We are here. I am actually sad to post this, because this means it is over. The journey of Every Rose has finished.
So for the final time in this story, I hope you enjoy reading!️
A Wedding in The Gardens
The gardens of Malfoy Manor had never looked so radiant. Roses of every colour climbed trellises, their fragrant blooms perfuming the warm summer air. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient oak trees that framed the scene, carrying with it the faint notes of birdsong. The sun cast a warm golden glow over the manicured lawns, making the white chairs and satin-draped altar shimmer like something out of a dream.
In a secluded corner of the gardens, Hermione stood in the bridal tent, the ivory silk walls fluttering gently with the breeze. Her silver gown cascaded down her frame, flowing like liquid moonlight, every delicate detail of lace and beadwork catching the light. It was unlike anything she had ever worn before—elegant, ethereal, and undeniably hers. Her curls had been woven into an intricate updo, strands deliberately loosened to frame her face, while a set of delicate pearl pins gleamed amidst the dark spirals.
She exhaled slowly, hands smoothing down the front of her gown as she tried to calm the fluttering in her stomach.
"Mummy, you look like a princess," Rose whispered in awe, standing beside her in a pale pink dress with tiny cap sleeves. She clutched a small bouquet of baby's breath, her curls bouncing as she shifted on her feet, barely containing her excitement.
Hermione turned, warmth spreading through her chest at the sight of her daughter. Kneeling to be at eye level, she cupped Rose's rosy cheeks. "And you, my darling, look like the most beautiful little fairy."
Rose beamed, twirling in place with all the exuberance of a child who understood, even if only in pieces, the significance of the day. But then, she stopped abruptly, her expression turning serious. "Do you think Papa is nervous?"
Hermione laughed softly, easily imagining Draco pacing just beyond the hedges, tugging at the cuffs of his perfectly tailored robes. "Maybe a little," she admitted, brushing a stray curl from Rose's forehead. "But I think he's mostly excited."
Rose nodded solemnly, her small face taking on an air of wisdom far beyond her years. "He always says you're his favourite person."
Hermione's breath caught, her heart twisting at the quiet sincerity in her daughter's voice.
"And he's mine too," she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Rose's forehead.
Outside, the guests had already settled in their seats, the hum of whispered conversations filling the air. Underneath an arched canopy of white roses, Draco stood waiting, his black robes immaculately tailored, the subtle emerald trim a quiet homage to his Slytherin heritage. His stormy grey eyes scanned the crowd, but his fingers betrayed his nerves as they fidgeted with his cufflinks—his one tell, the only outward sign that beneath the cool, composed exterior, he was anything but calm.
Then the first notes of the string quartet filled the air.
At the tent's entrance, Hermione hesitated for the briefest of moments, fingers tightening slightly around Rose's hand. And then she stepped forward, her heart hammering in her chest, her breath catching as her gaze met Draco's.
The entire world narrowed to him.
Draco felt it too—the moment his eyes locked onto hers, his grip on his cuffs fell away, forgotten. Everything else—the guests, the music, the entire ceremony—faded into the background. It was just her. Always her.
Hermione moved down the aisle, every step feeling both surreal and deeply grounding at once. The soft rustle of her gown against the grass, the scent of roses hanging heavy in the air, the warmth of the sun against her skin—it all blended into the moment, into the sight of Draco watching her like she was the only thing that had ever mattered.
Beside her, Rose walked with quiet confidence, her little hand still clasped in Hermione's until they reached the altar. Then, with the same certainty she had possessed since the moment she could form words, Rose stepped forward, placing her small hand in Draco's.
Draco knelt, his large hands enveloping hers. "You did wonderfully, little fairy," he murmured, voice softer than anyone had ever heard it.
Rose grinned, pleased with herself, before scampering off to sit beside Narcissa, who dabbed at her eyes with a delicate handkerchief, her usual composure softening into something almost tender.
And then it was just the two of them.
Draco's voice was steady, though thick with emotion, as he spoke his vows. His fingers trembled only slightly as he took Hermione's hands in his.
"Hermione," he began, his voice low but sure, "you saved me when I didn't know I needed saving. You gave me a family, a home, and a reason to believe in the future. I promise to love you and Rose—to my dying day and beyond. You are my everything."
Hermione swallowed hard against the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. The weight of his words settled deep in her chest, warm and unyielding.
Her voice trembled but remained clear as she smiled at him through the veil of unshed tears. "Draco, you brought light into places I never thought could be illuminated. You've given me laughter, love, and the most beautiful family I could dream of. I promise to bring you joy and happiness, in whatever form it takes, for as long as I live."
A hush fell over the garden, the weight of the moment tangible in the air.
Then, "You may now kiss the bride."
Draco wasted no time. His hands cupped her face, his lips finding hers in a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. The gardens erupted in cheers, the sound of clapping and laughter rising around them, blending with the enchanted roses' gentle applause—their petals blooming wider, as if celebrating alongside them.
Rose couldn't contain herself any longer. She jumped up from her seat and darted toward them, her little arms wrapping around their legs. "Mummy! Papa! You're married now!" she declared, her voice brimming with joy.
Draco bent down without hesitation, lifting her into his arms. "We are," he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple.
