Hello hello lovelies!

I was going to wait a little bit longer to post this chapter, but all of your lovely reviews made me way too excited to share more! I'm going to be quite busy IRL, so I probably won't be posting very consistently for a while. I will say that I'm really happy everyone is enjoying the story so much x

Quite a few people noticed that one of our key players is missing in action right now, and well, I guess you'll have to wait and see hehe.

Please leave a review and let me know what you think x

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling, and only the storyline and any OC's belong to me.

The first of the sun's rays stretched to the heavens, the sky a muted greyish blue. Crisp air blew in through the open window, the sunflower yellow curtains were half-drawn and gently billowing out.

Draco laid on his side, his hands tucked under his chin, his cheek pressed into his pillow. He stared out of the window, unable to wrassle his thoughts into submission.

Over the years, Draco had pondered on what returning to the future—his rightful time—would be like. He had imagined scenarios where everything went splendidly and others where it all deteriorated into harmful words and he was shunned. In every single scenario, Hermione had been waiting for him. Regardless of the circumstances, she was by his side.

Time travel was finicky. They were wholly aware that they were meddling with forces greater than themselves, but this turn of events was far out of their calculations' parameters. The pair were meant to return relatively close to December first. Instead, Draco was the first to arrive, and it was months after they'd intended.

And now Draco was left to figure out several conundrums on his lonesome, one in particular was constantly on his mind; Harry James Potter. Once a sworn enemy; one could wade through the bad blood they had between them. All of that had changed—for Draco—Harry was Draco's nephew. Harry was James and Lily's son. Needles stabbed into his heart every time Harry avoided eye contact or looked at him as if he'd sprouted three heads.

Draco forced himself to breathe in and out evenly in those moments, to think about anything else, but often his thoughts went back to Hermione's absence. He was effectively trapped. The faint golden thread—that Draco could see if he focused intently—tying himself and Harry together did not make this any easier. He wondered if Harry could also sense their connection.

When the quartet arrived at Sett Cottage the night prior—apparating directly into the middle of the living room—Riley had quite a shock. The witch was languidly reading a novel, bundled up in a thick, grey knit blanket. She'd looked owlish as she clumsily tried to escape the blanket upon spotting Draco.

"Draco! Helga! You're back!" Riley exclaimed, tossing her book to the side and vaulting herself off the couch.

Remus released Sirius and Draco from his spell. Harry retreated to the far corner of the room; arms folded over his chest as he watched them all with wary eyes.

Draco straightened out, dusting off his pants before a warm body crashed into him, sending him back onto the floor. Riley hugged him fiercely, and Draco barely registered what'd happened before he felt a wetness on his cheeks. Riley was crying, sobbing, her entire body shaking.

"Riles?" Draco asked softly, rubbing her back. He shifted and worked them into an upright position. The ferocity she clung to him with was surprising but not unwelcome.

"You're back." Riley sniffed, pulling back to look him in the eyes. She slid her hands onto his face, and she squeezed it between her hands. She rolled his head to the left and right. "What took you so long?"

"I would have been back sooner…but you know, time travel, tricky business." Draco shrugged, his lips were pursed like a fish because of Riley's antics, and the sight drew a small giggle from the witch. Riley was gazing at him like he was a tiny miracle.

"You're really back. And what about Hermione? Where is she?" Riley asked, ducking her face into her shoulder, and wiping away some of her tears. She expectantly swivelled to look at the four wizards. None of them spoke.

Draco couldn't answer Riley's question. He didn't know where Hermione was, and it was working his gut into knots. She should have returned first.

After some brief conversation, Draco expressed his exhaustion, and suggested they all head to bed early and they could talk more in the morning. Riley and Sirius made a makeshift bed for Draco and Remus to share for the night in Riley's studio: they cleared some floor space, transfigured a mattress, and grabbed some extra sheets and pillows.

The two men fell asleep side-by-side as they had many times in the past. There was no awkwardness or discomfort. At some point during the night Remus had burrowed into Draco for warmth, and Draco wrapped an arm around his best mate.

