Hi. I don't own Harry Potter.
So, the idea for this isn't actually mine. I got it from something reblogged by .com. She's great and if you have a Tumblr, you should follow her (I don't know her personally or anything, but one time, she responded to my "ask"...it was awesome).
Anyway, let me know if you find spelling/punctuation errors as I am my own worst editor and I've got my spellcheck stuck in Japanese for convenience's sake. Comments make me love you forever and ever. Cheers.
Draco awoke with the sun that morning and slipped out of bed without a sound and padded to the balcony. The dawn breaking outside was pink and gold and red. As good a day as any, he thought to himself, and then pushed his mounting concerns out of his mind. It did not do to dwell on such heavy thoughts before breakfast. He threw a robe across his shoulders and looked at the figures sleeping on the bed.
He cleared his throat, his hands akimbo. "Rise and shine, Little Hippogriffs. Today we fight for Malfoy honor."
Hermione opened one bleary eye and glared at him through the mass of chestnut curls plastered to her cheek. "The match doesn't start until one in the afternoon, Draco. Now shut up before I hex you."
With that, she closed her eye again. Scorpius buried his face deeper in his mother's hair and continued snoring.
Ginny was the first one up, of course. She hadn't been able to sleep through the morning sickness for about a week now, and Harry had gotten over trying to actually get up with her. "I'm pulling for you, honey," he called to her, without actually being awake.
She muttered an expletive into the toilet bowl before she heaved again.
Saturday morning breakfast at the Malfoy-Granger household was a formal affair. Even Scorpius was dressed and picking at his eggs from his booster seat.
"I don't know why you have him in that contraption," Narcissa commented over the rim of her mug.
Hermione stifled an eye roll. "Because he's too short to reach the table on his own, Narcissa," she said as patiently as she could.
"So? Just charm the chair legs longer. It's what we did for Draco."
Draco, who could smell the ozone that heralded an impending fight, said to his son, "Be sure to eat a good breakfast, Scorpius. You need your strength."
"I'm not hungry," protested the boy, whose curly blonde hair and bright brown eyes made him look like a cherub, even when he was sulking, "I want to read Babbity Rabbit and the Cackling Stump!" He pounded his little fist on the table in emphasis, but everyone ignored him.
"And what, pray, happens when he falls out of his chair?" Hermione asked, her voice high and tight.
"No need to worry about that," Narcissa waved her hand, either oblivious to or uncaring of the tone Hermione had adopted, "If he falls, he falls. Kids bounce back. It builds character. Why, Draco fell more times that I can count, and look how he turned out."
Hermione glared accusingly at Draco, as though he had been the one to suggest sitting their child at the table on his own. He suddenly felt like he should apologize, although he wasn't entirely sure what he did to merit that glare this time. "What?" he asked as innocently as he could.
"James!" Ginny bellowed up the stairs so loudly that the portraits along the walls looked at her, scandalized. Ginny ignored them, "Get up! You're going to be late!"
She waited until the boy appeared on the landing at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes, his glasses askew. "It's about time," huffed Ginny, her arms folded over her dirty apron. "Come down here for breakfast," she ordered, beckoning her eldest son with one hand. By the time he reached the bottom step, Ginny was already back into the kitchen, persisting in trying to spoon pureed pumpkin into the mouth of baby Albus, who was much more interested in spewing aforementioned mash all over his mother and giggling incessantly at the results.
"Morning, Champ!" said Harry from over the stove where he was tending to the bacon that Ginny had abandoned when Albus began crying for food.
James pushed his chair back from the table and clambered onto it. He was just barely big enough to see over the edge of the table sitting properly, so he sat on his knees instead and descended on the platter of delicious meat that his father put out in the center of the table.
"Don't eat with your hands, James," warned Ginny, who had grown eyes in the back of her head when she spawned her second son. "Or they'll fall off."
She smirked at Albus's pumpkin-smeared face as she heard bacon clatter back onto the platter immediately.
"Please don't," Draco begged, his voice low with desperation.
"Can you think of an alternative?" Hermione answered, still looking around the bedroom. She was checking inside the massive toy chest at the foot of Scorpius's bed.
"We don't need-" Draco began, and then stopped, "He doesn't need-"
Hermione shot him a look that could have caused ice to combust, and he snapped his mouth shut so fast that his teeth clicked audibly.
Hermione rose slowly, a stuffed niffler in one hand that she raised and pointed at him like a wand. Or a sword. Or one of those muggle killing sticks. What were they called? Oh, right. A gun. "Yes. He. Does." She jabbed at him with the stuffed animal with each word and with the final one, it connected with his chest with a happy little squeak! "No child of mine will be brain damaged just because his father felt the need to sign him up for this ludicrous caricature of sport to fulfill some deep-seated, asinine competitive urges that probably arise from his father's own insecurity about his-"
"Alright, alright," Draco raised his hands placatingly before his face, "He'll wear the helmet. I hid it in the spare broom closet. I'll go get it." He slumped out of the room, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed in defeat.
"Accio kneepads!" Shouted Ginny with a wave of her wand.
She was answered with a crash of splintering wood somewhere on the second floor, and the kneepads zoomed into Ginny's waiting hands.
