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May 2010

Pansy pushed Draco into an office chair in front of a Muggle contraption she called a “computer.”

“Look.” She pulled up a second chair and rubbed her hands together mischievously. The screen shone with a twee blue logo that read, “OkCupid.”

“I don’t understand,” Draco grumbled, “and I refuse to cooperate.”

“You are a,” Pansy paused, moving an electronic contraption on the desk, “gay,” she clicked, “man,” click.

“What is it going to do?”

“Shhhh, just watch. Pansy will handle everything.”

The screen changed. Pansy spoke without even looking at Draco, the strange blue light from the computer reflecting on her face. “Username,” she mumbled, tapping away. After a few moments she announced, “Your username is RichBlondFerret.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, darling, but RichBlondGenius and SlytherinBastard were taken.”

Draco sighed. “I refuse to cooperate.”

Draco loved Pansy, but he did not love her doggedly officious behavior. He didn’t need to date, and he refused even to contemplate the word “boyfriend.” (Draco shuddered at the mere thought.) He certainly didn’t need a partner found through a Muggle dating service. Sure, he could probably use a fuck. But he was busy. He was a single father, for Merlin’s sake.

“Luckily this doesn’t require your cooperation.” Pansy clicked and tapped, not even asking for Draco’s input. “Okay, we’re at the questions. How often do you brush your teeth?”

“Are you inquiring as to the frequency with which I cast a Toothcleaning Charm?”

“Draco, you know that’s what I’m asking. I’m putting twice a day.” She stopped and turned her shrewd brown eyes on him. “You do charm your teeth twice a day, don’t you?”

“Salazar, of course. Three or four times, most days.”

“I’m not sure we should put that. You might seem overbearing.”

“Pans!”

“Okay,” she said, clicking. “Do you like the taste of beer?”

“What the fuck?” Draco huffed. “That has nothing to do with anything.”

“Just answer the question,” Pansy said in a faux sweet, sing-song voice.

“No—of course I do not. Beer is proletarian swill.”

“Okay.” Pansy clicked again. “What would be an acceptable answer in a partner?”

“I don’t get it. I’m supposed to say whether I would accept a man who likes beer? Or who doesn’t like beer?”

“Yes, or if you would accept any beer proclivities.”

“What do I care if he likes beer?”

“Salazar and Merlin,” Pansy murmured, “you are impossible.”

“I told you I wasn’t going to cooperate with this,” Draco said with a smirk, turning in his chair. He jumped when the chair began to spin.

“And I told you that I’m tired of listening to you whinge and complain,” Pansy snapped. “You need to get laid, at least. Better yet, you need a long-term partner who can absorb some of your nonsense so it doesn’t all get thrown at me.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “And you think that a Muggle dating service is the answer. You think fucking a Muggle is going to solve my problems.”

Pansy threw both hands into the air. “Fucking anyone would probably help, yes! I’d volunteer myself, take one for the team and all, but I know how you feel about tits and fanny.”

Draco ignored her. “So the computer asks the Muggles a series of preposterous questions and then matches them to a person to date? How do they hoodwink Muggles into thinking these questions serve as a proxy for romantic or sexual compatibility?”

Pansy, frustrated, propped her cheek on her hand. “Maybe they don’t think it’s a true proxy for compatibility, but rather the closest they can get to a proxy. It’s not like they can use magic.”

Draco nodded. “It’s a shame, really, because there are so many magical tests one could use to get an accurate proxy for compatibility. One could develop a Charm to test long-term desires and goals, kind of like the magic behind the Mirror of Erised. One could do a similar thing to determine sexual compatibility and personality compatibility. Oh! Even a test that imitates a Boggart–you know, the person’s greatest fears, to make sure that the two people wouldn’t clash. That is how compatibility matches should be made.”

Pansy wasn’t in the mood for an abstract, intellectual discussion about magical theory and relationship compatibility. She closed her eyes. “Well you’re not going to find something like that, Draco,” she snapped. Then she added as an afterthought, “Unless you make it.”

Draco, who had followed his parents’ wish that he not pursue a career after Hogwarts, had been terribly bored since he finished his home study and earned five N.E.W.T.s. He’d been momentarily distracted from his boredom by his marriage to Astoria, the birth of Scorpius (ten months later), and conflicts with Astoria as they attempted to negotiate ways to make their marriage-of-convenience work for the agreed upon five years. But after Astoria and Draco had decided that there was no way, after all, for them to live together, and Astoria had moved out to pursue her dream of becoming an international affairs journalist for the Prophet, Draco’s boredom had returned in full, mind-numbing force. He needed something to do besides caring for a small child. He needed to be challenged.

Pansy thought Draco needed to get laid, but maybe what he really needed was to use his brain.

So Pansy’s grumble didn’t strike Draco as a flippant comment. It didn’t strike him as a reason to accept the inferior Muggle matchmaking service. It struck him as a puzzle. A challenge. A project.

“Pans, I fucking will.”

Pansy opened one eye, her cheek still on her hand. “You will what?”

“I will design a magical dating service that surpasses this Muggle abomination.”

Pansy’s eyes snapped open. “What? No! That’s not what I—.”

But it was too late. Draco was already Conjuring parchment and quill, Accoing Charms books from the shelf, and burying his head in his hands as he pored over magical theory.

Pansy groaned. Then she poured herself a glass of wine and settled on her sofa. Previous experience with Draco taught her that she had no hope of talking to him for at least a few weeks.

Draco was the primary caregiver for Scorpius, so his research on compatibility and matchmaking didn’t progress as quickly as it otherwise would have.

Draco would wake up at 5:30 in the morning to a small blond head peering over the side of his bed. “Papa,” it would whisper. Then, “Papa!” and Draco would reach an arm over the edge of the bed and pull Scorpius into a cuddle against his chest. Draco would press his nose into the fine blond hair and hope to get a few more minutes of sleep. He would eventually relent and get Scorpius dressed and down to the Manor’s dining room, where the house-elves would serve breakfast. (Draco would drink lots of coffee.) Then he’d spend time with Scorpius until Narcissa was ready to take over, at which point Draco would kiss Scorpius’s chubby cheek and close himself in his office. He would emerge for lunch (something he would never remember to do if he didn’t have a four-year-old depending on him), eat with his family, and then bring Scorpius to his room for a nap. Most days it would take over an hour to get Scorpius to sleep. Draco would play music, make stars dance on the ceiling with his wand, rub Scorpius’s back, read stories, fetch stuffed animals, Charm the room dark, Charm the room light again when it was “too dark!”, wait until Scorpius’s breathing became deep and regular, and then cast Silencing Charms to sneak out of the room. Some days Scorpius would never fall asleep, and on these days Draco would get agitated as his brain swam with ideas about magical compatibility and the theory behind matchmaking. Narcissa and the house-elves would help watch Scorpius from the end of his nap until supper, after which it would be time for a repeat of the falling-asleep rigamarole with the addition of a bath (with colour-changing bubbles and magical sailboats). By the time Scorpius was down for the night around eight in the evening, Draco was exhausted. But he would walk quickly to his office and work until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, then stumble into bed.

After three months of this, in the heat of a summer evening, Draco Apparated to Pansy’s flat. “Pans,” he breathed, eyes twinkling. “It’s done. Want to be the first to take the test?”

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Pansy said, pulling Draco in for a hug. “I was starting to worry about you. And no, I’m not taking the test; I don’t think Theo would be pleased with that.”

“Forget Theo,” Draco protested with a smile. “I need people in the dating pool.”

Pansy led Draco inside her and Theo’s flat, Summoning a bottle of champagne as she walked into the sitting room. She handed the bottle to Draco and turned around to grab the two champagne flutes that zoomed into the room. With a wave of her wand, the champagne uncorked with a loud Pop! and poured itself into the glasses. Pansy sat on the settee and patted the spot next to her.

Draco sat. “It’s going to be the best matchmaking service in the world.” He paused, took a sip of champagne, and crowed, “In history, really.”

Pansy smirked. “You really are impossible to be around when you’re boastful. Remember when I didn’t talk to you for three weeks after you brewed the Draught of Living Death in third year?”

Draco crossed his legs. “The three most peaceful weeks of my Hogwarts career.”

Pansy flicked her wand at Draco, sending a hex that Draco deflected with a quick Protego. It was probably the Tickling Hex; Pansy had been hitting him with Titillando ever since they were twelve and she discovered it was his weak spot.

“So what’s the name of the dating service?” Pansy asked.

Draco sighed. “Of course you ask the one question to which I don’t know the answer. Ask me how the compatibility charms work.”

Pansy smiled. “You know I’m not interested in talking magical theory. What are we going to call it? ‘Malfoy’s Magical Matches’?”

Draco stared at her, then replied, “Thank you for getting the most pitiful, pedestrian, unimaginative suggestion out of the way first. And yes, let’s put my name on it—that’ll be good for business. The tagline can be, ‘Come see the ex–Death Eater for all your relationship needs!’”

Pansy grinned, unrepentant. “I suppose you want to call it something like ‘Moste Potente Matches.’ Or maybe you want it in Latin.” She paused, then said with a more musing tone, “Or Italian? French?”

“Pans, you’re brilliant. Latin. Perfect! It will seem like a spell.”

“I was joking, Draco. Surely you think that’s a little pretentious?”

Draco glared at her, then went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “How about ‘Aeternum’?”

“Darling, no.” She thought for a moment. “You could call it ‘Amortentia’!”

“Oh yes, Pansy, that’s genius. We’ll name my dating service—that I claim will help people find true love—after a potion that merely mimics love in a cruel parody of the emotion.” After a moment he added, “That would anger the feminists, too.”

Pansy pressed her lips together and stared at Draco, pointedly not speaking.

“‘Concordia’? For harmony?” Draco mused. “Or ‘Verus Amor’?”

“What if people are just looking for a quick fuck?” Pansy asked, sipping her champagne.

Draco sighed. “That’s true. We don’t want to alienate potential clients, even if a quick fuck is a complete waste of my brilliant compatibility charms.”

“Who are you to decide what’s a waste?” Pansy asked with a grin. “Orgasms are never a waste.”

“For the love of Circe, stop talking about orgasms. I can’t think of a name if you’re talking about quick fucks.”

“How about the Latin word for ‘fuck’?” Pansy asked with a smirk.

But Draco had jumped up. “I’ve got it! Are you ready?”

Pansy raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Ardeo,” Draco said. “Translating as ‘I’m in love,’ or ‘I’m on fire.’ Works for true love or quick fucks.”

Pansy tilted her head. “I like it, but are you sure you want to go with connotations of literal fire?”

Draco turned to her and with a strange sort of sad smile, replied, “To love is to burn.”

December 2010

The following Christmas Eve, Harry Potter sat in the Granger-Weasleys’ living room. In the corner of the room, Rose, Hugo, James, Albus, and Lily lay asleep in a magical play tent. The tent had been a gift to the Granger-Weasley children from Uncle Harry, and all five children had insisted on sleeping in it. The parents had hesitated, knowing that it would be next to impossible to get them to sleep in such an exciting and tight space, but the five pleading faces had won out. The children lay in a jumble of limbs, blankets rucked up around their bodies, stuffed animals tucked under arms. The ceiling of the tent was magicked to look like the night sky, with twinkling constellations and shooting stars. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, exhausted, sat around the fire. They had cast a Silencing Charm at the tent, and were reveling in the feeling of holiday cheer, eggnog, and the pride of having gotten five children to sleep in a tent.

“You going to be alright tomorrow, mate?” Ron asked, Levitating the pitcher of eggnog to refill Harry’s mug.

Harry and Ginny had been separated for nearly a year, and it would be their first Christmas since their divorce. Harry was to join the extended Weasley clan at the Burrow the next day, and Ginny would be there, but they wouldn’t be a couple for the first Christmas in ten years.

Harry and Ginny had split upon realising that they spent more time apart than together, and what was more, that they didn’t miss each other at all. They had spent all of their time juggling childcare around Ginny’s work trips and Harry’s Auror work schedule, passing each other in the house like roommates. One day, when they were bickering about the upcoming week’s schedule, they’d looked at each other and realised that it was over. “I’ll always love you, you know,” Ginny had said. Harry had hugged her and said, “I know. Me too.” Their relationship since splitting was surprisingly similar to what it had been when they were married, only they no longer lived together, they had lower expectations of each other, and they no longer bickered.

Harry took a sip of his eggnog and tried to give Ron a convincing smile. “It’ll be fine,” Harry said. “I see Ginny all the time. You know we’re fine.”

“We know,” Hermione said, tucking her feet up under her bottom. “But we thought you might be concerned about seeing the whole group together. It might be overwhelming.”

“But you know no one is upset with you,” Ron assured. “You’re part of the family no matter what.”

Harry smiled at his two oldest friends. “I know. I’ve missed everyone. I should’ve made a point to come to the Burrow more often this past year.”

“It’s hard to know what to do,” Ron agreed. “But everyone’s missed you, too. Bill keeps asking how you’re coping with having quit your job. He loves his work so much, I don’t think he can wrap his head around the idea of anyone quitting anything.”

Harry had quit the Auror force when he and Ginny split. He didn’t love being an Auror as much as he thought he would, and he loved his kids ten times more than he had ever thought possible. So when he and Ginny decided to alternate weeks with the children, Harry wanted to be with them, not away at work. The wizarding world was shocked when he quit. The Prophet had even run an extended interview with a magipsychologist analysing whether Harry had lost control of his mental faculties in the wake of his divorce.

But Harry loved being home with his kids. Before long, he knew, James would be at Hogwarts. He threw himself into parenting with all of his characteristic love and energy, as if his very enthusiasm could guarantee his children a childhood exactly unlike his own.

It was the weeks that the kids were with Ginny that Ron and Hermione worried about Harry. “Maybe you could get a job that would let you work half time,” Hermione kept saying. “Join the local Quidditch league?” Ron kept saying. “I’m fine,” Harry kept saying.

“I don’t think I could ever get Bill to understand,” Harry said with a laugh. “Should we do our gifts now?”

“Yes!” Hermione said, hopping up to retrieve a small stack of gifts from under the tree, which shone with twinkling fairy lights, candles, and icicles. Hermione handed three gifts to Harry and carried the other four to the sofa, where she sat curled into Ron’s arm.

“Hermione, you go first. Open the red one.”

The three friends laughed and chatted as they opened their gifts. Spending Christmas Eve together was a tradition they’d started the year after the war, when they were all sharing a flat and enjoying the newfound adult freedom to create their own holiday traditions. Even without Ginny, who had always joined them, it felt normal, right. Harry was endlessly grateful for friends like Ron and Hermione, with whom he always felt home.

When there was only one gift left to open, Hermione spoke up. “Harry, promise me you’ll have an open mind.”

Harry wrinkled his brow in confusion. “An open mind?”

“Oh, open it up, then,” she said with a grin.

Harry opened the red and green envelope, and a parchment zoomed out. It hovered in the air before him and began to sparkle. It spoke, much like a Howler, but at a normal decibel level.

“You’ve been gifted a subscription to Ardeo, the new magical dating service that uses state-of-the-art magical compatibility charms to discover your perfect match! Here’s to love in the new year!”

Harry looked up at Hermione. “A dating service?”

Ron grimaced and mouthed, “Sorry!” behind Hermione’s head.

Hermione snapped her head around and pointed a finger at Ron. “Don’t start. I know you agree with me.”

Ron turned red and raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

A dating service. His best and oldest friends thought he needed a dating service. Merlin, but that was a sobering gift. Harry took a gulp of eggnog.

Hermione turned to Harry. “Harry,” she said, “I know you wouldn’t do it on your own, but you seem so lonely lately! And I’ve read about the magical theory behind Ardeo, and the magic is really impressive.”

“Hermione,” Harry said, his voice dripping with existential exhaustion, “you know I can’t date. I would end up on the front page of the Prophet every time I saw someone new. They’d call me, like, The Fuck Boy Who Lived or something.”

“Just promise you’ll think about it,” she said. “It’s been paid for.”

“But I—”

“Just think about it, okay?”

Harry looked at Hermione’s pleading, concerned face. He was incapable of saying no to faces like that. He sighed. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

May 2011

The spring saw Harry moving out of Grimmauld Place and into a house in Godric’s Hollow.

Harry’d had a dream in which Sirius showed up to yell at him that Grimmauld Place was no place to raise children, and to get his great-godchildren out of the godforsaken house for Merlin’s sake. Harry woke up in a sweat and called an estate agent.