For him, it'd been almost a year since he'd last seen Remus, but it was of course much, much longer than that for Remus John Lupin.

Draco woke up in the middle of the night, and with quiet affection he admired his friend. Draco shifted his eyes and examined all the differences in Remus's face. Tiny crinkles by his eyes that hadn't existed before, a few new scars, and his features were sharper, more pronounced. He'd aged two decades. However, he looked years younger than he had when he taught Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The pack bond is doing him some good, Draco thought, happy that his presence was helping to revitalise his friend. Shortly thereafter, he slipped off to sleep once more.

When Draco woke, his friend was gone and the distant sounds of movement from elsewhere in the house tickled his eardrums. Draco considered the lightening sky and opted to get more sleep. He wasn't ready to face them in the light of day just yet.

Harry thanked every deity that he could think of that he'd been allocated to the couch for the night. He was pleased that his sleeping arrangements were separated from Draco's.

Harry was on his side, blankets tangled around his legs. Sirius didn't wear much to sleep, but he had a few pairs of sweatpants at hand, which he had handed out to Draco, Remus and Harry. Harry got a light grey pair, and he'd slept in it and his black t-shirt. His jeans and navy blue hoodie were folded neatly on the ground beside the couch.

Harry's spectacles were resting on the coffee table. Harry's face was inches away from the couch back, and his fingers were tracing the material.

Draco wasn't what he expected. Sirius and Remus warned him countless times, not only with their stories, but with steadfast promises that Draco's character had changed drastically from when Harry'd known him. Ron bloody told him this would happen; he had also warned Harry after he'd walked through Sirius and Remus's memories. Practically everyone that knew Draco Potter spoke of him with high regard.

The Draco they spoke of was so far removed from the one he'd grown up with, Harry hadn't been able to wrap his head around it. The idea of Draco Potter hadn't made any sense, but it was beginning to. It truly was.

The frantic greeting Riley had given Draco was startling. Harry was privy to how physically affectionate the witch was, but she had tackled Draco to the ground with impressive force and without hesitation.

Harry sighed heavily through his nostrils and sat up. He shifted until his back was flush with the couch's cushion and he swung his legs—entangled in the blanket—onto the ground. Harry tiredly rubbed at his hair as he leaned forward and swiped his glasses off the coffee table.

Harry absently cleaned his glasses in the front of his shirt before he slipped them onto his face. Satisfied that there were no noticeable smudges, he unwound his legs from their confines. He threw the blanket onto the couch, and he rose.

A blurry reel of images from last night played through his mind as he straightened out the couch, folded his blanket and neatly placed it on the right-hand side of the couch. The way Draco's eyes crinkled with affection when Riley had tackled him, the easy laughter that passed through his lips, the tenderness in his voice as he spoke to his pack members.

Harry also recalled the brief moments when Draco's eyes would flick to him, and tightness overtook Draco's body. Sadness swam in his grey eyes, his jaw was taut, and he would hastily avert his gaze.

As they were readying themselves for bed, Harry turned around and Draco was lingering on the other side of the coffee table, watching him with a sombre expression. A clipped "good night" came from the man before he fled.

The foreign waters Harry was sailing through grew more tumultuous and unpredictable by the moment. A few days ago, he made the decision to ask Sirius and Remus to view some memories (after Ron had already viewed them), and now the man in question had abruptly appeared; it was unfolding just as Ron had foreseen.

The need to do something itched at his fingertips, so Harry strolled over to the warm kitchen that was painted in subdued blues as the morning broke. He paused in front of the double sink, his hands resting against the lip of the counter, and his gaze fixed at a distant, hazy point outside.

I should make breakfast for everyone. Pancakes maybe? Harry thought. A throat cleared behind him, and Harry stiffened as he slowly turned around.

Remus was standing in the darkness, leaning against the wall on the cusp of the kitchen and living room. Harry hadn't heard him approach. Remus's expression was carefully blank as he observed Harry.

"Are you okay?" Remus asked.

