Work Text:
December 1st, 2004
It took a while for the first snow of winter to finally fall. When it did, it was a lovely morning surprise.
Hermione got up and peeked through the heavy curtains of the master bedroom, opening them ever so slightly, just enough to see if her dream of a white Christmas had come true this year; she’d been indulging in this little routine every day since the rainy season ceased. When she saw the white carpet of snow that covered the front gardens of the mansion, she felt tears prick her eyes.
Brushing the moisture off with her thumb, Hermione sighed. How silly of her, crying over a bit of snow. She couldn’t avoid it; memories of snowball fights with her mother and snowmen building with her father were one of few that would never fade, no matter how much time passed.
Yawning, she decided those were sleepy rather than longing tears.
Lately, she found it challenging to manage a comfortable position to sleep in, both due to her ever-growing belly and to the kicks of her healthy baby, at the imminence of coming out and finally meeting the world. A calm, peaceful world; one Hermione doubted many times she’d be able to live to see, despite the bravery and the hopefulness of her Gryffindor heart.
Hermione turned around and approached the bed on Draco’s side, sitting at the edge to admire his sleeping figure. Even after fourteen-hour shifts at St. Mungo, Draco came home and worked late into the evening on his Mind Healing thesis; sleeping in on his days off was something he deserved.
Fondly, she grabbed her husband's hand and placed it on her belly, entwining her fingers over his. Sometimes, it all still felt like one of those sad stories with happy endings from the Muggle novels she used to read as a teenager.
Watching Draco refuse Voldemort’s demand to join his faction of supporters at the Battle of Hogwarts had been one of the greatest acts of bravery Hermione had ever witnessed, apart from seeing Harry walking willingly into what everyone thought would be his death, and watching Ron follow him into the forest.
To Ron, it had actually cost him his life.
Both with an outstanding mastery of Potions and Charms, Hemione and Draco had been immediately recruited by Madam Pomfrey to help heal the injured in the aftermath of the battle. It had been difficult for him; few people trusted his care after what he’d done, and not even a concealment charm on his Dark Mark helped them forget how it was all his fault. How if Dumbledore were still alive, many lives could have been spared.
Hermione — and surprisingly, Harry — doubted it. If Draco hadn’t helped the Death Eaters break through Hogwarts, Voldemort would’ve found another way of killing the old Headmaster; it would only be a matter of time. And the longer it took, the more lives would be lost.
The last thing Hermione expected was falling in love after a war; especially, falling in love with Draco Malfoy. But love didn’t choose time and place, nor did it let one choose whom they fell for.
Love was pure, and it was forgiving.
And after all the injuries Draco managed to heal, the lives he managed to save and the Dark Curses he was able to revert, it had been only a matter of time before Hermione forgave him.
Now, after Healer academy, marriage, and too many friends and family members lost, Hermione and Draco found themselves waiting for their biggest dream to come true. And they wouldn't need to wait much.
Hermione summoned an old shoebox from the wardrobe and placed it on her lap. This box filled with postcards had been the only thing she’d remembered to bring from home when she went to see her parents before sending them off to Australia. The box was old, and the cardboard had been fixed many times with duct tape, but she refused to replace it; she’d grown used to the way it was repaired, as it reminded her of life in the Muggle world.
She brushed her fingers through the postcards and remembered how she used to write them with her parents on every vacation they took. On the last day of vacation, they always wrote a postcard and sent it to their home address, only to expect it a couple of days after they arrived. It had been a silly tradition that made young Hermione check the mailbox every day, as though it were an extension of those leisure days.
Draco shifted and Hermione brushed his leg over the covers. He was awake, but she wasn’t sure for how long. His grey eyes watched her tenderly; she would never get enough of the way he always looked at her like she was a goddess on Earth.
“It’s the first of December. I’m thinking about reading one postcard per day, starting today.” Hermione shared. “Muggles have these traditions of doing something daily until Christmas, like eating a piece of chocolate or lighting a candle. It’s called Advent.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Suddenly, Draco frowned. “Do you have enough postcards to read until the 25th?”
Hermione frowned; she only had eighteen postcards, a tradition their parents had started when she was a baby, taking over the task of writing them until she learned how to do it herself. Reading those postcards was always a reminder of memories she’d been too young to remember, and ones she had but threatened to fade over time.
“I don’t, but…It’s just a week with no postcards.” Hermione smiled, a longing look on her face. “And perhaps this baby will decide to come out during that time and keep me busy enough that I’ll even forget about it.”
“Holding the baby in my arms just in time for Christmas would be the best gift you could ever give me.” Draco approached and sealed her lips with a kiss. “How did you know?”
Hermione giggled. “Let’s say my insistence in trying for a baby in February was calculated.”
December 18th, 2004
Hannah Abbot, her midwife, had come earlier in the week for the final round of diagnostic spells.
The baby was, to her great relief, as healthy as ever. Hermione told Hannah she’d started having sporadic contractions, that she couldn’t stay away from the bathroom for more than an hour and that her back pain was becoming more intense by the day. Hannah had also confirmed through visual examination that her womb was ready for labour and that she and Draco should be prepared for the baby to come any day now.
Even though the maternity leave in the wizarding world started one month before the baby’s due date, Hermione had insisted on continuing to work until her symptoms were no longer forgiving of endless standing hours, even though she knew that, eventually, she would have to step away from her practice.
Now, she couldn’t postpone it anymore. Her legs and feet were swollen, and Hannah had demanded she keep her legs elevated – horizontally, at worst – for the majority of the day until the end of her pregnancy. So, Hermione found herself confined to the bed, the sofa, or the loveseat at the study.
As always, she expected Draco to apparate to the study around ten in the evening and go straight to his desk to work on his thesis, relying on Dipsy to bring him something to snack on.
Tonight, Hermione decided to wait for him there, resting on the loveseat by the fireplace while reading a book about magical parenting.
