The days passed one by one.
Aria could walk properly now — short legs carrying her steadily around the room, steps firm and deliberate. She could reach for things, pivot quickly, break into a toddling run when the mood took her. Her body was cooperating at last, even if her mouth still wasn't.
Speech remained stubbornly halting. She could manage a few words at a time, strung together with effort, and anything more complex came out garbled. It was deeply, profoundly irritating for someone who had once been perfectly articulate.
She sat propped against a cushion on the nursery floor, turning a plush doll over in her hands, grumbling internally for what felt like the hundredth time.
Lord Mors, you absolute swindler. Flung me into a new world without so much as confirming whether any of my requests actually went through. I don't even know if I have anything to show for it. Tremendous work. Truly.
She was mid-grumble when a crisp knock came at the door, followed immediately by Pobby's distinctive carrying voice:
"Master! Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy have arrived, with the young master!"
The doll dropped from Aria's hands and hit the carpet with a soft thud.
Malfoy.
Her mind spun up immediately, cataloguing everything she knew. Malfoy. Pure-blood. Slytherin. The family with the manor and the house-elves and the very complicated history. And if they'd brought the young master—
Draco.
Her short legs were already carrying her toward the door before she'd consciously decided to move.
Freya pushed the door open and stepped in, nearly walking into the small figure clinging to the doorframe on her tiptoes. She laughed and bent down, scooping Aria up in one smooth motion.
"Little one, we have guests. Shall we go through to the sitting room?"
"Okay~" Aria looped her arms around her mother's neck, settling against her shoulder.
Vesper emerged from the study, smoothing the front of his robes. "Lucius and Narcissa?"
"Just arrived. They brought Draco — he's about the same age as Aria."
Freya carried her toward the sitting room, and Aria kept very still and very attentive.
Same age as Aria. So Draco was roughly a year and a half, perhaps two. Which meant Voldemort had fallen recently — within the last year or so. Harry would be with the Dursleys. The timeline matched.
The sitting room was warm, firelight casting everything in amber and gold. On one of the carved sofas sat Lucius Malfoy in dark green robes, his blonde hair perfectly arranged, one hand resting lightly on a silver-handled cane. His features carried an innate, practised arrogance, though when his gaze landed on Vesper it softened into something more familiar — the ease of old acquaintance.
Beside him sat Narcissa, elegant in pale blue robes, her posture immaculate. She had one hand resting on the back of a small blonde boy who was currently making a slow, curious circuit of the sitting room, pausing to examine each object he passed with intense concentration.
Draco Malfoy. Soft blonde hair, grey-blue eyes, rounded cheeks. Absolutely nothing like the sharp-faced teenager Aria had last associated with the name. He looked like a very small, very serious person who had a great deal to investigate and limited time in which to do it.
"Vesper." Lucius rose and extended a hand, his tone carrying the warmth of long familiarity. "It's been too long."
"Lucius. Please, sit." Vesper shook it, the two of them exchanging a look of the particular variety shared between men who have known each other for years and need very few words.
Narcissa rose as well, sharing a brief embrace with Freya. Her gaze drifted to Aria, and her expression went immediately, genuinely soft.
"Freya — this is Aria? She's beautiful. Like a little angel."
"Thank you, Narcissa. Do sit down."
Freya set Aria on the carpet and let go. Aria planted her feet, stood up straight, and tilted her head to look at Narcissa.
"How old are you, sweetheart?" Narcissa asked, leaning forward slightly.
Aria thought about it. "One year... and eight months," she said carefully, the words coming out in the halting, effortful way they still did.
Narcissa's smile widened, clearly charmed by the careful pronunciation. "Draco, come and say hello to Aria."
Draco, who had been absorbed in examining a decorative paperweight on the side table, looked up. He turned, located Aria, and stared at her with the frank, unguarded curiosity of a toddler who hadn't yet learnt to pretend otherwise.
A pause.
"He... llo," he said, in a small milky voice.
"Hello," Aria replied.
She watched him with equal curiosity. He was so completely different from any version of Draco she'd held in her head — no sneer, no swagger, not a scrap of the cultivated contempt she associated with the name. Just a round-faced little boy blinking at her, head tilted slightly to one side.
Lucius and Vesper excused themselves to the study with the ease of men who had been doing this for years. "We'll leave the children to play while we catch up."
"Go on, then," Freya said, waving them off.
Left to their own devices, the two women settled into comfortable conversation, and Draco wandered closer. He stood in front of Aria for a long moment, apparently considering her, then reached out a chubby hand and touched the brown hair falling over her shoulder.
