Work Text:
Christmas Eve, 2005
Report submitted by: Lucius Abraxas Malfoy
Concerning person(s): Draco Lucius Malfoy
Alleged crime(s): Dark artefact possession in violation of Draco Lucius Malfoy’s parole.
Response required: Residential search by qualified DMLE officer. Warrant mandatory.
What business did Lucius Malfoy have reporting dark magic?
Hermione frowned then checked the time: half-past three in the afternoon. Of course this had to hit her in-tray mere hours before she could clock out. She knew Head Auror Robards would want this resolved expeditiously, boosting their close-out rate for the year. Someone on the Court must have been similarly eager to wrap up business before the holidays, because she received the requisite warrant and Floo access within an hour. She then sent off an official notice to Draco Malfoy, informing him of the accusation levied and his right to legal counsel to oversee the search of his residence.
Hermione expected a Howler in return, or a strongly worded letter from Draco’s solicitor about Ministry harassment and abuse of power. Family squabbles were none of the DMLE’s business in Hermione’s opinion, but for Lucius Malfoy to accuse his only son of an imprisonable offence? Curious indeed.
As the clock neared five, Hermione resigned herself to a potentially ugly standoff with her former schoolmate.
But a surprisingly warm and comfortable parlour greeted her on the other side of the Floo. She couldn’t see any rooms beyond, only a long, carpeted hallway. This room hardly seemed the place for dark deeds. One of the velvet curtains hung askew, as if it had been recently yanked. “The Tales of Beedle the Bard” open beneath a divan, a stuffed dragon tipped sideways in an armchair, a wooden train mid-circle on a low table. And everywhere she looked above, faux snowflakes dangled like a paper version of Hogwarts’ enchanted ceiling.
Sounds of life filtered from down the hall, and a floating note intercepted her.
“Officer of the DMLE, please proceed to the dining room. I hope you’ll understand why I cannot escort you personally.
-Draco Malfoy.”
Bristling at the odd summons, Hermione squared her shoulders. She had a job to do and she would not let Malfoy’s entitlement deter her.
A less grand room awaited her with a dining table large enough for six, a modest Christmas Eve dinner spread atop it, and a familiar man seated at the head. All along the hall and continued here, a ceiling full of cutout snowflakes.
“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy.”
“Gra—Auror Granger.”
Clearly he hadn’t expected her, and she relished briefly in having the upper hand. Until she noticed the room’s other occupant.
“Hah!”
A tiny blond child secured in a high chair clenched and unclenched a chubby fist in her direction.
Draco collected himself first. “Very good, Scorpius. He’s saying hello to you.”
Hermione’s astonishment at the child couldn’t be helped. He had all of Malfoy’s features (the white-blond hair, grey eyes) transposed onto a baby’s rounder frame. It was one thing to read about Draco’s paternal status in his file, another thing entirely to witness it in person.
Scorpius goggled back at her in that way small children often did with new adults: open-mouthed and unblinking as they assessed whether they were threat, friend, or source of food.
“I believe you’re here in an official capacity?” Draco clipped.
She cleared her throat. “On behalf of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement I am searching the premises for evidence of dark magicks. Any suspected illegal artefacts will be taken into Ministry custody for further examination. Should you be found in violation of your parole, you will be escorted to a Ministry holding cell pending further investigation. Do you understand the procedures as I have read them to you?”
“Yes,” he said without looking up, busy wiping his baby’s nose.
“Do you acknowledge that I have informed you of your right to have legal counsel present during the search?”
“Acknowledged. Proceed as you will.”
“I’ll just…get on with it then.”
Draco dismissed her with a careless wave.
Leaving behind the completely normal domestic scene, Hermione began with the next room over. Her embarrassment increased with each room checked via a simple detection spell. Despite her curiosity, she didn’t venture too far into the rooms, granting Malfoy dignity he hadn’t exactly earned, but was at least owed for being the subject of a ridiculous, likely fabricated allegation.
Through her scan of Malfoy’s record, Hermione knew he’d served a brief sentence in Azkaban in 1998, bought his current residence in 2000, married Astoria Greengrass in 2001, and both welcomed a son and became a widower in the past year. Though the file didn’t, and couldn’t, detail the falling-out with his parents, Hermione assumed it was irreparable given the report from Lucius today. What happened to the Malfoy family?
Search completed after the modest home revealed nothing of note, Hermione returned to the dining room to find father and son still eating their meal.
“All finished,” she announced.