A short bark of exasperated frustration left Harry unwittingly, and his lips twitched upwards at the absurdity of the position he'd found himself in. He was not okay, and it was mostly his fault. Harry had been obstinate in his refusal to learn more about Draco, and currently, he cannot recall why. He had been a bloody idiot, and as a result, he was suffering the consequences now.

"If I said yes, would you believe me?" Harry asked with a wry twist of his lips. He shoved his hands in his sweatpants pockets, and he ground his teeth together.

"No," Remus replied honestly. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Not really," Harry admitted, falling backwards until he collided with the pale countertop. The impact was dull and Harry rolled his shoulders back in discomfort.

"Before Hermione and…Draco left, I knew what my life was. I knew things about my family, admittedly not as much as I would have liked—" Remus's face drew down in guilt, but Harry pressed on with a reassuring smile, "—but then they left, and my entire world changed. They took on new roles in my story and it turns out I didn't know anything about my family. Not really."

Harry didn't know where he was going with this line of thought. An ache bloomed in his chest as he realised that Draco knew everything about his family. He had lived with them, grown up with them, known his parents throughout their adolescence. He had everything Harry had ever dreamed of, and he hadn't even wanted it.

It was glaringly obvious, but it struck Harry then. That was why he hadn't wanted to see the memories; he wasn't ready to see someone who used to be his rival and enemy—someone he'd detested—have the one thing he desired most in life.

"I know this isn't easy, and you may hold some resentment that he had so much time with your parents and grandparents, when your own time with them was so limited…but I think you should talk to him Harry." It was like Remus had read his mind. Remus pushed off the wall, and strode over to Harry; he stopped a couple feet away.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under Remus's intense gaze. "About what?"

"Anything. Talk to him about any of it. You might not see him as Draco Potter yet, but it's who he is…and your rejection hurts far more than he'll ever let on."

Harry hadn't considered that his cautious distance from Draco would hurt the other man. A petty, puny part of him still didn't believe that he could, but the logical side won. Draco's behaviour last night made more and more sense by the second as Harry mulled it over with the new information at his disposal.

"I am trying, Remus," Harry said softly.

Remus nodded his head, "I know, Harry. But I hope you'll be more cognisant of how your actions affect him. He is my best friend and seeing him in pain hurts me too."

"Remus?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I was thinking about making breakfast for everyone, and I could use some assistance. Would you mind helping me?"

Remus smiled crookedly and nodded. "It would be my pleasure, Little Fawn."

(Since Riley returned to the pack's fold, the resurgence of Harry's nickname as a babe was swift and Sirius, Remus and Riley all used it on occasion.)

Half an hour later, Remus and Harry were busily whipping up a breakfast spread when Riley and Sirius appeared. Riley sleepily slipped into a chair at the kitchen table, content and smiling in a dazed fashion at the wizards. Sirius immediately headed over to the counter and asked if he could be of service.

Harry had been leading the charge, and Remus dutifully followed his instructions (which the Werewolf was happy to do). Remus wasn't as bad as Tonks was in the kitchen, but Harry was far more proficient; his food was delectable and almost on par with Sirius's.

"Just in time," Harry muttered as he whisked the pancake batter by hand, the stainless steel bowl was held in one arm against him, the other was moving like lightning. His brow was drawn in concentration.

"Harry, how about you go and wake Draco. Tell him breakfast will be ready soon," Sirius suggested casually at his godson's side. Harry froze in his task. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and his mouth parted.

Sirius gestured to the bowl in Harry's grasp. "I can take over."

Harry's mouth closed, and mentally he was at war. Harry peered down at the batter in the bowl, at the tiny bubbles floating on the surface. Truthfully, it was mostly done, and Sirius knew that. The man wasn't even trying to be subtle.

"I—I can do that, I guess," Harry said as he handed over the bowl and the whisk—it was dripping with the batter, so he held it over the bowl as he handed it off. It was at the right consistency, smooth but not too runny.

Harry's legs were heavy as if lead encased them, and the metal was seeping into his flesh; clawing its way through his bloodstream.

