In the empty corridor leading to the infirmary, Draco takes a long and trembling breath. It's not effective to calm the vibrant stress that shakes his whole being and after two other tries, he forces himself to push the infirmary's door with a clammy hand and the little portion of courage he holds in himself in this instant, conscious that it's nothing more than an anomaly in his body and that it will not last.

"Ah, Mister Malfoy." ,immediately says the nurse. She doesn't even let him take the time to set a foot in the too bright room swarming with life or to take another long breath which would have been just as useless but welcomed, and he realises his words are completely blocking the air in the middle of his throat.

Like a bunny in front of a lightening spell, he freezes, then debates with his cowardice on the eventuality to initiate an escape before remembering that he doesn't really have this option anymore because the last three times he was summoned here, he retreated before he could even cross the door and he is conscious that if he flees now, he will surely be escorted here later from one of his classroom and Draco really doesn't need such a public humiliation to go with the agony that's eating him from the inside since yesterday.

The little one can't help the fearful whine that escapes his throat when thinking about what's awaiting him in a few minutes and he hurries to settle down on a bed to shut the curtains down and hide the tears threatening to roll on his cheeks from the world.

Draco does not usually have too much of a problem with his classification - he doesn't brag about it but doesn't really hide it either- but he can't help to wonder if he would have been scared of needles like he is if he had been an alpha or a master.

His thoughts are interrupted by the curtains opening and he quickly dries his cheeks while the nurse enter his space with -horror- a small trolley containing different syringes and several bottles placed on a tray.

"So, Draco Malfoy..." starts the woman with a cheerful manner that, for once, does not help at all to calm his nerves.

"I am well aware that you are not the biggest fan of injections, don't worry. I have not forgotten how your fist booster vaccination with me went down."

Flashes of his second year come back to his mind right after she finishes to talk and with it the fear and the taste of bile in the back of his throat.

She still hasn't turned around and Draco can only watch her stab in the cork to fill the syringe with trembling lips, already putting an arm around his body to try to calm himself down and not dissolve into tears. Or at least not completely, he corrects himself by sweeping the one running down his chin sharply with the back of his hand.

"You don't need to worry sweetie" she says while slowly applying pressure on the flat end to make it squirt some liquid (that means she's almost done and Draco is not ready at all, really, really not) and he stares at her, paralysed but feeling the jolts that often precede a big crying fit running through his body.

She keeps talking but he struggles to hear her, even if he knows she's trying to appease him and it would help to listen.

"... and you know, I have been doing it a lot of times the last couple of weeks so you really have nothing to worry about. Two short minutes and it will be over. Are you ready?"

She turns around, syringe in hand, to finally face him and the expression on his face must reflect pretty accurately the feeling of everything collapsing inside of him because she immediately loses her smile and crouches in front of his legs hanging off the the bed after she put down her utensil on the silver plate.

"Now, you mustn't work yourself up like this, sweetie!" she says, taking his hand in hers to pat it, causing the teen to strangle on a sob whiles he still tries to contain himself as best as he can.

"That's it, let it all out. It's just a tiny needle Draco, you know? It will be over very soon and you will be able to go have a nice breakfast. Doesn't that sound appealing?"

But the poor boy's brain is too focused on the empty vial on which he can see his name written et which he knows is soon going to be filed with his blood and its sight is enough to completely thin his nerves. He can't help but bend himself when he really starts to cry and because he closed his eyes, he can't see the nurse's expression when she brushes her hand across his arm to confort him or when she whispers to him to calm down and that he is safe.

"No... I don't want to," implores the boy. "I really don't wanna..."

"I don't do it because I like it sweetie, but it shall be done now."

That makes him cry twice as hard.

"But there's no other way?"

He finally looks at her and if it wasn't for the very sorry look she's giving him, Draco wouldn't hesitate to get down on his knees to beg. He's still nauseous and feeling the pasty taste of fasting everywhere in his mouth.

"I'm afraid not, Draco dear."

His lips starts trembling again and his eyes warming up with new tears but she interrupts him.

"Do you think you can calm yourself down so I can take care of you?"

"No", he whines in a small and sincere voice.

He is completely overwhelmed and unable to imagine how he could convince himself to get better just to be able to get worse.

"Do you think it might help you to have a caregiver with you? I am surprised that you came alone today, seeing how it's affecting you."

"I don't have a caregiver," stutters Draco between his tears, starting to slowly feel the regression's effect on his body and still clinging on the hope that she's going to give up if he doesn't help her to find a solution.

He knows it puerile but it doesn't stop him from being upset with her, deep inside him, when she continues. It must be his younger brain making itself known.

If Draco wasn't already crying, mentioning out loud that he hasn't found a caregiver willing of him would certainly be enough to bring him to tears.
Mrs Pomfrey has at least the decency not to look at him when she resumes.

"I could call one if you want", says the nurse.

Even if the idea is a bit horrifying because he doesn't want someone else to know about his aversion for needles - the nurse's he can handle, a student, he doesn't know- the more childish part of him cries for the comforting presence of a caregiver and the woman in front of him must see it because she adds.

"The volunteers who come to help in the infirmary are here of their own volition and want to help in this kind of situation, but they are first and foremost under my direction and therefore also respond to medical confidentiality. They have my complete trust and I know that none of the things that happen here come out; it is one of my conditions to allow their presence here."

Draco still hesitate but his resistance crumbles and he knows he has to answer quickly and that, no matter his answer, he will not leave the infirmary without his booster shots.

Besides, wouldn't it be better to have someone to hold hands with? add the childish voice in his head.

He gives up, nods and the nurse smiles before exiting the small space to fetch the infamous volunteer while Draco is desperately clinging to the comforting image of a warm and firm hand in his to not begin to regret his decision.

Of course, to immediately prove that it is a mistake, he only has time to take one or two breaths before the nurse calls out a name that he would have preferred never to hear under these circumstances and he is suddenly under the impression that his stomach is trying to hide in his socks.

"Mister Potter," she says in a voice far too clear for him to be mistaken about her interlocutor. "I need your help for a little of class two."

Draco wants to refuse, to insist that she finds someone else because nothing can be worse than Potter and he is ready to let it be known. Then his gaze lands towards the trolley where he can still see the different syringes and he remains silent.

He trusts Mrs Pomfrey and if she called Potter despite their conflicts, he must be the only one available.

He looks at her in the opening of the curtains whilst she must be explaining the situation to Potter whom he can't see. Draco thinks it's better that way, that he is not sure he can face his gaze now. His growing panic agrees with him.

Plus he knows I'm a little one now, he whines a bit internally, as if he needed to remind himself that she specified the age range of his classification. He's a little afraid of the repercussions it might have later but the woman's voice interrupts him.

"... he is not totally at ease at the moment so I think he must be between eight and six years old but I really need him to calm down so I can take care of him."

He hears a sound of approval that must come from the teenager and the woman's voice is firmer when she continues.

"I would like to remind you that this is not a private environment, that everything must go smoothly for the well-being of the patient and that none of the things that are said or happening here should come out of here, am I making myself clear Mister Potter?"

"Of course!"

Draco distinctly hears surprise in his voice and he sees the features of the woman relax and her posture straighten, less threatening.

"Perfect. I am going to take care of my other patients et see with Mister Weasley if he can handle the omegas' pheromones better, just to give you some time to get ready."

Draco feels his hands become sweaty and his gaze catches the trolley and the needles.

"Very well," says Potter's voice - and Draco knows he smiles- before adding, certainly not having understood where the adult's warning came from. "You know, I like to take care of the very little ones. It's really not a problem for me."

The blond wonders if he is still going to be this enthusiastic when he is in front of him and he does not need to question himself any longer because he hears the nurse leaving, two steps in his direction and then he sees the curtains open to reveal the teenager.

