Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy had his life planned for him from the moment he was born. He was to finish his education with all outstanding’s, marry whomever his parents chose, and proceed to work in the Ministry of Magic under his father.
Well, that's not exactly how life turned out for him, is it? He didn't receive all-outstanding grades, he didn't end up working under his father, and most importantly, he didn't marry whomever his parents had decided upon.
After Hogwarts, Draco had been expected to marry Astoria Greengrass and work in the ministry. The war, however, had interrupted those plans. His father had been sentenced to a year in Azkaban, followed by five years under house arrest with strict wand restrictions. With his father disgraced and his mother enjoying a strange sort of newfound freedom, the Ministry job that had once been secured for him simply… vanished.
The arranged marriage, however, was still expected to go ahead.
But for once in his life, Draco did something he had never imagined himself capable of doing: he refused.
His father, of course, had been furious, but there was only so much fury one could express from a cell in Azkaban. His mother had been disappointed at first, though eventually she had accepted it.
Instead, Draco had served his own sentence: one year of community service, helping those struggling in the aftermath of the war. His primary role was to administer healing potions to those in need. Eventually, however, supplies ran short, and the team quickly realized they couldn’t continue helping people unless alternative potions were created.
It was, in retrospect, rather reckless, but Draco had the idea to try replicating the original healing potions using the few ingredients they had left. Remarkably, it worked. Of course, he tested the potions on himself first; they would have needed proper trials before being approved, but at the time, he felt a desperate urge to make amends, even in the smallest way, for all the harm he had caused.
Exceptionally, his potions had caught the attention of a senior healer, who had proceeded to offer him the chance to create alternatives to more potions, small ones mind, however, it was something that Draco was sure hadn't been offered before. He must have done well with the task, considering he was promptly offered to join the training program at St Mungos.
Now he was twenty years old, it was January 1st 2001, and he was leading a very different life from the one that had been previously set out for him.
____________________________________________________________________________________
With a groan, Draco quickly reached for his wand on the nightstand to spell his alarm clock off. 7:30 am, his usual start.
His routine nowadays was simple: wake at 7:30, Shower, brush his teeth, dress appropriately, and head to work. He had finished his training for St Mungo's a few months ago. He was now officially employed as a healer. Looking back, it was always something he wanted to do in life; He knew every healing spell, every potion required for recovery, and all the knowledge he could gather. Back then, though, he had just assumed it was all pointless information, considering he would only end up working at the ministry with his father. But now that wasn't the case.
Sometimes he wondered if he had gotten off too easily. Was it fair that he could live the life he had always wanted after everything he had done during the war? He supposed he had Harry Potter to thank for the freedom he now has; if the boy hadn't spoken for him at the trial, then Draco, along with the rest of his family, would have been rightfully thrown into Azkaban.
If he could thank him in person, he would. Though he doubted it would ever happen, after all, he hadn’t seen Potter since the trial. He would have thanked him then if only Potter hadn’t disappeared the moment the verdict was read.
Draco still didn’t understand why Potter had spoken up for him and his family. He could have let them all rot in Azkaban without a second thought. But, of course, this was Harry Potter, too noble for his own good. So very different from anyone Draco would ever be.
Still, it was useless to ponder on it; he had work to get to.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Once he had finished with his morning coffee, he was just about to head out the door. Only to pause at the sight before him.
A small child, no older than five (and that was generous), was standing on his doorstep.
There were a few reasons this was odd. Reason one: his house was warded; he thought it to be a good safety measure. He definitely wasn't anyone's biggest fan after the war. Only those he was close to and had given direct permission to enter could even find his house.
Reason two, how on Merlin's green earth had a child found his house, especially one so young.
“Daddy!” the child exclaimed through tears as he wrapped his whole tiny body around Dracos' legs.
There was now a third reason why this was odd, and that was that this unknown child had just referred to him as ‘Daddy’. Either the child was terribly confused, or Draco was about to face the horrifying task of confronting every person he had ever been involved with to confirm he didn’t actually have a child he’d forgotten. He desperately hoped it was the former.
Draco quickly gathered his composure and cleared his throat.
“Uh… hello there,” he said, trying and failing to sound calm. “It seems you are lost. Do you perhaps know where your parents could be? Or how you got here?”
Now, yes, the child had indeed referred to him as ‘daddy’ mere moments ago, but hopefully, he just looked like the child's father, and the young boy could provide him with useful information on who his actual parents were.
