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Starfall	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 32486 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Six—Reception
            “But I want to go with you.”
            Teddy was leaning his head against Harry’s leg and looking up at him with the most winsome expression Harry had ever seen. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Teddy was only eight. He knew enough about manipulation to be a teenager.
            “I’m sure you do, but it’s going to be fine,” said Harry, and flicked his finger against Teddy’s nose hard enough to make him cross his eyes a bit. “The Healer only has to see to my leg and make sure the injury healed properly. There’s nothing you can do in St. Mungo’s except get into mischief.” He raised his eyebrows as Teddy blushed. “Unless you were going to tell me that it was your evil twin who smeared those potions all over the walls last time.”
            “I just wanted to see the colors they would make,” Teddy muttered to his feet.
            Harry patted his shoulder. “I know.” After that, he had taken the hint that, he had to admit, Andromeda had also been trying to give him, and bought Teddy a fine set of paints. “But changing your face so that you look like a different boy and telling them that that evil Teddy Lupin just ran down the corridor isn’t a good thing to do either.”
            Teddy flushed more deeply. Harry and Andromeda had tried to instill in him, as fast as possible, the fact that he had to be careful and responsible with his Metamorphmagus gifts, precisely because it would be so disastrous if he wasn’t.
            “Okay,” he said. “Is that the real reason you aren’t taking me along?”
            “It is.” Harry also wanted to say something about this being an absolutely routine appointment. The Healers had reassured him that he would walk without a limp again, although it would probably take several months of regular exercise to normalize the muscles in his leg. But what Teddy had got up to last time he was there would add a lot more weight.
            “Okay,” said Teddy again, and let Harry’s hand go with a sigh. “You wouldn’t take Hugo with you, though?”
            Ah. Harry crouched down in front of Teddy. “You know that Rose and Hugo aren’t more special to me than you are, right?” he whispered. “That I love you all the same?”
            Teddy turned his eyes a deep, murky green, the way he usually did when he was feeling melancholy, and didn’t answer.
            Harry sighed, and glanced around Teddy’s bedroom for inspiration. It was the biggest bedroom in Andromeda’s house, the one that used to belong to Tonks when she was a girl. It had rocking chairs, dozens of moving toys on the floor and posters on the walls, some books on shelves that sagged because Teddy got the books down so often, and dark purple walls. Harry finally found what he was looking for, and Summoned the practice wand made of holly wood. “You know that I would never trust Rose or Hugo with this?”
            “Well, yeah,” said Teddy, picking up the wand and frowning down at it. “But that’s just because they’re little babies and I’m older.”
            “No, it’s not,” Harry said, and curled Teddy’s fingers around the wand. “It’s because Rose is a mischief-maker and Hugo’s accidental magic is too wild. Even if they were your age, they would have to change a lot before I would trust them with a practice wand.”
            Teddy’s chest visibly inflated. “So I’m not a mischief-maker?”
            “You listen,” said Harry dryly, thinking of last week, when Rose had spilled a huge bowl of soup in the kitchen, on purpose, and then run and slid through it so that she soaked all her clothes. When Ron had told her to stop, she did it again, also on purpose. Some of that was just her being three, but she was sure a lot more stubborn than Harry remembered Teddy being at the same age. “That’s more than enough.”
            Teddy threw his arms around him. Harry bent over the bed and hugged him back, long and hard, then stood up and limped to the door.
            “It’s only temporary,” he added, as he saw the way Teddy’s eyes fixed worriedly on his leg. “I promise. And next time, I’ll know to stay out of the way of a dragon’s kick.”
            Teddy laughed and relaxed, lying back on his bed and twirling the practice wand. “If you’re too long in hospital, I’ll just Summon you back,” he said, and pointed the wand at Harry. “Bang!”
            Harry grinned. He had bought and trimmed a bit of phoenix feather to put inside Teddy’s practice wand, so he could cast minor spells, but he was nowhere near the Summoning Charm yet. Even for the spells he could cast, he had to practice the wand movements and the incantation perfectly before they would work. “I’ll appreciate that. Don’t let the evil Healers keep me!”
            Teddy laughed again, and Harry left, smiling at Andromeda on the way down, smiling all the way out.
            His life wasn’t perfect, but he’d had three years to get used to the fact that he couldn’t have kids of his own, and he had to admit, Teddy and Rose and Hugo were all pretty good substitutes.
            His leg twinged at him then, and he grimaced. Pain was not a good substitute for actually being able to walk. At least this shouldn’t last too much longer.