As Draco retreated on the bed to take up less space when he was alone, he completely faces Potter when he enters the room and can therefore see with considerable clarity the moment when he sees him and when his reassuring smile vanishes to let his eyes squint with hostility when he recognizes him -a reflex- then get all wide from surprise.

"Oh."

The sound escapes from Potter's mouth in his exhale, and although Draco knows it's completely involuntary, he can't help but tighten his grip on his knees to stick them even closer to his torso.

He sees Potter's overly green eyes pass over him briefly and he almost wants to yell at him when he sees him resume his reassuring smile, because even though Draco knows he looks pitiful with his redeyes and wet breathing interspersed with sniffs, he doesn't want the teenager in front of him to come to the same conclusion.

And it's almost more humiliating than irritating that Potter is touched enough by his pathetic state that he decided Draco couldn't bear to be treated the way he usually does.

Draco refuses to blink as the brunet turns and clumsily closes the curtains behind him to give them some privacy and keeps quiet when he turns back to look at him.

The boy on the bed sees him trampling and wiping his hands on his trousers and it reassures him a little bit to see that Potter is not completely at ease either. He also knows that he has always been quicker than others to make impulsive decisions so it doesn't surprise him any more than that when he doesn't let the discomfort consume him and he approaches him to sit on the bed, always with the same fucking smile.

He doesn't know what to do with that smile, and it's terribly disturbing for Draco to be the recipient of that expression. It completely shakes him, because it hits him in the chest and he almost looks sincere- and he almost misses the moment when Potter addresses him to try to dissipate the tension.

"You don't seem too good," he says in a voice too sweet, too soft for him to address, and Draco almost wants to roll his eyes and tell him that if it's to say such things, he can keep quiet but he doesn't.

He does not do it because Potter is right, that he is not really well -if he relies only on the cataclysm that deciphers his belly- and he finds nothing better to do than pinch his lips between them, reinforcing his silence, and avoid looking in the direction of the wagon or Potter as best he can.

He perceives a slight suspicion of what must be the caregiver's smell of Potter and he forces himself to turn his head so as not to be tempted to sniff to better feel his pheromones. He is sure that he does it on purpose and it would be too degrading to let him know that a part of him is bubbling with desire to get closer to drink it all in.

"Can I get closer?" insists Potter, as if the blond's silence was not clear enough.

And since he apparently doesn't understand that he doesn't want to talk to him at all, Draco turns a little more to the side to try to get the message across to him, without dwelling too much on the image he must portray.

He hears him sigh. Good, he thinks. If I'm having a bad time, so do you. He almost wants to stick out his tongue or tell him that he hates him but he holds back because he is still too big not to feel stupid if he gave in.

"I can go, you know?"

If he had said it differently, Draco might have continued to ignore him but his tone of voice gives him no choice but to face him, because he does not seem to play into his game and when he finally looks at him, there is no trace of anger on his face.

There is a floating moment where they just stare at each other and Draco takes the opportunity to scrutinize his expression, see if he managed to irritate him by ignoring him, if he looks as frustrated and annoyed as him to be there- but not, except a slight touch of fatigue, the face of the Gryffindor is exceptionally neutral.

And that's why when he repeats himself, Draco's eyes expand in panic because he understands that he's serious, that it's not personal and that he really believes it would be the best thing to do. If it's not personal, it means that Draco will have to express himself, say that he is scared to death to stay here alone and -worse- verbalize his needs.

And since he remains silent during his epiphany, Potter -Draco is right, he must be some kind of saint to have so much patience- resumes again after scratching his eyebrow.

"If it's easier for you, I can leave. " He's coughs. "It's not my goal, to make this experience more painful for you and if my presence worsens the situation, I can leave. I can see that you don't want to talk to me, I will not insist. I will not take it badly but I will not persist. Do you want me to leave?"

Draco felt all the anger he had redirected towards Potter fade a little more with each of his words to be replaced by a viscous mixture of shame and the fear that had never really left him and when, after his question, their eyes cross path again, it is with a little dread but not so much surprise that he feels a tear escape him and fuse straight along his cheek.

He doesn't know which one of them is the most horrified to see that he starts to cry but Potter finally seems to understand that it was not the right thing to say and even if there are only two other tears that follow the first one, it's enough for the other's instincts to take over. When the blond inhales to try to calm down, he cannot ignore the whiff of pheromones that enter his system and are so concentrated that they disorient him for a moment.

It's as if his lungs were wrapped in a hug and the feeling is so confusing -but not unpleasant- that he only needs to exhale to regain relative calm. The fear is still there, the panic too but it is as if the pheromones had made him lucid enough for a few seconds to whisper in his ear that he is not really in danger.

He knows that he should be outraged that his body reacts so well to Potter's sent or abhor himself to want a little more but he does not have much time to think on it.

"...no, no...hey, shh, everything's fine, everything's fine... shit-Draco," babble again, Potter. "I can stay here if it's easier. We don't even have to talk, if it's easier, I just stay there and that's it."

Although he is no longer actively crying, Draco still feels his throat resist hideously and only manages to chew two small wet words.

"No, stay."

He barely whispers them, lest the other is not really serious and still decides to leave him alone to face the needles but Potter hears him, stops his babbling and starts smiling again.

"Okay, I'm staying."

And Draco resents himself for feeling a wave of relief pass through him, because he should never feel relief near Potter.

"Ms. Pomfrey told you that it would all remain confidential, right? If that's what you're worried about, I can assure you it will, I promise. 

Draco nods, half convinced that he is telling the truth but having no real option but to trust him and he is rewarded with the appearance of one of Potter's dimples when his smile widens for a moment.

"It's going to be okay. I'm just here to help."

And it's easy to understand how so many people follow Potter as if he were their sun because right now, he talks to him as if his well-being was the most important thing in the world and Draco just wants to believe him.

"Well," he said more firmly. "Can I get closer?"

The boy nods again, feeling his nose tickled by a new emanation of his sent. He looks with curiosity at the other teenager when he takes off his shoes and fails to let out an exclamation of surprise when he climbs completely on the bed to sit cross-legged in front of him.

"It's better that way, isn't it? " He keeps smiling before asking, lower. "Gimme your hand, that's it."

Draco ignores the tingling in his torso and lets the other take his sweaty hand in his and watches the Gryffindor's thumb start to loop on the back of his hand without understanding what it really does to his tummy, just aware that this is exactly what he was hoping for. Warm and firm.

He puts a little pressure in his grip, to try to see what it would be like to hold his hand and tries to hide his surprise when Potter answers by tightening his fingers around him, as if he understood what was going through his head.

He doesn't feel more ready to get an injection but he knows it will be easier to endure like this and as he takes a deep breath to prepare himself for when Potter calls the nurse, he still surprises him by continuing to talk.

"Okay, we're making progress," said the dark-haired man, also making him realize that he has released his grip on his legs and that his shoulders are releasing their tension second after second. "Do you think you can talk or is it too hard right now?"

"Hm," he shrugs. His vocal cords don't seem to want to talk today.

No one had told him that it could happen, that it is normal, that some little ones have trouble expressing themselves sometimes and that he should not force himself and he sees in a new light the moments when he kept trying and he could not speak. Potter must have known that, because he doesn't seem more surprised than that by his answer and the fact that he asked the question in the first place reassures him, because it must mean that it is quite common.

"Ok, no worries. It's not a problem for me anyway." Another smile. "Are you often non-verbal when you are little?"

"Sometimes," said Draco, moving his gaze from the welcoming green eyes to look at his hand still caught in the other's and which has the same effect on his body as an infusion of positivity... if it existed.

"Ms. Pomfrey told me you were in the two- to four-year age range, is that right?"

