Slytherin Fairy Godmother - Dramione

Slytherin Fairy Godmother

Hermione Granger-Malfoy lay on the sofa with her head in her husband's lap, his fingers combing through her hair while she finished crying against his thigh. In her hands was the picture book her one-year-old son, little Pollux, had brought to her. The boy wouldn't let her turn the pages for him, but he wouldn't let her put it down either.

"He's toying with us again," she said to Draco.

He winced. "I know, love. I'm so sorry."

They were not talking about their son. The person playing with them was Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy. He was now a free man. Disgraced, deposed, diminished, but free. The Death Eater reconciliation hearings saw him sent to serve the last of his sentence under house arrest, in his own manor, in his own manner.

When he arrived home, his wife was waiting but it was no coincidence that Draco and his little family had moved on to London. Still, as Narcissa had predicted, the appearance of little Pollux as the new Malfoy heir -- the mix-blood child mothered by a war hero -- had signalled that the entire Malfoy family was reformed, redeemed. A newspaper photo of Lucius Malfoy and his daughter-in-law leaving the Ministry of Magic arm in arm on the day he was released from state custody had become the image of forgiveness, humanity, and tolerance within wizarding Britain.

Isn't that lovely?

That was Hermione and her in-laws in public. In private, things were different.

Pollux took the book out of his mother's hands and threw it. It might have been magic that kept it from striking Draco's head, sending the book flying safely over the back of the sofa instead. "Father lost most of his toys in the war," Draco continued to apologize. "He's got little else to play with besides us."

Pollux toddled off and returned with a new book, one so big he could hardly lift it, one from his parents' shelves. Its pages caught on the sofa cushions as he turned them, nearly tearing each time, spared by more magic.

"I am, however, convinced Father is not dangerous anymore," Draco went on. "Slightly mad, yes. Or at least, in the throes of an identity crisis."

Hermione tried to take comfort in his words, but there was more to be found in the sensation of Draco's fingers moving against her hair and scalp -- stimulating and soothing at the same time -- a complicated satisfaction, enough.

What existed between herself and Draco had always been complex and overwhelming, even back in the days when all it had been was bad. The strength of their connection was burgeoning even in Flourish and Blotts's bookstore, on the day she'd first met his father, when Lucius had sneered down at her, drawling, "Draco's told me ALL about you." Beautiful, twisted twelve-year-old Draco -- thanks to Lucius, he had it all flipped and wrong at the time, hate for love, but even then...

She closed her eyes and turned her face away from his damp trouser leg. No more tears were coming but her feeling of unease continued to mount. She and Draco were expected at a party at the manor in just a few hours and the threat of the evening actually being an elaborate game of Lucius's creation wasn't the only reason Hermione had burst into tears at the thought of going.

Thanks to a fateful, botched contraception charm, she had become pregnant with Pollux a few months into their marriage. From there, they'd decided to do all of their child-rearing at once, having a second baby soon after, "Since our lives are ruined for now anyway," she'd laughed as she settled onto her husband, sliding his wand out of his grip before he could cast any more spells.

It meant that she was, at this moment, the mother of a one-year-old and five months away from the arrival of her next child expected shortly before Pollux's second birthday. It was a risky, controversial choice that she wasn't ready to discuss with anyone but Draco, the medi-witch monitoring her health, and her own parents.