He was initially hesitant to look at houses in Godric’s Hollow, given the presence of the ruined house still preserved as a monument where he’d nearly been killed by Voldemort and the house where he’d nearly been killed by Nagini. But ultimately the estate agent had convinced Harry to consider it because of the incredible amenities in Godric’s Hollow for families with children—excellent schools, playgrounds, a magical community center. Then he’d found the perfect house, and three days later he was a Godric’s Hollow resident.

One morning in late spring, Harry, tired from getting six shoes on three pairs of little feet, locked the front door with his wand. He squatted down and Lily threw her arms around his neck from the back. He stood, hoisting her up, and grabbed a piece of shimmering fabric from his pocket. He tapped his wand and the fabric wrapped itself around Lily, securing her on Harry’s back in a perfect wrap.

“James, Albus, we’re ready!” he said, stopping to hoist a bag over his shoulder. The boys came running around the house from the back. James grabbed a model of the Hogwarts Express out of Albus’s hands, at which point Albus grabbed James’s ear and pulled until James cried.

Harry took a deep breath. “Stop touching each other,” he said in as calm a voice as he could muster.

James flicked Albus’s nose.

“Stop touching each other now!” Harry commanded. “Or we’ll have to stay home.”

James stuck his tongue out at Albus but fell into line next to Harry. Albus grumbled, but followed as the group started walking down the pavement.

Their destination was a new wizarding playground in the center of town. It was a brilliant playground, and excitement about the renovation was drawing large crowds of children most days. Harry’s kids were thrilled, because they loved to find new playmates for their imaginative games.

It took them thirty minutes (one return to the house because Albus needed the loo, three stops for Harry to Scourgify his glasses from Lily’s hands covering his eyes, one stop for James to shake a rock out of his trainer) to walk half a kilometer to the playground. When they finally arrived, Lily had fallen asleep on Harry’s back as he had hoped, and the boys ran off to the slide, around which they had recently invented a game called Pirate Wizards.

Harry couldn’t sit because Lily was on his back, nor could he lean against anything, so he decided to walk the perimeter of the playground, keeping an eye on the boys.

As he passed the seesaws (magicked to shoot up quickly and return to earth with a slow and gentle bump), his eyes caught a flash of white-blond hair.

He’d only known two people in his life with hair that colour, and one of them had died shortly after his release from Azkaban five years ago.

Harry wanted to shout out a taunt, but he wasn’t willing to risk waking Lily. So instead, he walked up behind the man as quiet as a horklump, tapped him on the shoulder, and whispered, “Boo!”

Draco Malfoy whirled around, eyes wild, wand raised. When he saw Harry, his eyebrows drew together. “Potter.”

“Did I scare you?” Harry whispered innocently, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the sleeping child.

Draco scoffed. “You don’t scare me,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. He was a good three inches taller than Harry and he raised onto his toes to peek over Harry’s shoulder. “Your child is drooling on your shirt,” he hissed with a smirk.

Harry shrugged. “Whatever, Malfoy. You’ve got peanut butter in your hair.”

Draco’s eyes widened in horror and his hand shot to his head.

Harry laughed as quietly as he could manage. “Just kidding.”

Draco narrowed his eyes.

“Where’s—” Harry paused. “What’s your kid’s name? Arachnadonous?”

Draco’s face turned satisfyingly red; he flicked his wand.

Harry yelped, rubbing his arm where the Stinging Hex had hit him. He smiled, raising his hands. “Just kidding! Merlin.”

Draco and Harry saw each other surprisingly often, but usually at charity events—auctions, dinners, awards ceremonies. They also sometimes saw each other at Andromeda’s house because of Teddy. So in the thirteen years since the war had ended, they’d developed a relationship of sorts. A strange relationship, to be sure. They barely talked, but they didn’t hate each other, and they would tease each other and bicker in a way only possible for adults who’ve known each other since they were eleven years old. They didn’t talk about the war, but it was always there in their interactions—they both knew they’d saved each other’s lives back then, Harry had testified for him, Draco had repented, so they were willing to call it even—or not even, exactly, but just, in the past. Ron once witnessed their bickering at a charity dinner and had declared afterwards that it was “bloody weird, mate.”

But Harry had never run into Draco around town, not in Godric’s Hollow or anywhere else.

“What are you doing here?” Harry whispered.

“What are you doing here?” Draco echoed. Nothing like seeing your old school rival to evoke infantile repartee.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I live here, Malfoy. I live on the other side of the church.”

“Salazar and Merlin,” Draco grumbled. He sighed. “Did you buy the house on Hawthorn?”

“Wha—Yes. How did you know?”

“Because I just bought a house here, too.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “On Hornbeam?”

Draco nodded. “Your house is nice.”

“You saw it?”

“Well, yes. Did you see mine?”

“Yes,” Harry conceded. “Yours is nice, too.”

“You picked a huge house, Potter.”

Harry shrugged. “I have three kids and a godson who visits. You picked…I mean, the house on Hornbeam…It’s…very much unlike the Manor.”

Draco snorted. “How diplomatic, Potter. Yes, it’s tiny. But it’s just the two of us.” He looked down at Harry out of the corner of his eye. “I’m trying to make sure Scorpius is down-to-earth.”

Harry squinted at Draco in the sunlight. It all felt very surreal. He was standing in a playground with his former nemesis, they were engaging in light-hearted banter, and Malfoy was saying he didn’t want his son to be pretentious? Harry suspected this was the first time a Malfoy had ever expressed that sentiment.

Draco pushed his hair out of his eyes. It was longer than he’d worn it at Hogwarts, but nothing like Lucius’s. Harry noticed that Draco wore immaculately tailored casual robes, but in a nod to the trend towards Muggle fashion among younger wizards, he wore Muggle trousers and brogue boots. Draco looked good. Harry thought of his own jeans and trainers and thought maybe he should pay more attention to Hermione’s fashion hints.

“You’re trying to make sure he’s down-to-earth,” Harry echoed.

“Yes,” Draco confirmed, with a challenging look. “Scorpius was starting to parrot things my mother and her friends said. You’d move, too, if your child was playing with Auror figurines and made one of the toys say they needed to ‘lock up the law-breaking half-breeds.’”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. Draco waved his hand, indicating his agreement. “So we moved. It’s hard to relate to people if you grow up in the Manor like I did.”

“I think what you mean by ‘hard to relate’ is ‘I was a right twat.’” Harry grinned.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Crass, vulgar, inconsiderate…” he murmured.

Harry chuckled. “Oh shut up, you prat—I’m just taking the piss.”

“Look,” Draco said, pointing towards the slide.

James and Albus were playing with a boy who could only be Malfoy’s Scorpius. Scorpius was gesturing animatedly with one arm as Albus listened with rapt attention. James shouted, “GO!” loud enough for the adults to hear, and suddenly Albus and Scorpius ran in opposite directions.

“Well,” Harry said.

“Quite,” said Draco.

“I’m tempted to send a Pensieve memory of this to McGonagall,” Harry said, tilting his head.

Draco laughed.

That night was the semi-regular group dinner at the Granger-Weasley’s in Ottery St Catchpole. Ginny was there, along with George, Angelina, Fred, and Roxanne. After dinner, the kids ran outside to climb trees. Harry smiled, thinking about how they’d be playing Quidditch before long.

“So I ran into Malfoy today,” Harry said casually, raising a forkful of trifle to his mouth.

Hermione exchanged a look with Ron.

“Did you?” Ron said, his eyes turning to Ginny.

“How was he?” Ginny asked, her eyes flitting to George.

“Don’t you all look like that,” Harry warned. “It was fine. We don’t hex each other anymore.” He chewed. “Actually I take that back, he did hit me with a Stinging Hex.”

“He what?” Hermione asked.

“He moved into Godric’s Hollow with his kid.”

“He what?” Ron implored, incredulous.

Everyone at the table was still looking at Harry with a variety of odd facial expressions. George looked like he was eagerly awaiting something. Angelina’s expression was thoughtful. Ron looked nervous. Hermione had on her I’m-worried-about-you-Harry face. Ginny stared at him so intently that Harry wondered if she’d taken up Legilimancy since their divorce.

Harry sipped his wine. “Anyway, Malfoy was alright. He moved into this small house on Hornbeam. He said he wants Scorpius to grow up to be ‘down-to-earth.’ Can you believe that?” Harry chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

Ginny stared at Harry, her wine glass dangling from her freckled fingers.

“How’d his kid get on with the Potter kids?” Angelina asked with characteristic good nature.

“Great, actually.” Harry leaned back in his chair. “Surprisingly great. The kids didn’t bother us for over an hour of playing.”

“No way!” Ron said, his voice tinged with jealousy. “Hermione, we need to go to Harry’s playground with Malfoy. Last time we went they bothered me every five minutes.”

Hermione laughed.

“Let’s all go next time,” George said with a devious smirk. “I have a few new products that I would love to test on a reformed Death Eater.”

“Oh, shut it, George,” Ginny reprimanded. “I was there the day Malfoy came into the shop to apologise to you. And you know how Harry is about Malfoy.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asked, with a disbelieving chuckle.

Ginny waved her hand. “You know, with the snarking and the banter. Every time we would go to events and see him.”

Harry snorted, then turned to George. “Really, George. He’s not like that anymore, you know that, and he’s my neighbor now. I don’t want to start anything.”

George sighed. “Fine. But if you change your mind, I really have been wondering how a few of our hair charms would react with blond hair.”

“You know,” Ginny said, “I think I’m going to go watch the kids. Lily looks like she might try to follow James up into that tree.” She locked eyes with Hermione, and patted Harry on the shoulder as she walked to the kitchen door.

“Tell James to stop Vanishing Albus’s sticks,” Harry advised Ginny with a wave. When the door closed behind her, he muttered, “That child is going to be such a menace when he gets a wand.”

Ron smiled. “No more a menace than we were, mate.”

Hermione Summoned a second bottle of wine from the kitchen. Harry held out his glass and the green-tinted bottle floated to it, pouring him a healthy measure of wine.

“Harry,” Hermione said, head tilted slightly to the side. “You should really consider joining the Hogwarts Alumni parenting group. It’s great, the kids play, and it lets you meet other parents.”

Harry shook his head. “I keep telling you, the last thing I’m interested in is hanging out with a bunch of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff parents who read books about raising magical children. It sounds bloody awful.” Harry sipped his wine. “No offense.”

Hermione laughed and rested her head on her hand. Her exasperation with Harry was plainly written across her features. “It really isn’t like that.”

Ron mouthed from her left, “It is!”

“And Harry,” Hermione asked, “aren’t you lonely?”

Harry sighed. “Of course I get lonely when the kids are away. I do fine when they’re around, but honestly, it’s not parent friends who I need. I’ve got all of you—you’re all parents.”

“What do you need then?” Angelina asked, giving Harry a pointed look. Hermione gestured enthusiastically at her sister-in-law, seemingly delighted that she didn’t have to be the one to say it.

Ron and George looked a bit uncomfortable at the direction the conversation was taking, but they didn’t disagree. George put his arm around Angelina’s shoulders, and that show of solidarity, more than anything else, finally broke Harry’s resolve.

“I don’t know, okay?” Harry burst. “I need a fucking partner. I need a second adult in the house so I don’t lose my damn mind. And I need to fuck—.”

The door burst open as James and Lily bounded in. Harry clamped his mouth shut. Hermione pressed her lips together, trying to mask a smile.

“Dad!” James cried. “Dad! I have a great idea! If we invite Scorpius over, we’ll have enough for equal teams! Me, Albus, Rose, Hugo, Roxie, Fred, Teddy, and Scorpius! We could play a real game of Quidditch!”

“Well it wouldn’t exactly be a real game of Quidditch, since your dad won’t buy you real brooms yet,” George observed, relishing his role as cool uncle.

“But Daddy! He’s leaving me out!” Lily pouted, tears in her green eyes.

Harry scooped Lily up, angling her so her legs draped over his lap and her head rested on his chest. Her tears darkened his shirt, and he didn’t even seem to notice as she pressed her snuffling face into him, spreading mucous on his chest.

Harry stroked a hand on her head. “You’re going to be flying before you know it, Lils.”

She raised her puffy eyes to meet Harry’s. “Me? Lily Luna Potter? L-I-L-Y?”

Harry smiled. “Yes, you, Lily Luna Potter. Your brothers and cousins have had a lot more time to practice. By the time you’re their age you’ll be even more talented than they are, because you will have had the benefit of watching them for longer.”

Lily’s eyes widened and sparkled.

James scowled and turned to his aunts and uncles with a can-you-believe-this? gesture.

“Jamie,” Harry said, “sure, we can invite Scorpius sometime. As long as you’re kind to your sister. No gloating.”

James’s face brightened. “Of course! No gloating! Thanks, Dad! I’m going to tell the others!” He ran outside punching the air, yelling, “It’s our lucky day! It’s our lucky day!”

Lily slid off Harry’s lap and ran after her brother. “Wait! Jamesy! Wait for me!”

“Close the door!” Harry yelled into the abyss of the wide-open door.

Ron laughed and waved his wand to close the door.

“Don’t think for one second that interruption distracted me from the fact that you were about to admit that you are dying to get laid,” Hermione said with a smirk.

“‘Mione!” Ron said, laughing so hard he almost knocked over his glass.

“Sign up for Ardeo, Harry. Please,” Hermione entreated.

“But I don’t want to,” Harry grumped.

Angelina laughed. “Do it anyway.”

“But I don’t like being told what to do.” Harry swirled his wine, watching the liquid slosh up the side of the glass.

“No fucking shit—really?” George interjected with tones of mock surprise. “Seriously, mate, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Harry considered. Was the worst that could happen that he ended up alone forever, or was it the terror of the unknown?

“It’s awkward and I hate it? People show up and start freaking out that I’m Harry Potter? I have to use glamours to go on a date and then even if I like the person I don’t know what will happen when they find out who I really am?”

Ron reached across the table to pat Harry’s arm. “I know it’s not ideal. But what’s the alternative?”

“Exactly,” Hermione said, “listen to Mr Granger-Weasley. He is very wise.” She turned her head to smile at Ron, and Ron squeezed her knee.

Harry’s chest ached to see this casual display of their indelible love. So close to what he’d had with Ginny, which had been a near miss, really. Harry would love Ginny forever. But it wasn’t that. It wasn’t constant pride and affection and enjoyment and need to touch. And Merlin—he wanted it.

“Fine,” he mumbled.

“What?” Hermione said, looking away from Ron’s freckled and besmitten face.

“I said ‘fine.’ I’ll do it. I’ll do the sodding dating service. But I am going on record saying that I think this is going to be a disaster of epic proportions.”

“I kind of think it will be, too, mate,” George said with a huge smile. “Will you show us Pensieve memories after your dates?”

Hermione and Angelina shot George identical looks of warning, but Ron and Harry laughed.

“Oh Godric,” Harry laughed, “Giving all of you the play-by-play afterwards might be funny enough to make the whole thing worth it.”

Albus ran into the house, his face in a pout. “Dad! Mum says I have to have a bath! I don’t want to have a bath! Those things are for Lily, not me!”

Harry held up his hands. “Whatever Mum says, goes.”

June 2011

Draco knelt in front of the fireplace hugging Scorpius. “You’ll have fun with Grandmother, okay? I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

Scorpius raised his big blue eyes to Draco’s and nodded. “Can we go to the playground tomorrow?”

“That sounds fun. I’ll try to get my work done today so we can do that tomorrow.”

Scorpius smiled. “Great! I love you, Papa!”

“I love you, too. Now go. Grandmother is waiting.” Draco took a handful of Floo powder and threw it in the fireplace.

Scorpius took a deep breath, stepped into the flames, and said in a clear little voice, “Malfoy Manor!”

Draco brushed off his hands, looking around at the now quiet house. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that feeling—one moment overextended and frazzled, the next moment drowning in the quiet of oppressive freedom. He wondered if partnered parents felt the same way when their kids left the house—if having the stability of a partner would make the ebb and flow of parenting feel less like whiplash. He sat on the couch for a minute, his head resting backwards, eyes closed.

He stood and walked to his office. The inbox held a pile of parchments delivered by his clever Charm work. Almost all of the mechanics of the matchmaking process happened without any input from Draco. He approved each New Customer Registration, making sure all of the customer’s information was accounted for and properly formatted for the Charms to recognise. Then, if the person was matched, new parchments would be sent to each of the matched singles. These parchments contained a brief introduction to their match, with a question at the bottom: “Would you like to meet?” If both singles wrote “Yes,” Draco received a parchment in his inbox that he briefly checked and approved, at which they each received a parchment informing them of a time and place for the date. After the date, each single received a parchment asking them if they’d like to see the person again.

