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Hermione awoke to the sound of muffled feet on the carpeted floor. Moments later, two small hands grabbed the duvet as leverage, and with a grunt, pulled themselves onto the bed; exposing Hermione’s shoulder to the cool air of the bedroom. She was snuggled against the warm, solid chest of her husband, his arm tucked under her ribs, caging her in, as he always did in his sleep.
“Daddy,” a soft voice whispered behind them.
“Hmmm” Draco hummed, his face buried in her curls; warm breath ghosting over her neck.
“Is it time, Daddy?” the voice asked.
The arm that held her, slowly retreated; taking with it the warmth of his embrace. The bed shifted as Draco turned around.
“It’s a bit early, lovebug.” he whispered back; a kiss echoing in the dark room. The covers lifted, letting in a swirl of cool air, raising goosebumps across Hermione’s legs. “Get in, and we’ll snuggle for a bit.” He said with a yawn, his words heavy with sleep.
Hermione smiled. The bed dipped and sank as Lyra nestled in with Draco.
Lyra, the one that gave Hermione the most difficult pregnancy and delivery, came out into the world kicking, and screaming. She, the tempest, while her brothers, the harbour. Draco and Hermione wouldn’t have it any other way.
Hermione’s eyes grew heavy, drifting back to sleep when a tiny voice whispered from under the covers.
“Is it time now, daddy?”
“Alright, lovebug. It’s time. Up you get.” Draco whispered to their four and a half year old. Hermione kept her eyes closed, and the smile that spread across her face hidden under her hand. She felt a brief kiss on her shoulder as she was cocooned and tucked back under the covers.
“Let’s leave mummy to get some sleep, yeah?” Draco murmured, and from the giggle that chimed out of Lyra, he had likely picked her up, and hoisted her over his shoulder as they exited the room.
Hermione gave them a half hour before she got up, dressed in her house coat, and went down to the kitchen. The Manor was large, but she heard the excited voices echo off the walls and couldn’t bear to leave them waiting any longer. Her slippers softly thumped on the hardwood floors as she made her way down the winding staircase, through the hallway, to where voices rang loud with laughter, and excitement.
She stood behind the door, watching the flurry of activity.
Scorpius, clad in his green plaid pajamas, hovered beside Draco, watching his father’s every move as he made pancakes, adding to the stack already piled high on a platter beside the hob. Lyra in her pink nightgown, with her golden brown curls cascading down her back, stood on a stool, a foot away from the hob, stirring the batter in the bowl. Orion, dressed in broomstick pajamas, was busy setting the table.
Eight year old fraternal twins, Scorpius and Orion, resembled their father so much. Hermione was certain they both would turn up with brown curls, but instead, they both have the signature blond hair from their father. Granted, the boys have a darker honey blond rather than the stark white, of their father.
She smirked, thinking back to that mundane day, lying in bed, watching the moon bewitch the night through their bedroom window. His palm had rested on the taut slope of her stomach. With a feather light touch, he had placed his ear on her belly, listening and waiting patiently to feel the bump of a kick.
He was adamant that the twins would look just like him, and she wasn’t going to let Draco drone on and on about having two carbon copies of him running around the Manor. So they’d made a bet. She’d raised her brow, and pointedly discerned that the boys will have their mother’s brown hair and ringlets—because? Well, genetics!
Little did she know that a month and a half later, she’d be let down— traitorous genetics with their blasted recessive genes. She’d gone into labour, birthed two blond children one after another, in a magical hospital; to the absolute awe and adoration of her husband. Yet, she'd bit her nails while nursing, much to her husband's delight. “Why are you so nervous, Granger?” he’d asked, cradling a twin in his arms, sitting on the chair beside her hospital bed, his lips curled into a crooked amused grin; replacing the look of adoration from moments earlier.
“You know why, you prat,” she’d uttered in a huff, knowing the cursed bet was about to rear its ugly head.
“Well, I suppose I do know why you’ve bitten off half your nails. Shall I put you out of your misery, darling?” he’d asked, leaning in, placing a kiss on her temple. She’d closed her eyes and nodded, shoulders tense, waiting expectantly.
“I’ve decided. Scorpius and Orion.” He’d said with a smile and watched her relax and exhale a deep breath.
He’d laughed, his shoulders shaking as he watched her deflate with relief. “You really didn’t think I was going to name one of them Puppis, did you?”
She’d smacked him playfully across the arm. “Draco, you went on and on for a month, calling one of our sons Pup, for short!” They’d both collapsed into laughter and Hermione had wished all days going forward would be this good.
“Dad, they’re going to burn!” Scorpius scolded Draco, eyes glued to the frying pan, bringing her out of her daydream.
“They’re fine, I promise Scorp,” Draco said, ruffling his hair.
“Ri, how’s the table?”
“Good, dad. I used the blue napkins with the snitches!”
Draco glanced over and smiled, “Well done, Ri!”
Hermione stepped through the doorway, and before she could utter good morning, she was smothered by three small tornados, hugging her while yelling a chorus of “Happy Mother’s Day!”
