Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. This work includes direct quotes from the Harry Potter series including, but not limited to, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Members of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team are named for members of the U.S. Men's World Cup Team.

This fic was written as part of the 2014 Harry/Draco Career Fair based on a prompt submitted by huldrejenta. I would like to thank my Project Team Beta transit betas hammondgirl, ElleCC, Spider Lilly, and Thir13enth and especially my permanent assignment beta, wifie29, who agreed to beta the fic from beginning to end. Also thank you to all the lovely Brits at hp_britglish for helping this American to British her writing up a bit. Last but not least, thank you to huldrejenta for your awesome prompt. There is a reference to past dubious consent but not regarding Harry/Draco.

Summary: Scorpius needs a teacher before he goes to Hogwarts. Several teachers/tutors with the best credentials and impeccable background have been hired, then rapidly fired. Enter Harry Potter, who immediately hits it off with Scorpius. It takes a while longer for the Lord of the Manor to come around.

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Chapter Three

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Rough, blunt nails scratched down his back, the minor, stinging pain the perfect companion to the pleasure of the mouth sucking on his neck.

A storm raged outside, the wind howling like an animal, but his bedroom was warm and his bed warmer still.

Skin slid over skin. Hands gripped his arse, pushing his hips forward as the other man ground himself against him. "I am going to make this so good for you," a deep voice whispered into his ear as fingers wrapped around him. He moaned as those fingers teased him, gripping him then releasing him, trailing along him from base to tip, and that mouth ventured from his neck, the tongue sweeping over his chest. His back arched as teeth raked over his nipples.

Rain battered his window, the sound a steady, sharp tap, tap, tap.

He revelled in the sensations his lover was creating in him. This . . . this was what he'd always wanted. His partner was everything he'd known he'd be—rough, eager, willing, wanting—but he was also gentle and caring, and oh, fuck, he was thorough. There wasn't an inch of him from head to foot his lover didn't excite.

The rain continued to beat out its relentless tap, tap, tap, as if the elements themselves were contriving to pull him from his lover's arms.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

The noise of the wind increased as his bedroom window was opened, pulling him towards consciousness and away from his dream lover. The insistent tapping was replaced by the flapping of wings and the furious Hoot! of an irate owl.

Fully awake now, Draco rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. He resisted the urge to scream. While disgusted with himself for having dreamed of Potter yet again, he couldn't help wishing that blasted owl had come five minutes later.

"Master is asleep and is not to be woked up. If you is to come down here, Ippy is giving you a treat and taking you's letter," his house-elf coaxed, but the owl continued to flap its wings and hoot loudly. After having been kept waiting in this weather, it was clearly intent on being difficult and dripping as much water as it could on the carpet before completing its errand.

Draco wondered if the Unforgivables were only unforgivable when used on humans or if the law prohibited use against owls as well. He looked at the petulant bird and thought better of finding out. He'd expected the ruckus was being caused by the owl delivering the financial newspaper he subscribed to, having long since cancelled his subscription to the Prophet, but the owl making all the racket and dripping all over his bedroom was a Ministry owl—his probation officer's owl, to be specific. Draco stared up at the canopy over his bed and wondered what the demon sent from hell to make his life miserable wanted this early in the morning. He typically preferred to save his torments until more around teatime, as if he were saving his favourite part of his workday until last.

Resigned, Draco sat up and held out his hand. "It's quite alright, Ippy. I'm awake. I'll take the letter." He suspected the owl had instructions to only deliver the missive directly to him.

The bird landed next to him on his bed and held out its leg; its large, yellow eyes stared at Draco unnervingly, as if it held him in the same contempt as its master. The small pouch tied to the owl's leg was deceiving. It was only one square inch in size but could carry entire files, which was what Draco found himself holding. He had expected nothing but a curt letter informing him of some new hoop his probation officer had dreamt up for him to jump through, but what he pulled out was a copy of his file, across which was written in large red letters: PROBATION DISCONTINUED.