Hermione reached out, resting her hand on Draco's shoulder, fingers curling gently against the fine fabric of his robes. Their little family—finally whole, finally complete.
And as the three of them stood together under the rose-laden archway, surrounded by the cheers of loved ones, Hermione felt a deep, unshakable certainty settle over her.
This was it.
This was forever.
One Year Later: A Growing Family
The soft hum of life filled their new home, a warm, welcoming house nestled in the countryside. The walls, painted in soothing shades of cream and sage, caught the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the wide windows, casting shifting golden patterns on the wooden floors. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze mingled with the distant trill of birdsong. Outside, beyond the sprawling lavender garden, the world stretched quiet and undisturbed, a haven carved out just for them.
Inside, the air carried the faint aroma of fresh bread and the soft crackle of logs in the fireplace, their steady warmth filling the space with a comfortable glow.
Hermione sat on the couch, her legs curled to the side, a book resting forgotten in her lap. Her belly, round with their first child together, rose beneath the soft fabric of her dress. One hand rested protectively over the curve, her thumb tracing small, absentminded circles. The sensation of life within her was both grounding and exhilarating, and yet beneath the wonder, a sliver of apprehension remained.
Draco sat beside her, one hand entwined with hers, fingers warm and steady, grounding her in the present. His other hand was splayed over her belly, protective and possessive, his palm moving in slow, deliberate strokes as if he could reassure himself—and their baby—that he was here, that they were safe. Hermione glanced sideways at him, catching the faintest smile playing on his lips as he gazed at her. His silvery-blond hair caught the light, his stormy grey eyes—once so guarded—brimming with a softness that still took her breath away.
"Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?" Rose's voice piped up from her spot on the rug, where she sat cross-legged, crayons scattered around her in a halo of colour. She leaned over her paper, carefully adding the finishing touches to a sketch of their family.
Draco chuckled, his hand shifting slightly over Hermione's belly. "What do you think, Rose?" he asked, voice teasing but quiet, as if speaking too loudly might startle the little life beneath his palm.
Rose tapped her chin with a purple crayon, face scrunched in thought. "A girl," she declared decisively, her curls bouncing as she nodded. "Then I'll have a sister as well!"
Hermione smiled, reaching out to smooth one of Rose's wild curls. "We'll see soon enough," she murmured, voice warm with amusement.
But Draco didn't answer immediately. His fingers pressed lightly against Hermione's belly, as if waiting for a sign. He had been quieter than usual lately, hovering over her with a protectiveness that sometimes made her laugh, other times made her ache. She knew why.
He had lost one child before.
Even though neither of them spoke about it aloud—not often, not in front of Rose—Hermione could feel the weight of it in every lingering touch, in the way he never let her lift anything heavier than a book, in the way he ran diagnostic spells on her when he thought she wasn't paying attention.
"I just want them to be healthy," Draco finally murmured, his voice low but firm. His hand stayed steady against her belly, as if he could shield the baby from the world itself. "That's all that matters."
Hermione covered his hand with hers, squeezing gently. "They are," she whispered, voice soft but sure. "We're okay, Draco."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and for a moment, his gaze dropped to her belly, unreadable. Then, with a slow inhale, he nodded.
Rose suddenly giggled, breaking the tension between them. She held up her picture proudly, a slightly wobbly but heartwarming drawing of their family. A smiling Hermione stood next to Draco, who had one hand on her belly. Rose stood beside them, her stick-figure curls unmistakable, and beside her was a smaller figure with a question mark above its head. A bright rainbow arched over them, the word "Happy" scrawled across the top.
"We're all so happy," Rose declared, brimming with absolute certainty.
Hermione felt tears prick her eyes, but they were ones of joy. She leaned forward, taking the picture from Rose's hands and examining it with a watery smile. "It's beautiful, love," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I adore it."
Draco leaned in as well, arm slipping around Hermione's shoulders. "I think this deserves a place of honour," he said, pointing to the refrigerator.
Rose's eyes lit up. "Really? On the fridge?"
"Of course," Draco said, standing and taking the picture with him. "We'll frame it once we run out of space."
Rose squealed in delight, jumping up and darting to the kitchen. Hermione watched her go, smiling softly as she listened to the sound of little feet padding across the floor.
But as Draco returned from the kitchen, he hesitated for a second before sitting back down beside Hermione, his eyes flickering over her form with quiet scrutiny.
"What is it?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
He exhaled slowly, brushing his fingers over her knee before moving his hand back to her belly. "You're too far back on the couch," he muttered. "You should be sitting more upright."
Hermione huffed a laugh, tilting her head at him. "Draco, I'm not going to collapse in on myself."
He shot her a dry look. "You shouldn't be curled up like that. It can put pressure on your back."
Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. "I'm perfectly fine."
Draco, however, was already adjusting the pillows behind her, his hand firm yet careful as he guided her into a more upright position. Then, seemingly satisfied, he slid an arm around her and settled her against him.
"Better," he murmured against her temple.
She smiled, letting herself relax against his warmth. "You're impossible, you know that?"
Draco smirked, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "And yet, you married me anyway."
Hermione closed her eyes, breathing in the steady rhythm of their home—the clink of the fridge magnet, Rose's giggles, Draco's soft exhale.