Remus and Sirius's voices reached his ears as he made the suddenly long journey across the open space.

"I'll get his coffee ready."

"You remember how he takes it?" Sirius asked.

"Dash of cream, no sugar."

"Too bitter for my liking," Sirius mused.

"So just like Draco then?" Remus joked.

Their merry chatter faded as Harry stepped through the open archway that led to the rest of the house. Harry crept down the wide corridor with his heart between his teeth. When Harry reached the ajar door to Riley's studio, he paused. He drew in a shaky breath before he pushed it open.

Harry stood on the threshold, and his heart stuttered to a stop for a moment when he caught sight of Draco. When he caught sight of his back.

Draco was shirtless, lying down on his front in his makeshift bed, his forearms were crossed over his pillow, and his chin was resting on top of them. The sheets were tangled around his waist, and one of his feet was sticking out the bottom.

Harry's eyes traversed across the expanse of skin. He started with the pale wolf with a crown of Asters. Hermione's birth month flower.

Hermione had mentioned it once to Ron in their Sixth year when the possibility of more existed between them. Ron was blissfully oblivious at the insinuation at the time. Therefore, Draco's choice to permanently etch them into his skin spoke volumes in an instant.

Harry's chest tightened when he saw the living forest scene. The trees' branches swaying in the magical wind as two stags and two does roamed the grass by the riverbank. Water lilies were floating down the stream.

Harry focused on the slightly smaller stag. "Prongs," Harry whispered under his breath. He didn't realise he'd spoken aloud until Draco's head twisted in his direction. Most of his face was hidden by his upper arm, but his right eye was staring intently at Harry; the grey smoke solidified into molten silver, and shards of sapphire took over the man's iris.

"Charlus, Dorea and Fawn," Draco said softly. And Harry's brow knitted together for a moment as he tried to piece the puzzle together.

"Fawn?" Harry repeated blankly, and he ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

"No one told you that Lily was an animagus?" Draco asked. Draco paused as if waiting for an answer, but when one was not provided, he continued, "her form was a doe." The man was frustratingly unreadable, what little of his expression that Harry could see was polished smooth like a fine marble statue.

"No," Harry said. This felt like a game. A game where they waited to see which one of them would break first, who would show the cracks in their impassive exteriors. Harry swallowed thickly, and before he could say anything else, magic crackled in the air, he blinked, and a white wolf had taken Draco's place.

The wolf rolled around and disentangled itself from the sheets trapping its lower half. Harry's mouth fell open, and his eyes widened in shock. The white wolf shook his luscious coat, his jaw opened, and his tongue rolled out of his mouth. The tips of his ears were black.

The wolf trotted out of the room—pushing past Harry on his way out—and Harry's eyes were locked on him, his body turning with his gaze. The wolf disappeared around the corner, out of sight. Harry heard muted exclamations that echoed towards him as the other occupants of the cottage greeted the wolf.

If it were a game, Harry felt like he'd lost miserably.

Shortly thereafter, the quintet ate in companionable silence, with a few words passed around here and there. Draco broke the silence as he tucked his hair behind his ears, scrunched up his nose and said, "I need to cut my hair."

"You do, and I hope I don't come off too eager, but I would be happy to do it for you," Remus said, swiping a neatly cut piece of waffle in the syrup pooling on his plate before he raised it to his lips.

The entire table turned to peer at him, and Remus merely shrugged before popping his forkful into his mouth.

Sitting in a clockwise direction—from Draco's position at the kitchen table—was Riley, Sirius, Harry, and Remus.

Draco's thoughts tumbled in clamorous waves before the meal. He'd stayed in his animagus form until Riley began setting the table, at which point he transformed back and assisted her.

Harry was a quiet, but invasive presence on the peripheries of the room, and Draco was painfully aware of his every movement.

Harry Potter looks like his Father, but there were so many tiny differences that when stacked on top of each other they created an entirely unique person. Harry looked like his Father, but he was not James.

