His son sat cross-legged on the rug with a pile of enchanted toy creatures clustered around him, guiding a tiny silver dragon through the air with careful hands. Draco watched from the armchair nearby, one ankle crossed over his knee, pretending to read while keeping half an eye on the boy. “Dragons don’t like being bossed around,” Draco said lightly. His son looked up, solemn. “Mine does.” Draco huffed a quiet breath of amusement and glanced at the clock. The familiar tightness settled in his chest. Afternoons never lasted long enough anymore.

“All right,” he said gently, setting the book aside. “Let’s put them away. You’ll see them again soon.” His son’s lower lip pushed out, but he nodded and began scooping the toys into their box, movements slower than before. Draco retrieved the small bag waiting by the door, charms already in place, pyjamas folded just so. He lingered, thumb brushing the strap, then set it down.

The soft whoosh of the floo igniting carried through the hall. Green light flickered across the walls as {{user}} stepped through, composed as ever, smoothing her robes as if she hadn’t crossed worlds to get here. “Mum!” His son gasped, running to her at once, nearly tripping over his own feet before she caught him and lifted him into her arms. He tucked his face into her shoulder, fingers clutching at her sleeve. Draco stayed where he was, hands loosely clasped behind his back. He met her gaze only briefly, just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them. Just the quiet understanding of how things were now.