Draco's hand never left her belly, fingers stroking idly over the curve, protective and unwavering.
"We're going to be okay, aren't we?" she murmured, more to herself than to him.
Draco didn't hesitate. "We already are," he said, voice resolute. Then, softer, as he pressed his palm more firmly against the gentle swell of her stomach, he added, "I won't let anything happen to you. Any of you."
The vow hung in the air between them, unshakable and true.
A Love Beyond Measure
Draco wasn't sure what was more unsettling—the fact that his heavily pregnant wife had just gone alarmingly silent mid-sentence, or the sharp, sudden way her hand clamped down on his wrist.
At first, he thought she might be reacting to something Potter had said—always a possibility. But when he turned to her, his stomach plummeted.
Hermione's brows were pinched together, her lips slightly parted as she inhaled sharply through her nose. Her hand shifted from his wrist to the side of her belly, pressing firmly.
No. No, no, no. Not yet.
"Hermione?" His voice was careful, cautious.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she clenched her jaw and shut her eyes, fingers flexing where they rested over her stomach.
"Hermione," Draco said again, a little louder this time.
She exhaled sharply, her shoulders tightening. "Merlin's bloody—" She cut off with a wince, one hand gripping the table edge as she sucked in another breath.
The world tilted.
Ginny, who had been chatting with Rose and Albus, froze mid-sentence, her eyes flicking to Hermione. "Wait—did your water just break?"
Draco's mouth went dry. His throat tightened.
"What? No. That can't be—it's not—" His fingers curled against the table, his chest going tight.
"Yes, Malfoy, I think it is," Potter said, his voice laced with something entirely unhelpful— panic. He had abandoned his lunch entirely, gaping at Hermione before looking to Draco, as if he were supposed to be the one with answers.
Draco's mind stalled. It wasn't time. It was too soon. Not too soon, technically. Logically, he knew the baby was within the right timeframe. But it felt like no amount of time would ever be enough. He needed more days. More preparation. More moments before everything changed forever.
But Hermione let out a sharp breath, shifting in her seat, and the look she shot him told him in no uncertain terms that this was happening, whether he was ready or not.
"Oh, shit—okay, okay—" Potter shot to his feet, hands braced on the table. "We need a plan, Malfoy—"
Draco's spine snapped straight. Absolutely the fuck not. He might be spiraling, but Potter panicking was not helping.
"Potter, sit the fuck down," Draco snapped. "Your panic is not helping. At all."
Potter blinked at him, utterly dumbfounded. "You're the one sweating through your robes!"
Draco was not sweating through his robes. (He was. But fuck Potter.)
"I am handling the situation," Draco gritted out.
"You're—?" Potter gestured wildly. "You're not handling anything, Malfoy—"
"For Merlin's sake —both of you, shut up," Hermione ground out through clenched teeth.
They did. Instantly.
The authority in her voice sent a shiver of sheer terror down Draco's spine, and when he flicked his gaze back to her, her patience was gone.
Her knuckles were white where she gripped the table, her expression set in pure disbelief.
"Malfoy, we are leaving, right now," she said, her voice clipped, furious. "Before you two idiots make my blood pressure rise to dangerous levels."
Draco froze.
Something about hearing Malfoy — his own bloody surname —fall from Hermione's lips in that sharp, clipped, furious tone sent a shock straight through his system.
She hadn't called him that in years. Not in any way that mattered. Not with that level of exasperation, that edge of simmering rage reserved for people who well and truly tested her patience.
Which meant he had fucked up. Badly.
His gut twisted. He opened his mouth—to say what, he wasn't sure—but her glare cut through him like a hex, her brown eyes dark with impatience and discomfort.
They were on borrowed time.
This wasn't about his pride, or the fact that hearing Malfoy from her lips shouldn't have made him feel like a thirteen-year-old git back in Hogwarts, irritating her just to watch her snap. This was about her, about their baby, about getting her to the bloody hospital before she hexed him into next week.
Draco clenched his jaw, shoving down whatever storm of emotions that had dredged up, and forced himself to focus.
He'd deal with it later. After their child was safely in the world.
"But—"
She turned sharply to Potter. "And you —if you even think about making a joke right now, Potter, I swear to Merlin I will hex you into next week."
Draco nearly smirked. Nearly. Because that was Potter, and not Harry, and that meant Draco wasn't the only one who had fucked up here.
"Oh, so now it's Potter ?" Potter muttered, sounding genuinely offended.
"I swear to fucking—" Hermione started, but then another contraction tore through her, cutting her off.
She groaned, her hand gripping her belly, her face contorting with discomfort.
Something in Draco snapped back into place.
Fuck panic. Fuck not being ready.
This was happening. Right now. And she needed him.
He shot to his feet, already reaching for her. "Okay. That's enough. We're going—"
"You're going to calm down," Ginny interrupted.
Draco barely had time to look at her before—
Sting.
"Ow—fuck—what the hell was that for?" Draco recoiled, grabbing his arm where she had hexed him.
Ginny just arched an unimpressed brow. "To snap you out of it, obviously."
Draco scowled.
"You're worse than Harry," she added.
"No, I am not."
"You are," Hermione and Ginny said in unison.
