Fait à la Perfection

7

It was four in the morning when Hermione awoke. She stared at the ceiling and fought the urge to get up.

She went over recipes.

Math equations.

Wand movements.

Nothing.

Nothing helped her.

When Lily began to whimper. She exhaled thankfully and shot out of bed. Walking up to the crib, she saw Lily wobbling her lower lip. Her thumb in her mouth.

"Hi Lily," Hermione whispered, "come on pretty girl."

She left the bedroom and went through the motions once more. Once Lily fell asleep on the rocking swing. She took the opportunity to make some cookies.

The doorbell rung and Hermione was confused before going to the door.

Malfoy stood on the other side.

"Malfoy?" She asked softly, "it's...five in the morning."

"How's everything going?"

Hermione sighed and leaned on the door. A slight shiver ran down her body as the crispy, cold London air summoned goosebumps on her arms.

"As good as it can go, James spends all the time in his room, Henry has been wetting the bed, and Lily...she's still not sleeping all night."

"How are the tantrums?"

"Two a day."

"That's better."

She hummed sleepily.

"I have an appointment with the pedriactics doctor today for Henry and Lily...and I'm taking James to the psychiatrist."

"That bad?"

She sighed.

"My therapist said that the quicker I can get him help, the easier it will be for him."

"You're in therapy?"

"Five years, three weeks, and two days, but whose counting?" She said sleepily. Yawning into her hand.

The alarm rung and she went back into the kitchen. Malfoy followed her and looked into the bassinet while she pulled the cookie dough out of the refrigerator. She rolled them into balls before putting them in the oven.

"When are you going back to work?"

"Tomorrow...Malfoy?" she murmured.

"Yes?"

"Why...why are you helping me?"

He went silent.

"Because—"

"Hermione?"

Hermione looked to the door of the kitchen. Henry stood there with drenched pyjamas. She sighed and looked sheepishly at Malfoy before going to pick up the boy. She took him to the kitchen and summoned a fresh pair of clothes before turning on the tap and helping him strip down.

"Henry," she said. "I thought you were potty trained...that's why you didn't want to wear the sleep pampers."

"They're itchy, and James called me a baby for still wearing diapers."

"Henry," she sighed. Helping him into the tub "don't listen to him, James said that just to tease you."

She was going to have a serious talk with James.

She helped him wash himself. Mostly monitoring him and helping him out once he was done.

She helped him dry.