Stuck With You / drarry

Epilogue

Five years later.

The last sunrays of the day were making the thick sheath of snow glisten in gold and orange, making the fields and naked trees glitter brightly. It was only approaching 4pm, but the sun was already descending behind the thick forest on the far right. The lake that could usually be clearly seen to the house in the summertime, was now just a steady mirror of ice, and one couldn't see the marks of ice skates on it even if they squinted very hard.

Inside the large sitting room, it was cosy though, with bright flames crackling away in the fireplace, candles everywhere, and the large Christmas tree decorated so voluminously that one could barely see the tree behind the decorations. Draco had to admit he might have overdone it, if not otherwise, then by Harry's doubtful expression when he came home. Noah liked it though, and he and Draco had agreed that Harry just had poor taste when it came to matter of holiday decorations.

Speaking of the devil, now the little bugger blast into the room, wearing the very neat – and very expensive – formal robes Draco had gotten him. "Daaaaad," Noah wailed and stomped across the room to Draco, who was reading in a large armchair in the corner of the room, "these robes are itchy," he complained, scratching his neck under the collar.

Draco put his book away, and couldn't help smiling at the sight of him: a little blond boy, five years old, standing in the middle of a heavily decorated sitting room, wearing dark green formal robes with gold embellishments. Maybe it was a bit much, but Draco thought he looked so handsome.

He and Harry had adopted Noah just shy of two years ago, when he was three, and oh how happy Draco had been – and smug while he knew Harry was only feigning irritation – when he was revealed to have a silvery hair, almost white, very similar to Draco's. Sometimes, though he knew he was only imagining it, he could see some physical similarities between himself and his son. Adopted or not, he loved Noah to pieces, more than he thought he could love anyone, well, besides Harry, and he remembered him and Harry positively tearing up when they had had their adoption application accepted.

The day they had gone to pick up Noah to bring him home, the way to the foster house had been very quiet and anxious, but as soon as they had brought him home, and he'd started playing peacefully with a toy Hippogriff Harry had bought for him, there had been a silent sigh of relief, and everything after that had gone smoother than any of them could have predicted. They had both been at home for a few weeks, getting to know their new son, and making sure he was settling in well.

Noah had been quiet at first, but during his first few months in his new home, he'd turned out to be quite the active boy, and for his first birthday at the Malfoy-Potter residence, Harry had gotten him a toy broomstick. They were both excited to see that Noah took to flying instantly, hovering and flying about only a few centimetres off the ground. Ever since then they had been quite the trio, dazzling old ladies at Diagon Alley, a former Death Eater turned good and the Chosen One, with their son between them. They had had to turn down dozens of interviews – 'it's just not the right time, we're focusing on family at the moment' had been the official statement both Harry and Draco were already sick and tired of repeating.

Eventually, though, the heat had died down, and they had been left alone, the three of them, still getting used to each other. Draco had had trouble thinking of himself as a father, and calling Harry 'dad' in front of their son, but he supposed none of them really knew what they were doing – this became clear after various conversations with Granger and Weasley, who had to admit that they were also just winging it. So that's what they'd been doing, just winging it, quite successfully so far, in Draco's opinion.

Now Draco smiled at Noah as he measured him up and down, "It's itchy because the robes are made of the finest wool, gathered from sheep who live in the pure air of the mountains." At least, that's what the sales witch at Madam Mooney's had convinced him of, before ripping him off grandly.