Snow blanketed the sprawling Malfoy Manor grounds, glistening under the pale winter sun. Inside the grand estate, warmth radiated from every hearth, and the faint sound of Christmas carols played from an enchanted harp in the corner. At just 26 years old, Hermione stood near the towering Christmas tree, her belly round with twins, adjusting a silver ornament shaped like a dragon.
“Don’t you dare lift that arm again, love,” Draco said, his smirk equal parts teasing and concerned. "Do you want to give me a heart attack before Christmas?"
Hermione turned, hand on her hip. "The only thing you’re in danger of is me hexing you if you call me ‘love’ in that tone again. And don’t think I don’t notice you lounging there, making Twinky do all the work."
“Excuse me,” Draco said, feigning indignation. “I’m supervising. Someone needs to ensure the tree meets Malfoy standards. You’re the one breaking the rules with all this bending and stretching. Honestly, Hermione, it’s like you want me to panic."
Hermione snorted. "Oh yes, Draco, because I thrive on stressing you out. It’s the highlight of my day."
“See? That’s the kind of honesty I appreciate in a marriage.” Draco winked.
Hermione turned and raised an eyebrow. “The elves are busy. Twinky is currently debating the logistics of tinsel placement with herself.”
“Tiny tinsel strands require precise consideration, Mistress,” chimed in Twinky, the Malfoy family’s most sassy and efficient house-elf, appearing suddenly and puffing her tiny chest. “We cannot have mismatched sparkle distribution!”
“Hear that?” Draco smirked, “Even Twinkle thinks you should relax.”
Narcissa swept into the room, her fur-lined winter cloak draped elegantly over her shoulders. “Hermione, are you ready? If we’re to beat the Christmas Eve crowds in Diagon Alley, we should leave now.”
“I’m ready,” Hermione said, placing a hand on her belly. “Are you sure Scorpius will be fine?” Hermione asked, glancing at her son, whose cherubic face was already smeared with chocolate. "I’m half expecting to come back and find him crowned king of the manor, with you as his personal jester."
Draco raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. "Not jester. Strategist. Scorpius and I run a tight ship. Right, mate?"
“Yup! Daddy bestest!” Scorpius chimed in, waving his toy broomstick. "We gonna fwy high!"
“He’ll be perfectly fine,” Narcissa said with a wave of her hand. “Draco and Lucius can handle one afternoon.”
Draco gave a mockingly aghast expression. “Do you doubt our parenting skills? Scorpius and I have a very full schedule. Isn’t that right, mate?”
Scorpius nodded vigorously, holding up a toy broomstick. “We gonna fwy inside, Daddy! Bwoom go zoooom!”
Hermione’s mouth dropped open, but before she could protest, Narcissa gently guided her towards the door. “Let’s not linger. If Draco insists on destroying heirlooms, he’ll answer to me later.”
As the front door closed behind Hermione and Narcissa, Draco turned to Scorpius with a conspiratorial grin. “Alright, young man. What shall we do first? Indoor Quidditch or sneak into your grandpa’s study?”
“Indoor Quidditch!” Scorpius cheered, bouncing off Draco’s lap and grabbing the toy broom.
Lucius Malfoy chose that moment to stroll into the room, his impeccable robes a sharp contrast to the toddler gripping the miniature broomstick. “What mischief are you plotting now, Draco?”
“Bonding time,” Draco replied innocently. “Scorpius is learning strategy.”
“By destroying the drawing room?” Lucius raised an eyebrow but sat down in an armchair, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Fine. But if he breaks the portrait of Great-Great-Grandfather Ignatius, you’ll be explaining to him why his frame is swinging like a Weasley product demonstration.”
The portrait in question harrumphed loudly, the painted Ignatius puffing out his chest. “I demand respect! My frame should remain as dignified as my legacy. And Lucius, you still can’t tie a proper Windsor knot. A disgrace!””
Meanwhile, Twinkle popped into the room, hands on her hips. “If Master Draco thinks he’ll get away with leaving crumbs and broomstick marks on the carpet again, Twinkle will have words.”