Throughout the course of their relationship and after recognising that becoming parents was one of their common goals, she’d often wonder what kind of mother she would be. Would she be more like her mother – strict about her daughter’s grades and protective over boys and other distractions? Or maybe like Narcissa – worshipping her son, yet ever worried about what other people may think? She would definitely try her best to be like Molly – nurturing, kind and always just a word of affection or advice away.
Only now that her baby’s existence weighed literally on her womb did it seem real, no longer a dream or a family project for the distant future.
It was really happening.
She was going to be a mother, and make Draco a father.
The warmth that emanated from the fireplace enveloped the study in a comforting atmosphere, and her heavy eyelids threatened to close. She knew that if she fell asleep, she would wake up in her bedroom the next morning, knowing that Draco had, once more, levitated her sleeping, pregnant figure to the bed. Embraced by such an endearing thought, Hermione gave in and succumbed to her weariness.
After what looked like half an hour, Hermione woke up. She’d dreamed of Brittany, Copenhagen and the Isle of Skye – some of the places she’d visited with her parents and had re-lived through some of the postcards she read earlier this week.
Suddenly, she realised she didn’t remember reading the eighteenth postcard about the vacations in Mykonos. She'd almost decided not to go at the last minute, given Dumbledore's death and all the uncertainty around Hogwarts and the Horcrux hunt; but those vacations fell on her parents' 25th wedding anniversary. How could she refuse, especially as an only child?
Hermione sighed. How could she have forgotten about this postcard? She’d been reading them every morning before breakfast. Yawning, she remembered something her mother had once mentioned about one of her cousins. Baby brain. The further ahead Hermione was in her pregnancy, the more her mind played tricks with her memory, making her slow-minded and forgetful.
“Dipsy.” The house-elf appeared in colourful clothes and funny shoes, which always amused Hermione; she was happy he was able to buy his own clothes with the salary they paid him, but his dressing choices were very intriguing. “Will you fetch the old shoebox that’s in my wardrobe for me, please?”
“Of course, Mrs Malfoy.”
The elf appeared a couple of minutes after and left Hermione to read her postcards.
As she opened the box, Hermione frowned. A pile of what looked like envelopes were placed under the stack of postcards. She removed the contents of the box and placed the postcards on the loveseat by her side before analysing the intriguing envelopes.
Starting tomorrow and up until Christmas day, there were dates written in each of the envelopes in Draco’s aristocratic handwriting. “December 19th, 2004”, Hermione could read in the first envelope. “December 20th, 2004 ”, in the second. And so on with the others until Hermione’s eyes met the last envelope. “December 25th, 2004 .”
Hermione smiled and held the envelopes tight against her chest. The magic of an Advent calendar, whatever the surprises behind each date were, was that one would never know what awaited them behind the wrapping.
The thrill and the anticipation were real, both for children and adults. And though Hermione knew exactly what she would find in each of the eighteen postcards she’d read countless times over the years, knowing that now there were seven other postcards, or letters, or photographs to discover – the content of the envelopes was still a mystery – filled her heart with excitement and joy.
A quiet pop coming from behind made her turn her head and she found Draco in his white healing figure; his hair was slightly messy, his robes wrinkled and the dark circles under his eyes were unforgiving of showing his weariness.
Hermione gestured for him to approach. “Come here.”
Draco dropped his leather bag next to his desk and walked towards the fireplace. As he took a turn around the loveseat, he noticed the shoebox and pushed it carefully to the side. When he locked his eyes with hers, Hermione pulled him gently by his collar into a deep, lingering kiss.
“I love you,” Hermione said when they finally parted their lips. She held the envelopes in front of her face with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. “Care to explain?”
“I love you, too." Draco grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle peck. "That is one of your Christmas gifts.”
“One of my Christmas gifts? Draco,” Hermione sighed. “As I tell you every year, I already have everything I could ever ask for.”
"Believe me, love," Draco teased, leaning forward to brush his nose in hers. "You don't."
December 19th, 2004
She’d left the first envelope on her nightstand the previous evening.
Ever curious, waiting to discover what Draco had been preparing during the previous weeks drove her crazy, even though it had only been a few hours since she’d found out about it.
“That is one of your Christmas gifts.”
Hermione opened the envelope and found a postcard inside. She smiled. It was a photograph of a rural location; a landscape of green pastures, sheep and a small water stream like the one near The Burrow.
She flipped the postcard; Draco’s handwriting was narrow and scratchy, as though he’d struggled to squeeze everything he’d intended to write in such a little piece of cardboard.
Dear Grangers,
Harry and I have moved in with the Weasleys; he and Ginny have spent the summer snogging in her bedroom. George has closed the joke shop, Arthur went back to the Ministry and me, well, the only thing that keeps me going are the letters I’ve been exchanging with Draco. School starts in a week, and my stomach hurts just thinking about him, about seeing him again.
Stay safe and well wherever you are.
From Devon, with love,
Hermione
Hermione smiled fondly. Draco had kept the same introduction of the other postcards by addressing them to the Grangers. The placeholder of the recipient’s address was empty, and Hermione wondered if the reason behind it was because it wasn’t actually being mailed, or if it was because Draco was unsure what address to use.
She sighed. Writing the number and name of the street where her humble suburban house was located on those postcards had never been an issue. 8 Heathgate, Hampstead Garden Suburb, London . It had been one of the first personal pieces of information she memorised about her family, along with the phone numbers of her home and her parents’ dental clinic.
If this had been a postcard Hermione had sent, she would also have been torn between which address to use. Hogwarts, The Burrow, 12 Grimmauld Place…If, as Muggles used to say, home is where the heart is, Hermione wasn’t sure where it was.
After the war, she couldn’t even tell whether she had several, or none.
Hermione skimmed through the message once more. What Draco had written was an oversimplification of the summer of 1998; postcards left no room to dwell in explanations and outpourings.
She smiled at the mention of Harry and Ginny; it had been something she’d shared with him in those letters they’d exchanged, whenever she was able to bribe Hedwig with treats to have them delivered; something Draco’s owl had once noticed and begun demanding from her, too.
