Title: Untouched by the Shadows of War

Pairing: None

Harry Potter didn't want to leave Potter Manor. He had been holed up for the past five years, ever since the war ended when he vanquished Voldemort. He hadn't left the grounds for any reason; that's where house-elves came in handy. And much to his friends' annoyance, he hadn't allowed any visitors either.

"Daddy!"

Laughing, Harry scooped the reason for his self-isolation up in his arms. James Sirius Potter—once Teddy Lupin—meant more to him that anything. Following the final battle, Harry had fled to his godson's secret location and performed a ritual to adopt him. He knew firsthand the pain of mutilated and frayed mental bonds, and he wouldn't let Teddy, now James, experience it longer than was absolutely necessary.

"Hello, James," said Harry. He kissed the ebony black hair that was identical to his own, grateful that the blood adoption had eliminated the Metamorphmagus gene. He didn't want anyone to know who James's parents had been. Being part werewolf, though he didn't exhibit any of the traits, would lead to bullying and discrimination. Harry wasn't going to let that happen. As far as James was concerned, Harry was his father and his mother had died birthing him.

"I'm five now!" James exclaimed. He held a hand out and wiggled all of his fingers, as if Harry didn't know. He was always so rambunctious. Harry never wanted that to change; he didn't want James's eyes—also identical to his own—to fill with shadows and horrors.

"You're such a big boy," Harry teased. He tickled James with one hand, and kept a firm hold on him with the other. It had taken a while for him to become accustomed to holding James without worrying that he would drop him. He had eventually gotten the hang of it, though.

"We're going to Diagon Alley!" James yelled. He threw his arms around Harry's shoulders and hugged him tightly.

Harry swallowed, regretting the promise he had made to his son. He didn't want anyone to find out about James. Surely, some people would attempt to kidnap him just for being Harry Potter's son. However, it was hard to deny James anything, and James had begged for a trip to Diagon Alley since Harry first told him stories about it. He had finally conceded and said they would go on James's fifth birthday.

"Yes, kiddo, we are," Harry agreed.

He hugged James and inhaled the scent of chocolate and dirt. James loved chocolate, like Remus Lupin had, and was constantly digging in the garden. Keeping him clean was almost a full-time job in itself.

The reactions to his reappearance would be spectacular. Harry didn't doubt that in the least. He hadn't attended the funerals, galas, or Ministry award ceremonies. No one knew where he had vanished off to or what he had been doing. And when he resurfaced with his son . . . it would be chaos.

"Do you remember what I said?" asked Harry, just making sure one final time.

James huffed. "You already asked me five times, Daddy!" he complained.

Harry tweaked his nose. "That's because you're five years old now, kiddo," Harry said, before kissing James's forehead.

"Never leave your sight, don't let go of your hand, and scream really loud if anyone tries to touch me, unless you say they can," James repeated. He pouted. "I remember. Can we go yet?"

Harry wanted to say no. He wanted to cancel the whole trip and erase James's memory of his promise. But Harry had never been someone who broke his promises, and he wasn't going to start now with his son. "Yes. We can go." Harry took a deep breath, braced himself for the havoc that was going to happen, and Disapparated.

He landed in the Leaky Cauldron without the loud crack that usually accompanied Apparation. He had trained himself to eliminate it the year he was on the run with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger; the slightest noise back then could lead to torture and death, something of which he wanted no part.

"Wow!" James said, craning his neck to check his surroundings.

Harry glanced around, shocked to see how it had changed. Tom was gone—long dead in the war. However, he hadn't expected to see Hannah Abbot, if she was still unbonded, tending the bar. Her hair wasn't in pigtails now, and the scar on her face had faded a great deal. He still remembered seeing the curse slice open her skin down to the cheekbone in the Great Hall.