*
            “You’re fine, Auror Potter.”
            The words still echoed in Harry’s head, and probably his own wide smile, as he walked out of hospital and took in a deep breath of fresh air. He would still need all the exercise and regular appointments that Healer Sutcliffe had talked about, but at least the long regimen of lying in bed and taking potions all the time was done.
            He stood there breathing in all the air that seemed so fresh and clean and pure, even given that he was in an alley behind St. Mungo’s, and decided that he would Apparate to Diagon Alley and have dinner in the Leaky Cauldron to celebrate. He could probably catch up with Seamus and Dean there.
            Harry had just lifted his wand to Apparate when he heard a soft hoot above him. He looked up, and lifted an arm as the owl came in for a landing. Harry snorted. He had long ago learned that most post-owls weren’t as excitable as Pig, but neither were they as smart as Hedwig.
            “What would have happened if I’d Apparated just then, huh?” he gently scolded the owl, running a finger along its back.
            The owl gave him an unimpressed glance that seemed to convey it would have caught up easily, and then extended its leg. Harry took the letter, giving it a critical look as he did. It didn’t have any writing on the outside, and when he opened it…
            The strangest message.
            For a long time, Harry stood there, reading it over and over. His first instinct was to dismiss it as a joke, but it was a strange sort of joke, if true. The rumors about his infertility never had leaked out to the press; as far as most people knew, he and Ginny had divorced because they’d started arguing all the time and their marriage wasn’t perfect after all. So the chances that someone would have sent this to him as a prank were low.
            And the owl perched on his shoulder and stared at him in the manner of an owl waiting for a reply, so whoever had written this wanted a regular correspondence.
            Harry touched the bottom of the page. M. That could have meant anything, could have been the initial letter of a first or last name, could have indicated a place name or a pseudonym. Harry had to admit that he didn’t really feel comfortable writing back as Harry Potter to someone who had kept his identity concealed.
            Why not write back as Ethan, then?
            The idea blossomed like the plants in Ethan’s garden, and made Harry stand quite still.
            On the one hand, it would be a little silly. He had never revealed Ethan’s existence to anyone else. He kept the journal, and wrote in it almost daily, and it was a relief knowing that he could retreat to that other existence whenever he needed it. But writing Ethan’s name down on a letter would make it a little real to at least one other person outside the journal. Harry didn’t think he wanted to deal with the consequences of that.
            On the other hand, this was a person he knew nothing about, except the extremely scanty details revealed in the letter. There was no reason they needed to know anything about him, either. And the owl had come to him because of the writer’s intense need. Harry had heard of such things, and once seen it happen, with a fellow Auror who had received a letter from an escaped victim of a killer she was tracking. The victim hadn’t known who was working the case or even that the wizard who had tried to kill him had murdered other people; he had just written the information about the attack on himself down and sent it out with a breathless plea for someone who could keep him safe from the killer. That had been one of the things that was crucial to solving the case, if Harry remembered it correctly.
            What if he wrote back, and he was Ethan Starfall, experienced father with three children, speaking from the center of a settled and peaceful life?
            Instead of what he was, which was someone who had a lot more experience with children now than he’d had three years ago, but none of his own? The letter-writer would probably be upset at the idea that he was getting advice from someone who hadn’t been a parent.
            Harry tucked the letter up and went home—his own flat now, not Dean’s—where he sat down in front of the window. The owl had come with him and fluttered around the room aimlessly for a moment before it saw the perch Harry kept for visiting birds and settled on it. Harry Summoned him a bowl of water and owl treats, and turned back to the blank parchment.
            Ethan’s voice was never far away from him when he was in front of paper like this, and soon it came flooding in.
            Dear “M,”
            It feels a little distant and cold to call you that, but okay, I can do it. I should let you know that my name is Ethan Starfall and I have three children, so I do have a lot of experience with raising kids. But I’m not pure-blood, as you could probably tell from my family name. I don’t know if that will make a difference to you or not. Take my advice with as much skepticism as you want.
            It sounds like what’s hitting your son the hardest is your divorce. I haven’t been through a divorce myself, but I have friends who have, and it’s a tough thing for a child. I wouldn’t advise you and your wife getting back together, of course. That would ultimately give him false hope. You should strive to be honest with him.
            Is he the kind of child who would respond well to being treated like an adult? Sit down and tell him as much as you can of the reasons that you and your wife divorced. That will make him feel important and included. That was important for our eldest son when it turned out that he had inherited some magic not many people in our family had. He was afraid that he was adopted, and my wife, Anne, and I had to spend some time talking about inheritances and showing him family trees where other magical gifts skipped generations to calm him down. Some of our friends said the subject was too complicated for him. But we took the time and had the patience to include him, and that was the best solution all round.
