House: Slytherin

Category: Short

Prompt: Family Tradition

Word Count (excluding A/N): 1495

A/N: Thank you Carol for helping me come up with this marvellous idea! And for making me choose Dramione. And for helping with the ending. Goodness, I should just dedicate this entire piece to you XD

o0O0o

"Love, only Pansy would wear something as tacky as this." Draco plucked a flouncy pink blob off of their bed and eyed it with disgust. "And our daughter is supposed to parade through the neighborhood in it?'

From the bathroom, Hermione sighed. "We've been over this before Draco. Trick-or-treating is part of living in a muggle neighborhood. And it makes Lyra happy."

Draco frowned, now glaring at the giant white onesie hanging on their door. "I still don't see how me dressing up like a giant mouse has anything to do with Lyra's happiness."

"Oh, you'll make a cute ferret," Hermione answered, walking over and pecking him on the cheek. "And it's a family tradition. You have to take our daughter trick-or-treating while I stay home and hand out toothbrushes."

Draco chuckled. "Muggles really do this?"

"Well, my parents did," Hermione replied. "And I want to remember them."

Especially since they don't remember me. Draco knew what Hermione left unsaid, so he put a comforting arm around her. "Of course, love," he murmured. "I'll get changed right away."

. . . . . . . . . .

When Draco emerged from their bedroom, clad in a giant ferret costume, he regretted ever agreeing to take Lyra trick-or-treating. He looked ridiculous.

"No pictures," he growled at Hermione. "If Scarhead or Weasel ever saw me in this, I'd never live it down."

Hermione only looked him up and down, an approving gleam in her eye, before deadpanning, "You make quite a nice ferret, Draco."

Draco scowled; however, before he could repeat that there would be no pictures on pain of death, Lyra bust into the room.

"Mom!" she shouted, waving her battered tennis shoes around, her curly brown hair a snarled mess, tears welling in her silvery blue eyes. "Mom! I need glass slippers to be Cinderella!"

Hermione tsked. "Glass slippers would break, dear."

"But you could just go 'Shit! Reparo!' to them!" Lyra protested, flicking her wrist in a remarkable imitation of a wand movement.

Draco only kept himself from laughing with extreme force of will; after glancing at the flabbergasted Hermione, he said as calmly as he could manage, "She gets it from you, love."

Hermione sighed. "I know, but it's been three years—" she broke off abruptly when she noticed Lyra watching the conversation with wide eyes. "Draco, are you ready to take her trick-or-treating?"

"Of course. Are you ready, Lyra?"

Lyra frowned. "I want glass slippers!" she cried petulantly.

Draco winked at her. "I'll see what I can do. Now let's go!"

Lyra ran from the room, her ugly pink dress billowing around her, but as Draco made to follow her, Hermione caught his arm. "Remember, no magic," she warned. "We're following my parents' Halloween tradition."

"I know," Draco answered. "But Samhain is a magical time. Who knows what will happen?"

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The sun had long since set, and Draco and Lyra were still trick-or-treating. Lyra had gotten many compliments for her "beautiful princess costume", though Draco suspected those were all lies; meanwhile, he had gotten many strange looks, all of which he blamed on Hermione. His wife had insisted he dress up, saying it was typical of muggle fathers to do so when they took their spawn trick-or-treating, but from the looks of it, most of the fathers were sitting back and having a drink— not escorting their six-year old daughters around in a giant ferret costume.

Stupid family tradition. He was certain that even if they hadn't lived in a muggle neighborhood Hermione would have insisted on trick-or-treating. Apparently she had fond memories of it because her parents had let her eat as much candy as she'd wanted that night, and now that her parents were in Australia, this was her way of remembering them. Well, while he understood her reasoning, goddamnit he was magical and so was she! It was time to make some new family traditions. Starting right away.

He knelt down to Lyra's eye level. Her candy bag was already half-full, and she was beginning to droop. "What do you want for Samhain, Lyra?"

"I want to be Cinderella," she answered sleepily, rubbing her eyes. "I want a carriage. And a pretty dress. And glass slippers. And a prince."

