It is 2025... so weird. Anyways, I am ready for what this year has to offer! Also in this story.
So here it is, the next chapter. I hope you will find this as much as a treat as I does. And yes... it is even more fluff and cute moments. Sorry, can't help it.
Draco strode through the bustling, snow-covered streets of Hogsmeade, the air crisp and cold around him. The village looked like something out of a winter wonderland, with icicles hanging from shop windows and a thick layer of snow coating the rooftops. Everything sparkled in the pale winter sun, and the festive decorations strung between buildings only added to the magic of the season. For the first time in a long while, Draco felt something resembling anticipation—not for the holiday itself, but for the day he had planned with Granger and Rose.
He had agreed to meet them in front of the Three Broomsticks, where they would start their day of exploring the village, and as he approached, he could just make out the two of them standing near the entrance. Hermione was kneeling in front of Rose, her face tight with concern, while Rose had her head down, wiping at her eyes.
Draco slowed his pace as he drew closer, overhearing the tail end of their conversation.
"I know it's hard, love," Granger was saying, her voice soft but tinged with sadness. "But your dad... he's busy right now. You'll see him on Christmas Eve at the Burrow. I promise."
Rose sniffed, her voice thick with tears as she looked up at Granger, her little face crumpled in confusion. "But why isn't he here now? Why doesn't he want to see me? Doesn't he miss me?"
Granger's expression wavered, the weight of her daughter's pain pressing down on her, though she tried to hide it. "Of course he misses you, sweetheart. Sometimes... sometimes grown-ups just have a lot to deal with. But it doesn't mean he doesn't love you."
Draco's heart clenched as he stood there, listening to the conversation he hadn't meant to overhear. He could see the confusion and hurt in Rose's eyes, and it hit him harder than he expected. The raw, innocent pain of a child who couldn't understand why her father wasn't around. It stirred something deep within him—something he had tried to bury for some time now.
This isn't your place, he reminded himself. He wasn't Rose's father. That was Weasley's role, and Draco had no intention of stepping into those shoes. But as much as he told himself that, the reality of it was harder to ignore. The more time he spent with Rose, the more he felt connected to her in ways that made him uneasy.
Just as Draco was thinking of quietly stepping back to give them a moment, Rose suddenly spotted him. Her tear-filled eyes widened with recognition, and in an instant, her sadness seemed forgotten. "Draco!" she exclaimed, breaking away from Granger and running towards him.
He barely had time to react before Rose flung herself at him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. Draco instinctively knelt down to her level, his hands resting gently on her back as she hugged him.
"Draco!" she repeated, her voice brighter now, as if his presence alone had washed away her earlier upset. "You're here!"
Draco smiled faintly, though the sight of her tear-streaked face tugged painfully at his chest. "Of course I'm here," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "I wouldn't miss today for anything."
Rose's grin was wide as she beamed up at him, her earlier sadness seemingly forgotten in the excitement of the moment. But as much as Draco was relieved to see her happy again, the image of her hurt expression moments earlier lingered in his mind. The reality of her father's absence, the confusion and disappointment she felt—it weighed heavily on him.
He stood, Rose still clinging to his side, and looked over at Hermione. She had risen as well, her eyes searching his as if to gauge his reaction to the scene he had just witnessed. There was a flicker of guilt in her expression, as if she was somehow responsible for Rose's pain, even though it wasn't her fault. But there was also a quiet gratitude—perhaps for the way Draco had stepped in, even unknowingly, to bring a smile back to her daughter's face.
"She was just upset about Ron," Granger said quietly, almost apologetically. "He... hasn't been around much lately, and she doesn't understand why."
Draco nodded, his throat tight as he glanced down at Rose, who was now happily chatting about the snow and Christmas decorations. It was hard to reconcile the joy she felt now with the sadness he had seen just moments before.
The more time he spent with Granger and Rose, the more he felt himself becoming part of their lives. It wasn't intentional, but it was happening all the same. Rose looked to him in ways that unsettled him—ways that made him feel like he was filling a void left by her father. And as much as he cared about her, as much as he wanted to see her happy, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was overstepping.
You're not her father. You never will be.
But then again, was he trying to be? He didn't want to replace Weasley, at least not consciously. And yet, with every hug, every smile from Rose, every moment of happiness she shared with him, it felt like he was stepping into a role he didn't think he would have after all.
Granger's gaze remained on him, and Draco could see the worry in her eyes. She wasn't oblivious to what was happening either, and he wondered if she shared the same concerns. They hadn't talked about it, not really. But the growing connection between them—between him and Rose, and him and Granger—was undeniable. And with that connection came a weight of responsibility, one he wasn't sure he was prepared to bear.
