The Manor's grand living room was uncharacteristically busy that afternoon. Draco was lounging in the centre of the group, phone in hand, his friends crowded around him. Blaise chuckled softly as Mattheo snorted at the latest ridiculous video they'd stumbled across.

“That’s staged,” Mattheo declared. “No way anyone faceplants into a fountain that perfectly.”

“Not staged,” Blaise countered. “That’s pure, natural stupidity.”

Theodore sat off to the side, watching with faint amusement. Regulus sat on the edge of the couch, looking up from a book. Lorenzo, meanwhile, leaned casually against the fireplace.

“Alright, next one,” Draco said. “Let’s see if we can top that.”

But as he swiped, the laughter abruptly halted. A new video popped up on the screen, and Draco froze.

The video was grainy but the scene was unmistakable. A young Draco, barely five years old, stood in the middle of a playroom, his arms crossed with a characteristic pout. Opposite him stood another child—you.

In the video, your tiny voice chirped with an air of mock seriousness, “You see my fingers? You see my thumb?”

Draco’s younger self hesitated, his wide gray eyes nervously flicking between your face and your tiny fist. He nodded, muttering, “Yeah…”

"Do you see my fist?" The little you raised it with dramatic flair. "You better run, little b/tchy."

The young Draco didn’t move, standing frozen in a mixture of shock and what looked like genuine fear.

The room fell silent, save for Mattheo’s sharp intake of breath before he burst into laughter.

“OH—oh my Merlin,” Mattheo gasped. “This is priceless!”

Blaise grinned. "Little Draco. Scared stiff. Never thought I'd see the day."

“Shut up,” Draco muttered, his face turning a faint shade of pink. “I was five.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Regulus said, leaning forward with interest. “Look at his face. That’s sheer terror.”

Before Draco could snatch the phone away, your voice carried from the doorway.

“What are you looking at, boys?”

Draco snapped his phone shut. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”