A/N: This will be the first part of a series of oneshots regarding Narcissa/Hermione/Andromeda, plus Teddy and Draco, as a family post-war; smut, fluff, and Draco/Teddy family cuteness lie within.
Since you're here, and since the relationship in this story is clearly labeled, I'm just going to presume that neither the age difference nor Blackcest squick you out.
Prompts are always, always welcome.
When he says it first, it's only fair that it's in front of all of them.
They're in Flourish and Blotts on a Wednesday afternoon, trying to avoid the crowds by appearing in public on a weekday when everyone else is likely to be at work. They should be too, really, but between the three of them they've built up enough hours at the Ministry to take a small vacation, and they choose to do it now, in the middle of November, when everyone else will be occupied. They're not ashamed, of course, no longer nervous to appear as a group in public, but they like to keep away from the prying eyes and muttered gossip for Teddy's sake. It's not going to be easy raising the next generation; they all know that — not with everyone in their close circle of friends having played a major role in the outcome of the war. They're all famous, and their children will be too, and soon cameras and headlines will become the new normal, but their desire, while the children are still young and impressionable, is to keep them out of the spotlight as much as they possibly can.
As such, this is the day that they choose to escape the confines of the house, which has been magically expanded for the sake of the two extra people who have taken up residence there. The manor, of course, is still in use, but belongs to Draco, and it is he who lives there now, alone, preferring its silent halls and vast, echoing chambers.
He is with them today, however; family outings have become important to them in the aftermath of the war, and though they make an odd and motley crew, they ignore the stares and whispers that follow them like shadows and manage to enjoy themselves, finding some peace in the fact that they are all there, all together, and all fiercely loyal to one another. They move about in a subconscious formation designed to protect, their instincts still on edge from the recently evaded destruction even if they don't fully acknowledge it. Whoever holds the baby is always centered, flanked on either side by her lovers with Draco flitting uneasily around the edges, ever watchful. Despite the initial awkwardness between them, Hermione always warms to see him pacing, even as she laughs; she is grateful for his acceptance of the odd turn of events. It's something she never dreamed she'd see.
Today, instead of being carried, Teddy walks, the result of an argument that morning consisting only of wails and half-hearted admonishments, the outcome being that he is permitted to walk on his own with all four adults fully understanding that he eventually will tire and tug on the hem of one of their robes anyway, asking in his gibberish to be held. For now, however, he toddles around on chubby legs, clad in a set of brand new robes of smoky grey — only solid neutral colors are suitable for him, the women have found, due to his tendency to abruptly sprout vibrant neon-colored hair. Despite not speaking, he also makes it perfectly clear when he dislikes an outfit; the sudden transformation of his skin tone to a violent and remarkably repulsive chartreuse is indication enough.
His hair this afternoon is a brilliant magenta, a tribute to Draco, who never fails to express his delight at the little boy's remarkable abilities. He follows the young man about the store, waddling rapidly to keep in stride or else clinging to the offered hand and babbling earnestly up at him. Relaxed with the knowledge that he is in good hands, the three women wander about the store, able to peruse the shelves at their leisure without worrying about the safety of their boy.
Hermione is just pulling a copy of Pride and Prejudice, a Study of Modern Centaurs in Britain and Ireland from the shelves when a hair-raising shriek pierces the ears of every customer. With a yelp, she drops the book at the same time that Narcissa, halfway across the shop, accidentally flings The Intricacies of High Elvish away in shock. It narrowly misses Andromeda, who has stubbed her toe jumping in surprise, and collides with the opposite wall. Cursing, Andy spins about to face the other two with an expression of mingled surprise and anxiety. The three women need only share a single glance to see that the same thought has occurred to all of them.
"Teddy," Narcissa says sharply. Andy and Hermione are nodding, already moving in the direction in which Draco and Teddy disappeared.
They've hardly gone three steps when Draco comes flying from the back of the shop with Teddy in his arms and a somewhat maniacal expression of delight.
