes.
He takes a small step closer.
Draco closes the space between them.
They decide to tell Daisy after they've been stealing kisses for a month. Harry doesn't want to, because he knows she'll tell the Weasleys.
Hermione's words echo through his head.
They won't care that's he's dating Mr. Black.
They'll be happy for him.
They don't need to know he's dating Draco Malfoy.
Daisy squeals, hops, dances, whoops, plants a giant wet kiss on Harry's cheek and skips over to Draco.
"Will you come live with us, then?" She demands of Draco, as she hugs him tightly.
Harry blushes, meeting Draco's even gaze and trying to silently apologize for her bluntness.
"All in due time, Love." Draco responds, squeezing her back.
It occurs to Harry that the two most beautiful people in the world are on his couch, and they're both his.
"May I call you Draco now, Mr. Black? Since you're my Daddy's boyfriend and all?" Daisy asks.
Draco frowns, and looks over at Harry.
He hesitates, but nods.
He knows what this means, but he almost doesn't care.
Hermione's words swim in front of him.
They're happy he's found someone.
They don't care who it is.
It's Ron who first puts the pieces together.
"Harry." His voice sounds strangled. "You have to think of Daisy."
Harry means to defend Draco, but he just stares at the wall.
Ron sighs.
"I have to tell Mum. You understand, don't you? I'm not saying he's a bad guy. I'm sure he's changed, because hell, if you can forgive him then he must have changed. And, if you were friend's, it'd be one thing. But… It's not like you to take risks like this around Daisy. And bloody hell, they let him teach children?"
Daisy's school year finishes next month, and they've put together a show for the parents. Draco is coming with him. Resolutely, Harry invites the Weasleys.
Hermione doesn't even hesitate to accept.
Molly bursts into tears.
Draco wants to go to the Burrow with him to meet his family properly.
Harry stares at him for a long time when he says this, whispers it in his ear as they lie together in his bed, their legs tangled together under the duvet.
This is his Draco, his beautiful, strong, determined Draco.
If only they could see this Draco, instead of the old one.
Daisy is wearing a sparkly red dress that Draco and her picked out together on one of their many shopping trips. It warms Harry's heart to see them together, how much they love each other like he loves both of them.
Daisy grabs Draco's hand and drags him towards the Burrow, yammering about her family.
Harry smiles, watching them go.
No matter what anyone says, Harry knows that this is right for him and Daisy.
It took him a while to admit it, but now that he has he won't let go of that.
Ginny opens the door.
Harry's heart slams to a halt.
Draco knows.
Harry knows that Draco knows, because Draco isn't stupid and Daisy has Ron's eyes.
Harry closes his eyes. He feels like he is rooted to the ground, three feet from the door.
Daisy's voice sounds through the fog, high and clear.
"You look like my Nana." She says, curious.
Harry's eyes snap open when someone inhales sharply.
He realizes it was him.
Draco looks deathly pale next to Daisy, who has skirted behind him and is staring at Ginny with wide eyes. Her tiny hands are fisted in the legs of Draco's trousers.
Ginny looks down at Daisy, and Harry sees the resemblance, oh God he sees how much they look alike.
"Get away from her, Malfoy." Ginny's voice is hard and cold.
Daisy looks scared now, unsure of what is happening.
"Draco?" His daughter whispers, tearing her eyes away from Ginny to stare up into calm grey eyes. "Who is she?"
"I'm not sure." Draco's voice sounds distant.
Ginny moves quickly, and Harry wishes he had been just a step closer, so he could have gathered up his daughter, scooped her up like he used to when she was a baby.
Ginny grabs Daisy's arm and tugs her from behind Draco.
"Look at you!" Ginny exclaims, and her words sound fake, and Harry wonders if they are. "Do you remember me?"
Daisy's bottom lip quivers, and she shakes her head, her curls bobbing and trembling.
"Draco?" She echoes, tears starting to fall from her eyes.
Ginny pulls her into a tight hug, and Daisy struggles backwards to break free.
It can't be more than a second before Harry is there, next to Draco, his arms wide to grab Daisy when she stumbles out of Ginny's grasp.
"Daddy?" She asks, voice small. "Who is the lady?"
"Oh for fuck's sake!" Ginny sounds exasperated. "You never told her, did you, you bastard?"
Harry is silent, holding the snivelling girl close, rubbing comforting circles against her back.
"Why are you here?" Draco asks, and Harry closes his eyes, grateful, so grateful, that Draco knows what to say, what to do.
"I'm here to make sure you stay the fuck away from my daughter, Malfoy."
Harry stiffens at her words. He wants to cover Daisy's ears, but it's too late.
Molly apologizes, but Harry doesn't listen.