Then, her features saddened at the realisation that there had been no mention of the war – of Ron, Fred, Lupin or Tonks's deaths, of all the fear, the suffering and the destruction – but then again, it wouldn’t be something she’d concerned her parents with whether she’d obliviated them or not.
A longing tear managed to escape from one of her eyes, which she brushed off with the back of her hand.
What would her parents have said if they’d known she’d fallen for and married a man whose family was so prejudiced against Muggles, and so involved in a war against them? Draco hadn’t known, but she’d thought about it all summer. Would her parents be able to forgive her? To forgive him? Hermione shook her head. It didn't do well to dwell in what if’s, in something that wasn’t a reality and would never become one.
If her relationship with Draco were to become yet another source of disagreement between her and her parents, perhaps obliviating their memories had been for the best. An eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth.
Hermione left her bed and walked into the living area, where Draco was having his usual green tea and reading the Daily Prophet at the head of the table. She approached him and placed her fingertip on his chin, lifting his head ever so slightly to place a kiss on his lips. Draco’s eyes sparkled, as though he was waiting for feedback on the postcard, and there was a boyish smirk on his face.
Hermione took her usual seat at his right. There was a cup of coffee already waiting for her under a stasis charm and a couple of warm, tender scones on her plate. She took a sip of coffee, watching Draco from under her lashes.
“ My stomach hurts just thinking about him – was that how you felt, that summer?”
Draco smiled. “It was, and I’d be disappointed if you told me you didn’t feel the same way, too.”
She grabbed his hand and played with his knuckles. His fingers were pale and slender, and his nails were always trimmed and pristine; one of the first things she’d found attractive about him.
“I did.” Hermione brought his hand to her face and brushed her cheek in his palm, revelling at the silkiness of his skin. “I still do.”
December 20th, 2004
Her contractions were more frequent, lately.
Hermione had them several times a day, now. Draco had stepped away from work to stay home with her, and everything was prepared for the home birth they planned to have. Just the two of them and Hannah, who was also a trained Healer specialising in pregnancy and child care. It was safe; the three of them were brilliant professionals and would be able to manage a home birth without a problem.
Hannah had come to monitor the progression of the contractions, and even though they were painful, what bothered Hermione the most was sleep deprivation. She hadn’t been able to sleep on her back for days, and the only rest she was able to manage was in the study’s loveseat in front of the fire, with countless pillows cushioning her back.
Draco had spent the day between piles of parchment and folders, given the defence of his thesis was scheduled for the first week of January. Hermione was proud; he had been researching and working on a treatment for dementia using a combination of potions and hypnosis techniques, and he looked forward to putting his knowledge into practice.
Hermione woke up from her nap and summoned the shoebox of postcards, which now lived under the love seat, where she spent most of her day, along with several books.
Dear Grangers,
Draco and I are in New York enjoying the last days of summer before Healing Academy begins, at the New York School of Magical Healing (it’s the best in the world). We’re staying at his family penthouse (of course he has a house in NY), and it’s really posh.
I’m so excited to spend every weekday with him at school and drag him to all the coffee shops and bookstores and thrift shops on weekends.
Please, stay safe and well.
From New York, with love,
Hermione
Hermione smiled. The penthouse was really posh indeed, something she’d said over and over when she and Draco moved in together.
It had been a serious step in their relationship. Living abroad while still progressing with their studies in a new city – Draco had only been in New York a couple of times before, on the occasion of pureblood galas – had been something Hermione’s parents would have likely disapproved of. Narcissa had also been reluctant about them moving in together, jobless and unmarried, and she’d only managed to accept it after Draco confessed how serious he and Hermione were about their relationship.
Ever independent, Hermione insisted on splitting the bills and refused Draco’s offer of sponsoring her school fees. Being a war hero had its advantages; the monetary compensation the Ministry of Magic had given her was enough to cover the expenses she had with her studies. Furthermore, investing in her Healing career with such money was a way to keep contributing to the wizarding society, something she’d always aimed for regardless of her choice of career.
Living in New York had been a dream Hermione didn’t know she had until she experienced it. She had savoured the city. Its parks and museums. Its bookstores; oh, there were so many of those. New books, old books, second-hand books, Muggle and wizarding, books in English and French and Latin, and novels, technical books, books based on true stories and books of fiction.
Hermione could spend entire days in such stores, dropping Draco off at the café – most bookstores had a little one inside – and picking him up only when it was dark outside and she needed help carrying her shopping bags.
Thrift stores were another whole world of experiences. London had few of those, and they only sold clothes. But in New York, thrift stores sold everything. Literally everything. Hermione hadn’t convinced Draco to redecorate the penthouse, though she’d found amazing bargains and beautiful vintage items that would go well with some of the existing furniture.
Dragging Draco into those stores was torturing, and despite her amusement, Hermione usually spared his pureblood arse from such trauma.
She lifted her eyes from the postcard and turned her hand to look at Draco; he’d fallen asleep on top of his paperwork. Hermione stood and approached him. She ran her fingers through his sleepy hair and peeked over his shoulder at the documents he’d been analysing before he succumbed to the weariness. It looked like a patient file; a research case. His folded arms and heavy head covered the file almost entirely, but she managed to peek at the patient’s first name; John, like her father.
A sharp pain and wet sensation between her legs grabbed her attention. She took a hand to her knickers, and only when she looked at it, she realised: her water had broken.
Hermione squeezed Draco’s shoulder and he awoke with a start. He looked at his desk, then at her face and at her hand. As though he realised what was about to happen, he flushed.
“The baby, Draco.” Hermione panted as adrenaline took over her. “The baby is coming.”
December 21st, 2004
It had been a false alarm. Water broke anytime around the baby’s due date; they could even not break at all.
Hermione and Draco knew that, but they decided to Floo call Hannah anyway. Hannah had performed all the spells imaginable. The baby was fine and his magic was strong, likely the reason why Hermione could barely sleep lately; the magical activity inside her womb was overpowering.