"You'll never guess what's just happened!" he declares, intercepting the three witches as they move towards Teddy with low exclamations of relief. At Narcissa's attempt to take him into her arms, her son shakes his head and pulls away. When the blonde witch frowns in confusion and moves again to take him, Draco only laughs, dancing just out of her reach.
"Draco, if you don't tell us right this minute what you're on about, I'll hex you into next Tuesday," Hermione threatens, glaring at her son-in-law warningly as she steps forward to lay a pacifying hand on Narcissa's shoulder. "Relax, Cissa; he's all right." Draco is beaming in a manner truly uncharacteristic of him; Hermione can feel low-key alarm flickering through to her at the edge of the bond, and glances to her right at the elder of her wives, whose eyes are glued to the quite unharmed toddler in her nephew's arms. "Andy." Her tone is infused with nothing more than a gentle reminder, but it's enough to make Andromeda fall back, her shoulders slightly less tense than before.
For once, Draco ignores the obvious depth of the interaction; though he's had time to grow accustomed to the soul bond the three share, he's yet to grow fully comfortable with the magic it involves. At the moment, however, it seems he is too excited to care.
"He said his first word!" is his exclamation, nearly shrill in its exuberance. "Teddy's first word; he said it!" There's a moment of blank confusion for all three of them, but then the understanding hits, and he gets to watch three faces break out into identical expressions of joy and excitement. The witches crowd around him more rapidly than he can blink, their faces alight with astonishment and delight.
"What did he say?" Narcissa is the one to speak first, her words more of a croon directed towards Teddy than a query towards her son. "What did my precious boy say to Draco?" Draco has the good grace not to look affronted at the insinuation that he'll be sharing the title of Narcissa' precious boy whether he approves of it or not.
"He said it to the clerk, actually," he laughs, bouncing Teddy in his arms. "The witch pointed out the three of you shopping and asked if you were really the famous 'Ladies of Love' — " Andromeda scoffs at the title, as at least one of them always does — "And before I could answer, Teddy turned his hair blue and said, 'Mine.'" An incomprehensible murmur escapes Narcissa at that, and Andromeda's expression glows with unmasked elation; Hermione presses a hand to her lips in wonderment. Blue is Teddy's favorite choice of hair color, one that he has always utilized to express his contentment; it's a color most often seen at home in moments of familial peace, whether it be at the appearance of his favorite food or during a nap in his favorite spot, sound asleep against one of their chests with a hand of each of the other two laid gently on his back.
"Teddy," Hermione coos, outstretching her arms in a silent request. Draco acquiesces this time, though it is clear he is reluctant, relinquishing the toddler to the brunette he has come to consider his family. "Did you say your first word? You're such a good boy." The feeling of her wives pressing in around her from either side makes her smile grow even more; even as they reach out to Teddy, each of them spares a hand for her in a movement that's by now almost automatic, both of them curling a hand into the waist of her robes and moving in to her. Draco, though his heart warms at the sight of their obvious happiness, feels the urge to glance away — the visual confirmation that love and joy are still present in the world never fails to sting the corners of his eyes with unexpected emotion.
As it is, the moment is special, almost too intimate for the eyes of the public to rest on. The three witches have moved so close together that they're nearly pressed into one form, all smiling broadly and murmuring to the little boy in their shared embrace.
Teddy is the one to break up the coos of praise, his hair still a vibrant cobalt, with the utterance of the words.
"My Andy." Andromeda goes pale so quickly that the sight is almost laughable. There is immediate silence amongst the three of them as they stare at the little boy in shock. They would wonder if they were hearing things were it not for the clarity of the childish voice, the deep purpose in solemn, bright eyes that stare intently into theirs. Narcissa and Hermione have also frozen in astonishment.
"Andy, did you just — "
"My Cissa. My 'Mione." If there was any doubt before, there is certainly no mistaking this time of the words; they watch the movement of Teddy's lips as he address each of them in turn.
