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“Daddy…” Draco looked down to find his daughter’s head of white blonde curls beside him, her tiny hand pulling at the leg of his trousers.
“Hi love,” He reached down to run an affectionate hand through hair, earning a sugar sweet smile in return as she leaned into his touch.
At four years old, Lyra Granger-Malfoy had already become the master of her father’s affections.
She was every bit of the two witches he loved most in the world— cunning wit that rivaled his mother’s, bold confidence that rivaled his wife’s.
But her smile, he liked to claim that as his own.
“You need something, princess?” He asked, squatting down so that their eyes were level.
Lyra clasped her hands in front of her baby pink dress, twisting and turning on her feet with a thoughtful expression.
“I want to paint someone’s nails…” She stuck her bottom lip out for emphasis. And, perhaps, if Draco could manage to forget the last time she’d come after him with nail varnish, he would have agreed.
But a single evening of Nott mocking his pink and purple nails (and fingers, and hands, really) was enough to scar him for life.
“Did you ask your mum?” He sighed, already knowing the answer.
Hermione was very, very pregnant with their third child and had been struggling more with smells over the past few weeks.
“Yes, but she’s busy. She said to ask you because you really liked the last time I did yours.”
Draco was going to smother that infuriating witch. He could practically hear her laughing from the opposite side of the house.
“I could do the same colors again…” Lyra carried on, ever the Malfoy politician and Granger mediator.
“Love, I —“ Draco could already see her face dropping at his tone, and he hated himself for it. “—I think I remember someone being very jealous the last time you did mine.”
She lit up, bouncing a little in her tiny Mary Janes. “Who?”
“Come on,” He scooped her up, carrying her over to the fireplace and calling over to the only person in the world who could never say no to her.
A face appeared in the flames a moment later, and Lyra squealed a hello.
“What’s going on Lyr?”
Draco smirked at his friend, before placing an encouraging hand on his daughter’s back.
“Go on, then. Why don’t you ask Uncle Theo if he’d like pink or purple?”