Hannah prescribed a pain relief potion that was safe to take during pregnancy and decided to give a second look at the home birth setup Hermione had prepared in one of the guest rooms.
As a Pregnancy specialist herself, Hermione knew Hannah was confident in her set-up and so, the Hufflepuff witch left the mansion, leaving Draco and her a couple of suggestions – back rubs with essential oils and some more breathing exercises for Hermione to practise.
After hearing about what happened, Narcissa arrived via Floo to keep the couple company for the day and give some words of motherly advice. Hermione appreciated it; she had never missed her mother as much as during pregnancy. It was a stage of life that she was certain brought mothers and daughters closer and regretted not being able to experience.
Draco conjured a chaise-longue and a few pillows for Hermione to sit on while he and Narcissa played chess at the conservatory. Narcissa was a keen player, and Draco wasn’t far behind her; he had a good teacher.
Tired as ever, lately, Hermione hadn’t had the energy to read today’s postcard when she woke up and had kept it in the pocket of her robe with the intention of reading it later. She remembered about it and opened the envelope.
Dear Grangers,
I am writing to you from London. Lucius passed away in Azkaban; Narcissa is very shaken, so we’re staying with her for the next few weeks. Draco has taken care of the funeral, selling Malfoy Manor and finding this new lovely mansion where I’m writing to you from.
On a happier note, Teddy has grown so much since I last saw him. He’s such a cute little kiddo. I swear my ovaries will explode if Draco keeps being so cute around him.
As always, I hope you’re safe and well,
From Notting Hill, with love,
Hermione
Hermione covered her mouth with one hand to muffle what she wasn’t sure would come out as a gasp or a laugh.
The summer of 2002 had been a strange one, to put it lightly. The graceful, aristocratic woman sitting in front of her with her straight spine, her lifted chin and her pale manicured hands resting delicately on her lap had cracked before Hermione like a porcelain doll upon the news of her husband's death; with Draco busy with funeral arrangements, Hermione had been the one to pick up the pieces.
Narcissa had refused to keep living in the Manor by herself. Losing her husband must have felt to the older witch as though she’d lost a limb.
No, not a limb. A lung.
Lucius Malfoy had been half of the air she breathed, and Draco the other. Despite Lucius' mistakes and dreadful manoeuvres, Hermione was compassionate; she reasoned losing a partner must be one of the worst moments in a person’s life.
And as life was too short to hold grudges based on ignorance and preconceptions, Narcissa had reconnected with Andromeda. Though she had lost a husband and Draco a father, they not only gained a sister and aunt, but also a nephew and cousin.
Teddy was the pride and joy of the Black sisters; he looked so much like Tonks it still made Andromeda emotional these present days. That summer, Draco had been so patient, protective and caring – he still was – around the little boy it warmed Hermione’s heart for weeks.
Draco would mock her until the end of their days about the exploding-ovaries remark, but it had been worth it, as though it encouraged further his behaviour. It was adorable to witness, and Hermione found herself thinking about those moments more often than not.
“Checkmate.”
Draco let out a groan and Narcissa smirked, proud and haughty. Hermione giggled.
Soon, the quiet of the mansion would be filled with the cries of her baby, but also filled with many, many laughs.
Filled with joy.
Filled with life.
December 22nd, 2004
Hermione had only had one single food craving throughout her pregnancy: french cornichons. Tart, yet sweet; just the perfect snack.
In her second trimester, she'd often raid the cooling cabinet in the middle of the night and sat on the kitchen floor, eating pickled cucumbers straight from the jar and revelling in the cool sensation the marble floor provided during those warm summer nights.
Narcissa always brought tons of cornichon jars from the trips to France she often took to acquire new clothes and visit the homestead. Even though Hermione knew how judgmental her mother-in-law could be about her child-bearing diet, she always accepted the souvenirs Narcissa insisted on bringing every time.
In this simple gesture, her mother-in-law had found her way of returning the emotional support Hermione had provided – and continued to – after Lucius’ passing.
This silly exchange was their unspoken agreement.
Tired and well-fed, Hermione leaned back on her heavy wooden chair.
The smell of stew still enveloped the dining room when Dipsy reappeared with a basket full of all sorts of bread and a board of cheeses, pâtés, confitures and those plump little pickles Hermione loved so much.
Months ago, this would have been the perfect way to end a meal, but now, Hermione could barely stuff more than half a plate of food in her stomach, as it shared the space in her belly with her big, stirring baby.
“Même pas un cornichon?” Draco asked in perfect French while helping himself to a slice of baguette and some camembert.
Hermione chuckled and gave her husband an eye roll. Whatever he was trying to say about the pickled cucumbers, Hermione dismissed it straight away. “I lack the room in my tummy for anything else but a cup of tea.”
Draco extended his hand and grabbed hers, brushing it with his thumb. Stacked on her ring finger, her wedding and engagement rings made a statement in her tanned hand. These were two of her most prized possessions and the only pieces of jewellery she never took off, charmed to resist any misfortune.
Curious and racing-minded, Hermione was done speculating about the content of each postcard. She already had her guesses for the ones that were still waiting to be opened.
She had done the maths.
If Draco had written one postcard per year, the twenty-second would take place in the summer of 2001, the year they got engaged. This french meal couldn’t have been a coincidence.
Hermione summoned Dipsy and asked him to fetch the shoebox of postcards. When she opened the envelope, she smiled.
There it was, as expected, La Tour Eiffel; tall and shiny, the famous monument popped from a blue and green background of clear skies and mowed grass.
Dear Grangers,
Draco and I have finished Healing Academy and we're beginning an internship at St Mungo's at the end of the summer.
Also, we’re engaged! He proposed to me at sunset, on the rooftop of the best restaurant in France. I wish Mum could see the ring.
Stay safe and well, wherever you are.