But looking down at Rose, still clinging to his hand as she pointed out the snow-covered buildings, Draco realised something else. As much as he feared overstepping, as much as the shadow of his own past loomed large, he couldn't turn away. Not from Rose. Not from Granger. They had become... important to him, in ways that scared him as much as they warmed him.
As they walked towards the centre of the village, with the snow falling softly around them and the warmth of the Three Broomsticks behind them, Draco couldn't help but wonder where this path would lead. All he knew was that he wanted to make them happy.
Hermione found herself trailing a few steps behind Malfoy and Rose. The village was alive with Christmas cheer—twinkling lights strung between buildings, festive garlands decorating shop windows, and the faint sound of carollers singing somewhere in the distance. Snow crunched beneath their feet, and the cold air was crisp, biting at her cheeks, but Hermione barely noticed. Her attention was elsewhere.
She couldn't help it—her gaze kept drifting to Malfoy.
It wasn't just the way he looked, though that alone was enough to catch her attention. He was effortlessly handsome in his dark coat, the sleek cut of it accentuating his tall, lean frame. The collar was turned up slightly against the cold, framing his face in a way that made the sharp angles of his jaw even more pronounced. The grey wool of his scarf peeked out from beneath, and Hermione found herself admiring the way the whole ensemble made him look... sexy .
But it wasn't just that.
It was the way he was with Rose—how patient and attentive he was, how easily he made her laugh. Watching them together, seeing the easy bond that had formed between them, made something tighten in Hermione's chest. She had never imagined Draco Malfoy, of all people, fitting so seamlessly into her life. And yet, here he was, walking hand in hand with her daughter through the snowy streets of Hogsmeade, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
Hermione shook her head slightly, trying to clear the swirl of emotions that had been building up inside her. She had been feeling conflicted for days now, torn between her growing feelings for Malfoy and the unresolved issues she still carried with Ron. It wasn't just about their divorce; it was about everything that had come after—the way he had slowly drifted out of Rose's life, the way he had become a distant figure instead of the father she needed.
Her thoughts darkened as she recalled Rose's earlier tears, her confusion and hurt over Ron's absence. It had broken Hermione's heart to see her daughter so sad, and though she had done her best to explain, the truth was, she couldn't make it better. She couldn't make Ron be there. But Malfoy... Malfoy was here. And that, too, made everything more complicated.
She stole another glance at him as they passed by Honeydukes, the warm glow of the shop's window illuminating his face in soft light. There was a quiet strength to him, something she hadn't expected. He was different now, so different from the boy she had known at Hogwarts. That boy had been arrogant, cruel at times, wrapped up in the prejudices of his upbringing. But this Malfoy... this man was kind, thoughtful, and he cared for Rose in ways that went beyond what she could have hoped for.
And that scared her.
Because the more time she spent with him, the harder it was to keep her feelings in check. There was an undeniable attraction between them, something that had been simmering just beneath the surface for weeks now. Hermione wasn't blind to it—she could feel the tension whenever they were alone, the way their conversations sometimes lingered just a little too long, the way his eyes would hold hers for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
But at the same time, she wasn't ready for this. How could she be? She was still dealing with everything that had happened with Ron, still trying to come to terms with the fact that their marriage had fallen apart and that, in many ways, he had failed their daughter. And now here was Malfoy, complicating everything with his quiet, steady presence and the feelings he stirred inside her.
"Granger?" Malfoy's voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she blinked, realising she had fallen behind. He had stopped just ahead, Rose tugging on his hand and pointing excitedly at the shop windows. "Everything all right?"
Hermione forced a smile, quickening her pace to catch up. "Yes, sorry," she said, her voice light, though it felt like a lie. "Just... thinking."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, his gaze searching hers for a moment, as if he could sense the inner turmoil she was trying to hide. But he didn't press. Instead, he nodded, his expression softening as they continued walking.
Rose ran ahead, her excitement at the decorations evident in the way she darted from one window to the next, her laughter ringing through the air. Hermione watched her for a moment, her heart swelling with both love and a pang of sadness. She wanted Rose to be happy—deserved it more than anything—but the complications with Ron made that so much harder. And now Malfoy... Was she being unfair to Rose by letting Malfoy get so close? What if things between them didn't work out? What if he decided one day to step back, leaving Rose with another figure in her life who couldn't stay?