Draco clenched his jaw.
"Right," Ginny continued, completely unfazed. "Harry, will take the kids and head to the Burrow. I'll meet you at St. Mungo's once you're settled."
Draco tightened his grip on Hermione's arm.
"And you —" Ginny turned to him, poking him square in the chest. "Man. Up."
Draco scowled harder.
But—fine. She had a point.
And so, without another word, he held on tightly to his wife before she could even protest.
Her sharp intake of breath was cut off by a glare. "Draco—"
"We are leaving," he said, tone final.
And then he guides them to the floo—because nothing mattered except getting her to St. Mungo's, right now.
She was perfect.
Draco had never known love like this.
It was staggering. Overwhelming. A force of nature that wrapped around him and stole the breath from his lungs.
She was impossibly tiny, wrapped snugly in a soft white blanket, her delicate fingers curled into minuscule fists. Her skin was still tinged pink from the exertion of coming into the world, her features small, impossibly fragile, yet already so her. A fine layer of dark blonde hair dusted her head, wispy and feather-soft beneath his fingertips as he traced the curve of her temple. But it was her eyes—huge, warm, and Hermione's—that undid him completely.
Draco swallowed thickly, his chest constricting with something he couldn't name.
This was his daughter. Theirs.
It felt impossible, incomprehensible, that something so tiny, so helpless, could hold such absolute power over him. And yet, as she blinked up at him—sleepy, unfocused—Draco knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she owned him. Completely.
His grip tightened around her just slightly, his fingers flexing against the soft weight of her in his arms. He had lost one child before. Had known the unbearable, crushing agony of what it meant to be powerless against fate.
But this one—this one—he would die before letting anything happen to her.
"Hello, little one," he murmured, voice rough with emotion. "You gave us quite the entrance, didn't you?"
The baby's tiny lips parted in a soft sigh, her face shifting into something almost like a frown before settling again.
Draco huffed a quiet laugh, tilting his head. "You're going to be a menace, aren't you? Just like your sister."
He barely had time to drink in the sight of her before a soft knock at the door made him glance up.
Ginny poked her head in, her expression softer than he had ever seen it. Her eyes flickered over the scene before her—Draco Malfoy, usually so put-together, so effortlessly composed, completely wrecked by the tiny bundle in his arms.
A slow, knowing smile pulled at her lips. "Fatherhood suits you."
Draco smirked, though it lacked his usual sharpness. "I've had practice."
He glanced back down at the baby, brushing a careful finger along the curve of her cheek. The warmth of her skin sent another wave of something indescribable rushing through him. Love. Fierce, unyielding, terrifying love.
"Rose made me a natural."
Ginny stepped further into the room, her gaze fond as she peered down at the newborn. "She's beautiful."
Draco swallowed against the tightness in his throat, nodding. "Yeah," he murmured. "She is."
A soft rustling from the hospital bed caught his attention. Beside him, Hermione stirred, shifting against the pillows, her fingers twitching weakly.
Ginny moved toward her, murmuring something Draco barely heard. He was already turning back to their daughter, already leaning down, carefully—almost reluctantly—placing her into Hermione's waiting arms.
And then he watched—helpless, mesmerized—as Hermione's eyes fluttered open, as she blinked in exhaustion and immediate, all-consuming love.
The moment their baby was in her arms, something changed.
Hermione glowed.
It wasn't physical—she was pale, still damp from exertion, her hair clinging to her forehead in loose, tangled curls. But there was something about the way she looked at their daughter—something reverent, something beyond words—that made Draco's throat tighten all over again.
A tired, utterly radiant smile broke across her lips.
Draco exhaled, some unbearable weight pressing into his ribs, as he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.
Then, unable to stop himself, he tilted lower, brushing his lips over hers in a slow, reverent kiss.
She sighed into him, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around their baby, and when he pulled back, the look she gave him—so much love, so much gratitude — nearly ruined him.
He had never believed in fate.
But if it existed—if the universe had carved out one perfect moment, just for him—this was it.
Their home was overflowing with love.
The moment they stepped through the Floo, the familiar scent of lavender and parchment greeted Hermione, but it was drowned out almost instantly by the deafening chorus of cheers, laughter, and pure warmth that filled the space.
"Oh, finally !" Ginny was the first to swoop in, hands on her hips, her eyes flicking straight to the tiny bundle in Draco's arms. "Merlin, I was beginning to think we'd have to come get you."
"We had to be thorough," Draco drawled, shifting slightly, as though shielding the newborn from the chaos. Hermione knew he had insisted on at least three separate Healer checks before leaving.
"Thorough? You mean paranoid," Theo teased, leaning casually against the back of the sofa. "I imagine the poor mediwitches at St. Mungo's will be talking about Malfoy's 'concerned but deeply intimidating ' routine for years."
"I wasn't—" Draco started, but Narcissa cut him off with an arched brow.
"You were," she said simply, but there was something fond in her tone.
Hermione smiled, adjusting Rose in her arms as she turned to take it all in. The house was full. There was food— so much food—stacked along the dining table. Baskets of fresh bread, an entire assortment of casseroles and charmed-to-stay-warm pies, and even a cake decorated with little golden stars, clearly from Andromeda.
