#dad drarry

so I read this post courtesy of @bixgirl1, @l0vegl0wsinthedark and @o0o-chibaken-o0o three times this morning, nearly cried laughing, and here I present to you: dumb dad Drarry on Career Day.

Albus Potter really just wanted two things: that new edition of Hogwarts: A History that Rose had been taunting him with all summer, and for his father to stop being so weird about the Career Day next week at Godric’s Hollow Primary School.

‘Dad, you’ll be fine, it’s just coming in to talk to my class for half an hour.’

Harry paced across the kitchen. ‘No - but - okay. So. You’re saying that...many people...will be coming…do you know…who…’

‘Um.’ Albus lowered his piece of toast. ‘Scorp’s dad is definitely coming. Talking about journalism.’ Harry squeaked and a glass fell off the counter. Albus sighed and put down his toast.

‘You shouldn’t be nervous, Dad, it’s awesome what you do.’

‘Oh, it’s...not that…’ Harry waved a hand in a feign of nonchalance and hurriedly Reparoed the glass. ‘I mean, I’ll bring in some of my new pieces.’

‘Cool.’ Albus raised an eyebrow as Harry bustled around the kitchen, not looking at him. He didn’t know why this was such a big deal; Harry was an amazing woodworker, combining magic and practical skill to create cribs that sung infants to sleep, or picture frames that adjusted size depending on the photo, or tables that set themselves. It was super cool and he was way happier than when he’d been an Auror.

‘I’ll ask your mums to come, too,’ Harry said, hurrying out of the kitchen. ‘Yes, that will work, that should make it fine…’

Albus shook his head, refilled his glass of orange juice, and thought about how he was going to break it to Lily and James that their father was going insane.

Out of the Shadows - Drarry Microfic

“I swear they’re under there, Daddy. I heard them, they’re right under my bed.” Scorpius shuddered against Harry. His arms tightened around the frightened toddler.

“Well I’m here. And I can protect you from whatever it is, I’m sure. And if not, your dad is right next door and we all know what a furious temper he’s got. No monster would stand a chance.” Harry heard Draco scoff by the doorframe, watching Harry calm their son.

“But they come out of the shadows. It’s not safe, please can I sleep with you?” Scorpius little eyes were welling up, so Harry scooped the child into his arms and headed to Draco.

“Of course darling. Don’t worry, there’s no need to worry.” Harry cooed to Scorpius, watching as the little fist around his old t-shirt loosened. He gently pressed his lips to his temple and carried Scorpius to his and Draco’s room.

Draco rubbed Harry’s back and kissed his shoulder as their son fell asleep in his arms. All was well.

-

It just wasn't going to be this year.

As he stood in the middle of the room, naked and wand outstretched, a sleepy mumbled voice murmered a counterspell, making a ragged pair of black trousers fall out of the air and land on his shoulder.

"Potter," the voice sneered, louder and clearer now. "It has been nearly two decades. Are you seriously still packing for the platform?"

Harry turned and grinned, facing Draco's wrath full on. The man really hated being woken up.

"Get back in bed, you silly arse," Draco grumbled with a scowl, before he put down his wand and threw himself back into bed, facing away from Harry.

Harry laughed and crawled into the covers, curling himself around Draco's back.

"I mean, I was," he said against his husband's back. "But Draco?"

"Hm?"

"You do actually have to take the children to the train. It's your turn."

Dear "James" "Stagson",

Thank you for contacting the Diagon Alley Parents of (Future) Slytherins Support Community (DAPFSSC). We encourage you to attend our next meeting (Thursday, August 12, 8pm at the meeting room in Flourish and Blott's) to discover the magic of our community first-hand. We believe that all children can grow and thrive if they are given the gift of parents who treat them as whole humans and who employ thought, loving discipline, and firm-yet-loving limits. It is our goal to empower our members to set such limits—a task that is difficult when your beloved child possesses that famed Slytherin cunning! All prospective members must commit to the community after one (1) trial meeting. Continued attendance, submission to Privacy Incantations, and active participation in meetings is expected of all members. We reserve the right to remove members from the group for any reason, and a copy of our operating procedures will be presented to you upon your decision to join our community.