Draco was afraid to believe his eyes. His probation officer was a spiteful bastard, and Draco would not put this being some joke he had come up with beyond the man. Opening the file, he found on top of the pile of fifteen years' worth of summonses and reviews a letter addressed to him.

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Dear Mr. Malfoy,

This letter is written to inform you that after careful review and consideration, it has been determined that the terms of your probation have been adequately fulfilled, and the decision has been made to discontinue your probationary status effective immediately. Enclosed, please find a copy of your file in its entirety.

Hoping you are well,

Yours sincerely,

Cuthbert Fowler

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Draco's mouth went dry. He half feared he was still dreaming. He sat in his bed holding the letter, staring at it for he didn't know how long until he realised his house-elf was still standing there.

He forced his attention away from the letter he'd have sworn would never come. "Yes, Ippy? What is it?"

"Master Scorpius is being awake and is being playing in his bedroom."

"Very good. We'll breakfast in half an hour, if you would please inform Tinky." After reading his letter twice more, he called out to his house-elf. With a soft pop, the little creature reappeared. "Please tell Tinky we'll be celebrating this morning. Something a little more special than porridge and toast, perhaps?"

"Yes, Master."

Draco expected the little elf to disappear; when it did not, he asked, "Yes, Ippy? Is there something else?"

"Young Master Scorpius is being wanting to change the colour of his bedroom. Ippy is being wanting to ask Master first."

Draco laughed. His son changed the colour of his bedroom frequently. "Make it any colour he wants."

The elf disappeared.

Flopping back on his pillows, Draco closed his eyes. This was worth having had his dream interrupted for. Still scarcely able to believe it, he read the letter one more time. It hadn't changed. The words were all still there, and they were all still the same. Part of him had feared the letter and his file had been an elaborate prank thought up by Fowler, and they'd been charmed to read one thing initially only to change to something entirely different a minute or two later.

"Probation discontinued," Draco said to himself. He laughed. "Probation bloody discontinued!" No more Fowler. No more summonses to "see me in my office at your earliest convenience, Mr. Malfoy." No more reviews. No more accounting for every moment of my time. "And what have you been up to, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco picked up his file. He'd have loved to chuck the whole blasted thing in the fireplace and burn every last parchment, but he knew better. Throwing off his covers, he rose and picked up his wand from the table beside his bed. He exited his bedroom and passed through to his study, a large, comfortable room with heavy, mahogany furniture and sage green walls. In the far corner sat his desk, behind which hung a large portrait of his parents.

"Oh, darling, please do say you've changed your mind," his mother fretted. "England is your home."

"Now, Narcissa, we've discussed this. He must do what he feels best for himself and his son," Lucius Malfoy said to his wife, not unkindly.

"Good morning to you as well, Mother, Father," Draco said with smile.

"Well, my word, you are looking quite happy this morning. And you've had a nice lie in," his mother observed.

"Have I?" Draco questioned. "Ouvert, s'il vous plait."

The portrait of his parents swung open, revealing a large vault into which Draco placed his file while reciting the letter from his probation—his former probation officer.

"Oh, darling! Oh, but that's wonderful!" his mother exclaimed, clasping her hands in front of herself. "It's about time, too. Now there's no reason for you to leave."

Draco closed the vault, and his parents' portrait swung back into place. "A piece of paper will do little to change people's opinions, Mother, but I am very happy that at least that one trial is over."

His father had not commented on the sudden, surprise termination of his probation, but the look of self-loathing on his face spoke volumes. Draco lowered his eyes. It pained him to see his father so wretched. Lucius Malfoy had lived his life scheming, always on the lookout for some opportunity to advance the Malfoy family's standing in Wizarding society, but far from the further elevation of his family, the end result of his lifetime of collusions and plotting had been nothing but their utter ruination.