Harry's voice wasn't as deep, he was a smidge shorter, his eye colour, the way he carried himself, his gestures as he spoke. Harry's mouth pulled up higher on the right side when he smiled. Not that any of those smiles had been directed at Draco since he arrived.

The icing on the cake was Harry's magical signature, whilst partly reminiscent of his Father's, Draco found it strangely closer to Lily's.

The briefest of smiles brushed Draco's lips. Lily was from Cokeworth, which was located in the Midlands, and thus her words were more rounded and full-bodied. Harry sounded exactly like her, it was possibly the only good thing to come of his stay with Petunia Dursley.

"On another note," Sirius cleared his throat. "Don't you think that waffles are—how did you wax poetic about them that time, Dray? 'Fluffy, pillowy, and the syrup gathers in the little pockets of love so well'."

Draco scoffed softly and resumed eating his breakfast. He chose not to take Sirius's bait, he was currently on his best behaviour.

On the other hand, Harry had taken up his rude practice of openly staring at Draco, observing him without a shred of subtlety or discretion. Draco opted to not call him out on it, but he did feel like a zoo animal in a cage.

"Or we could talk about those," Sirius said, using his knife to point in the direction of Draco's bare chest. Draco frowned, unsure where this was going. Sirius appeared to be the epitome of cavalier and nonplussed.

"Those?"

"Your Sectumsempra scars," Harry said, lowering his gaze to his own waffles, his fork pushing a blueberry back and forth in the syrup on his plate.

"What's there to talk about?" Draco asked.

"You told us that a dark wizard attacked you and that's how you got those scars. That was how you knew the counter-curse to the spell Snape used on James," Sirius said. He waved his cutlery nonchalantly before he leant over the table and nabbed another waffle from the serving platter in the middle of the kitchen table.

"Sirius," Riley said, her voice soft and feathery, but a warning was clear and lurking between the syllables.

Harry was frowning, as if it was news that Severus had used Sectumsempra against his Father in their youth.

"James would have died if Draco didn't use the counter-curse…" Sirius left the comment hanging in the air, but Draco pushed onwards.

"We kind of had to tell a white lie. Snape did create it, and it was his spell that Harry found and mistakenly used without understanding its true nature, or how vicious it was. But, of course, that would have been hard to tell you at the time."

Remus quietly, but effectively changed the conversation's course once more. "You and Hermione did something in the Infirmary that day, I assume it was removing the glamour hiding your scars?" Remus kept sneaking glances at the underside of Draco's bare left forearm. Draco snorted at what Remus clearly thought was subtlety.

"As much as I despise it, it is still there, Moony—deep rooted glamours. We did more than just change our hair colour."

Remus had the good grace to blush, he'd clearly spoken without consciously considering what he was asking. "Are you going to remove them? I mean—the glamours."

Draco shrugged, cutting up more waffle. It was a leaden motion, he wasn't finding as much joy in waffles as he normally did. Being here with all of them so suddenly, and being bombarded with questions—justified as they may be—was getting to be increasingly overwhelming by the moment.

"Hermione and I briefly discussed it, we are probably going to remove the ones covering our scars—I think changing my hair colour back would be too weird."

Sirius thoughtfully pursed his lips, and narrowed his eyes for a moment. "Covering your scars was more superficial, and whilst complex, it was more of a veneer. It would have been less intense than altering your hair colour or eye colour for extended periods of time."

"Why's that?" Draco asked, genuinely curious and glad that they were engaging in a more theoretical tête-à-tête. He was exhausted in every way worth mentioning, and he needed a reprieve, but he also didn't wish to outright ask for one.

It was an old self-defence mechanism from when showing weakness would have you banished to the lower rungs of Slytherin house's food chain. Malfoy are not weak, Draco. Lucius's voice haunted Draco's mind for a moment and he almost missed Sirius's explanation entirely.

"Truthfully, even if you tried to remove those glamours, your hair most likely would not be anywhere near as light as it used to be. It's a much more intricate glamour—your hair would have continued to grow, so the glamour would have had to deal with new hair growth and so on and so forth."