Potter, you must be an utter idiot if you think I am fooled by your pseudonym. If you are right that one of your children is a Slytherin—and Merlin and Morgana, l hope you are right, because I can think of no greater karmic retribution for your excessive Gryffindorness—you can be sure that you need to step up your game. Had you signed your letter "John Smith," I probably would not have scrutinised the powerful magical signature the parchment was emitting, but with a ham-handed attempt like "James Stagson," you had no chance of fooling me. You have the subtlety of a hippogriff wearing a tutu trying to steal from a china shop, and your Slytherin child will find every such instance of weakness and poke holes in you until you resemble a block of swiss cheese. A block of swiss cheese that has been attacked by mice.

There is no possible way that DAPFSSC can give you advice by owl. For one, every parenting situation requires a thorough understanding of context. Our community is so successful because we are able to ask each other questions, refine our understanding of problems, offer anecdotes about what has worked for us, &c. It is a community effort, Potter; no one-size-fits-all-Saviours response is possible.

Moreover, and better to learn this now than when your Slytherin reaches his or her teenage years, you must consider how this will look to your child. What if he or she were to find correspondence in which you poured out your parenting woes to a group of strangers? He or she would not take kindly to such a revelation, I can assure you with some authority. Parenting a Slytherin is a job that requires absolute discretion, which is why we use Privacy Incantations to ensure that our members cannot go blabbing about other members' problems. What is discussed at DAPFSSC stays at DAPFSSC.

I hope you decide to join our community, Potter. Nothing would give me greater joy than to hear in detail your struggle to understand and to parent your Slytherin child.

Please let us know if you have any further questions, and the community looks forward to meeting you and hearing about your DS (DAPFSSC lingo for "Dear Slytherin," you'll catch on quickly!) soon.

In solidarity,

I wrote a ficlet today about the chicken dance. Wtf. Better than lice, I guess.

The Potter-Malfoy children learn a new dance, and they can't wait to show Lucius and Narcissa.

This is for @callingdrarry, who created the verse. Read it here or on ao3. 

“Can I please bring a video camera?” Harry asked with equal parts excitement and horror.

Draco, who was sitting in an armchair with his hand covering his face in resignation, sighed. “No you may not. This is going to be bad enough without you intentionally prodding them.”

James and Scorpia, dressed in their Fancy Manor Clothes, shouted, “NA NA NA NA NA NA NA!” with linked elbows and spun each other around in circles. Again.

*

When the Potter-Malfoy family tumbled out of the Floo into the Manor (and they did tumble: James ended up in some sort of somersault and Scorpia pulled Harry down into a tangle of limbs on the marble floor—only Draco managed to stay upright, his family strewn around him as if in a metaphor for the state of his Malfoyness), they met a disapproving house-elf.

“Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa is waiting in the guest drawing room,” Tipsy announced.

“Thank you, Tipsy,” Draco said, taking a breath and arranging his face into its Manor-worthy facade.

The elf disappeared, and Draco immediately held up a hand at Harry, who had a crinkle at his eyes that indicated imminent joking. “Don’t,” Draco warned.

“Don’t what?” Harry asked innocently.

“Don’t make a joke about how you wish you were Tipsy.”

“I would never!” Harry objected with a fair bit of hyperbole, as he made that joke every single time they visited.

“It’s culturally insensitive,” Draco claimed, reaching out a hand to try to keep James in one place as he raised a teasing eyebrow at Harry. “You mustn’t let another species’ naming practices be the butt of your joke. I’m going to tell Hermione.”

“House-elves aren’t the butt of the joke!” Harry said, reaching his hands under Scorpia’s armpits and hoisting her up onto his hip. “The fact that your parents drive me to drink is the joke!”

Draco pressed his lips together, trying and failing to hide a smile. “Alright, Potter-Malfoys. Is everyone ready?”

“Yesssss!” James and Scorpia hollered.