"Did you hear — " Narcissa cuts herself off with a gasp when a chubby hand reaches up to press against her cheek. Opposite her, the other hand finds Andromeda; he is still sitting in Hermione's arms.
A delighted laugh escapes the brunette witch.
"Listen to that," she murmurs. "Someone's talking to us." Narcissa, too, is beginning to recover from her astonishment, a joyful smile slowly taking over her expression. Andromeda, however, is slightly shaky, her eyes bright with emotion.
"I'm so proud of you." It's meant only for Teddy, or perhaps not even; perhaps the words merely spill from her without her control. Nonetheless, her wives can hear it, as can Draco, and they all shift subconsciously towards her in one motion as tears threaten to spill over from soft brown eyes. "Sweetheart, I'm so proud." When the first tears fall, the other three know that the time has come to leave. Wordlessly, they part, Draco offering a hand to his aunt to guide her over to the fireplace so that they can floo home.
The moment they've stepped from the fire back in the living room of the little house, Hermione transfers Teddy to Andromeda's arms. Both she and Narcissa move to wrap themselves as fully around their wife as they can manage given the slight obstruction that is the toddler. The three of them end up in a sort of L-shape, Narcissa pressed into Andy's side and Hermione with her arms wrapped around her from behind. It isn't how they're accustomed to standing — for one thing, unless one of them has had a nightmare and needs soothing, Narcissa is almost always in the middle — but with the baby in the way, it's the best that they can manage. They remain so for a long time, Draco shuffling off to the kitchen with a mumble about making tea. It is only when Narcissa and Hermione's hands, wandering soothingly up and down Andromeda's side, brush across each other in passing, that they shake themselves from their thoughts and separate — not far, but just enough to look each other in the eye.
"Should we explain it to him?" It's Hermione who speaks up first, hazel eyes flitting anxiously back and forth between her wives'. Narcissa is the one to tear her gaze away, redirecting her attention to Teddy, whose hair has turned a concerned shade of maroon — an indication that they haven't schooled their overflowing emotions very well. At the recognition that he is being watched, he rewards her with a bright smile that spreads back to her, lighting up her entire face despite the heavy emotion still weighted behind her eyes.
In spite of her own solemnity of mood, Hermione feels a flutter in her belly at the sight; it's an old one, and familiar; one that, despite the years, she knows she will never truly get used to. The sight of happiness, true happiness, on Narcissa and Andy's faces, never fails to remind her of just how unbelievably lucky she is. And maybe the notion is clichéd, but the situation isn't; there's nothing like what the three of them have, and in any case, Hermione has always thought, clichés are so for a reason.
It's important that they all recognize that, she thinks, because they're not going to get anything else like this; not ever. Nothing about their situation is exactly conventional, but it's sacred and precious and something to be treasured and embraced. Besides, they're not exactly people who could be anything considered normal, whatever that is — not anymore. Perhaps not ever. They're three women who have been through extraordinary circumstances; something unconventional is what they need.
The brightest witch of her age; Hermione has always been true to her title. The brains behind the Golden Trio — she's seen death and destruction on a scale than most can be expected to in generations; she's been a fugitive and a thief; she's ridden dragons and infiltrated the government and been tortured; she fought and won a war against the most famous villain of all time, all before her eighteenth birthday. Perhaps it is fitting that the epilogue be just as unusual. They make quite the trio — the pureblooded lady of the manor, the disgraced middle Black, and the witch who helped defeat Lord Voldemort. Tack on Teddy and Draco, and they're quite an eclectic bunch, an odd little group, but no matter the manner of their bonds, they are a family.
And beside that, they're all similar, anyway; they've all loved and lost. The three of them are shrewd, loyal, and fiercely loving. It's why their arrangement works so well.
"Perhaps . . ." Narcissa begins, at the same time that Andy speaks.
