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Hermione closed the heavy door to the library behind her, Rose’s wails echoing through the grand room. It had been kind of Draco and Astoria to invite them to Malfoy Manor, but she was relieved to be free from the crowd for a moment. With the sheer number of guests and extravagance of the decorations, it felt more like a formal ball than a one-year-old’s birthday party.
Bouncing gently seemed to soothe Rose a bit. Now she was biting at Hermione’s bare shoulder, her one bottom tooth tickling against skin.
“I know you’re hungry,” Hermione whispered. There must be a four-month growth spurt, or else Rose wanted the comfort of extra nursing while she was teething.
“We’re alone now, it’s ok,” Hermione said to Rose, repeating the word ok in a soothing voice that maybe held a bit of desperation.
The baby didn’t understand, so half the time Hermione felt like she was trying to comfort herself when she talked to Rose. It’s ok, we’re doing fine, look at us! Doing good, we’ll make it through.
There were gorgeous, tall bookshelves forming aisles, but no place to sit and the library felt oddly cold. A draft clutched at her ankles as she hurried deeper into the room, and an unpleasant buzzing came from the glowing sconces high on the walls.
Draco Malfoy had grown up here, in this oppressive Manor. Maybe curled up alone with a book in this very room. It was still unsettling to be here, although she and Ron had technically been friends with Draco and Astoria for years, both part of a large group that socialized together. Terrible things had happened within these walls though, and the feeling still seemed to be clinging to the space like shadows.
Maybe her daughter felt Hermione’s anxiety being here and that’s why she was so fussy. The other guests had initially cooed over her beautiful curls and big brown eyes, but then started to purse their lips and comment on how very loud her cries were.
Finally—there was a leather armchair, tucked into a cozy nook. Hermione lowered herself into it, wrestling poor Rose into position. Even though she was hungry, Rose squirmed against Hermione’s breast instead of staying latched on, still hyped up from crying. Hermione bit her lip and tried to settle her by bouncing in the chair a bit. Why was everything so hard? Rose pulled away to cry, letting a stream of milk spray all over the Malfoys’ expensive chair.
“Shit.” Hermione tried to dab at it with the burp rag, but there was something wrong; the milk was turning darker against the leather, black as tar and sinking in.
What was happening? She scooted away in the chair, clutching her daughter in alarm.
“Hermione?” Draco’s voice echoed through the library and she heard his heavy footsteps running towards her.
“Yes?” She threw the burp rag over the ominous stain and frantically tried to pull her dress up to cover herself.
Rose wailed louder, angry to be cut off from the milk that she had just been wrestling to get away from. Shit, Hermione would leak everywhere if she didn’t feed her now. Draco would just have to get an eyeful if he came any closer. It would be mortifying either way.
“Hermione.” Draco looked relieved, and out of breath from apparently running to her.
She stared at him wide-eyed. Was he trying to chase her out? Away from his priceless family heirlooms and first-edition books?
“What do you want?” she snapped at him, spreading her palm protectively over Rose’s head.
“You shouldn’t be in here.” He looked over her head, surveying the ceiling instead of looking directly at her.
So he both wanted to kick her out and was disgusted by the perfectly natural process of feeding an infant. Hermione scoffed.
“I needed a quiet place to calm her down,” she said harshly. “And if you're thinking I'm disgusting, you’re wrong. Breastfeeding is nothing to hide or be ashamed of.”
What had she been thinking sneaking into the library? She could have just sat in a corner of the main room, but she’d had the urge to escape from judgmental eyes. She and Ron had been running late, Hermione taking too long to pack the baby bag and getting Rose ready, so she'd barely had time to look at herself in the mirror.
Some of her normal clothes were fine, but she hadn’t needed a party dress since giving birth and had to hastily transfigure one large enough to fit her changed body. She felt exposed among the other party guests, her smile stretched thin, her face tired and teary behind it.