More than that, there were people.
Harry and Arthur had found their way to the sitting area, talking in hushed tones with Andromeda, who was rocking Albus absently in her arms. Luna and Pansy were by the windows, arranging a truly absurd number of gifts into some sort of aesthetically pleasing display. There were bottles of wine, stacks of soft knitted blankets, tiny enchanted toys—everything a new family could possibly need and more.
It was overwhelming.
It was perfect.
Hermione swallowed against the thick lump forming in her throat.
Her fingers curled around Rose's shoulders, brushing lightly over her daughter's wild curls as she leaned in close. "Everyone's here," she whispered.
Rose turned to beam at her, eyes bright. "Because they love us."
That was it. That was all it took.
A fresh wave of tears pricked at Hermione's eyes, hot and insistent.
Damn hormones.
But before she could fully collect herself, movement from the corner of the room caught her eye—Draco.
Draco shifting just slightly every time their newborn daughter changed hands.
It was subtle, but Hermione saw it.
The first time, when Molly took their infant with all the confidence of a woman who had raised seven children, Draco didn't move far, but his gaze stayed fixed on her, his shoulders taut. When Andromeda took her next, cooing softly, Draco exhaled—but only marginally.
Then came Luna.
Luna, who had always been gentle, delicate, but who was still— not him.
Draco lingered a step closer.
Then closer.
It was so obvious, so Draco, that Hermione couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up through her exhausted chest.
"Draco," she murmured, nudging his side as she approached.
He turned, stiffly, but softened immediately at the sight of her.
"I'm fine," he muttered, though he did not move away from Luna.
"I know," Hermione teased, eyes twinkling. "But she's safe, love. Everyone here loves her already."
Draco exhaled slowly, then finally—reluctantly—nodded.
"So," Blaise said suddenly, adjusting in his seat, his usual calm energy on full display. "What's her name?"
A hush settled over the room.
Draco turned to Hermione, who was already looking at him.
"Aurora," he said, his voice soft but sure.
Rose, practically vibrating beside Hermione, beamed. "Because she's like a new light in our family!" she declared proudly.
Hermione swallowed thickly, reaching for Draco's free hand, squeezing it tightly.
"Actually," she added, voice thick with emotion, "Aurora Narcissa Malfoy."
The intake of breath from Narcissa was audible.
Hermione turned just in time to see the way her mother-in-law's expression shifted—shock, realization, and then— a quiet, deep sort of love. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came.
She didn't need to say anything.
Draco's fingers tightened over Hermione's, his chest rising with a sharp inhale.
Then, with infinite care, he bent down and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of their daughter's head.
Aurora Narcissa Malfoy.
And Hermione, despite the ache in her body, despite the exhaustion settling deep in her bones, felt nothing but pure, boundless joy.
Five Years Later: Hogwarts and New Beginnings
King's Cross Station was alive with the cacophony of bustling families, the shrill whistles of the Hogwarts Express, and the rhythmic clatter of trolleys over the platform. Steam billowed around them, curling into the high, arched ceiling, as witches and wizards darted about in last-minute preparations.
Draco adjusted the strap of Rose's trunk on the trolley, the smooth leather cool beneath his fingers. His heart swelled with pride and a sharp pang of sadness as he looked down at his daughter. Rose, now eleven and brimming with both excitement and nervous energy, gripped the handle of her trunk tightly. Her new owl, a sleek tawny creature, hooted softly from its cage.
"I can't believe it," Hermione said, her voice catching slightly as she stood beside Draco, one hand resting protectively on her small but noticeable bump. Her free hand reached out to smooth an imaginary crease on Rose's robes. "It feels like yesterday you were just a baby."
"Mum," Rose said, half exasperated but mostly amused, "I'm not a baby anymore."
Hermione's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she smiled. "You'll always be my baby," she murmured, pulling her daughter into a tight hug.
Aurora, now five, stood just beside Draco, her small arms looped around his leg as though anchoring herself. Her wide brown eyes, a match for her big sister's, shimmered with a mix of confusion and sadness as she looked up at Rose. "Do you really have to go, Rosie?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Can't you stay?"
Rose's bravado faltered at her sister's quivering lip, and she crouched down, pulling Aurora into a warm hug. "I have to, Rory. But I'll write to you all the time, I promise. And it's not forever—I'll be back for Christmas."
Aurora sniffled, clinging to Rose's robes. "But I'll miss you."
Just then, Ron approached, his red hair standing out in the bustling crowd. He carried a familiar easy grin, but there was a tightness around his eyes as he took in the scene before him. "There's my Rosie," he said warmly, stepping closer. "Ready for the big adventure?"
"Daddy!" Rose cried, running to him and throwing her arms around his waist, her long red curls bouncing around her face. "I'm so excited!"
Ron ruffled her hair affectionately. "You should be. Hogwarts is the best place in the world." His gaze flickered briefly to Draco and Hermione, his jaw tightening slightly before softening. "She's got all her things?"
"Of course," Hermione replied, her voice steady. "We double-checked this morning."
