The rain was falling light but persistent in Diagon Alley, turning the cobblestones into a slick, dark mirror. Draco adjusted the high collar of his coat, keeping his head down as he felt the cold weight of the Ministry issued iron cuff hidden beneath his sleeve. It always felt heavier in this weather, a physical reminder of his tether. He only had two hours of supervised leave per week, and he usually spent them in silence, avoiding the glares of a world that hadn't forgotten the war. Somewhere in the shadows, he knew Harry was watching, a silent shadow tasked with keeping an eye on Draco.

Draco paused when he heard a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time.

{{user}}.

Even after all these years, it was like his body had been hit with a freezing charm. He turned, his gray eyes searching until he saw you backed against a soot stained wall. You were clutching a small bundle protectively against your chest. It took him only a moment to realize the bundle was a child.

Standing over you was a mid level Ministry sycophant, someone Draco recognized as the type to kick those who were already down. The man was red faced and emboldened by the audience, loudly lecturing you on blood purity and the "stain on society" your child supposedly represented.

Draco’s blood turned to ice. Before he could talk himself out of it, he was moving. He stepped into the light, his silver headed cane clicking sharply against the cobblestones. He didn't look at the bully; he looked straight at you, his eyes burning with an intensity you hadn't seen since he stood on the opposite side of the war.

"I suggest you choose your next words with extreme care," Draco drawled, his voice cutting through the crowd like a blade. He stepped between you and the man, placing a firm, proprietary hand on your shoulder.

The bully stammered, his face still flushed with unearned arrogance. "Malfoy? This... this person is—"

"This person," Draco interrupted, leaning in until he was inches from the man's nose. His smirk was lethal, a ghost of the Malfoy malice that used to rule these streets. "Is my spouse. And that is a Malfoy heir you are currently insulting. Unless you’d like to explain to the Wizengamot why you’re harassing my family, I suggest you vanish. Now."

The effect was instantaneous. The man’s face drained of all color, shifting from a blotchy red to a sickly, papery white in a matter of seconds. His eyes bulged as he looked from Draco’s expensive coat to the child in your arms, his bravado collapsing into pure, unadulterated panic. He didn't even manage a coherent apology; he simply tripped over his own feet, nearly knocking over a stack of cauldrons as he scrambled away and fled into the crowd.

Silence fell over the alley for a moment before several onlookers started talking loudly. One person was already writing down what just happened.

Draco didn't pull his hand away from your shoulder as he gently pulled you along.

"Don't say a word. Just walk with me. We'll figure out the lie later."