“I wasn’t thinking that.” Draco finally looked at her, his eyebrows drawn together. “Astoria wanted to breastfeed Scorpius, but she was too weak after the birth to try. I don’t think you’re disgusting at all.”
She felt a blush rise on her cheeks and looked down at Rose. The baby had calmed enough to actually start getting some milk and made a little burbling noise. Draco didn't have any right to judge her in this intimate moment. And if he liked it, well he didn't have any right to that either.
“Why were you looking for me?
“There are wards in here. I wasn’t expecting anyone to leave the main area of the party.” His voice was apologetic. Not anyone, he hadn't expected her to wander away; the only Muggleborn here.
“I'll leave.” She scrambled to get up from the chair, the sudden movement upsetting Rose.
“No! Please.” Draco held up his hands to stop her. “I'll just—”
She’d forgotten about the milk stain and the burp rag until her hand was on the armrest to get up. The black substance had eaten through half the rag like it was being consumed by rot, and spreading out along the leather below. She shrieked and jumped up, clutching Rose tight. Draco levitated the burp rag away with his wand and it burst into flames, the pile of ash disintegrating before it hit the floor.
He chanted something low under his breath, casting a spell to stop the spread of the stain on the chair. A puff of smoke exploded from it and Hermione staggered away coughing. If Draco hadn’t come when he did, Rose would be hurt. The danger was passed, but the realization made her chest clench painfully.
“Are you alright?” Draco held her elbow, supporting her arm holding Rose. “I'll replace your cloth that got ruined.”
“It’s fine,” she said with a strangled laugh. “It’s just a burp rag. We’re fine.”
“Hermione.”
She stepped away from him and the lights flickered. “I need to leave.”
It had been a bad decision to come at all. This place was trying to kill her, Rose was crying. She just needed to find Ron and go.
“Let me work on the wards.” Draco sounded almost pleading, different from how she had ever heard him before. “Please.”
She nodded, caught off guard by his sincerity. In the group, he was always aloof and reserved, and she couldn't remember a time they'd been alone together.
Draco scraped his hand through his hair and looked around the library. She shifted anxiously, watching him pace down an aisle partway, then turn back with frustration. Maybe she should try to nurse Rose again. Or just go.
“I’m going back to the party now,” she called out, hating the tremor in her voice.
“It's just— I don't know all the curses that might be in the Manor. I want to do a protection spell.”
“Ok,” she said hesitantly.
She trusted him, right? If Rose was hurt because of her pride and resentment of the Malfoys, it would be terrible. Draco had no reason to hurt them and hadn’t in a long time.
He raised his wand and traced slow circles in the air around them. “This will take a moment—if you want to sit back down?”
She sank back into the chair, careful to avoid the left armrest, even though it looked normal now. Rose seemed to relax in her arms at Draco’s movement, almost asleep after hours of being fussy and Hermione felt some of her tension ease too.
Trusted. The word bloomed in her chest, as clear as if someone had whispered it aloud. Maybe Draco had somehow, pushing it towards her with the protection spell. Worthy. He was looking at her intently, his grey eyes soft. Cherished.
Since becoming pregnant with Rose, it felt like part of herself was slipping away. She was seen as an extension of her child, her purpose shifted and leaving her unsteady. The tender strength of Draco's spell shone a light on her, that she was still important. That she was seen.
Hermione closed her eyes and let the feelings wash over her. Every single person she had spoken to this afternoon had only wanted to talk about Rose, asking questions and marveling over her beauty. Hermione hadn't expected having a baby to render herself invisible.
Important. They had gotten a mountain of gifts after the birth, and only Fleur brought something specifically for Hermione. She had held the tiny bottle of French perfume to her chest and cried, the mix of gratitude and hormones overwhelming her. Unlike her clothes, perfume still fit, and Hermione closed her eyes to enjoy it, the decadent scent transporting her away from her current leaking, aching self. This moment with Draco felt like that had. Appreciated.