She sank to her knees and hugged them all, Lyra practically climbing over Orion, while Scorpius hung back, waiting patiently for his turn.
“Mummy, come sit, we made you breakfast!” Lyra tugged her hand, leading her to the table. Draco joined her, with a platter of pancakes and sausages, setting it down on the table, complete with fruit and a steaming pot of tea.
“Happy Mother’s Day, darling,” he murmured, his hands settling on her waist, pulling her in for a kiss, to a chorus of “Ew” from the boys.
Plates clattered as three pairs of hands reached out, serving themselves pancakes, sausages and fruit. She watched Orion drown his pancakes in syrup, and set the bottle back on the table with a clunk, carefully avoiding her eyes. She let it go this once, and looked up to find Draco watching Orion, shaking his head.
“We have to watch out for this one,” he said, nodding at Orion, who was already munching a honey soaked mouthful of pancake, a trace of syrup clinging to his chin. Her lips twisted into a wry smile, and she went back to her breakfast.
For a moment, the only sound was the scraping of forks and knives against plates and satisfied murmurs as everyone enjoyed their meal.
“Thank you for this lovely breakfast,” Hermione said, taking a bite of her pancake. “Scorp, honey, you did a great job. They're cooked to perfection.” She watched her son’s cheeks warm with a faint blush as he took a bite of his sausage.
“I twirled the batter!” Lyra piped up, her mouth full of pancakes and strawberries. Draco instinctively took his snitch napkin and wiped her mouth, making her squirm in her chair.
“Mmm, they’re so smooth, lovebug,” She said, smiling at the scene in front of her.
“I set the table, do you like the snitch napkins?” Orion asked, jutting out his chest, a grin across his face.
“I do, Ri. You set my favourite mug too. I love it.” She said, feeling the thrum of their excitement as they swung their feet and happily ate their breakfast.
Hermione watched her children, each one of them, singular in their own way. Lyra, even at this young age, is a whirlwind. Spreading her playful energy like a tidal wave, immersing everyone in her path. Orion, ever adventurous, and independent. The first to master the broom, taking to it as if he’s a natural. Then there’s Scorpius. The oldest, the first born by twenty-eight minutes. While Lyra and Orion are whirring forces of energy, Scorpius was shy, patient, and thoughtful.
Scorpius leaned into his dad, “Dad, can we do presents, now?” he asked, his voice hushed, controlled. Even though she didn’t know Draco in his younger years, she was certain Scorpius is very much like his father.
It took only a beat for Draco to nod and throw his arm around Scorpius, to have all three children push their chairs back, and run out of the kitchen.
She watched Draco reach for the pot of tea, her eyes lingering on his taut biceps under his t-shirt. He moved to fill her cup, and when he looked up, his grey eyes met hers, instantly transporting her back to their eighth-year, where they’d kissed on a snow drift, having fallen off their sled. It was the same mesmerizing gaze that had held her spellbound when he dropped to his knees and asked her to spend the rest of her days with him, and the same stormy grey that welled with tears when she told him he was going to be a father.
He placed the teapot down and reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips when the doors to the kitchen swung open and the children came running in, vibrating with excitement over who gets to give their present first. Draco gently hushed them, and they all agreed that Orion should go first.
“Mum, I really wanted to get you a rat; there was a big, grey one at the Magical Menagerie, but dad wouldn’t let me. So, I made you this—dad helped me.” He extended a box, wrapped in silver wrapping, corners crumpled together, held precariously by at least a foot of cellotape. Hermione stole a glance at Draco and he returned her expression with one that read, “I’ll tell you later.”
She grinned and pulled Orion onto her lap. She carefully opened it and gasped at what lay inside. A hand carved car, painted green, was nestled in the box.
“It’s just like grandpa’s, from the photo in your room. I wanted to make one just like it because you always tell us stories about grandpa driving you in the motor car.” Orion explained.
Hermione’s eyes heated at the thoughtful gesture and the beautifully carved car in her hand. “I love it, Ri. It’s perfect. This means so much to me, thank you, love.” Hermione wiped her eyes and placed a kiss on his cheek before he wiggled out of her lap.
Draco stood up, pushing his chair out from the table. “Scorp, why don’t you go next?” he asked.
Scorpius grinned and held out his hand to his mother, waiting expectantly for her to take it. Hermione furrowed her brow, looked up at all the children and found them all with wide smiles, waiting eagerly for her to take his hand. Her fingers barely locked with his, before she was tugged out of her chair, and promptly pulled out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
“Where are we going, Scorp?” laughter bubbled out of her, trying to keep up with him, as his footsteps turned to an eager run. They rounded the hallway and went into the ballroom; Orion, Lyra and Draco trailing behind them. Scorpius slowed, led her to a chair set next to the piano and gestured for Hermione to take seat. Her breath hitched, and her heart skipped a beat, when she realized what was to come.
Scorpius padded over to the piano and sat on the bench, lifting the fallboard; settling himself by placing his hands on the keys. With a small nod, he took a deep breath and started to play.