From Paris, with love,
Hermione
Hermione lifted her eyes from the postcard and looked at Draco. He was wearing the same hopeful look and soft blush on his face he did when he got down on one knee and presented to her the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen in her life.
A small breeze played with his golden locks, and the orange hue of the setting sun blended with his ocean eyes into a beautiful greenish tone as he spoke words she’d dreamed of hearing for years – ever since they kissed for the first time under that old oak tree by the Black Lake.
Yet, the words that came out of his lips weren’t the usual four she’d seen in films or heard from Ginny or Luna’s descriptions of their own engagements with Harry and Rolf.
No will you marry me cliché; Draco had done so much better than that.
There, on that beautiful balcony lined with hibiscus flowers and with the Eiffel Tower rising high on the horizon, Draco Malfoy had stripped his soul bare. He had removed layers and layers of composure and restraint he always wore to remain the ideal of the Malfoy heir society expected him to be. He removed each and every one of them until the only thing that remained was his heart and the love it kept inside.
From the way he pledged his love to Hermione, he might as well have ripped it from his chest and handed it to her on a silver platter, for her to do with it as she pleased.
For her to mend, to care, and to love.
Even for her to break, if fate was for them to part.
Vulnerable as he stood, pledging his love down on one knee, Draco told her things he’d been gathering the courage to tell her for years.
He told her how she’d opened his eyes, and later Narcissa’s, for the nonsense of pureblood supremacy. How she’d taught him that women didn’t need to be futile to be beautiful, quiet to be polite, or submissive to be respectful. How she’d saved him from an existence filled with self-pity and regret.
Hermione put down the postcard and took Draco’s left hand, mimicking him, and played with the golden hoop that enveloped his ring finger. “The dinner was lovely.”
Draco blushed and let out a deep sigh. “Well, not a Michelin star-worthy meal, but we can tell Dipsy tried.”
“Draco,” Hermione cupped his face with her warm hand and gave him a fond look. “Why should I aim for stars in my life when I can have entire constellations?”
December 23rd, 2004
The pain had become hard to manage.
Hermione prayed to Circe that her baby didn’t take long to come out.
Her contractions were stronger; it had been two days since her water had broken. If she didn’t give birth in the next twenty-four hours, she had no option but to head to St Mungo’s and have a procedure, which would mean her plan of having a peaceful home birth would have gone down the drain. Also, she was starting to feel as though she was spending more time in the bathroom than anywhere else in the mansion.
Her baby seemed to have found kicking her bladder his favourite past-time.
Hermione walked slowly to the conservatory. The smell of jasmine tea and fresh biscuits enveloped the space. Ginny was visiting today at tea time, and Dipsy had already laid the table with a beautiful Chinese tea set Narcissa had given her and Draco on their wedding, only one of many gifts the older witch pampered them with.
At the sight of the tea set, Hermione smiled and remembered the postcard she’d read that morning.
Dear Grangers,
The wedding was lovely. Teddy was the ring bearer (he was so cute in his little suit!), Pansy caught the bouquet (Neville was amused, she was not) and Theo got so drunk he flirted with Narcissa (Draco will regret his best man choice until the day he dies).
We’re staying at a fancy hotel in the Emirates for our honeymoon. I remember how Dad wanted to visit it here; I hope you got the chance to.
As always, I hope you’re safe and well,
From Dubai, with love,
Hermione
The wedding had been a beautiful ceremony that took place in the gardens of their recently acquired mansion in Mayfair. Hermione had been equally charming herself. Even though no Muggles attended her and Draco’s wedding, she decided she wanted to respect the old Muggle traditions.
As she walked down the aisle arm in arm with Harry, Hermione had worn something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.
She wore Narcissa’s diamond earrings, passed down from generation to generation between mothers and daughters. On her feet, she wore a new pair of stilettos she’d bought in a neutral tone so that she’d be able to wear them on other occasions. Around her tight, the undergarment Ginny had worn on her own wedding day. And in her hands, she held a beautiful bouquet made of blue lilies and peonies that matched perfectly with Draco’s navy suit.
He looked the most beautiful he’d ever been.
Hermione had been lost in her thoughts when Ginny arrived.
The redheaded witch was wearing a grey, knitted dress with embroidered snowflakes, and on her shoulder, there was a big, light blue backpack that looked like a maternity bag. Ginny gave Hermione a peck on the cheek and, upon her consent, rubbed her hand on her belly before taking a seat next to her.
“So,” Ginny asked with wide, curious eyes. “How is my godchild doing?”
“Well.” Hermione brought a tired hand to her temple. “He’s nice and kicking.” She smirked. “Literally.”
“Don’t tell me; James was the worse. Are you and Malfoy managing to get some sleep? You should do it while you can.”
“Draco is using all of his waking hours to work on his thesis; he won’t be able to focus much after the baby arrives. I was hoping he would join us for tea.” Hermione let out a concerned sigh. “He’s been stuck in the study all day.”
“So very Malfoy of him.” Ginny giggled.
Hermione brushed her fingertips on Ginny’s knee, feeling the soft texture of the embroidered snowflakes. “I love your dress, Gin. Is it Molly’s doing?”
“It is. Oh, Hermione,” Ginny’s eyes brightened, “You should have seen the little cardigan she made for James. She turned Diagon Alley upside down in pursuit of golden thread so that she could embroider cute little snitches.”
Hermione smiled thinly. “My mother loved to knit, as well.”
As Hermione mentioned her mother, a comfortable silence fell in the conservatory. Ginny had been a huge support when she moved in with the Weasleys. There wasn’t anything they couldn’t talk about; nothing between them was taboo.
She was a good friend.
Ginny took her hands between hers and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure she still does.”
Hermione nodded and poured Ginny and herself a cup of tea.
“I brought you some things; found them while I was doing winter cleaning.” Ginny removed what looked like a necklace from her backpack. “I know you and Malfoy are as rich as the Queen of England, but there are some things that acquire an emotional value as they get passed down from baby to baby.”