She sighed with unexpected pleasure as he finished. Adored. The atmosphere in the room had changed to calm and welcoming, everything brighter and warmer.
“That wasn’t a protection spell.”
Draco blew out a breath. “I don’t know all the dangers to Muggleborns and half-bloods within the Manor, so I did something different.”
She raised her eyebrows, surprised by how sheepish he looked.
“I added you to the household. Both of you.”
The Malfoy household? Draco was the head of the family since Lucius was dead, so he had the power to do that. But it didn’t make any sense.
“What exactly does that mean?”
It surely wasn't personal, he was just being a good host by stopping his home from attacking her, but Hermione felt tears gathering in her eyes. He would add a Muggleborn to his household? She could still feel the benedictions from the spell whispering through her, warm and comforting.
Draco grimaced. “I can undo it if you want me to. That was an overstep.”
“No.” How could she explain that this was the first time that she'd felt seen in months? That his tenderness had helped heal a wound that she hadn’t even realized was there. “But why would you?”
“You’ll be protected. And if Scorpius and Rose become friends—” He swallowed hard. “I don't want anyone else to be hurt within these walls.”
Their children wouldn’t need to be enemies. Hermione’s suffering here would never happen again, because she was now protected by the same ancient Sacred Twenty Eight House that had wanted to kill her. And Rose would never know that kind of fear.
“Thank you.”
She looked at Draco, seeing him more clearly than she ever had before. This was an apology through action, and it meant the world.
He turned to go, one last glance before he rejoined the party. “I wish I could have done it sooner.”
Draco blinked up as the lights in the ballroom brightened like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Hermione was here, balancing her daughter on one hip and carrying a large gift bag in her other hand. Ron trailed behind her gripping an infant carrier with their new son inside.
He hadn't thought about the effect adding Hermione and Rose to the household would have on the house itself when he had done it years ago. The Manor was pleased to have them within its walls, more pieces clicking into place.
How would Hermione feel about that if she knew? Draco pushed a floating balloon to the side and casually waved hello. Probably horrified. She wouldn't want to have anything more to do with a former Death Eater fortress and its current patriarch than what was needed to maintain civility.
Hermione smiled back and set Rose down to run off and play. Ron came up beside her, whispering something in her ear before heading in the direction of where Ginny and Pansy were sitting. Hermione took a step towards Draco, then hesitated, biting her lip. It almost looked like she wanted to talk to him, and Draco watched as she hovered for a moment before following her husband. Interesting.
He turned back to the party. The ballroom was chaos. Paper dragons breathed sparkling confetti, cotton candy swirled halfway to the ceiling, and dozens of children were running around joyfully. His mother had fought to keep the Malfoy and Black birthday traditions for her grandson, even though Draco had planned more fun activities suited for Sorpius’s interests The towering almond fruitcake was practically untouched and he would have to try to wrangle the children into quietly sitting for the yearly astrology predictions soon. At least Scorpius wasn’t stuffed into the white satin suit that he’d been forced to wear as a child.
People seemed to be enjoying themselves, smiling and chatting as he made the rounds. It would be good to bring a piece of cake up to Astoria where she was resting, and hopefully she would have enough strength to try a taste.
Everyone had hoped that she would be able to come downstairs, but Draco had barely been able to rouse her, only getting a half smile before she rolled over and drifted away again. He’d sat there a long time watching her shallow breath move the knobs of her spine, visible even through her nightgown.
Now he pasted on a smile for Blaise, who was helping his daughter balance on a toddler broom hovering at chest height. He held her with one hand and clapped his other on Draco’s shoulder to draw him closer. It always felt like his friend could read his mind, or at least his mood. They indulged in a very manly hug, the reassurance bolstering Draco a bit.
“Having fun?” Draco asked, spotting Scorpius going a bit too high overhead and beckoned for him to come down.
“Uncle Draco!” Cassandra giggled as Blaise pulled her forward and backwards gently in the air.