Lucius Malfoy had done terrible things, but so had many others. His actions had weighed heavily on him in the last several months of his life. During his incarceration in Azkaban, he had fallen victim to a severe respiratory illness, which had spread from his lungs to other organs and finally his bones. He had survived, but his health had been severely impacted. Badly weakened, he had never been well again, and days after the completion of his wife's and son's trials for their actions during the war, he had died. Before his death, he had repented, which was more than others who walked around wrapped in their cloaks of self-righteousness could say. Wherever his father was, Draco hoped he'd found peace. He hated to think of his father forever lamenting things that could not be changed the way his portrait did.

"Father, you mustn't continue to punish yourself."

"Who should be punished if not I? You would not have had to endure the abuse you've been subjected to all these years were it not for my mistakes. It is I who should have borne that abuse, not you, and certainly not Scorpius."

"I endured quite a lot of abuse and neglect at their hands."

The words Potter had spoken yesterday flashed through Draco's mind. The blunt statement had shocked him. Once, when he'd been younger, he'd have received such information with glee. He'd have seen the knowledge that Harry Potter had been abused as a child as something that he could exploit. His school-aged self would probably have taken the information directly to Rita Skeeter to humiliate Potter. Now, though, older and—he hoped—wiser, it saddened him. It was because he was a father himself now, he supposed.

Placing her hand gently on her husband's shoulder, his mother changed the subject. "Your father and I have been visiting Scorpius in his bedroom whilst you have been having your lie-in. He has spoken of nothing but the Quidditch match and his new friends all morning. I will never pretend to understand the appeal of chasing a little winged ball through the air for hours on end, but I am delighted he has made some little friends and that you both had such an enjoyable day out. You must tell us who this Teddy and Harry he speaks of so fondly are. Who are their parents? Are they anyone we might know?"

Draco rubbed the back of his neck. He sat at his desk and sorted through some parchments, stalling for time. How to answer his mother? Scorpius had talked of little other than "Teddy this" and "Teddy that" all yesterday evening. It was understandable that his parents were under the impression his son was talking about children his own age. Merlin knew there had been a tidal wave of baby boys named after Harry Potter in the years since the war.

Divided from one another though they had been for so long, his mother had grieved for her sister's pain when she'd learned that not only had her sister lost her husband, the man she'd left her family for, but also her daughter and son-in-law. Draco had never met the Tonkses. He'd known of them, although they'd been almost never spoken of. But Lupin, the werewolf . . . him, Draco remembered clearly from the one year he'd taught at Hogwarts. Knowing what he now knew, Draco was ashamed to think of how he'd taunted the man for his shabby robes.

"Scorpius said this Teddy changed his head to that of an elephant whilst you were trapped in a lift at the Ministry. A product of that shop of the Weasleys, I imagine," his mother remarked.

"Er, no," Draco said, shuffling the parchments.

"No?"

"Er, no," Draco repeated as he placed the parchments, which he'd barely taken notice of but thought might have been the latest interest statements from Gringotts, in his desk.

"No?" his mother questioned again, a growing edge of impatience in her voice. Narcissa Malfoy never had liked to be kept waiting.

Draco scratched his forehead but stopped when he realised his hand had gone directly to the spot over his right eye where Potter's infamous scar marred his own forehead.

"Darling, what is it? What is it you do not wish to tell us?" his mother asked, the impatience replaced with a slight tremor.

Hastening to reassure her, he said, "There is nothing wrong, Mother. Please, do not distress yourself." He sighed and turned to face his parents. "It was Teddy Lupin."

His mother gasped, and her hand went to her mouth.

"He's a Metamorphmagus," Draco explained.

"Then, 'Harry' would be . . ." his father stated, leaving the obvious for Draco to fill in.

"Potter, yes." Draco wished there were more parchments on his desk he could pretend to be absorbed in.

"Draco—" his father began to caution him.

"I am not still eighteen, Father. I am thirty-three with a child of my own."

"A child is their parents' child whether they are eighteen or thirty-three. I do not wish to see you hurt again."

