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Breathing into the space around them, Hermione warms at the places in which she can feel his skin, soothing her in every sense of the word as his magic reaches out to her. Her head rests on his shoulder, her palms warm under the weight of the cuppa in her hand as his own hand combs through her curls, calm and comforting.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hermione,” he hums, his words vibrating through her skull as he mumbles against her forehead. “It’s just been a long day and everyone is tired, the kids included.”
It was supposed to be a good day, a day full of joy and smiles and family fun. They were supposed to bake cookies and watch movies and do their art project, a new wall hanging that features all of them together. It was supposed to be a good day, but it wasn’t.
Not a good day whatsoever.
Images of her perfect little boy yelling at her in their living room. The sound of the words he screamed at her echoing within her mind. The sight of her little girl crying at the fight before her.
Fighting back tears that she can’t help but realise, she sinks further into him, unable to do anything else, let alone respond to his words.
“He’ll adjust,” Draco continues, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “He was the same way with Lyra at first, but now he loves her, right?”
Managing a nod, she lifts her mug to her lips, taking a sip of the tea her husband has made for her. “He’s too much like you,” she croaks, wiping her tears as she sits up, meeting his gaze. “Always so dramatic.”
The corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly as he reaches out. His fingers graze her face as he tucks a rogue curl behind her ear, allowing his thumb to drag against the skin under her eye as he pulls back, finishing the job of cleaning away her tears for her. “I am forever apologetic about that fact,” he teases, intertwining their fingers. “He is going to be positively insufferable until at least age fifteen.”
“Sixteen,” she corrects with a smirk. “You were positively insufferable until sixteen, and even now I’m not so sure you’ve grown out of that phase yet.”
A real chuckle falls from his lips as his silver eyes twinkle. “And yet you still chose to marry me. And have two of my children.”
Squeezing his fingers between hers, she smiles softly. “Three of them.”
Concern momentarily flashes over his face before it settles into a calm sense of comfort. “Yeah. Three of them.”
-*-
“What’s next, Mummy?” Scorpius beams, jumping up from his beanbag chair to rush over to Hermione as she sits on the couch, Draco at her side and Lyra lounging on his lap. “Is it arts and crafts time?”
Hermione has planned with her husband for this day since the moment they discovered they would become a family of five. They knew they couldn’t keep it a secret forever, and given the way Scorpius had taken the arrival of little Lyra, they decided it was smarter to start preparing both of them sooner rather than later.
“It is arts and crafts time, sweetheart,” she smiles back, leaning forward to place a kiss on his forehead before standing. “Why don’t you sit up on the couch next to Daddy and I’ll go get the supplies, huh?”
Her heart fills with joy as she watches her seven year old jump up onto their pink couch, nestling into his father’s side as one and a half year old Lyra stirs in Draco’s lap.
If she’s being honest, she wasn’t sure they would ever reach this point, a time of such contentedness. Scorpius had been unplanned, and given how young the pair of them were when they became pregnant with him, Hermione was convinced something wouldn’t work out. She and Draco hadn’t been together all that long before Scorp had decided to pick her as his mum, and the fear that telling him about her pregnancy brought almost drove her to madness.
She was lucky, though. Draco was shocked, as any twenty one year old father to be would be, but he was at her side no matter what. Every bout of morning sickness, every Healer appointment, meeting her parents, her officially meeting his, he was there for all of it. And when Scorpius made his grand entrance, he was there too, holding her hand and telling her how proud he was of her, how much he loved her.
Draco was the best father and partner she could have ever asked for, but that didn’t mean that their problems immediately disappeared. They were still young, unmarried, and of different social status, that last point of which wasn’t an important factor in his or her minds, but in the eyes of society, was everything. Hermione was working at the Ministry, determined to become a department head by her birthday as to keep on her fast track to Minister. Draco, determined to redeem his family name, was doing tons of philanthropy as he worked to open his own apothecary, set on helping others as much as he could.