Draco stood by Aurora, watching the interaction carefully but maintaining his composure. When Aurora clung a little tighter to his leg, Draco crouched down beside her, brushing her dark blond curls away from her face. His heart twisted at her tearful expression. "We're all going to miss her, little one," he said gently. "But you know what? Time will fly by, and before you know it, Rosie will be home again."
Aurora tilted her tearful gaze up to him, her bottom lip trembling. "Really?"
Draco nodded, his voice warm with reassurance. "Really. And don't forget—you'll have a baby brother to keep you company soon." He let a small smile curve his lips, watching as her expression shifted.
"Really?" Aurora's pout softened, her wide eyes lighting up with a mixture of surprise and delight.
Hermione crouched down beside them, her hand brushing Aurora's cheek before resting lightly on her own belly. "Really," she said softly, pressing a kiss to Aurora's forehead. "And he's going to need his big sister to show him the ropes."
Aurora's frown melted into a tentative smile, though she still clung to Draco's arm. "Okay. But he'd better not be boring."
Draco chuckled, his heart warming at her sudden turn of mood. "I don't think you'll let him be," he teased, ruffling her curls.
"Baby brother?" Ron echoed, his brows lifting in surprise as he looked between Hermione and Draco.
Hermione smiled faintly, her hand brushing over her growing bump. "Yes. We're expecting him in the new year."
Ron blinked, an awkward silence settling briefly before he cleared his throat. "Well, congratulations." His voice was gruff, but the sentiment was genuine. He turned back to Rose, his grin returning. "You're going to be the best big sister, aren't you?"
Rose nodded eagerly. "I've had a lot of practice with Rory, already!" She paused before adding. "And Hugo and Freddie too."
A sharp whistle pierced the air, signaling the imminent departure of the train. "That's your cue," Ron said, stepping aside as Draco straightened and held out a hand to Rose. She took it, her small fingers squeezing his briefly before letting go.
"I'll miss you, Papa," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him tightly.
Draco's throat tightened, and he swallowed hard before pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. "You'll do brilliantly, Rose," he said, his voice low and filled with pride. "Write to us often. And don't forget—you've got a little sister and a baby brother cheering you on from home."
Rose nodded, her eyes glistening as she hugged Hermione next. "I'll miss you, Mummy."
Hermione held her close, pressing a kiss to her hair. "We'll miss you more. Be brave, my love, and don't forget how proud we are of you."
Rose turned to Ron, hugging him tightly one last time. "Bye, Daddy! Don't forget to send me pictures of Hugo and Freddie!"
"Every week," Ron promised, his grin returning. "Now go on, Rosie. The train won't wait forever."
With one last hug for Aurora, Rose grabbed her trolley and boarded the train. She leaned out of the window, waving frantically as the train began to move. Draco and Hermione stood side by side, Aurora perched on Draco's hip, all of them waving back as the train picked up speed. Ron lingered nearby, his hands shoved into his pockets as he watched his daughter leave for her first year at Hogwarts.
"She's going to be amazing," Draco said softly, his voice steady but tinged with emotion.
Hermione leaned into him, her hand brushing over his on Aurora's back. "She will," she agreed, though her chest ached with the bittersweet weight of her firstborn's departure.
Ron glanced at them briefly, his expression unreadable. Then he cleared his throat. "Well, I should get going. Hugo and Freddie are probably driving Susan mad by now."
"Thank you for coming, Ron," Hermione said, her voice genuine. "It meant a lot to her."
Ron nodded, offering a faint smile. "She's a good kid. You've both done well." With that, he gave one last wave and disappeared into the crowd.
As the train disappeared around the bend, Draco pressed a kiss to the top of Hermione's head. "Come on," he said gently. "Let's go home. We've got a lot to look forward to."
Hermione nodded, her eyes lingering on the now-empty tracks before she turned back toward their little family. Aurora, already asking about the baby again, chattered happily as they made their way out of the station. And though her heart ached for Rose, Hermione couldn't help but feel the quiet joy of a future brimming with love and promise.
A Visit to the Burrow
The Burrow's vibrant chaos greeted them like an old friend. The sound of children's laughter and the faint clatter of dishes drifted from the kitchen as Draco and Hermione stepped through the door with Aurora. The warm, familiar scent of baked goods and wood smoke filled the air, wrapping them in a cocoon of homeliness that Draco found oddly comforting.
Ginny was the first to greet them, her smile wide as she pulled Hermione into a tight hug. The youngest Weasley, Lily, perched on Ginny's hip, gurgled happily, her chubby fingers reaching toward Hermione.
"It's about time you lot arrived," Ginny teased, her eyes crinkling with mirth. "Lily's been desperate to see Aurora again."
Aurora peeked out from behind Draco's leg, her small hand clutching his coat. Her eyes lit up as Lily reached for her, and she giggled, stepping closer. "Hi, Lily!" Aurora chirped, gently touching the baby's hand.
"Why don't you head out back, Rory?" Hermione suggested, brushing a curl from Aurora's cheek. "Albus is already in the garden."
Aurora's face brightened, and with a quick nod, she darted past Ginny, the hem of her little dress swishing as she made a beeline for the back door. Draco watched her go, his chest tightening with a warmth he hadn't expected. He still marveled at how easily Aurora fit into the fold of the Weasley family, how her laughter mingled seamlessly with the joyful noise that seemed to live in the walls of the Burrow.