Hermione sighed quietly, her breath misting in the cold air. The confusion in her heart felt heavy, a mix of emotions she wasn't sure how to navigate. She glanced at Malfoy again, his profile strong and handsome against the backdrop of the snowy village, and felt the familiar pull towards him—the one she was trying so hard to suppress.
What scared her the most wasn't the attraction. It was the fact that, despite everything, she was beginning to want more. She was starting to imagine a future where Malfoy wasn't just a part of their lives, but someone central to it. And with that came the fear of losing him—of getting too close, only for everything to fall apart, just like it had with Ron.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Malfoy asked again, his voice quiet, as they walked past a small stand selling Christmas ornaments.
Hermione smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yes," she said softly, though the knot in her chest told a different story. "I'm just... figuring things out."
Malfoy didn't push her, and for that, Hermione was grateful. But as they continued through the magical, snow-dusted village, she felt the weight of her unresolved emotions pressing down on her. Without a word, Malfoy slipped his arm around her shoulder, offering a quiet comfort that she hadn't expected but deeply appreciated. His touch was gentle, warm, and steady, and though neither of them spoke, the simple gesture eased some of the tension inside her. As they trailed after Rose, who was darting from one decorated window to the next, Hermione's mind whirled. She had been through so much already, and the idea of opening herself up again—to Malfoy, to the possibility of something more—was as terrifying as it was tempting. But in that moment, with Malfoy's arm around her, the fear didn't feel quite so overwhelming.
Rose darted ahead, her laughter echoing through the snowy streets as she chased after a loose golden snitch that had somehow escaped from a shop window. It zigzagged through the air, teasing her as she tried to catch it, her little feet skidding across the icy cobblestones.
"Rose," Draco called out, amusement lacing his voice, "don't get lost again!" He exchanged a knowing glance with Granger, his lips twitching into a small smile. Granger laughed softly, shaking her head as she kept her eyes on her daughter. They were both vigilant, despite the playful moment, watching Rose closely as she darted in and out of sight between the small crowds of shoppers.
"She won't," Granger replied, her tone warm with affection. "But it doesn't hurt to keep an eye on her."
Draco nodded, his gaze following Rose as she leapt to snatch at the snitch, her rust-coloured dress bright against the white blanket of snow beginning to gather on the ground. He felt that familiar tug in his chest as he watched the little girl—protective, fond. But when his eyes flickered back to Granger, something deeper stirred within him.
The snow had started to fall softly, delicate flakes settling in Granger's dark curls and catching on the brim of her red woollen hat. Her coat, also red, flared slightly as she moved, and the contrast of the rich colour against the soft white of the snow was striking. She stood there, illuminated by the twinkling Christmas lights strung above the streets, looking every bit like she belonged in a winter painting—serene, beautiful, and effortlessly captivating.
Draco's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he was frozen. He had seen Granger like this before—laughing, with that spark of life in her eyes—but something about the way the snow fell around her now made everything feel more intense, more real. His pulse quickened, and he found himself mesmerised by the sight of her. She wasn't just beautiful; she was radiant . The kind of beauty that stopped you in your tracks, that made everything else fall away.
The urge to move closer, to touch her, overwhelmed him. He tried to push it back, to remind himself of the delicate balance they had—of the complications that already surrounded their relationship. But the feelings he'd been trying to keep buried, the attraction he'd been suppressing for weeks, surged to the surface, too strong to ignore.
He watched her for a moment longer, the snow falling around them, and realised he couldn't fight it anymore. He couldn't fight her .
Before he could stop himself, Draco closed the distance between them, his heart pounding. He reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands. Hermione blinked, startled by the sudden contact, but before she could say a word, Draco leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, impulsive kiss.
The world seemed to fall away in that instant, the gentle murmur of the village and the falling snow fading into the background. All Draco could feel was the warmth of Granger's lips against his, the softness of her skin beneath his fingers as he held her face. It was as if everything he had been holding back—the tension, the desire, the longing—poured into that single kiss.
For a brief moment, Granger stiffened in surprise, but then, as if some unspoken understanding passed between them, she melted into him, her hands coming up to rest lightly on his chest. The kiss deepened, the cold air around them forgotten as warmth flooded through him. Draco's heart raced, but not with fear—with the overwhelming sense of rightness that came with being this close to her.
When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless, Draco searched her eyes, his fingers still gently cradling her face. There was confusion there, yes, but there was something else—something that mirrored the feelings he had been trying so hard to keep hidden.
"I... I couldn't help it," Draco murmured, his voice hoarse, barely audible over the soft sounds of the village around them. "You're just... so beautiful."