Draco’s lip curled but Scorpius interrupted any ugly remarks.
“Dada!” he said, gesturing to the ceiling. Draco, without a trace of embarrassment for his audience, pointed his wand at the snowflakes. After a whispered charm, they flew down in a whirl, flitting around the baby’s head as he giggled and drooled in his father’s smiling face.
Draco turned to Hermione and his expression hardened. “You’ll let my father know you found everything in order?”
“I—I cannot disclose the individual who filed the report.”
“Of course you can’t.”
“Bah!” said Scorpius.
“Quite right, Scorpius.”
“Bah!”
“Indeed, darling. If that’s all, Auror Granger, I’m sure you can find your way back through the Floo without my assistance and forgive my poor manners for not showing you out.”
“Of course.”
“Owowowooo!” called Scorpius.
She couldn’t resist a smile this time. “Happy Christmas, Scorpius. And you, Malfoy.” He only nodded then turned his attention to his young son, carefully cleaning mashed peas off his chin.
Back at the office, Hermione incinerated the warrant and marked the matter as officially resolved in the DMLE log. She hoped Lucius Malfoy choked on his Christmas pudding.
Christmas Eve 2006
Report submitted by: Lucius Abraxas Malfoy
Concerning person(s): Draco Lucius Malfoy
Alleged crime(s): Suspected dark magic practices
Response required: Residential search by qualified DMLE officer. Warrant mandatory.
Since her search the year before, Hermione didn’t spare many thoughts for the Malfoys. It had been an open and shut case, an oddity to be sure, but in a life full of oddities, Hermione couldn’t say last Christmas Eve would have cracked the top ten.
Yet, apparently Lucius Malfoy felt like intruding upon her last work day before the holidays for the second year in a row. Draco met Hermione the moment she spun out of his Floo.
“Auror Granger, welcome back. I presume we will follow a similar script to last year’s charade?”
“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy. On behalf of—”
“Hi!”
Hermione saw a shock of blond hair standing knee-height next to Draco. “Hello, Scorpius.”
The boy immediately became shy, sliding behind his father’s legs and peering at her with wide eyes.
“I acknowledge and waive the legal supervision. I believe you know your way around?” said Draco.
Hermione performed her checks quicker this year, bothering with neither Draco’s bedroom nor the nursery. She found both Malfoys in the parlour where she’d left them: Draco in an armchair bouncing his knee while Scorpius manoeuvred a wooden car back and forth on the rug.
“All in order. Again.”
Draco sneered. “My father loves a tradition.”
“I cannot disclose—”
He continued over her, seething. “He knows exactly what he’s doing. If he jeopardises my parole, he’ll put my custody of Scorpius at risk and he’ll find a way to swoop in.”
Hermione barely contained an outraged gasp. “Surely Astoria’s parents—?”
“Didn’t care about her when she was alive and certainly don’t care now.”
“Her sister?”
“Daphne’s lived in France since Astoria passed. She’s allowed her peace; I have no enmity towards her.”
“I’d intervene. If you ever needed a character witness to testify to the false nature of these allegations.”
Her impulsive offer prompted a head-tilted stare as Draco regarded her with both curiosity and heavy suspicion. She wondered if his father’s appalling betrayal might have made him slow to trust any spontaneous kindness.
“Dada? Eat?”
At Scorpius’ question, Draco’s features smoothed to that of a welcoming host.
“Yes, darling. Might as well stay for dinner, Auror Granger, if you have no prior engagements. Come, Scorpius.”
Hermione watched Scorpius trail obediently after his father. She dithered for a moment, weighing the appropriateness of accepting the invitation. She’d skipped lunch. She had no pending cases. She had no pending anything, personal or professional, if truth be told.
Her parents remained in Australia and they’d Floo-call tomorrow. Her friends all had plans and assumed she’d be working. Because she was always working. If she wanted to ascend the bureaucratic ladder all the way to Minister, that included a robust stint in the DMLE followed by the International Department, overlapping with service on the Wizengamot. So if she worked the occasional Christmas Eve and hoarded cases, then so be it. Personal sacrifices at the start of her career could mean a huge payoff down the line.
Her stomach rumbled, deciding for her. Hermione joined the Malfoy family at their table.
Dinner was a strange yet casual affair. Draco spent the majority of the meal ensuring his son ate and only spared some cursory small talk for Hermione. After Draco cleared their plates with a few flicks from his wand, Scorpius climbed into Draco’s lap easily. Nestled against his father, he watched Hermione with curious and steadily drooping eyes.
