It was a dark and stormy night.
No, really. This particular night in London was insanely dark and insanely stormy. Honestly, that whole week had been rather grey and rainy but this particular night seemed to be the peak of the unpleasant weather. The rain pouring down from the sky was picked up and tossed around by the winds of the storm, creating a whirlpool-like environment for those brave enough to walk outside.
Although, at 3:00 AM Sunday morning, those brave souls were very few and in between.
In fact, most of London- both Muggle and Magical- were in their homes fast asleep, the storm outside acting as nature's lullaby. The low rumble of the thunder lulled many into a peaceful slumber that would carry them into a lazy Sunday, with hope that the rainy week would finally break. And in a family home that teetered the line between Magical London and Muggle London, the Granger-Malfoy household embodies that odd sense of peace the storm brought. I mean, who would have ever thought war heroine, crusader for all things good and pure Hermione Granger and Death Eater, prince of evil Draco Malfoy would become the wizarding world's most influential couple of the year? The were the epitome of the saying "opposites attract", just like cool air and warm air coming together creating the rolls of thunder outside of their home. After surviving a war at 17, falling in love (or, rather, admitting to love after years of suppression) at 18, getting married at 19, and 10 years of marriage later, the couple was still like rolling thunder. And their sex life was like the sharp cracks of thunder that made you want to jump out of your skin and shocked your very core.
And it was one of those literal cracks of thunder that woke up their 6-month-old son Scorpius. Now, Scorpius took after both of his parents' relatively calm nature and, for the most part, was a rather quiet baby since birth. It was hilarious really; his parents could count on one hand the number of times he really cried. Scorpius was a different child in that if he wanted something, he typically would just grab at you and babble, furrowing his eyebrows until you figured out what the issue was. But when he cried…oh, when he cried. Let's just say the kid had a nice set of lungs that he was not afraid to use when necessary. Like now. Scorpius was making damn sure someone knew that he was not happy and someone needed to help fix that immediately.
Up until this point, Hermione and Draco were peacefully sleeping in their master bedroom, Draco on his back with his arm under his wife acting as a cradle and Hermione on her side, her head nuzzled perfectly under her husband's chin with her arm lazily resting across his chest. Her hair, still the long wild set of curls from her youth, was splayed over her husband's face and chest. Secretly, it was one of Draco's favorite things about sleeping next to his wife; he had always had an obsession with her curly mane and he loved the light scent of hibiscus and coconut from her hair products that lingered after washing it. He also loved its softness and fullness; one of his favorite things was the feeling of her hair in his hands as her kissed and made love to her. Hell, sometimes he found himself playing in her hair when they sat in their library reading or snuggling on the couch. The combination of touch and scent always drove him over the edge and it was something he knew he would never tire of. He subconsciously reached his free hand up to play with the ends of Hermione's tresses when the piercing sound of their son's cries snapped him out his sleepy daze. The hand that was about to be submerged in his wife's cotton candy hair now went to rub the sleep out of his eyes as he felt Hermione start to move next to him to get up and soothe their terrified child.
"No, no, no; I got him. You go back to sleep," Draco said, placing a gently kiss to the top of Hermione's head before sliding out of bed. Hermione smiled sleepily before turning on her stomach falling back asleep. Draco padded down the hall to the nursery where Scorpius was throwing a fit because, dammit, that crack of thunder woke him up and he was scared and unhappy and somebody come fix it. Draco was still surprised that his son could be that loud and was convinced that it came from Hermione's side of the family. He picked up his son, holding him to his bare chest cooing softly while rubbing gentle circles on the infant's back. After a few minutes, the child began to settle into his father, finding comfort in his steady heartbeat and once Draco felt that Scorpius wouldn't start screaming again, he slowly began walking the length of the hall to lull the infant back to sleep. As he walked, he took a few moments to look at his son. With his eyes close, Scorpius was a spitting image of his father, as most Malfoy men were a spitting image of each other. Platinum blond hair, sharp features (well, sharp for a baby at least; he was still pretty cute and chubby-plushy), and alabaster skin stared back at Draco. The only thing that separated Draco from his son were Scorpius' eyes; his eyes were his mother's, a chocolate brown that were always curious about the world around him. Draco chuckled when he thought about it, seeing Hermione's eyes on a mini-version of himself. Definitely not something anyone could have predicted. He started to walk back to the nursery, as Scorpius had finally gone back to sleep, but he stopped by another door next to the nursery and slowly opened it as to not make too much noise. Draco peaked his head in the room of his and Hermione's 5-year-old daughter, Bella, checking to see if the storm had disturbed her as it had her baby brother. Like her mother, Bella was fast asleep on her stomach, her wavy hair falling out of the bun atop her head. From the sounds of her light snoring, it seemed as though the storm hadn't bothered her in the least. Around her room was a mix of Wizarding and Muggle child toys and posters, the most recent a poster of Disney's newest Princess Ana (Anne? Autumn? Draco didn't know and frankly didn't care all that much). He remembered the 5-year-old coming home with the giant poster and sprinting up to her room, asking her daddy to hang up the princess with hair like hers- chocolate brown hair with one platinum blonde streak near the front (that Malfoy hair will not be silenced, I tell you). Just as Scorpius was a spitting image of his father, Bella was a spitting image of her mother, the difference lying in her blue-grey eyes that mimicked the light-hearted scheming nature in her father's own eyes of the same color. With a light smile, Draco silently shut the door and continued his journey to the nursery. With a light kiss on the infant's forehead, Draco placed him back in his crib and left the door cracked slightly in case Scorpius had another scare during the night. He padded his way back across the hall to the master bedroom, and silently slid back next to his wife. Draco took in her sleeping form, after two children still absolutely breathtaking, clad in his old Quidditch jersey and smiled. How he was ever able to get so lucky, he would never know. He gently traced that back of her leg with the tips of his fingers, ending with a light smack on her ass that jolted Hermione awake with a giggle. She rolled over on her back, stretched, then rolled on her side facing her husband, blinking sleepily in an attempt to look at her husband.
"How is he?" she asked, giving up on actually looking at him because having her eyes closed felt so much better.
Draco reached his hand into her hair, gently scratching her scalp, which he knew she loved. The sound of her soft moans and sighs continued to confirm this fact. "He's okay. He just got startled by the storm, is all. Checked on Bella while I was up; she was completely unfazed."
Hermione moaned her acknowledgment of his statement before shifting so that Draco could lie down on his back again, and she could lie on his chest with her arm across is chest and his arms could circle around her. She placed his hand on her head, indicating the head scratching should continue despite their new lounging position. Draco chuckled, the sound and tremble of the laugh rippling through his chest, which Hermione responded to be snuggling further into her husband, placing a soft kiss on his chest and mumbling a soft "thank you" before succumbing to the Sandman again.
No, Draco didn't know how he got so lucky. But he thanked his lucky stars everyday that he was.