Granger stared up at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted slightly in surprise. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them thick with everything that had been left unsaid.
Draco swallowed, his heart still racing as he let his hands drop from her face, though the pull between them hadn't faded. If anything, it had only grown stronger, more undeniable. But as much as he wanted to kiss her again, to lose himself in her warmth, he knew they couldn't stay like this forever.
Granger took a shaky breath, her cheeks flushed from more than just the cold. "Draco..." she began, her voice soft, almost hesitant.
But before she could say more, Rose's voice rang out, breaking the moment. "Look, I caught it!" she cried, holding up the golden snitch triumphantly as she ran back towards them, her excitement cutting through the tension.
Draco stepped back, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He glanced at Rose, then back at Granger, whose expression was still a mix of shock and something else—something that told him this wasn't the end of whatever had just started between them.
But as Rose bounded up to them, the moment passed for now, and the trio continued walking through the magical snow.
The fire in the sitting room of Malfoy Manor crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the cold, grand space. Draco sat in one of the high-backed leather chairs, a glass of firewhisky in hand, his mind racing with the events of the day. He stared into the flames, his expression dark, his thoughts caught in a whirlwind of regret and longing.
What the hell was I thinking? He had acted completely out of line. Kissing Hermione like that—impulsively, without warning—it had been reckless. Unforgivable, even. She hadn't asked for it, hadn't given any indication that she wanted it. But the way she had looked at him in the snow, standing there in her red coat, framed by the twinkling Christmas lights and falling snow... Draco hadn't been able to stop himself.
He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. The memory of her lips against his, warm and soft, haunted him. He could still feel the way her breath had hitched in surprise, the brief resistance before she gave in, melting into the kiss. It had been intoxicating, overwhelming, and it had consumed him in a way he hadn't expected. And now, sitting alone in the Manor, he was left with the consequences of his own foolishness.
I shouldn't have done it, he berated himself. I've ruined everything.
But even as he scolded himself, Draco couldn't stop thinking about how perfect it had felt. Her lips, her touch, the warmth that had spread through him. He had been consumed by desire, yes, but it was more than that. It wasn't just lust—it was the deep connection he had been fighting for so long. And the thought of Hermione in his arms again made his body react in ways he didn't want to acknowledge. His hand tightened around the glass, his pulse quickening as images of that moment filled his mind once more.
Merlin, get a grip, he thought, frustration welling up inside him. He let out another groan, running a hand through his hair as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
Just as he was on the verge of spiralling further into his self-imposed torture, a soft rustle from the doorway caught his attention. Draco straightened, glancing over his shoulder. He blinked in surprise at the sight of his mother, Narcissa, standing at the threshold of the sitting room. It was a rare occurrence these days—Narcissa leaving her chambers for anything other than brief meals or walks in the gardens.
She looked at him with her usual regal air, though there was a slight softness in her gaze that hadn't been there before. "Draco," she said quietly, stepping into the room. "You look... different. Happier, I think."
Draco swallowed, feeling his pulse slow as his mother's presence grounded him. "Do I?" he muttered, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Narcissa tilted her head, her sharp eyes observing him closely as she moved further into the room. "Yes," she replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "It's been some time since I've seen you look this... at ease."
Draco snorted softly, though it lacked any real humour. At ease? That was far from how he felt. His mind was a mess, torn between guilt and something far more complicated.
Narcissa's eyes narrowed slightly as she settled into the chair opposite him, her pale fingers resting delicately on the armrests. She studied him for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "The house-elves seem to think you've been spending time with... someone." Her voice was gentle, but there was a knowing edge to it. "They've mentioned how you've been eating less at home, and that your routine has changed."
Draco stiffened slightly, feeling a prickle of heat rise to his neck. Bloody house-elves, he thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He hadn't considered that their observations might reach his mother's ears.
"Who is she?" Narcissa asked, her voice soft but curious, her eyes fixed on his face.
For a moment, Draco hesitated, unsure of what to say. He knew that denying it outright would be pointless—his mother was perceptive, and she would see through any attempt to dismiss her question. But the truth was... complicated. It wasn't as simple as seeing someone, was it? Not with Hermione.
Draco sighed, setting his glass down on the small table beside him. "There's no one," he began, but the words felt wrong even as they left his mouth. He sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "Not... officially, anyway."
Narcissa arched a perfectly shaped brow, her lips twitching slightly as if amused. "Not officially? That sounds like quite the story."
