Prompt: dramione children go trick or treat with the potter boys, accidental magic happens
"But, Hermione..."
With a roll of her eyes in her petulant husband's direction, Hermione holds out the charmed plastic pumpkin-shaped goodie bags. Their yellow eyes glow mockingly at him. When he doesn't respond, she shakes them, fixing him with one of her looks until he takes them from her with a scowl.
"Give those to the children. I think they'll like them better than those cheap cauldrons of last year."
"I don't want to go without you," he whines. "Why can't you come with me?"
Ah, he's trying to play on my emotions, damn Slytherin that he is.
She turns away from Draco's pout, a small smile curling on her lips while she clears away the supper dishes with a wave of her wand. After ten years of marriage, Hermione knows she can manipulate him as well as he manipulates the politicians who oppose him.
"Well, seeing how Leo is far too young to go trick-or-treating, I rather think I should be staying home, don't you? Or would you like your six-month old son to be exposed to the elements? It is October, you know. He could easily get sick."
Draco folds his arms; determined to make a point, he tries another tack.
"Why can't Potter or his Weasley wife take them instead? Why does it have to be me?!"
"Because, for the thousandth time, husband dear, Harry and Ginny are attending a Harpies charity fundraiser," she replies calmly, as if speaking to a child, which as it happened her husband did tend to be when it came to anything about the Potters and their spawn.
"Weasel King then!"
"Really, Draco, you're being ridiculous. Do you really expect Ron to leave his wife while they're on their honeymoon?"
Hermione glances up and notes that crease of Draco's brow is relaxing. Resignation is coming. For all his blustering, Draco doesn't truly hate Harry Potter and his offspring. But somewhere in that mixed up head of his, his logic has established that it wouldn't do to rock the boat too much by letting anyone know that.
"James and Albus are perfectly lovely boys and you are going to treat them as you do Scorpius and Lyra."
He does his best not to point out that the combination of Potter and Weasley genes makes him unwilling to do so, not when she's smiling at him so indulgently, running her hands over his chest.
Hermione lays her head over his heart, idly fiddling with the top button of his shirt.
"Now I'm not normally one to reward bad behaviour but I think you might need a some incentive."
Immediately, his interest is piqued. "Oh?"
She nods, tilting her face up so he can see the promise glimmering in her eyes, the naughty smirk twisting her mouth.
"So Ginny and I went shopping last week and I may or may not have picked up a little something that I think you might like..."
"Do go on, Mrs Malfoy," he urges, eager to see just what he was playing for. After all, if he was going to be put through an evening alone with four children (two of which were the dreaded Potter sprog), he needed it to be worth his while.
With a coquettish smile, she leans up, brushes her lips against his ear. "Deep green silk with black lace edging."
"Matching heels?" he asks hopefully.
"Matching heels and stockings," she breathes.
Draco shuts his eyes for a moment, aware that she can feel his body's reaction. Damn it, she was probably smirking at him. Time hadn't lessened the desire he felt for this woman and she loved to remind him of that.
"Bloody hell," he mutters hoarsely. "Fine, Granger, you win this round. But I expect you to let me take your ensemble off with my teeth."
Hermione laughs brightly. "The kids will be here soon. I'm going to help Lyra. I think she wants her wings to sparkle and flutter just like a real fairy's."
"Spoiled," he murmurs, thinking of his bubbly, brilliant little girl. She really was something else and he wouldn't deny that she was the apple of his eye. Scorpius may have been his firstborn, but he was always closer to his mother, much like himself at that age. Lyra, however, was the wild curly-haired miniature of Hermione who stole his heart when she turned her grey eyes on him for the first time.
"We all know that's your fault," his wife points out with a shake of her head.
"Forgive me if I'm being a bit indulgent with the first Malfoy girl born in over ten generations."
"I could forgive some indulgence, Draco, but you are outright spoiling her."
"Come now, wife, let's not fight about this. Let's just look forward to my reward later, hmm?" Draco presses a kiss to her lips, silencing her protest.
"Prat."
OOO
"Oi, Scorpius, Potterlings, don't get too far ahead!"
The three pay no heed and sprint ahead anyway, taking the porch stairs two at a time to the door of the Treadwell's home. Like every other house on the street, it is decorated painstakingly; cobwebs are hung copiously over doorframes and balustrades, draped over the windows. There is a skeleton lounging on the porch that waves every so often and the jack-o-lantern's eyes glow merrily.