"She had a right to know," She blubbers. "If it were anyone else, then maybe this would have been different, but she had a right to know!"
Harry has spent the past fifteen minutes consoling Daisy, who is trembling and crying and looks so pale, so fragile, so broken.
Finally it is Draco who comes to them, lays a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry feels himself relax under that touch.
"Hush now, Love," Draco whispers, and Harry isn't sure which of them he's addressing.
Harry wordlessly transfers the small girl to Draco's arms, and Daisy clings to Draco and turns her tear-streaked face into his shirt.
Molly is watching from the door, looking stunned.
Ginny is beside her, looking furious.
"It's simple," Ginny shrugs, leaning back against the counter.
Daisy is upstairs with Molly, who finally manages to distract her and carries her off with a pained look at Harry. Harry flinches, surprised at how coldly he feels towards her in that moment.
Now Ginny is talking, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
The blankness is threatening to come back, but this time, Draco keeps it at bay. Their hands are joined tightly, grounding him, keeping him here.
"You have no right," Draco says softly.
Ginny's brown eyes flash angrily.
"Don't tell me what I have a right to, you Death Eater scum. She's my fucking daughter, and I'm taking her."
"She's Harry's daughter. You don't know her. She's Harry's." Draco's voice, still calm, is firm. He doesn't add anything else, but the slight hitch in his breath lets Harry know what he was thinking.
And mine.
Somewhere in the last year, Daisy had become Draco's, as well.
Ginny snorts.
Harry knows what she's thinking, too.
He tries twice before the words come out as more than a hoarse croak.
"She's not mine."
They won't stand a chance against the courts.
Harry is not her biological father.
Harry is just a stranger who wants to raise a little girl with a Death Eater.
Draco knows this.
He kisses Harry softly, and Harry feels a prickle behind his eyes because it's not just a kiss.
It's a goodbye.
Daisy stops talking.
She won't talk to Molly, nor to Hermione, not even to Ron, who normally pulls her out of her shell like nobody else can.
Molly won't let Ginny leave the Burrow, and Harry is eternally grateful for that fact.
Perhaps for the last time, it's just the two of them at home, as it always was.
Harry explains to Daisy that Ginny left, but he doesn't explain why she came back now. Daisy just cries, hangs on to Harry while he reassures her that he'll always be there, no matter what happens, he'll always love her.
Daisy refuses to sleep alone now, and cries whenever Harry leaves the room. Harry stops sleeping, instead spending the night watching the tiny girl curled beside him in his bed.
Every morning, when Daisy wakes up, he's afraid the doorbell is going to ring, and Ginny will take away his daughter. His brightness.
He's afraid that Daisy realizes this.
He wants to cry, but he has to be strong for Daisy.
He wants to be strong, but he feels like his strength left with Draco.
When Ginny does come, she has an order from the court. She brings a teddy bear for Daisy, but Daisy refuses to take it.
Ron came over with Ginny, and Harry can see that he's been shouting. His eyes are bloodshot, and he looks like crap. Harry wonders how long he'd been trying to talk Ginny out of this.
Daisy won't let go of Harry, sobbing and shrieking as Ginny tries to coax her to the door. When Ginny finally pulls her free, Harry buckles, and Ron rushes forward to catch him. He vaguely hears the door click shut, but the blankness is back and he sags against his best friend, weeping like a child.
Harry doesn't know how many days pass.
Ron brings him to the Burrow.
Ginny is gone.
Daisy is gone.
Molly fusses over him, apologizing the only way she knows how.
Daisy is gone.
It feels like nothing ever happened, like it's the day after the battle.
Daisy is gone.
Hermione speaks to him every night, but he never hears what she's saying. He catches the word 'Draco', and like that solid hand on his shoulder, the whisper in his ear, it penetrates the blankness.
But then he remembers; Draco is gone, too.
He's all alone.
He's always been all alone.
Why did he even let himself think that anything was his?
"Has he eaten anything since he got here?"
Harry knows that voice. Harry knows that voice, its the voice through the blankness, but what is it doing here? Draco is gone. He must be dreaming.
"He's been fucking catatonic for two weeks! What do you mean there isn't cause to bring him to St. Mungo's?"
The blankness is retreating. Where is he?
"Nutrient potions aren't enough, Granger. I know you're trying, but for fuck's sake. He won't keep anything down?"
The Burrow? Why is he at the Burrow? Where is Daisy?
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you. We could have fought. We should have fought. Harry, please. Please come back."
The voice is so close now.
Is it Draco? No, it's a dream.
Harry smiles, brings a hand up to the smooth jawline of his lover.
A lovely dream.
But where is Daisy?
Draco sighs, and Harry realizes he asked the question out loud.
