Work Text:
“Scorp, please?” Draco blows some hair out of his eyes and tries to push the tiny foot being held in the air, into the boot he’s positive has shrunk since his son last wore it.
“I caaaaaan’t, Daddy!” Scorpius huffs, “I is trying!”
Draco tries again, huffing as he attemots to stretch the boot to fit over the red socked foot belonging to his three year old son.
“I tink it too small.” Scorpius says helpfully. “It not fit me.”
“Scorp, it fit you yesterday, it can’t be too small. Even you don’t grow that quickly.”
Scorpius sets his grey eyes on Draco and smiles. Innocence and cuteness in buckets. But Draco knows his son too well to fall for this.
“I tink I grewed so fast they don’t fit! AND,” he son says loudly. “I fink I needs to wear the red ones.”
Scorpius eyes Draco.
Draco doesn’t break eye contact.
“The red ones that Uncle Theo got you?”
Scorpius beams at him. “Yes!”
Draco sits back on his heels and sighs.
Theo.
“Did Uncle Theo do something to your boots?” He asks softly.
Scorpius looks at him with such blatantly fake innocence, he knows that when the time comes, his son will most certainly be sorted into Slytherin, regardless of his love for all things red.
“Me is not knowing,” he says seriously. “Uncle Theo just—”
“Unlce Theo is naughty,” Draco tells him, holding his black Dragonhide boots up to his son. “These are brand new and cost a lot of money.”
Scorpius wiggles his foot at Draco. “You try again?”
Draco laughs and places the boots on the floor. “Go and get your red ones, Scorp. We have lots to do today.”
With a wobblyness only known to three year olds, Scorpius gets to his feet and walks over to where the red High Tops Theo bought him over two days ago sit. With a smile so wide it practically takes over his face, he brings said shoes back to him.
“Let’s see,” Draco says, loosening the laces and placing the boot onto Scorpius’s foot.
It slides on easily, surprising no one, and Scorpius beams.
“See! I wear these!”
Draco ties the laces and laughs. “Yes, you wear these.”
With the collar of his black woolen coat pulled high on his neck and his son clutching tightly to his hand, Draco makes his way down Diagon Alley and towards the shiny new shop-front that sits a few doors down from Flourish and Blotts.L'élégance de Parkinson is the newest shop owned by one of his best friends and the only place Draco will be making any kind of clothing purchases this year. Pansy will kill him if he goes anywhere else, anyway.
Kitted out in pale greys, the window highlights the latest fashions for men and women for the festive season. A mix of Muggle and Wizarding cuts and styles that everyone from Draco’s mother to the Chosen One is currently wearing.
“Daddy!” Scorp whines from beside him.
“Yes, Scorp?”
“The wind!” The little boy chokes. “Wind is blocking my breath!”
Draco chuckles and scoops his dramatic son into his arms, sheltering him from the bitter wind bustling down the alley today. One week until Christmas and still no snow. Draco loves snow, loves the peace it brings with it and the reminiscing of his younger years when days would be spent with his friends outside getting red cheeks and cold toes.
“Thanks you,” Scorpius shivers. “We go inside for books now.”
Draco kisses the top of his son’s blonde head and nods. “We just need to pick up Grandmother’s gift from Auntie Pansy and then we can go pick a book out, okay?”
Scorpius doesn’t speak until they leave the shop, much to Pansy’s disappointment. If there’s one thing his son knows how to get, it’s his own way.
“I’ll see you on Christmas eve?” She asks softly, running her hand over his son’s back.
“Of course, we’re looking forward to it, aren't we Scorp?"
Scorpius just gazes at them both, not even a hint of interest on his chubby little face.
“Okay then,” Pansy chuckles. “Go get your books, my darling."
Once the door closes and they’re back on the cold street, Scorpius lifts his pale blonde head and looks at Draco.
“Now? Please, Daddy?”
Draco does the only thing he can do.
He kisses his son on the cheek and walks towards Flourish and Blotts just like he’s been told to.
When they enter the warm shop, cold air swishing in behind them and making several people glare in their direction, Scorpius lifts his head, blonde hair ruffling in the wind, places his small hand on Draco’s cheek and sighs dramatically.
“Thanks you, Daddy. Thanks you.”
Draco places his squirming son onto the floor and follows behind him like the dutiful dad he is. Scorpius knows this shop almost as well as he knows the Manor, and he walks straight ahead and on wobbly legs, takes the one step up and into the children’s section.
With amusement, Draco watches as he scans the shelves, a look of pure concentration on his flushed face. As they walk a little further in, Draco is distracted by someone calling his name, and turning to see who it is, he frowns as Theo comes bounding over.
“Nice boots, Scorp!” He calls over.
Scorpius grins at him and crouches down to pick a book from the bottom shelf.
“Thank you for that,” Draco scowls again. “His other boots were new, Theodore.”
“Are you sure you got the right size?”
Draco smacks his friend around the back of the head. “I knew you’d fucked with them!” He whispers.
“Come on, Draco. Look how cute he looks.”
They both swing their attention to the little blonde haired cherub now making his way around to another shelf.
“He looks cute in everything he wears.”
“That’s true,” Theo agrees. “Are you Christmas shopping?"
Draco nods. “Trying to. The Prince of House Malfoy has other ideas.”
Theo snorts. “Remember when that was you?”
Draco huffs out a laugh. “I was never as precise as he is.”