The cheerful melodic tune of Trumpet Voluntary filled the room. Even though the arrangement was simplified, he carried the melody with his right hand while his left provided depth and foundation. Draco stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, giving her a slight squeeze as she watched through watery eyes. He played the final notes and looked up, a smile so wide her heart ached. She beamed at her quiet, shy boy, knowing he’d practiced in secret for hours to play this for her. She dashed to the piano, hugging Scorpius to her chest, placing a kiss to his head. “Thank you, sweetie. That was outstanding! I loved it. And you got the trills.” Hermione exclaimed.
“I know, but they’re so hard, mum,” he whispered, making her smile.
“Yes, but you did it. I’m so proud of you.” She said, watching his cheeks heat with a slight flush.
“Me, next! I’m next!” a voice sang behind them. Two small hands tugged on her housecoat, spinning her around to face her rosy cheeked daughter, shuffling on her feet, teeming with excitement.
Gripping handfuls of her housecoat with her slender hands, Lyra tugged Hermione to the floor, making her fall to her knees, staring into bright hazel eyes that sparkled with excitement. Lyra leaned in, her sweet, cherubic face smelling of strawberries and pancakes, making Hermione want to smother her with kisses.
“Mummy, we’re going to play dress up!”
“We are?!” She asked, giving into the contagious energy and enthusiasm of her daughter, Hermione threw her head back and giggled; abandoning any kind of adult decorum, surrendering to her daughter’s delight.
“Yes! Daddy said it’s all set in his office, so you won’t see,” Lyra grabbed her hand and led her out of the ballroom and into the hallway, leading her to Draco’s study.
“Dad, do we have to?” She heard Orion whisper to Draco, as they entered the study.
“Of course we do. We celebrate together, Ri.” Draco answered.
Hermione’s eyes widened as she walked into the office. She was bewildered at how Draco had managed to get everything that stood stock piled on his desk. There were feather boas of various colours, princess dresses, tiaras, sparkle make up, nail polish and to her utter surprise, Batman, Spiderman and Star Wars costumes.
The children immediately ran to the desk, rummaging through it all, talking and laughing as they chose what they wanted to try. Hermione spun on her heels, a quizzical look on her face, searching Draco’s for answers.
“Potter—this is all Potter. I said dress-up, and he said, ‘Leave it to me’.” Draco answered with air quotes, rolling his eyes.
“Mummy, Daddy, come!” Lyra called from behind the desk, her arms full of pink and purple feathers while holding a jar of nail polish.
Hermione and Draco padded over while the boys were trying on their costumes. Lyra made both of her parents sit at the table; wrapping Hermione in the purple boa while Draco was wrapped in the pink. Lyra opted to wear a blue tutu over her nightgown with a yellow boa. The boa was a chaotic ball of puff that engulfed most of Lyra’s face.
Hermione watched as Lyra opened the bottle of hot pink nail polish, her tongue peaking out of her mouth as she opened it and commanded her father to place his hands on the table. Her brown ringlets fell softly around her face as she focused intently on painting her father’s nails one by one, blowing on it after to make sure the polish had dried. All things she’d learned by watching her mother and aunt Ginny.
Her eyes flitted from her daughter to her husband. The man who used to walk the halls of Hogwarts in a suit, hair combed to the side, shoulders burdened by the weight of the world.
The same man sat, only a few feet away, dressed in an old t-shirt stained with flour and a bit of pancake syrup, over a pair of joggers. His hair fell over his eyes, not a hair product in sight. He watched his little lovebug paint his finger nails, while talking about how much he loved the blue tutu over the white, because it reminded him of the endless blue sky over the Manor.
The remainder of the day was spent playing games, watching the children go for a broom ride with their father and making homemade pizza for dinner. Lyra had fallen asleep an hour ago and Hermione and Draco had read the last bed time story to the twins, tucking them in for the night.
She finished running the comb over her damp curls and strolled out of the bathroom and onto the bed, where Draco sat, his back against the headboard, turning a small velvet box in his hands; nails glistening with hot pink polish.
“I had a wonderful day, Draco. Thank you,” she murmured, straddling him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. The box momentarily discarded, he cupped her face and deepened the kiss, eliciting a moan.
He pulled back, his hands leaving her face, finding the velvet box discarded to the side only a second ago.
“I didn't get to give you my gift,” he murmured, offering her the box in his palm. She tentatively reached for it, opening the lid with a snap, and froze.
“Love, never in my wildest dreams did I think I would get to have this. You gave me the most precious gifts in the world, those three across the hall—they’re my world, Hermione. And you, you’re an extraordinary mum. We’re so lucky to have you,” he said, leaning in; placing a soft kiss on her lips.
Hermione brushed away the tear that had coursed down her cheek with the back of her hand and gently took the necklace that was nestled in the box. A pendant with three delicate, vertically set gem stones hung from a simple white gold chain. A ruby flanked by two diamonds, the birth stones of the children. Draco clasped the necklace around her neck and the pendant settled beautifully at the base of her throat.
“Happy Mother’s Day, love.”