"Yes," says Draco, who feels his heart miss a beat.

He can't help but be afraid to reveal to him that part of him that is so vulnerable in the wrong hands, and even if Potter continues to act as if their past had no impact on his attitude and he continues to reassure him, Draco still feels his guard rise a notch.

"And when you regress when everything is fine, how old are you ideally?"

He swallows and moves his fingers a little in his grip, lets himself be distracted by the reassuring movements of the thumb on his skin so as not to listen to the voice in his head which tells him that he is going to be mocked.

"Um... Two years old?"

Potter nods as if satisfied with his answer and Draco resents himself immediately and so strongly that he only tolerates the burning of the lie a few seconds before resuming speech.

"Sometimes," he begins, interrupting himself only because the bright green-eyed boy is immediately attentive to his words. "Often it's a little bit below—"

"Oh!"

The surprise on his face makes him blush and look away because yes, he knows it is rare and he also knows that when people see him, they do not imagine that.

His ego wants to scream at Potter and his astonished expression that he is not a baby and that he is stupid if he thinks he is bad because he is small but he is not sure that it would be a great proof of maturity.

"Ok!... Cool!" said the Gryffindor after a throat-scraping. "Do you think you'd be comfortable enough to get so young?"

The Slytherin did not expect this answer and merely shrugged his shoulders vaguely, surprised not to have been laughed at or spoken as to a simpleton. Don't get me wrong, Draco always likes the softer language that is reserved for the little ones when they regress but usually people start talking to him like a retard or do not use their words sincerely. In any case, the few students who learned about his classification do so systematically to make fun of him and it is refreshing to see that the teenager in front of him makes the exception.

"Would you start by aiming for three years old? We can go lower after if it's not enough."

"Ok."
He swallows.

"I can see you're a little scared right now, but there's really no reason. Can you tell me what scares you?"

He who was beginning to forget the presence of the trolley, it was as if his words had brought it back into this part of reality. His eyes rush to it immediately and he feels his lip start to twitch.

"Hey," interrupted the boy's voice, calling him back. "It's all good, it's all good, Draco."

"I'm scared," said Draco as best he can, because it's important to show Potter that he wants to cooperate, even if he doesn't want to talk and even if he feels his face make a grimace that brings back his desire to cry.

"I see that, and it's very courageous to try anyway."

His scent becomes more present in the room and Draco's belly warms up under the compliment.

"Tell me in your words, or point to me with your finger, what scares you?"

Without hesitation, his hand points to the small trolley that still supports the silver tray. Potter turns two seconds in this direction before returning to him.

"Are you afraid of needles?"

"Yup," he squeaks with a small voice that swings between embarrassment and tears.

He's afraid that Potter will act like it's nothing and laugh about it-because he's aware that it's a little ridiculous to get into such a state for so little- that he will make fun of it as his friends did when he explained to them why he had not yet gone to the infirmary to do his booster shots but the teenager remains very serious when he resumes speaking.

"I see. I too was afraid of shots when I was little, I understand."

"I don't want to," he says, because he still hasn't given up on the idea of being able to escape it and Potter seems receptive enough to what's happening to him to potentially accept.

"I know you don't want to, but everything is going to be fine and I promise you that I will stay with you from beginning to end."

His panic fades a little at these words and his eyes turn back to their intertwined hands. It's true, he thinks, I won't be alone.

"And you know what?" said Potter, asking him to look at him. "If you are good and continue to be so brave, I will even have a small reward for you."

Draco feels the anticipation rise in him like an arrow at the mention of a present -he loves presents- and he pulls a little on his hand out of excitement.

"What is it?"

"A little surprise," he laughs. "You'll see when it's done, won't you?"

Draco agrees. The conditions of the Gryffindor are really too simple to follow and he will show him that he is the best at being good. And he can be brave, that's for sure.

Draco feels his nose running a little and sniffs, forcing Potter to let go of his hand and leave the small cabin to return with what he recognizes as his bag.
He takes his place on the bed, just in front of him, and takes out a tissue from a small pouch.

Draco doesn't think it's really necessary because he sniffed a second time and passed his tongue over the salt drop that had dripped over his mouth but he still says thank you. He is very good.

"Do you want help or can you do it?"

"I can."

Potter lets his hand rest on one of his knees still raised while he blows his nose, and continues his circular movements, probably to help him stay anchored and mitigate the storm that has stirred in him since he woke up. In any case, the blond does not complain.

"I couldn't help but notice something else," says Potter once he threw the tissue into the basket. "I was surprised a kid your age didn't have a plushie."

Draco shrugs as if it were just a detail. This is his chance to prove to him that he is brave and he kind of want to show him that he is not just a little one who just cries continuously and hopes that he does not see that he is hugging his arms against him since he arrived in the infirmary.

As he does not answer, Potter insists.

"Draco, do you have a blankie?"

"In my bag," he finally answers as the dark-haired teen continues to wait for him to speak and he does not want to annoy him.

"Don't you want it with you?"

Draco feels a little stupid when he nods, and he looks at the other one leaning towards the edge to pick up his bag that was abandoned on the ground when he got into the alcove and rummage in search of the plush.

He feels himself blush, crossed by the thought that Potter could fall on one or two humiliating things in his bag but he thinks he must not have seen them because he says nothing. He knows that Potter has bad eyesight but he does not feel less clever to have hidden the diapers in his bag so well that he did not notice them. He still keeps a sharp eye on him, ready to jump on an excuse if the situation calls for it and again nearly fails to ignore the other when he speaks.

"Why didn't you take it with you then?"

He does not want to be ridiculous in front of Potter and even if it becomes more and more difficult to succeed in impressing the teenager, he persists in shrugging his shoulders in the same way as earlier in a false nonchalance.

But Potter does not seem impressed and instead of paying him a compliment as he hoped, he looks at him, waiting for his answer.

"I'm not a baby."

"The grown ups also have cuddly toys," says Potter so simply that he makes him feel a little stupid before finally pulling the white stuffed rabbit out of his bag before resting it again on the ground.

His simple sight makes him want to squeeze it very hard against him and he feels his fingers itch, but he really tries to restrain himself to look cool, content to stir on the spot.

It's not very effective and when he crosses his eyes, he sees in the light in his eyes that Potter has understood everything and he recovers the plush that he holds out to him while turning his head, aware that the ridiculous is burning his cheeks.

"Plushies are the best," said Potter. "I'm pretty sure they have their own superpowers. They are super efficient to calm the big sorrows and are always ready to cuddle. So don't be afraid to take it with you when things aren't going too well, okay?"

He hears him laugh nicely.

"You're already doing a little better, aren't you?"

Draco shakes his head, his embarrassment already far away, too busy hugging the familiar plush and burying his nose in the soft fur that feels comforting. Potter was right, it's nice to have a blanket and if there is a way to show him that he is good and an interesting little one, it is not by snobbing his blanket that he loves so much.

"Does your rabbit have a name?" asks the teenager leaning towards him, taking advantage of their proximity to start again to stroke one of his legs distractedly.

"Nah," said Draco, his voice half muffled by the head of the plush.

"Oh yeah?" insists Potter, in an almost too surprised voice, making him smile. "What do you call it? Mr. rabbit? Super plushie?"

"No!" cries Draco, hardly repressing the laughter in his voice. "It's just plush! You're too bad at naming plushies!"

"You can talk, yours doesn't even have a name," replied Potter, which makes him burst in an involuntary laugh.

"And, I'll let you know that my teddy has a great name."

"And what is it?" asked Draco, suddenly very attentive.

He would like to see Potter's teddy and if it feels like him, he is sure it would be nice to sleep with it or give it a hug. He'd like to hug it.

"Don't put your thumb in your mouth," cut Potter, taking out the finger he didn't realize he was sucking.