The child looked up then. And before Draco could note anything else about the boy, the one thing that stuck out to him was his eyes, so strikingly green, so... familiar.
“Daddy? It’s me… ar– are you mad because I went into your office? Is that why you’re being weird? I’m sorry, I really am!” the boy wailed, stumbling over his words.
For Merlin’s sake, it was far too early for Draco to be dealing with a random child who was clearly confused.
And yet he couldn’t exactly leave him there.
With a resigned sigh, Draco bent down and scooped the boy into his arms.
“Alright, kid, I'm gonna need you to calm down. Can you do that for me?”
The child sniffled, but thankfully, he nodded.
With only mild hesitation, Draco brought the child into his house. He would have to owl St Mungos to say he would likely be late today.
He set the kid gently onto one of the stools in his kitchen.
Draco could finally take in the child’s appearance. Other than the striking green eyes, the boy had very light blonde hair, practically the same shade as Draco’s own. The only difference was that the child’s hair was a wild mess of untamed curls, with little wisps sticking out in every direction.
Draco knew he had to tread carefully; the boy was clearly confused and apparently convinced that Draco was his father.
“How about we play a game, yeah?” he said, his voice a little nervous. He hadn’t had much experience with children; the only few times were at St. Mungo’s, and those had always been for medical purposes. He had never so much as babysat.
Luckily, the suggestion seemed to perk the boy up.
“Okay,” the kid seemed a little more cheerful.
“All right, good. My name’s Draco. What’s your name?”
The boy looked momentarily confused before replying, “…Leo.”
“And your last name, Leo?” Draco asked gently.
Leo scrunched his face in frustration, which would have looked far more intimidating if only he were older. He answered anyway, “It’s the same as yours, Daddy. You know this.”
Draco sighed. Right, he was dealing with a very confused child.
“Er… yes, I do. But remember, we’re playing a game,”
Leo, still looking confused, nodded reluctantly.
“So… your last name?” Draco asked again, almost pleading.
“I—I don’t know,” Leo admitted. “It’s the same as yours and Papa’s.”
Great. The kid’s parents hadn’t even told him his last name. Fools.
Sighing deeply,y he continued. “All right… fine. And how old are you?”
“I’m five,” Leo replied, pouting. “But Daddy, this game is stupid. I want to play something else!”
Merlin, help him.
Draco really needed to figure out who Leo belonged to.
Seeing as Leo was already five years old, Draco doubted very much that the boy could be his. He would have been fifteen at the time, which was… highly unlikely, to say the least.
Still, Leo had mentioned his Papa. Perhaps the boy had two fathers. At the very least, it was a starting point. Draco now had something resembling a clue: find someone who might, well, look like him. Considering the boy seemed utterly convinced that Draco was one of his parents.
As for the other parent in question, Draco supposed he would have to discuss it at the Ministry. Perhaps they could check if there had been any reports of a missing child.
In the meantime, however, he needed to owl St. Mungo's and figure out a way to entertain a small child.
How hard could that be?
____________________________________________________________________________________
It turned out Draco was utterly hopeless with children.
He spent a solid five minutes trying to figure out what Leo could do while Draco wrote the owl to St. Mungo's. He had suggested coloring, reading, even making paper cranes (a subject he was a master in), honestly, anything that would keep the boy occupied.
Leo, however, was remarkably picky.
His preferred activity, apparently, was recklessly flying around on a broom.
A five-year-old on a broom was absolutely not happening under Draco’s watch.
Leo had complained loudly about this, insisting that his Papa always let him fly and repeatedly asking when said Papa would be coming home.
It would be absolutely wonderful if Draco had the faintest idea who on earth this mysterious Papa was supposed to be.
He didn’t ask, though. Considering the boy was still completely convinced that Draco was one of his fathers, Draco doubted questions about Leo’s other parents would go over particularly well. Hopefully, the Ministry will sort out this entire mess soon enough.
Eventually, Draco made a small breakthrough when he asked if Leo was hungry. Not that Draco was a good cook, certainly not, but he could manage a sandwich, at the very least.
“Papa always cuts them into stars,” Leo said thoughtfully when Draco handed him the plate. “But it’s okay, Daddy. I know you don’t know how to do that.”
First of all, rude.
Second of all, the child was remarkably sassy for a five-year-old.
Leo's actual Parents must be insufferable, considering his snark at such a young age. Draco imagined they were the type to let their child get away with anything.
Whilst Leo ate, Draco noted that the boy ate rather politely; he chewed with his mouth closed and hardly got any crumbs on himself.
