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Hermione
Hermione was comfortably ensconced in her office reviewing her pactum anteludum and basking in the glow of self-satisfaction. Scorpius’s fourth birthday party had gone off without a hitch--cake was consumed, games were played, and the birthday boy had fallen asleep on her as they watched a fireworks show at the edge of the estate.
Not usually given to self-congratulation, she felt that in this case it was well earned. An age-line would keep Draco, Harry, and Ginny out the broom shed. George had been specifically excluded from the wards after The Incident; he had tried every trick to gain access to the Manor’s grounds again, but had relented and set up the fireworks just beyond the bounds of the property. And with the current state of their relationship, Narcissa was trying to stay on her good side.
She reviewed the clauses of the contract one more time and the terms were clear: starting at the age of four Draco had the right to teach any children how to fly and she had no say in the matter. However, she was allowed to add wards to the Manor as she saw fit and the Ministry defined an age-line as a ward. The real trick had been finding any broom or carpet in the manor that could still fly and moving them to the shed without Draco noticing. It had taken a few weeks and some carefully transfigured sticks to replace the various Falmouth Falcons wall-trophies, but her husband was none the wiser. She had also made Draco agree he wouldn’t give Scorpius quidditch lessons without her express permission, but her time in the magical world--and marriage--made extra precautions a habit.
She settled back in her chair, mind drifting, thinking about the date-night she had planned for them when a cherub that looked exactly like her son flew past her window.
She scrambled to see what was going on and after apprehending the situation, immediately apparated to the lawn with an irate ‘pop’.
“Draco Lucius Malfoy! What do you think you are doing?!”
Beaming, (and flapping his newly-acquired wings) Scorpius waved.
Her husband sperm-donor glared back at her; three-naming was contentious and doing it while emphasizing his father’s name was casus belli.
The glare was immediately followed by a half-dozen irate theatrical gestures emphasizing just how self-evident the answer to her question was, while not even dignifying it with a verbal response. The distraction of his lateral abdominals flexing through the performance had to be banished from her mind so she could properly accost the man who had decided vertical peril was an acceptable activity for their firstborn.
She stopped to give Scorpius a hug and a kiss before dragging the elder Malfoy far enough away for a muffliato.
“I thought we agreed on ‘no flying’?”
He rolled his bare wrists, making the fine musculature dance before slowly running a hand back through his hair, pausing and checking that he had all of her attention before giving a reply as sanguine as the gesture.
“I believe I agreed to ‘no quidditch lessons’.”
The Smirk emerged to accompany his rhetorical question, “Do you see a snitch?”
“I see a rat, and a soon-to-be-dead one at that.”
“I am clearly within my contractual rights.”
“I never signed that!”
“Take it up with your bro-ther,” came his sing-song reply.
“I did, as you’ll recall.”
She couldn’t help but match his fond smile at the memory of their first joint prank on Harry.
“The age-line around the broomshed was a nice touch.” He flexed his wings--and everything else--before demurring, “Shame you taught me this transfiguration.”
Hermione glanced over at Scorpius to make sure that he wasn’t somehow hearing them through the muffliato--she didn’t need worry, he was galloping around the lawn, cheerfully flapping his wings and giggling.
“That isn’t why I taught you that-”
“So magic is just for replicating whatever ‘romantic literature’ you were read-”
“Nooo...” She glared at him. And his pecs, and the sharp V that led to the thin material where a bulge--“How was he even up there? The transformation doesn’t let you fly.”
“The wings give him some control over a levicorpus.”
“So you are forcibly levitating our son-”
“For fun!”
“It is not a recreational spell!”
“Not with that attitude!” He gestured at Scorpius and explained, “It gets him comfortable in the air, which is all we really need to do at this age.”
“Humans aren’t supposed to be comfortable in the air.”
“Wow. Bias. From you of all-”
“What?!”
He approached her slowly, turning her around, he carefully embraced her from behind. She watched their little angel gambol through the grass as he explained, “I am eternally grateful for you calling me out on my magical biases and helping me move past them. In return, I am letting you know that you are applying a non-magical bias to the magical world.”
“This cannot be safe.” she said, trying--failing--to be insistent in the face of their ebullient progeny.
“I put momentum arresting and cushioning charms in the shirt and the shorts. Scorp would be fine even if I fell over and died mid-spell.”
“That can be arranged” she grumbled before leaning back into the hard planes of his form.
She felt the slight tickle of wandless magic between her shoulderblades. A long finger traced a slow path down the skin between her shoulder blades--a spot her blouse had covered until a moment before.
“Go on. Let our son see what an angel his mother is”
Hermione turned and shot him one last half-hearted glare, reaping a genuine smile in return. Giving in to the domestic bliss, she cast the spell on herself, golden-brown raptor’s wings immediately unfolding from her back. She saw a cascade of emotions cross her husband's face-- emotions he would let none but her see--before he turned to play with their son.
Wiltshire sunshine warmed their skin as they jumped, flew, and tickled their way through Scropius’s games. She was levitating her husband again, appreciating the tandem flex of his trapezius and wings as he spun through the air, when she decided she couldn’t wait much longer.
Setting him on the ground she whispered in his ear, “Meet me in the planetarium in ten minutes?”
He indicated his extremely casual clothing, “In this number?”
“The wings too.” She saw The Smirk make its inevitable return before she added, “Don’t worry, I’ll match.”
The hitch in his breathing was everything as she stepped away to give Scorpius one more hug and kiss. As she walked towards their marble monument to the heavens, she carefully folded her wings to frame the sway of hips, absolutely confident of her husband’s full attention. She smirked; he probably wouldn’t make it five minutes before summoning Tilly to keep an eye on their cherubic child.
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Scorpius
Flying was fun! It was too bad he didn’t get to do it on a broom like Al and Jamie--but he got to have wings!
Scorpius played on the lawn seeing if he could fly without daddy’s help while his parents talked. It was the kind of talk with the fuzzy-muzzy spell that made it so he couldn’t hear them. He knew that it meant Tilly would be watching him soon, but that was okay because that meant more icecream.
If he ‘bumped’ himself and cried after mum left his dad would get him a scoop in a bowl. Then Tilly would get him a cone with all the trimmings because that was their special secret. Then he would go to Auntie ‘Dromeda’s house because it was a Saturday and Teddy knew how to get into their muggle freezer to get the taco-icecreams that came in the silver wrapper.
He couldn’t stop grinning. Mum had just put her wings on and was coming to play too and he was going to get three icecreams today…