The entire ordeal was taking longer than he expected. Firstly, they'd been late leaving the house; Lyra had thrown a fit because her outfit wasn't exactly right. Secondly, James, the annoying bugger, was determined to hit up every house in the area, regardless of the fact that it was
Draco checks his watch, a gold Muggle one that had been a fifth anniversary gift from his practical wife. He stifles a groan. It wasn't only just half past seven and all he could think about was hurrying home to his witch. As it was, he hated being out so late and with this wind whipping around them, he was hardly in the best mood.
"You're walking so slow, Daddy," Lyra chastises, managing to sound exactly like her incredibly bossy mother, tugging at his hand. "Scorp is already all the way over there!"
"That's because Scorpius doesn't listen, always running after that bothersome James."
"But he'd going to get all the sweeties and there won't be any left for me! Come on."
He obliges readily, mostly because her bottom lip is quivering and the last thing he wants is to see her cry, choosing not to point out that her goodie bag is near full to bursting.
Mrs Treadwell, dressed as a quidditch player, complete with uniform and broom, has filled the boys' treat bags and waves Lyra over. She glances up at her long-suffering daddy who just sighs and nods, letting go of her hand and watching her as she lines up and yells "trick or treat".
Draco watches as she accepts her sweets with a toothy grin and scampers after the boys when she has thanked Mrs Treadwell with a hug.
When they've stopped on the pavement for a quick examination of their haul, it's clear that a quarrel is imminent from the frown on his daughter's face.
"How come you guys got Ice Mice and I didn't!"
"Because you're too slow, little Lyra," James points out as he shakes his box tauntingly in front of her before yanking it out of her reach. "You snooze you lose!"
"Don't be mean, James," Albus mumbles.
Lyra scrunches up her face and, God, Draco knows that look. She is about to have a tantrum. And once she starts she doesn't stop. He moves to placate her somehow, hoping that he can stem the flow of tears but Scorpius gets there first.
"Here, Lyra," he offers kindly, showing more maturity than his eight years would lead anyone to believe, and hands her his package of Ice Mice. Draco breathes a sigh of relief when she beams at her brother and throws her arms around him. Possible crisis averted.
"Come on, you have the rest of this street and then we're heading home," Draco states firmly as he eyes the near overflowing treat bags. "Surely you have enough candy to last you through to Christmas?"
The incredulous looks they all send him say otherwise and he heaves another sigh, this time of long-suffering annoyance before waving them ahead of him.
They continue down the street, growing their hoard with every passing house until it reaches the point where Lyra refuses to carry her treat bag any longer because she's tired and it's heavy.
"One more house, Lyra," her father coaxes. "And then we can go home. Your mum will probably warm up some pumpkin pie and make you some hot chocolate, if you're good."
With a little sniffle, she nods and trudges alongside him, her pout firmly in place. Like every Malfoy before her, she hates not getting her way, but the promise of sweet things has her quietly compliant. With some amusement, Draco notes that this is yet another way in which she is like him.
The last house is darkened, save for the porch light. It is the most elaborately decorated of the lot, a simple glamour charm transforming the otherwise innocuous home from the style of gingerbread houses of this neighbourhood to an eerie blackwood cottage, rickety, the eaves channelling the gusts of the October breeze into a howling wind.
The front garden is overrun with weeds and the cobbled pathway is a slippery mess of damp moss and stone. Even the trees, normally teeming with life and vitality, have taken on a Halloween-appropriate persona. They are blackened husks of their former selves and the yellow eyes of owls peer out from the hollows in their trunks.
"Wow!" Scorpius exclaims when a window upstairs opens and a small colony of bats escapes with a collective piercing screech as they push open the gate. A light switches on in the attic, followed in quick succession by every other light. The windows are now illuminated by an eerie inner glow.
The three of them practically sprint up the creaky front steps, not minding that that the stairs look like they're about to give way if stepped on wrong.
Draco recalls that a woman moved here recently, looking to get away from the city so she could write her novel. He cannot fathom why there was the need for such a spectacle. A few simple decorations would suffice. He doubted even Hogwarts had ever gone so overboard with Halloween. His own home was only fashioned with bobbing jack-o'-lanterns lining the path up to the front door, cobwebs woven over the front windows and the odd cackle that seemed to emanate from within the house itself.
"Daddy," whispers Lyra with a sharp tug on his hand as they stand just beyond the stairs. "I don't like it. I want to go home now."
Her grey eyes are wide and fearful. He supposes this reaction is completely understandable. She was only four years old after all and refused to sleep without her bedside light on and had him regularly check under her bed for monsters like the Erkling and Lethifold, having them imprinted on her memory after mistakenly picking up a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them from the family library.