Hermione was afraid. Afraid of losing Draco. Afraid of losing the little family they made. Afraid of someone coming in and ruining everything.
But nothing was ruined. Draco had proposed less than four months after Scorpius was born. They were married shortly after his first birthday. They had also decided to hold off on more children until their careers were further established.
Lyra was planned. After months and months of trying and painful heartache at their failures, she was the best gift they could have received. They were positively overjoyed, beyond excited at the thought of another child. Scorpius, on the other hand, did not share their sentiments.
Logically speaking, Hermione understood that it would be hard for him to transition from being an only child to having a sibling. Five years of his life had passed in which he had received everything from his parents, every kiss, every hug, every bit of their affections that weren’t meant for each other. But now, he’d have to share. It would be a hard transition, but they’d get through it.
His reaction, a temper tantrum that had resulted in tears from all involved, was not at all what either of them had expected. Scorp had slept in Draco and Hermione’s bed that night, tucked between the two of them as they treated him to all of the love they could.
It had been a tough transition, but they had made it work. And when Scorpius had held little Lyra for the first time, his baby sister, he fell head over heels for her. He was the best big brother any kid could ask for, and Hermione knew he would do it again with this new baby.
When she returns to the living room, canvas and paints in tow, she elects to kneel on the ground in front of the couch, drawing on the courage her husband’s gaze gives her as she pulls everything out and gets it ready.
“Little Miss Lyra,” Draco coos, rousing their girl from the state of pseudo-sleep she is in. “Mummy has a surprise for you.”
Her little blonde curls bounce about as she sits up in her father’s lap, rubbing her eyes as she takes in the sight of her mother. “Mama!”
“What’s our arts and crafts, Mum?” Scorpius queries, practically bouncing up and down on the couch as he looks at her. “I want to do arts and crafts now, please.”
“We’re going to make a piece of art for our family,” Hermione smiles, reaching down to grab the pink paint she wants to use for herself. “We’re each going to write our names and put our handprints on this canvas so that we can hang it up on the wall in here for everyone to see. Let me show you.”
Reaching down, she squeezes a bit of the pink paint onto one of the paper plates she grabbed with her other supplies. Dipping her finger in it, she begins to write her name on the canvas, leaving enough room for the others to write their names before pressing her full palm into the pile of paint and leaving behind her handprint.
“See?” Scourgifying her hand, she turns to her three loves on the couch, basking in the glory of Scorp’s big smile, Lyra’s toothy grin, and Draco’s proud gaze. “Daddy can write his name next, okay?”
Scorpius, sensing the need for his role as big brother, scoops up Lyra and pulls her into his lap, tickling her middle ever so lightly as she squeals in delight. Once Draco’s name has been written and his palm has been covered in paint, he turns to his children, smiling at them in a mischievous way.
“Where should I put my handprint, sprogs?” he asks, tilting the canvas towards them so they can point. Lyra, seemingly very excited by this act, cannot help but squeal as she points right next to Hermione’s handprint. Dropping a kiss on his daughter’s forehead, Draco catches Hermione’s gaze before making his mark. “Good choice, Lyra.”
Once Draco’s hand has been cleaned up, Lyra happily plops her way back into his lap with a giggle, smiling as Hermione turns to Scorpius. “What colour do you want, sweetheart?”
“BLUE!”
She’s barely able to finish her question before he answers her with more excitement than she’s ever heard him use, but quickly obliges him, making up a plate with blue paint before walking him through it.
If there was any doubt over whether or not he is a Malfoy, the size of which he writes his name should be enough to dismiss those concerns. He’s taken the liberty of writing it across the entire centre of the canvas, taking up more space than Hermione anticipated. She swiftly guides him to placing his handprint somewhere that will take up less space, recognizing that adding two more names to the piece will require all the space that is left.