Hermione saw how her closest friends had changed as they’d descended into parenthood. How Harry and Ginny had become better communicators, more open with their emotions. How maturity had taken root in Ron and Lavender.
From these brief glimpses into his private life, fatherhood had bestowed humility upon Draco Malfoy. Hermione detected no trace of the spoiled bully from Hogwarts. Nor the cowardly foot soldier from the war.
He asked her surface-level questions about her work as an Auror and inquired after her friends, keeping things light and perfunctory while still seeming genuinely interested.
He must miss this, adult conversation, she surmised. Careful to avoid the topic of his parents, Hermione asked after Scorpius, who only emerged from his pudding-induced stupor to demand Draco “make snowflakes.”
As he had the year prior, Draco charmed paper snowflakes to flap and fly around his son’s delighted face. After that brief excitement, the dull adult chatter sufficiently lulled Scorpius into a drooling, open-mouthed sleep.
“I should put Scorpius to bed, won’t be a moment.”
“Oh. I should go.” She smiled at the sleeping child in Draco’s arms. "He looks remarkably like you."
"How unfortunate for him."
"It's an evolutionary theory. First-born children usually resemble the father so there is no question of paternity."
"Glad to know it's biology and not inherited bad luck."
The mention of Muggle science disarmed her. "He's a beautiful child."
Draco smirked. "Why Granger, does that mean you think I'm beautiful?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and stood. “Happy Christmas, Malfoy. Thank you for dinner.”
Christmas Eve, 2007
Report submitted by: Lucius Abraxas Malfoy
Concerning person(s): Draco—
“For Merlin’s sake,” Hermione muttered and balled up the report.
Draco’s furious face greeted her as he waved the DMLE notice when she stepped out of the Floo.
“I will not capitulate to him.”
“Mr. Malfoy—”
“Astoria and I swore that we would never allow our parents to influence our child the way they…I vowed that we would eschew all their ideologies, that our son would never learn it. And my father had the audacity to threaten disinheritance because she dared stand up to him.”
“Draco—”
“He’s never met Scorpius, and now, he never will. My wife died bringing our son into this world, and this is how he would honour her memory!”
A toy car clattered to the floor as Scorpius startled. Draco looked immediately abashed. “Come here, darling.”
Scorpius walked over cautiously and accepted his father’s outstretched hand. “Scorpius, I apologise for raising my voice. I am not angry with you.”
“Okay, Dada.”
Draco grimaced as the young boy went happily back to his cars.
“Make sure you include all that in your official documentation,” he said in a bitter undertone.
“There’s nothing to document. I’m not going to search your home, nor will I file this. If I were to write an account it would probably read: Auror on-duty found a father and son attempting to enjoy their Christmas despite cruel intrusions upon their peace and privacy.”
“Thank you,” he said, and dropped with a heavy exhale into an armchair. He gestured for Hermione to sit opposite.
“You could file harassment charges against your father,” she said.
“No, I—I quite think that would break my mother’s heart. More so than all this already has. The timing leads me to believe he does this without her knowledge, perhaps when she’s in the throes of holiday party planning and he can sneak away.”
Scorpius cradled a car and approached Hermione. “Are you having dinner with us?”
Hermione peered over at Draco but found only a blank, albeit tired, face.
“If your father agrees. This was my last case before the holidays.”
“Of course, Auror Granger, you’d be most welcome.”
For the second year in a row, she swallowed down thoughts of impropriety and joined Draco and Scorpius for their Christmas Eve meal.
“I always like the snowflakes,” she said and pointed to the ceiling as Draco fastened a bib around Scorpius.
“They’re mummy’s,” said Scorpius.
“Astoria always made them. For me,” explained Draco. “Obviously she never had the chance for…anyway, she delighted in forcing joy upon me, especially at Christmas. So now I make them.”
“It’s a lovely way to remember her. Scorpius, did you help?”
The boy nodded vigorously. “Are you an Auror?”
“Yes.”
“Harry Potter is an Auror.”
“He is,” Hermione said with a surprised laugh. “He’s also my best friend.”
Scorpius regarded her with wide eyes. “He’s real?”
Hermione shot a quizzical look at Draco.
“There’s a book. For children. About Potter and his…attributes,” Draco said, haltingly. “It’s become a particular favourite of Scorpius’.”
“Harry Potter has a lightning scar!”
“He does,” Draco confirmed dryly as Hermione hid a giggle in her glass.
“Harry Potter flies a Firebolt!”