Hermione took the necklace in her hands, tracing the orange beads ever so slightly.
“This one is an amber teething necklace. It was Victoire’s, and then Fleur gave it to me for James to wear,” Ginny explained.
Hermione raised an intrigued eyebrow. She was sceptical; she believed in science-based healing. She believed in evidence and in facts. She wasn’t able to picture how amber could help babies unless there was some alchemy behind it.
“I’ve heard about them before. Do they actually make a difference?”
“They do,” Ginny answered, a surprised look on her face. “I don’t exactly know how, but it seems to provide some sort of relief. Teething is hard for babies, as I’m sure you know.”
Hermione smirked. “From the way this baby kicks, I can’t say I look forward to knowing how hard he bites.”
December 24th, 2004
Contractions came often and were sharper than they’d been before.
Hermione had started to time them, counting from the beginning of one contraction to the beginning of the next and writing them down in her pregnancy journal. When the pain became too intense to bear, she decided to get up and roam a little through the mansion. Walking would help her manage the pain and trigger dilation.
She summoned her wool robe and grabbed her curls, which she twisted in a high bun and secured with her wand.
As she wandered through the corridors of her home, her fingertips traced the patterned wallpaper. Every so often, she stopped to rest, leaning against the walls. With every contraction, Hermione felt as though there was an entire ocean inside her womb, and strong, violent waves broke against its walls. As contractions grew more intense, she stopped chewing on the inside of her cheek, and let out a moan.
In a moment of despair, she remembered something she used to tell her patients during the countless labours she’d monitored: each contraction meant she was one step closer to finally meeting her baby.
A high-pitched voice startled her. “Is Mrs Malfoy in need of something?”
Hermione turned around and found Dipsy watching her with his green, tennis-ball-sized eyes. She figured he must have heard her cries.
“Yes, Dipsy. Please, go wake up Draco and tell him to call Hannah.”
The elf was gone with a snap of his fingers. Draco appeared not five minutes later, wearing black joggers and a jumper of the same colour.
He hugged her from behind and placed a kiss on the nape of her neck. “Today is the day, isn’t it?”
Hermione nodded and threw her head back, as another contraction exploded inside her womb.
“You should eat something,” he said as he massaged her tense shoulders.
“I– I can’t think about food right now, Draco.”
“This can take hours, love. Come,” Draco wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her slowly down the corridor to the guest room where the labour set-up was located. “Let’s give you a nourishing potion, then.”
Twenty minutes later, Hannah arrived, white robes covering her body, and a leather bag full of potions and tools crossed over her torso. Hermione prayed that all the medical equipment wouldn't be needed.
“Draco, fill the pool,” Hannah asked as she cast diagnostic spells on Hermione’s standing figure; she could no longer manage to lie or sit down. “Breathe, Hermione.”
Hermione kept timing her contractions as she performed breathing exercises. She heard Draco perform countless spells in the background, his wand dancing at the compass of their birth plan. “ Aguamenti. Temperare. Incendio minma.” The room was warm and silent, and a soft smell of mandarin and patchouli filled the room as he began burning essential oils.
“You’re almost at full dilation,” Hannah informed her. “You can already step into the water if you want.”
The pool was placed in the middle of the room over a handful of rugs, surrounded with pillows to cushion Draco and Hannah’s knees. Hermione stripped off her clothes until she was only wearing her bra and entered the pool, coming down on her knees and sitting on the balls of her feet, the warm sensation providing instant relief. Draco approached her and fixed a long curl back into her bun.
Drops of sweat streamed down her forehead, which he promptly patted with a soft cloth. Hannah kept monitoring the progression of her labour, though giving her and Draco space to live this intimate moment on their own time.
Draco placed his forehead against hers, and Hermione inhaled the comforting scent of his cologne. “Your affirmations, love. Do you remember them?”
Hermione grimaced. She did; she’d been telling them to herself for the past few weeks. “I trust the p–process. I t–trust my body to kno–know what to do. I trust m–my baby, and my baby trusts m–me.”
Trust; the foundation of home births.
Draco and Hannah trusted Hermione, and Hermione trusted her body.
A body that had carried her through adventures, both thrilling and dangerous ones. A body that had been capable of bearing so much suffering, but also of feeling so much pleasure. A body that had been tortured with an Unforgivable.
A body that had survived a war.
“Draco,” she managed to say in between moans, “Th–the postcard. Dis–distract me, read me today’s po–postcard.”
Draco put down the cloth, and in seconds, disapparated and apparated back with the shoebox of postcards. He kneeled back at her side, his fingers trembling, as though he was embarrassed to read his own words aloud.
Dear Grangers,
I finished my specialisation in Pregnancy and Child Care Healing last month, in March.
Draco told me to pick one destination for us to celebrate this milestone in my career, and I knew I couldn’t miss the chance to watch the cherry tree blooming season in Japan.
Yesterday, Draco dragged me into a Mind Healing conference (yes, the git is fluent in Japanese, too), and as payback for hours of boredom, I dragged him to a shrine.
I hope you stay safe and well,
From Kyoto, with love,
Hermione
Both the pain and the feeling of her bare skin brought a chill down her spine, and Hermione coughed; Draco brought a glass of water to her lips.
She had so many memories of that trip; she’d dreamt of visiting Japan ever since she was a child and saw the cartoons on TV. Everything seemed so beautiful and peaceful there, and the way the characters always reacted to the food made it sound delicious. It seemed like a whole other world.
Though Draco had just read the postcard, there were blanks in her head about its content; her attention span had been affected when she’d been hit with a violent contraction, and the only thing she seemed to remember now was his mention of their visit to the shrine.
Hermione remembered how the tour guide had explained that the shrine had been built in honour of Inari, the goddess of rice and fertility. Hermione had made an offering and prayed for abundance in her life. Though she knew there would always be abundance at their table, she couldn’t guarantee the same about her womb. So she prayed.