Heat spread up Draco's neck, and he knew his face would be tinged pink. He couldn't pretend to not know to what his father was referring, as much as he would like to do just that. At the time, he had thought he'd kept the feelings he'd developed for Potter after his and his mother's trials concealed from his parents. For that matter, he had been sure he'd hidden his preference for wizards over witches from them, but in both cases, his parents had known.

"It was a foolish thought for me to have ever entertained, and it is not one I care to ever entertain again." Remembering the dream he'd been awoken from, Draco doubted the veracity of that statement—and Merlin knew last night had not been the first time he'd dreamed of having Potter in his bed. However, of the wisdom of never venturing down that road again he was absolutely certain. He'd made the mistake of daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, Potter might have cared something for him once before. He'd known better, but Potter had stood up in front of the entire Wizengamot and defended him. He'd even gone so far as to call Draco brave, and Draco had very stupidly allowed himself to think Potter gave a damn about him. He'd not make that mistake again. Potter's motivation for taking an interest in him now, after all these years, was his godson's interest in his blood family, and that was just fine with Draco. A connection to Potter would help Scorpius, Draco was sure. Anything that benefited his son he would do, even if it meant tolerating the presence of the four-eyed git. Potter could have any witch he wanted, Draco didn't care. He had his son, and Scorpius was all he wanted or needed.

"I can't have a child of my own. Teddy's the closest I've got."

For the second time that morning, Potter's words from the day before flashed through Draco's mind. Potter might be able to have any witch he wanted, but he couldn't have a child. He had been surprised Potter would tell him something so personal about himself so matter-of-factly, and he felt a sickening knot form in his stomach as the question occurred to him whether Potter's inability to father a child could be the result of having been hit with the killing curse twice. If that was the case, he couldn't help feel deep sympathy for the man. After all, Draco had intimate knowledge of the irreparable damage a person could suffer as the result of a dark curse. He shivered. Regardless of the deceit that had led to his birth, he couldn't imagine his life without his son. Sympathy for Potter swelled in him, but he stifled it. Sympathy might seem safe, but like gratitude, it could too easily lead somewhere else.

"How ever did it come about that you and Scorpius attended a Quidditch match with Mr. Potter and his godson, of all people?" his mother asked.

"The Lupin boy is interested in getting to know his blood family. Fowler requested"—this was said with emphasis on the word, highlighting the inaccuracy of the term—"I see him in his office when I informed him of my decision to leave the country. Potter and the boy were on the same lift as we when it became stuck. Scorpius was frightened, and Potter was kind to him. He took advantage of the situation to grant his godson the opportunity to a chance to become acquainted with his blood relations."

Creases of anxiety formed on his mother's forehead. "Without thought to Scorpius' disappointment when the boy's curiosity was appeased? Scorpius has spoken of nothing but his new friend. He will be crushed when the boy's interest wanes."

Draco pushed himself away from his desk. He didn't know how his parents would react to what he was about to tell them, but he did not reckon it would be well.

"Potter has offered to tutor Scorpius until such time as I am able to find a permanent tutor or we do indeed leave the country. I have accepted the offer."

"Darling, is that prudent? What qualifications does he have to tutor Scorpius?" his mother asked.

"I am absolutely certain he would never mistreat my son. There is no higher qualification. Furthermore, should I decide to remain in England, a connection to Potter would be highly advantageous to Scorpius. You must see that. It would be mad to prevent such a connection because of a . . . a disappointment fifteen years ago."

His parents exchanged a glance. Draco knew they were uneasy over his decision, but the discussion regarding that decision was over.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I must dress. I told Ippy Scorpius and I would breakfast in half an hour." Draco looked at the elaborate grandfather clock positioned between two sets of French doors leading to a balcony which ran the length of both his study and his bedroom. "Merlin's tits!" he shouted, drawing disapproval from his mother as if he were still eleven. "It's half past nine! Ippy should've woken me. How long has Scorpius been awake? He must be hungry."