Wizard family lines had a strange influence on genetics and Blaise’s daughter had Luna’s exact shade of pale blue eyes, striking against her darker skin.
“Hi, darling. Oh, look at those purple fingernails.” Draco admired her hand holding the broom as she beamed at him.
“Mommy did them. Look!” She carefully withdrew her hand from her father’s and held it up to reveal yellow polish. “Daddy’s happy! Now you hold my hand.”
He wrapped his large fingers around her small ones.
“Now let go.” She lifted her hand to show a piercing shade of ice blue. “You want something, Uncle Draco. What is it? Maybe candy.”
“Maybe.” He smiled at her.
He wanted something. The truth of it pierced him, even if he didn’t quite know why. He wanted Astoria’s health to improve, of course, but that wasn’t possible. He wanted to feel less lonely, but that didn’t make sense in this room full of people.
Scorpius drifted over, kicking his feet in the air in an attempt to go faster.
Draco stopped the hovering broom with one hand and leaned in to whisper to his son. “Do you need to potty?”
Scorpius was doing wonderfully with toilet training, but the excitement of the party might throw him off with all the distractions. Draco had considered trying to persuade him to go back to diapers for the day, but Scorp had been so pleased with his little dragon printed briefs.
“No.” Scorp wiggled on the broom, eager to get back to playing.
“Alright. Tell me if you do. Or just run to the bathroom; the closest is near the kitchens, remember.” He let go of the wooden handle and Scorp flew away giggling.
He looked over to see his mother tucking the heron-shaped ice sculpture that Astoria’s parents had brought underneath a table, her smirk indicating that she hoped they would see her. He sighed. Maybe he could let himself slip away for just a bit. A moment hiding behind the decorative dragon banner wouldn’t mean that he wasn’t an exemplary host and father.
“Draco?”
Hermione ducked behind the banner after him, cradling her infant son against her shoulder. He startled, hitting his shoulder against the wall.
“Hello, Hermione.” He nodded formally as though this was a normal greeting, instead of being practically pressed against her in this small space.
“Lovely party. Absolutely—” she stammered. “It’s very loud.”
She was nervous. Strange for the usually unflappable Minister of Magic Granger, her face gazing imperiously from the pages of the Prophet every other week. Like she was challenging him to do better, try harder.
“Could you—I mean would you, of course you can, but that’s not what I’m asking.” She twisted her hair back with one hand, then let it fall down around her shoulders again. “And there’s no obligation, of course. I for sure have no expectations—”
“What is it?”
Hermione was so pretty, even more so right now because it was rare to see her flustered. Soft instead of severe. Her husband probably got to see her this way all the time, got to brush the stray curl behind her ear, softly press his thumb to her mouth when she was babbling like this.
Draco dropped his head back against the wall, forcing his gaze to the ceiling and his thoughts back to ones appropriate for a married man. “What are you asking, Granger?”
“Will you add Hugo to your household as well? Like you did for me and Rose?”
Oh. Astoria wouldn't mind. When he'd told her that he added Hermione and Rose to the household wards, she smiled and nodded. Then hours later, after she'd apparently thought about it more, Astoria took his hand and told him it had been a good decision.
“Yes, I can add Hugo.”
Hermione visibly relaxed at his words. “Do we need to go to the library again?”
She sounded almost hopeful, like she wanted to wander around the hidden corners of the Manor with him. To share his favorite books, admire the most interesting art, and find cozy spots to lounge, while the sunlight shone through the windows and lit up the gold in her hair.
“No. Right here is fine,” he said briskly.
Draco raised his wand and she held Hugo up between them. The wards thrummed in anticipation, and he could feel the lower pulse of the Manor and property itself. All of it belonging to him. Draco’s relationship with his father had been difficult, but after Lucius’s death, he’d understood at least this part better. There was a weight to it, being the patriarch of a Sacred Twenty-Eight household. The burden of your choices affecting the entire magical line.
