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Samhain had always meant so much more to him. It was the night he was conceived, under miraculous circumstances, and as such, every year since then, he and his family had gathered together to thank the gods, goddesses, and the Dark for the blessings they had given their family.
His life was a product of the Dark’s love. As a young boy, his mother had told him he was a gift from the Dark, that without sacrifice and love he would not have been given to them. When, at fifteen, he declared his magic to the Dark, it felt like coming home. The magic around had held him closely, like a second mother, cradling him in its arms. He had felt complete; loved and cherished by a presence that would never leave him.
But tonight he felt alone, a twenty-five-year-old war orphan trying to preserve any memory he could of his family. He set up the circle the same way his mother always had; moonstone and obsidian crystals lined the perimeter, a smudge stick of red rose, lavender, and hibiscus filled the air with its sweet fragrance, with a small table of food for offerings off to the side.
“Draco, I can’t get up from here on my own.”
See, my Dragon. You are not alone.
He always thought he heard his mother’s calming voice on Samhain. Every year he hoped he would see her again, but each year was only gifted with the faintest whisper of her voice. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder if even that was a figment of his imagination.
“Malfoy!”
Draco snapped out of his melancholy to walk to the center of the circle where Hermione was kneeling, wearing the same, though modified, slip his mother had worn for each Samhain. The slip hugged her body tightly, stretching over her growing breasts and abdomen. The irony of the situation was not lost on him; he wondered how his mother would feel about a heavily pregnant muggle-born taking her place in their circle.
Draco lowered himself to one knee before his wife, letting her use his body as a crutch. They hadn’t anticipated how much pregnancy would affect her mobility, but with as tiny as Hermione was, to begin with, any added weight will make things difficult.
When Hermione was finally stable on her feet, Draco pressed a kiss to her growing belly, lavishing her and their unborn son with love and affection.
“Please be a good boy for mommy and daddy.” He mumbled to the growing child before he felt Hermione’s stomach move under his lips and heard his wife chuckle at his antics. He idly wondered if his son was showing his agreement to Draco’s request or displeasure at being told to behave.
Your father always asked the same of you, my Dragon, and you never listened.
His breathing turned labored as he, once again, felt his parent’s presence, his mother’s voice drifting into his ear. Three years ago, losing them had turned his world to gray, he could go about his day, but everything was monotonous. It was only through Hermione that he had been able to find color and joy once again, but he still missed them both more than he could say.
A small hand caressed his chin, bringing his face upwards. Something about the sight above him; his gorgeous wife, wrapped in green silk and round with his child that brought him, momentarily, out of his melancholy. To this day, he couldn’t understand how he got so lucky to have her as his wife.
“They’ll be here soon, Draco. Even if we don’t see them, we’ll know they were here.” She had said this same thing every time, and each year it became harder for him to believe they had truly been present. And so, with a heavy heart, Draco rose and gathered himself before beginning their Samhain prayers.
He kissed his wife soundly before grasping each of her hands tightly. He then recited a prayer he had known since birth.
“This is the night when the gateway between our world and the spirit world is thinnest. Tonight is a night to call out those who came before. Tonight I honor my ancestors. Spirits of my fathers and mothers, I call to you, and welcome you to join me for this night. You watch over me always, protecting and guiding me, and tonight I thank you. Your blood runs in my veins, your spirit is in my heart, your memories are in my soul.”
Every year, at this point, Draco was unable to stop himself from pausing, hoping to feel, see, or hear anything from his mother and father. Sometimes he would feel the lightest ghost of an embrace; small and thin arms wrapping around his middle. Other times he would hear a deep voice, telling him how much he was loved, that he made his father proud. But he yearned to experience more.
“Give them time, Draco,” Hermione reminded him, squeezing his hands. He tried to relax and focus on his breathing, but tonight he needed them more than ever.
You should listen to your wife more often, my Dragon.
