No text, no apology, nothing. Jim had stood you up without any explanation. You felt like an utter fool, as the waitress walked over to your table with yet another free drink, a sympathetic smile playing on her lips.
When Lyra was born, she had Draco’s eyes and Luna’s knowing smirk. Even as a newborn, she had more wisdom in her little finger than Harry seemed to be able to find in his entire body, which both pissed him off and made his heart feel like freshly pulled taffy. Harry and Draco brought her home three days after she was born, along with the lifetime of debt they felt they owed Luna. She told them she was happy to do it, though. She would do anything for love, even if it wasn’t her’s to sacrifice for. She had always been that way.
The first months were full of doubt and weak laughter. Draco hadn’t quite figured out the art of diaper-changing and Harry always slept through the midnight screaming. Breakfast was a thing of the past, as were most lunches and some dinners. Somehow, sex never came close to leaving the picture. It was always a mystery to them as to how they found the time, but eventually, they fell into a choppy routine: Draco took care of the midnight feedings; Harry prepared the meals and changed the diapers. Luna took care of the babysitting when they were both called in for work, and bedtime was a team effort between the two of them. Draco dressed her like a tiny adult (“Babe, are you sure she needs a satin onesie?”) and Harry made sure she had the best toys out of all of the kids in the neighborhood. He kept his parents in the back of his mind as he took every possible opportunity to make memories with his new daughter, capturing every milestone (and each mundane moment) on camera. Photographs littered the fridge, walls, and bedside tables.