Chapter Text
By the time the ward shimmered with light again, Hermione had reached that peculiar state of exhaustion where everything felt distant and overly sharp at the same time. She was slightly propped against pillows, their daughter bundled against her chest - small and warm and solid all at once. Twelve hours of labour had left her exhausted in a way she’d never known before - but there was a quiet strength in her now, a settled certainty that surprised her.
Draco hovered uselessly for a moment, then adjusted the blanket for the third time in as many minutes.
“She’s perfect,” he said again, like the words might change if he stopped saying them. Hermione smiled; her eyes closed. “You’ve said that.”
“Yes, well,” he replied, unrepentant. “I plan to keep doing so until she’s at least forty.”
A knock sounded, suddenly making them aware of the fact that they were about to be observed by an audience. “They’re here.” She cracked one eye open. “Define they.”
“Mrs. Weasley, Potter & Potterette, Theo, your parents and—” he paused, “my parents.”
“Alright,” Hermione murmured without opening her eyes. “If anyone says I look fresh or radiant, I’m throwing something.”
Draco smiled down at her. “Threat noted.” “And you need to stop calling Ginny that, honestly Draco. Oh, and if Molly cries, hand her a tissue. If your father scowls, ignore him.”
Draco snorted. “That last one has been my strategy for years.” He opened the door, and warmth followed it in.
Jean Granger entered first, eyes already shining, one hand pressed firmly to her mouth. David hovered half a step behind her, trying very hard to look composed and failing utterly. Jean crossed the room in three strides and stopped short, clearly torn between hugging her daughter and not jostling the newborn.
“Oh, Hermione,” she whispered. “My brave girl.” Hermione smiled tiredly. “Hello, Mum.”
David cleared his throat, then leaned down to kiss Hermione’s forehead. “You did brilliantly,” he said, voice thick. “Absolutely brilliantly.”
Draco stepped aside to give them space, watching with quiet affection. He’d always admired the Grangers’ steadiness—the way their love was uncomplicated, solid. It grounded Hermione. It grounded him too, now.
Jean finally dared to look at the baby. “Oh,” she breathed. “Hello, sweetheart.”
Behind them, more visitors filtered in - Harry and Ginny with restrained excitement, Molly Weasley already dabbing at her eyes and whispering about tiny fingers. Theo slipped in quietly, hands in pockets, offering Hermione a rare, sincere smile and a side hug for Draco.
“Oh, Hermione,” she whispered. “You’re glowing.” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “That’s sweat and exhaustion, Gin. Seriously.” “Still counts,” Ginny said cheerfully.
Molly Weasley burst into tears on sight of the baby. “Oh, she’s perfect,” she sobbed. “Absolutely perfect. Look at her tiny nose!”
Harry smiled awkwardly from the corner. “She’s brilliant. Already looks clever.”
Theo leaned over Draco’s shoulder. “I give it three years before she’s running the manor.” Draco smirked. “Low estimate.”
And then, inevitably, the atmosphere shifted.
Narcissa Malfoy stood just inside the doorway, elegant as ever, her eyes softening the moment they landed on Hermione and the baby. But Lucius remained where he was: precisely on the threshold, posture immaculate, silver cane held more out of habit than need, and his expression unreadable until his gaze fell on the bundle in Hermione’s arms.
Hermione noticed. So did Draco.
Lucius Malfoy, who had once commanded rooms without effort, now seemed uncertain whether he belonged in this one at all. He did not cross the line. He simply observed, from a distance that felt deliberate.
“You were extraordinary,” Narcissa said simply, “Truly.” And Hermione knew she meant it. There had been skepticism once - concern, hesitation - but Narcissa had never been unkind. Over time, a bond had grown between them. Strong, quiet and genuine. Hermione met her gaze. “Thank you. I intend to remind Draco of that for the rest of our lives.”
“May I?” Narcissa asked softly.
Hermione nodded, carefully shifting the baby into Narcissa’s arms. Draco hovered again, clearly torn between pride and terror.
Narcissa held her granddaughter and was immediately enchanted, as though she were something precious and breakable and ancient all at once. “Hello, my darling,” she murmured. “What a powerful little presence you have.” Jean leaned closer and made a small, indignant sound, as if agreeing, while David looked on with quiet reverence.
The baby stirred, then settled. Narcissa smiled, then turned to Jean and David. “You must be so proud.” Jean nodded, unable to speak for a moment. “Beyond words.”
Lucius remained where he was, watching everything and everyone, rigid as a statue. Draco tilted his head slightly. “Father,” he said, tone mild. “You’re allowed to come in, you know.” Lucius glanced at him. “I’m aware.”