He had thought the voice was just in his head until he looked up and saw his mother and father standing behind his wife. They looked young, so different from how they looked the day they died. Whereas that day, they had been covered in dirt, blood, and dust; a consequence of the Battle of Hogwarts. Now, they were clean and fresh-faced, their clothing was of the comfortable sort but still looked to be made of fine materials, like something they would wear around the house most days.
“I tell him that all the time, but he hasn’t figured it out yet.” Draco was frozen to the spot as he looked at his parents, tears already pooling in his eyes. It was only when Hermione pressed a kiss to his cheek that he broke from his trance.
“You three have some catching up. I’ll give you a moment alone.” Without waiting for a response, Hermione turned on her heels and began fiddling with a few of the moonstone crystals that were on their altar.
“You married well, son. I should have known you would marry the ‘know-it-all,’ she and Potter were all you spoke about for six years.”
He could tell his father was trying to break the tension, but the words that should have filled Draco with pride and joy only added to his inner turmoil.
“I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to be a father.” Finally admitting the main thing he worried over sent tears he couldn’t be bothered to wipe away flooding down his cheeks. He wanted someone else to do that. Someone to show him what the love of a parent looked like. Maybe, if he had that once more he could replicate it for his son.
“Yes, you do.”
Lucius’ ethereal form moved closer to him. When his father raised his ghostly hand to caress his cheek, Draco could almost feel calloused fingers trying to brush away his tears.
“You will be a wonderful father, Dragon. I felt the same way when your mother was pregnant with you. Up until the moment you were passed into my arms I worried I would not know how to be a father. But I think I did a decent job. I made mistakes, more than I can count, and you will too—all parents do at some point. That is just part of the process.”
“I don’t want to mess him up. What if I’m not good enough for him? What if he hates me?” What if I fail him as you failed me. Those last two thoughts had haunted Draco since Hermione told him she was pregnant.
He felt those thin arms wrap around him from behind and heard his mother’s whisper in his ear as another wave of tears flowed down his face.
“My Dragon, you could never not be enough. We have had the privilege of watching you grow into the fine young man that you are now. You will continue to grow and your son will see that and be proud to call you his father. You have so much love in your heart for him already. Don’t let your fear of failure prevent you from being the father I know you can be.”
At once he could feel both his parents wrap their arms around him. He had not been held between them both in so long, he had truly forgotten what this felt like, and now, knowing he might never get another chance to be surrounded by his mother and father, he could feel his heart breaking.
“We must go. But we will love you so much, Draco. You will understand soon the depth of our love for you.”
With those final words, they were gone. The cold crept in on Draco as their presence faded away, and he wished more than anything he could curl back into his mother’s arms.
“Hermione?” he called out, still standing, frozen where his parents had left him. “Hermione!?”
It seemed like an eternity before she was back with him, though it could have only been a few seconds. She moved around him and pressed her body against his, the swell of belly hindering their closeness a bit.
“Do you feel better or worse, love?” Her hands carding through his hair as she asked, nails scraping his scalp the way she always did to help calm him.
He couldn’t find words for how he felt. All at once, it seemed his heart was being stitched back together only to break anew. It was like the gaping hole he felt when they died started to fill in as he was speaking with them only to be replaced with a new emptiness.
“I wish our son could meet them.” He leaned further into Hermione's touch, moving his hands down to cradle the swell of her stomach.
“Maybe they will someday. Maybe the reason they could come tonight was because of his magic?” Hermione’s hand joined Draco’s to caress her bump, both laughing when they felt their son start kicking around.
“Close the circle, love. I need to go rest.”
At her admission, Draco could see in her face how much the day had taken out of her. Work and pregnancy often left her exhausted already, and tonight she had put his needs above her own.
“With the gift of remembrance. I remember all of you. You are dead but never forgotten, and you live on within me, and within those who are yet to come.”
Draco closed his eyes, feeling the wash of power leave the circle they had created. “Good night Mom, Dad,” he said softly. He turned to walk back into the manor with Hermione, his hand never leaving her stomach.
He would never give up hope that his parents could meet the one who was yet to come someday, his little Scorpius.