Draco’s magical compatibility Charms were so good that Ardeo had 95% first match satisfaction. This meant that of all the singles who had matched and agreed to meet in person, 95% kept dating that first match for at least three months. Draco wasn’t privy to all of what happened in his clients’ lives after they “graduated” from the service, but he was aware of two marriages and fifteen engagements, and the service had been running for less than a year. It could only get more successful as more people registered, enlarging the dating pool.

He sat at the large mahogany desk he’d taken to Godric’s Hollow from the Manor and pulled the first parchment off the pile in the inbox. He sighed. Landon Botts kept refusing dates with Florence Bennett. This was the fourth time. Draco was at his wits’ end, because he knew from the strength of the match that Lan and Flo, as he thought of them, would be a perfect fit. He’d even sent Landon follow-up letters adjusting the introduction to Florence in hopes that Landon would eventually say yes. Draco wasn’t sure how he could convince Landon without breaking all of his own protocols. He was tempted to show up at Landon Botts’s Floo and give the man a piece of his mind, but that didn’t seem good for business. He set the Date Rejection form to the side, resolving to work on Lan later.

The second parchment in the inbox was a New Client Registration form. Excellent. Draco was always thrilled to get a new client, because that meant he could possibly match one of his existing (and as yet un-matched) clients.

Name: James Fleamont
Age: 30
Children: Yes

Draco set the parchment down. James Fleamont? Something was strange here. If this person was 30 and lived in magical Britain, he would’ve been in Draco’s year or the year below at Hogwarts. Draco hadn’t been invested in the lives of all of the students at Hogwarts, but there weren’t many of them and he thought he’d at least remember the name.

Draco heard the Floo roar to life down the hall. “Pans?” he called.

“In the flesh!” she yelled.

“I’m in the office! Bring some tea, will you?”

Pansy stuck her head through the door. “I will get you tea, but only if you will get the next cup, darling. I am not your maid, or even your administrative assistant.”

Draco looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Fine. Sorry. I’ll make your next cup. Still not used to the no-house-elf lifestyle.”

Pansy’s footsteps clicked away to the kitchen. Draco frowned at his parchment.

When Pansy came back Levitating two cups of tea, Draco turned and asked, “Have you ever heard of a wizarding family called Fleamont?”

“No,” Pansy said, sitting in an armchair and crossing her legs. “Says Fleamont on the Sleekeazy’s label, but I think that’s a first name.”

Draco’s eyes widened and he jumped out of his chair. “Yes! Fleamont Potter, founder of Sleekeazy’s, father to James, grandfather to Harry Potter.”

“Care to tell me why we’re talking about Potter, or are we past the point of needing to give a reason?”

Draco scowled at her but then picked up the parchment and waved it in the air. “Harry Potter,” he claimed, pausing for dramatic effect, “signed up for Ardeo.”

Pansy set her tea down. “You’re dreaming. Am I in your dream? Am I dreaming?”

“Look. ‘James Fleamont. Age: 30. Children: Yes.’ It—is—Potter.”

“Mother of Circe,” Pansy muttered. She tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear and cackled. “So much for a boring afternoon. Sit down by me so we can read that together.” She patted the chair next to hers.

“Client confidentiality,” Draco said with a smirk, holding the parchment to his chest.

“You tosser,” Pansy snapped. “If you cared about client confidentiality you wouldn’t have told me it was Potter. Get your arse over here so we can read Potter’s form.”

Draco smiled, relenting. He sat on the chair next to Pansy’s. “Shall I read it aloud?”

“With choreography, please, or at the very least a dramatic retelling.”

“‘Age: 30. Children: Yes. Marital status: Divorced.’”

“Pity,” Pansy interrupted. “I wonder if he only dates gingers.”

Draco ignored her and kept reading. “Living situation: With children half-time. Wants (more) children: Not sure. Religion: None. Erised charm—”

“Explain how you get the results of that, again?” Pansy asked, sipping her tea. Draco suspected she was trying to make the perusal of Harry Potter’s registration form last as long as possible. He was not complaining.

“Well, it’s quite brilliant, really.” Draco flashed her a boastful smile. “The magic of the Mirror of Erised works by detecting the person’s innermost desires—that’s the tricky part—and reflecting them in the mirror. This charm works the same way, by detecting the person’s innermost desires, and instead writing them onto this parchment. The person filling out the survey doesn’t see the results, like they would with the mirror. They just consent for the form to read their magical signature.”

“So let me get this straight. We’re looking at Harry Potter’s innermost desires,” Pansy said, “and he doesn’t even know them himself? Unless he’s seen the Mirror of Erised lately.”

“Hmmm,” Draco frowned at the parchment. “It doesn’t feel at all invasive with Landon Botts.” Draco looked out the corner of his eye. “Pans, you can’t tell anyone. Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t even tell you.”

“Oh, stop. Of course I won’t tell anyone. Spill.”

Draco sighed. “Alright. These are always a little weird. It doesn’t read like a narrative, because it just picks up on different things and writes them here. ‘Erised charm: Two men teasing, fighting, fucking. Lots of kids. A crup. Flying. Laughter. Purpose.”

“Purpose?” Pansy asked. “And also, two men? Is Potter gay?”

“Hold your thestrals!” Draco said, though he looked a little manic. “That’s one of the next questions. ‘Political affiliation composite score—.’”

“What’s that?”

“The survey asks some political questions and then aggregates a score.”

“It’s not a charm?” Pansy asked, sipping her tea.

“No, political affiliation cannot be tied to magical signature, because it’s too reliant on culture and life experience. Magical signature can only assess things that are more inherently a part of the wizard. Even though desires and fears rely on experience, they’re more a part of the wizard. So, ‘Political affiliation composite score: Economic left/right: left; Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: libertarian.’”

“Expected,” Pansy assessed. “Go on.”

“Sexuality status. This works the same as the Erised Charm—so he didn’t answer this, it assessed him. ‘Gender and sexuality status: male identifying, male presenting, bisexual, biromantic, monogamist.’”

“Interesting,” Pansy drawled. “Very interesting, Draco. Don’t you think? I seem to recall a certain bet that was made in fifth year—.”

Draco pressed his lips together. “I’m a professional now. This is my career.”

“Oh, fine. We’ll just pretend we can ignore the fact that you wanked over him for years.”

Draco sighed. “Do you want to hear the rest or not?”

“Yes, yes. No need to get tetchy.”

“Boggart Charm works the same as the others. ‘Boggart charm: Alone.’”

“Salazar,” Pansy said. “Poor sod. His Boggart is the same as your life.”

With that, Pansy finally succeeded at riling Draco. “Pansy, shut the fuck up,” he snapped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not alone—I have Scorpius, and my mother, and you. And satisfying work.”

Pansy opened her hands and raised her eyebrows as if to suggest that the matter was closed.

Draco sighed.

“Have you ever filled out this form, Draco?” Pansy asked, her voice gentler.

“You know I haven’t. I am not dating.”

“You could be, darling.”

“No, thank you. I’m much happier marrying all the rest of the world.”

Pansy hummed. “Of course—you keep telling yourself that.”

Draco shot Pansy a glare and pushed himself out of the chair. He needed to finish processing Potter’s registration before he was due to pick up Scorpius from the Manor.

Draco felt odd reading Potter’s registration, and not only because he’d once made a bet about the Chosen One’s sexual preferences. He really needed to anonymise these Charms. Draco sighed; that would mean adding new layers of magic to the already complex magic on the registration process. He’d need to ask Narcissa or Astoria to watch Scorpius for a day or two.

And then there was the fact that Draco now knew that Potter was dating—and not only dating, but dating with the aid of Ardeo, for Merlin’s sake. How was it possible that Potter was lonely? Wasn’t he always surrounded by throngs of gingers? And what did Potter need with a dating service? Certainly any unattached witch or wizard would be eager to have a chance with the Boy Who Dated.

Draco sighed. That was the problem, of course. Draco wasn’t sure his Charms had any chance of finding someone who would want Potter for who he was—for Harry—not for the fame or reputation or power. He was certain there wasn’t a witch or wizard in his pool of singles who deserved Potter. The whole thing seemed mildly preposterous. It was asking too much of Ardeo, really.

He settled into his desk chair and flicked his wand at the parchment, indicating his approval of the document. A new parchment appeared on top of the registration form. Draco frowned; this meant that Potter had made a match. Draco picked up the form, which spelled out Potter’s best match, according to Draco’s Charms. Draco’s cheeks flushed pink.

“Pans, I—there’s—something wrong with this.”

Pansy looked up. “Wrong with what?”

“This match it gave me for Potter. It must be wrong.”

“Who did it match him with?”

“A 25-year-old male Auror whose hobbies include weight-lifting and whose greatest fear is failure. He has no kids or previous relationships.”

“So? Why shouldn’t Potter get it on with a hunky Auror?”

“Pansy, honestly! Potter—with this—this meathead? With a wizard who fears failure. Have you met Potter? He would hate being with someone who was dying to be successful.”

Pansy raised a dark sculpted eyebrow. “Whatever you say, darling.”

“I’m just going to tweak this match a little, to better serve my clients.”

“You’re—” Pansy interjected, “you’re going to change his match?” She looked like she’d just witnessed an Unforgivable.

Draco glared at her. “Don’t overreact, Pans. I wrote these Charms, after all. Of course I can change them if I am privy to additional information that will improve the match for my clients.”

Pansy stood up and walked over to Draco’s chair. With a hand on her hip and a pointed look that Draco did his best to ignore, she asked, “And who, exactly, are you thinking is a better match for Potter?”

“Kilgore Wasserkraft.”

Apparently that wasn’t the answer Pansy was expecting. “Who?”

“Nice bloke. He’s 49 and works at the Ministry in Arithmancy.”

“You’re going to send Potter on a date with a middle-aged arithmancer named Kilgore Wasserkraft?”

“In my professional opinion, it is the best match available,” Draco said, turning to the parchment and waving his wand.

Pansy sat and crossed her legs. “I think the 25-year-old Auror deserves a full refund.”

Harry slammed his hand in a kitchen cupboard, cursed under his breath, and turned around wielding a saucepan.

James and Albus were running through the kitchen, slamming doors, and informing Harry at regular intervals how hungry they were. Lily was asleep on the couch, which was a disaster because it was almost dinner and she would be impossible to get to sleep tonight.

“Dad,” James yelled, running around the corner and slamming into the table. “Can I have a banana?”

“Jamie, I told you, no—I’m cooking right now.” Harry waved the saucepan.

“Doesn’t look like you’re cooking,” Albus said. “Looks like you’re holding an empty pan.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a breath. “I’m starting to cook right now. Macaroni cheese, okay? Neville will be here in a few minutes.”

“Macaroni cheese!” Albus enthused. The brothers performed a high five maneuver that managed to turn into a chest bump of sorts.

“So why are you going on a date?” James asked with curiosity.

Harry shot an Aguamenti at the pan, and with another flick of his wand, the water boiled. “Because sometimes I want to be with another grown-up.”

“But you’re with other grown-ups all the time,” James said.

“Mum’s a grown-up and you don’t want to be with her,” Albus added.

Harry sent up a tiny prayer for mercy to a god he didn’t believe in. “That’s true,” he conceded, pouring the macaroni into the boiling water. “I don’t want to have any grown-up to be with, I want a grown-up I can be partners with. Like Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione.”

“But why do people want to be with another person?” Albus asked, tilting his head.

“It’s just—”

James interrupted his father. “This is about sex, isn’t it?”

Harry whirled around, burning his thumb on the saucepan. “Motherfruit,” he yelped, remembering the time James was one and he and Ginny had come up with a list of non-curse curses and used a Sticking Charm to affix it to their bedroom wall. He held his thumb out and shot an Episkey at it. He turned to his boys. “It’s a bit about sex—that’s normal. But not entirely!”

The Floo roared, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Neville’s arrival would probably distract his children from this particular line of questioning, at least for now.

Neville stepped through the Floo. “Potters!” he cried, and James and Albus ran to give him hugs that were functionally more like tackles than embraces.

“Hey, Nev!” Harry called. “Macaroni cheese is almost done here. I just need to run upstairs and finish getting ready.”

“Want me to finish that?” Neville asked, walking to the kitchen.

“You don’t mind?” Harry asked, apologetic, but ready to take any help offered.

“Yeah, yeah! Go get ready.” Neville Levitated a macaroni out of the pot and into his mouth. He panted for a second, cooling it off, then swallowed. He must have been satisfied with its doneness, because he Vanished the water in the pan.

“Jamie, Al, please be good,” Harry said. “I’m going to go change and then I’ll come say goodbye.” But the children weren’t listening; they were asking Neville about carnivorous plants.

Harry took one last look at Neville, making sure that everything was under control, then finally left to get ready. He couldn’t believe he was about to go on a date. Had he ever been on a date? (He refused to count that visit to Madam Puddifoot’s with Cho.) Was it too late to back out? Harry seriously considered checking his old Hogwarts trunk for a cast-off Puking Pastille until he remembered that if he chickened out he’d have to confess to Neville and his children, who wouldn’t be fooled by a Skiving Snackbox.

This bloke was sure to think Harry was a complete ninny. The letter from Ardeo had said he was an arithmancer—Harry hadn’t so much as taken a single lesson in arithmancy. And beyond that, Harry felt sure to make a fool of himself somehow. He was back in fourth year, having to find a date for the Yule Ball.

Of course, the other possibility was that this bloke didn’t think Harry was a complete ninny, but was starstruck by the Chosen One rhetoric. Real Harry could never live up to those expectations. It was a weird feeling—not being able to fill one’s own shoes.

But he couldn’t back out now. He thought of standing in the playground, an outcast among happily partnered couples. He thought of standing there with Draco Malfoy, of all people. What would Malfoy say if he found out that Harry had chickened out of a date? Harry would never give him the satisfaction. He was a Gryffindor, after all, even if his Gryffindor traits had been latent for some time now.

With a sigh, Harry flicked his wand at his iPad, which was hooked up to speakers. It began playing “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.” Satisfied at least with music that fit his mood, Harry finished getting ready, ran downstairs to kiss his kids, and Apparated to his doom.

Three hours later, his first Ardeo date behind him, Harry tumbled home through the Floo. Neville was asleep on the couch with Lily asleep on his chest.

Neville opened his eyes when the Floo roared. “Lily didn’t want to go to sleep,” he whispered. “I guess we dozed off.”

“I’ll take her,” Harry said. “Don’t leave, I’ll come back down in a minute for a Firewhiskey and tell you about the worst date in history.”

“Oh no. I’m sorry, mate,” Neville whispered.

“It’s okay,” Harry whispered back. “It’s so bad it’s funny, really. Be right back.”

Harry gently lifted Lily off Neville’s chest. She began to wake up but upon hearing Harry’s voice say, “Shhh, shhh, Daddy’s here, I’m putting you in bed,” her eyes fell closed again. He laid her in bed, tucked under her blue unicorn quilt with her stuffed kneazle.

Harry paused for a moment, looking at his daughter’s sleeping form. Did parents ever get tired of watching their children sleep? It centered him. He tried to soak it in as much as possible, hoping that his parents were out there somewhere, enjoying it vicariously through him. He smiled, brushed Lily’s hair away from her chubby, freckled cheek, and tiptoed downstairs.

Neville sat himself up and blinked his eyes in an effort to stay awake. “So it wasn’t love at first sight?”

Harry Summoned a bottle of Ogden’s. “Nev, I can’t believe this. It was a 49-year-old arithmancer.”

“Ardeo set you up with an arithmancer?”

“I know! But whatever, I thought they might have some compatibility insight that made it a good match despite sounding barmy. But he spent the whole night reciting statistics to me.”

Neville accepted the glass Harry handed him and laughed. “No way. Statistics about what?”

“Merlin, I don’t even know. At first he was talking about weather patterns, and then he started telling me he predicted the date of the Battle of Hogwarts in 1992. I just looked and him and said, ‘You predicted the date of Voldemort’s death when he was incorporeal and presumed dead?’ And he was like, ‘Yes, arithmancy is an exacting art.’ And by that point I was well and annoyed so I said, ‘I was twelve then.’ Just to get him narked. But he seemed not to notice that I was pointing out that he was old enough to be my father. Oh my god, Neville. He was the same age as my father; I just realised.”

Harry slumped into his seat, sipping his Firewhiskey.

Neville started to laugh but tried to stop himself. “Well. So much for the great reputation of that dating service, eh?”