Harry paused in his attempts to force a wriggling Albus into a purple and orange onesie. "That sounded like our bedroom," he shouted to his wife, who was now muttering to herself the litany of items that were supposed to be bringing.
"Hm? What?" She hardly glanced over at him, "Oh, yeah. I guess so."
"Why were they in our bedroom?" Harry asked as he forced one of Albus's flailing legs into the little suit. He paused. Sniffed.
"Gin," he said slowly.
"Hm?"
"When was the last time we changed Albus?"
Ginny looked up, horror in her face, and swore. "Pretend you didn't hear that James," she said over her own shoulder as she lifted Albus out of Harry's hands.
"Hear what?" James asked, who was busy trying to tie his shoes- something he would not actually learn how to do for another two years.
Draco was walking back upstairs to fetch the brooms when he felt a harsh tug on his shoulder and before he knew it, he had been dragged into the coat closet. It smelled like cedar and dust. A jacket hit him in the face as the door was slammed shut behind him.
"Silencio," murmured a soft voice from beside him.
Her arms were around his neck, then, and he snaked one hand around her waist and the other one into her hair as she pressed her lips against his. He inhaled sharply, taking in the familiar scents of tea-tree oil and coffee.
Merlin, this was unexpected. She'd been in such a foul mood since breakfast. Mentally, he tried to go over what had happened in the intervening hours to lead him to this awesome moment.
He did not allow the fact that he could not figure out what he had done to deserve this keep him from enjoying it. He bent his neck slightly, deepening the kiss, and pulling her hair into a fist with one hand.
She moaned against him, and he could feel the press of her magnificent breasts against his chest. He was considering the possible ramifications of taking her, right there in that closet when she pulled back, her chest heaving and an attractive pink flush across her cheeks.
"Promise you'll behave today," she said breathlessly.
Honestly, Draco would have promised her the moon and beyond at that moment if only she would start kissing him again. So, he nodded dumbly and leaned forward to capture her in another kiss.
"No," she said in her Prefect Voice but he wouldn't have minded it at all, if only she hadn't put her hands out to keep him from coming any closer. "I mean it, Draco. Try to behave today."
"I always behave," he mumbled huskily, trying to focus on the conversation and not on the way keeping her arms at that angle gave him a great view down her shirt. He attempted to go in for a kiss again at that, but she stopped him yet again.
"No, you don't. In fact, you never behave."
"Merlin, Granger," he rolled his eyes now, "did you lure me in here just to lecture me about proper behavior at a Quidditch game?"
"Yes," she said it so simply and so without remorse that he could only blink in surprise.
"Really?" He asked because he couldn't think of anything more intelligent to say. He was still waiting for blood to start returning to his brain and couldn't quite process this right now.
"Yes," she said again, "and I really mean it. I don't want Scorpius thinking that it's ever alright to act like," here, she appeared to struggle for the correct word, "like a child." She finished.
"Hermione," he drawled, "He is a child. A six-year-old one, last I checked."
"Yes, and that's exactly why I want you to act like a grown up! He worships you, Draco," she implored.
He puffed up with pride at this.
"Alright," he said, smirking down at his wife, "I mean, he does mirror whatever I do, so I'll show him exactly how a wizard behaves in this kind of situation."
Hermione looked relieved and allowed her head to drop forward to rest against Draco's chest. She inhaled deeply and let out a sigh. "Good. Thank you, Draco. I mean it." She looked up into his quicksilver eyes.
"Of course," he brushed his thumb down the sharp line of her cheek and over the curve of her lips.
"I mean," she continued, a faint blush rising into her cheeks at this caress, "It's only Quidditch."
"'Only?!'- do you have any idea how important this game is?" Draco asked, withdrawing his hand as though her lunacy were contagious and looking at her with a scandalized expression.
Hermione rolled her eyes at this and opened her mouth to answer, but a loud BANG! echoed around them, setting all the coats around them swinging. "That'll be Scorpius," mumbled Hermione.
Draco nodded, still aghast at her flippant approach to Quidditch.
"I'll go fix...whatever it was this time," she sighed and wrenched open the door to the coat closet.
Draco stared after her, too focused on the sway of her hips to really retain any resentment about her approach to Quidditch.
"Harry," said Ginny breathlessly, turning to look at him. She had Albus balanced on one hip and a tote bag full of Quidditch supplies, lawn chairs, and other useful items slung over the other shoulder.
Harry glanced up at her. James, holding his right hand, was still trying to eat whatever it was that Harry was trying to wrestle away from him, "What is it?" he asked, and then snatched whatever it was that James had almost to his mouth. It was about sixty percent of a beetle.
"If you act at this game the way you acted at the last game, you'll be sleeping in one of the spare rooms for a week."
"A week?" Harry echoed, wiping the beetle bits on the leg of his jeans.
"At least," Ginny replied, nodding.
Harry sighed and stood, lifting James with a groan. "Fine. Let's just get going before we're late."
"Come on, Little Hippogriffs!" called Draco from the front drive, jogging out to the waiting black carriage. The two winged white horses eyed him lackadaisically from their harnesses as he threw open the door and dumped the duffel of Quidditch supplies inside.
He turned to grin at his wife and only son as they exited the house, holding hands and each gripping a thick tome under their arm. He puffed his chest in pride.