He wants to protest and frustration quickly rises in his chest but the other must see it because he smiles nicely when he speaks.

"Wait, Draco. You can, but fingers are dirty. I'll give you something."

He watches the dark-haired man delve into his belongings before taking out two pacifiers that he presents in his hands.

"You can have one for yourself, which one do you want?"

"Nice," he says before focusing on the two objects in his hands to decide which one he likes the most.

He finally decides on the pale purple one because there is a star on the front and lets Potter tie it to one of the drooping ears of his rabbit before sliding it with an agile blow in his mouth, pulling of him a new satisfied sound.

"So what was I saying?"

"Plushie."

"Oh yes, my teddy bear. Well, he is called cocoa, because he's all brown."

"It sucks," articulates Draco around the pacifier.

"Oh yeah, you think?" said Potter, who is not offended at all and even takes the opportunity to attack him at the waist with tickles, disintegrating the last resistances he had to completely plunge him into the state of mind of a little one.

He lets out a burst of laughter, dragging Potter with him, and when the Gryffindor stops, Draco just wants him to do it again.

It must be painted more than clearly on his face because the brunet moves his fingers as if to start the attack again, pulling another chuckle from his throat, and when he plunges on him for a battle of tickles, he lets the laugh that he had kept hanging explode with a scream.

The little one retorts, trying to reach the waist of the boy while his body twists under the assaults but he laughs so much that he has difficulty breathing and moving his arms so he suffers his fit of laughter more than anything else.

"Come on, come on, that's enough," said Potter's slightly breathless voice after a while before helping him come back upright, the blond having collapsed on his side during their game.

"No, again!" protests Draco, laughter in his voice and still attentive to the slightest movement of the teenager to try to take revenge.

"Perhaps later," proposes the other in a soft voice but with no room for protest.

"Oh."

He is disappointed but Potter's hands pass nicely on his waist from top to bottom and Draco finds that it is comforting enough not to insist.

"Knock knock!" said the nurse's voice before passing the curtains, evaluating the situation with a glance before completely entering the small space that Potter had made comfortable to settle in.

As soon as he hears the sound of her voice, a great chill runs through his body, making him leave almost instantly the carelessness in which the brunet had softened him in.
Panic returns, chases his lightness like a cold shower and Draco desperately hangs on to his plush, unable to turn his gaze of the woman who takes back her needles as if nothing had happened.

"I think we're ready to go, what do you say, Draco? Harry?" She asks with a smile, unconscious that the little one feels his chest make a small bomb of fear that grows and grows and waits only a spark to burst.

He can't swallow and his eyes are burning.

"I think we are ready," replies the teenager, in the same falsely joyful tone, just to be interrupted by a terrified whining.

"Hey, Draco-" starts Potter taking his hand to try to calm him down, without much success because the whining does not stop and just becomes stronger before giving way to big sobs when the blond sees Madame Pomfrey approach and pull the wagon next to him.

"No... Not that, no... I don't want to, mommy-"

Draco is more or less aware that Potter continues to try to appease him but too caught up in his distress, the little one hears nothing but his cries, his cuddly toy squeezed between his fingers so strongly that they hurt him.

"I don't want-"

"Draco..."

"I'm scared! I don't want to!"

"Draco, calm down kitten-"

"Come on, it's okay. It'll be over before you know it."

"NO!" he screams in despair when she easily raises his sleeve above his elbow. "I don't want to! I'm scared!"

The pheromones may sing to each of his senses, he is too caught up in his panic to listen to them and the vision of the needle on his left only worsens everything.

He's breathing so hard that he's not even sure if the air really gets into his lungs, and he's even starting to feel like vomiting but he keeps begging, holding the dark-haired boy's fingers so tight in his grip that he must hurt him.

"NO! NO!"

Panicked, he can only look with horror at the woman taking the tourniquet and beginning to pass it around his arm.

"NO!" he screams with all the capacity of his lungs.

"Draco, calm down. It's all good."

Terrorized when she tightens the elastic around his arm, he tries to struggle, in vain.

"NO! MOMMY! MOMMY! HARRY!" he calls for help because now he must help him, or he will never be able to trust him again.

He feels like dying when the nurse insists with her soft voice that does not understand the horror he is going through.

"We're almost done, you know? You're almost there."

"Okay, stop. We stop," said the brunet's calm voice, cutting the nurse off.

"We stop," he repeats more directly as the woman removes the withers and Draco cries even more, his limbs trembling with adrenaline.

"Mama-" hiccups Draco several times as he lifts him up by the armpits to place him on the edge of the bed, on the other side.

He still holds his blanket in his clenched fist and nearly coughs his lungs, almost suffocating with every breath.

"I'm just taking a little break," he hears him explain to the nurse. "I can't calm him down and we're going right into a wall there."

"No problem, take your time."

"Come here," says Potter, who busy around him. "I feel that we are on the verge of an accident."

He does not react too much when Potter takes him by the waist after removing his shoes and lets him undo his belt without resisting, not even having enough energy to be bothered when he sees the pull-ups that he must have taken from his bag that rests on the bed and when he understands the direction it's going.

He lets him take off his pants and his underwear, completely malleable in his caregiver's hands because he does not have the strength to do otherwise. He also knows that it is for the best, that Potter is fast and knows exactly what he is doing and that his underpants were beginning to get wet despite him because of fear.

He does not make any remarks, no comments. Harry just whispers little words of encouragement between two cleaning spells and passes his thumb on his hip when he can to reassure him, not taking into account that he is not in a state to rebel.

Too small to really care, Draco watches him change him while sucking on his pacifier, his rabbit against his nose as he finishes putting on his diaper properly and is just happy to be able to sit on the mattress when he's done, as concerned about his nakedness as a two-year-old can be, that is, not so much.

Despite his tears which hide his sight considerably, he sees him stand right in front of him and whimper when he takes his face in his hands, completely miserable and desperate to receive his comfort.

He closes his eyes to enjoy the hot palms on his cheeks while they are there, trying to ignore that it will not last to not add to his despair because his face is already covered with tears and snot.

"Hey, stay with me, babyboy," whispered Potter, so that he opens his eyes, and he welcomes him with a smile when he cooperates. "That's it, baby." The thumb goes along his cheek. "I can see that it scares you, but it's okay."

He feels the tears rising in his throat but the Gryffindor silences him.

"No, we're going to go back and it's going to be okay. Do you trust me?"

He's nodding his head.

"Then everything will be fine."

He shivers, because he has sweated and now he is cold but it does not seem to bother the other who passes his hands under his armpits and puts him on his thighs once he has gotten back cross-legged on the bed.

"I don't want to," mutters Draco, as Harry puts him against him, making sure that he passes his thighs around his waist without twisting his legs.

"I know, sweetheart, but we don't have much of a choice," he said, almost against his ear, letting him put all his weight against his chest.

Draco tries to eclipse everything that is happening around him because it is too worrying and the brunet invites him to continue to rest on him when he slips his nose to the conjuncture of his neck and shoulder to get closer to the small gland and be able to breathe more easily the pheromones he's trying to send him.

He crosses his ankles behind the back of the boy, lets his plush get crushed between them with the pacifier that he again dropped from his mouth and closes his eyes to try to forget that he is in the infirmary. Maybe if he closes them hard enough, he'll disappear.

He feels Potter putting his cape around his waist to cover his bare legs and passing an arm again and again in his back a little moist, encouraging him to collapse a little more, and a little more... and a little more...

"Let's start slowly, babyboy, okay?" he hears him say distinctly in his left ear, and the boy must feel his body tense because his nostrils receive a new wave of reassuring smell in the second.