"There is our resident star Transfiguration pupil," Draco teased, breathing levity back into the atmosphere.

"Fuck off. I'm just saying, covering something up whilst complex, is just that, covering it up, not altering the actual fabric of it," Sirius frowned. "Especially for the better part of a decade."

"Fair enough," Draco replied, eating some more waffle, "gotta tell you, Pads, I really fucking missed your cooking whilst I was on my own."

Sirius smiled weakly, "I can't really take credit for this one, Harry and Remus did most of the work…and I missed one of my best mates."

Draco's chewing slowed and he swallowed thickly, carefully placing his utensils down, "we had to leave." He said softly.

"Did you?" Sirius said, a bit of a harsher edge to his tone.

Draco closed his eyes and shakily exhaled. He wanted to just curl up in a ball, and sob openly.

Grief over the loss of his brother and sister lingered in his veins. They may have technically been dead for almost two decades, but for him, it was practically yesterday. The loss of their bonds in his chest was glaringly apparent, and he was having a hard time dealing with their absence. Coupled with Sirius's need to understand, his need to ask questions and have them answered now? Draco was on the brink of losing it.

Salazar, I fucking wish Hermione was here. She would know what to do, to say. I miss her so fucking much, Draco thought.

Nothing had changed amongst the pack members, but simultaneously everything was different. They'd lived years without him, and they'd suffered terribly. Draco understood that Sirius's hurt was unwittingly driving him.

"Pads," Remus said softly.

"Moony," Sirius replied.

"Sirius, that is enough," Riley said, her earlier warning had morphed into a menacing threat.

On the other side of the table, Harry felt like an observer, not part of the conversation, merely a witness to how the events were unfolding. Armed with this feeling, Harry quietly excused himself, taking his plate, cutlery and pumpkin juice with him.

The front door was open, and Harry chose to exit the cottage and eat the remainder of his breakfast on the steps with Twilight for company. The cat purred and rubbed against his leg as he ate.

Draco's eyes pried open, and he barely took notice of Harry's absence. He was staring at Sirius, earnestly trying to convey his feelings as he kept his face as expressionless as possible. Lest he lose control of himself and end up as a blubbering mess on the floor. Something wholly unbecoming.

"Hermione's time was running out, inexplicable things were happening…and then she left. You would have asked questions that I couldn't answer…and I needed to finish building this place," Draco explained calmly. He gestured around him on the last point.

Sirius's mouth parted as if to speak, but Draco cleared his throat and hastily continued talking. "I thought I was ready to talk about everything…but I need more time. We knew what was going to happen from the beginning, and we couldn't change any of it…we failed all of you, and—" Draco's voice broke.

"Paws," Sirius said softly, eyes widened as if realising what he'd done. Instantly he understood that he had pushed Draco too far, too fast.

Sirius used to pride himself on sensing when Draco was holding his emotions in and trying to pretend everything was fine. He'd failed throughout the conversation to see Draco's telltale signs, and shame burned in his gut.

"Padfoot, please. I promise we'll revisit this soon, and talk about everything, but Hermione not being here has thrown me off, and I need some space to clear my head…" Draco trailed off, averting his gaze from his pack members.

Riley was rubbing at her temples, looking at Harry's vacant seat, biting her lip in thought.

Remus attempted to salvage the situation. "Perhaps that would be best. Besides, I think you should go visit Narcissa. She's been anxiously awaiting your return."

That caught Draco's attention; it was a welcome distraction. "You're right, I should go see Cissa. Does she remember everything?"

"She does," Sirius answered. Baleful eyes stared at his friend, silently imploring Draco to forgive him for his thoughtlessness.

Draco gave his friend a curt nod. Stress and an unnatural rigidity fled from Sirius's posture, but the remorse that remained was painted broadly across his features.

"Regardless, I think you'll be surprised by what you find," Remus commented with a tiny smile; thus diffusing some of the tension in the room.

Draco finished the last few bites of his waffle with a quirked brow, "surprised?"

"You'll see."