“Is everyone on their very best Manor behaviour?” Draco asked, his voice becoming imperceptibly posher each time he opened his mouth since stepping through the grate.

“You BETCHA!” James yelled, reaching up to high-five his sister’s foot.

*

“Grandad! We learned a new dance!” James cried with gusto ten minutes later.

“Indeed?” Lucius asked with a bored drawl. “That’s lovely. Draco, have you taken them to see Madame Wexcombe?”

“I say,” Narcissa added, “if they’ve learned the Wizard’s Waltz I’d be tempted to host a small ball.” She turned to Lucius. “Remember how darling Draco looked dancing when he was small? Children, would you be so kind as to give us a performance?”

James smiled and Scorpia began bouncing up and down excitedly. “Yes!” Scorpia enthused. “We’ve been waiting all day, Grammamama.” Scorpia’s little mouth tripped over the syllables.

“It’s ‘Grandmother,’” Narcissa corrected with a smile that teetered on the line between fond indulgence and impatient vexation. “Come here, darling,” she said, holding hand out to Scorpia.

Scorpia looked at her dads, unsure what to do. Harry nodded his most encouraging smile, which, at the moment, came off as quite manic. Reassured nevertheless, Scorpia walked to Narcissa and allowed her grandmother to cast Charms at her hair, bringing the strands off of her face and into a tight chignon. Scorpia winced, but didn’t complain, and Harry squeezed Draco’s hand so hard that his fingernails left marks. Had it gone on one moment longer, one suspects, Harry would have exploded and stopped the madness either with screaming or with magic.

As it was, Narcissa finished her officious hair Charms, brushed down Scorpia’s itchy frills, and patted her back towards her brother. Narcissa looked briefly at James’s hair, but seemed to give that up as a bad job before she’d even begun.

“Can I make the piano play the song?” James asked, eyeing the grand piano that always stood, unused and dustless, in the corner of the large room.

Lucius raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You may try,” he drawled.

James, at seven, was much too young for a wand, or to have much control over his magic. And yet. He scrunched up his eyes, his little cheeks red and still slightly chubby as he stood on the threshold of older childhood, and suddenly the piano began to play, like one of those Muggle player pianos.

Narcissa’s face burst into a delighted smile for one brief moment, until she heard what the piano was playing, at first simply a kind of strange, insistent beat, and then her jaw fell in horror.

The children had their hands in front of them in the air, opening and closing their fingers like little mouths. Then they tucked their hands under their armpits and flapped their elbows.

“What in the name of Salazar’s spirit do they think they are doing?” Lucius seethed.

“It’s called the Chicken Dance,” Harry offered happily, watching his in-laws greedily as if this was the best programme on telly.

The children wagged their bottoms with exaggerated vigor, crouching down toward the marble floor, then sprang up and clapped their hands, all the while singing, “NA NA NA NA NA NA NA” at the top of their lungs.

Lucius had to avert his eyes.

Draco faked a sneeze in order to hide the laughter that he couldn’t keep from his face.

*

For the rest of the visit, Lucius and Narcissa were both abnormally quiet as they contemplated the depth of their descent into ignominy. They did manage to muster their society death glares for Harry.

Draco would try to explain that Harry was not responsible for the Chicken Dance blunder—that, in fact, Draco himself was the one who made the grave and irreversible error to introduce the dance to his children. It had been a low moment—before toothbrushing, like many low moments of parenthood—and Draco had grasped for anything to bring the children back from the brink of chaos and destruction. It was unfortunate that, in his desperation, he thought of the ridiculous dance he’d seen at Dudley and Greg’s non-wedding. Since then, the children hadn’t stopped doing the blasted dance for two weeks, and it was all his fault. But when he would try to explain this to his parents—because he may have been an arsehole but he was not a feed-the-spouse-to-his-horrible-parents type of arsehole—they wouldn’t believe him.

“It was worth it,” Harry would say later, once the children were asleep and their poultry-themed festivities were confined to dreams. “I only wish you’d let me bring a video camera. You have to buy me a Pensieve now.”