"Don't blame Ippy. I instructed him you were not to be disturbed. You are entitled to an occasional lie-in," his mother said. "Scorpius has been awake for an hour and a half and has been happily playing in his bedroom. As I said, we have been visiting him, and I instructed Ippy to bring him pumpkin juice and buttered toast and jam. He is perfectly well."

Draco relaxed. "Ippy said he wanted to change the colour of his bedroom again. What is it this week?"

His mother gave him her children-are-a-blessing smile—a smile he had become well acquainted with over the past six years—and immediately Draco knew there would be quite a sight waiting for him in his son's bedroom.

In his bathroom, Draco stripped off his pyjamas. A hot bath had already been drawn for him, and he slid into it with a sigh. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he let himself slip under the water. He loved the sensation of being underwater, the weightlessness of it and the caress of the water against his skin. In the dream he'd been awoken from, he and Potter had been in his bed, but he could think of a great many things the two could do involving this very bath.

Draco surfaced and wiped the water from his face. He reproached himself. It would not do to think such thoughts. He could hardly be held accountable for the turn his mind took whilst he slept, but during the day, he needed to guard his thoughts carefully, particularly now that he would be dealing with Potter on a regular basis. It was one thing to allow oneself the occasional fantasy involving someone one never expected to see again; it was quite another when the object of those fantasies was thrust back into one's life.

Draco groaned and dropped his head into his hands, resolving to never again think of the word "thrust" whilst determining to stop himself from fantasising about Potter.

Leaning against the back of the bath, Draco closed his eyes. Returning to the Occlumency lessons he'd had when younger, he attempted to clear his mind, but the memory of his dream refused to budge. Images of himself and Potter together continued to appear behind his closed eyelids, causing his body to react.

He sat up straight and forced his traitorous mind to focus on other things, vowing to begin his day with cold showers from now on.

Draco stepped out of the water after bathing quickly. Brushing his teeth, he made up his mind to treat Potter with cool indifference. As he chose his robes, he determinedly reminded himself Potter was his employee now, and as such, their relationship would necessarily be one of professional detachment. Tying his shoes, he insisted to himself he'd never felt anything other than a simple crush on the other wizard, that his feelings fifteen years ago had been nothing but a passing folly, the result of being saved by Potter not once but twice. Combing his hair, he reminded himself of the advantage to Scorpius in having a connection to Potter. Walking down the corridor, he resolved to think of Potter as nothing but Scorpius' tutor. He would treat the other wizard with disinterest. Reaching Scorpius' bedroom he—

POTTER!

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X

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"Sorry, you went to the match with who, again? How in the bloody hell did that happen?" Ron asked in disbelief.

Harry sat on the floor in his best friends' living room, his nephew Hugo crawling all over him as if he was a human climbing frame whilst he drank imaginary tea from a plastic tea cup covered with little pink flowers with his niece Rose. He'd gone to the Ministry first thing in the morning to speak to Draco's probation officer to ask why the former Slytherin was still on probation. It hadn't come as a surprise to him that there hadn't been a justifiable reason. His next stop had been Ron and Hermione's. He had a field trip to arrange.

"Don't swear in front of the children, Ron. You know Hugo repeats everything you say," Hermione admonished her husband.

His friends' reactions were much as he'd expected they would be when he told them he'd run in to Draco Malfoy and his son yesterday at the Ministry and invited them to the match. Both were surprised, to say the very least. Ron's surprise was, predictably, the more vocal of the two, whilst Hermione had yet to comment, although Harry could almost see the questions forming in her mind.

"I'm sorry. I just don't understand how a quick stop at the office ended with inviting the ferret to the match," Ron said.

Hermione shot her husband a not-in-front-of-the children look, but it was too late. Hugo piped up with, "Uncle Harry's getting a ferret!"

"No, Hugo. Uncle Harry is not getting a ferret."

"I want a ferret!"

"Nobody's getting a ferret."