Well, perhaps his parents had at least some discipline.
When Leo had finished, he nudged the plate toward him without a word. Draco understood immediately. He took it, flicking his wand to clear the remnants before setting it aside; he didn’t have the patience to stand there scrubbing dishes.
He ought to leave for the Ministry soon anyway, find the boy’s parents, hand Leo back where he belonged, and return to the predictably dull life he found solace in.
Helping Leo off the kitchen stool, Draco straightened and glanced down at him.
“Alright, Leo, we’re leaving now, yes? There’ll be a great number of people at the Ministry, so stay close to me. Don’t wander off.”
Leo looked up at him immediately, those absurdly large green eyes wide with trust as he nodded.
Draco faltered.
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever looked at him like that.
The thought sat unpleasantly in his chest. He gave a sharp cough, brushing it aside before it could settle too deeply.
Right then. The Ministry.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Leo’s hand was absurdly small in his as they stepped out of the Floo and into the Ministry atrium.
The moment the noise and rush of bodies hit them, the boy’s grip tightened sharply around his fingers. Clearly startled.
Without thinking, Draco squeezed his hand in return, a quiet reassurance that surprised him almost as much as it seemed to calm Leo.
“Remember what I told you, Leo?” Draco asked, glancing down at him.
Leo immediately straightened at the sound of his voice and nodded solemnly.
Draco supposed that was sufficient enough.
He guided them through the crowded atrium, ignoring, or attempting to ignore, the strange looks gathering in their wake. Admittedly, the sight they made was rather odd.
Draco Malfoy, of all people, walking through the Ministry hand-in-hand with an unknown child.
And, unfortunately, the resemblance did not help matters. The boy’s pale hair was too similar to his own; more than one witch had already done a noticeable double-take as they passed.
Wonderful. People probably thought the child was his.
Well, at least Leo wouldn't be the only one who was delusional today.
____________________________________________________________________________________
There haven’t been any reports of a missing child today, Mr. Malfoy.”
“Check again,” Draco said sharply. “There must be something.”
Kingsley remained infuriatingly calm behind the desk. “I assure you, all reports appear here the moment they’re filed. I can keep an eye out, of course, but for now…” He hesitated slightly. “I’m not certain what else you expect us to do. Unless you’d prefer the child be handed over to Ministry officials until we locate his parents.”
Draco’s eyes flicked toward Leo.
The boy was sitting cross-legged nearby, entirely oblivious to the conversation as he rolled a small toy car across the floor, something Kingsley had conjured to occupy him.
Draco looked back, unease curling unpleasantly in his stomach.
“And if you don’t find them?” he asked quietly.
Kingsley sighed. “Then the child would be transferred to a local orphanage.”
Draco stared at him.
“What?”
“That is Ministry procedure.”
“But you can’t just do that,” Draco snapped, his voice rising before he could stop it. “The child is obviously lost. Surely there’s more you can do than shove him into an orphanage?”
Kingsley looked uncomfortable now, which at least meant he possessed some shred of decency.
“We will do everything we can to locate his parents,” he said carefully. “I’ll have Aurors begin searching immediately. In the meantime, however, you may leave him here.”
And Draco could.
Merlin knew it would make his life easier. He could walk away now and pretend none of this had ever happened. A selfish part of him, the part he knew far too well, wanted exactly that.
But…
Leo belonged to someone. Somewhere out there, someone was probably terrified, searching for him. And while Draco had spent a great deal of his life being selfish, cruel, and utterly indifferent to other people’s suffering, he could not leave a child alone in a Ministry holding office waiting to be discarded into an orphanage.
What if nobody came for him?
“No,” Draco said abruptly. “I’ll take him.”
The words left his mouth almost too quickly.
Kingsley blinked. “Mr. Malfoy, I’m certain you have far more important matters to attend to than babysitting a child. I assure you, he’ll be properly cared for here.”
Draco shook his head immediately.
“No. I’ll take him. He already thinks I’m…” He stopped himself before saying father. “He’s comfortable with me.”
Kingsley studied him for a long moment before glancing down at the parchment on his desk with a reluctant sigh.
“Very well. You may keep temporary custody of the child for forty-eight hours. After that, if we still haven’t located his parents, Ministry law requires he be placed into state care.”
Draco swallowed hard but nodded once.
He didn’t trust the Ministry to care enough to truly search for Leo’s family. Certainly not with any urgency.
So he would do it himself.
“Fine,” Draco said coolly. “But I want updates. Immediately, if you find anything.”