He squeaks a little when he feels a hand -that of Madame Pomfrey- take his left arm to put it on the right shoulder of the teenager and even if he is trembling, he is not struggling because he too is exhausted of this morning and he hopes from the depths of his being that he can quickly put it behind him.

"You're doing so well," whispers Potter in the hollow of his ear as she fix the tourniquet on him and asks him to clench his fist. "I'm very proud of you."

Draco feels the boy's chest vibrate when he talks to him and he hides his eyes against the warm skin of his neck in an attempt to get closer to him again, without understanding how he is supposed to tell him that he needs him, just a little more.

He tightens his thighs briefly to better feel the body to which he clings and be able to better anchor himself there and in return, he feels a hand grab him under his buttocks and bring him closer until the front of his diaper is completely glued to the lower abdomen of the teenager.

Despite the repositioning he makes him do, Draco continues to breathe deeply as his mother explained to him when he is afraid and as his breathing gets a little quicker because he feels the nurse holding his wrist to prepare to sting, he is surprised by the dark-haired boy kissing his temple.

Destabilized, he fails to open his eyes because while he -really too- appreciates this gesture of affection, this is not what we normally expect from caregivers who do not have a relationship with a little one, of a caregiver on duty and it is even more unexpected that he kisses him, as if he were not Draco Malfoy and him Harry Potter.

But the teenager does it again, once, twice and even kiss his hair and his cheekbone and Draco feels special. He wants him to never stop, to be the only one to receive his kisses to show everyone that he is someone's favorite and that Harry stays with him, that he is proud of him. He wants Harry to be his caregiver, his daddy.

He risks to open one eye, to see a part of his jaw, his ear and his throat that he sees swallowing and when Draco finally prepares to say something, the lightning sensation of a needle that penetrates his skin cuts him off the speech.

"HARRY!" he panics.

"It's all good," whispers the warm voice.

"Ouch..." still whines the blond, which allows him to receive two other very brief kisses on his head.

It doesn't even really hurt him anymore, just still a bit scary because the needle is still in him and it sucks his blood but he barely has time to formulate this thought as the woman speaks.

"Here's to the blood test! You did the hardest Draco."

He squeaks while clinging to the other's dark red sweater.

She removes the tourniquet to go put it on his other arm and as she positions him on Harry's shoulder, Draco feels an unpleasant pressure on the freshly shot place and squeaks of discomfort.

"It's nothing little love," said Harry, the culprit, realise Draco by opening his eyes to see what's going on, who presses a small cotton ball against the hollow of his elbow.

"Stop!" Draco protests, because it's really not fair that he presses where it hurts when he thought he was just getting shots.

"It's to prevent you from getting a bruise after, calm down, Draco."

He can't really tell him to let go because he really doesn't want to have a bruise and he would like him to continue to hug him forever but he still moans for the form before getting back against his neck, this time on the other side not to see what she's doing to his arm.

"Harry, I can't..." cries Draco when she stings his right arm for the first time.

"It's almost over, kitten."

He feels him remove the pressure and when he looks at his left arm before passing it around Harry, he has a bright blue bandage in the hollow of his elbow.

"I have little stickers to decorate them if you want," said Harry, smiling.

He knows he's smiling, it's in his voice. It makes him smile against his skin.

"Like what- AH!"

"It's the last one," said the nurse.

"Harry..." begs Draco who is trying really, really hard to be brave.

"Yes?"

"Hug daddy, please."

He feels the two arms around him wrap him a little more, like in a cocoon and Draco feels protected from the whole world.

Draco closes his eyes very hard, counts up to ten twice, tries to ignore the sensation of the cotton on his skin then the bandage, stirs a little on the spot, does not ignore the other two kisses he receives in the hair and begins to say four in his head when she resumes speaking.

"That's it!" said Madame Pomfrey, in such a triumphant tone that she seems to have won the Quiddich World Cup all alone.

"Well done baby," said Harry as the woman tidied up. "That's good, Draco. It's over, it's all over, come on don't cry."

But Draco is not very good at dealing with his emotions and the only way he finds to release all of his stress is by letting it roll down his cheeks.

"It's okay, little love. It's over. I'm so proud of you, you know?"

"Um, um..." Tries to answer Draco who realizes that his throat is too caught by his tears to manage to speak and he puts his eyes against the shoulder in front of him and focuses on the hand that passes slowly in his hair hoping that they will all quickly flow.

Harry gently swings them from left to right while continuing to whisper sweet words, until his tears stop on their own, his breathing stops shaking and he only stops because the nurse is talking to him.

"I will give you access to the blue room, but I trust you to put everything back in place when you leave it, we agree, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, no worries."

"Goodbye, Draco," she says, smiling as he turns his head in her direction, still leaning on the other.

They remain motionless for a few long seconds after her departure, the blond closing his eyes to let himself be lulled by the breath of the dark-haired boy, feeling his ribcage rise in rhythm against him. He is exhausted.

"How are you feeling, baby?"

"Hm."

The question is unpleasant, because it forces him to focus on his body and what he feels and when he disregards the sensation of the band-aids in the interior of his elbows, he realizes that a familiar and unpleasant pressure is exerted on his lowerbelly and he starts to wriggle.

"Something bothers you?" asks Harry nicely, who must not realize what his question just did to him.

Draco only whines, now frustrated at not being able to regain the calmness he was brushing, too aware of the pressure, no matter what position he takes.

"Ah, I see. You still need to pee?"

There he freezes. Because Harry said again, as if he already knew.

Draco wonders when he realized it, if everything was fine and his movements betrayed him. It is true that he did not pay particular attention to this during the last ten minutes and he is almost sure that his bladder let him down when she put the tourniquet but he did not think that he would make the remark out loud either.

He wiggles on the spot and in spite of him, his mind is fixed on the humidity between his legs that he can not ignore so much in this position. And as Harry always holds him against him without him being able to close his legs, he feels very clearly that he may go again and that he will not be able to hold on very long.

He tries to make himself smaller in the other's arms, not so sure of the reaction he will receive and very conscious despite his age that it is usually this part of the regression that causes the most problems.

"I did not pee on purpose," he said in the smallest voice he has, hoping not to be punished too much.

If only he could hold back. Maybe he could have the surprise...laments Draco.

"I know, and on purpose or not it doesn't matter. It's made for that."

"Sorry, ... didn't mean to," insists Draco, clinging to the red sweater, avoiding at all costs to cross his eyes and worried to let out what he feels rise in him at a rather frightening speed.

What if he ever changed his mind? He squeals, unable to imagine how he could go to the bathroom now without having an accident.

His cheeks are on fire, he feels it well and he grasps with all his strength the waist of the teenager with his legs.

"It's okay, Draco!" laughs Harry, passing a hand behind his back. "It's nothing, it happens all the time." "You didn't answer me, do you still need to pee?"

Draco feels his breathing jam in his chest and shame passes through him like a boiling poison. He could have said yes, and even if he had trouble looking him in the eye afterwards, he would have recovered.

Now, Draco does not know what to say to him, does not even know if he can really answer him because his bladder abandoned him again, just when he asked him the question. He pushes his head into the neck in front of him even harder, trying to stop his bladder sighing that it feels good, or to stop the jet between his thighs, in vain.

He contracts his muscles without anything happening, feeling his crotch get hotter at the second and the panic that seizes him when he imagines leaking only accelerates the process.

Harry's collarbone almost hurts because of the strength with which the blond is buried in his neck and when he tries to dislodge him, the only answer he receives is a panicked whining which, coupled with the redness of the ears of the blond, is enough to make him understand what just happened.

"I asked my question too late, didn't I?" he asks him just so that the little one confirms it with a rather heartbreaking sound of distress.

"It's nothing, baby, I already told you. I'll change you in a few minutes, don't worry."

"Harry..." whines the little voice in his neck.