Draco shot her a pleading look, but Hermione grinned. She’d make no promises about not telling Harry the first chance she could.
And so Hermione passed another strange yet pleasant evening with Draco and his son, taking her leave when Scorpius almost fell asleep in his hot chocolate.
Once home, Hermione recalled a useful spell for sending private letters, ensuring they could only be opened by the intended recipient.
She cast it once she sealed her letter to Narcissa Malfoy.
Christmas Eve, 2008
Auror Granger,
Since it seems we are perennially fated to spend Christmas Eve together, allow me to formally invite you for dinner this year. Scorpius would be delighted if you attended.
Sincerely,
Draco Malfoy
When Auror life wasn’t drowning her in mundane cases or making her lose faith in humanity, Hermione was frantically polishing up her CV, waiting for the first opportunity to strike on an open position in the International Department.
So what if she refused pub nights more often than not? Or if her dating life consisted only of tepid first dates?
This counted as holiday plans, Hermione decided.
It was one of the most delightful evenings she’d passed as of late. Scorpius had shed his shyness of previous years and insisted on singing every Christmas carol he knew. His boisterous, high-pitched voice rang out exuberantly, with no self-conscious pauses if he forgot a word or an entire verse.
Draco too, had shed some of his reserved nature, even if he appeared distracted most of their meal. When he thought Scorpius had captured Hermione’s attention, he’d anxiously peer towards the hall, as if straining to hear more people arriving.
After a flurry of snowflakes flew down around Scorpius as he spun himself round and round until he collapsed on the floor, breathing hard, Draco declared bedtime.
Scorpius leapt to his feet and ran to Hermione. “Will you come to dinner again?”
“If your father is amenable, I would love to see you next year.”
“You could come tomorrow? We’re not busy. You could come. No one visits us.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, a light flush on his cheeks. “Scorpius, why don’t you change into your pyjamas and select a book? I’ll be along shortly.”
He wished Hermione a happy Christmas before skipping down the hall.
Draco drained his wine glass. “About what Scorpius said. You are certainly not obligated to us, but if you ever happen to have a free evening…”
“I meant what I said. I’d love to.”
Draco smiled but threw another nervous look at the parlour. “Apologies if I seem preoccupied, I keep anticipating Aurors bursting through the Floo.”
“You don’t have to worry about that anymore, I should think.” She couldn’t help grinning, and continued triumphantly, “I may have written to your mother and explained about what your father was doing. I imagine she put a stop to it.”
What Hermione thought might have netted her a “thank you” only inspired a cold glare.
“Why on earth would you do that?”
“So he’d stop bothering you. And it worked, did it not?”
Draco pushed away from the table and stood. “What made you think you had any right to insert yourself into my family’s business? Is it the sort of entitlement that comes with being an Auror, or is this your own personal brand of loose-lipped interference?”
“Interference? Draco, you weren’t handling it so I did you a favour!”
“I never once asked you for a favour, and I never will.”
Hermione stood too. “My interference has allowed you to safely care for your child without threats from your father.”
“Are you questioning my ability to parent Scorpius?”
“No, I only wanted to help. I—”
“Dad!” Scorpius called from the bedroom.
Draco looked at her for a long moment.
“If you’ll excuse me, my presence as a parent is required. Something you wouldn’t know the first thing about.”
He turned on his heel and left with the clear implication that she would show herself out and not return.
Christmas Eve 2009
Draco sent her a letter in February. Though he never invited her to his home, he invited her into his (and his son’s) life. He inquired after her health and career, then updated her on Scorpius: his current interests and intellectual development.
With his previous cruel remarks still fresh in her mind, Hermione contemplated never responding. But she pictured Scorpius’ bright, hopeful face when he’d asked if she’d come back another time. Draco’s solitude might be self-imposed, and though his child seemed happy and well-loved, she wondered if they might not feel unbearably lonely at times.
Not your job to fix them, she scolded herself.
Not your business, he made that clear, she warned as she picked up a quill.
One letter can’t hurt, she thought as she sealed the envelope.
Draco wrote back the next day, congratulating her on her new International position and wishing her well on her upcoming trip to Sweden.
And so it went for months: he recommended restaurants for her travels, she recommended books. He sent reading material, she sent souvenirs for Scorpius.
In June he sent a letter that contained the words: “I’d like to apologise for:”
He began with their argument from last Christmas but then went further back: to the war, to Sixth Year and before, further and further into their awful past.
When his invitation arrived for Christmas Eve, Hermione declined with a heavy heart, last year’s debacle outweighing her desires.
