I See You

Sticky-eyed and still half asleep, Draco stumbles into the kitchen and stops short at the scene that greets him: Harry, a paisley apron thrown on over his joggers and rumpled t-shirt, standing behind the centre island and poring intently over a large cookbook. Scorpius, still in his pyjamas, is sitting on the island, clanging a steel whisk around an empty bowl as Lyra drools happily in her high chair. There are two bags of flour, one of sugar, a crate of eggs, three giant slabs of chocolate, a new box of cocoa powder and about eight different cake tins, all laid out haphazardly, and Harry's hair is already sticking out like it does when he's a bit harassed. As Draco watches, he scrapes a hand through it again, looking up with a sigh to gently pry the whisk out of their son's hand.

"Don't make a noise, Papa's sleeping," he chides softly, handing Scorpius an oven mitt shaped like a dragon's head when the boy reaches for the whisk with a growl of rage. Scorpius immediately stuffs his hand in and pretends to 'bite' off Harry's nose with his fingers in its soft 'mouth', while Harry solemnly stays in place for it.

"Papa's up, actually," Draco announces, with an amused rasp. Harry and Scorpius' grins are nearly completely identical as they look around at him and Lyra's squeal is so high pitched that all three of them wince. "Hello," Draco greets, tousling Scorpius' hair on his way to pick up Lyra.

"'Morning," Harry says, leaning across the island so Draco can peck him on the mouth.

"It's half past noon," Draco points out, heaving Lyra higher up his flank and meandering over to the coffee pot. "You could've woken me up."

"It was almost six when you finally came to bed," Harry reminds him, rifling through one of the cabinets. "You need the rest, you look dreadful as it is," he adds cheerfully, finally plucking out a set of measuring cups.

"Thanks, you charmer," Draco drawls, spooning an unholy amount of sugar into his mug and stirring. "But I did actually nap for a bit in the nursery before that," he tells him, dropping a kiss to Lyra's temple and gulping half a mug of coffee in one go. "And how're we feeling?" he murmurs to her, setting the mug back down to brush back wispy black curls from his daughter's brow and press his palm to it.

"No fever now, I checked," Harry assures him, cutting open a bag of flour and immediately wrestling Scorpius away when he grabs at it. "Scorp! No, Sc—!" He manages to pry off Scorpius's small hands, with their incredibly strong grip, from the packet and carefully brings the ingredients to the opposite side of the island. "Stay there," he says to Scorpius, flinging another oven mitt at him – this one shaped like a frog – and receiving a cheeky grin in return.

"What are you even doing up here, hm?" Draco asks Scorpius as he retrieves his coffee and makes his way over, gaze briefly dropping to the picture of an obscenely decadent-looking chocolate fudge cake in Harry's glossy-paged cookbook. "What, just because it's your birthday, you get to climb up onto counters like a little monkey?" He bends in and blows a wet raspberry against Scorpius' neck and Scorpius screeches. Lyra immediately screeches back and sticks a drool-wet hand onto Scorpius' cheek, much to his horror.

"Lyda!" he huffs, pushing her hand off and wiping his cheek on his sleeve. "No," he says firmly, holding up an imperious finger. "Is my buh-day, Papa," he adds to Draco with another snooty huff, and Draco doesn't know whether he's tickled or horrified by how much of himself he sees in that small, haughty little pout.

"Quick, spell 'birthday'," he deadpans, and bites his upper lip to hide his grin when Scorpius looks mystified.

"Such an arse," he hears Harry mutter on a laugh, and turns, lewd retort on the tip of his tongue before he abruptly reigns himself in and sticks his face back into his coffee. When he sneaks a glance, Harry is darting him a curious, thoughtful look and Draco feels his face heat some more.