"I'll let you two settle in," Ginny said, stepping aside with a wink. "Hermione, come find me once you're done. We need to catch up."
Draco gave a polite nod as Hermione followed Ginny toward the kitchen. His gaze lingered on her, taking in the way her hand rested instinctively on the swell of her stomach as she moved. The sight sent a pang of emotion through him, equal parts awe and affection.
Draco found himself outside not long after, leaning casually against the garden fence as he watched Aurora dart across the lawn. Albus, almost two years older and a head taller, chased her with a wide grin, their laughter filling the crisp afternoon air. The garden was a flurry of activity—brightly colored gnomes scurried under bushes, and the scent of freshly turned earth mingled with the sweetness of flowers.
Harry joined him, carrying two tumblers with golden liquid inside. He handed one to Draco with a small, knowing smile before leaning against the fence beside him. For a moment, they stood in companionable silence, the hum of the garden wrapping around them.
"Who would've thought?" Harry said eventually, his tone light but edged with sincerity.
Draco smirked, glancing sideways at the man he had once viewed as an adversary. "Not me, that's for sure," he admitted. "But it's… good."
Harry nodded, his green eyes thoughtful as they followed Albus and Aurora's antics. "It is. Fatherhood's messy, but it's worth it."
Draco's gaze drifted again, this time to the porch, where Hermione sat with Ginny. Her laugh rang out as Ginny told a story, her hand resting protectively over her growing belly. Molly and Arthur came out to join the girls, Molly taking Lily into her lap and clasping Hermione's hand. Draco felt his chest tighten, not with anxiety, but with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and purpose.
"That it is," he murmured, his voice softer now. His eyes stayed on Hermione, tracing the curve of her smile, the way the sunlight caught in her hair. "They're worth everything."
Harry followed Draco's gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "She is the best," he said simply.
Draco didn't reply immediately, letting the words settle. He finally turned to Harry, his expression uncharacteristically open. "She saved me," he admitted, his voice low. "Hermione… she gave me something I never thought I deserved. A second chance."
Harry nodded, his respect evident in the quiet understanding of his expression. "It's what family does."
Draco let the words sink in, glancing back toward the garden where Aurora and Albus were now inspecting something in the dirt with rapt attention. "Family," he echoed, the word rolling off his tongue with a weight he hadn't fully appreciated until now.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light across the Burrow's rambling garden, Draco felt a sense of peace settle over him—a quiet but unshakable certainty that this life, messy and unpredictable as it was, was exactly where he was meant to be.
Honouring the Past
The Malfoy family mausoleum stood solemn and still, a quiet monument to the lineage that bore its name. Ivy clung stubbornly to the stone walls, its green tendrils softening the starkness of the grey marble. Inside, the air was cool and thick, carrying the faint, earthy scent of time and history. The flicker of candlelight cast shadows that danced along the smooth walls, illuminating names and dates etched with painstaking precision.
Draco knelt before the small grave, his tall frame hunched as though the weight of memory bore down on him. His hand rested against the cool, polished stone, tracing the name carved there: Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. The silence around him was heavy, the only sound was his measured breaths that trembled faintly as he exhaled.
Hermione stood just behind him, her presence steady and grounding. She had given him space, waiting for him to speak first, sensing that the moment required patience. Her fingers curled around the edge of her cloak as she watched him, her heart aching for the pain she could see etched in his profile.
"I miss him," Draco said at last, his voice low, barely more than a whisper. The words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. "Every day, I wonder what he would have been like. What kind of boy he'd have grown into."
Hermione stepped forward, lowering herself to her knees beside him. Her hand found his, warm and firm, covering his trembling fingers. "He would have been extraordinary," she said softly, her voice gentle but unwavering. "Because he was yours."
Draco's throat tightened, his gaze fixed on the name before him. "I thought… I thought I was doing him justice by holding on so tightly. But now, with you, with Rose and Aurora, and with our son…" He broke off, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "I don't want to let the past keep me from giving them everything they deserve."
Hermione's other hand reached up, brushing a stray tear from his cheek. Her touch was tender, a lifeline anchoring him in the moment. "He's part of you, Draco," she said. "And that means he's already part of this family."
Her words seemed to settle something deep within him. He turned his head, meeting her warm, steady gaze. For a moment, the sorrow in his grey eyes softened, replaced by something fragile yet hopeful. "Do you really think so?" he asked quietly.
"I do," Hermione replied, her lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. She hesitated, then added, "And I think we should honour him. What do you think about naming our son after him? Scorpius… as his middle name."
Draco's breath caught, and he stared at her as though he hadn't heard correctly. "You'd do that?" he asked, his voice thick with disbelief and a glimmer of something brighter—gratitude.
Hermione nodded, her smile growing even as her own eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I think he'd like it," she said simply, her tone filled with quiet certainty.
Draco's hand tightened around hers, his fingers trembling slightly. For a long moment, they knelt together in silence, their joined hands resting on the stone. The past and future seemed to collide in that instant, the weight of loss mingling with the promise of hope and healing.
As the candles flickered, casting their soft glow over the mausoleum, Draco leaned forward, pressing his lips gently to the cool marble of the grave. "You'll always be with us, Scorpius," he whispered. His voice carried a quiet strength now, a resolve that had been absent before. "Always."