When it becomes Lyra’s turn, Draco balances the canvas on their laps, taking hold of his little girl’s wrist to guide her movements as he writes her name.
“Mummy?” Scorpius interjects, eyes glued onto the scene as he watches with rapture.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Why is Daddy writing Lyra’s name so small? Why can’t it be big like mine?”
Draco’s eyes meet hers before she can answer their sweet boy, confirming her suspicions that this is the opportunity they’ve been waiting for. It’s better now than never.
Turning to completely face their son, Hermione manages a small smile, no matter how illegitimate it is in regards to her true feelings. “Well, sweetheart, Lyra’s name isn’t the only name that still has to go on the canvas.”
Giving him a moment to think, not wanting to shove the conclusion down his throat, she watches as his tiny brows furrow as he turns away from watching his father and sister make their art. “Is Grandmother going to write her name on here too?” he queries, her smart boy using all of the knowledge that he has, just like she’s taught him.
Ripping off the bandaid, Hermione neutralises her face as she levels his stare. “No, sweetheart, Grandma is not going to write her name. But when your new sibling comes, they’ll get to write their name on there.”
Their sweet boy’s face is uncharacteristically blank in the wake of Hermione’s monumental declaration. She can feel Draco’s eyes flitting between them as they hold each other’s gaze, but she is unwilling to look away from Scorp as he sits on the couch, taking in what she’s said.
“Did you hear that, Scorp?” Draco prods, his soft tones washing over them even as Scorpius refuses to look away from his mother. “Mummy is going to have another baby which means you’re going to get another sibling. Isn’t that exciting?”
Hermione knows before the first bout of accidental magic can wreak havoc on the room. She knows before he stands up, screams at her, and storms out. She knows before she feels her heart break in her chest.
She knows that Scorpius is not happy.
Maybe it is her intrinsic motherly knowledge, maybe it’s her deep understanding of his tells, or maybe it's the fact that he is just too much like his father, but whatever it is, it has her flinching before he can even begin his reaction.
The regular fireplace roars to life behind her, the wood blocks catching aflame without anyone instructing them to. The lightbulb in the lamp over her shoulder cracks, sending shards of glass everywhere. The picture frame of the three of them, Draco, Hermione, and a two month old Scorpius, standing in this house on their first day living in it, shatters from its place on the coffee table, ruining her favourite memento of their time together just the three of them.
“How could you!” he shouts, standing from the couch and yelling down at his mother as the flames in the fireplace grow higher, his arms flailing and sending the canvas they’ve just decorated flying until it lands in a heap of paint. “You hate me! I’m not a bad boy so why do you hate me?!”
Walking past the shell of his mother kneeling on the carpet, he makes it halfway to the stairs before he turns back, his cold ambers meeting her heartbroken ones as Lyra’s wails echo in the background.
“I HATE YOU!”
Unable to do anything other than sit there on her knees and stare at the spot she last saw her son standing before ascending the stairs, she is frozen as Draco immediately jumps into action. Summoning the elf from the Manor that they keep on call to deploy to their house, he gives her instructions to get the house cleaned up as Lyra cries in his arms.
“It’s okay baby girl, it’s okay,” he coos, trying to soothe her as he crosses to Hermione and bends down in front of her. She can see the diagnostic healing spell he casts over her out of the corner of her eye, her gaze still firmly planted on Scorpius’ last spot. “You weren’t cut by the glass, were you?”
She knows he is talking to her, but she barely recognizes it, only hearing his kind words as tones instead of understandable language.
He seems to understand this, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead as his hand wraps around the back of her neck. “I’m going to go put Lyra down and see if I can talk to him, okay? Tweeny is here cleaning up if you need something. Please promise me that you’ll ask her if you need something, Hermione. I’ll be back down in a minute.”
The fading sounds of Lyra’s sniffs and pleas for “Mama” are all that she has to indicate that they left her, going upstairs the same way her son had only moments earlier. The growing sounds of Draco’s footsteps— she has his footfalls memorised by now— are all that she has to indicate that time has passed, that he has completed his mission and is returning to her.