The Dark Lord and Aunt Bella’s ties to the household were cut with their deaths and Draco had added his own friends and family to build a better future. It had felt right adding Hermione two years ago, her face joyful when he built the ritual for why she deserved to be here, what she brought to them all. Why he wanted her.
Hugo stirred in his sleep at the final movement of the wards snapping back into place, ready to defend the newest member of the household.
“Thank you.” Hermione had moved closer when he’d been focused on the silent incantation, her shoulder nearly touching his.
He stood still, entranced as he watched Hermione’s gaze travel from his chest, to his neck, to his lips, then finally his eyes. It felt as heavy and charged as if she was actually touching him.
“Thank you!” she squeaked, pushing the banner aside and darting away from him.
Draco blinked in the sudden light, his eyes adjusting to see Scorpius crying with Blaise holding his hand and looking around the room. Fear iced through his chest, but Blaise didn’t look panicked—like he would if Scorp was truly hurt.
He rushed to his son and looked for the cause of tears. Scorpius’s trousers had a wet spot in front and down his leg.
“I peed on my green dragons,” he sniffled.
“It’s ok, we’ll just get cleaned up.”
“No.” Scorp crossed his arms, trying to squirm away as he tried to pick him up.
“We’ll get cleaned up and then come back down to play.”
“No!”
A full tantrum was starting, his small body tense and still on the verge of tears. Draco should have just insisted that he stop and use the toilet before. Astoria probably would have anticipated it and prevented all of this from happening.
Draco’s father had been stern and his mother had the balancing softness. With Astoria’s condition worsening, Draco would be both. He had to be both.
He used the most calm and soothing voice possible to stop himself from losing his temper, turning Scorp's body to look into his eyes. “Why don’t you want to get cleaned up?”
“I want green dragons, not other ones. Green like you.”
There were other dragon briefs in the drawer, but which colors were clean? Draco tried to grasp the carefully folded pile in his mind and remember.
“Yellow is my second favorite color. And yellow dragons are even more perfect for parties, do you know why?”
Scorp shook his head, the tears receding as he listened.
“Because yellow is the color of the flames on your birthday candles.” Draco tickled his stomach, shaking out a smile. “How many candles will you have?”
Scorpius lifted three fingers sullenly.
“Yes. And what will we sing to you?”
“Happy birfday.”
Draco touched his forehead to his son's and began to softly sing the Happy Birthday song. Scorpius wrapped his arms around his neck and Draco felt him relax as though it was a lullaby.
“—and I love you, dear Scorpius. Happy birthday to you.”
What more could Draco want than this? His very heart multiplied into this perfect person, his every pain reversed and forged into this joy?
If only Astoria could still share in moments like this. He had been only bringing Scorpius to her on the good days to ensure better memories, but he should take him tonight and try to provide her some comfort.
“Daddy, look.” Scorpius pointed to the ceiling, where one of the crystal chandeliers was tinkling softly as though ringing out a song.
Hermione held Hugo below it, wonder on both of their faces as the crystals cast tiny rainbows around them. It was the inverse of her past experience with a chandelier here, like the Manor was atoning for its role in the war as well.
Hermione felt it when Astoria died. One moment she was looking out her window at the sunset, rubbing a sudsy sponge across a skillet, and the next she was doubled over in pain. Not physical hurt, but deep emotional anguish, unexpected tears falling into the soapy water.
She could feel Scorpius, lost and confused. The hollowness of loss filled his small body like a tide. There were others too, the household tethered together like a constellation. Blaise Zabini ached with worry and sorrow. Narcissa Malfoy was feeling a desperate helplessness, the unmooring of a mother who couldn’t make things right for the ones she needed to protect.
And Draco. The head of the Malfoy household was a tidal wave of despair. Not enough, can’t do this alone. Hopelessness and emptiness tore through her with a force that hurt, and then just as suddenly it was gone.