Daisy isn't doing well. Harry doesn't need to be there to know that, he could have told anyone this.
"She's scared of having her bedroom door shut at night." He says.
Nobody answers Harry, so he speaks louder.
"Can you make sure Daisy's door is left open? She gets scared if it's closed at night."
Draco is beside him, has been for days, running a gentle hand up and down Harry's back, soothing him.
"And she won't eat pumpkin pasties. She doesn't like them. She likes pumpkin juice though. Only when it's ice cold. Can you make sure her juice is cold enough?"
Draco makes a noise at the back of his throat, like he's stopping himself from saying something.
Molly leaves the house at lunchtime each day, and when she comes back she looks bone tired. She starts cooking immediately, fussing over Harry, and that's how he knows something is bothering her. Draco will sometimes talk when Molly comes to straighten Harry's blankets, and Harry vaguely registers that there is no animosity in their tones.
"Is she speaking yet?" Draco asks.
Molly says something quietly, but Harry doesn't hear it. Firm hands tuck blankets tightly around him.
"And Ginny is still determined to…" Draco trails off.
Suddenly the hands are gone, and Harry hears a woman crying.
"She says… She says they need a fresh start." The words are gasped between sobs.
"Just once."
Harry blinks at the voice. He knows it, but he's never heard that tone before.
"Please, just once. We'll leave you alone, but please, just bring her over to say goodbye. Please, just once. We'll never bother you after you leave, but let us say goodbye."
Draco is the one who is supposed to sound composed. Draco never sounds like that. His tone is always measured, his words controlled.
Harry isn't sure he's ever heard anyone sound as raw and desperate as the voice he now hears talking into the floo.
"She loved him once," Hermione is saying, her voice close to Harry.
"Hard to believe, given she'd do this to him." Draco's voice is dry and bitter again.
There's a pause, and a part of Harry, the part that hasn't been swallowed up by the blankness, can almost see Hermione cock her head, hands on her hips.
"Can't you put yourself in her shoes? She missed six years of her daughter's life. Don't forget that, Draco. Daisy is her daughter." Hermione points out.
Harry's heart squeezes at his daughter's name.
"No." Draco's tone is flat. "She really isn't."
"Harry."
Harry blinks open his eyes at the sound of the quiet voice, tender and caring.
"Harry, Ginny is bringing Daisy over."
Harry closes his eyes, opens them again.
"Harry, don't you want to get up and see Daisy?"
When it comes back it's too much, and he starts to cry. Daisy is in his arms, real and solid.
"Don't cry, Daddy." She whispers, her small arms around his neck. He squeezes her tightly, so tightly.
"I've a small place in Dublin rented out, we'll be leaving as soon as the lease is up on my flat." Ginny is saying beside him, but Harry isn't listening.
He is never letting go of Daisy again.
"Where's Draco?" Harry asks, and Ginny huffs.
"Did you hear me, Harry? We're leaving soon. To Dublin."
"Where's Draco?" Harry asks again.
"Here, Harry." Draco enters the room and sits beside Harry on the couch. Harry relaxes immediately, fitting himself against Draco's side.
He hears Draco exhale, and bring an arm up to encircle the both of them - Harry and Daisy - in his arms.
"Thank you." Harry murmurs into Draco's shoulder while Daisy scrunches and wriggles to make herself comfortable between them.
"For what?"
"Thank you," Harry repeats, more firmly, hoping Draco understands that now they are all exactly where they belong again.
"Why now, Gin? That's all I need to know."
Ron is standing in front of her at the table, his arms crossed.
Daisy has fallen asleep in Harry's arms, having spent the morning chattering away like no time has passed.
Her head rests against his chest, her feet in Draco's lap.
They are all exactly where they belong again.
Ginny shrugs. "I wasn't ready to be a mother before. Now I am."
"And you think you can just decide that? You think this is about you being ready or not? Daisy didn't ask for any of this. Neither did Harry, Ginny. This wasn't Harry's mess, and you gave it to him when it suited you, and now you want to take it back."
Ginny has the decency to shirk back. "I'm sorry he got hurt. I really am." Ron's lip curls.
"No you aren't. If you were, you'd work something out. Dublin, Gin? Where did that come from?"
"There's nothing to work out, Ron!" Ginny shrieks shrilly. "She can't be around a Death Eater! My daughter cannot be around the people that did this!"
Silence descends in the small kitchen, thick and weighty.
"Did what?" Ron finally ventures.
Ginny does not answer.
"Ginny," Ron tries again, "What did the Death Eaters do?"
"I thought..." Ginny's voice breaks, "I thought I could convince myself that she was Harry's, instead. I thought I could forget whose she was, and Harry and I could be the family we were supposed to be."