Crouching on the floor in front of her, Draco takes her hands in his own as he turns to the elf. “Thank you for your help, Tweeny. That will be all for now.” The elf disappears, or at least Hermione thinks she does thanks to the crack of apparition she provides. The sight of it is lost to her gaze locked on the spot her son ran from.
“How about some tea, love?” her husband practically pleads, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers in desperation, needing to get some sort of reaction out of her cataclysmic state.
She gives him the slightest nod as she squeezes his fingers with her own.
They walk to the kitchen together, holding hands as they did on their first real date, traipsing through the park before settling in for a picnic. Only, this isn’t a picnic. He prepares their drinks with care, making sure to do it just the way he knows she prefers, never once breaking contact with her. Once they have their mugs, he leads her back to the living room, vanishing the mess of paint and rogue supplies and carefully levitating their decorated canvas to hang above the couch, adorned not only with their names and handprints, but also rogue splatterings of paint from Scorpius’ outburst.
The sight of it is both terrifying and upsetting, yet beyond calm and comforting.
-*-
“There’s no reason to worry, Hermione. He said he’d come and talk to us tomorrow. He just needs some time is all.”
Fresh tears filling her mind at the memory of the way his angered words so easily flew from his lips, Hermione turns to her husband, pain etched into her every feature. “He said he hates me, Draco. He said that I hate him and then declared that he hates me. Tell me again how that qualifies as no reason to worry?”
She can’t help it as the tears overflow, carving canyons down her cheeks as she breaks, falling into him as he catches her, wrapping her up in his arms, his magic, and his love as she cries. They hold each other for the longest time, allowing their bond to slowly put the broken pieces back together. It isn’t until Hermione feels something tugging at her pant leg that she is brought out of her reverie, alarm floating up her spine at the idea that something is wrong, that one of her beautiful babies is not okay.
When she’s met with the sight of Scorpius, standing in front of her with his arms crossed in front of him and his head hanging in what seems to be shame, she isn’t prepared. She isn’t prepared for the way her arms instinctively open to him. She isn’t prepared for how desperate she is to have her baby boy in her arms. She isn’t prepared for the way he wastes no time in crawling in, collapsing into her as his own tears spill hot and heavy, coating her chest as he leans into her.
The feeling of Draco’s arms wrapping around the both of them, his lips planting kisses atop of both of their heads, secures it all as she allows her own tears to continue, her fingers working through her perfect boy’s blond waves as they hold each other.
“I’m sorry, Mummy,” he cries, his arms wrapping around her middle so tightly she’s afraid she won’t be able to breathe. “I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t want to make you cry.”
She wants to tell him it’s okay, but it’s not. What he said was hurtful. He needs to understand that, needs to learn how impactful his words can be.
“I know you’re sorry, sweetheart,” she settles on, pressing a kiss into his forehead as he continues to cling to her. “I hope you’ve learned how much your words can hurt people, though. Especially when they’re mean.”
A loud wail ruptures from the being in between her and her husband. It shakes the boy so intensely that, for a moment, Hermione is worried they’ll have to go to St. Mungo’s. Thankfully, though, Draco’s soothing hand rubbing his back sets it all right.
“Do you want to talk to us, Scorp?” he asks, allowing his other hand to calmly play with Hermione’s curls in what she knows is an attempt to comfort her. “You can tell us anything, good or bad, and we won’t be mad at you.”
That changes something in their boy, prompting him to sit up and stare straight ahead as he whimpers his words. “I… I feel like… I feel like you don’t like me.”
She didn’t think it would be possible after everything else that has happened this evening, but all of the breath is knocked from Hermione’s lungs with those few words. She feels her heart stop in her chest. Everything comes to a blaring halt at her son’s heartbreaking confession.
