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"Harry James Potter! You did not just get my six-month-old a bloody broomstick! You want me to have a heart attack!" Hermione cried out, unpacking a miniature Nimbus 2020 with a groan. It joined a growing pile of gifts for Minnie, atop of a tiny Gryffindor Quidditch uniform and Weasley Family jumper with M embroidered with a silver yarn.
"Well, someone has to teach her how to become the second youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history, and who's more qualified to do that than her godfather?" Harry grinned at his sister in all but blood.
"She's just learnt how to sit unassisted!"
"That's why Severus and you got her a whole arse Mini Potioneer set?"
He had her there.
"The onesie is cute, though," Draco stretched his legs on the sofa, nursing a tumbler of Odgen's Finest. "There's also the one in Slytherin colours. From me. Even though my dear fiancé is clearly struggling with the concept of Minnie growing up to be in any other house than Hermione and himself."
Severus allowed an almost amused smile to touch his lips. They were indeed something else.
"She's clearly a Slytherin. Little dictator with no sense of respect for personal boundaries, driven by the power of boob on demand."
"One dysfunctional family," he murmured, his eyes flickering to Minnie, clad in festive baby rompers with kneazle in a Santa hat, sleeping peacefully in the bassinet by the Christmas tree. "You'd never have believed it." There was a hint of softness in his voice—something that only those closest to him ever got acquainted with.
"We're all a little scarred and twisted, but at least we're still bloody breathing."
Trust the Boy Who Miraculously Keeps On Living to deliver such a line.
Severus took a sip of his Merlot and snorted.
"The 'brightest' is a matter of opinion," he muttered. "I was the one who received more O's in my N.E.W.Ts."
"My arse," Hermione scoffed, sneering at him in a very Snapesque, albeit feigned, manner. "You had ten O's just because I didn't take Divination. I'm the second best result in history!"
"Could've taken Divination, darling."
"Oh, shut it. Even now, coexisting in the same room as Trelawney still makes me want the ground to open, swallow me and not spit out before she's miles away."
A smug smirk curled at Severus' lips at her answer. It amused him like nothing else that even almost three decades after she graduated, his wife still loved to bicker over the same old petty things.
"You didn't take Divination because you had the common sense to believe it's bullshit," he countered with a tone almost mocking. His smirk widened. "I did, too, but I didn't let my pride taint my flawless exam results. Still had one more O. You can't beat that, Granger."
"Yes, Mr Half-Blood Prince. You had one more O," Hermione scoffed, almost moaning when she took the first bite of her vindaloo curry. "Harry, you are a bloody godsend."
"Not again with the Half-Blood Prince—"
"And you're nauseating when you're lovey-dovey in the way only you two can be," Harry smirked, nudging Draco's leg under the table. "You're welcome. Cooking for you is always a pleasure, even though Severus and his unseasoned white Englishman's palate can't handle spice at all."
Severus couldn't suppress a scoff at the jab to his nonexistent spice tolerance. And nauseating? Draco was right there, equally nauseating whenever Potter was nearby. But Hermione? She was right—he had been all broody edges and bitterness when the 'Half-Blood Prince' name had been born. And he'd never live it down, would he?
"That was a very dramatic nickname, my love," Hermione grinned, nibbling on her naan. "Very creative for an angsty teen."
"I wasn't even that dramatic," he mumbled, a hint of mock-indignance coloring his voice. He picked up his naan, dipping the flatbread in the curry with meticulous care before taking another bite. "You're just mean."
"I'm not mean. I wish I could have known you when you were a teenager. I mean, I wasn't even born yet, but you know," Hermione shrugged with a tiny smile.
Severus paused, his dark eyes flickering to her with an unreadable expression. The thought of Hermione meeting him back then—if not being a toddler herself—when he was still just a bitter, angry teenager—was almost laughable.
"You would have despised me," he said bluntly, "I wouldn't have been kind to you either."
"Well, you did join the magical terrorist organisation with principle against people of my blood status, so yeah, you wouldn't have been kind to me. Rather hate criming," Hermione snorted, knowing that he would understand she was joking. His past was a topic they talked about many times, early into their friendship, relationship, and marriage, and Hermione knew that the teenage Severus, so angry and bitter at the world so cruel to him from the start, at everything, and Severus, her love she knew today were two different people. "I was two when you were twenty-one. Cute."
Before Severus could form a witty response or shoot daggers at her blatant romantisation of their age difference (Cute? What the hell?), Minnie let out an indignant whimper and flailed her tiny fists in protest.
Hermione could almost hear the gears turning in his head, coming up with an instant solution. Without even looking up from his food.
Without pausing mid-sip, the wizard flicked two fingers toward the bassinet. A soft swish sound followed by floating pastel-colored mobiles—charming themselves into gentle rotation above her.
"You're such a dad," Hermione smiled with just a hint of teasing, but the undeniable tenderness in her eyes betrayed her thoughts.
"Suppose I am," Severus admitted with a shrug.
"Mama."
Experts would say that it was nothing but a coo, not something intentional, not something with meaning. But to Hermione, those two syllables spoken in the loveliest tone known to mankind, it meant everything.
"Mama, yes, darling! Go again. Mama. Ma—ma."
"Mamama. Mama. Eekh. Babamama."
"Severus, come here," Hermione called with a choked gasp. Astounded. Enamoured.
And come he did. Wielding a Muggle video camera with a tiny blinking red light indicating recording.
He couldn't stop himself from tearing up. Not when Minnie babbled happily, repeating those two syllables in various configurations, not when Hermione was beaming with pride and had teary eyes herself, too.
"Merry Christmas, Minnie. Merry Christmas, Severus."
"Awoo. Mamamama!"
"Merry Christmas, Minerva. Merry Christmas, my love."
Life was good.
Then—
"Dada!"
Severus almost fainted.
He was utterly doomed. He didn't, however, seem to mind in the slightest.
fin