She’d seen Draco out and about in London a few times, always with Scorpius, and made a point to greet them in public. Draco was never out past sundown, never at the pubs or out on a dinner date or at a friend’s party. Unsolicited advice lingered on the tip of her tongue and quill. But Hermione didn’t know the pain of widowed life, nor the trials of single parenthood, and a few Christmases together hardly made her a trusted friend.
Because friends wouldn’t let friends spend Christmas Eve alone, at the very least.
This was her rationale for Floo’ing to Draco’s home far later than socially appropriate. He received her with a surprised smile and poured her some mulled wine.
Two glasses later and the polite chatter gave way to more serious subjects. Firesides and snowy evenings made her maudlin nowadays, despite the cosy, warm atmosphere and an attractive man at her side.
He appeared burdened this evening too, staring into his drink.
“Some people think I deserve to be a widower.”
“Those people are horrid.”
“How did my father phrase it? Astoria’s death was, ‘a chance to reshape my image. Show the world I can carry on through a loss.’”
“How disgustingly reductive.”
“He’s always viewed relationships as transactional. I don’t think he could fathom that she loved me, and I her, without any sort of conditions.” He sipped some wine. “He’s dying.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not, but thank you all the same.”
“I am sorry for how it makes you feel. And your mother.”
“She wants me to see him. To let him say his piece.”
“What do you want?”
The nature of families could shift; shaped by time, trauma, arguments, and reconciliations. She saw how Draco warred with that now, how he battled his instinctual, youthful desire to please his father with his resolve to sever ties with someone who had hurt him gravely.
“Not a clue. Don’t suppose you could tell me what to do here?”
“No, unfortunately. I may be bossy, but I do have my limits.”
“Shame. I like when you’re bossy.”
She laughed. “You do not.”
“I do.” His voice lowered, as did his eyes, catching on her face, finding her lips. “I do.”
Draco leaned forward, paused, leaned in again, paused. Hermione waited, letting her stillness signal her intent to participate in whatever Draco initiated.
He stopped just shy of her mouth. He sighed and course-corrected: a barely-there kiss landing on her cheek before he pulled back.
“I’m not…” His gaze flicked up to the hanging paper snowflakes.
“You don’t have to explain. It’s all right.”
Draco sat back against the sofa heavily. “I don’t know what I can…offer. For the time being.”
“I enjoy our letters,” Hermione said.
“As do I.”
“And if it’s only Christmas Eve dinners, that’s also perfectly fine.”
“You are quite the traveller these days. Seeing us would be a rarity, I imagine.”
She smiled at the way he included Scorpius and raised her glass. “To doing things on our own time.”
Draco clinked her glass. “In our own way.”
Christmas Eve 2010
She had to decline.
With her parents finally returning to London for Christmas, she spent her holidays reintroducing them to her life here. She did send Scorpius a present: a signed photo from Harry Potter himself (one Harry was all too happy to provide).
It was her least favourite Christmas of recent memory.
Christmas Eve 2011
She accepted.
Scorpius had his first instance of accidental magic the week before and was fit to bursting with excitement for Hogwarts.
“You’re in luck, Scorpius. Miss Granger has ‘Hogwarts, A History’ memorised,” Draco said with a sly grin.
Hermione gamely answered enthusiastic questions about classes, moving staircases, the library, house elves, and to Draco’s dismay, Harry Potter.
Christmas Eve 2012
She travelled to Australia and ached for mulled wine and paper snowflakes.
Christmas Eve 2013 & 2014
Despite the probing questions from her mother or the outright confusion from most of her friends, Hermione settled into her usual chair at the Malfoys’ dining room table and felt secure in her choice.
Christmas Eve 2015
Hermione heard the name “Albus” more times than she could count.
Though she’d personally known Albus Potter since birth, that didn’t stop Scorpius from giving her a thorough report-out of all his likes, dislikes, hobbies, and how they dovetailed with Scorpius’ interests.
It could have been the candlelight, but Draco’s eye seemed to twitch with every mention of Harry’s son.
When Scorpius finally paused for breath, Hermione turned to Draco.
“And how is your mother?”
“Well, thank you. We’ll see her tomorrow for Christmas lunch. She had an engagement this evening.”
“But Dad, I thought Grandmother invited us over but you said no because Miss Granger was coming here and that she was significant and not to meddle?”
Draco coughed. “I think it’s time for bed, Scorpius. Best be asleep when Father Christmas comes through.”