Harry laughed. “I’m tempted to take out an advert in the Prophet revealing how rubbish the whole thing is.”

“Well, you’ll give it another go, right? Can’t get upset over one bad date. Must’ve been a fluke.”

“I guess,” Harry said with a sigh. “This isn’t what I want. I hate dating. I’m not cut out for dating.”

“Does anyone like dating?” Neville asked. “I was bollocks at it.”

“I dunno,” Harry mumbled. “It’s bloody awful.”

“What happened when the date was over?”

“He told me he was looking forward to seeing me again, and maybe we’d make plans to go to an arithmancy book release party at Flourish and Blotts. Then he looked like he was going to try to kiss me and I bloody well Apparated out of there.”

Neville barked with laughter and clapped his hands. “No way! Oh, that is priceless.”

“Were the kids okay?” Harry asked after a minute.

“Oh, yeah, they were great.”

Harry grimaced. “Really? Or are you just saying that? Thanks again for coming—I owe you.”

“They were fine, and it was no problem. I love those kids.”

Harry smiled, then seemed lost in thought. “Nev, that was my first date with a man.”

Harry had realised he was bisexual when he was a teenager—at some point he figured out that his straight mates didn’t spend as much time noticing other boys as he did. Cedric didn’t show up in their dreams. (Not the graveyard, kill-the-spare dreams. The other Cedric dreams.) But it hadn’t really mattered, because he didn’t want any of the boys he noticed. He’d wanted Ginny. He’d told Ginny he was attracted to blokes, too, before they were married, and she’d accepted that with fiery love, the way she did everything in life. It was yet another thing that was new about this dating situation—he’d known and accepted that he was bi for over a decade, and though it had changed the way he thought about himself and his interactions with others, and though it had changed his politics, advocating for and identifying with queer causes, it hadn’t affected his actual sexual relationships much until now.

“Hmmm,” Neville replied. “Seems that way.”

“And it was fucking awful.”

“Well, that’s not on his sex, mate. Most dates are fucking awful.”

Harry laughed. “I think I’ll just embrace celibacy.”

Neville reached over to pat Harry’s arm. “Don’t put the carriage ahead of the thestral.”

July 2011

“Dad!” James yelled from another room. “I’m hungry! When’s dinner?”

“It’s only four o’clock!” Harry yelled back. “You’re going to have to wait! Come grab a snack! Want a yoghurt?”

James careened into the kitchen. “Yoghurt? No. What else do we have?”

“Cheese? Nuts? Banana? Apple? Carrots?”

“I have a great idea!” James screamed. “Biscuits? Chocolate?”

“Jamie, something with protein, or fruit, or veg. You can pick.” Harry turned back to Lily, whose long hair was tangled with an unidentified sticky substance.

“Ok, sit still, Lils. I’m going to spell it out.” Harry waved his wand at Lily’s hair. She giggled.

Harry looked at James. “No, not biscuits. And James, where did your trousers go?”

James shrugged. “Salty nuts?” he asked.

“Nuts are fine,” Harry agreed, then turned back to Lily’s hair. “And put some trousers on!” Harry yelled as James ran out of the room.

“Okay Lily, I’m going to plait it like Mummy does so it will stay out of your eyes.” Harry Summoned Healer Spock’s Spells for Baby and Child Care and flipped hastily to the “Hair” chapter. His eyes scanned the page, then he looked up and raised his wand. “Scirpo.“

Lily’s hair arranged itself in a decidedly messy plait.

Harry sighed. “I’ll ask Mummy or Hermione for tips on my wand movement. But it’s good enough. Go play!”

Lily hopped off the counter. “Thanks Daddy! You’re my favorite boy!”

Harry dropped to his knees and pulled Lily into a hug, burying his face in the messy plait. He’d been stressed all day, but those words coming out of his daughter’s mouth were enough to stop the world for a moment while his chest ached with fondness. “You’re my favorite girl, Lils. I love you.”

Lily smiled and patted Harry’s head, then ran off.

Harry sighed and stood up. The entire house was a wreck; he wasn’t sure where to start.

Albus ran into the room. “Dad, I’m hungry.”

“Al, didn’t you just have a snack?”

“That was James!”

Harry took a breath. “Have a yoghurt? Then what do you say we head out to the new cafe for dinner?”

“Yeah! If I can have chips!” Al grabbed a yoghurt from under its preservation charm.

Harry smiled. “You can have chips.”

“What’s the best way to fight a troll?”

“Huh?”

“What’s the best way to fight a troll?” Albus said, slowly, like Harry had lost his mental faculties.

“Shove your wand up its nose,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair.

“What? Dad, I’m serious.”

“Okay, well, trolls are not clever, so your best bet to defeat them would be to outsmart them.”

Al nodded and raised a spoonful of yoghurt to his mouth.

James ran into the kitchen. “Dad, get me a snack.”

“James, you just ate. I need you to cooperate until dinner.”

"I will cooperate,” James said seriously. “I will cooperate with you doing what I ask you to do."

Harry paused, looking to the sky and sending up a silent query to his father, asking if he was enjoying the antics of his namesake. Sometimes Harry thought he’d asked for it, naming his firstborn after James and Sirius.

“Okay, that’s it,” Harry said, “We’re going for dinner now. Lily!”

Lily walked into the room clutching her stuffed kneazle. She’d lost her trousers since she left the room. “What?” she asked.

“We’re going out for dinner. Everyone needs to use the loo, and put trousers on, and shoes.”

“I don’t have to go!” James protested.

“I don’t want to do a wee, Dad!” Al grumped.

Harry took a deep breath to gather his strength. Thirty minutes later, everyone wearing trousers and shoes and having used the loo, and a quick owl sent to Ginny telling her where they’d be if she arrived to pick the kids up while they were still out, the family finally set off for the new cafe in town.

“Lily,” Harry asked, “you want to walk?”

“I want to walk!”

Harry pocketed the wrap in case she changed her mind and they began their walk. Twenty minutes later (three stops to select “walking sticks”, one because Lily’s knee hurt, and five questions from Al about the best way to fight various magical beasts) they arrived at the cafe and found a large table in the corner by the front window.

“Dad,” James said, sliding onto the bench. “What do you think about Puddlemere’s new seeker, Vane? What about her chances against McGee? How many times did McGee get the snitch last season? Do you think—”

“Jamie, hold on,” Harry said, helping Lily into her seat and fetching her shoe, which had somehow fallen off.

“Scorpius!” Al yelled.

Harry’s head shot up, and sure enough, Draco had just walked through the door with Scorpius holding his hand. Al ran to them; Harry could hear him exclaim, “No, no, Dad doesn’t mind! Come eat with us!”

Harry expected annoyance at being interrupted, but surprisingly all he felt was eagerness for some company. Fuck, if he was eager to chat with Malfoy, maybe he should take Hermione up on her Hogwarts Alumni parenting group invitation.

Draco, discomfort written on his face, looked to Harry. Harry shrugged and gestured them over. Albus grabbed Draco’s free hand and pulled them over to the Potters’ table. Draco’s face suggested that this might have been the first time he’d held hands with a child who was not Scorpius.

“Potter,” Draco greeted, looking only the tiniest bit uncomfortable.

“Malfoy.” Harry smiled. He noticed that Draco looked good. Worlds better than he looked, surely.

“We don’t want to impose on your dinner,” Draco said.

“Don’t be silly. The kids are excited to see Scorpius. And this way I get some adult conversation.”

Draco relented and gestured for Scorpius to sit.

Lily and Albus called at the same time, “I want to sit by Scorpius!”

“Is that alright, Scorpius?” Draco asked.

Scorpius looked a bit overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of the three Potter children, but smiled. “Yes!”

Lily jumped up from her spot by Harry and sat on the other side of the table, pulling Scorpius behind her, and Al sat on his other side. That left the seat next to Harry for Draco.

“How’d you get the name Scorpius?” Lily asked.

“It’s a constellation,” Scorpius answered. “That’s a group of stars.”

“I know all about the stars,” Lily replied, nodding. “When you go out the door, look up. They're in the sky. They're silver.”

James leaned forward, peering around Harry. “Mr Malfoy, do you like Quidditch? You used to play with Dad, right?”

Draco’s mouth curled up in a half-smile. “Yes. We used to play. Your father was rubbish.”

“I was not!” Harry exploded. “I beat you every time!”

Draco smirked.

“What do you think about Vane?” James asked, excited. “What team do you like? I’m for Puddlemere, but don’t tell Mum, and Dad still secretly roots for the Cannons.”

“I’m for Puddlemere,” Draco said.

“Yes!” James hollered. “Don’t you think Vane—”

“Something unusual just caught my mind,” Albus interrupted. “Mr Malfoy, what do you think is the best way to fight a manticore?”

Draco blinked, then turned to Albus. “Effective government regulation to keep them away from humans.”

Harry laughed. “That’s actually a good answer, Malfoy.”

Draco looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye and smiled. Harry liked it. “Do your kids always talk this much, Potter?” he asked, bemused.

“Oh, yes. I don’t even feel bad that it’s being directed at you, because it’s giving me a break for once.”

But the Potter kids had forgotten the adults and were now peppering Scorpius with questions.

“Give Scorpius some space,” Harry admonished.

Scorpius looked up, a bright smile on his face. His face was so like young Draco’s, and yet wore expressions that small Draco had never worn. It made Harry ache a little and want to go back in time to rescue Draco from his fate. Not that Draco could’ve been saved from his fate any more than Harry could’ve been saved from his.

“It’s alright, Mr Potter!” Scorpius said, bouncing in his seat a bit.

As the kids started to talk amongst themselves, Draco turned to Harry. “So you’re out for dinner early.”

“I had to get out of the bloody house,” Harry whispered. “They were driving me crazy. I am hoping they eat enough here so that they will stop saying they’re hungry every five seconds. You too?”

Draco answered, “Scorpius knows not to ask for food outside of scheduled meal times.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Draco smirked. “Stop swearing in front of our children, Potter.”

Harry laughed; the children weren’t listening. “I’d like to see you try to get my three on a regular snack schedule.” Harry scrubbed his hand over his face.

“So what are you doing these days?” Draco asked. “I haven’t seen your name in the papers lately.”

“I’m just dad full-time, for now,” Harry said. “When Ginny and I split, we decided that the kids would divide their time between us. I wanted to be home when the kids are with me. I’ll go back to work of some sort soon, or when they’re at Hogwarts. I’m really not sure yet.”

Draco nodded. “I have Scorpius full-time, but Astoria comes to visit every few weeks.”

“Do you work, Malfoy?” Harry asked, glancing up from his menu.

Draco looked discomposed for a moment, then replied, “Yes, I’m in interpersonal mediation and unification.”

“What?” Harry asked, but just then Lily spilled a glass of water and the adults were distracted with Drying Charms.

“I have a great idea!” James announced. “Mr Malfoy, you can do Fantasy Quidditch signups with us! I need a Puddlemere fan! Also, I am an expert at Quidditch strategy.”

Harry whispered with a grimace, “I made the mistake of telling him he was an expert at something and ever since….”

Draco smiled, his eyes flitting from James to Harry and back to James. “Alright, we can do Fantasy Quidditch. But I’ll warn you—I’m good.”

James beamed. “Yes! Dad, Conjure me paper and pen.” Harry complied, and James began scribbling plans for his Fantasy Quidditch team.

Al and Scorpius started teaching Lily to play a hand game. “Boo bombarda ola, toad toad toad, amortentia, tentia tentia tentia…”

The waiter came to the table, drawing attention away from the hand game, and Harry and Draco ordered for themselves and the kids.

“I want chips!” James said without looking up from his notes. “I’m an expert in chips!”

“Don’t worry, Jamesy,” Harry laughed. “You’ll get your chips.”

“So,” Draco said, appearing a bit overwhelmed. “Three kids seems a lot different than one.”

Harry laughed and rested his cheek on his hand, turning to look at Draco. “I imagine. I can’t really remember having only one. It’s a blur.”

“You and the Weaselette didn’t waste any time, did you?”

Harry shrugged. “I was 23 when James was born.”

“Why’d you get divorced?” Draco asked.

Harry usually hated this question, but he found that he didn’t mind answering now. Malfoy looked so interested, and not at all like he was going to use it against Harry, or even take the piss. He just looked curious, his grey eyes on Harry’s. The late afternoon sun was shining on Malfoy’s blond hair and he looked strangely angelic as he waited for Harry to answer the question. Harry mentally shook himself; Malfoy wasn’t angelic.

“Don’t believe the story they told in the Prophet?” Harry asked, smiling.

“Maybe I just want to see you squirm, trying to tell the tale.”

“Sadly, it doesn’t make for a good story,” Harry said. “I love Ginny, but we just weren’t a proper couple anymore. Maybe we never were; I don’t know. After the war it happened so quickly, and everyone expected….I don’t know.”

“And you haven’t had any other relationships?”

“It’s been less than two years since we got divorced. Been busy.” Harry was unconcerned with Draco’s prying. “What about you? What happened with Astoria?”

Harry was interested about Malfoy’s divorce. None of the rest of his friends were divorced. And Harry hadn’t expected Malfoy, of all people, to get divorced. Who would divorce him? Hadn’t everyone always wanted him at Hogwarts? Parkinson and the others? It made Harry feel better, in a way, that Malfoy was divorced, too. They had such a competitive history—if Malfoy had been happily married, Harry would’ve felt, a bit petulantly, like he’d been beaten to the Snitch.

Draco leaned towards Harry, a smirk on his face. “Would you like to know the details, Potter?”

Harry’s ears turned a bit red. “Er, sure.”

“Astoria and I never loved each other. I’m gay. I knew I was gay. She knew I was gay. We did it to please our parents and planned to get divorced at some point after Scorpius was born. It worked out well for her, because it got her parents off her back. Now she’s free to pursue her career. And my parents are off my back, because I have Scorpius.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open; he shut it. Then he laughed. “Oh, Merlin, Malfoy. I wish I had such a pragmatic attitude. And you’re gay? Er, thanks for telling me. I—” Harry paused.

Draco gave Harry an oddly challenging look. “You what?” he goaded.

“I’m bisexual. But that wasn’t the reason it didn’t work with Ginny.”

Draco didn’t really look surprised. “Really? How’d you keep that revelation out of the papers?”

“Easy to keep it out of the papers when you aren’t dating. Although I just went on a date with a bloke, and—” he lowered his voice to an adults-only whisper, “it was the worst fucking date I’ve ever imagined, much less experienced.”

“Really?” Draco said, his voice higher than usual. “How so?”

“He was a middle-aged arithmancer. Can you imagine me with an arithmancer old enough to be my father?”

Draco’s face contorted into something unreadable. “No, I suppose not.”

Harry let out a soft chuckle. “Well, anyway. It’s over. I may just be destined for the single-dad life. Do you date? How does it work, with Scorpius?”

Draco’s face turned stony. “Scorpius and I are satisfied the way things are.”

Harry nodded, picking up on Draco’s reticence and letting him off the hook.

The waiter arrived, Levitating plates of food to the table. The kids, after securing ample amounts of ketchup, tucked in.

Draco cut a piece of quiche and, raising it to his mouth, said, “So how are you liking Godric’s Hollow?”

Harry smiled and swallowed a bite of shepherd’s pie. “We’re loving it. Does Scorpius go to school? Is he going to Godric’s Academy in the autumn?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Draco replied. “My mother wants him tutored at home, like I was. But I think it might be good for him to be around other children.”

Harry nodded. There was something appealing about a Draco Malfoy who wanted his son to have time around other kids. It made Harry want to pat him on the back and congratulate him for not having become Lucius.

“We’re still deciding, too,” Harry said. “Ginny moved to Wales to be near the Harpies; she’s coaching now, you know. So the kids are here and there alternate weeks. They could Floo to school in either place, though. So we need to decide. And Lily will be at home for a couple more years.”

Upon hearing her name, Lily looked up. “Daddy, after dinner can we go to the gushing waterfall?”

Harry smiled. “Sure, Lils. I’ve got some sickles.”

Lily turned back to her food and Draco looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow.

“Gushing waterfall means fountain,” Harry explained, smiling.

“Oh,” Draco said. He stared into Harry’s eyes for a beat too long. Harry felt awkward, like he must have mashed potatoes on his face, but he couldn’t look away.

“So when do the Potter children go to bed?” Draco asked, and then immediately looked like he regretted asking.

Harry held up a finger while he finished chewing. “Usually by eight or so. Why?”

“If you ever want a game of chess after, or a glass of Ogden’s, we could do that.”

