No one was quite the same after the war. Voldemort was defeated, Lucius Malfoy and the surviving Death Eaters were serving hefty sentences in Azkaban, but at what cost?

Harry didn't care to count the dead, though he thought of them every day, even a year on: Fred, Luna, Dean, Padma, Parvati, Cho, Lavender - even Pansy Parkinson and Vincent Crabbe crossed his mind now and again.

And those who'd lived weren't exactly in wonderful condition. Draco had almost constant headaches. Fleur had lost the baby she'd been carrying. Hermione's hand was shot to bits. George was missing an ear. Seamus and Ginny would probably never walk again, and Arthur Weasley would never see.

The latter affected Harry the most when he thought about it all. The Ministry had been ruthless with Arthur; his injuries had signalled the end of his career, depriving the grieving Weasleys of a salary they couldn't even contemplate going without.

In all the mess, Harry and Draco (like so many of their classmates) had made the decision not to return to Hogwarts to complete their education. They may have still been children, but they were children with a baby, and more dead friends than alive ones.

Besides, exams seemed something futile after everything they'd seen, and the idea of returning to school with half the students in their year newly buried seemed weirdly inappropriate, like flaunting their vitality and health.

Instead, they moved into the Burrow to fill the empty spaces and the sorrow of the place with a little more light, and though she never said much in the way of evidence for this, Harry could tell that Molly was hugely grateful.

The extra company kept her little house full and loud and stopped her thinking of the empty space at the dinner table every single day, or of how occupied she was caring for the shattered remnants of her family. Plus the boys paid five times the rent she'd expected and Harry cooked a family dinner every single evening (sometimes with Draco's help when he could be persuaded), so that was one fewer worry to keep the Weasleys up at night.

And Molly loved Casper, had always loved small children. Amazingly, the toddler had yet to show signs of being particularly affected or aware of the life-changing tragedies he'd witnessed, and was overall growing into a very sunny-natured child, running around and babbling and getting into all kinds of mischief.

Curly hair, wide hazel eyes, dimpled cheeks, and a mysterious talent for knowing exactly who needed him most at any given moment made Casper a wonderful addition to the hurting family. He paid particular attention to Ginny and George, and could usually be found curled up on Ginny's lap by the fire, or hanging off George's back like a little monkey and laughing, "Again, Unca Dorge, again!".

Hermione had moved into the Burrow too, and at first it had taken everyone by surprise that she hadn't wanted to continue her education. "I'll go back when I'm ready," she'd replied with a smile to anyone who'd asked her. "Hogwarts will always have a place for us. But we need to recover for now."

As for Draco's mother, the boys didn't know much about what had become of her in the past year without her husband, though Aquila came with a letter from her now and again.

Narcissa returned Casper to his fathers' shaking arms the week after the war, and since then she and Draco had established this awkward almost-family relationship and stayed in loose contact, though they didn't often read what she'd written, or reply if they did.

As Draco put it, "Some things just aren't redeemable. No matter how many not-shit things you do afterwards."

If they had bothered to read her letters, perhaps they'd have known of Narcissa's campaign to have Lucius' sentence reduced or overturned using the family fortune.

"People are always persuadable, darling," she'd written back in November, words which had long been charred up to dust in their envelope.

"And you know by now how money talks. If I categorically can't have you, Draco, my only child, then I must have your father.

You don't know what it is to suffer such loneliness and anguish without the one you love, Draco. I feel so empty without your father, and besides, I believe he has served his sentence now, and would do better to be with me. No need to drag all this punishment out.

I take your lack of response, Draco, as condonation to do as I please. Perhaps you will see your father if and when I get him out, and be civil. I hope so. I meant it when I said he's a changed man, darling.

Wouldn't it be so wonderful to be a family again? Just the three of us?"

But those words went unread like so many others.

This particular morning in June was Draco's seventeenth birthday, and everyone at the Burrow was determined to ensure it was properly celebrated, no matter how they were all feeling inside.

Harry had taken Casper shopping in the nearby Muggle town a week earlier and had bought the most comforting items he could find to keep Draco happy: God knows he needed a little extra self care these days.