"Oh, for heavens' sake," Hermione murmured under her breath, unable to suppress an eye roll as Draco strutted like an albino peacock in front of the open carriage door. "Why can't we just apparate like we normally do, dear?" she called to him.
He sneered. "Important day, love! Got to arrive in style! It's the Malfoy way!"
"I'm not riding in that," murmured Narcissa coolly, coming up to stand beside her daughter-in-law. She pushed her cat's eye sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and stared primly out at the carriage. "It's tacky. Tell him to take it back."
Hermione grimaced, repositioned her book under her arm, and simply said, "There's no time for that now. Come on, Scorpius, or we'll be late." She tugged him forward and called out to Draco, "Did you remember his car seat?"
The Malfoy-Granger family arrived at the pee-wee Quidditch pitch a full half-hour before anyone else, which was a good thing because Twee-lee, the family house-elf and carriage driver, had been unable to see well enough to land the carriage around his match-appropriate seven scarfs in varying shades of blue and yellow. The giant carriage bounced down in the middle of the pee-wee pitch and came to a shuddering halt only a few feet from the bleachers.
The carriage door burst open before Twee-lee had figured out how to get down from his perch to open it for them.
"I am never riding in one of those things again for as long as I live," gasped Narcissa, her glasses askew as she staggered from the carriage.
Hermione came stumbling out next, her hair frizzier than it had been when they'd left the house that morning, her eyes wild and gripping her book in front of her like a shield.
Draco came last, holding Scorpius in one arm and the duffel of supplies in the other. The two were giggling, their faces close together, their noses scrunched in identical, mischievous grins.
"So what did you think, mate?" he asked his son, who giggled and threw his small arms around his father's neck, dropping his own book in the process.
Hermione bent down to pick up Zoom, Snitch, Zoom! with shaking hands. "Never again, Draco," she hissed.
"Why mama?" asked Scorpius, his brown eyes wide.
"Yeah," echoed Draco, his gray eyes expanding to match his child's, "Why?"
"It had a glass bottom, Draco! Glass bottom!"
"Yeah," he said, as Scorpius squirmed. Draco put his son down and the boy immediately ran toward his grandmother, who was already sitting straight-backed on the wooden bleacher, fanning herself with one hand, "but I didn't think either of you would really mind too much since it wasn't like you were going to fall out. And if you didn't look down, you wouldn't even have noticed."
"Except the two of you kept going on about what towns we were going over," she snarled through clenched teeth. "I thought Narcissa was going to have a heart attack! How could you do that to your own mother?"
He shrugged and glanced guiltily toward the stands, "I didn't think she'd mind all that much."
Hermione opened her mouth to spit out a scathing retort when a series of loud CRACKs and POPs heralded the arrival of the other Quidditch players.
"Alright!" Draco shouted, punching his fist into the air and running after Scorpius. "Come on, son! It's time to warm up!"
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes again, but could not help the smile that curled around her lips as she watched her husband bound after their child, who was, at that moment, talking animatedly to a tree stump.
The Pygmy Puffs arrived as a team on the field ten minutes before start up, and Ginny slid onto the bleacher next to Hermione, moving the black dragon skin Malfoy duffel and setting her own tote on top of it with a sigh.
Ginny took one look at the cover of the tome Hermione was reading this week before, "'Lo, Hermione," she said, and Hermione glanced up with a smile, carefully sliding her bookmark back into place.
"Hello, Ginny," she beamed at her friend.
"Fancy a bet on who will blow first this time?"
Hermione stared out at the field where Parent Volunteers were helping to wrangle the Little Hippogriffs and Pygmy Puffs into lines for the inter-team pre-game handshake. Draco was standing proudly behind Scorpius, trying to keep the squirming child in line. Harry was on the other side, similarly trying to wrangle James. Hermione caught Harry's eye and waved. He waved back, losing his grip on James in the process, who went wheeling off to one side.
Hermione grimaced as she watched The Chosen One chase after a child who was chasing after what appeared to be a grasshopper. "Hopefully neither," she groaned, "I'm hoping that this is just a normal, quiet game."
Ginny cackled wickedly. "With those two? It never is."
"Ok, champ," said Harry quietly into James' ear, "just a quick handshake. Don't make eye contact. Don't do anything. Just act natural. Don't let that Malfoy git say anything to intimidate you."
Harry paused to watch his eldest child chew the insect contemplatively. "And don't tell your mother I said 'git'."
When the time came for James and Scorpius to shake hands, green eyes had locked on gray. Draco and Harry eyed each other coldly.
"Potter," sneered Draco, his hand on his son's shoulder.
"Malfoy," growled Harry, holding James' free hand.
"Scorpius," said Draco, and Scorpius obediently stuck out his hand. "Other hand, son," mumbled Draco out of the corner of his mouth. Scorpius switched hands.
"James, shake hands," started Harry and then, looking at Scorpius for the first time, "I- Malfoy, why is your kid wearing a helmet?"
Draco grimaced and rolled his eyes, "Hermione. She- Potter! Your kid is feeding my kid an insect! Are you mental? We don't know if he's allergic!"
Hermione glanced around. "Ginny," she said slowly, "Where's Ron and Luna?"
"Gonna be late," Ginny said squinting out at the field. "Rose's got a doctor's appointment or...oh hey! I think my kid just stuck a bug in your kid's mouth!"