"No." They both stop, and all three share a warm smile at their mingled words. "I think it would be better to wait," Andy clarifies a moment later. There's clear confliction in her eyes, and it makes Hermione move closer to her, gripping her elbow to stabilize her. "Wait until . . . until he's old enough to understand. I don't want him to grow up with the wrong impression of them." They're discussing the topic that they all know will have to be broached eventually; the story behind the picture that sits in a delicate silver frame at Teddy's bedside.
They all feel deeply the effect of the things they've lost, but it's perhaps Teddy who has had the most stolen from him, though he does not yet know the full extent of it, and remains surrounded by countless people who love him. Harry, in particular, is determined that his godson will not grow up as he did, lost and without love. It's not something any of them are worried about — Teddy, unlike Harry, is surrounded by loving people — but he is still missing something so critical, though he is not perhaps entirely aware of it yet. It's something that they will explain eventually, but they want to do it justice. It's not something any of them are looking forward to; how do you explain to a child the true depth of meaning behind their parents being heroes? They're not here, and to him, that may be the extent of its meaning.
Later that night, with Teddy already asleep, Hermione emerges from the shower and Narcissa from ensuring that the usual nightly protective charms have been placed over the house to find Andromeda sitting before their dressing table with a posture that tells them with a single glance that their wife is feeling a little lost tonight. Exchanging neither word nor glance, they cross the room to her side. Hermione's hands go to her shoulders as Narcissa's touch lingers in her hair; their familiar places that they wordlessly established at the blossoming of their relationship and which they now find without thought.
Neither of them speak, though perhaps to do so would seem the best course of action. How can they, when to call the day an unfavorable one would be misleading, but to say it was happy is not entirely truthful either? The most it can manage to be is bittersweet, and that acknowledgement won't serve to soothe their distraught wife.
Instead, they rely on touch, for when words fail, they have found that glances and subtle touches can express more than what they need.
With gentle hands, they draw Andy from the chair and into the warm space between them, nestling her between their bodies in a show of just as much protection as comfort. It is Narcissa who kisses her first, lips meeting tenderly with the same sweetness and familiarity that she has always embodied; it's what Narcissa represents to them; tenderness and comfort, a light and welcome haven from everyday bitterness. Behind her, Hermione sweeps her hair aside to press soft and lingering kisses to her neck, the light touches of fluttering fingers against her ribcage growing more significant as her lips move upwards, until she breaks away with one hand to turn her wife's head slightly towards her and flits butterfly kisses against the underside of a slender jaw as she continues to kiss Narcissa.
Andy acquiesces to the gently urging touch, only tilting her head to allow Narcissa to kiss her more deeply as Hermione's hands travel up her ribcage and meet with the blonde's at the front of her form-fitting robes. Together, they undo each silver fastening, hands working in almost perfect coordination without either of them sparing a glance.
Once the garment has been loosened, Narcissa's hands immediately slip inside to find more contact at her waist as Hermione's move away again, dancing back to trace light patterns down their wife's arms. Unhurriedly, they find slender wrists and give silky sleeves a tug, urging. Andy doesn't break the kiss to aid her younger wife in the removal of the material, but soon enough, she is free of it, and warm hands join Narcissa's in caressing smooth skin.
She only lets out a soft gasp when Hermione's fingers waltz up her bare torso to her exposed breasts, but she doesn't quite manage to stifle a needy whimper when abruptly the heated kiss ends and Narcissa moves to close her hot lips around a nipple. Instantly, Hermione's free hand is in her hair, tugging her head gently back, and though the angle is a little awkward, the kiss is deep and filled with undisguised longing. It's heaven, the feeling of both of them touching her at once; it always has been, and it never fails to make her feel safe and cherished, protected and deeply loved. Hermione and Narcissa are her sanctuary, the castle in the air that she's somehow been granted the impossible gift to inhabit, and despite all the time they've been together, she'll never quite manage to get used to how good they feel. This is usually Narcissa's place; typically, she and Hermione are the ones to take her, to wrap her up warmly between them and chase away her vulnerability with loving eyes and tender caresses, but they all know this is different, tonight. Tonight, her need is greater, and rather than be burdened by it, her lovers cherish the opportunity to make her feel worthy.