Hannah's eyes widened as she caught sight of him, and for a moment Harry was terrified that she would shriek his name in surprise and announce his presence. He had considered coming under a glamour charm, but he wouldn't do that to James. He had spent too long teaching James not to trust strangers, and James might forget Harry looked like someone else if he scooped him up or grabbed him if they needed to leave in a hurry.

"Drinks are half-price for the next ten minutes!" Hannah announced, drawing the attention of everyone in the pub.

A Hufflepuff to the bone, that witch. Harry appreciated her loyalty and discretion. He inclined his head to her and left out the back door while the occupants were distracted.

"I want to walk," James said.

Giving in to the inevitable, Harry set James down on his feet, and then took his hand. He tapped the Elder Wand against the bricks; the wall opened. James's jaw dropped, his eyes popped, and Harry chuckled. He had been just as excited to see Diagon Alley when he was eleven. A glance was all it took to confirm that it had long since recovered from the war. Wizards and witches bustled past without fear, and all of the shops were open for business.

It made Harry feel nostalgic.

James tugged on his hand. "Come on, Daddy. Let's go."

Harry allowed James to drag him into Diagon Alley. They made it all of eight steps before a witch dropped the parcels she was carrying onto the ground and stared at them. The reaction spread from there. He dealt with it as whispers spread, his name echoing off every tongue in the crowd. However, when anyone stared too closely at James, he glared. His worst fear was that something would happen to his son, that he would lose James as he had lost his parents, his godfather, Remus, and all his closest mentors in the war.

Severus Snape's death still haunted him. If only he had possessed the Elder Wand then, he would've been able to save him.

"Oh, brooms!" James yelled, before running to Quality Quidditch Supplies. Harry had to lengthen his stride so James didn't get hauled off his feet. James pressed his nose to the glass, ignoring the children and teenagers who gaped at Harry, before pouting. "Aww, I already have the Lightning Bolt. Haven't they made something faster yet, Daddy? That's been out since Yule."

Harry snorted. James was as addicted to flying as Harry was, and always complained that brooms never went fast enough. Considering the Lightning Bolt was twice as fast as the Firebolt Sirius had bought him, he had already reached the conclusion that his son was an adrenaline junkie. He wasn't looking forward to the letters that would come home from Hogwarts, detailing James's ridiculous escapades. He would probably make his House Quidditch team the first day of term.

"I guess not, James," Harry said, grinning. James's enthusiasm always made him smile; he was bright and innocent, untouched by the horrors of war.

"You could make a faster one!" James insisted, turning puppy dog eyes on Harry.

Harry laughed and ruffled James's hair. "Your broom is plenty fast, James. Maybe when you're older."

"Fine," James said, stretching out the word as if his answer was a great concession. "I want to go to that ice cream shop you told me about. Please, Daddy!"

"Of course, James. You can have whatever you want," Harry said. It was hard to balance not spoiling James with making sure he didn't feel neglected. Harry knew what it was like to grow up with nothing; Dudley Dursley's old clothes and toys had been broken or worn out by the time he got them. He hadn't been given anything new after his parents died until he went shopping for his first-year Hogwarts' supplies. He wouldn't let James experience that deprivation. Yet, he wouldn't spoil him rotten as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had spoiled Dudley.

When they walked into Florean Fortescue's, everyone in line gawped and moved to the side as James pulled him to the front. Harry didn't think his son even noticed, but Harry did. He kept a careful eye on the other customers as James pressed his free hand against the glass casing and looked at all the ice cream inside.

"What can I get for you, young man?"

The man behind the counter wasn't Florean, and Harry wondered if it was his son; there was a certain family resemblance.

"It's my birthday!" James declared, a grin on his face. "I'm five." He held up his free hand and wiggled all his fingers.

The man chuckled. "How about a birthday special then," he said. "On the house," he added, after bowing his head to Harry.

"Yay! I want that!" James clapped his hands, catching Harry's every time since they were still holding hands. "Can I have it, Daddy?"

"No strawberries," Harry told Florean's son. One of the scariest days of his life was when he discovered that James was allergic to strawberries. James had almost died; it had been a close thing. Without the Elder Wand, he wouldn't have a son anymore.