“Everyone at school picks on me—” he pauses to sniff— “because they say that you don’t like me. They— they say that you don’t like me because you got married after I was born. And when I met Lyra, I was afraid it was true because they said she was better than I am. They s—said you didn’t like me so you decided to have another baby. But you seemed to like me so I thought they were wrong. But now, I know what they said w—was true be—because you really must not like me if you’re having another baby.”
Hermione is frozen as she watches Draco immediately swoop in, diving headfirst into action. His arms wrap around Scorp as he picks him up, turning him to face him before placing him on his lap. “Why didn’t you tell us when they said that, Scorp?” he practically pleads, the desperation apparent in his tone. “We could’ve had that taken care of, sprog.”
Their boy is thoroughly crying at this point, a heaping pile of sniffles and tears. “I was afraid you and Mummy would say they were right.”
Cupping their boy’s face in his hands, Draco leans in closer to him. “Scorpius Leo Malfoy. There are plenty of things in this world that may or may not be true. But you know what is true? What will always be true? Mummy and I will always love you, no matter what. We love you and we like you and we wouldn’t trade you for anything or anyone in the world. You are our perfect little boy, okay? Do you hear me?”
A strangled cry breaks through Scorpius’ throat as he nods and wraps his arm around Draco’s neck, burrowing his face into his shoulder. Hand coming up to rub his back, Hermione watches as her husband soothes their son, his own pain evident on his features as he does so, continuing to explain their stance to the boy.
“Just because you were born before Mummy and I were married does not mean that we love you any less than we love your siblings. You are not something to be ashamed of, Scorp. We love you because you’re our perfect little boy, and nothing could ever change that.”
Hermione can barely see through her guilty tears as she reaches out to soothingly comb her hands through their eldest baby’s hair. She should have done more to reassure him that Lyra was not a replacement for him. She should have tried harder to make the transition easier for him. She should have done more, could have done more, but instead, she’s let her baby think that they haven’t liked him for two years now.
“I love you, Daddy,” she hears her baby mumble.
Out of her peripheral vision, she can see Draco’s eyes meet her own as she continues to play with Scorpius’ hair. “I love you too, Scorpius. Why don’t you go give Mummy a big hug now, okay?”
Watching as he carefully extricates himself from his father’s arms, Hermione physically recoils as his hair falls through her fingertips. She doesn't think to wipe her tears before Scorpius is barrelling her down, wrapping his arms around her neck and burying his head in her curls as he plops down in her lap.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” he whimpers. Her heart aches at the sound of the name he’s long grown out of using with her falling from his tongue. “I don’t hate you. I love you very much.”
Unable to do anything other than squeeze her baby in her arms, she kisses his temple. “I love you very much too, Scorp. You’ll always be my baby, okay? No matter how big you grow or how strong you get, I’ll always look at you and see that teeny tiny little baby I got to hold for the first time in St. Mungo’s.”
Said baby immediately pulls back from her embrace, leaning in to kiss her nose before looking down between them at her non-existent belly. She hadn’t been one to focus on getting her body “back” or whatever bullshite after having Lyra, and subsequently, she still is filled out in more places than she used to be. The roundness of her stomach now is not the indicator it used to be, even though it seems Scorpius may think so.
“So I’m getting a new baby sister?” he asks, eyes wide as he reaches down to poke at Hermione’s tummy.
With the lightest of smiles, she brushes his hair back out of his face. “Or a baby brother. We don’t know exactly what yet, but we do know that you’re going to be a big brother again.”
Hermione doesn’t miss the tiny grin that alights his features. “I like being a big brother. Even though Lyra only cries and eats, she’s learning how to play with me now. I guess I’ll have two people to play with soon.”
That night, Scorpius sleeps in their bed, just as he had done the night he had first learned of little Lyra’s existence. And just as it was then, it is all the calm and comfort they need. Everything will be okay, especially since they have each other.