"But, Daddy said—"

"Daddy was teasing Uncle Harry."

Wrapping his arms around his nephew, Harry growled as he pulled the little boy onto his lap and tickled him, making him forget all about ferrets.

"You must admit, Harry, it is rather unexpected," Hermione said as Hugo broke free from the Uncle Harry Tickle Monster and ran off to play with something else.

Harry shrugged and said, "Not really. You know Teddy's been wanting to meet him. It seemed like as good an opportunity as any."

"I was thinking more that it was unexpected that Draco would accept the invitation."

Ron laughed and said, "Herm, it's Quidditch," as if that explained everything. He couldn't imagine anyone passing up the chance to go to a Quidditch match—and in such prime seats, too!—regardless of who issued the invitation. To have to have worked and miss seeing his Cannons pulling off the stunning surprise upset had been as painful as having all his teeth pulled.

"I was surprised," Harry said. "He looked at first like he thought I'd gone mental for asking, but then Scorpius was so excited, he said yes."

"Scorpius? The kid's name is Scorpius?" Ron asked incredulously. "What do they do? Pull out an astronomy chart every time a kid is born? What's wrong with a nice, normal name?"

Ignoring his friend, Harry said how devoted a father Draco was.

"I didn't know he had got married," Hermione said, after giving her husband a pointed look with an arched eyebrow—her name was Hermione after all.

"Neither did I," Harry responded.

"Surprising there wasn't something in the Prophet."

"Is it?" Harry asked. If Draco had so much as bumped someone's arm in a crowd, Harry suspected it would've been on the front page that he'd savagely attacked the person, but that he'd got married or had a child? News of that kind wasn't something that would sell papers, and Harry had a feeling Draco wouldn't have sent an announcement in to the society editor himself.

Hermione reflected. "No, I reckon it's not." She stood up and collected some of the children's toys and books that had been left lying about, putting them in their proper place. "So, what's he like after all this time?" she asked, her mind seemingly more on her task than on her question. The trick didn't fool Harry, though. Harry knew his friend well enough to know that the less attention Hermione seemed to pay to a question she'd asked, the more intently she was listening to the answer.

"He's still himself . . . but he's changed, too. Couldn't help but do so, I reckon."

"Look at me, Uncle Harry!" Hugo shouted as he zipped through the air one-and-a-half feet off the floor. He had mounted his new Starlight racing trainer broom and flown it across the room, crashing into Harry.

"Hugo! You'll hurt Uncle Harry like that! Put your broom away. You know you're not allowed to fly in the house!" Hermione scolded her son.

"Mum's right, Hugo. No flying in the house. You've been warned before," Ron added sternly. "Now, put your broom away."

"He's fine, really," Harry said, his arm wrapped around the child's waist, steadying him before he could fall.

Once on his feet, the little boy sulked off, dragging his prized broom behind him. He sat in the corner of the room and pouted.

Harry loved visiting Ron and Hermione and the kids. Their house was exactly what he thought a home should be: warm, inviting, well lived-in, and with just the right amount of chaos. "This is very good tea, Rose," he complimented his hostess.

The little girl tipped her head with a polite, "Thank you, Uncle Harry." Rose Weasley was a little lady today. She was covered with strands of pearls and wore a small hat covered with flowers and feathers—which she'd informed him was not a hat but a fascinator—and dainty white gloves with a little ruffle at her wrists. Tomorrow, she could be covered head to foot in mud and trekking it all through the house. "Scone?" she asked, holding up a small pink plate.

"Why, thank you," he responded, taking the pretend offering.

"He's still himself, but he's changed, you say?" Hermione asked as she made a very unconvincing show of busying herself with this, that, and the other thing.

Harry grinned at her affectionately and thought about the afternoon he'd spent with Draco. "He's definitely still proud, but it's . . . it's tempered, I guess you could say. It's not . . . it's not an arrogant, vain type of pride. He's very defensive—hardly surprising, that, with everything I'm sure he's had to face. He's . . . he's a very good dad. He mentioned Muggle musicals, and Scorpius said they'd been to a zoo. He said he liked the elephants, so it was a Muggle zoo. Can you imagine the old Malfoy sitting through a Muggle children's musical or at a zoo?"