Scorpius rolled his eyes, but still gave his father a tight hug before taking his leave.
Draco and Hermione moved to the parlour sofa, side by side as was their habit now.
“Breaks my heart that he no longer believes,” said Draco. “Told me he figured it out when he was six. Too clever for his own good.”
“From what I hear from Headmistress McGonagall, he’s more than clever. You have quite the potions prodigy on your hands. She described Scorpius as exceptionally bright and kind.”
“She discusses my son with you?”
This is why I love you, Hermione thought. That prickly way his guard went up in an instant for his child.
“Only because I asked after him. I ask after Harry’s kids and the Weasleys, too. All the children I care about.”
“I’m glad to know you care for Scorpius.”
“Very much. He’s a lovely boy.”
“Highly resembles his father, I’m told.”
“His temperament is lovely. I adore him, truly.”
“And where do I rank on your adoration scale?”
Hermione slid lower and laid her head on Draco’s shoulder. “Higher than you think, I’m sure.”
And she knew, before he placed his glass down, before his fingers found their way to her knee, before his hand cradled her face, that he would kiss her. That he would love her.
His kiss was softly done, as careful as he’d been with both her heart and his in the past decade. Hermione answered him in kind, with fingertips against his cheek and eager lips pressing back.
They kissed until the fire burned low, until they’d indulged years’ worth of tension and want, until there could be no mistaking that nights like this would occur frequently and in perpetuity.
Christmas Eve 2017
“Faster, come on, Granger.”
“I could if you unbutton—there.”
The sight of Draco in his high-collared, fussy robes had Hermione itching to remove them the second she arrived through the Floo. Neither bothered with fully undressing before Hermione straddled him on the sofa. It was a well-rehearsed dance by now: her skirts rucked up enough to sink onto him, her bodice low enough so he could kiss her breasts, his collar undone enough for her teeth to scrape his skin, bare minimums to net pleasurable maximums.
They didn’t—couldn’t—relish too long in their post-coital haze, helping each other straighten clothes and adjust hair.
“I know we should have waited until later, but”—he cupped her face and kissed her—“I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“I’m all yours for the holidays at least. When you want me, that is. I won’t intrude on your time with Scorpius.”
Draco smoothed a curl from her face. “What if you moved in here with me? With us.”
“I—”
A chime from the mantel alerted them to Scorpius fire-calling. Hermione stood and hovered out of sight, unsure how her presence would be received.
“Hi, Dad. Albus’ dad said I could stay for dinner if it’s okay with you. And that you were invited over, too. Oh, and Hermione if she’s already there with you. Mr. Potter called her Hermione, sorry. Minister Granger is who I mean.”
“I know who you mean, Scorpius,” Draco said wearily.
“So she is there?” Scorpius smirked then yelled over his shoulder. “Albus! Tell Mr. Weasley—your Uncle Ron—tell him he owes your dad a Galleon!” He turned back to Draco with a cheeky grin, “See you both soon!”
Draco shook his head and reached for her hand. “What do you say?”
“Dinner sounds wonderful.”
“And all the rest?”
As distinct as the snowflakes falling outside, as their paper versions hanging inside, each previous Christmas Eve whirled in her memories: past loneliness making way for present love.
Hermione kissed his knuckles. “Even more so.”
Christmas Eve 2019
Hermione stroked her daughter’s face then tucked her stray arm back into the swaddle.
“Little escape artist strikes again I see,” said Draco, peering into the bassinet.
“Hmm, I think she’s staging a coup over her nap schedule.”
Scorpius hovered anxiously in the doorway, wringing his hands. “Can I hold her?”
Hermione lifted Lyra and transferred her to Scorpius’ waiting arms. He sat carefully before fishing out his wand.
“Watch this, Lyra,” Scorpius whispered. He twirled his wand and paper snowflakes floated down. They formed one big snowflake, then started glowing in reds and greens and golds.
“Show off,” said Draco.
“I take after my dad, I’m told.” He quipped and smiled at Hermione. His smile had always been softer than Draco’s, and Hermione knew it pleased him to see Astoria in that beautiful feature of their child.
Scorpius held a snowflake in front of Lyra’s curious eyes. “My mum used to make these for Dad, and then he made them for me. Now we all get to make them for you.”
Hermione worried about a great many things: whether the age gap, envy, or resentment, would keep these siblings from being close. But after such a long path, carefully and intentionally tread, Hermione believed that the family they’d made together could withstand just about anything.
On their own time, in their own way.