Hermione gasped and quickly tried to locate her spawn on the field. "Oh, no," she murmured, "we don't know if he's allergic!" Thankfully, Draco had already swept Scorpius into his arms and was attempting to wipe his mouth out with the sleeve of his robe.
And, with that, the greetings were finished and the whistle sounded to signal both teams to begin the momentous task of mounting their brooms.
"Good afternoon!" Boomed a cheery voice from the opposite side of the Quidditch pitch, "I'm Teddy Tonks and I'll be doing your commentary today because this was the only job I could get for the summer!"
"Teddy," ground out Andromeda's voice over the loudspeaker.
"Sorry, Gran. And it looks like they've released the snitch and there it goes. It's hovering around the Pygmy Puff's goal post if anyone is listening to this."
"TEDDY!"
Hermione glanced over to the goalpost and, sure enough, hovering about four feet off the ground was the enormous pee-wee version of the golden snitch.
She glanced back at the center of the field, where parent volunteers were holding the hover brooms steady while the remaining players mounted them. She was already nervous. Logically, she knew this shouldn't be an unsafe game: The brooms were charmed to go no higher than six feet, a cushioning spell had already been placed on the whole field, the snitch was huge, the beaters had foam bats, the foam bludgers were charmed not to actually hit anyone, the quaffle was fluffy, and Scorpius was wearing a helmet. Still, Hermione watched with her fingers in her mouth as Draco hefted Scorpius onto his broom, and Hermione watched Draco's lips moved as he said something to his son before placing a swift kiss on his forehead, right under the edge of the helmet. She smiled softly at the tender sight.
"Ok, Scorpius," Draco was murmuring quietly, "I'm not allowed to actually tell you where the snitch is since you're supposed to find it for yourself, but go straight to the goal post and don't let the Potter brat get in your way." He placed a kiss on his son's forehead, "and please don't fall off your broom. Your mum will murder me if you get hurt."
"What's murder?"
"Never mind. Just get the snitch and don't fall off."
The whistle sounded and the commentary started up again.
"And they're off! Well, most of them. Amycus Belby of the Little Hippogriffs appears to be having some trouble getting off the- there we go! Parent Volunteer Cho Smith of the Pygmy Puffs has graciously helped Bilby get up and running and- no, now he's spinning in a circle. Mrs. Smith, if you could- thank you very much. Oh, and now he appears to have puked all over volunteer Smith. Let that be a lesson to you, folks: don't feed your kids before these games because accidents happen.
And Merryweather Urquart of the Pygmy Puffs has the quaffle. And he's dropped it. And now he's picking his nose."
From the sidelines, Merryweather Urquart Senior dropped his head into his hands. Ginny and Hermione snickered, their heads close together. On the sidelines, Draco paced back and forth like a caged animal as Scorpius drifted in lazy circles around the Pygmy Puff goalposts, and Harry stood, his arms folded over his chest, as James drifted low over the field, scanning for something that Harry hoped was the golden snitch, but in all reality was problem more "snacks".
"I can't believe it! Xiaoyun Smith of the Pygmy Puffs has actually picked up the quaffle! He's heading for the goalposts and he's slowing down, probably going to drop- no! He's still going and- I CAN'T BELIEVE IT- Xiaoyun scores! The wrong goalpost, sure, so technically, that's probably a point for the Hippogriffs, but Xiaoyun Smith of the Pygmy Puffs scores the first real, legitimate point of the season! Ten points to the Hippogriffs and five points to the Pygmy Puffs for actually having the player who scored! Good job, Xiaoyun!"
Cho and Zacharias were shrieking in pride on the sidelines, hugging each other. If Ginny's eyes were not deceiving her, Zacharias was actually crying tears of joy.
"He's got a future in pro quidditch, that one does! Anyway, now the quaffle is falling and- yep- it's hit the snitch, bounced off they are now both sitting on the ground at the base of the Pygmy Puff goalposts. Someone might want to go pick that up.
"Anyway, let's take a look at our beaters. The Hippogriff beaters, Aaron Isaacs and Aaron Beety, appear to be hitting each other with their bats. No need to worry, folks! This appears to be in good fun, as they are both laughing and- no, now Aaron Isaacs is crying. Someone go get him down before he- there he goes. Someone put him back on his broom, please! Again, Aaron is crying. Ah- thank you, volunteer Murata!"
A volunteer obediently rushed onto the field to right the sobbing beater.
"The Pygmy Puff beater, Baruch Goldstein, is hitting the Hippogriff goalpost with his bat. That's what that noise is, folks: the beater beating the goal post. Looks like Pygmy Puff chaser Martin Theresa is going over to see what all the fuss is about- no, actually, I think he's just spotted a butterfly and- OH MY GOD! Pygmy Puff beater's bat has made contact with Martin's head and he is crying! Someone get out there to see if he's ok."
Anthony Goldstein was hurrying out towards the crying child, side-by-side with Abigail Theresa.
"Looks like he needs one of those Malfoy helmets, ey, folks?"
"TEDDY!"
Draco turned his head toward the loudspeaker, a look of utter mortification on his face. Harry was doubled over in laughter, keeping himself from toppling over with one hand on the side of the bleachers. Draco turned to look at the giant clock. Thankfully, pee-wee matches only lasted for forty-five minutes.