"So what's the kid like, then?" Ron asked. "A right little terror, I reckon."

"No, he's not," Harry said sharply, remembering all too well the nasty things Scorpius' last tutor had said to him. "He's just a little boy. He's six, like Rose."

Ron held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, mate."

"It's just . . . you know some of the things Teddy's had to put up with." Harry related what Draco had told him the last tutor he'd hired for Scorpius had said to the child.

"That's terrible!" Hermione cried in outrage. "Something needs to be done about her—saying something like that to a child!"

"Draco didn't say anything else specifically, but that wasn't the first time something of that sort had happened. He said he'd decided to leave England."

Their past aside, as the father of a child of the same age, Harry knew the mention of how Draco's son had been treated had angered Ron as much has it had Hermione. He held his hand out to his wife, who re-joined him on the couch, and put his arm around her. He look sceptical. Like Harry, he'd joined the Aurors immediately after the war. But, as it had on Harry, the war had taken its toll on him. He'd stayed two years with the Aurors before leaving to run Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with his brother George. "I don't know, Harry. I understand him wanting to leave, but he's likely to run into more of the same anywhere he goes. Maybe it's got better, but I know before I left the Aurors, the DMLE had received requests from people who'd supported Voldemort and left the country right after their trials wanting to come back."

"That's basically what I told him. At least, after my visit with his probation officer this morning, if he does leave, he'll be able to come back if he wants to without a hassle."

Hermione had been working at the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but she'd recently been promoted to a new job within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and would likely be made Deputy Head of the department before long. She'd been working long hours since the promotion and had rewarded herself by taking a well-deserved day off since it was Ron's day off from the shop too. Her head snapped up at the mention of Draco's probation. "I thought he'd been sentenced to ten years?"

Harry wasn't surprised she knew the conditions of Draco's probation. She wouldn't know the sentence that had been handed down to just anyone off the top of her head any more than Harry would, but like it or not, Draco Malfoy wasn't just anyone to any of them.

Harry outlined the details of Draco's probation.

"If he had done something to warrant extending his probation beyond ten years—" Hermione began.

"It would've been front page on the Prophet," Harry finished.

"Which it wasn't," Ron provided.

"No, it wasn't," Harry confirmed.

"So, then why—" both Ron and Hermione began to ask.

"That's what I asked his probation officer, bloke named Cuthbert Fowler."

Hermione nodded her head. "Well-named man—he's foul, alright. I'm sure it was no coincidence Draco's probation was assigned to him. Odious man."

Harry smirked. "Started off bragging he could keep someone on probation for as long as he wanted, even beyond the maximum of their sentence if he chose to. Shrunk a few sizes when I asked him if he was aware abuse of power was grounds for termination." Harry's smirk grew. He didn't reckon Draco would have to worry about Mr. Cuthbert Fowler any longer.

Something in Hermione's and Ron's expressions changed, and they met each other's eyes uneasily.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Nothing, mate," Ron said unconvincingly.

"What is it?" he asked again.

"Rose, why don't you go get the pictures you painted yesterday to show Uncle Harry?" Hermione asked her daughter. "I'm sure he'd love to see them. Take Hugo with you." Like most young children, Rose loved to colour and paint. She was quite the little artist, and for Christmas, Harry had given her self-refilling paint pots and her own easel, which now stood in the corner of her bedroom.

"Okay, Mummy," the little girl said before skipping off to fetch her pictures. She took her brother's hand, and they went upstairs.

Once the children were out of the room, Harry said, "Okay, whatever it is, it can't be good. What's wrong?"

Twisting her hands on her lap, Hermione said, "Nothing's wrong. It's just . . . Harry, be careful."

"What do you mean?"