            Harry smiled as he wrote. He could see Ethan sitting on the couch with James and going through family trees. It was the sort of weird, sweet thing that Ethan would do. He was enthusiastic about everything he did, and there was no end to those sweet, weird things. Harry knew that Ethan was not only the person he would have liked to be, but a person he would have liked to live beside.
            Or is he the kind of child who needs more attention to himself and his personality and likes and dislikes? I know that you said you want to raise him as a proper pure-blood heir, but he might be a little young for that. Try talking to him and figuring out what he most wants to be doing. Then, if it isn’t dangerous or too mischievous, try doing it with him. That might reassure him that you really care about him, and not just about raising him as your heir.
            Harry hesitated over those lines, and then shrugged. It was true. Ethan thought blood purity was absolutely idiotic, and was grateful that his parents had taken him out of the country in the war so that he never needed to deal with someone who believed that shit. And all M had to do was not write to him again if he found Ethan’s advice useless.
            Either way, I don’t think I can give you more of an idea unless you give me more details. It sounds to me like you’re alone with your son a majority of the time, and it’s driving you crazy. Is there anyone else you can reach out to? Other children he can play with? Other adults that he likes and admires that you could leave him with for a while? A holiday might be good for both of you.
            Harry signed Ethan’s name with a flourish, and then turned to the owl. For a moment, he was a bit nervous. It was true that the owl had brought the letter straight to him even though this mysterious M had only reached out for someone who could help him. Would the owl know who Harry was, now, and refuse to carry a letter that had a false name on it? Maybe the owl was really smart.
            But the owl snatched the letter and flew straight out the window as though it couldn’t wait to be away. Out of investigator’s habit, Harry watched it fly and tried to make out what direction it went in, but he couldn’t really tell.
            He stood there for a few seconds, thinking about it, and then shrugged and smiled. He could hear from M again, or he might not. He probably wouldn’t. If raising a proper pure-blood heir was that important to M, then he would recoil the instant he realized that he didn’t recognize the name.
            That had fulfilled Harry’s impulse to visit Ethan’s life for the night, so he limped into the kitchen to make himself dinner. At the moment, simple food heated up by the Muggle microwave he’d bought a year ago sounded good.
*
            “Who’s the letter from?”
            It was the first interest Scorpius had shown in anything but shrieking and pounding the walls in almost a day. Draco glanced up with a faint smile.
            “It’s from a friend I wrote to to ask about how to help you,” Draco said. It was maybe damaging to be this honest with Scorpius, but just talking to him in the way that Draco’s parents had talked to him, and concealed things from him, wasn’t working. Draco hoped that the letter contained some suggestions about honesty.
            Scorpius scowled at him. “I don’t need help.” And he turned and stomped out of the library, where the owl had found Draco.
            Draco sighed and summoned Izzy to feed the owl as much as its portly little stomach could carry, then went back upstairs. He was exhausted, dealing with his son. He was more than half-tempted to give Scorpius over to his parents after all. At least that would mean he had a holiday of sorts.
            Then he opened the letter, and the name struck him like a blow to the gut.
            That bloody bird found a Muggleborn?
            Draco contemplated throwing the letter in the fire instead of reading it. It was important to him that Scorpius be raised with some recognition of his name and heritage and what they meant, and what they didn’t mean. He didn’t think a Muggleborn could understand that. At the very least, they would probably write a letter full of patronizing advice about how he should take Scorpius out and expose him to Muggle culture.
            At the moment, he has Muggle culture enough on the brain already, Draco thought. Scorpius had never actually ventured into Muggle London or seen much Muggle technology or eaten Muggle food, but he had decided they must be wonderful because they were the opposite of what his dad was currently trying to make him see or use or eat.
            But the owl had gone to someone who could help. If the request to the bird worked at all, Draco didn’t think that it would seek out someone who was the opposite of everything he stood for.
            So, in the end, he read the letter, but he read it holding it a distance from himself, ready to dash it down and disown it in seconds if it turned out not to be what he wanted.
            Instead, it was frank and open and engaging, and showed a distrust of him that Draco couldn’t help but commend. Merlin knew that he would be suspicious if some letter showed up out of the blue and gave him the outlines of a situation with a plea for suggestions.