Draco's mind flew back to the VCRs Hermione had forced him to watch with their daughter. "So you need a fairy godmother, then?" he asked.

She yawned, then nodded.

Careful not to let anyone see, he pulled his wand from his pocket. "You might not get a prince," he said, "but you will get a pretty dress, glass slippers, and a carriage. Tonight, I'm your fairy godfather."

Chanting Bippity Boppity Boo under his breath, Draco transformed her shapeless pink dress into a shimmering blue ballgown; then, he cast on a nearby pumpkin. It swelled to humongous proportions, its mottled orange skin gaining a polished, satin white sheen, and when its plush interior was ready, Draco stepped forward and held the door open. "After you, my Princess."

Lyra's eyes were wide. She picked up her beautiful ball gown and started forward, but then she stopped. "Dad! You forgot—"

"I'm your fairy godfather," Draco interrupted. "And I don't forget anything. I just saved the best for last."

With a wave of his wand, her old tennis shoes disappeared, and were replaced by shining glass slippers.

Lyra's eyes lit up. "Thank you Daddy!" she squealed, running straight at him with outstretched arms. Draco easily caught her and lifted her high in the air, and as he spun her around, she shouted, "Thank you thank you thank you!"

When his arms were finally beginning to ache from holding her in the air, Draco put her down. "Now, why don't you get in the carriage? The clock is about to strike midnight, and I know a princess who needs to get home."

Lyra nodded eagerly, then all but ran into her pumpkin carriage. "Are you going to turn into a horse, Daddy?" she asked. "You're a mouse right now, just like Jaq Jaq."

"No," Draco answered as he hitched himself to the carriage. "Daddy's feet hurt too much for self-transfiguration."

Lyra didn't answer him, and Draco supposed she'd already drifted off, lulled by the gentle rocking of the carriage. Careful not to wake her, he adjusted the rope, then set off for home. When he finally approached their house, Hermione was already standing in the doorway. "Draco!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice. "Where's Lyra?"

Draco nodded towards the pumpkin carriage he was dragging behind him, and at the sight of it, Hermione smiled. "I see your magic didn't wear off at midnight."

Draco grinned. "It's a new family tradition," he said proudly, picking Lyra up from the carriage and carrying her to her bedroom. "You hand out toothbrushes, and I'll take Lyra trick-or-treating." He pushed aside a lock of curly brown hair to reveal her little face. "She had a great time."

"Before or after you used magic?" Hermione asked, casting a silent Finite Incantatem on the pumpkin and then shutting the door behind them. "Because I told you specifically not to."

Draco tucked Lyra into her bed before replying, "I made her so happy. You should have seen her, Hermione."

Hermione smiled, then tugged him from the room. "You should get out of that costume, Draco. And maybe next year I'll take her. It'd be fun. And then you won't have to be a ferret."

"If you do, then you have to dress up as a cat." Draco lifted an eyebrow.

"Never mind then," Hermione answered with a small snort. "I'm never going to be a cat again."

Draco smirked. "Then I'm always going to take her trick-or-treating. After all, it's a family tradition. And I'm her fairy godfather."

Hermione chuckled. "Oh, I don't know if you're her fairy godfather," she drawled. "I'd call you her fairy god-ferret instead."

"Fairy god-ferret?" Draco cried, his voice almost cracking. "Well, I guess that's better than Royal Toothbrush distributor!"

"Oh, just get in bed," Hermione huffed, glaring at her husband. "You're being utterly ridiculous right now."

"And you're not?" Draco slid into bed, shaking his head in mock-confusion. "Honestly, Hermione. I thought you were the brightest witch of the age."

"And I thought you were an arrogant prat," Hermione answered, rolling over on her pillow to face him. "Seems like neither of us are what we thought."

At that, Draco smiled. "I love you, Hermione," he said, pressing a feather-light kiss to her forehead.

"I love you too, Draco."

Hermione dozed off, still curled at his side, and Draco watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She really was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Without her and Lyra, he didn't know what his life would have been. He must have had his own fairy godmother; otherwise, he would never have earned Hermione's love. He cleared his throat, then whispered into the silent night, "I don't know if you're listening, but thank you. Thank you for everything."