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling his mother's gaze settle heavily on him. "It's not like that. She's... someone I've known for a long time. But it's complicated."
There was a brief pause as Narcissa considered this. Then, with a faint smile, she leaned forward just slightly, her eyes softening. "Draco, you know I only want to see you happy. Complications or not, if she brings you peace, then... perhaps it's worth exploring."
Draco's stomach tightened at her words. Peace . It was a concept he hadn't considered, but he couldn't deny the way Hermione and Rose made him feel. Lighter. Less burdened by his past. And yet, with that came all the weight of his history—the things he hadn't shared with Hermione, the grief he still carried for Astoria and the child they had lost. Could he really move forward? Could he allow himself to feel again?
"It's not that simple, Mother," Draco said quietly, rubbing a hand over his face. He paused, unsure how much to reveal, then finally admitted, "She has a child."
Narcissa didn't flinch, but her expression softened slightly, her eyes widening just a fraction in surprise. "A child," she repeated gently, as if weighing the significance of his words. "I see."
Draco leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He wasn't sure why it had been so difficult to say aloud. The truth of the situation was something he had been grappling with for weeks now—how entwined he had become with their lives, and how much that terrified him. "It's complicated," he said after a beat, his voice low and thoughtful. "I don't know what it is, but I'm... I'm in deeper than I expected to be."
Narcissa remained quiet for a moment, studying her son with an unreadable expression. Then, after a pause, she spoke, her voice calm but careful. "Complicated, yes," she echoed. "But that doesn't mean it isn't worth it."
Draco fell silent, her words settling in the space between them. His mind raced, filled with the memory of that kiss, of the way Hermione had felt in his arms, and of the deeper connection he was finding not just with her but with Rose as well. Could he allow himself to get closer, to let his guard down after everything that had happened? Could he truly step into this role, whatever it was becoming?
He didn't have an answer. But as his mother's words lingered in the air, Draco couldn't help but wonder if perhaps this—this new connection, this unfamiliar yet undeniable pull—was something he had been waiting for all along, even if it scared him. The uncertainty gnawed at him, the fear of opening himself up again, but the idea of turning away from it felt even worse.
He glanced over at Narcissa, who was watching him with a calm, knowing gaze. Her presence, as always, was a steadying force in his life. But tonight, there was something more in her eyes—something that told him she could sense his inner turmoil, even if he hadn't voiced it fully.
"How are you feeling, Mother?" Draco asked softly, shifting the conversation away from himself, though his concern was genuine.
Narcissa gave him a faint smile, her eyes glimmering with a hint of amusement. "Ah, somehow our roles seem to have reversed, haven't they?" she remarked, her voice light but affectionate. "You, taking care of me, when it used to be the other way around."
Draco's lips twitched into a small smile. "Someone has to make sure you don't retreat to that room forever," he said, his tone gently teasing, though they both knew there was truth in his words. The loss of Lucius and the weight of everything that had happened in recent years had taken its toll on her. But Draco had quietly stepped in, ensuring that she was looked after, even if it meant pushing her out of her self-imposed isolation from time to time.
Narcissa chuckled softly, her gaze softening as she looked at her son. "It seems I've raised you well," she said, her voice tinged with pride. "Though I must admit, it's still strange to see how much you've grown. It's almost... comforting, in a way."
Draco glanced down at his hands, unsure of how to respond to her rare admission of pride. There was something about hearing it from her that touched him deeply, though he didn't show it. He cleared his throat, glancing back at her. "I'll be up shortly with a potion for you," he said, his voice steady.
Narcissa smiled again, a grateful but quiet expression crossing her face. "Thank you, darling," she said softly, before standing up from her chair with a graceful ease, despite her frailty. As she turned toward the door, she paused, looking over her shoulder at him. "Whatever is troubling you, Draco," she said gently, "don't let fear hold you back. You've come far. You deserve to be happy."
With that, she left the room, her words lingering in the air long after she had gone. Draco remained in his chair, staring into the fire once more, her parting words echoing in his mind.
You deserve to be happy.
Draco sat back, letting the weight of her words settle over him. Did he? He had spent so long punishing himself, caught up in the shadows of his past, that the idea of deserving happiness felt foreign, almost impossible. But as he thought of Hermione, of Rose, and the unexpected way they had slipped into his life, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—his mother was right.
Shaking his head slightly, Draco stood and left the sitting room, heading toward his private potion stash. He needed to brew that potion for Narcissa, and perhaps, in the quiet solitude of his lab, he could make sense of the confusion swirling in his mind.
I hope you enjoyed that! ️