“Darling,” Theo croons. “You were worse.”
When Draco turns back to check on his son, his stomach drops.
Scorpius, book in hand, is slowly making his way towards the little seating area at the back. Which under normal circumstances, isn’t a problem.
However.
However.
Said seating area is occupied. And not just occupied, it’s occupied by a curly-haired, breathtakingly beautiful witch that Draco tries to avoid at all costs in case his mouth does something stupid like declare his love for her.
He watches with dread as Scorpius walks right up to her chair, stops to get her attention, and asks in the most sweet, adorable voice if she will please read him a story?
Hermione Granger does what any perfect, adorable, beautiful witch would.
She looks around for the parents of said child, meets Draco’s eyes and smiles.
She smiles.
At Draco.
His heart suddenly feels like it’s beating too fast and his mouth is dry. He thinks he might hear Theo speak but he doesn’t even acknowledge him. Theodore Nott can grow wings and fly for all he cares, because Hermione Granger just smiled at him!
And now, now, she’s lifting his son into her lap and settling him safely while she helps him remove his coat and scarf while he babbles about the wind and cold.
Draco thinks he’s died. Died or gone to an alternate universe where he’s not hated by the Golden Girl, but liked?
His feet are moving, they’re taking him closer to the very thing he has dreamt about for years. Hermione Granger reading to his son.
Draco will admit this to no one if asked, but he has long had feelings for Granger. Probably for longer than he should have in all honesty.
He thinks perhaps it’s been since that horrific day in St. Mungo’s when he held out his son, still covered in blood and gunk from a long and terrifying birth. A birth that claimed the life of Scorpius’s mother and traumatised Draco to this day.
Healer Granger took his newborn son with such care and gentleness, holding the squirming mess of a baby to her chest before reaching for Draco’s hand and tugging him along with her to a side room. There he watched her check over the newborn, running diagnostics and reassuring Draco that everything was well with his son.
When his distraught mother arrived half an hour later, confirming what Draco already knew, that Asotria had not survived the horrific birth, just like the healers had told them both, Healer Granger knelt beside Draco who was cradling his sleeping son, now dressed in a white St Mungo’s issued sleepsuit and matching hat and murmured her condolences at the loss of his wife and then softly, congratulations on the safe arrival of his son, all while rubbing small circles on his hand.
Her compassion, her empathy and her kindness scored itself on Draco’s heart, and from that moment, even in his bubble of grief and confusion, even while trying to work out exactly how he was supposed to be a father and raise a baby all on his own, Draco Malfoy’s heart and soul belonged to Hermione Granger.
And she has no idea.
“I’m so sorry, Granger,” he chokes, moving closer to try and remove his son. “Scorp, we don’t just—”
“It’s okay, Malfoy,” she smiles at him, brushing Scorpius blonde hair away from his face. “I’d like to read him a story, if it’s okay with you.”
Scorpius gives Draco a look. A look that says; see? She wants to read me a story!
“Of course.” He mumbles.
Draco drops down into a chair opposite them and he watches and listens.
He listens to Granger do all the different voices, watches as his son’s cheeks flush with enjoyment as he gently holds a fistful of curls in his hand, the chestnut brown spilling out over his fingers. Granger seems to notice the hold he has on her hair but doesn’t appear to mind.
This is exactly the life Draco wants.
Not living alone, not taking on the role of both mother and father to a little boy who deserves everything in this world. He wants companionship, love and he desperately wants a mother for his son.
Draco swallows thickly when they get to the end of the story and the little baby dragon settles under the wing of its mother and falls fast asleep, safely wrapped in his mothers love.
“There you go, little one,” Hermione breathes, wiping at the wetness on her cheek. “Thank you for letting me read you such a wonderful story. It’s the best gift I’ll get this Christmas.” She breathes so softly Draco thinks it wasn't meant for anyone else,
Scorpius sucks in a shaky breath and smiles at her, reaching his chubby little hands forward and placing them both on her cheeks. He wipes at the tears, a frown on his little face at seeing her emotions flowing so freely.
“You sad?” He whispers to her.
Granger smiles wider, her eyes bright and focused entirely on his son.
“Not sad,” she shakes her head. “I’m happy and honoured you trusted me to read your story today.”
Gods how he longs for her to look at him that way.
“Thanks you,” Scorpius says softly.
“You’re welcome,” she whispers softly.
“Books is my favourite thing! You like books?”
Granger nods at his son, brushes her hand through his soft blonde hair and smiles.
“They’re my favourite, too. You’re going to grow up to be so big and clever reading so many books.”
“I will?” Scorp asks her, eyes wide. “Big like, my Daddy?”
Hermione’s eyes drift over to Draco, settling on his face. Her eyes are deep pools of chocolate brown and he thinks, for a second, that perhaps she sees something she likes in him, too.
“Exactly, big like your Daddy.” She confirms.
Scorpius looks over at Draco then back to Granger, reaching forward and brushing his hand through her curls, taking time and being so delicate with the brown strands.
“You has beautiful hair. It so soft!”
And right before Draco’s eyes, he watches his son fall in love with the witch, too.
I know how you feel, little guy.
So when Scorpius opens his mouth again, he expects him to ask for another story or to pay her another compliment.
What he doesn’t expect is for his son to ask, with an intensity and sincerity he didn't believe a three year old could be capable of, a question he shouldn’t even know the existence of, Draco pales and groans from his seat opposite them.
“Wills you marry me?”