And as sceptical as she might have been, the truth was they’d been blessed with a child on their first try.
“Tell me if you would like a pain relief potion, Hermione,” Hannah said, brushing a comforting wand on her back. “We can manage your pain, okay? You don’t need to suffer more than you already have.”
There wasn’t time for potions, breathing techniques, or Draco’s hypnosis he’d been using on his patients. Like a shot, Hermione had reached the peak of her dilation. With her face buried in Draco’s chest, and taking advantage of the flow of her contractions, she allowed her body to guide her child out of her womb on his own time, which Hannah caught and quickly placed on her chest.
“Great job, Hermione,” Hannah said, smiling fondly and squeezing her hand.
Hermione held on to her baby for dear life.
She held his little moist and slippery body against her chest and sobbed. She sobbed and kept sobbing until there were no more tears left to cry.
With her back pressed against Draco’s chest and her baby on her chest, she felt blissful.
She felt complete.
As Draco realised it was a baby boy, tears pricked his eyes until he could no longer hold them and let out a single, quiet lament as well.
Hermione had only seen Draco cry once after the Battle of Hogwarts when a student rejected his care and insulted his mother. Not even when Lucius passed away had Draco let out a tear. Whether he felt like his father wasn’t deserving of his tears or he was hiding his feelings behind his Occlumency walls, Hermione couldn’t tell.
Today, at the sight of his first heir, Draco had likely forgotten about his Occlumency, and Hermione was glad he did.
December 25th, 2005
Hermione and Draco had barely slept that night.
Not because their baby boy was restless, but because they couldn’t take their eyes off of him, as though the first hours of Scorpius’ life were the last minutes of a long-awaited sunset, and if they blinked, they would miss it.
Scorpius had lain between them on the bed, sleeping peacefully as Draco kissed his silky head and hummed a song Hermione couldn’t recognise; a wizarding children’s song, she supposed. Hermione had reached for Draco’s hand and grabbed it, brushing his wedding ring with her thumb. She’d remembered the vows they’d exchanged at their soul bonding ceremony, promising to love and care for each other in this life and every other.
Yesterday, she had felt as though those promises, wishes and projects were complete, fulfilled, like they’d run a marathon and had just reached the finish line. But now, Hermione understood the birth of her son had been no finish – it had been a beginning.
The beginning of their family.
Giving birth had been a transformative experience. In a matter of hours, Hermione had stopped being just a friend and a wife – she had long accepted she would never be a daughter again –, as she was also a mother now.
Holding in her arms a small being whose life depended on her had been the biggest slap of reality she had ever gotten. Scorpius’ life was in hers and Draco’s hands, fully leaning on their care and decisions – and it was terrifying.
For the first time in a while, Hermione felt scared. She felt as though her heart lived outside of her body in a glass box, and at the slightest shove, it could fall and shatter to pieces like poorly-handled prophecies.
Hermione valued certainties, and the novelty of motherhood had made her anxious even though she’d prepared for the arrival of her baby for months; for years, if she added her healing specialisation to the equation.
Therefore, of course, she hated surprises.
Still lying in bed with Scorpius latched on one nipple – no longer nursing but asleep, wrapped in the comfort of their proximity – Hermione flicked her wand to open the curtains of the bedroom. The sun shone high in the sky though not yet at its peak; Hermione supposed it must have been around eleven.
She summoned the shoebox of postcards from her closet only to find out the twenty-fifth envelope was gone. She frowned; she was certain she had seen it there more than once.
“Dipsy,” she called, and the elf appeared straight away. “Where is Draco?”
“Dipsy hasn’t seen Mr Malfoy since breakfast.”
The handle of the bedroom door turned, and Draco appeared. His hair was perfectly combed to one side, and he wore an emerald green turtleneck and khaki cotton pants; an archetype of charm and grace that went so well with Christmas Day.
He approached the bed slowly and placed a kiss on her lips before giving Scorpius a peck on the head, its pink, sensitive baby skin covered with a few strands of white-blond hair.
“My mother, Andromeda and Teddy have already arrived. How are you feeling?” he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you think you can manage to join us at the table?”
Hermione let out a deep, tired breath. “Sore, but nothing a couple of cushioning charms won’t solve. I’d never miss out on Christmas lunch.”
He placed a peck on the back of her hand. “Good.”
“Draco,” Hermione asked reluctantly, a deep frown on her forehead. “What happened to today’s postcard?”
“I had to give it a rewrite.” He smirked and darted his gaze at their son. “You know, to include the latest family news.”
Hermione gave her husband a thin smile.
“I’ll take him, now,” Draco said, as he took Scorpius from her arms and wrapped him carefully in a silky blanket. “You should get ready.”
Too tired and sensitive to apparate, Hermione made her way out of bed and dragged her worn body to the bathroom. As she slowly undressed, she admired her reflection in the mirror, her breasts swollen and her stomach almost as round as it had been not one day before.
Allowing the water to penetrate her curls and wash off sweat, blood and exhaustion from her skin, Hermione found herself wondering how her parents would spend Christmas this year. Would they celebrate it by themselves, or had they made friends with whom they spent the festivities? Christmas was one of the few celebrations in which Hermione admitted the more people came together, the merrier it would be.
Her hair hadn’t seen a comb in almost a week, and Hermione took her time untangling her curls. After drying them with a quick charm and applying some rosehip oil to her belly, she put on some fresh clothes Dipsy had brought her, likely at Draco's request, and made her way back to the bedroom.
The sound of the Black sisters chatting and the cries of her baby startled her; it came from the living area. Hermione felt as though her heart would beat its way out of her chest, separation anxiety hitting her for the first time.
When she walked into the living room, three heads turned, and Andromeda jumped to her feet to wrap her in a tight embrace.
Teddy played with some wooden toys he’d scattered all over the vintage rug at Narcissa’s feet, and the blonde witch sat on the armchair, cradling a bundle of yellow blankets in her chest. Like a shot, Scorpious calmed down as though he’d acknowledged Hermione’s presence in the room.