Hermione placed her hand on his back, her touch solid and reassuring. "You've given him something beautiful, Draco," she said softly. "And I think he's proud of you."
Draco turned toward her, his grey eyes shimmering with emotion. He reached for her face, cradling it gently as though she might slip away. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice reverent. "For this. For everything."
Hermione leaned into his touch, her own tears finally spilling over as she kissed him softly. "We're in this together," she said, her voice steady despite the emotion behind it. "All of it."
Draco exhaled deeply, pulling her closer as they knelt before the grave, their foreheads touching. In the quiet stillness of the mausoleum, surrounded by the echoes of the past, they found solace in one another, and in the life they were building—one rooted in love, resilience, and the promise of forever.
A Family Worth Fighting For
The snow outside fell in thick, soft flakes, blanketing the countryside in a pristine white that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. Through the frosted windows of their home, the warm glow of the fire spilled out into the night, a beacon of the life thriving within. Inside, the soft crackle of flames harmonized with the sound of laughter—a melody of love and togetherness that filled every corner of the sitting room.
The Christmas tree stood tall in the corner, its branches adorned with ornaments that reflected years of memories. Glass baubles in gold and red caught the light of the enchanted candles flickering among the boughs, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The star at the top shimmered like a piece of the night sky, lending an ethereal touch to the scene.
Draco sat on the sofa, his newborn son cradled carefully in his arms. Leo's tiny face, pink and peaceful, was framed by the softest whispers of white-blond hair, and Draco couldn't help but marvel at the perfection of the little life he held. The weight of his son, so light yet so monumental, filled Draco with a kind of joy he'd once thought was forever out of reach.
Across from him, Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor beside the fire, laughing as Rose, who was home from her second term at Hogwarts, recounted a dramatic tale involving her friend's failed spell during Potions class. Aurora, now six, was perched on Hermione's lap, her wide brown eyes sparkling with wonder as she hung on Rose's every word.
Draco's gaze drifted from his son to his wife, and his chest tightened with an overwhelming swell of gratitude. Hermione's curls caught the golden light of the fire, giving her an almost otherworldly glow. She looked up, catching his eye, and the soft, knowing smile she gave him felt like an embrace, a silent reassurance that they had made it—together.
Leo stirred in his arms, his tiny fingers curling around Draco's thumb. Draco stared at his son as Leo's eyes opened to reveal silver orbs, just like his father. Draco's throat tightened as memories of Scorpius flickered at the edges of his mind. The scars of the past, the weight of loss—they were still there, faint but present, like an old wound that no longer pained but could never be forgotten. And yet, as he looked around the room, he realized those scars no longer defined him. They were part of his story, but they were no longer the entirety of it.
"Daddy," Aurora said, her voice pulling him from his thoughts. She had slid off Hermione's lap and was now standing beside him, her small hands reaching out. "Can I hold Leo?"
Draco hesitated, glancing at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly. Carefully, he adjusted Leo in his arms before crouching slightly to pass him to Aurora, who sat down eagerly. Her face lit up with pride as she held her baby brother, her movements careful and deliberate.
"He's still so little," Aurora whispered, her voice full of awe. "I'll be the best big sister, Daddy. I promise."
Draco's chest tightened further, his heart near bursting as he knelt beside her. "I have no doubt," he said softly, brushing a curl from her face and kissing her temple. "He's lucky to have you."
Rose crossed the room, sitting beside Aurora and leaning in to coo at Leo. "He has my nose," she declared proudly, making Aurora giggle.
Draco chuckled, his gaze flicking to Hermione again. She was watching the children with a serene expression, her hands resting lightly on her knees. When their eyes met, something unspoken passed between them—a shared understanding of how far they had come and how much they had endured to get here.
Hermione rose gracefully and moved to sit beside him, her head leaning against his shoulder as his arm wrapped around her. "You're quiet," she murmured, her voice warm and low.
"Just… taking it all in," Draco replied, his voice soft but tinged with wonder. He turned his head to press a kiss to her hair. "I never thought I'd have this."
Hermione looked up at him, her eyes glistening. "You deserve this, Draco. Every bit of it."
Draco's throat tightened again, but this time it was with gratitude, not pain. "You deserve it more," he whispered, his lips brushing her temple. "You gave me this life, this family. I'll spend the rest of my days making sure you and the children have everything you need."
Hermione smiled, her hand reaching up to cradle his face. "We already have everything we need," she said simply, her thumb brushing across his cheek. "We have you."
As the fire crackled and the snow continued to fall outside, the warmth of their home enveloped them. This was their forever—imperfect, hard-earned, and breathtakingly beautiful. For the first time in years, Draco felt whole, not just as a man but as a father, a husband, and a person capable of love and being loved in return. The journey to this moment had been long, but every step had been worth it. This was his life, and it was perfect in its own way.
And we are out ️
If you want more grown up Hermione and Draco falling in love, check out my story My Amortentia or Wrapped in You (both are heavy on the smut).
If you want more Daddy Draco check out my one-shot Frostbitten and Smitten.
And just in general stay tuned for more of my future projects!