            This Ethan Starfall, though…
            He’d taken the time to write back. He didn’t sound as though he really understood everything about Scorpius and the way that Draco wanted to raise him, but Draco hadn’t given him that much to go on, either.
            Draco traced a thoughtful finger down the edge of the letter. He hadn’t thought of talking to Scorpius exactly like an adult, mostly because that seemed to not succeed at all since Astoria had left. Scorpius acted more childish than ever.
            But if he was feeling neglected, perhaps he would. Draco decided that tomorrow, he would try a day without lessons or reminders of what Scorpius’s ancestors would have thought of his behavior. He would, instead, talk to Scorpius about the white peacocks in the gardens and explain why his grandfather liked them.
            Decision made, Draco tucked the letter away. He didn’t know if he would write back to Starfall yet, but it looked likely.
*
            “Can you understand why Grandfather likes them?”
            Scorpius, his hand clutched in Draco’s so that he wouldn’t rush forwards and grab the peacock’s tail, simply shook his head. He had his thumb in his mouth again, too. Draco had read that that would deform his teeth, and tried to stop him from doing it, but he wouldn’t.
            Draco held back a sigh. If he showed that he was upset with Scorpius, then the situation would follow the same track as it had the other days. Scorpius would scream back at him and stomp off somewhere, and the instant he got his hands on something fragile, it would shatter.
            “He likes them because they’re graceful,” Draco said, keeping his voice low. The white peacocks tolerated him more than they had Lucius, probably because Draco didn’t go strolling out among them as often. But they were still nervous and prone to either run away or shriek in their piercing voices. “He wanted reminders of grace around him. He went to prison for a while when I was a baby, you know. When he got out, he decided that he would have as much beauty around him as possible.”
            “Grandfather went to prison?”
            Draco started and looked at Scorpius. It had been impossible to hide knowledge of Azkaban from him completely, since he had heard Draco and Astoria talking about it and asked what it was, but Draco supposed, now, that he had never told Scorpius completely about Lucius and his activities in the first war.
            He thought of changing the subject, but Scorpius had taken his thumb out of his mouth. And some of Ethan’s sentences rang in his head. That will make him feel important and included.
            This wasn’t about Draco’s divorce from his mum, but maybe peacocks could be a start.
            “Yes,” said Draco. “Grandfather fought in a war, and he was on the wrong side of the war. The Ministry put him in prison until they decided what to do with him. Then he explained to them what happened, and they let him out.”
            Scorpius paused. “Why?” he finally settled on, the question he had plagued Draco and Astoria with every day.
            Draco took a deep breath. He had made even that explanation too simple, and he would have to be completely clear and see what happened. “He said that he was being controlled by someone else. There’s a spell—called the Imperius Curse—that can make you do things you don’t want to do.”
            “You could use it to send me to bed?” Scorpius scowled at him.
            “I won’t ever cast it on you,” Draco said, and Scorpius blinked, apparently impressed by the way Draco said that.
            “Okay. Did they use it on Grandfather?”
            “The Ministry believed him when he said that he had been controlled. They let him out of prison, and he came back home and got the peacocks.”
            Scorpius looked around. He knew that his grandparents had lived in the Manor before they decided to let Draco and Scorpius have it completely, because they believed the next Malfoy heir needed to grow up here and see his father being independent. But Draco couldn’t tell from the look in his eyes what he was thinking.
            “I want lunch.”
            Draco relaxed. He had wondered if Scorpius would ask more about the war, or whether Lucius had really been under the Imperius Curse, and Draco didn’t think that was a conversation either one of them was ready to have. “All right. What do you want?”
            “I get to choose?”
            When did I stop letting him do that? Draco distinctly remembered Scorpius choosing dinner sometimes when he and Astoria were still married, and he had thought it had happened since then, too. But it seemed not.
            “Yes,” said Draco, deciding that he was going to be as gracious as possible. “What do you want?”
            “Boiled cod!” Scorpius took off running for the Manor.
            Draco followed, relaxation pouring like oil over his body. This was the first full afternoon they had got through without a temper tantrum in…well, forever.
            He did write back to Starfall that night, and he began his letter, Dear Ethan.
*
Marron: The divorce was very hard on him. And I think Draco is a bit delusional with his thinking that a child that age should already act adult.
delia cerrano: Wish granted, I hope?
SP777: Thanks! And I think part of it is that Draco thinks a pure-blood should be gracious and restrained and not just snap at his unruly child.
Jester: Thanks! I thought that would make the best way for them to start corresponding without knowing who the other person was at first.
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Starfall