At the sight of Narcissa sinking to her knees before her, she begins to speak, but is hushed by both of them. They do this often enough — the action itself, of course — and the kneeling isn't so rare as any of them once might have thought, but it's still special, still an act of love and devotion beyond what any of them were used to before they found each other, and she's having a difficult time feeling worthy of such intimacy tonight.
All that reasoning flies out the window when Narcissa's warm, sweet mouth finds her core, and Andromeda lets out a low cry, her body lurching at the sudden descent of sensation. Hermione's arms support her effortlessly, though she breaks away from the kiss to find air. It will prove fruitless, she knows, but it's more of an instinct than an actual attempt at catching her breath. A moment later, when Narcissa latches onto her clit, her entire body goes weak. She struggles to draw air as her lovers work magic on her, cradled in Hermione's arms with Narcissa's mouth drawing the most indecent sounds from her lips, each kiss and touch imbued with such love, such tenderness and devotion, that the simple knowledge of how much they treasure her nearly brings her to the edge.
Her body trembles as they bring her higher, stringing her tighter with each movement until she's shaking and desperate, each touch drawing from her a deep and ragged gasp and each breathless whimper needier and more pleading than before. They build her up with such purpose behind each touch and kiss and gentle caress, bringing her right to the edge, and for a single, frozen moment in which she is unable to draw breath, they leave her there, suspended.
Then, oh, then Narcissa wraps her lips around her clit once more and sucks, hard, at the same time that her nipples are given a last, hard twist, and she arches into Hermione's arms with a breathless little cry, broken, and just trusts them both to hold her as stars explode behind her eyes and the ecstasy rips through her with a force that nearly makes her black out.
When she comes to, she's still trembling, aftershocks tingling up and down her spine. They've moved; somehow they must have carried her, for now they're on their bed, the two of them stretched out at her side stroking her hair and shuddering ribcage with soft hands and murmuring soothing words of love. She smiles up at them through eyes sleepy with pleasure, still dazed; satiated and entirely content.
"There're those beautiful eyes," Hermione murmurs. Through the mattress and against her side, Andy feels Narcissa chuckle.
"Looks like we wiped someone out," are her lightly teasing words, though the amusement is hushed slightly when she presses her lips against Andromeda's cheek. "That's our sweet girl." Hermione is sweeping her fingers lightly back and forth across a shivering abdomen, still feeling the echoes of contracting muscles; as Andromeda watches, she gazes purposefully up at her wife and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the warm skin of her chest, directly above her heart.
Andromeda can't help the tears that gather in her eyes at the loving gesture, feeling the intimacy of the moment overwhelm her. She's in the arms of the two most wonderful women in the world, and they both love her — endlessly. Sometimes she wonders how she got so lucky.
"Shh, pretty girl," Hermione croons, seeing the tears threaten and then spill over. "Darling, it's okay to cry." Then they're both leaning over her, kissing the tear drops from her cheeks as they both move over her body and cover her with their own warm weight, and she would try to stop the tears from overflowing even more, but she can't, and she won't; not if it means that the two of them will continue to do what they're doing. Part of her, the old her, would at least make an attempt to hold them back, but they don't withhold their emotions from one another; they've always had a silent agreement. After all they've been through, they know that not allowing oneself to feel and to share it costs too much.
They let themselves feel, and feel profoundly, and they share every ounce of it with one another, and Andy won't hold her tears back for anything if it means that they get to lie here, all together, always. And maybe she feels unworthy of it, but the truth of it is that all three of them do, and that's why they're here; for all of them to show each other that they're more than worthy and deserving. Maybe they've lost nearly everything else, but in the aftermath, they've found love, and what may prove to be their saving grace is that while they may not consider themselves deserving, they all believe each other to be worthy, and that, when they lie like this, wrapped up in each other and devastated by the magnitude of feeling, is what helps them to believe.