Harry Potter sat at his kitchen table, a half-empty cup of tea growing cold beside him as he leafed through the Daily Prophet. He hadn't meant to read the whole thing, but an article on the third page had caught his eye, and he found himself staring at the headline for far longer than he'd intended.
"Tragedy Strikes Malfoy Family: Astoria Malfoy Passes Away After Illness."
The words swam before him, and Harry felt a strange pang in his chest. It wasn't as though he and Draco had ever been close—they'd barely spoken since the war ended—but hearing about the death of Astoria Malfoy, Draco's wife, stirred something in him. His thoughts immediately went to Draco. What must he be feeling right now?
Harry continued reading, learning that Astoria had been sick for some time. The article mentioned their son, Scorpius, only briefly, noting that the young boy was now left without a mother. Harry's heart clenched at the thought. He couldn't help but think of his own childhood, growing up without his parents, and how much he had longed for his mother's presence.
He shuddered, pushing the paper away as the memories crept up on him. His mind lingered on the image of a small boy, much like Scorpius, navigating the world without the comfort of a mother's love. It was something Harry wouldn't wish on anyone, let alone the son of his former rival.
Without fully understanding why, Harry found himself rising from his chair. He moved with purpose, heading towards the small room he used as a study. His fingers brushed over the spines of various books and trinkets before he found what he was looking for—a small, intricately carved wooden box. Inside was a delicate silver pendant shaped like a phoenix, something he had purchased years ago but never found a reason to gift to anyone.
"Scorpius," he murmured to himself, turning the pendant over in his hands. It wasn't much, but it was something. A gesture of comfort, perhaps. The phoenix, a symbol of rebirth, seemed fitting in a strange way.
He hesitated. What was he doing? It wasn't as though Draco would welcome his visit, especially not after all these years. But then Harry thought again of Scorpius, a boy who had just lost his mother, and something inside him firmed with resolve.
"It's not about Draco," Harry muttered as he prepared to leave. "It's about the boy. Just to see if he's okay."
But as he apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor, he couldn't deny the nerves that gnawed at him. Memories of their school days, of the bitter rivalry and heated exchanges, surfaced in his mind. Yet alongside those memories was another, less acknowledged truth: Harry had always found Draco Malfoy infuriatingly attractive. Even back then, when the idea had been buried deep under layers of anger and competition.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he made his way up the path to the grand front door. It was a ridiculous thought. This was about Scorpius, not Draco.
The door opened just as Harry raised his hand to knock, and he found himself staring directly into the grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.
Harry froze. He wasn't prepared for this. Draco looked different, yet the same—taller, broader, with the kind of refined handsomeness that only deepened with age. His hair, no longer slicked back, fell softly around his face, and his eyes, though shadowed with grief, were still sharp and piercing.
"Potter," Draco said, his voice low and measured, betraying nothing.
"Malfoy," Harry replied, suddenly acutely aware of the small gift in his hand. "I—I heard about Astoria. I'm sorry."
Draco's eyes flickered, a brief moment of vulnerability passing through them before they hardened again. "Thank you," he said simply, though the weight of the words hung between them.