Then, on the morning of the 5th of June, he woke up extra early to wrap the massage oils, scented candles, bubble bath and a soft weighted blanket up in silver paper, along with some of Draco's favourite snacks and a beautiful bouquet of flowers to arrange at the end of their bed.

Casper toddled over to him as he was in the middle of this, beaming all over his little face to see his father awake so early. "H'llo Daddy," he said, climbing onto Harry's lap.

Harry smiled back and kissed him on the top of his head. "Hi, baby boy. How did you get out of your crib so early, huh?"

"Unca Dorge," was his son's contented reply, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Uncle George showed you? Of course he did. Very cool of Uncle George to do that, isn't it?"

He stacked the presents one by one in a little pile as Casper watched, mesmerised, and when he was done he leant back onto the floorboards to tip the toddler backwards onto his chest.

Casper squealed with pretend terror as he toppled down his father's torso, and clapped his little hands. "Again, Daddy!" he cried, and Harry laughed fondly.

"Later, poppet. We've got to go and wake your other Daddy up now, haven't we? Do you want to take this for him?

He placed the package of wrapped snacks carefully in the toddler's outstretched arms, and grabbed the rest himself.

I hope he's in a good mood, he thought as he followed Casper over to the bed where Draco lay. The two of them had been arguing since the war, something they never really did before, and Draco had seemed quite distant (I suppose that's what depression and post-traumatic stress will do to you, Harry thought) - but there were good days and bad days.

Harry hoped this would be one of the good days, though those were becoming ever rarer.

"Morning, gorgeous," he said tentatively, helping Casper onto the bed to see Draco.

Instinctively, Draco's arms reached out for his son, and Casper fell gladly into them.

"Hap' birthday, Daddy," Casper managed, though it was clear the word 'birthday' was difficult for his little toddler mouth. "Got presents for you!"

Draco shifted slightly, and smiled a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "That's nice, darling," he said, then looked pointedly at Harry. "Maybe your Daddy could make me a cup of coffee before I open them. I thought he'd know by now that that's how I start my day."

"Of course, sweetheart," Harry replied, though he felt his stomach churn at the almost imperceptible edge in Draco's voice. Bad day, then.

When he came up with the steaming cup, Draco had woken up properly and was watching Casper with an odd look as he played at the foot of the bed. He didn't look up as Harry came into the room, but thanked him politely for the coffee.

"Happy birthday, Draco," Hermione smiled, popping her head round the door. "There are presents from the rest of us downstairs - unless you don't want to get up this morning, and now would be a good time?"

"Now's fine," Draco shrugged. "Thank you," he said, as an afterthought.

Ron was soon upstairs, as was George, who carried Ginny, and Molly took a seat in the corner to watch the scene unfold.

"Gosh, the whole motley crew," muttered Draco sarcastically under his breath, and Harry's cheeks flared slightly. He hoped no one else had heard that.

A small heap of presents piled up at Draco's feet, and Casper took on the role of passing them to him one at a time with great earnestness.

"Here y'go, Daddy," he would say each time, sliding a parcel across the bed. "S' from Unca Dorge."

"They aren't all from Uncle George, Casper,"
Harry informed him gently, but George was delighted.

"I'll take credit if it's what Cas wants me to do," he joked.

When all the presents were opened and everyone else had disappeared downstairs to make breakfast or read the paper, Harry worked up the courage to slide under the duvet next to Draco, and snuggle into his chest.

Please don't push me off, he mentally begged his boyfriend, who was staying very still.

"Did you like your presents?" he asked, after a while.

"Yeah," Draco replied. "They were nice."

"You seem quiet," Harry pressed.

"I'm getting another headache."

And with that, he rolled over and closed his eyes to go back to sleep. Harry tried not to feel hurt, but it was almost impossible.

"Draco, you're being unkind," he whispered, but got no response. He sighed.

"Fine. Come on, Casper, let's go and see George. We'll see Daddy later."

Why was he always like this nowadays?

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a/n: thanks for reading, i know this one was quite long! it's not my favourite chapter so far but i think filler chapters are always difficult and hopefully you liked it anyway 🤍🤍

~ paradisedraco