"Of course." He bowed fully this time, and then concocted James's birthday sundae.

Harry watched him like a Thestral eying its prey the entire time. He had been gone for five years, and he had no idea who might secretly want him dead. People could hold grudges for a very long time.

"Here you go, lad."

"Thank you!" Harry let go of James's hand and set his son in one of the chairs at a nearby table, before Levitating the sundae in front of him. James dug in.

After Harry sat down—ensuring his back was to the wall, so he could keep an eye on everyone—the shopkeeper walked over and handed Harry a cone piled high with chocolate ice cream. "My dad said it was your favorite the summer after your second year."

"It was," Harry said, recalling back when his biggest problem was Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban. "Thank you."

He ate the ice cream in silence, mostly because James's mouth was full. His son was a chatterbox, but he knew Harry's stance on proper manners. Ron's bad habits had annoyed him to no end, and he wouldn't allow the purebloods any chance to mock his son at Hogwarts; James was Heir Potter, and he always seemed to know when he was supposed to behave like it and when he could goof off.

The amount of people staring at them grew, as crowds amassed outside the shop to ogle him and James. He was grateful James was facing the other direction, because all the staring would've surely freaked him out, and then Harry would get upset because James was upset, and things tended to explode when Harry was riled; that hadn't changed over the years. His magic had always reacted to his emotions.

Florean's son walked over to their table after serving a few more customers. "Will your wife be joining you, Lord Potter? Should I prepare something?"

"Mum can't come," James said as he set his spoon next to his empty bowl. "She's with Grandpa and Grandmum Potter."

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't kn-know." The man paled and bowed again as if afraid he had mortally insulted them with his question.

"No, you didn't know," Harry agreed in dismissal. He despised the pitying glances that came from those nearest, who had overheard. His wife's death would be common knowledge by nightfall. And given that James had loudly announced his age, everyone would assume Harry had fallen in love and bonded the year he was missing—that is, hunting for Horcruxes. Even Ron and Hermione would probably buy that, because he had wandered off on his own several times.

Harry hadn't bonded yet, and he didn't intend to for at least ten more years. He didn't want a wife that was tainted by the shadows of war. He didn't want to be bound to someone who had watched others die, and whose memories were scarred by agony and suffering. He didn't want to be woken at night by tears and nightmares, or to feel waves of fear seep down his bond. He wanted light, happiness, and purity, and Harry would wait as long as he had to in order to get that for himself.

"You're Lord Harry Potter."

He glanced down, shocked that he hadn't noticed anyone approaching their table. It wasn't wise to delve that deeply inside his mind in public. He was, however, unsurprised that it was a child who finally gathered the gumption to approach him. On the other hand, he hadn't expected a miniature copy of Draco Malfoy to want anything to do with him.

"I am," Harry agreed, a smile on his face. Except for the wavy hair that fell to his chin, he looked so much like Draco that it was uncanny. Though people likely thought the same about him and James. "Who're you, kiddo?"

The boy executed a textbook bow and said, "Master Scorpius Malfoy." Then, seemingly satisfied with the level of propriety he had exhibited, he clambered onto Harry's lap, stunning Harry in the process. "Father's been waiting years for you to come back. He's been worried lately that you wouldn't show up in time."

"In time for what?" Harry asked, dazed. Draco Malfoy had been worried about him? Yes, they had worked out a truce of sorts, and saved each other's lives, but that didn't explain Scorpius's reaction to him.

"My fostering, of course," Scorpius said. He smiled; a Malfoy was smiling at him. It was a lot to take in. "He says you're the only wizard he knows who would kill to keep me safe, so he doesn't want to foster me with anyone else."