"Hair," he said, with great seriousness. "Soft."
Aria leaned away slightly. "Don't touch."
Draco's hand froze. His lower lip pushed out a fraction. He didn't retreat, though — he lowered his hand, looked at the plush bear that had been sitting abandoned on the carpet since Aria dropped it, and then looked back at her.
"Play?" He pointed at the bear. "Toy... play?"
Aria looked at him. He had the expression of someone making a genuine, earnest bid for friendship and trying very hard not to look like it.
She picked up the bear and held it out. "You can have it."
His face transformed immediately — eyes lighting up, a wide, unguarded grin appearing that had absolutely nothing polished about it. He took the bear, then immediately held out his own toy: a small wooden rocking horse with a painted mane, clearly well-loved.
"For you. Play."
And that was how they ended up sitting cross-legged on the carpet together, trading toys back and forth in companionable near-silence, communicating in the fragmented, instinctive language of very small children who have decided the other is worth talking to.
"He doesn't usually do this," Narcissa murmured to Freya, watching her son press a small toy into Aria's hands with great ceremony. "He's not easy with other children, as a rule. He's very particular."
"They'll have found something in common," Freya said, sipping her tea. "Children always do, when they actually like each other."
Aria, for her part, was half-listening to the women's conversation while keeping Draco occupied. The relevant parts drifted over clearly enough.
"...Vesper's been busy at the Ministry?" Narcissa was asking, her tone light.
"Very. After everything that happened — there's been a great deal to sort through." Freya's voice carried a quiet relief beneath its steadiness. "The Selwyn family kept themselves clear of it, fortunately. Stayed neutral. It's made things simpler."
"The Malfoys as well," Narcissa said. A pause. "Lucius has said more than once that it was Vesper's counsel that helped us be... cautious."
The conversation moved on. Aria filed all of it away — timeline confirmed, both families navigating the post-Voldemort landscape carefully, neither having committed fully enough to be destroyed by the aftermath.
Draco, oblivious to all of this, had decided to try holding her hand again.
She patted his palm away. "No."
His face crumpled. His grey eyes went wide and glassy, the tears assembling with remarkable speed, and he turned to point at Aria with an expression of profound personal injury.
"She hit me."
Narcissa was across the room in seconds, lifting him, patting his back with practised efficiency. "She didn't mean it, darling. She just didn't want to be grabbed — isn't that right, Aria?"
Freya crouched beside Aria with a look of maternal diplomacy. "We use our words, remember? Hands are for waving, not for hitting."
"Sorry," Aria said quietly, head down.
Genuinely the most sensitive child I have ever encountered, she thought, watching Draco be consoled with a few soothing words and almost immediately recover. Remarkable. He really does have the temperament, even at this age.
The study door opened and Lucius and Vesper emerged, both looking satisfied in the way of men who have had a good conversation and know it.
"All done?" Narcissa asked, adjusting Draco on her hip.
"Very productive." Lucius surveyed the sitting room — the two small children, the scattered toys, the comfortable arrangement of it all — and something in his expression eased further. "The children seem to have got on well. We ought to make this a regular arrangement."
"Malfoy Manor next time," Freya offered. "We'll come to you."
The farewells took a while, because Draco, once deposited near the door, kept twisting back toward Aria with his arms half-extended, his voice climbing with urgency.
"Aria — next time — play! Next time, play!"
Aria raised a hand and waved. "Next time."
He finally allowed himself to be carried out, still craning to look back over Narcissa's shoulder until the door closed between them.
The sitting room felt notably quieter in the sudden absence of a determined toddler.
Freya took Aria's hand as they walked back through the house, swinging it lightly. "Did you like Draco?"
Aria considered this with appropriate seriousness.
"He's all right," she said.
Freya laughed. "High praise."
Bedtime came quickly. Freya tucked her in, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and dimmed the lights to their usual soft glow, the ceiling ornaments drifting in their slow, familiar patterns.
"Sleep well, little one."
Aria lay still after she left, watching the stars turn.
She thought about the Malfoys — the careful neutrality Narcissa had mentioned, Lucius's easy manner with Vesper, the fact that both families had come through the first war without being destroyed. She thought about what she knew of how things would unfold, the broad outlines of it, the parts she couldn't remember clearly and the parts she could.
There were storms ahead. She knew that much.
But she was barely two years old, and the storm was still years away, and she had time.
She'd make use of it.
A small yawn escaped before she could stop it, and her eyes drifted shut, and the stars kept turning quietly overhead as she fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.
Show Some By Powerstones
Next BONUS CHAPTER at 200 powerstones