"There was just something about the way you said that, and, well, you always were just a little obsessed where Draco Malfoy was concerned," Ron said.

"And he is about as blond as they come," Hermione added.

"What's the colour of his hair got to do with anything?" Harry asked, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice. He knew where this was headed, and remembering how he'd taken note of Draco's strong shoulders yesterday, he did not want to go there.

"You like blonds, Harry," Ron said bluntly. "Always have done."

Admitting his preference for his own sex to his friends hadn't been the hardest or scariest thing Harry had ever done, not after the war, but it hadn't been easy. It had been a tremendous relief to him that his sexuality had been accepted by everyone who mattered to him. The people he loved were comfortable with the fact that he was gay. Sometimes, he thought they were maybe a little too comfortable.

Harry attempted to defend himself. "I haven't only dated blonds. Cho was hardly blonde, Neither was Ginny," he said, pointing out the obvious.

"They weren't men, either," Ron pointed out. "You like blond men."

"Besides, Draco isn't gay," Harry said. "He was married and has a child." Harry's cardinal rule was to never pay more than a passing glance to a straight man, no matter how attractive or appealing; it was right up there with don't deliberately slam his fingers in doors.

"Was married?" Hermione asked. "You don't think he is any longer?"

Glad for the chance to direct the conversation away from the course it had taken before either of them brought up his 'saving people thing', Harry explained that Draco had not sent word to anyone that he and Scorpius would be attending the Quidditch match and that when he'd said decided to leave England, he'd said I've decided, not we've decided. "And he distinctly said it was he and Scorpius who were leaving. Maybe his wife underestimated the contempt he still faced and decided it was too much."

"And left her child behind?" Hermione asked.

"It happens," Ron said softly. One saw a lot in two years as an Auror, Harry knew. There were some things Ron had seen in those two years that he had confided to Harry or his brother George over a pint or two, or five or six, that he had not told his wife.

"Or maybe it was only ever the Malfoy vaults she was interested in," Harry suggested unkindly. He knew first hand there were plenty of people out there perfectly willing to profess feelings they did not have when Galleons were involved. Without realising it, he was building a mental image of Draco's ex-wife: a selfish, cold woman who cared nothing for either her husband or child and had only married Draco for his money.

"So, what did Teddy think of Malfoy? His curiosity settled now that he's met him?" Ron asked with the tone of one saying, 'Well, glad that's over', after completing some particularly unpleasant task and washing his hands of it.

"Er, about that," Harry began. "The thing is, well, Teddy and Draco's son really got on well. You know how Teddy is with kids. He loves them."

Hermione appeared distracted. She looked up at the ceiling, a frown forming on her face.

"Yeah, Teddy's great with kids. Rosie and Hugo love it when he's home on his hols," Ron said hesitantly.

"And, well, you know, it's slow at the office just now. I've not got a lot to do till late May or June."

"Yeah?" Ron responded as he cast a questioning glance at his wife.

"One of the programs we've got is helping kids prepare for Hogwarts."

"Okay?"

"Which isn't really all that different from tutoring, really. A few years later and in a group rather than one-on-one, but pretty much the same, really."

Ron rubbed his hand over his face. "Harry, what did you do?"

"Do you hear anything?" Hermione asked.

Harry listened. "Um, no. What did you think you—"

"The kids should've been back down by now."

Harry might not have had a child of his own, but he'd spent enough time around other people's to know that as long as you could hear them, all was well, no matter how much noise they were making. It was when they were quiet that trouble was brewing.

The trio hurried up the stairs, Ron and Hermione calling out to their children.

Rose and Hugo were in Rose's bedroom, playing with her paints. The paint was everywhere—all over the room and all over the children.

"So," Harry asked, "is this a good time to ask if Teddy and I could take the kids to the Natural History Museum tomorrow with Draco and his son?"

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There's chapter three! Sorry for the delay-real life, you know . . . Drop me a review and let me know if you liked it!