“We could—what?” Harry looked genuinely confused.

“Cast a Vigilia Infans on the kids and Floo through for some adult conversation. That’s all I was trying to say.” Draco’s chin was held a little too high.

Harry smiled. “That’s a good idea. Merlin knows I could use that. Ginny’s picking the kids up tonight, though, so some other time. Well, I’m around whenever. But just. Yeah.”

“Some other time for what?” a cheery voice asked. Harry’s and Draco’s heads snapped to the left just as Lily screamed, “Mummy!”

“Er, hey Gin!” Harry said, moving imperceptibly away from Draco. “Malfoy was saying I should come over one night after the kids are asleep for a game of chess.”

Ginny, now holding Lily, who had squirmed out of her seat and under the table, looked between Harry and Draco. “Hi, Malfoy,” she said, her eyes quizzical. “You don’t want to play chess with Harry. He’s awful.”

Draco smiled, but his smile lacked the authenticity it had a few minutes ago. “Hello. Perhaps I just like to compete against Potter and come out on top.”

Ginny’s face crinkled in confusion. “I’m sure you do like to beat Harry, but if I know the two of you—you wouldn’t enjoy it unless it was a good match.”

“She’s right, Malfoy. We should play Quidditch.” Harry had eyes only for Draco, and those grey eyes were alight with challenge and bedevilment. “Because we all know how well you enjoy exerting yourself in competition with me, only to find my fingers around the Snitch.”

Draco turned in his seat to face Harry. “You arrogant sod. I’d love to get you on the pitch.”

Harry laughed, and Draco stared at him for a moment before his face broke out in a slow smile.

Ginny gasped.

Harry and Draco turned to look at her in unison. Her mouth was a perfect “O,” but she closed it quickly.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Nothing. Nothing,” Ginny answered, recovering herself quickly. “I am just here to pick up the kids. I got your owl, Harry, so when you weren’t at the house I came here. Are you done eating?”

“Yes!” James said, looking up from his Fantasy Quidditch plans. “Mum, don’t be mad I didn’t just pick everyone from the Harpies.”

“James!” Harry scolded. “All you ate was chips!”

“It’s okay, I can feed them more at home,” Ginny said.

“Al woke up early today so he will probably be tired,” Harry recited, ticking items off on his extended fingers. “Lily hasn’t pooed since yesterday morning. James fell and scraped his leg before; I Episkeyed it, but you might notice.” He paused for a moment. “Oh! And James managed to Vanish his favorite pair of shoes, so he’s wearing these old ones that I Transfigured larger.”

Ginny sighed and let out a bemused chuckle. “Got it. Thanks, Harry. Come on, you three.”

Albus was torn between continuing his discussion with his new friend and running to hug his mother. Eventually he whispered something in Scorpius’s ear, which caused Scorpius to smile and throw his arms around Albus in a big hug.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “Your son seems sweet, Malfoy.”

“No need to be so surprised,” Draco said, with a hint of a smile at the edges of his lips.

Ginny gave a bemused chuckle, her eyes still questioning, as she pulled Albus into a hug around her legs. James slid out of the table, still reading his paper.

“Say bye to Dad,” Ginny instructed. The kids ran up to Harry, giving him hugs in turn.

“Bye, Jamie,” Harry said. “Albus, tell Mum about the astronomy book we were reading. Lily, don’t forget Suzie.” Lily grabbed her stuffed kneazle and jumped onto Harry’s lap, causing him to grunt. She stepped her foot on his stomach. “Lils,” Harry groaned, “daddies need to breathe, too.”

“Bye, Harry,” Ginny said. “I’ll Floo you later about Wednesday. Malfoy, good to see you.”

Draco smiled. “Likewise.”

Lily climbed off Harry’s lap, running to grab Ginny’s hand.

“Bye Mr Malfoy!” James called, already walking away. “Think about your Fantasy Quidditch!”

“Bye Scorp!” Albus yelled cheerfully.

“Bye Al!”

And then Ginny grasped the three children firmly and Disapparated. Silence fell behind them.

Harry let out a big breath of air and his head fell back on the edge of the chair. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or sad that they were gone. Harry didn’t regret his divorce, but he could do without this feeling that his family was routinely Vanished only to be Conjured back one week later.

“You must miss them when they’re gone, Mr Potter,” Scorpius said, eating a bite of chicken.

Harry took a breath and looked at Scorpius—who was so different than Harry’s expectation of Draco’s son. Scorpius was earnest, observant, kind. Harry was glad Scorpius was still there. “Yeah. You’re right about that, Scorpius.” He attempted a smile.

Draco’s hand extended towards Harry briefly, almost like he was going to reach out to touch, but he put his hand down on his own knee instead.

“Scorpius,” Draco said, “Why don’t you tell Mr Potter about your favorite picture book?” If Harry didn’t know better, he’d suspect Draco was trying to cheer him up.

Scorpius bounced in his seat, his grey eyes wide. “Oh! It’s about you!”

Harry barked out a laugh. “What?”

“It’s called The Chosen One, The Mountain Troll, and the Philosopher’s Stone! It’s brilliant.”

Harry groaned. He turned to Draco. “I swear I didn’t want them to write that. Turns out my life is public property.”

Draco chuckled. “Pansy bought it to annoy me, but it’s his favourite. I could recite it from memory, sadly.”

“My favourite part is Fluffy!” Scorpius exclaimed.

“Fluffy the three-headed dog did shout,” Draco intoned, “but he fell asleep when the harp came out.”

Harry stared at Draco, then burst out laughing. Draco’s face flushed red, his lips quirked into a ghost of a smile.

The waiter arrived and put the bill on the table.

“Fluffy was quite a creature,” Harry said as he reached for the bill.

“I’ve got it,” Draco said, waving Harry’s hand away and picking up the Gringotts quill.

“Don’t be daft, Malfoy. There were four of us and two of you!”

“Don’t be daft, Potter. I’m appallingly rich.”

Harry let out a bemused chuckle. For some reason Draco acting like a posh prick struck him as funny, not pretentious. And why was that? He decided not to pursue that line of thought.

“Potter.”

Harry turned to look at Draco.

“Come over for that drink one evening this week?” Draco asked.

Harry’s face flashed surprise, but he nodded. “Sure.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I’m busy tomorrow.”

“Oh, right.”

Malfoy seemed to be apologising for forgetting that he already knew Harry was busy tomorrow, but that couldn’t be right. Harry quirked an eyebrow in confusion, but just said, “Thursday?”

“Alright, I’ll Floo you when Scorpius is asleep. Usually around 8 o’clock.”

The three stood to leave and Scorpius threw his chubby arms around Harry’s waist. “Bye, Mr Potter. Thanks for letting us have supper with you!” Harry put his hand on Scorpius’s head and looked, bewildered and smiling, at Draco.

The following night found Harry tumbling through Ron and Hermione’s Floo. “Anyone home?” he called, careful to keep his voice low so he wouldn’t wake his niece or nephew.

Hermione called, “Harry! We’re in here!”

Harry smiled, warmed as always by the constancy of Ron and Hermione. He walked down the hall and found his best friends curled together on the couch. Hermione was reading a book, and Ron was staring intently at a chess board.

“You playing yourself or is this a Charmed set?”

Ron smiled, gesturing to the arm chair for Harry to sit. “Charmed set. Charlie’s got the other half. I’m kicking his arse.”

“How was your date?” Hermione asked, casting a Bookmarking Charm at her book.

“Bloody awful,” Harry said with a groan.

“Oh no!” Hermione exclaimed. “What happened?”

“It was with this woman—she seemed nice at first. Works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

“What’d she look like?” Ron asked, eyes still on his chess game. Hermione hit his arm, and he laughed. “Calm down, woman! I’m just asking!”

Hermione rolled her eyes with fond exasperation, then turned back to Harry. “So what was the problem?”

Harry scrubbed his face with his hand. “Wait, wait, I’ll reenact it. I didn’t wear any Glamours or anything, just so you know. Ready?”

“Hold on,” Ron said, casting a spell at the chess set to let Charlie know he was taking a break. “I don’t want to miss this. Okay, go.”

Harry grinned, then closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, he wore a starstruck face. “What was it like to compete in the Triwizard Tournament? I was only six then, you know. What was Viktor Krum like? Tell me about the Death Eaters. How did you learn to cast a Patronus? What colour pants are you wearing?”

Ron guffawed, throwing his head back. “No way. Did you tell her you were going commando?”

Harry laughed, groaning. “She didn’t really ask that last one, but the others! Seriously, what is up with this matchmaking service? They claim to have insanely good results! They claim 95% of people keep dating the first person they match with!”

Hermione looked at Harry thoughtfully and made a humming sound.

“What?” Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. “Nothing.”

“No, what?”

Hermione shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just—I was wondering if something was wrong with the information you sent to the service? You told the truth, didn’t you? I know you wanted to conceal your identity.”

“The only thing I lied about was my name,” Harry confirmed.

“I don’t know, mate,” Ron said, commiserating. “That’s rough. Maybe you should just shag one of them and go from there.”

“Ron!” Hermione yelped. “Harry should not ‘just shag’ someone he actively dislikes.”

Harry laughed. “Don’t worry, Hermione, I have absolutely no desire to have one off with these morons. The guy from the first date probably would’ve taken down data about my sexual performance and then compared me to the population at large when we were through.”

Hermione laughed, covering her face with her hand. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said with a smile. “You’re trying to help. I’ll give it another try, at least for one more date. Though I am tempted to give the owner of this service a piece of my mind.”

Hermione’s face turned nervous, but before Harry could remark on it, the Floo roared.

“Hey! Is Harry here?” It was Ginny’s voice.

Harry hopped up and ran out of the room and around the corner to the Floo. “What is it? Are the kids okay?”

“Oh, yeah—sorry,” Ginny said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to hear about your date. James told me. Can I come through?”

Harry groaned. “Gin, you do not want to hear about my date. But sure, come through.”

Ginny’s face disappeared, then the Floo roared and she stepped out. “I set a Vigilia Infans, so we’ll know if any of them wake up,” she said, reaching up to wrap one arm around Harry’s shoulders.

Harry leaned his head to kiss her fiery hair. “We’re in the other room.”

They joined Ron and Hermione; Ginny flopped down on the sofa next to Ron. “So how was it?” she asked, leaning against her brother.

“Awful. She basically acted like a nosy fan the entire time.”

Ginny grimaced. “Bad luck.”

“How are the kids?” Harry asked, eager to change the subject.

“They’re good. James wouldn’t stop talking about Fantasy Quidditch and how he’s going to play against ‘Mr Malfoy.’” Ginny pronounced “Mr Malfoy” as if it was extremely funny. “How’d you lot get to be so chummy with Malfoy?”

“Keep running into him in town. His kid’s Albus’s age, you know.”

“Yeah—” Ginny said, but just then Hermione jumped to her feet.

“Ginny, can you help me with something in the kitchen?”

Ginny cocked an eyebrow. “Umm. Okay?”

Hermione widened her eyes briefly. Ginny got up and followed her out of the room.

Ron looked after them. “That was weird. I thought they’d stop with the whole traveling in packs and whispering and giggling stuff once we reached adulthood. Or at least after we were married.”

Harry laughed.

“Seriously though, Harry,” Ron said, turning to face his friend. “Are you okay about all this? It’s kind of a lot to deal with. The kids aren’t home, which I can’t even really imagine, and then you’re going on these awful dates. Do you, I dunno, need a distraction? Want to take home some of my movies? I just got the entire Back to the Future trilogy. Might take your mind off. Great Scott!”

Harry smiled. “I’m fine. I just needed to rant about it a bit, and you already helped with that.”

The two women returned shortly, Levitating a tray of tea. They sat and poured cups for each of them.

“So, Harry,” Ginny said casually. “What’s Malfoy up to these days, besides taking his kid to the park?”

Harry’s brow crinkled. “I think I asked him that, but I don’t really remember what he said. He probably doesn’t need to work, eh?”

“He’s divorced, is that right?” Hermione asked, her eyes carefully on her tea cup.

“Yeah, get this!” Harry sat up straighter, as if preparing to tell a compelling story. “Malfoy said he knew—and Astoria knew—he was gay even before they got married and they did it just out of, like, convenience. Can you believe that?” Harry shook his head, chuckling.

Ron turned his head to look at his sister and then his wife, who each returned his look.

“Did you get on with him when you ran into him at dinner the other day?” Ginny asked.

“At dinner?” Ron said, looking between Ginny and Harry.

“Yeah, we got on fine. Nice to have some adult conversation after a day with the kids, you know? He invited me to come over one night after Scorpius is asleep.”

Hermione’s eyebrows raised until they were obscured by her voluminous hair. “Really? And what’d you say?”

“Said I’d go over Thursday.”

Ginny chugged the last couple sips of her tea. “I better go—I don’t like to leave the kids too long.” She stood and hugged everyone in turn. As she was walking out of the room she paused, turned around. “Harry, wear the grey trousers.”

Harry’s face crinkled in confusion. “What?”

“When you go see Malfoy. Wear the grey trousers.”

Ginny disappeared, and Harry turned back to Ron and Hermione for an explanation, but his friends were looking at their chess and book, respectively, each carefully not looking at Harry.

Draco sat in front of his Floo, looking at Pansy’s face in the green flames.

“I’m asking you,” Pansy said, with precision, “how Potter’s matching is progressing. Did you match him again after he rejected the swotty old man?”

“I’ll have you know,” Draco said, “that many people enjoy older men.”

Pansy didn’t deign to answer that, only raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Draco sighed, “he went on another date, with a woman, earlier this week.”

“And did you hand-choose her, or did you trust your actual, proven Charms?”

“The Charms were wrong, Pans!” Draco snapped.

Pansy looked like she was trying to conceal a smile. “Of course. And how did the date go?”

“Not well,” Draco admitted. “He sent back the rating form covered in annoyed chicken scratch. Apparently she was a bit invasive about his history.”

Pansy laughed. “Oh, Salazar.”

Draco didn’t respond, his hands clasped on his lap.

“And now you’ve invited him over to your place for a drink after the sprogs are asleep?”

“That’s not weird, Pans. Parents need a break. You don’t understand, because you don’t have kids.”

Pansy’s face flashed with annoyance. “Yes, I couldn’t possibly understand,” she sneered.

Draco’s eyes widened as the full implications of what he’d said set in. “I didn’t mean—Pansy, I forgot—I’m sorry.”

Pansy sighed. “It’s okay. Not your fault. Anyway, though. Draco.”

“What?”

“Have you taken your matchmaking test yet?” Her voice was gentle.

“No,” Draco replied, with equal quiet.

“Let me ask you a question,” she continued. “Close your eyes. Imagine Potter. Can you see him? That atrocious hair, stupid scar, Muggle clothes, intense eyes.”

Draco, eyes closed, sat still.

“Now imagine another man there. Doesn’t matter what he looks like, let’s make him tall and beefy with dark hair. He comes up behind Potter, reaching around Potter’s strong arms, pulling him in for a hug. Potter turns and looks at him with stars in his eyes. The man leans forward and—”

“Enough!” Draco spat. His ears were red, his face furious.

“I think I’ve made my point,” Pansy said. She leaned forward in the flames. “Don’t let that happen, then, Draco. You deserve what you want. It’s in your power.”

Draco just shook his head minutely.

“Take the damn test,” Pansy said, and then her head was gone from the flames.

Draco rose off the floor and deposited himself in the leather arm chair. His hand shook as he reached up to push his hair out of his eyes. He sighed, picked up his wand, and cast a mild Calming Charm at himself. He jumped a bit as he felt the Charm dissolve the excess cortisol in his system.

Pansy was right about Draco’s feelings, of course. Blast it all, she always was.

But Pansy always forgot the extent of the wizarding world’s grudge against Draco. She was so sure that Potter would be interested in Draco, but he knew better. Draco was Slytherin to the core and expert at self-protection. He could not be one of the people about whom Potter’s chicken-scratch complaints could fill an entire parchment. He’d read what Potter wrote about Wasserkraft. Draco couldn’t be the subject of that; it would break him. It would shatter this tenuous yes-my-life-is-going-along-just-fine farce he’d somehow maintained since the war. They could be friends. They could be friends who hung out when the children were finally asleep, who helped each other stay sane despite single fatherhood, who simply enjoyed one another’s company. Yes, Potter could use a friend like that.

Feeling somewhat better after the Calming Charm and in his conviction that he and Potter could be friends and no more, he threw a handful of Floo powder in the grate and called out Potter’s address. A moment later, Harry’s face appeared.