James goggled at them, and then stood up in his chair. He knew what fostering was, and he also knew that Harry would never allow him to be fostered. He didn't trust anyone to watch over his son for a whole year. Who knows what they would try to teach him? "Daddy, did you get me a brother for my birthday?" James asked. He jumped off the chair, ran around the table, and climbed onto Harry's lap as well; it wasn't easy. Two five-year-olds took up a fair amount of space.

"Who are you?" Scorpius asked. He glanced at James, nose in the air.

"Heir James Potter, your new brother!" James exclaimed. Before Scorpius had a chance to react, James hugged Scorpius tightly. He rubbed his cheek against Scorpius's, ignoring all of Scorpius's stuttering and struggling. It was the funniest thing Harry had seen in years.

But for all his protestations, it didn't escape Harry's notice that Scorpius wasn't fighting all that hard to get away. And Scorpius hadn't threatened even once to tell his father about James attempting to smother him, which was how Scorpius might have viewed James's overenthusiastic hug. There was no getting around the fact that James was very affectionate, and that was something Scorpius would have to get used to if Draco really did ask Harry to foster him. If Harry accepted, of course.

There was a commotion at the front of the shop, and Harry looked up to see Draco Malfoy pushing his way through the crowd. A strand of silver magic glowed in his hand as he followed it. The panic in his eyes was replaced by relief as soon as he spotted Scorpius. Then he scowled. "Scorpius Malfoy."

"Eep." Scorpius stilled, allowing James to hug him more closely. "Yes, Father?"

"What did I tell—?"

"But I found Harry Potter! See, he's right here!" Scorpius pointed right in his face, and Harry smirked when Draco winced at the disrespectful action.

Draco winced again when James grabbed Scorpius's hand, pulled it down, and announced, "Pointing at people is rude. Daddy says it's not nice and I should never do it. Since you're my brother, you can't either."

"I beg your pardon?" Draco looked pole-axed, which sent Harry into a fit of quiet snickers. "Brother?"

"Yes!" James smiled winsomely. "Scorpius said that you're giving him to Daddy for a year. A brother is a good birthday present. Thank you, Heir Malfoy."

Draco sighed and walked over to the table, where he proceeded to lift Scorpius off Harry's lap as Harry untangled James's arms from around Scorpius. Draco perched Scorpius on his hip and smiled ruefully. "I never thought the next generation of Potters would be even more mental."

Harry snickered, not taking offense in the least. That was just how he and Draco had always communicated. "And I never thought the next generation of Malfoys would know how to smile."

"Very funny," Draco said, before rolling his eyes. He glanced down at Scorpius who was leaning against his chest and staring at James as if he were a strange, unknown creature. "Would you like to come to the Manor? It seems we have much to talk about, Potter."

Harry hated Malfoy Manor. He didn't understand how Draco could bear to live in the place when Voldemort had stalked the halls and reigned with curses. Fenrir Greyback had been there; Hermione had been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange there; Luna Lovegood had been held prisoner there; Dobby had died saving him there. It was a place haunted by depressing and dark memories. Harry would never step foot within its halls again.

"I won't go to the Manor," Harry said, also standing and holding James in his arms. But the hopeful look on James's face wouldn't allow him to just walk away from the Malfoys. James needed friends his own age, and Harry wouldn't provide him with siblings that weren't born inside a bonding—something he couldn't bear himself to do at this time, when all the witches were tainted by war.

Draco's face closed down. "I see."

Harry could use some company, too: someone that wouldn't hero-worship him or badger him about the war. Someone who didn't see him as the Boy-Who-Lived or whatever ludicrous title he had been bestowed with following the war. Draco Malfoy had always been good for that. So Harry decided to extend what was likely the most coveted invitation in the wizarding world. "You're welcome to accompany James and I to Potter Manor, though, if you wish."

"Can we go, Father?" Scorpius whispered as he tugged on Draco's robes.

It could have been a trick of the light, but Harry would swear that Draco had smiled when he said, "Yes, Scorpius, we can go."

As James and Scorpius grinned at each other, Harry knew that this was the start of an unusual friendship.