Theo murmured, “Fascinating display of awareness.” Ginny struggled to keep her amusement contained.
Although he entered the room, he still remained a few steps back. His gaze flicked from Hermione to Draco to the baby, lingering longest there. Draco noticed the way his father’s grip tightened slightly on the cane, the way his shoulders seemed to loosen and tense in equal measure, as though something inside him were renegotiating old certainties.
“Honestly, Father,” Draco sighed. “You’re still blocking the way. Either come in or dramatically brood elsewhere.”
Lucius scoffed, “I am not brooding.” Theo murmured, “You absolutely are.”
Narcissa turned, giving Lucius a look that would have cowed him even during their courtship. “Lucius,” she said. “Don’t linger like a ghost. Come.” Her voice was gentle yet firm, honed by years of practice.
Lucius hesitated.
Hermione watched him with tired amusement. This was not the intimidating patriarch she’d once feared. This was a man who looked genuinely unsure whether he was allowed to step forward.
Draco, on the other hand thought his father’s expression - not stern, not judgmental, but profoundly thoughtful. The man who had once threatened to cut him off entirely, and had stood, rigid and furious, when Draco told him that he would marry Hermione Granger no matter the cost. A man who had once believed bloodlines immutable and choice a liability, was now confronted with the undeniable truth of a life that owed as much to love as it did to blood. This child, Draco realized, was not just a granddaughter. She was a reckoning.
Hermione felt Draco’s gaze on her and glanced up. “He’s terrified,” Draco murmured. She huffed softly. “Good.”
Draco tilted his head. “She doesn’t bite. Yet.”
That did it. Lucius took a careful step inside.
“Lucius,” his wife called him, gently. “Would you like to hold her?”
The question seemed to pull him back into himself.
“I—” He paused, then inclined his head. “If that’s permitted.”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “Merlin, Father, she’s not an heirloom teacup.”
Lucius ignored him and stepped forward. When the baby was placed into his arms, the transformation was immediate.
Lucius Malfoy stilled completely, as though the world had narrowed to the small, warm weight he now carefully held. His arms adjusted instinctively, careful and sure. His gaze softened, tracing every detail with utmost attention.
His granddaughter yawned, one tiny hand curling into the fabric of his sleeve. Lucius froze, then exhaled slowly, awe unmistakable. “Oh,” he said, almost inaudible.
Hermione watched his face and saw the moment something unguarded broke through. Wonder. Devotion. A fierce, almost startled protectiveness, as though he’d willingly burn the world to keep this child safe. Draco felt a strange tightening in his chest.
“She is perfect,” he said quietly. “Extraordinary.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You’re echoing your son.” Lucius didn’t look away. “Then he has excellent judgment.” Draco blinked again. “I should record this.”
“She’s a Malfoy, and she will be protected. From everything.” Lucius said. Narcissa smiled knowingly.
He lifted his eyes to Hermione then, truly meeting her gaze. “Thank you, Hermione” he said simply. There was respect in it now. Undeniable. Earned. And gratitude.
Almost everyone in the room was surprised. Lucius had never used her first name before until now.
Hermione looked at him, her eyes still a little wide. “You’re welcome.” She said gently.
“And her name?” Lucius asked Hermione, and the room seemed to lean in as one.
“Joanna Narcissa Malfoy, after her grandmothers”.
Narcissa gasped, a sharp, unguarded sound, her composure cracking as her hand flew to her lips. Beside her, Jean mirrored the reaction, blinking rapidly as tears welled, her smile wide and disbelieving. For once, they looked less like matriarchs of formidable families and more like women astonished to be seen. Mrs Weasley pressed a hand to her chest, eyes shining. Ginny smiled brightly, while Harry’s grin said everything he didn’t.
“Hello, Joanna”, Jean cooed over her granddaughter. Hermione felt a swell of emotion at the way the name settled into the room, spoken aloud by her mother for the first time.
Lucius nodded, pride unmistakable. “A strong name,” he said. Theo, lounging near the bed, tilted his head. “Well,” he drawled, “that’s set the bar impossibly high for any future siblings.”
Draco wrapped an arm around Hermione, pressing a kiss to her temple. “First Malfoy girl in generations,” he murmured. “She’s already changing things.”
Lucius looked down at Joanna again, utterly undone. “Good,” he said softly. “It’s long overdue.”
As friends filled the room with gentle chatter and quiet laughter, Draco slipped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. She leaned into him, their daughter safe among the people they loved and cherished, and for the first time, the future felt less like a burden and more like a promise