“Hey, Malfoy!” Harry said cheerfully.

“Hello. Scorpius is asleep. Are you still interested in that drink?”

“Yeah, I’ll come right through,” and a moment later Harry Potter stood in Draco’s living room.

“Hi,” Harry said.

Harry had the familiar look of a spent parent. Even though Draco knew the kids were with their mother this week, Harry still had a look that suggested he might have jam in his hair. Harry looked like he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in…in years, really. It made Draco want to let him sleep in. Draco’s eyes dropped to Harry’s grey trousers, which fit beautifully and threatened to distract Draco, dammit, then snapped his eyes back to Harry’s face.

“Hello,” Draco said. Damn it all, he thought, he couldn’t manage two seconds with Harry without forgetting his determination to be friends-and-no-more.

“Er, how’s Scorpius?” Harry asked. He looked so awkward, standing there in front of the Floo, unsure what to do with his arms.

“He’s good,” Draco said, indicating the sofa in an attempt to relieve the tension, and Harry took a seat. “He spent all day asking me to read him books about Muggle space exploration.” Draco walked to the liquor cabinet.

Harry laughed. “Does that bother you?”

“Does what bother me?” Draco asked, turning to look at Harry. “Whiskey or gin?”

“Whiskey. His being interested in Muggles.”

Draco’s shoulders stiffened as he poured two fingers of whiskey into a cut-glass tumbler, then slowly turned towards Harry. “I’m sat in my tiny house in Godric’s Hollow, having moved out of the Manor, having donated excessive amounts to progressive causes since the war and having paid reparations, I have Harry Potter in my living room, and you’re asking me if I’m upset that my child is interested in Muggles?”

Harry squirmed, but pressed on. “Well, come on, Malfoy. How many times have I heard you call Hermione and others the m-word?”

“How do you take this? Vermouth and cherry? Ice? Lemon?”

“Ice,” Harry replied.

Draco complied and handed Harry his drink. He could feel cold anger coursing through his veins, overcoming the effects of the minutes-old Calming Charm, as if Harry’s words were a potion he’d been forced to drink.

He sat with his own drink on the chair across the room, his face carefully blank, and crossed one long leg over the other. “I hoped it was obvious, to you at least, that what happened during the war showed me the myriad ways in which I had been an idiot. I hoped that you, at least, would realise my entire life since then has been an effort to be different, no matter how lonely I might be because of my choices back then.” His voice was cold. “I hoped that you, at least, had seen me interacting with Scorpius and realised that I’m trying to raise him differently.”

Harry sipped his drink, then sighed. “I’m sorry, Malfoy. You’re—you’re an amazing father. I do know all of that. It’s just…hard to adjust sometimes.” Harry looked awkwardly at his drink.

Draco could feel his magic just beginning to prickle at his fingertips. But the pain and frustration and confusion on Harry’s face were evident, and Draco found, with a sigh, that his desire to make Harry understand somehow transcended his anger.

“I apologised to Granger, you know,” Draco said quietly. “For everything.”

“You did?”

“Of course I did. I used to have nightmares of when she was tortured in the drawing room while the rest of us stood around and watched. I had to apologise.” Draco’s eyes were shuttered, his face impassive.

Harry stared in silence for a beat too long. “I—that’s awful. I’m sorry. That was a terrible day. I have nightmares about that day, too, sometimes.”

“I have nightmares about lots of things, Potter.”

Harry flashed a pained smile and raised his glass. “It’s a shitty club. Cheers.”

Draco raised his glass, meeting Harry’s eyes briefly.

“Er,” Harry said, eager to change the subject, “why does Scorpius love space exploration?”

“Who wouldn’t love space exploration?” Draco asked, eyebrow raised. “It’s fascinating. I’m half convinced there are wizards behind the whole operation. Do you know? Are there?”

Harry laughed, tension seeping out of his shoulders. “No, I don’t know. My kids are more into magical creatures and Quidditch. Haven’t spent much time reading about Muggle rockets.”

“You should,” Draco said with a grin. “Scorpius and I feel bad for Pluto.”

Harry laughed. “Have you ever seen the movie Apollo 13?”

“No,” Draco answered, sipping his whiskey.

“Have you ever seen a movie?”

Draco rolled his eyes, and flicked his wand. The wood cabinet that faced the sofa opened to reveal a large flat-screen television. “Of course, you git. Scorpius and I love Mary Poppins.”

Harry stared at Draco for a moment, then shook his head, laughing. “Okay. Sorry, unexpected. Want to watch this movie, then? It’s about space—a true story. It’s really good.”

“Alright,” Draco said.

Harry jumped up and disappeared into the Floo, returning a minute later with a DVD case. “Think fast,” he called, and threw the case in Draco’s direction. Draco’s hand shot out and caught the case.

“Poor throw, Potter,” Draco said with a quirk of his lips.

“Just testing how rusty your Seeker skills are, Malfoy.” Harry sat down on the sofa.

Draco spelled open the DVD player and Levitated the disc in. He sat next to Harry, close enough so their knees were touching. He noticed that Harry didn’t move away.

“One of the actors in this is a wizard,” Harry said conspiratorially. “See if you can guess which one.”

Draco scoffed. “Ten galleons I guess within five seconds of their first appearance.”

A wide smile overtook Harry’s face. “You’re on.”

After a moment, Draco angled his whole torso towards Harry. He placed his hand on his knee, elbow bent. “Is Dick Van Dyke? He must be, right?”

Harry laughed. “I dunno.”

The Universal logo flashed on the screen; Draco waved his wand and the lights dimmed.

July 2011

Teddy looked up from his parchment at Harry’s kitchen table. “So what about during your fourth year? What was he doing then?”

Teddy had just finished his first year at Hogwarts. He had arranged with Headmistress McGonagall to work on a History of Magic project about the war over the summer term. McGonagall and Harry both knew that Teddy just wanted a connection to his parents and an excuse to ask Harry questions. And they were both more than happy to oblige.

“I don’t know much,” Harry admitted. “He lived with Sirius at Grimmauld Place and was part of the Order. I think Dumbledore sent him on missions.”

Teddy nodded, his turquoise hair glinting in the sun, and turned back to his work. Harry, on impulse, walked over to the table and pressed a kiss to Teddy’s head. “I miss them—your parents. And I love you, and I’m glad you’re here.”

Teddy threw his head back, looking up at his godfather. He smiled. “Don’t cry on me now, Harry. It’s okay. Merlin.”

Harry laughed, recognising the thirteenness that marked Teddy’s behavior, but that didn’t quite mask his pain. Harry ruffled the turquoise hair and went back to the counter, where he had left a knife chopping vegetables.

James ran into the room wearing one of Ginny’s old Harpies sweatshirts. “My hair is black again. Charm it back!”

Harry smiled, raised his wand, and turned his oldest son’s hair turquoise for the fifteenth time that day.

“Wicked! Teddy, finish quickly so you can come play!” James cried, and ran out of the room.

Harry laughed and resumed chopping his potatoes. “So are the other kids understanding about your parents? They don’t pick on you, do they?”

Teddy’s eyes rose from the parchment; his face grimaced. He seemed much older than his thirteen years sometimes. In that way, he reminded Harry of Remus, which never failed to make Harry’s chest ache.

“Mostly, yes,” Teddy said. “But some of the kids are berks. I mean, it must’ve been the same for you, right?”

Harry stilled the knife. He remembered a pointy blond child saying, “Didn’t mummy ever tell you it is rude to eavesdrop? Oh yeah—she was dead before you could wipe the drool off your chin.” Merlin, but Draco had been an arse. It was hard to reconcile with the Draco he knew now—still a prat, sure, but not like that. Harry couldn’t imagine what school would’ve been like if one of his parents had been a werewolf, on top of it all.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. More or less.”

“Dad!” Albus called, running into the room. “When is Luna coming? Is she bringing the twins?”

“Soon,” Harry answered, “and not today.” He Levitated the cubed potatoes into a bowl and mixed them with olive oil, salt, and pepper.

“Where are you going tonight?” Teddy asked, quill scribbling at the parchment.

“Ooooh!” Albus said, bouncing. “You didn’t hear? Dad’s going on another date. Who’s it with this time, Dad?”

Harry sighed, exasperated, but smiled. “A wizard who works at the Ministry. Let’s just hope it’s someone better than the first bloke.”

Albus giggled, and ran out of the room, calling for James.

“So you’re gay?”

Harry looked up from his potatoes. Teddy was looking at him with a sort of bald-faced curiosity that Harry expected would disappear by the time he turned fourteen.

“Er, bi. Attracted to both—that is, either.”

Teddy nodded, face serious. “Cool.” He looked back down at his parchment.

Just as Harry thought to himself, Oh sweet Merlin, please don’t ask me about Remus and Sirius, Teddy spoke again.“Did you know Draco is gay?”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed. And then, because apparently Harry couldn’t stop himself from gossiping with a thirteen year old, he asked, “How do you know that?”

Teddy looked up. “He told me. How did you know?”

“He told me, too.”

Teddy gave Harry an inscrutable look. Harry winced; this conversation was making him appear fixated on dating, in general, and on Teddy’s cousin, in particular. An image of Draco flitted into Harry’s subconscious, with lean muscles pulling a shirt taut across of his chest. Fuck. Harry admonished his brain.

“How exactly,” Teddy asked suddenly, “do two men or two women even have sex?”

Harry’s face snapped up and his finger found the knife. He managed to wandlessly heal the gash without Teddy realising.

Harry was not a novice talking to children about sex; Ginny and Hermione both had strong feelings about sex education and used words like “openness,” and “honesty,” and the “whole truth,” and “sex and body positivity,” and “anatomically correct terms.” All of his kids knew what sex was, even Lily. Harry had a particularly fond memory of Ron’s face when Ginny and Hermione taught the kids about menstruation over dinner one day. But Teddy wasn’t his child. And none of his kids had ever asked this particular question. He supposed that was an oversight. He was going to have to have this discussion not once, but multiple times. Merlin fuck.

“Well, er, there’s no one way,” Harry began. He set the knife carefully in the sink before he summoned all of his Gryffindorish nerve and stumbled through an accurate, thorough, yet utterly clumsy answer. Teddy stared at him, wide-eyed, his hair slowly turning to brown over the course of the lecture.

“So,” Harry said finally, “any questions?” He felt like a complete twit.

Teddy pressed his lips together. “Nope! Thanks, I just. I’m going to go, er, elsewhere!” Teddy stood and rushed out of the room.

Harry groaned. The Floo roared, admitting Luna.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Luna asked without preamble.

“I’m bollocks at giving sex talks,” Harry said with a smile.

“Oh,” Luna said, blinking. She turned her head to the side. “Yes, I can see that. Would you like me to step in?”

Harry laughed, pulling Luna in for a hug. “No, I think we’re good. How are you?”

“Good,” she replied. “Ready for your date? Do you need me to give you a sex talk?”

“Luna!” Harry said with a laugh.

“Because I think you should just do it,” she said, her words mumbled into Harry’s chest as she hugged him a bit longer than was socially acceptable.

“I don’t want just anyone,” Harry said quietly, running his hand through her long blonde waves.

Luna pulled back and looked at Harry curiously. “No. No, you’re right, I don’t think you do.”

“Dad!” Albus called from somewhere in the house. “Your wand went in the toilet!”

Harry gave Luna a look. Luna patted his arm, and Harry sprinted out of the room, barking, “What were you doing with my wand in the first place!?”

August 2011

For the fourth time in as many minutes, Draco looked at the parchment he’d received the day before.

Malfoy,

James and Albus have been on my case non-stop about seeing you and Scorpius. Why don’t you come over tomorrow around 4pm and stay for dinner? I’m making pasta because it’s the only food that doesn’t result in whinging throughout dinner.

See you soon, Harry

Draco stared at the missive as if it were a great mystery, or a great insult. He should go to dinner because of James and Albus? Not because of Harry, of course. Harry was only inviting them because his children insisted, not because he wanted to spend time with them. Just like they’d only had dinner a couple weeks ago because of Albus insistently tugging Draco across the cafe.

Scorpius walked into the room, bouncing on his small feet. He held a stuffed Norwegian Ridgeback that puffed smoke if you squeezed its tail. “Papa, is it time? I want to show Albus my dragon!”

Draco smiled, though it was a bit strained. He stood and took Scorpius’s hand. “Yes. We can walk. It’s only a couple of streets away.”

Draco grabbed a bottle of wine from the wine rack (a poor imitation of the Manor’s wine cellar, but filled with excellent libations nonetheless) and led Scorpius out the door.

“It must be weird to have a brother and a sister, don’t you think, Papa?”

Draco’s heart ached at those words, memories of lonely hours at the Manor coming to the fore. He glanced at Scorpius, trying to gauge the child’s emotions. “I can’t quite imagine it,” Draco agreed. “And I imagine Albus would have a hard time imagining what it’s like to be an only child, too. It’s difficult to truly understand another’s experience.”

Scorpius nodded, looking up at Draco with reverence as if his father had uttered some profound truths, and squeezed Draco’s hand. “It’s loud with the Potters. I like it.”

Draco smiled. “If it gets too loud and you need a break, you just let me know. Okay?”

Scorpius blinked through the sunlight. “Of course!”

As they rounded the corner onto Hawthorn Street, the Potter house appeared. Albus, a tiny miniature of Harry, sat on the front step poking the ground with a large stick. He spotted the Malfoys and his eyes brightened, even from a distance. “Scorp!” Albus cried.

Scorpius looked at Draco. “Can I go?”

“Certainly,” Draco said, watching in bemusement as Scorpius ran to Albus and tackled him to the ground in a physical greeting that Draco supposed was the five-year-old version of a hug.

When Draco reached the front door a minute later, Harry stood leaning against the door frame with a smile on his face. “Hey, Malfoy.”

“Hello,” Draco said politely.

“Your greeting isn’t as enthusiastic as your son’s.”

“Do you want me to tackle you to the ground? I’m sure it could be arranged.”

Harry’s cheeks went red and his gaze flitted to the ground. Draco’s eyes widened slightly as he took in Harry’s reaction. Well that was interesting. Draco held out the bottle of wine, and Harry took it.

“Er, come in. James is going to make you talk Quidditch. Of course he’s not interested in either of his parents’ opinions on the matter, never mind that Ginny was a professional Chaser and that I played, too. Mr Malfoy’s opinions are much more authoritative.” Harry cocked a lopsided smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know you raised at least one intelligent child.”

Harry laughed and held the door open. After Draco walked inside, Harry called, “Albus! Scorpius! We’re going inside.”

Albus and Scorpius had their heads pressed together, talking animatedly about something. They couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge their fathers.

Draco walked into the kitchen and James jumped up from his seat at the table. “Mr Malfoy!” He grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him to the table.

Harry looked on, amused. “Can I get you something? Tea?”

“Tea would be lovely.”

Harry served cups of tea to Draco and James. Harry, apparently used to James’s wild gesticulations, cast a wandless Charm on James’s cup just in time—James’s arm flew out suddenly, and the cup skittered out of the path of destruction.

Draco’s chest ached; he was reminded of a satirical book called Porn for New Wizard Parents that Pansy had bought him when Scorpius was born. Each page depicted an unrealistically fit witch or wizard helping with childcare, casting the perfect Charm to prevent or clean up a mess, saying the right thing, allowing their partner to sleep. One page featured a tall, dark, and handsome wizard standing in front of a screaming child. When you flipped open the page, the man whispered sensually, “Go have a nap. I’ve got this covered.” Then he waved an illustrated wand, stars twinkled on the ceiling, and the child’s wails turned to coos. Even though the book was intended to be humourous, Draco had found this page difficult to look at even before his divorce, a longing that he didn’t want to admit to twisting in his gut. After Astoria had left, it was even worse. He’d come across the book one day not long after the divorce and obliterated it with a precise Incendio.

Draco averted his eyes from Harry’s casual display of parenting excellence. It wasn’t fair, really. The prat had to be perfect at everything.

Draco forced his mind back to the present and worked with James on their Fantasy Quidditch lineups while Harry chopped vegetables for a pasta sauce. Lily sat on the floor next to Harry with a bunch of cooking implements in front of her.

“So if I have Vane for Seeker—” James stood to look over Draco’s shoulder.

Lily walked to the table and pulled on Draco’s sleeve. Draco turned to her. “Hello,” he said, uncertainly.

Lily flashed him a huge smile and held out an empty cup. “I made you a smoothie. It’s strawberry. It smells like hippogriff.”

