AN: Hello everyone! This is my first fic that I'm publishing on here, and I originally wrote this for the December #DHRFavorites Day 3 prompt over on tumblr. Happy reading!

DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I don't own Harry Potter :(

Dr. Richard Thomas Granger, MD, DMD, DDS, trusted his daughter— that much was undeniable.

He trusted her when she was seven, getting bullied by all of the kids in the courtyard for being just a bit off, and she said she could handle it. He trusted her when she went off to Hogwarts, insisting that she would be fine on her own, off in bloody Scotland, knowing no one except that one McGonagall woman who dropped by their house, practically kidnapping his little Hermione. He trusted her when she was suddenly being swept away during the summer by those Potter and Weasley boys, even though his fatherly instincts told him to keep her locked away from any threat of boys for the foreseeable future. He trusted her as their time together as a family got cut shorter, shorter, shorter— until she was gone. He trusted her when she came back to them, both his wife and his minds muddled up by whatever happened to them that made them Monica and Wendell Wilkins.

He trusted her when she told them what she did, how it was for the best, and he knew that she was right, somehow. He saw it in her eyes, which held a colder, emptier quality in the cognac hue that they shared; a quality Richard only ever saw in his own father's eyes as the old man recalled his time fighting side-by-side among the best of the best. He saw it through her painfully fake smile, pulled tight against her cheeks, hardly doing anything to mask her pain.

Through anything, Richard Granger, alongside his wife, Jean, trusted his daughter, irrefutably. She was, after all, her mother's daughter, and she was responsible, if not edging on uptight.

However, as he sat in his old, comfortable lounge chair, head turned to see his daughter and a boy walk in through the front door, brushing off snow from each other's clothes and peeling off their thick outer layers, his eye twitched, brow already raising, as he scrutinized the one with his little girl.

The boy- Richard refused to acknowledge him as a man- stood in the front foyer, all pale white skin, nearly translucent, enhanced by the effortlessly messy head of unnaturally white-blond hair and immaculate, thick black dress robes— he'd heard his daughter explain once. An aristocratic, awfully pointy face matched the elegance of his ensemble, features pulled into a blank mask that poorly veiled the pure curiosity that his eyes held as he surveyed the Granger home. The boy's eyes lingered on the picture frames that hung along the wall, confusion marring his face as he furrowed his brow ever-so-slightly, cocking his head to the side, almost imperceptibly.

However, Hermione, who'd previously been greeting her mother, noticed this change in demeanor. Leaning up to whisper in his ear, Richard noticed as the boy's face cleared up to one of understanding and curiosity, yet again. Richard watched as the boy greeted Jean formally, bowing over her hand before laying a kiss on her knuckles, then handing her a bouquet of carnations— a shared favorite of Hermione and Jean.

"Draco Malfoy, ma'am— it's of my utmost pleasure to finally meet you. If I may, your home is simply wonderful, to say the least," Richard heard the boy— Draco— say to his wife, causing her to blush and smile, before running off to put the flowers in water. Noting Hermione's amused smirk as she rolled her eyes, she muttered something unintelligible to his own ears, but watched as the boy let out a low chuckle. "It's just the Malfoy charm, princess— must just be a Granger magnet."

Hermione swatted him playfully in the chest, before she looked up into the next room, catching sight of him watching the pair. A bright smile pulled on her face.

"Dad!" She walked briskly over, excitement not letting her realize that she pulled Draco along with her. Only after she gave him a well-missed hug, did she realize that Draco was standing next to her, looking every bit as frightened and nervous as Richard wanted him to be. The glow of their Christmas tree illuminated the room, and the fireplace gave some well-needed warmth, but Richard's scrutinizing gaze practically took all of that warmth away. Hermione stood, Richard saw from the corner of his eye, wide-eyed and glancing back and forth between the pair.

"Dad, this is Draco Malfoy, my boyfriend. Draco, this is my father, Dr. Richard Granger. Remember how I told you about doctors and all that— like healers, but more specialized and using muggle instruments? Oh, I remember you being so fascinated by all that— perhaps the pair of you can discuss medicine and healing! Oh, wouldn't that just be lovely?" Hermione floundered to get some conversation going, and Draco, still bristling ever so slightly under Richard's glare (to his satisfaction), nodded and followed along with what his daughter was saying, though didn't say anything himself.

And uncomfortable silence ensued as Hermione stopped talking, the only noise being the sound of children playing in the snow outside and the quiet crackling of the fire. Apparently deciding to be brave, Draco stuck his hand out, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Richard looked at the hand for a few scant moments, before taking it his own and shaking it gruffly. Good grip, he noted, pleasantly surprised. As their hands released, Richard raised his own chin, crossing his arms.

"So, son," Richard watched as the boy braced himself for whatever he had to say, a nervous tick in his jaw offsetting his otherwise calm demeanor. "How did you manage to get a hold of the same hair dye our Minnie's Aunt Marge uses?"

If he hadn't been so closely watching the boy's collected features slip into those of surprise and bewilderment and a twinge of relief, Richard might've noticed Hermione snort and guffaw— actually guffaw next to them.