“Draco is waiting for you at the hall, dear,” Andromeda stated.
As the older witch placed a thick, warm cloak over Hermione’s shoulders, she frowned and exchanged looks with Narcissa. Her mother-in-law simply smiled and nodded, her eyes delivering unspoken words. Trust him, dear.
Hermione darted one last look to Scorpius, who had fallen asleep on his grandmother’s lap, and did as she was told.
Draco was, just like her, wearing a heavy cloak and some dragon-hide, snow-proof boots. As he took sight of her, he lifted one inviting elbow, which Hermione took without a second thought.
“Scorpius–”
“He’ll be fine, love,” Draco assured as they walked down the stairs of the mansion arm in arm. “We won’t be gone for long.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He explained. “They're two of my patients.”
Hermione parted her lips to speak but hesitated. There were a million questions popping into her mind, demanding a reasonable answer. Yet, she refrained from asking them. Why was she going to meet some of his patients? And why, for Godric’s sake, did it have to be on Christmas Day? Didn’t they have families with whom they should be? What was it that was so important it made Draco remove her from her baby’s side, even if just for a moment?
Hermione sighed and for once, managed to control her curiosity. Whether it was due to the tiredness from both the birth and a sleepless night, or maybe the first signs of wisdom and patience motherhood would demand from her, she didn’t feel like she had the energy to demand explanations. So, she simply allowed Draco to guide her.
Where to, she had no idea.
Suddenly, she realised they were approaching a pond that was located not far from the mansion; the pond was now frozen.
The white landscape was beautiful and Hermione blamed the tears that pricked her eyes on the flood of hormones that danced right below her skin.
As they approached the pond, Hermione saw a couple sitting on the wooden bench by the water, their backs facing her and Draco. Hermione had conjured that bench once after a tiring ice skating session, and she and Draco liked to sit there, both of them with a book in their hands, admiring the view as nature changed it through the seasons.
The couple were dressed in what looked like parkas, and both of them wore matching knitted beanies on their heads. Hermione smiled, remembering how her mother loved knitting.
A wild thought crossed Hermione’s mind, and she looked at Draco, realising he had stopped walking and was watching her with his bright, grey eyes, a white envelope extended in her direction.
With trembling fingers she blamed on the cold, Hermione read through the postcard, a picture of their mansion on the cover.
Dear Grangers,
We had no summer vacation this year as Draco has been working on his Mind Healing specialisation, but welcoming our baby at the end of the year placed us on a planned winter vacation. We’ve welcomed Scorpius Draco Malfoy on the morning of Christmas Eve after a quick and peaceful labour.
Hugging you after all these years, watching you hold your grandson and sit at our table with us on Christmas Day was the best gift I could ever ask for, one I’d long lost hope of receiving.
Glad to see you safe and well,
From Mayfair, with love
Hermione
Letting out a sharp gasp, Hermione dropped the postcard and as her limbs went weak, she sank to her knees, the loud stomp that her body made on the snow-covered ground startling the couple. Like a shot, the man and the woman dressed in Muggle clothes turned their heads in one synchronised motion.
As Hermione’s eyes met the faces of Jean and John Granger, their bodies skinnier and their features marked by the passage of time, she let out a loud sob.
A wave of adrenaline took over her body, and she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, her body was still cushioned in the snow, her tights dampening as the cold moisture slowly sank into her skin and bones. The tightness in her chest grew heavier, and she found herself holding onto the thought of her baby to gather the strength not to faint.
All the strength that was left in her body was long gone, and as Draco cast a warming charm, she wrapped her arms around her body in a tight self-embrace.
Kneeling by her side, he gave her space to burst and process the cocktail of emotions she was feeling, only caressing her curls ever so slightly in reassurance.
I t’s them. They’re here, and they’re fine. They remember you.
They forgive you.
As her parents approached her sitting figure, Draco cupped her cheek with a gloved hand.
“My specialisation, my research. My thesis,” he said, his hands shaking against her face as he revealed a secret she didn’t know he kept, as though it were pages from a forbidden book. Draco looked scared, but also relieved.
“It was for them," his voice trembled as he caressed her back. "It has always been for them.”
Folded over her torso, her face still facing her lap and her eyes pursed shut as tears streamed down her cheeks, Hermione took a deep breath. She applied the square breathing technique she used with kids at St Mungo’s, counting to four both as she inhaled, held her breath, exhaled, and paused before inhaling again.
She had even more questions now than she’d had before.
Hermione had researched extensively. She’d read all the books about memory-wiping magic she managed to put her hands on, from the libraries of Hogwarts, Malfoy Manor and New York’s School of Magical Healing, and books she’d brought from her trips with Draco all over the world.
In the end, they all came down to the same conclusion: the extent to which she’d used the Obliviate charm was irreversible. So, she had learned to live with the weight of never seeing her parents again on her chest.
She’d gotten used to wondering what they were doing for Christmas or for New Year’s Eve. Wondering if they were spending their wedding anniversary in some sunny location. Wondering if they still practised dentistry or if they’d retired at all. Wondering if she would miss her mother’s words of reassurance during her next pregnancy or pregnancies as she did in this last one, and even missing her father’s great – though sometimes unwelcome – advice.
And especially, she’d gotten used to wondering if they were even alive at all.
Draco stood and extended one hand towards her, which Hermione accepted after taking another deep breath. As proud as she was of his deed, she wanted answers from him. She demanded explanations; if not now, for sure later.
She opened her arms and held both of her parents in a tight embrace. Silent and sobbing, minutes passed before the three of them took a step back and cupped each other's faces, pinching cheeks and kissing foreheads as though to acknowledge this reunion was real and not just a dream.
As she realised that she would never have to wonder about her parents’ whereabouts anymore, she didn’t feel the weight in her chest getting any lighter, but she quickly dismissed any growing concern.
Hermione knew that with time, it would all feel lighter.
Because life by Draco’s side always did.