Hermione clutched a dish towel to her face, still bent over the sink. The people who loved him would go to Draco, they would comfort him better than she could. She was barely his friend, really. She imagined him alone, crushed by the weight of his grief, and a new wave of tears came.
“Mum?” Rose cried out from her bedroom at the same time as Hugo started wailing in his crib. Of course, they all would have felt the same loss.
She picked up her son and rushed to her daughter. “It’s ok, just a dream. We’re ok.”
Hermione laid down next to her, three of them snuggled in the twin-size bed.
“Mummy, there’s water on your face.” Rose reached out to wipe the tears from Hermione’s cheek.
“Oh, you’re right.” She buried her face in the pillow for a moment to compose herself, then turned back to smile at her daughter. “How silly.”
Rose didn’t seem to notice the quaver in her voice, and laid down her head with a relaxed hum. Hermione stayed in the bed long after her children fell back asleep, brushing her fingers through her daughter’s hair and feeling her son’s heart beating against her own.
When she found her own bed later, she still couldn’t find sleep. She’d filled the empty space with pillows after the divorce, lonely for someone, if not Ron exactly. Someone to roll over and touch, a steady presence.
Tonight she breathed in the clean cotton and saw Draco’s face when she closed her eyes. It wasn’t her place to be there for him, but she wanted to so badly that it ached.
Draco traced his finger along a shelf of books, smiling at the enchanted bluebell flames illuminating the titles. Hermione’s house felt like her. Neat and organized, but with touches of whimsy and her irresistible wit. He’d been here once before, for a housewarming party after her divorce, but it looked more cozy and lived now. He almost wanted to hide out on the soft looking sofa and pretend he belonged there.
Instead, he wandered outside to join the group of parents chatting. Some kind of elaborate scavenger hunt game had been planned, but seemed to have devolved into the children wrestling each other. Hermione stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the scene with dismay.
“Rose! Stop dragging Scorpius by the legs! That's not a kind way to treat our friends.”
Rose threw Scorp's shoe across the yard, then paused to look at her mother. “He likes it!”
Scorpius twisted his body on the ground and waved. He was smiling, apparently happy with being physically dragged around by the more feral Granger-Weasley child.
“Scorpius, honey, do you want her to stop?” Hermione asked.
“No, we're playing dementor tag and I'm a soul!”
Hermione cringed and looked back at Draco.
“It’s fine,” he reassured her. “Really. It's good to see him playing.”
Scorpius had always been serious, but became more withdrawn after Astoria's death. Draco tried to hide his dark moods from his son, but Scorp was so perceptive that it was difficult. Hearing his laughter now was a relief.
“That’s good.” Hermione pulled her gaze away from the children and frowned at the already ransacked treats table. “Will you help me get more ice?”
He nodded and helped her tip the melted water from the tub of drinks onto the ground, then carry it to the kitchen.
“How is Scorpius doing with everything?” Hermione asked quietly, adding more ice to the tub.
“Well, I think. My mother and I are trying to keep him busy and not dwell on missing Astoria too much.”
“And you?” She dropped the ice scoop and reached for his hand, her fingers cold from the ice. “I've been thinking about you. Worrying, really.”
He drew her hand to his chest and tucked her fingers under his chin to warm them up unthinkingly like he would do with Scorp. It was too familiar, a little silly and far too intimate. Instead of pulling away though, Hermione looked up at him with soft eyes.
How was he doing with everything? He should be doing fine, it had been more than a year. He told everyone that he was fine. But laughter turned to the gut punch of sadness in an instant, and moments of joy seemed cut by the dull ache of loneliness.
“I—” He started to speak, then the words crumbled away from him, the depth of what he was feeling like a cliff separating him from the world.
Hermione pulled him to her. “Draco. I’m so sorry this happened to you, but you’re so strong. And so good.”
He rested his face in her neck, letting her comforting words break through him, feeling her fingers soft in his hair. She recounted how he had rebuilt his family after the war, welcomed in former enemies as friends, what his kindness to her had meant.