"Come on Scorpius!" Draco murmured under his breath. Sure, the Hippogriffs were in the lead and the Puffs weren't likely to catch up before time ran out, but Scorpius had it in him to catch the snitch. Draco just knew it.
Several feet away from the still-crying Theresa, Scorpius was wagging the tail of his broom back and forth, completely oblivious to the game going on around him. He saw something dark streaking toward him out of the corner of his eye but did not even have a chance to turn before something was barreling into his chest.
"We've had a collision! Our first of the day, folks, but sure not to be our last! Scorpius Malfoy and James Potter have collided in midair! Our two seekers are down and waiting to be put back on their brooms!"
"FOUL!" Called Harry and Draco at the same time, both storming onto the field.
Their wands were out before they reached the two boys, a pile of giggling purple, orange, blue, and yellow limbs in the center of the field.
"You'll pay for that, Potter," spat Draco through clenched teeth.
"Gonna tell your father about this, Malfoy?" Harry taunted back, squatting down next to his son.
"No," Draco grinned wickedly, "I'm going to tell my wife that you taught Scorpius the word 'git'."
Harry blanched.
"What's a Git, daddy?"
Draco's smirk widened. "I'd watch my back if I were you, Potter. And keep your bug-eating spawn away from my son."
"And they're back on their brooms, folks! It looks like they're A-ok! Knew they would be, at least Scorpius with that helmet."
"Teddy."
"Hello, Hermione, Ginny," hummed Luna, sliding in on Ginny's other side. The two other women scooted down to make room for her.
"Luna!" Hermione beamed, glad to talk over yet another mention of the helmet, "So glad you could make it! How was Rose's appointment?"
"Oh, lovely," Luna gave Hermione a serene smile, "Now she's all caught up on her Gilby-wot vaccinations.
Hermione raised her eyebrows but only said, "That's nice," as Ginny suppressed a giggle beside her. "Where's Ron?" She added to cover the sound of Ginny's laughter.
"Getting Rose ready to play, of course," Luna gestured down field where Ron was running full-tilt onto the field, a broom and a streak of flowing red hair beside him. "They spent all morning talking about strategy. It was very boring for me."
"And looks like Rose is coming onto the field- no, it looks like she's- Blimey. Is he actually throwing her- he IS throwing her!"
Sure enough, Ron was throwing the broom bearing his only child like a javelin toward the Pygmy Puff goalposts while the child in question shrieked "THROW ME DADDDYYYY" at the top of her lungs.
"And that's a point for Ron Weasley," said a flabbergasted Teddy, "I've never seen someone score a point with a player before. Does that count? No, I guess not, since she didn't actually have a quaffle and the person who threw her was not actually a player. False alarm. Wishful thinking on my part. Looks like he was just trying to get her in position quick.
"Hippogriff chaser Alexi Zabini has the quaffle. No- never mind. I think that's actually a bludger and...and he's trying to eat it. And now he's dropped it."
Draco looked back at Blaise in the stands and gave him a thumbs up. It was a nice try, anyway.
"Pygmy Puff seeker James Potter is heading toward the ground, closely followed by Hippogriff seeker Scorpius Malfoy! It looks like they've seen something folks! I think it's-"
James Potter evened out, flapping wings clutched in his pudgy fist. Scorpius pulled up alongside him.
"Yeah. It's that butterfly that Theresa was going after before! He's got it, folks! And he's eating it. Think we all saw that one coming, folks. But will he share? That is the question!"
"NO!" Shrieked Hermione and Draco at once, as a fraction of the butterfly changed hands in midair "We don't know if he's allergic!"
A timeout was called to wrestle the half-a-butterfly from the young Malfoy heir.
"And we're back, people," came Teddy's very bored voice over the loudspeaker, "this might be the most exciting game yet this season, and we may actually have a real winner for this game, which might be a first for the league. Anyway, Zabini won the rock-paper-scissors for the quaffle and they're off! Zabini has the quaffle. Pygmy Huff beater Goldstein is coming up behind him. And—yep—Goldstein has hit Zabini on the bottom with the bat."
"FOUL!" roared Blaise from the stands, trying to rush onto the field and struggling against Pansy's appropriately-timed leg-locking jinx. Draco didn't want to involve himself with this one, but he was waiting for one of the coaches or refs to call foul. For some reason, the call didn't come.
"Goldstein now has the quaffle and he's heading for the goalposts—the CORRECT ONE, folks!—and Rose Weasely is coming up behind him and she just pulled his hair and—did she bite him? Gran, I think she actually bit him."
"Teddy," came Andromeda's weary voice, "just focus on the game."
"Sorry, Gran. Anyway, Rose has the quaffle and she's taking it back toward her own goal and now she's changed direction and is heading back toward the appropriate goal. I think she's heard her dad, folks…"
Draco grimaced. Of course she had heard him. Everyone from here to China had probably cleared heard Ron Weasely screeching "OTHER GOAL, ROSIE!" from about fifteen paces to Draco's left, immediately next to Potter.
"And she's scored! In the right goal! Holy shit, folks!
"TEDDY!"