"It's okay, I'm not angry."

"I'm not angry, Draco," repeats the brunet when he finally dares to look at him with his bright, puffy grey eyes that have spent the morning bathed in tears.

The child gets back against him while closing his eyes, fortunately releasing his grip on his body in stride. Harry looks at him, smiling in spite of himself and readjusts his plushy in his arms so that he has access to the purple pacifier when he sees him start chewing on his sweater.

He kisses the top of his head, allowing himself to give him a hug because the little one deserves one that will not be used to bring him to something unpleasant, and just because he is a two years old and that is a sufficient reason.

He looks at the compote and madeleine that the nurse left at hand when the curtain opens and Harry turns his head to see his best friend in the embrasure.

"Ron!" he whispers so as not to disturb the child. "I am in consultation, you can't stay there."

"Okay, sorry! You've been in there for ages, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay."

Harry knows that he heard nothing of what happened here -thanks to the curtains that are charmed not to let the slightest noise pass by- and even if he understands his concern, he also knows that right now, he must protect Draco and he knows that the alpha in front of him has already recognized the drowsy blonde head in his arms.

"Get out!" whispers Harry vehemently.

He does and the caregiver refrains from sighing, trying to keep calm so as not to panic the little one who still breathes his pheromones.

Careful not to drop the blond, Harry leans over to get the biscuit, compote and spoon and is caught by two piercing gray eyes once he straightened up and opens it.

"Are you hungry, sweetheart?"

Since he does not really trust his motor skills, he is in charge of filling the spoon and carrying it to his mouth when he shakes his head. Draco does not seem to want to protest either, sagely opening his mouth to eat what he presents to him every time.

"Hmm."

"That's good, huh?"

His second nod takes him by surprise and he misses and put it all over his face.

"Gently kitten," he said with a laugh.

In the end, the little one comes out satisfied and Harry reassured about his ability to feed a little one, the blond having found himself only once with compote on the face. Nothing that a tongue stroke cannot settle, as proved a few seconds later.

As he sees that Draco still uses his torso to rest his head and that his eyes close a little too long between each blink, Harry does not drag to change him and once he put him in another diaper, he recovers their two bags that he passes over his shoulder then picks up Draco whom he covered with his school cape and that he supports from the underside of the thighs to bring him to the far end of the infirmary.

Draco doesn't really understand why the blue room has this name when Harry opens the door and puts him on the floor on his feet.

Certainly, the curtains that filter the light from the windows are blue and the large bathroom that he can see start to his left is mainly made of pale blue tile but otherwise he does not understand this name.

This room looks made to accommodate several little ones at the same time and is certainly more for them than for others, thinks Draco when he finds that most of the furniture is quite low and that there is no chair around the two large round tables he can see, just cushions. He knows he could be comfortable staying on his knees.

He can see shelves full of picture books against one of the walls and a turntable in a corner but what he really wants is to lie down in what he is sure to recognize as a space for napping.

He takes three steps into the room, briefly turning to the caregiver who puts their belongings on a bench to check that he is still there and when Draco is sure that Harry is not leaving, he sets out to explore the surroundings.

His business is quickly aborted. He only has time to look at the paper airplane mobiles hanging from the ceiling and dig through one of the large crates full of toys to see if something is of interest -It's not the case, there are only things for the little ones of class one in this one and even in his best days, Draco is too big to be content with it- that he gets called by Harry -daddy, he thinks with a smile- who sat at a table with what looks like sheets of paper.

Draco rests the crate where he found it and joins the caregiver after picking up his plush that he had put on the ground, his socks making a muffled noise that goes well with the ambient calm.

"What is that?" Draco asked, leaning on the table with all his weight to lean over and better see the small colour drawings on the paper.

"My stickers to decorate your band-aids."

"There's a lot!"

Draco looks at the small patterns with renewed attention, eager to observe them all to choose which he could stick on his sores.

Too focused, he does not realize that the teenager slipped behind him until he makes him put his shirt over his head.

"I'm going to give you more comfortable clothes," informs Daddy, after throwing him a little cleaning spell that wasn't ill-received after being soaked in sweat for much of the last two hours.

"Why?"

Draco twists a little on himself to look the other in the eye without having to move and Harry answers him after passing his hand in his hair affectionately.

"Because I want you to take a nap after choosing your stickers to make sure you can continue your day well."

"Ok."

He doesn't really care what happens next, much more interested in what is happening under his nose.

Harry lets him examine the stickers in the subdued room, interrupting only to help him put on a rather ample tracksuit bottom and a top of the same color that must go together and on which he can see the illustration of a blond boy with a small fox on the moon. He does not recognize the drawing but he finds it very nice and presses the brunet to help him put it on.

"Did you choose?"

"Yeah," said Draco energetically before pulling up his sleeves as high as possible to reveal his arms and the three coloured bandages.

"Show me which ones you want."

"This one!"

He points to a small flower with petals of all colors and Harry gently takes it between his fingers.

"Where do I stick it?" asked Harry.

Draco points the green bandage on his right arm and is happy to see that it does not hurt when his daddy presses a little to make it stick.

"Next?"

"The smiley guy on the orange one."

The Gryffindor executes himself, and when Draco screams for joy, he starts laughing.

"And the last one?"

"Could I put it on by myself?"

"Yes, if you like."

"The heart, please."

He begins to take it off the sheet one but seeing that he is mistaken, Draco exclaims.

"No! The one with the brilliant."

"Oops," said the teen, reassuring him a little.

He was afraid that he wouldn't let him change after taking it off, but he also doesn't understand who could pick a lousy heart when you can have a heart with shining glitters.

Harry hands him the little glittery heart and Draco is very careful when he takes it in his fingers and gently presses it on the blue bandage, proud of himself.

"Great kitten! You're all beautiful like that."

"Yeah," he said with a smile that eats his face.

"You're going to have a good nap now?"

Draco is rudely interrupted by a yawn and any desire for rebellion that could have gone up in him melts like snow in the sun.

He docilely recovers his cuddly toy and takes Harry's hand to get up to finally head for the nap mats.

Harry helps him to take a pillow and a blanket -the one with stars on it- from one of the shelves and he puts them on the floor without much ceremony before laying there too.

As Harry has turned off the light, Draco can see with more clarity the bright stars that are glued to the ceiling and he observes them for a moment in the silence of the room before putting himself on his side, facing the teenager.

As he did not want him to tell him a story, Harry put himself a few meters from the little one, slumped in a very comfortable ottoman that is at least twice his size and he smiles at the blond when he crosses his eyes over his arm.

«Sleep» he mimics with his mouth so that he stops concentrating on him, causing the child to laugh who hides his face behind his rabbit.

As Harry does not want to turn this moment of relaxation into a game, he levitates a textbook from his bag. He has no intention of reading it but he opens it anyway with the hope that it will dissuade the little one from continuing to fix him when he sees that there is no reaction on his part.

It works pretty well and when he peeks in his direction, he can see his eyes staring at the new stickers on his arms closing slowly and his breath getting heavier.

He puts the book down definitively when he sees his grip on his pacifier relax and observes him in silence, thanks to the little light that enters through the covered windows, his heart softer than a melted marshmallow.

He observes the silhouette lying on the thick tatamis breathing deeply, the cheeks painful for smiling too much but without succeeding in stopping to look at his closed fist which clings to the cover, to his face completely pressed against the white rabbit or to the sporadic movement of his mouth that sucks the pacifier with the same adorable little noise every time.

He does not particularly count the minutes but ten must go by where the child sleeps before the door opens delicately, still too noisy when there was only calm before it.

Harry turns his head to see Ron take off his shoes after closing the passage behind him and then he refocuses on the child to see if it was enough to wake him.

Draco is still sleeping, unbothered.