Eager to assuage her fears, Draco stoops in front of her and cups her soft face in his hands "Of course, it's all right. We'll just let the boys go up, then shall we?"
He glances up to see the boys bristling with excitement. The rusty knocker resonates ominously. For a moment nothing happens but after a long stilted pause, the door creaks open by itself.
"Daddy," she whimpers.
Framed in the doorway is what looks like a wraith even though Draco is fairly certain that he can see straight through her thick veneer of makeup. It's that Wendi something or other who introduced herself last month before locking herself up and shunning the world.
The woman draws a rattling breath and extends her long pale arm towards the boys. Scorpius is the closest and she grabs onto him without ceremony, her bony fingers digging into his shoulder as she drags him closer. Draco can see Scorpius' eyes grow wide but there is an absence of true fear so he does not panic.
And then everything goes to shit all at once.
Lyra lets out a piercing scream, her little face screwed up tightly. The lights of the house flicker and then glow brightly before dimming again. A muffled oof comes from inside the house and he looks up sharply to see the wraith on her back on the floor. The windows are rattling in their panes and Draco drops to his knees in an instant, now absolutely certain that if he doesn't calm her down she'll end up shattering the windows with her magic.
"Lyra, shhhh, sweetheart," he murmurs, alarm creeping into his tone despite his attempts to be soothing. "That wasn't real. It was just a costume. That silly lady went overboard with her Halloween enthusiasm, okay?"
"But she-" she hiccupped and drew her hand across her streaming eyes, "she had Scorpius, she was gonna hurt him."
Draco waves his son over and he crouches down next to them. "See? He's fine. Tell her you're fine, Scorpius."
"I'm all right, Ly. She was just pretending. Halloween's supposed to be scary."
"Not that scary," Lyra sniffles, but she is visibly calmer, despite the fact that she is still crying.
"Now how about I hand you my handkerchief and you dry your tears? Malfoys don't cry. Especially not in front of Potters."
James and Albus crowd around her too; the latter smoothing down her hair while the former slips his Ice Mice into her treat bag. Scorpius has her hand in his protective grasp and she seems mollified for the moment.
Draco now turns his attention to the woman wringing her hands nervously. She is shaking a bit, but he brushes it aside. She was just thrown back five metres by a blast of accidental magic from a four year old but she brought it upon herself and really Draco can't find it within him to be kind and understanding.
"I didn't mean to frighten her, I just thought it would be nice to have an authentic haunted house experience, none of the other neighbours were doing it and it seemed like a really great idea. I'm so, so sorry—"
"Stop your blubbering you insane woman," Draco barks, stunning her into silence. "Your haunted house has traumatised my daughter. I'm going to be waking up to her screaming for the next few weeks thanks to you."
Her eyes widen. "I— I—" she stammers. "Nobody else reacted this way. I didn't think it would be a problem. I really am so sorry."
Draco pinches the bridge of his nose, a voice incredibly like Hermione's berating him in his head for being so curt and abrasive. Merlin, he should probably try to be civil.
She disappears indoors and comes out with a bucket full of treats and shoves it into his hands. "Here, give it to your little girl. I don't think she'll want me near her right now but oh Merlin, do you mind just going now before I die of embarrassment? Give my best to Hermione."
The door slams shut and Draco is left standing on the porch alone with a bucket filled with Honeyduke's finest and other select sweets, bewildered and thoroughly disgruntled.
OOO
Hermione is sitting in the lounge on the floor with Leo at her feet. Spending the evening alone with Leo was lovely and quiet and, as much as she loved her husband and children, the alone time she had managed to wrangle out of this deal was well worth it. Her youngest was a calm child, needing no more attention than necessary, content to gurgle happily as he gnawed on his toys.
She strokes his beautiful blond curls absently while she checks the time. It is not quite eight o'clock and she wonders when they will be getting back. Maybe with some luck she will have the kids in bed within the hour so she can barricade herself and her husband in their bedroom.
Her head jerks up with a start when she feels the wards shiver as they let people pass through.
Her husband comes through to the lounge, boys in tow and a sleepy Lyra cradled in his arms, with a scowl on his face.
Draco glares at her, seated comfortably on the carpeted floor with a cup of tea on the end table and a book open on her lap.
"I am never taking anyone trick-or-treating again, mark my words."
a/n: i know this is probably the furthest thing from what the prompter wanted but i tried. meh it just seems hella flat to me. i'm far better at writing smut and angst. fluff is a domain i don't regularly traverse. but i love my scorpius. scorpius malfoy is better than you.