"Sorry, Gran. Rose Weasley has scored! In the right goal! That brings the score to fifteen-ten Puffs to Hippogriffs!"
"Foul!" shouted Anthony Goldstein.
"Foul!" screamed Blaise Zabini, who had finally had the presence of mind to undo his wife's jinx instead of struggling like a lunatic and was now running forward, arms waving.
"That is the seventh time she's bitten someone this season," growled Draco Malfoy, "Why is she even still allowed to play?"
He was sure that he had said it quietly. Much quieter, at least, than Anthony or Blaise, who were currently running onto the field to their respective, bawling offspring.
Unfortunately, the only person Ronald Weasley heard was Draco Malfoy.
"Jealous, Malfoy?" sneered Ron, his ears already bright red and his chest puffed out in obnoxious pride.
"Jealous?" he leered back. "Of your little ginger maniac? Please. Don't make me laugh. I just think someone should put a muzzle on the rabid little beast if they insist on letting her fly around with normal children. I doubt your whole family could afford the vet bills that come with animal bites like that." He knew he had gone too far before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, and later, he would say it was the sting of the ten points talking but, at that moment, he was seeing red.
Before he could blink, Ron had crossed the space between them and had grabbed Draco by the collar. "Take that back," he snarled.
"Incidentally," sighed Hermione to Luna as she watched her childhood friend accost her husband, "did you manage to get his wand this time?"
"Oh, yes," Luna said dreamily, and pulled Ron's wand out of her over-stuffed patchwork handbag, "I don't think he even noticed."
Hermione knew better than to ask how Luna had distracted him long enough to nick his wand. "You owe me five galleons, Ginny," she said instead, holding out a hand. "Pay up."
"Or you'll what, Weasel-bee? Bite me?" Draco couldn't back down now.
"Shove off, Malfoy," piped up Potter, the Boy Who Refused to Stay Out of Draco's Business.
"His kid fouled someone on your team, too, Potty! I thought you Gryffindors were too good for that kind of thing. 'By any means' should be more my area, shouldn't it? But you've always been a Slytherin at heart, haven't you, Potter?"
It is worth noting that Hermione Jean Granger was bullied in elementary school and was dreadfully afraid that her precocious little Scorpius would face similar hardships (and let's face it: his name was Scorpius Paul Granger, his mother made him wear a helmet everywhere he went, and his front teeth were bordering on beaver-ish. If it weren't for his already angelic features and the confident swagger he'd inherited from his father, he might as well have had "Kick Me" tattooed across his helmeted forehead). In order to protect her precious firstborn from the cruelties of childhood, Hermione Jean Granger had enrolled Scorpius in a Child-Parent Karate class in Muggle London and, for going on two years, Draco had been forced to attend these lessons with Scorpius, where he had learned a thing or two about wandless self-defense.
Thus, when Ron Weasley threw the first punch at Draco's pointed nose, Draco ducked before the blow connected and slammed his fist into Weasley's solar plexus.
Harry came at him, then, and was reaching for his wand as he went, groping at the empty holster under his arm. Swearing softly under his breath, he balled his hand into a fist instead.
"Ooh! Did you see that punch?" Ginny actually clapped when Draco's fist made contact.
Hermione grimaced. She recognized that roundhouse kick. Scorpius had been practicing it against Mimzy the Stuffed Purple Dinosaur several weeks ago.
"It was very well executed," agreed Luna.
Ginny cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Not the money-maker, Malfoy! I have decided to bestow godfather status on your sorry behind and I can still change my mind!" as Harry ran at Draco.
Draco and Harry both turned to ogle at Ginny in the stands, frozen mid-punch. She pointed down at her bulging stomach, shuffling the baby in her arms so that they both could get a good look at it.
Harry recovered first and punched Malfoy right on his slackened jaw.
Hermione winced as she watched the blow fall, and tried to refocus on the game and not the shouted obscenities coming from the sidelines.
"Speaking of punching my husband in the face," she said by way of sequitur, "I have something to tell you."
"And Weasley has Malfoy by the scalp and is punching him in the stomach. Now Malfoy has grabbed Weasley's fist and—did you see that flip, people?! Potter's in the mix, trying to separate them and—ooh! Elbowed in the face by your best friend. That has to hurt, folks."
"Teddy! The match!"
"Right Gran. Sorry. Anyway, the quaffle is still on the ground and Theresa is back to spinning in a circle. Someone stop him before he throws up again. Pygmy—"
"No, Teddy! Look!"
All eyes returned to the field as Aaron Isaacs, the Little Hippogriff beater, held out his hand toward the Pygmy Puff goalpost.
And grabbed the golden snitch, which had been gently pinging itself against aforementioned goalpost for the last thirty-six minutes and seventeen seconds (according to the countdown clock).
The stands went wild. Parents screamed. Teddy shouted. Aaron Isaacs started to cry and let go of the snitch, which didn't wander too far anyway.
The first parents onto the field were Harry, Ron, and Draco, who had been locked in close combat only a few feet from the goalpost. Their eyes were fixed on each of their own offspring as they hurried forward, although Harry sported a black eye; Draco, a split lip and bloody knuckles; and Ron was still bent double, hobbling forward behind the other two.
"The Hippogriffs win! I can't believe it! By points, not just the usual end-of-game coin flip! Little Hippogriffs take the game, one-hundred and sixty points to fifteen!"