"I missed you too, Draco. Almost as much as I missed Daddy. Nana said you weren't allowed to visit me, and that made me sad. Nana says I'm going to move away with my Mum."
Daisy chatters absently while she makes her unicorn doll jump over imaginary hilltops.
"Daisy?" Draco ventures, "Do you want to move away with your Mum?"
Daisy shrugs. "My mum is okay. She bought me a lot of toys. Will you and Daddy come with us when we leave?"
Harry can't listen any more. He tells Draco to stop, and Draco purses his lips like he doesn't quite want to. But if they keep talking, he'll have to tell Daisy that he isn't her Daddy anymore.
"Daisy and I are leaving in an hour." Ginny says.
Harry stiffens, as does the small girl in his arms. They haven't been separated for the entire two days she has been back. At Draco's urging, Harry has been walking around, talking to the Weasleys, playing with Daisy.
The whole time, Daisy has been in his arms, clinging to his side like an overgrown koala. The only time Molly suggested she might want to walk on her own and just hold Harry's hand, it took twenty minutes to calm down her screaming.
"Can Daddy come with us, Mum? Please?" Daisy's tiny voice offers.
Ginny's head snaps to her, looking visibly surprised.
Harry knows by Ginny's face that it is the first time Daisy has spoken to her.
Harry waits for Ginny's answer, but Ginny gives none.
Harry counts the hour out in minutes, singing silly songs into Daisy's ear and trying to distract her before she asks questions.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Ginny watching them, her expression unreadable.
His breath hitches when Draco comes to stand beside her.
"Daddy!" Daisy squeals, "You already sang that part!"
"I saw you when she first got here," Ginny is saying to Draco.
"I didn't think I'd ever see her again."
"You really love her."
"More than you could even know." Draco admits softly.
"You think I can't? She's my daughter!" Ginny snaps. Harry flinches, certain that Draco has pressed the wrong button, but he soldiers on.
"If you loved her half as much, you'd see how much you're hurting her."
Ginny's face falls, crumples.
"She hurts me." Ginny says finally, her voice smaller than Harry ever remembered it being. "I want to love her, but I see them every time I look at her. I remember who she is. How she got here. I know it's not her fault. She didn't ask for them to... She didn't..."
"I understand." Draco says, cutting her off. His voice cracks a little, and he repeats it.
Ginny looks up, and Harry is puzzled by the look they share. Mutual understanding. Empathy.
Harry frowns. What does Draco know? How does Daisy hurt Ginny?
Daisy doesn't leave that night. They fall asleep in Ron's old room, under that familiar violent orange quilt. Draco comes in when Harry is on the cusp of falling asleep, Daisy's warmth at his side a constant comfort.
"Ginny is going to let Daisy come home." He says, sitting at the edge of the bed and taking Harry's hand.
Harry's heart speeds up, his fingers clenching around Draco's.
"What? Why? How?" He stammers, stutters, his mind barely catching up with his mouth.
"We talked." Draco shrugs.
"It must have been a hell of a talk." Harry frowns.
Draco nods an affirmative, tight and business-like.
"Draco, talk to me."
"It's Ginny's story to tell."
Sometimes, Harry finds it hard to believe that his beautiful daughter, so light, pure, joyful, could be the product of something so horrible.
But, then again, it almost seems appropriate.
His Daisy races ahead of him, calling back for him and Draco to hurry up. Draco laughs and pulls Harry in for a kiss before Daisy turns around and catches them.
"You two are gross!" She calls, her wide smile betraying her irritated tone.
"Mind your tongue, Love, or I'll march over there and kiss you, too!" Draco reprimands with his own smile.
"Draco! I'm nearly eleven!" Daisy cries. "I'm too old for that!"
"Oh?" Harry teases, "shall I ring up Nana then, and tell her you're too old for her sweets, too?"
Daisy gasps. "You wouldn't!"
Harry nods solemnly. "I would. After all, you're nearly a grown-up now, and Nana never sneaks grown-ups an extra helping of pudding."
"Well, if we don't hurry up, I'll never get my school robes and then we'll never make it to Nana's anyway!" Daisy retorts, her hands on her hips.
Harry laughs and rushes ahead, pulling Draco with him.
"I can't believe we're shopping for Hogwarts already," Draco murmurs softly in his ear as the bell on Madame Malkin's door jingles.
"Neither can I. Neither can any of us, I reckon. Oh, that reminds me. Ginny is coming to the Burrow tonight, too, to see Daisy once more before school."
"Good," Draco nods, "she doesn't come 'round nearly enough."
Daisy is talking with Madame Malkin, fairly buzzing with excitement.
The war brought so much darkness to all of them.
In a way, it almost seems appropriate that this little girl, born from that darkness, could bathe the world in light again.
fin