“You’re a wonderful father, you should be so proud of Scorpius and of yourself.”
A sob shuddered through him. He believed her, and if he believed her, then all she said about him was true. He could do this because he already was.
His lips were already against her neck, so it took no effort at all to kiss her. The soft skin of Hermione’s throat was as perfect as he’d imagined and so was the sound of her gasp when he tilted her chin to kiss along her jaw.
This moment was real. His wife was gone, but his happiness didn’t have to be cut off forever. Hermione pulled his face to hers and kissed him back, not timid or gentle, but like she had been waiting for this. For him.
It was a conversation they had started six years ago. Cherished, adored, chosen. He traced the contours of her body, desire and relief burning through him. They kissed until the ice melted again, hiding from the rest of the party in the messy kitchen.
Hermione tipped her head back to smile at him, relaxed in his arms. “Adding me to your household doesn’t make us like siblings, right?”
“No. Something very different than that.” He dipped her back dramatically, making her laugh before pressing his lips to hers again. He wanted her to come home, to build a life with him.
“Good,” she said, catching his meaning. “I can’t wait.”
Hermione balanced the bouquet of irises in the crook of her arm, nearly dropping them as she set Lyra down. At two years old, her daughter could never decide if she wanted to be carried or if she wanted to chase after her older siblings.
“Shhhhh, stop walking so loud!” Rose called out from farther down the hall.
“You telling me to stop walking loud is louder than my walking,” Hugo scowled at his sister. “Just because you’re almost a teenager doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”
“That’s exactly what it means.”
“We’re about to wake him up anyways,” Scorpius said, always the peacemaker. He was balancing a breakfast tray for Draco, carefully piled with his favorite foods they had cooked this morning.
It was such a relief to see how Scorpius and her own kids had bonded together to make a family, fighting sometimes, but with love that shone through. And they all adored their little sister. Lyra held a finger to her lips, apparently the only one who actually got the message about being quiet.
“That’s right. Shhhhh.” Hermione opened the door to the master bedroom.
Draco was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed. He had pulled the shades to gaze out the window at their estate sprawled out below; the peacocks strutting around the fountain with Chauncy perched on a decorative gargoyle, the full Quidditch practice field built “for the kids,” and the tree house library she had built using the same excuse.
“Happy birthday!” The kids rushed in for hugs with a force that was more on par for an attack.
Draco laughed and caught Hugo, throwing him to the other side of the giant bed. Scorpius pinned his arms over his father’s, so that Rose could lift up Lyra to tickle Draco.
“Help,” Draco went limp. “Oh, they’ve killed me.”
It was a joy to see Draco this way, light and playful after all the dark times he had been through. She leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Don’t kiss, that’s so gross!” Hugo wailed, and other kids joined in booing.
Draco broke away from them and pulled Hermione onto the bed. “We’re going to! Better hide your eyes!”
One of the kids threw a pillow and she pulled the covers over them both, closing them off from the kids’ view. Draco drew her close, dragging his thumb over her lower lip the way he liked to do.
She could barely see him in the darkness under the blanket, but could feel him all around her, his joy and love like a tangible thing. “Happy birthday, Draco.”
“Thank you, love.” He kissed her softly, like they had all the time in the world.
Maybe they did, years stretched out in front of them like rows of flowers. The children were giggling and she heard a pillow thump against someone followed by a squeal. They needed to eat the breakfast and have Draco open his presents, so they could get on with the plans for the day.
She started to sit up, but he held her tighter against him. “Hermione.”
The way he whispered her name was so tender. Sometimes when she was very still, she could almost feel Draco in the magic of the Manor, a pulse of amusement or tremor of irritation. A warning for the Head of Household’s mood. Never anything like the dark desperation she had felt here during the war, which must have been Lucius Malfoy.
Grateful. She smiled as she kissed Draco, giving him back the emotions that she felt too. Happy.
“I love you,” she said, and knew that he understood.
Worthy, adored.