"You did it, mate!" shouted Draco, pulling Scorpius off his broom and swinging him in a happy circle. "You won it, son!" He didn't even care that smiling like an idiot made blood dribble down his lip and onto his only child's helmet.
"Daddy, I am going to make sick!"
Draco immediately stopped spinning but did not stop grinning.
"Well done, Scorpius," Hermione said quietly, coming up and plucking her wriggling child from his father's grasp.
"Were you watching, mum?" he asked.
She smiled, "Of course I was, my love."
"I ate three bugs and one of James's boogers!" He held up four fingers, "And Daddy gave me a hug for it."
Hermione blanched and shared a horrified look with Draco.
"JAMES SIRIUS POTTER GET THAT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!" Harry shouted as he sprinted toward his eldest child.
A still-wriggling, particularly poisonous-looking frog was sticking out of the side of James' mouth. He took one look at his father's cracked glasses and purpling eye and screamed, the frog dropping to the ground as he flew as fast as his little hover-broom would take him away from his father.
Ginny was hurrying as fast as her bloated body would allow after her husband and eldest child, Albus giggling as he bounced up and down on her hip as she waddled after her family.
"Don't cry, Princess," cooed Ron gently as Rose rocketed toward him, bawling her large blue eyes out as she flew toward her father. "Hey, hey, you did great. Really, really great. It doesn't matter that they won. Oh, please stop crying," he begged because as he reminded her of the outcome of the game, her sobs redoubled in strength.
He looked beseechingly at Luna, who was gliding toward them, a look of complete serenity on her face.
"And you gave that Zabini prat a right good bite, so it's still a victory in my book," he was whispering into the top of her head as she sobbed into his shoulder, still sitting astride her broom.
"There there," Luna said airily, patting her daughter's knee, "There's no need to cry. There will be many more quidditch games, Rosie-Posie, and you don't have to win them all, but I suspect you'll win more than you'll lose in the end."
Ron gave her an incredulous look, completely baffled as to how this was supposed to be comforting, but Rose sniffled one more and then turned her tear-streaked face to her mother. "Are you sure?" she asked, her bottom lip wobbling dangerously.
"As sure as I am that there are Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the Adirondacks."
After so many years with her, both Ron and Rose knew how sure Luna was of that, even though neither of them could locate a single 'Adirondack' on a map or had ever seen a Crumple-Horned Snorkack themselves.
Once the excitement had died down and everyone on each team had stopped crying, screaming, laughing, or running away from their parents, the members of both teams settled into the bleachers with their families for the end-of-game award ceremony.
Draco liked to think that the winners got trophies and the losers got badges of shame, but, as Hermione loved to remind him, everyone on both teams got the same Teamwork award after every single game.
The entire process generally took about as long as the game itself.
James and Scorpius were sitting next to each other, sandwiched between their mothers. The two boys were squirming and giggling quietly, playing some game only they understood. Rose sat between her parents behind them, casting shy looks at Scorpius and occasionally kicking the back of James' head and pretending she hadn't been the one to do it.
"It was too you," James said with great conviction, rubbing the back of his skull and glaring at her.
"No one kicked me," volunteered Scorpius.
"No one would ever kick you, Scorpius," Rose replied coyly, blushing so deeply that her freckles were invisible.
"Gross!" James stuck out his tongue and wrinkled his tiny nose at his cousin, "Rose loves Scorpius!"
"Do not!" shot Rose, kicking him in the head again.
"You don't?" Now Scorpius looked like he was going to cry.
"Oh my God, my child is a sap," Draco mumbled to Hermione.
She sent him a single glare. She still wasn't speaking to him and, just to make that perfectly clear, she turned and addressed Luna instead. "Aren't they darling?"
"Oh, yes," Luna agreed dreamily.
"Granger-Malfoy, Scorpius." And Scorpius went up to collect his little trophy, sniffling and wiping his nose.
When he returned to his seat, Ron leaned forward and clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Good one, big guy!" He gave Scorpius a thumbs up. "Well played."
Draco looked at Ron like he had sprouted an extra head.
"What?" Ron barked gruffly, "Just because his dad's, well, you, doesn't mean that the kid's off. Takes after my side of the family, with flying like that."
Draco raised one pale eyebrow at Weasley. "I feel the need to point out, Weasley, that my child is not related to you in any capacity whatsoever. Thank Merlin."
Ron just shrugged. "Close enough."
Draco opened his mouth to say something, couldn't think of anything, and closed it again. Beside him, Hermione smiled smugly to herself.
"Potter, James" was called up and, shortly after, "Weasley, Rose."
"Good job, everyone," called the head referee, and the parents cheered.
"Took long enough," groaned Ron, rising and stretching his arms above his head.
"Indeed," agreed Narcissa, smoothing down the front of her dress, although it did not need the gesture.
"I feel like getting ice cream," Draco drawled, standing himself.
"Yeah!" Scorpius crowed, "Ice cream! Can we read books while we eat it? Can we bring some home for Twee? Can I get three scoops? Can—"
Draco held up a hand to silence his son. For the first time in as long as the boy had been alive, the gesture worked. A smug smile curled up the edges of Draco's mouth. His child was much better behaved than all the others. Scorpius was clearly superior in every way.