Draco pressed his lips together, glancing at Harry for guidance. Harry’s eyes sparkled with mirth, but he looked down resolutely at his tomatoes.

“Thank you very much, Lily,” Draco said properly.

She smiled and ran away.

Hiccough.

“Draco, do you like coriander?”

“Yes—”

But Draco’s words were lost to Albus and Scorpius running in wearing pants on their heads. “These are our HIT Wizard helmets!” Albus said with a growl.

Scorpius brandished a Muggle ruler as a wand. “Drop your wands!” he yelled authoritatively.

“Incarcerous!” Albus added, flicking a stick as if it were a whip.

“Hey HIT Wizards,” Harry said wearily, “the criminals are in the garden. I had word from Headquarters.”

“10-4!” Albus called, and they ran into the garden.

Hiccough.

“Hey, wait up!” James called, “I have a great idea!” He chased his brother and Scorpius into the garden, his Fantasy Quidditch temporarily abandoned on the table.

“10-4?” Draco asked, bewildered, a smile on his face.

Harry laughed and turned back to his chopping.

A hiccough sounded from the floor. Lily’s little voice cried, “I don’t like these hiccoughs!” She pronounced the L like a W, for “wike,” and Draco felt unexpected affection—the last thing he needed, on top of everything, was attachment to Harry Potter’s bloody children.

“Try holding your breath, Lils,” Harry advised, Levitating an onion from the cupboard.

Hiccough. “I want these hiccoughs out of my body!” Lily was getting worked up. Hiccough.

Harry kneeled down. “Take a breath, Lily. It won’t help to get upset about it.”

Hiccough. “But Daddy, they keep coming. Get out of my body!” Hiccough.

Draco stood, but hesitated. “Potter, may I?” He held his wand.

Harry nodded and gestured at his daughter. Lily thumped her chest angrily. Draco kneeled down next to her. “Lily, can I cast a Charm to stop the hiccoughs?”

“Oh, yes please!” Hiccough. “I want them out!”

Draco smiled. He waved his wand.“Nolite singultiunt.”

Lily waited a moment, staring at her chest. When nothing happened, she looked up with a beam. “You got them out!” She hopped to her feet and wrapped her little arms around Draco’s neck.

“You’re quite welcome.” Draco’s face was a mixture of shock, pride, and discomfort.

Harry watched these proceedings with amusement. “Thanks, Malfoy. I didn’t know that spell. It’s probably in Healer Spock….”

“No trouble,” Draco said, standing as Lily returned to her play. He leaned against the counter, watching Harry chop. “Would you like help?”

Harry looked up. “You want to help cook?”

“I cook,” Draco said defensively.

Lily stood from where she was stirring an empty pot on the floor. “Daddy, I’m going to the loo. Will you please keep an eye on my stew?”

Harry replied, “Er, of course, Lils.”

“Where’s Suzie?” Lily muttered. She located her stuffed kneazle and ran out of the room.

“Okay,” Harry said, handing Draco a courgette. “Can you chop this? Knives are in the drawer. I’d Summon one, but you know, ‘Never Summon knives’ is an aphorism for a reason.”

Draco opened the indicated drawer. “Might be a convenient story, if you’re trying to off me.”

Harry’s eyes were unreadable as he looked up from his tomatoes. “I’m definitely not trying to get you—to off you.”

Draco’s mind blanked for a few seconds; his neck was suddenly burning hot. Was he meant to ignore that? Oh, fuck it. How was he supposed to resist that guilelessly adorable and possibly unintentional flirting? He was only a wizard, after all.

Draco’s face tinged with a predatory smirk. “You’re not trying to get me off, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he swiveled, putting his knife down. His face was red, but he looked straight into Draco’s eyes. “Not with a knife, at least.”

A small smile broke over Draco’s lips, and he leaned forward. Harry mirrored his movement, as if magnetised. Draco could feel Harry’s warm breath on his chin.

“DADDY!” Lily called from the loo. The two men jumped apart. “I need a wipe!”

Draco started to laugh, much louder and more carelessly than he usually allowed.

“Oh Merlin,” Harry said, scrubbing his hand over his red, smiling face. Harry rushed out of the room to his duty.

Draco sat down at his desk after finally getting Scorpius to sleep. The dinner with the Potters had been overstimulating for Scorpius; it had taken an exceedingly long time for him to drift off to sleep.

He pulled out a New Client Registration form and stared at it like it was a sentence handed down by the Wizengamot.

Welcome to Ardeo! it said. For witches and wizards who are ready to find the magic!

Draco Summoned a tumbler and a bottle of Ogden’s. He poured a generous measure into the tumbler, and took a bracing sip.

He closed his eyes, then pressed the tip of his wand to the parchment.

This form will take you through a series of questions. Please answer to the best of your ability. Some of the compatibility tests require your magical signature. By pressing your wand to this parchment now, you indicate your acceptance of the terms detailed in the accompanying documentation, and your acknowledgment that Ardeo will use your magical signature in determining your compatibility.

“Fucking hell,” Draco muttered, and pressed his wand to the parchment.

The parchment changed again, this time asking a series of open-ended questions.

1. Name:
2. Age:
3. Children:
4. Marital status:
5. Living situation:
6. Do you want (more) children?
7. Political questions:
   1. Government regulation of business is necessary to protect the public interest. True/False

“Fucking hell,” Draco repeated, looking at the long list of questions he himself had written. He took another sip of Firewhiskey and selected a peacock quill.

Draco Malfoy. 31. One. Divorced. With son.

Pause.

Maybe. False.

Fifteen minutes later, Draco set down the quill and watched as the parchment cleared and new words formed.

Thank you for registering with Ardeo! You won’t regret taking this step to find the magic. Expect to hear from us soon.

With shaking fingers, Draco Vanished the parchment. He raised the tumbler to his mouth, swallowing the last of the smoking liquid.

When Draco set the tumbler down, a new parchment sat in his inbox. He looked up at the ceiling for a few moments, breathing deeply, then carefully grasped the parchment and put it in front of him.

New Client Registration Received

Draco’s eyes skimmed over the information he already knew.

Political affiliation composite score: Economic left/right: right; Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: centrist.

Draco snorted. He’d managed a political affiliation that would horrify both Potter and his father.

Erised Charm: Scorpius. Harry.

Draco’s eyes widened; his breath caught. He pushed the sheet away, scraped his chair back. “Fuck this,” Draco muttered. He stood up as if to leave the room. It was too much. Harry Potter, his heart’s desire, there on the parchment. He felt exposed, raw. If Harry knew this, he could use it against Draco. It could be ruinous.

Draco’s eyes found the parchment again and he grimaced. He had to see what it said. In for a knut, in for a galleon. Harry would never use it against Draco, anyway. This was Harry Potter, after all. Draco sat in the chair and pulled it close to the desk, slowly, as if afraid of what he would find there.

Gender and sexuality status: Male identifying, male presenting, homosexual, homoromantic, monogamist.

No surprises there. Draco’s eyes kept reading.

Boggart Charm: Alone.

Fuck.

Draco poured a second glass of Firewhiskey with trembling fingers. As he took a sip, his eyes scanned the parchment until they found what he was looking for.

1. Match: James Fleamont
2. Stength of match: Strong
3. Match by category:
   1. Life situation: Strong match
   2. Erised: Strong match
   3. Gender/sexuality: Strong match
   4. Boggart: Strong match
   5. Personality: Strong match
   6. Politics/religion: Conflict

Draco snorted, manic-eyed. He downed the rest of his drink.

Harry lay on his couch, one arm thrown across his face. The Floo roared, and he pulled his arm away. “Gin! What are you doing here?”

Ginny smiled. She looked good, better than she had when they’d been together. Her long fiery hair was pulled into a plait, and she looked like Lily.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Harry said with a small smile.

Ginny flopped on the couch, pushing Harry’s legs out of the way. “Budge over,” she commanded. Harry complied.

Ginny tucked her hair behind her ear. “I want to talk.”

“We’re already broken up,” Harry said with a grin.

Ginny flicked Harry’s shin. “Speaking of that. I keep hearing about your dates from the kids.”

“Yes,” Harry said with hesitation.

Ginny sighed. “Look, can I just speak plainly?”

“When do you ever not?”

“How long have you been in love with Malfoy?”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed.

“Harry, for fuck’s sake. You look like a flobberworm.”

Harry snapped his mouth shut.

Ginny gave him an odd look. “You have realised, haven’t you?”

Ginny was full of no-nonsense compassion and Harry realised there was no chance of avoiding the inquest. It was the same look she had on her face that time they’d gone to talk to Andromeda about how she was sheltering Teddy, and that time they’d convinced George he needed to go back on antidepressant potions.

Harry groaned. “Yes, I’ve realised.”

Ginny flashed a small smile and patted Harry’s arm. “In school?”

“What? No! No!”

“I’m just saying,” Ginny said, tucking her feet up, “it might explain a lot.”

“No. No. No.” His mind flashed back to the way Draco had looked in sixth year, pale and drawn and scared. He remembered countless hours staring at Draco’s dot on the map, knowing—knowing—that something was horribly wrong. But it hadn’t been attraction. It hadn’t been staring at Draco’s neck and wanting Draco’s shoulders to never hunch up with tension and wanting the kids to leave them alone for just five freaking minutes for the love of Merlin. Although, maybe if the rest of the students had left them alone for five minutes back then…but no. No. “No,” he added again aloud.

“You’ve said that a few times,” Ginny replied with a smirk. “You know what they say about protesting too much. But look, I’m not asking for an explanation, though I won’t pretend I’m not curious as fuck over here. I just wanted to tell you—I know, and I don’t care. And Hermione knows, and she doesn’t care.”

“Hermione knows? Are the two of you in MI5?”

“Is that like the Unspeakables?” Ginny shook her head, refusing to go off on a tangent. “The point is, we love you, and no one will care.”

Just then, there was a knock at the front door. Ginny hopped up and peeked down the hall. She turned back to Harry, her face in an enormous and devious smile. “Draco Malfoy is knocking at your front door.”

Harry jumped off the couch. “Fuck!”

“Yes, fine, if you must. Just don’t wake the kids.”

“Ginny, that’s not—”

“Harry,” Ginny came close and squeezed Harry’s arm. “None of the family or friends will care. The only thing we want is to see you happy.”

Harry closed his eyes and nodded.

“I’m going!” She grabbed a handful of Floo powder. “Oh, and Harry—”

Harry turned to her. His heart was pounding, and his neck was hot and prickly. Fuck, he hadn’t felt like this since…well, not since he and Ginny had been new and exciting before the war. Maybe not even then.

Ginny’s smile looked a bit wistful. “He’s crazy about you, too.” She disappeared in green flame.

Harry blinked at the fireplace for a moment longer, until he heard a second knock at the door and bounded down the hall. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Stood on his front step was Draco, hair tousled, eyes wild, holding a sleeping Scorpius on his shoulder. It was raining, and Draco was wet, his hair plastered against his forehead as he held his wand awkwardly in an Umbrella Charm over Scorpius.

“Um, hi,” Harry said, whispering.

“Can I come in?” Draco whispered back.

“Of course,” Harry said, gesturing inside. Draco walked into the foyer, dripping onto the floor. Harry closed the door.

“Why didn’t you just set Vigilia Infans on him?” Harry asked, voice still a hush, face smiling and curious.

“I—oh yeah.” Draco was flustered, and that was certainly new.

Harry smiled. “No matter. Want to put him in with Albus?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” Harry quirked a calculating eyebrow at Draco and led them up the stairs, opening the door to Albus’s room, and whispering, “Do you want to Transfigure another bed, or just put him with Al?”

“I’ll just put him with Albus,” Draco whispered, placing Scorpius beside Albus and tucking him under the covers.

Draco stepped quietly out of the room and closed the door. They stood in silence. Draco pushed his wet hair away from his face. He looked tousled, and amazing, and Harry wanted to touch.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” Harry whispered.

Draco let his eyes fall to Harry’s lips, neck, chest. Then he brought his gaze back to Harry’s. “No,” Draco whispered back. Then he took a confident step forward, grabbed hold of Harry’s tatty Harpies t-shirt, and tugged Harry close to him. He paused, looking at Harry’s eyes, as if for permission—or absolution. “Is this alright?” he whispered.

Harry’s eyes widened. This wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d expected, he didn’t know—avoiding the issue, or denial, or obfuscation. He thought maybe he’d have to convince Draco, or that Draco would find a way to use Harry’s interest against him. Instead, Draco’s candidness went straight to Harry’s cock. Harry hadn’t realised how much he wanted not to be in control for once.

Harry smiled and touched his nose to the side of Draco’s neck. “It’s more than alright,” he whispered. “And I don’t think any children need assistance in the loo, Merlin help us.”

Draco laughed, bright and free, grabbed Harry’s face with both hands, and crushed their lips together. Harry leaned into it, wrapping his muscular arms around Draco’s tall, lithe frame. It was lips and tongue and teeth and it probably should’ve been terrible because it was uncoordinated and frantic—but it wasn’t, because it was Draco and Harry was lost. His body was pulsing with blood and magic, and Ginny’s words—“He’s crazy about you, too”—echoed in his mind. Then Harry groaned and pushed Draco back into the wall, and all thoughts of his ex-wife were lost to the haze of lust and something even more formidable that felt like forever.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered, pressing close-mouthed kisses to Draco’s neck and clavicle.

“Quite,” Draco whispered back. “Fuck, Harry, do you know how much I’ve wanted to touch you these past few weeks?”

Harry laughed and brought his face level with Draco’s, pressing their lips together again. “I think I have a bit of an idea.”

They kissed with heat for a few more moments, but then Harry gathered his determination and pushed Draco’s chest away. “Draco, I—”

Draco ducked his face to the side of Harry’s, sucking Harry’s earlobe into his mouth.

Harry moaned, then whispered, “Wait, hold on. I can’t—we can’t—do this if it’s just a one-off thing. The kids.”

At that, Draco withdrew. He frowned, narrowing his eyes. “The bloody kids is why this can’t be a one-off, Potter?”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“I’ll tell you why this can’t be a one-off,” Draco whispered. “This can’t be a one-off because I’ve wanted to fuck you since I was fourteen, and that was before you looked this bloody sexy all the time, and before you were the perfect father, and before you made me laugh all the time and showed me movies and cared about Scorpius. It’s really not fair. You’re not fair.”

Harry’s eyes smoldered, but he was speechless, breathing heavy. Draco’s words took the air from his lungs as effectively as a Flipendo.

“This can’t be a one-off,” Draco continued, whispering with possessive, almost angry eyes, “because I’m fairly certain that if I fuck you, I’ll never want to fuck anyone else ever again. It can’t be a one-off because I want to be the only one allowed to touch you. Because when you’re upset, for some asinine and disgustingly soppy reason, I want to wrap you in my arms until you’re happy again. Not because of the fucking kids.”

Harry stared into Draco’s ardent eyes. He could feel something he hadn’t even been aware of unclenching deep in his gut. Draco wanted him. Eventually, Harry whispered with a slow smile, “Good.”

At that, the anger dissolved from Draco’s eyes and he descended on Harry’s mouth again. Harry reciprocated for a minute before hooking his fingers in Draco’s waistband and dragging him into his bedroom, shooting Vigilia Infans at the kids’ rooms and a one-way Silencing Spell at his bedroom door over his shoulder.

Harry, upon hearing a chorus of poorly executed whispers and feeling the unmistakable motion of tiny feet on his sternum, blinked his eyes against the bright light of morning. He closed his eyes again, feigning sleep.

“When did you get here?”

“I don’t know, I just woke up in Albus’s bed!”

“What are they doing?”

“Do you think they had sex?”

“James, ew!”

“What?”

“Should we let them sleep?”

“No, I want breakfast!”

“I have a great idea! If we let them sleep they won’t be able to stop us from eating that chocolate Dad hides in the cupboard.”

Harry heard snickering.

“Shhh!”

“Ow! Watch it!”

“Shhhhhhhh!”

The door closed.

Draco, eyes still shut, began to chuckle.

Harry opened his eyes and turned on his side, joining Draco in laughter. Harry’s laughter stopped when he saw Lily curled up against Draco, her tiny auburn head tucked on his chest, her feet extended perpendicularly towards Harry.

Harry had never even allowed himself to fantasise about this. He’d thought he might eventually find someone to fuck. Or even someone to date. But someone who would slot so perfectly into his life, so easily that his daughter curled up with him in bed, someone who felt like the missing piece of his family? He’d never dared to hope.