"You don't have the right to be here," says Harry, when the alpha puts himself next to him on the ottoman, moving slowly on all fours until he is at his height.

"Relax, I won't stay long."

"I'm serious, Ron. What do I say if we have a little one isolated here who reacts badly because of your sent?"

"I put on patches and you know well that the room will be neutralized after you leave."

Harry knows it, it is even him who will have to install the diffusers in a few minutes. He also knows that this is not the only reason that the presence of his best friend bothers him here.

"I just wanted to see the blue room," whispers Ron. "Dude, it's so much better than our red room. I'm already feeling completely relaxed."

"No kidding," he said, rolling his eyes. "I will not set foot in it personally."

"You pretend as if we never clean it, but I will remind you we have the same sanitary measures as you."

"Yeah, but still," says Harry. "Your sent holds well to the skin and I would be too afraid to have to take care of a little one whilst smelling like a rut."

"They're not just for that, and you know it, Harry."

"How's it going, by the way?" asked the dark-haired man, reflecting on what the nurse had said earlier in the morning.

Ron sighs and he already knows the answer is no.

"It's complicated... She's putting vials of feral omega's pheromones right under my nose -and I know I have to be able to handle them better than that if I want to be able to help in the infirmary, but... I can't stand it so much and now I just have smoking nostrils."

"You're going to get there, I know it," Harry reassures him, too used of being the caregiver all day long to keep his hand from his friend's arm or his pheromones that escape by reflex.

Ron throws a teasing look at him but he says nothing, rather letting his eyes go towards the little one who peacefully continues his nap.

"It explains so much," said Ron without taking his eyes off him.

"You have to promise not to talk about it," he says.

Ron must see the seriousness on his face because he closes his mouth that he had opened.

"You do not know how long it took me to make him understand that he risked nothing and that I will keep the secret."

"I see," said the redhead after a time of silence, in which they only observe the child sleeping.

"How old is he?"

"Two, a little less, a little more..."

"How does he take it?"

"Pretty good, I would say."

"What about you?"

He turns to face the blue eyes staring at him.

"What do you mean?"

"You want him to be your little boy, don't you?"

"Maybe, yeah..." says Harry half-heartedly because he had not dared to admit it.

"And that would be possible?"

"I don't know," sighs Harry. "It's Draco."

He says it like it explains everything and maybe it does.

He sees Ron inhale from the corner of his eye and then gently rub his nose.

"Daddy or not, he's going to need your help changing when he wakes up."

"You know you better not say something like that once he's awake, right?" he says without venom.

"I'm just telling you, I'm not stupid."

The blond wakes up gradually, at first too numbed by his nap to realize that he is not in the Slytherin's dormitory.

He takes a breath that inflates his lungs and makes his body stretch like an arc, then he relaxes from end to end, his muscles ready to melt in the night blue tatamis.

He quickly realizes two things: the first is that he wet in bed and that there is a good chance that it is the heavy and wet sensation between his legs that woke him up.
The second is that the blanket he feels against his body does not have the same texture as his own. He also can't remember how he got to his bed or why he has a pacifier in his mouth when he doesn't own any.

It takes a few seconds for him to manage to align two coherent thoughts in a row but once he gets there and with the help of one of his bandages that clings to his top, the morning's memories come back to him.

Draco rubs his nose against his plush to help him get out of sleep and then blinks to see a semblance of what surrounds him and confirm his suspicions. He's not in bed.

As soon as his eyes are open and they recognize the blue room well, he sits gently on his buttocks, squeezing the cover against him because it is very soft while his gaze instinctively looks for Harry and lands on him almost by reflex.

He is not totally awake and he realizes that he does not really want to be now so he picks up the blanket and his rabbit and clumsily walks on all fours on the three meters that separate them until he is close enough to slip against him on the amorphous ottoman with the least possible effort.

He sighs with contentment when he is caught by the arms that opened on seeing him advance and he lets out a satisfied sound from the bottom of his soul when Harry tucks him in with the blanket then passes a hand in his hair, his thumb brushing his forehead repeatedly.

"Slept well?"

"Wanted Dada," says Draco, whose voice is muffled by the teenager's shoulder.

He does not know if Harry will not make a remark to him now that he is better, if he will tell him that he is not his daddy or that he should not call him like that but Harry answers with a «oh» who seems to be moved from where he stands and the blond sinks a little deeper into his affection when he kisses his head.

He who thought maybe he would go back to sleep, he realizes that he is not really tired anymore, too excited to be in Harry's arms to close his eyes and also because he was right and now that he is well rested, Draco has no desire to stand still, except to continue this embrace.

He breathes against his neck for a moment, eyes closed and so engrossed in his happiness that he does not realize the intruder in the room.

That's why he doesn't think twice when he feels that all his attention is on his crotch and that it's starting to become too difficult to ignore for longer.

"Wet, Daddy..."

"I know, baby. Do you want us to take care of it right now?"

He opens his eyes to be able to look at him when he answers, and what a mistake it is when he recognizes the boy with red hair next to Harry who looks at him with a small smile!

In itself, his smile is nothing bad but Draco did not expect to see him there and the shame of what he just said -and did- climbs so fast that he hides from his sight as best he can while squeaking, mortified.

"It's nothing, Draco," says Harry, trying to come to his rescue. "We don't care, nobody cares."

His pheromones must become particularly bitter because the brunet makes them sit abruptly then he helps him to get up.

Weasley is no longer beside him but he is a little too caught up in what is happening inside him to really pay attention. He is also a little afraid that Harry thinks he's throwing a tantrum and gets mad at him. Given the speed at which he got him up, maybe he did.

The Gryffindor must see the apprehension on his face because he forces himself to give him a small smile before catching him by the shoulders.

"Go pee, sweetheart. I'll follow you in a few minutes."

With his heart in his throat, Draco nods and crosses the room without turning around, too afraid to be humiliated a little more. He passes into the other room that does not even have a door, just a rectangular entrance and he does without a fuss what he asked him to do after removing his pull-up.

He throws the used one in the small bin and looks at the light blue tile ceiling so as not to cry. Weasley hates him as much as he hates him, and Draco just said some very intimate things in front of him. Ridiculous things, baby stuff.

He stares at the door in front of him carefully. It has no lock, just a latch that can open on either side of the door and it does not bother him more than that, as long as Harry is the one to open it.

He hears footsteps approaching from where he is but because he recognizes the voice of Harry who warns him of his presence, he opens the door, hiding behind it. He doesn't want the redhead to see him naked.

"It's just me, come over here."

He approaches, not trying at all to hide that he is upset by what happened.

"Don't make that face, Draco," said Harry, smiling at him and holding a diaper and briefs in one hand.

"But he knows stuff and I didn't want him to know!"

"It's okay, Draco, you-"

"He heard everything!" Draco interrupts, while having trouble not crying. "He's gonna tell everyone that I wet the bed."

He hides his eyes behind his fists.

"I don't want him to."

Harry takes him in his arms for a few seconds, quite indifferent to his lack of underwear and hugs him so hard that the blond thinks for a moment that he is trying to squeeze out his sadness from him like a lemon.

"Nobody's going to make fun of you, I promise. Ron doesn't care, he works with Mrs. Pomfrey, he won't say anything. And he wasn't there to bother you, you know?"

He bites him weakly and Harry must understand that this is nothing but a poor attempt to let everything out because he lets him do it.

"How old are you, Draco? Right now?"

"Two."

"It's normal for little ones your age to pee the bed, everyone knows that. Ron knows that. No one's gonna bother you with this and no one's gonna make fun of you, kitten."

Harry caresses his cheek until he smiles back.

"Ok," accepts Draco who is a little more reassured.

"I talked to him, don't worry."