"Miss Weasley," said Draco, turning to look at Rose, who was holding her father's hand, "Mr. Potter," he turned to look at James, "Would you two do us the honor of accompanying us to Florean Fortescue's for some celebratory ice cream? Assuming your parents are amenable, of course."
Neither James nor Rose knew what amenable meant, but they both cheered and turned beseeching eyes on their respective mothers anyway.
"Prat," grumbled Ron to Harry when he thought no one else was listening, "He knew we couldn't get out of it if he asked the kids."
"Yeah," murmured Harry out of the corner of his mouth, "Wonder if he's doing it to get to us or to get back on Hermione's good side."
"That was very sweet of you, Draco," Hermione said softly, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist.
Draco had just returned from reading Scorpius a fourth bedtime story. Honestly, that child was getting more and more demanding by the day. "What was?" he asked distractedly, undoing his cuffs wearily.
"Taking everyone out for ice cream. I don't think they expected you to pay."
Draco only grunted in reply. Hermione's hands had curled under the hem of his untucked shirt and were moving in lazy circles across his stomach. He tensed his abs unconsciously. "Can't let 'em pay if I invited 'em out. Just plain rude."
Hermione laughed and kissed the side of his neck. He shivered.
"Does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?" he asked, turning in her arms so that he could look down at her. Merlin, he loved this witch. Her lips turned up at his words and it took all of his remaining self-control to not bend down and capture those very lips in a kiss.
"I suppose," she sighed and toyed with the top button of his shirt. She undid the button.
Draco swallowed，his throat suddenly very dry.
"I have something to tell you," she still wasn't meeting his gaze, but she undid the next button on his shirt. "I was so mad at you earlier that I wasn't going to tell you today at all, but I think you've redeemed yourself."
"Good to know." He ran his hands up the sides of her arms. She shivered against him. He leaned down and kissed her once just over her pulse and was rewarded with a sharp little gasp from his wife. "So are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to force it out of you?"
"Well," she replied, undoing the third button and looping her hands around his neck, "that depends."
"On what?"
"On if you want to discuss names before or after I shag you senseless."
A long silence stretched between them.
"What?" Draco asked eventually, his voice cracking. He pulled Hermione away from him, holding her at arm's length and looking her in the eye, not daring to hope that she meant what he thought she meant.
"Baby names. Before or after sex?" she clarified, and now she was smiling—no, beaming at him.
"Baby names."
"Yes."
"As in, names for a child or children other than the one we currently possess?"
"Exactly."
"Is this about house-elves?"
She laughed. "No, Draco."
"Have you adopted…something?"
"Nope."
"Is this a nasty, horrible joke?"
"Draco," Hermione said seriously, taking his face in her hands, "I am pregnant with our second child and I want to avoid a repeat of World War Baby Boy." She was, of course, referring to the twelve days that St. Mungo's had held Scorpius ransom until Draco and Hermione could agree on a name. In the end, Narcissa had named him without telling either of his parents and forged both of their names on the paperwork. Scorpius for the Black naming tradition, Paul for Hermione's father, and Granger-Malfoy because neither of his parents would have had it any other way. They both thought it was perfect, anyway, even if after six years they hadn't managed to come up with a single good nickname between them.
"Are you lying?"
"Draco!"
"Please just answer the question."
"No, I am not lying. I took a pregnancy test after you went to bed last night."
"Are you sure you cast the spell right? You didn't rely on one of those little muggle sticks, did you?"
She gave him a sour look.
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I was waiting to see how you'd behave at the quidditch match today."
"So I behaved?"
"Not at all, but I figured you'd earned it after you took everyone out for ice cream."
But Draco was no longer listening. Filled with joy and hope and unbridled adoration for his beautiful, kind, smart, pregnant wife, he brought his lips down onto hers and swept her up in his arms, carrying her toward their bed.
"This is grand!" he said much later, pushing her hair out of his mouth, as they lay tangled and sweaty in their bed.
"What is?" Hermione replied, trailing lazy circles on his chest with her fingertips.
"Well, Scorpius will play on the Little Hippogriffs until he turns eight, and by that time, Cassiopeia will be old enough to take his place!"
"Cassiopeia?" repeated Hermione, lifting her head to look at her husband seriously.
"Yeah. I figure it'll be a girl since we already have a boy."
Hermione waited for a beat to see if Draco would add just kidding to the end of his assertion. When he didn't, "That doesn't even make sense," she said.
"Sure it does. We already had a boy, so statistically speaking, the next one's going to be a girl."
Hermione groaned. "I can tell you haven't had a single math class since you turned eleven," she grumbled. "And we're not naming our second child Cassiopeia."
"Why not? It's a brilliant name! We can even call her Cassie!"
"She'll get teased mercilessly."
"Says the woman named Hermione."
"To the child of two people named Lucius and Narcissa. Whose name is Draco."
"Are you insinuating that there's something wrong with my name? I'll have you know that Draco is the noblest constellation in the sky. Everyone knows it's true."
Hermione groaned and flopped back onto his chest harder than was absolutely necessary. "And how do you know she or he will even want to play quidditch?"
Draco gave her an imperious look. "Any child of mine—regardless of gender—will play quidditch in a league and will enjoy it."