He was torn between wanting to laugh—because he had been on a date with Kilgore bloody Wasserkraft, and how could anyone except Draco ever belong in Harry’s bed with Harry’s daughter asleep on him?—and wanting to cry—because this wasn’t a dream, was it?

“When did Lily come in?” Harry whispered.

Draco opened his eyes. “I don’t know.” For a moment they watched as Lily’s chest rose and fell with the force of her deep breathing.

Harry reached over to nudge Draco’s arm. “At least we didn’t fall asleep naked.”

Draco laughed. “Oh Merlin. I really should’ve gone back home.”

“Nah,” Harry said with a smile. He rubbed his face.

Lily began to stir upon hearing the voices and laughter. She sat up, blinking and rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Where’s Al and Jamie?” she murmured.

Harry leaned over to kiss her hair. “Morning, Lils. They’re downstairs with Scorpius. Why don’t you go down and see what they’re up to.”

“‘Kay!” She stood up, looking for something in the covers.

Harry found the stuffed kneazle and held it up. “Are you looking for Suzie?”

Lily fixed Harry with a pitying look and said, “Her name is not Suzie. It’s Percy Weasley.” With that she climbed off the bed, flashing a smile at Draco as she ran out of the room.

Harry stared at the door for a moment after she left, then his laughter came in a wave. “Oh Merlin. I can’t wait to tell Ron about that.”

Draco laughed, then mused, “Apparently finding me in your bed isn’t the slightest bit strange for your daughter. You don’t have strange men in your bed often, do you?”

Harry laughed again. “You’re not a strange man. You’re Mr Malfoy.” Harry pronounced “Mr Malfoy” with flair, still laughing. “I’m trying to decide if the kids eating those chocolates is a reasonable price to pay for staying in bed longer.”

“I’m less worried about the chocolate,” Draco said, “and more worried about whatever else they might get into.”

“Alright then, guess we’re getting up.” Harry sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Their clothes from the night before were strewn on the floor by Harry’s feet. He reached forward to pick up Draco’s clothes and a parchment fell out of Draco’s robe pocket.

A parchment with a very familiar insignia.

Harry picked up the parchment, in disbelief. “Draco.”

“Hmmm?” Draco hummed from behind him, eyes closed again.

Harry felt like he’d been dunked in a pool of ice water. He felt not unlike that time in the woods when he’d plunged into the frozen water and a Horcrux had nearly strangled him. But Ron wasn’t going to save him this time.

“Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes opened immediately upon hearing Harry’s tone. He sat up abruptly in bed. “What?”

“You come over here in the dead of night with your sleeping kid, jump me in the hallway, and meanwhile you’re using a dating service?”

The blood drained from Draco’s face, making him impossibly paler. He didn’t say anything, looking as if he expected Harry to lose his temper.

But Harry took a deep breath and just kept looking at Draco with intense green eyes.

“Don’t be mad,” Draco prefaced.

Harry looked like he might very well get mad, but he didn’t talk.

“I am the owner of Ardeo.” He sighed. “I designed the whole thing. This is an administrative form. I’d—I’d never filled out the form myself.” Draco stopped and took a breath. “What I mean to say is, I designed it, but I’d never put myself in the dating pool. Until last night.”

Harry’s face progressed through a series of distinct expressions—confusion, shock, frustration.

“Watch,” Draco said. “This is the form I get as the administrator after someone fills out the registration. I just need to approve it.” Draco grabbed his wand off the bed table and tapped the parchment. A moment later, parchments appeared on each of the bed tables. Draco gestured at the one by Harry. “Pick it up.”

Harry reached for the parchment and his glasses, then read, “Congratulations! You’ve been matched. Are you ready to experience the magic? Name: Draco Malfoy, Age: 31.”

Harry looked up. “You filled this out last night and it matched us?”

Draco sat up straighter. “I knew it would, I think. It’s pretty funny actually—look at the compatibility report I got.” Draco handed Harry the form that still sat in his lap.

Harry’s eyes scanned the sheet. “Oh my god, Draco. Gender and sexuality status. Erised Charm? Boggart Charm? You read my results for all of these Charms?” He looked up at Draco, his face distorted in vexation.

Draco had the good grace to look ashamed. “It never occurred to me that I might see the results for someone I knew. It doesn’t seem like anything, when you’re seeing the results of people you’ve never met, like Lan and Flo.”

Harry’s forehead crinkled in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said. “It’s personal, I know. I’m going to anonymise it for future customers. But go ahead, read mine. Then we’ll be even.”

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and looked back at the parchment. “Erised Charm: Scorpius. Harry.” His face flushed. “Are you fucking with me, Malfoy?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “I am the one that looks like an imbecile here, Potter. No, I am not fucking with you.”

Harry’s mouth quirked up in a teasing grin. “So I’m your heart’s desire?”

Draco’s hand flew towards Harry, finger pointed in accusation. “Don’t you dare make fun, you utter prat!”

Harry’s grin faded. “What—what did mine say?”

Draco flushed. “I’ll show you later; it’s in my office. It was more vague than mine. But it mentioned two men fighting and fucking, and kids, and a crup.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “A crup? What a great idea!”

Draco looked pointedly down the bridge of his nose. “You find out that you’re my heart’s desire and you’re fixated on a bloody crup.”

Harry laughed, then looked back at the parchment, reading aloud, “Match: James Fleamont. Strength of match: strong.” Harry’s eyes kept scanning the parchment. “Politics/religion: conflict.” He snorted, then looked at Draco with wide eyes. “I don’t understand. You knew James Fleamont was me?”

“I figured it out about two minutes after I received your registration form.”

All of Harry’s pent-up anger at his preposterous dates came rushing to the fore. Annoyance flashed in his eyes. “I’ve been wanting to yell at whoever is in charge of this operation! What the hell, Draco? Your stupid thing set me up with an arithmancer as old as my father!”

Draco’s face creased with a strange amalgam of unmistakable guilt and barely suppressed amusement.

Harry leaned forward menacingly. “What? Tell me.”

“I—” Draco started, but fell silent.

“You…” Harry prodded.

“I may have tampered with your results.”

“You may have,” Harry deadpanned. “Why?”

Draco’s cheeks turned red, and Harry seemed to thaw a bit at seeing Draco’s clear discomfort. “I—,” Draco began, “It wanted to set you up with a bloody 25-year-old, naive, inexperienced, body building Auror boy!”

Harry’s mouth gaped open. “Er, when you say ‘it’, you mean…”

“The Charms.”

“The incredibly advanced magical matchmaking Charms you designed.” Harry’s face was blank. “With your five N.E.W.T.s and your all-around brilliance,” he added.

“Yes.” Draco’s face changed from distressed to tentative smirk. “You think I’m brilliant?”

Harry looked at Draco for a long second.

Finally, Harry burst out laughing.

“What?” Draco said, trying to retain his dignity.

Harry gasped breaths between peals of laughter. “You—you were—jealous!”

Draco pressed his lips together, his ears red.

Harry managed to control his laughter to say, “Were you also jealous of Kilgore fucking Wasserkraft?”

Draco started to chuckle. “Maybe a bit. Not as much as the buff Auror boy.”

Harry barked with laughter, and this time Draco joined him. Harry kept laughing until tears glistened in his green eyes. Eventually, their laughter tapered.

“Draco.” Harry flopped back against the headboard, his hair wild, his glasses crooked. “Why didn’t you just ask me out? Why set me up with all these absolute tossers?”

“Don’t speak ill of perfectly eligible singles, Potter, just because they’re poorly matched with you.”

“Draco.”

Draco glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye. He jutted his chin up a millimeter. “Malfoys are extremely talented at many things. One of which is denial.”

Harry broke into a blinding smile. “Eh, Potters too. Let’s go make breakfast.”

January 2012

Harry drummed his fingers on the cafeteria table. He looked at Draco and sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“It is absolutely imperative,” Draco drawled from the seat next to Harry, “that our children receive an exemplary education in the fundamentals of magic, especially magical history and basic magical theory. If they don’t receive that, they will be at an irreversible disadvantage when they enter Hogwarts.”

A few stodgy wizards in traditional robes and a witch dressed in what looked like a Gringotts uniform nodded.

“Excuse me,” Harry interjected.

“Mr Potter, I’ll thank you to wait until you’re recognised,” admonished Bertram Abbott, the Chair of the Godric’s Academy Parent Teacher Association.

Harry managed to suppress rolling his eyes and raised his hand into the air, looking around pointedly at the room, wherein no one else was waiting to speak.

“Yes, Mr Potter,” Bertram Abbott proclaimed.

“Mr Malfoy seems to forget,” Harry said with a glare in Draco’s direction, “that there are a limited number of instructional hours, and that our children’s education in subjects not taught at Hogwarts must be intensive. They need to learn maths, reading, writing, handwriting, foreign languages, and social studies to prepare them for the world they will find at Hogwarts—”

“Social studies?” Draco sneered, with a laugh and a hand gesture that welcomed the other traditionalists in the room to scoff with him.

“Mr Malfoy!” Abbott squeaked. “You have not been recognised by the chair! Mr Potter has the floor! Parliamentary procedure will stand!”

Harry ignored Abbott, turning to face Draco. “How can students expect to get along with others at Hogwarts if they don’t have a foundation in Muggle and magical history as well as comparative societies? Do you want Godric’s Academy to raise a bunch of—of—imperialists who could turn into the next Voldemort?”

“That is not a fair assessment, Mr Potter,” Draco said in a loud, calm tone. Harry could tell that Draco wasn’t actually calm, but his aristocratic training allowed him to appear calm. “To claim that our children require a thorough magical foundation is not to claim that they should be trained in magical supremacy.”

Abbott banged on his table with a Gavel Charm, but no one paid him any heed.

“And how do you expect students from certain backgrounds,” Harry countered, gesticulating, “to avoid becoming brainwashed by magical supremacy unless we at Godric’s Academy actively teach them about other societies, both magical and Muggle?”

The rest of the parents in the Parent Teacher Association sat with various manifestations of rapt expressions as they stared at the showdown between Harry and Draco. The relationship between “The Chosen One and the Death Eater” (as the Prophet was calling it) had been on the front page no fewer than five times, increasing the interest of their audience. Terry Boot looked as if he were on the verge of Conjuring a carton of popcorn. Marjorie Brocklehurst had cast a minor Protego in front of herself, just in case.

“I must be mistaken, Mr Potter,” Draco sneered, his ears turning red, “because it sounds to me like you’re making generalisations that discriminate against traditional and pureblood witches and wizards. I must be mistaken, because I know that the Saviour would never perpetuate unjust stereotypes.”

“Dammit, Draco!” Harry yelled. “I am not! I am merely saying that we want all of our graduates to enter Hogwarts with both the empathy to understand where their fellow students come from, as well as, say, enough skill in English to read their texts and write their assignments, and enough skill in maths to succeed in Arithmancy!”

“And you’d be satisfied if James, Albus, and Lily entered Hogwarts without any proper understanding of wizarding history, lost in their classes without any ability to contextualise what they’re learning? You’d be happy with them entering like you did, totally clueless and needing to scramble to catch up with your peers?”

Harry pointed a threatening finger at Draco. “And you’d be satisfied if Scorpius entered Hogwarts acting the complete twat like you did? Terrorising fellow students because of their blood status?”

When the onlookers related these events later—and each and every one of them did relate these events later—they could never pinpoint the exact moment when the debate morphed from an abstract argument to a lovers’ quarrel.

“Of course not!” Draco was well and screaming now. So much for the aristocratic training; Lucius would have been mortified. “How can you say that, Harry?”

“Well you damn well know that I don’t want my kids to be unprepared like I was, either!”

“I suppose you think this is a simple logistical matter of balancing competing priorities within the time constraints of the instructional day!”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I fucking think!” Harry yelled back. “Merlin, Draco.”

The two men sat turned towards each other, faces angry, chests panting from their row.

“Mr Chairman,” a witch said tentatively.

Abbott turned to her. “Ms Mulligan, you have the floor.”

As Ms Mulligan, one of the teacher representatives to the PTA, began to discuss the practicalities of the adjustments to the curriculum that were up for motion, Harry slumped in his chair.

Draco flicked Harry’s leg under the table. When Harry looked at him, Draco cocked his chin towards the door to the hallway, then stood and walked out. Harry sighed and followed.

“What the fuck, Draco,” Harry said once they were in the hallway and out of earshot.

Draco leaned against the wall, tipped his head back, and started laughing. He reached into his robes and pulled out an intricately engraved silver hip flask. He unscrewed the cap, took a long sip, and held it out to Harry.

“You brought a flask?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, Potter, don’t you think flasks were invented for PTA meetings?”

Harry grabbed the flask and took an aggressive sip.

“They must think we’re round the twist,” Draco observed.

Harry huffed, still angry—his anger, once triggered, was not easily dissipated. “Don’t try to pretend like that didn’t just happen! I’m still angry! And also—we clearly are round the twist.”

Draco stopped laughing and fixed his grey eyes on Harry. “Sorry I yelled at you. Not sorry about demanding a proper magical education for the children. But you know I want Scorpius to learn all the stuff you said, too.” He sipped from his flask and held it out to Harry again.

Harry took a sip. “Well they can’t go to school for twelve hours a day! Scorp needs to have time to finish reading Fancourt’s Night Sky for Future Astronomers!” Harry yelled, but then sighed. He looked at Draco again, the anger disappearing from his eyes. “I’m sorry for yelling, too. I know you don’t want Scorpius to end up a magical supremacist.”

Draco grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him closer. “You’re pretty sexy when you get all righteous and Savioury, did you know?”

Harry snorted. “Oh yeah? You must’ve been insane with lust in the late 90s.”

Draco’s eyes darkened. “You have no idea.” Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s. Harry kissed back eagerly, their bodies still thrumming with adrenaline from their argument. “That is,” Draco amended, “when I wasn’t being forced to interact with the Dark Lord and scared for my life and limb. I wasn’t consumed with lust then.” He met Harry’s mouth again, pressing his tongue inside.

Harry pulled away from Draco. “Can we not talk about Voldemort when we’re snogging?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Fine,” he said with dramatic tone. “You’re so demanding.” He leaned back in, capturing Harry’s lips and pulling Harry’s hips closer so their groins pressed together.

“Merlin, Draco—not the time. Later. Do you want to go back into the meeting, or should we just skive off?”

Draco looked down the hallway. “I bet Abbott’s going to prattle on for another hour. Let’s just get the kids and go. I think we’ve made our mark on that debate, anyway.”

Harry barked a laugh. “I’d say we did. Do you think they assume we’re dueling out here? Or fucking?” Harry asked, smiling, as they walked farther down the hall.

“I bet Boot is taking bets on it.”

Harry laughed, and they turned into a classroom filled with children. The Potter kids and Scorpius looked up from a board game. Small dragon figurines were positioned around the board, puffing smoke. Harry walked to the kids and helped put away the game while Draco signed the kids out of the childcare, pressing his wand to the parchment to confirm his magical signature.

Harry secured Lily in the magical wrap on his back as Draco helped the others with their coats. Albus grabbed one of Draco’s hands; Scorpius grabbed the other. James ran ahead outside, and the group began the walk home. The sun was low in the sky; dusk was still arriving early.

“I forgot to tell you,” Draco said, excitement in his voice. “Lan finally agreed to go on a date with Flo.”

“You’re kidding!” Harry said with a laugh. “Finally! What changed his mind?”

“I’m not sure,” Draco said, trying to dissuade Albus from pulling his arm out of his shoulder socket. “But it turns out the reason he kept refusing is that he knew Flo when they were kids.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and fixed Draco with an amused look.

“Turns out Flo once pushed him out of a tree. He broke his foot, or some such thing.”

Harry laughed, reaching up to move Lily’s hands off his face and shooting a Scourgify at his glasses.

“Lan sent back his assessment of their first date, and he wrote on it that he thinks he could never be bored with Flo.”

Harry gave up on keeping Lily’s hands off his glasses, and turned to Draco, his face half obscured behind chubby hands. “What’d Flo say?”

Draco’s mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Flo said Lan challenges her, which is good even if it annoys her.”

“Hmmm,” Harry said, smiling. James yelled something from ahead and Albus and Scorpius ran after him.

“Stay on the pavement!” Draco called. “You never know when someone is going to zoom through on a broom!”

Harry grabbed Draco’s hand, rubbing his thumb over Draco’s knuckles.

“Dad!” Albus called a minute later, running back. “What’s the best way to fight a hippogriff?”

Harry opened his mouth, a wide smirk on his face, as if to launch into a story. Draco elbowed Harry in the ribs.