"DRAACCOOOO!" The syllables of his name were dragged out by the loud cry, and he could hear the fear and panic that was in his wife's voice. Cursing, he dropped the baby manual he'd been reading on the sly, trying to get a more accurate grasp on what exactly changing a nappy entailed, as her rushed to her side. He hadn't heard anything wrong. In fact, he could hear the baby giggling even now.
She was laying with her back propped up, hair a halo on the pillows. If it weren't for the distress on her bed as she eyed the baby that was in a crib attached to the side of the bed, she would have looked beautiful.
"What's the matter 'Mione?" He kept his voice steady, even. But his insides were like sheaves of papers in a thunderstorm. The Malfoys had never been very good with the whole child production thing. Centuries of near in-breeding did that to you.
Hermione didn't say anything, her brow creased and mouth open to make a small "o".
Draco turned to look at the newborn in the crib, only to see it it gurgling happily, fully fed, as it turned blue.
Not the pale blue one gets when they've been bereft of air, but really and truly a deep, navy, imperial blue.
They both stared.
Sensing the parental units giving their complete attention, the infant started turning her pale, pale blonde hair the same colour as her mother's, still cooing happy little sounds.
"Would you look at that!" Draco breathed, his voice holding a reverence people usually reserved for deities. He collapsed with a whump beside his wife, as his anxiety channelled into understanding, and felt his wife's head knock onto his shoulder with much of the same emotions.
"Lyra is a metamorphagus." Hermione muttered, her voice almost only intelligible because she was speaking the words into his skin.
"Well... it is in the family." He grinned, suddenly proud, as if he had moved mountains to achieve the feat.
In a way, he mused, he had.
"I suppose this necessitates another trip to the library?" She muttered wryly.
He shifted his body so that he could hug her, gathering her into his arms and resting his face in the crook of her neck. She could feel the grin that kept on growing impossibly wider. "But I think," he whispered, the huskiness of his voice sending shivers down her spine "a small celebration might be in order first."
For someone who is ridiculously nice and talented and doesn't deserve any of the shit that she gets.