Harry returns to his belongings that he had placed in the middle of the room -he also picks up the tracksuit bottoms that Draco had dropped on the ground to be able to change more easily- and he beckons him to come join him.

"Do you want to take a shower?"

Draco saw the booths in the back of the room and even though the soaps seem to smell good and be particularly colorful, he doesn't want to ruin his stickers so quickly. Besides, he doesn't feel dirty.

"Na."

"Ok."

Harry casts a small cleaning spell on him before resuming.

"Do you want to stay small a little longer or do you want me to help you get big again?"

Draco gives himself a few seconds to think about it, crossed by the thought that he may find himself all alone in a very short time, because the truth is that he still has no caregiver. He also knows that he cannot remain small forever and that he will have to get big again sooner or later.

He knows deep down that it will be difficult to let the dark-haired boy go and that for his own good, it is perhaps better that he does not let things drag on.

"Big, but not right now," ask Draco, who is also not totally ready to never call Harry daddy again.

"There is in no hurry," the boy kindly replied, before helping him put on the briefs when he tells him that he is capable enough to fell if he needs to go, then the grey tracksuit bottoms.

When they have washed their hands, Draco grabs him immediately, grabbing his forearm, hand or sweater -no matter, really- to delay the moment when it will no longer be possible.

Harry lets him do it and he takes his hand in his, although it would probably have been easier for him to have two hands free to pick up his things.

When they come out of the bathroom, Draco only takes a few steps next to the brunet before seeing that Weasley is still there and he hesitates only a second before hiding behind Harry because he still feels too small and vulnerable to face him, even after he reassured him.

The dark-haired one stops because of his sudden movement and Draco observes him over his shoulder, throwing him a suspicious look that he does not even hide while grasping daddy's sweater in his back so that he does not let him face him alone, which is essential because the Gryffindor tries to turn around and talk to him.

"Draco..." sighs Harry as he stops moving, giving him the opportunity to hide in his neck.

It's a good thing the brunet had a growth spurt because Draco is not sure that his hiding spot would be as effective if they weren't the same size.

Harry does not have much time to argue because the other approaches and while the blond hesitates to go back to lock himself in the toilet, he reveals a bottle that he hands him, totally ignoring the caregiver between them.

"Here, to make amends. I didn't want to scare you like that."

Draco hesitates a few seconds but between his desire to take it and the encouraging look of his daddy, he gives in and receives the hot bottle in his hands.

"Hm," he said without loosening his jaw, not ignoring him, but not saying thank you either.

He puts the silicone tip to his lips to taste and accepts his apology when vanilla milk fills his mouth.

He still frowns when the redhead passes a hand in his hair to say goodbye but it is quickly forgotten because Harry calls him on the mats to help him tidy up their belongings.

He drags the pillow with one hand where he took it while the brunet folds the cover and stores it in a cupboard then he lets him finish the bottle before helping him lace up his shoes.

"We put blankie in your bag?"

Draco nods, already feeling a little more grown and watches Harry light up a small diffuser that lets steam out before turning off the light and closing the door behind them.

"Ready to face the outside?" asks Harry with an amused smile as he returns his bag.

"Yeah," sighs Draco.

Feeling his bag against him already helps him to regain his grown up mind and he knows that if he had put back his uniform, he would be totally himself. In the meantime, he may have kept the comfortable tracksuit, but he is big enough to look at Potter differently when he turns the key in the door and he already begins to mourn their complicity.

That's it, he thinks. It's over.

He must not be totally grown either because he can't stop himself from speaking as they start coming out of the infirmary.

"You lied, you know?"

Potter stops to look at him, frowning.

"What do you mean? No, I didn't lie to you."

"Yes, you did." Insists Draco, before he realizes it's ridiculous and he should let it go.

"It's nothing, thank you, Potter."

He starts to make his way to the exit and takes only two steps in the corridor before being caught by an arm.

He turns to face the brunet without protest, not having the heart to create a scene because he always has a little hope that Potter proposes to be his caregiver and that the worst thing to do would be to be detestable.

"I do not tell lies, especially not to the little ones," says Potter in a serious tone.

"I am not lying! " cries Draco, wounded but ready to defend himself if he wants to go in that direction.

If he still had a doubt he has no more, he is definitely not yet sixteen years old in his head.

"That's not what I'm saying," explains the other, passing his wrist against his, gland against gland to calm his hostility.

"What do you mean then?"

"It must have slipped my mind. What did I promise?"

His annoyance melts completely and he feels a little stupid to be so invested in something so futile and sheepish, he fixes his shoes.

"You said I'd have a surprise...but I mustn't have been good or brave enough," Draco mutters when he remembers the condition.

Maybe he didn't lie and he was just disobedient enough to decide he didn't deserve it.

"You were very good and very courageous," reassures Harry by tapping the tip of his nose with his finger so that he raises his head that he had lowered without realizing it. "Wait here."

As they are right in front of the infirmary, it only takes a few seconds for him to go back and come to him with three lollipops in his hands.

"And since you've been so brave, you can take two," says Harry, as the blond teen feels his good mood returning.

"Why not three?" negotiates Draco.

"Why would you have three?" entertains the other without directly refusing as he thought he might.

"Well, I got three shots."

He sees him rolling his eyes but he puts the sweets in his hands.

"Here, take them. But you're not eating all of them at once, are we clear?"

"Yes, yes!" says Draco, putting them in his bag, already planning when he will be able to eat them.

He feels completely grown now and his pheromones must convey that this is also the case so he does not expect at all to be hugged by the boy in front of him.

"Go easy today, okay?"

"Okay," he said, distracted by the smell that he is taking full force again.

It has nothing reassuring anymore because he no longer needs to be reassured and the body of the Gryffindor adapts accordingly but what he notices for the first time of the day is the contentment and comfort that he can smell on the caregiver. It might be nothing more than a primary reaction but he feels him breath in his neck and the smell multiplies tenfold and it's so raw and sharp that Draco knows he can't fake it and he feels a little stunned when he understands that it's him who's causing  Potter's calmness.

Maybe he should take the first step, thinks the blond. Maybe he's just too shy.

"You don't have a little one Potter, do you?" asks Draco, who is not stupid enough to humiliate himself for nothing.

"No," he says, straightening up and pinching his cheeks a little to relax his anxious expression. "Why are you asking that?"

"Now you do," replies Draco, manifesting all the courage he has in him to say it, then stills when the dark-haired man understands what he just asked.

"Oh," sighs Harry with a surprised laugh and because he is so handsome when he is happy, Draco reduces the space between them and gently puts his lips on the boy's.

"Harry! Professor Snape wants to see you!"

Draco retreats as if he was struck by lightning when hearing Weasley's voice, feeling his cheeks blush furiously as he wants to cast his darkest gaze at him.

"Oh, sorry," says the Alpha with a grimace when he seems to understand what he just interrupted.

The more the seconds pass, the more the blond thinks it is perhaps for the better, letting himself panick internally because he does not understand what went through his head.

He is burning and he feels unsteady, because Harry does not look at him, also turned towards the redhead and he does not know what to expect but he also does not have the strength to run away.

"Is it urgent?"

"Yeah, sorry Harry I should have waited-"

"I'm coming, give me two seconds."

He turns to him so quickly that Draco has no time to anticipate it, neither this, nor the two warm hands on his cheeks and his mouth that tenderly returns to his.

Their lips separate with a slight «smack» and he is slapped in the face by a dazzling smile.

"See you later, sweetheart?"

Draco nods and watches him go to the dungeons, still then with a small smile on his lips and nothing can bother him, even Weasley who awkwardly sends him a thumb up.

He simply observes Harry until he can no longer and then he turns around to head to the park, takes an apple-flavoured lollipop out of his bag and puts it in his mouth.