Draco leaned forward with a smirk. “I’ll leave crumbs if I like, Twinkle. It’s Christmas.”
Twinkle’s large eyes narrowed. “And Twinkle will take Master’s precious firewhisky and give it to the garden gnomes. It’s Christmas.”
Lucius chuckled, clearly entertained, while Draco held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. No crumbs. Happy?”
From another portrait, a witch with a towering beehive hairstyle chimed in. “Honestly, you boys couldn’t manage a tea party without ruining the drapes. Such disgrace to the Malfoy name.”
“Oh, stuff it, Aunt Callidora,” Draco muttered. “You’re the one who spilled elderflower wine on the Persian rug in 1883.”
“I was under duress!” Callidora’s portrait shrieked indignantly.
Twinkle huffed and vanished with a pop.
In Diagon Alley, Hermione and Narcissa strolled through the snowy streets, their arms laden with shopping bags. Narcissa’s sharp eye and impeccable taste ensured every gift was perfect, though Hermione had vetoed several overly extravagant suggestions.
“Are you sure the twins won’t need matching dragon-hide boots?” Narcissa asked.
“Positive,” Hermione replied with a laugh. “I’m just hoping for a peaceful holiday where Scorpius doesn’t manage to break anything valuable.”
Narcissa’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Darling, with Draco as his father, that’s wishful thinking.”
Back at the manor, the drawing room had been transformed into a chaotic playground. Scorpius zoomed around on his broomstick while Draco conjured harmless snowballs to throw at him. Lucius, meanwhile, had abandoned all pretense of disinterest and was coaching Scorpius on evasive maneuvers.
Scorpius, for all his cherubic sweetness with his mother and grandmother, had a streak of cunning when left with his father and grandfather. With wide, pleading eyes, he tilted his head and clasped his hands. “Daddy, can Scorpius have 'nother choc'late fwog? No nap, pwease? Pwease, Daddy?”
Draco narrowed his eyes, seeing the ploy but unable to resist. “Just one more,” he said, already summoning the treat. “But you’re definitely napping.”
Lucius smirked from his chair. “Ah, the art of manipulation. He’s a natural. Must be the Black genes.”
Scorpius grinned triumphantly and climbed onto Lucius’s lap. “Gwampa, Daddy say nap time, but Scorpius no wanna! Pway wif Scorpius, pwease?”
Lucius feigned contemplation. “Well, I suppose one more game wouldn’t hurt. After all, it’s Christmas.”
Scorpius’s face lit up as he grabbed Lucius’s hand. “Yay! Gwampa best! We pway hide an’ seek now!”
Draco groaned. “Scorpius, I am not crawling under tables again. Last time, I got stuck.”
Lucius smirked. “Perhaps if you hadn’t eaten the entire treacle tart at dinner, you wouldn’t have had such difficulties.”
“That tart was enchanted to be never-ending,” Draco retorted, earning a delighted giggle from Scorpius.
Twinkle appeared again, arms crossed. “Master Lucius and Master Draco must learn to say no to Little Master. Otherwise, Twinkle will report them to Mistress Narcissa and Mistress Hermione!”
Draco and Lucius exchanged guilty looks before Scorpius giggled, clutching his toy broomstick. “Thank you, Grandpa!”
Lucius chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Anything for you, my boy.”
Scorpius beamed. “Scorpius bestest boy! More choc'late now?”
Twinkle sighed dramatically and vanished with a pop, muttering something about “soft-hearted wizards.”
When Hermione and Narcissa returned hours later, they were greeted by the sight of Scorpius laughing as he sat on Lucius’s shoulders, the chandelier swinging precariously above them.
Hermione froze mid-step, her eyes narrowing. “Draco Lucius Malfoy, what in Merlin’s name is going on here?”
Draco, who was midway through summoning another snowball, stiffened. “Ah, love. You’re back early.”
“Don’t you ‘love’ me,” Hermione snapped, gesturing toward the chaos. “What is Scorpius doing up there, and why is the chandelier swinging like it’s part of the Hogwarts Yule Ball decorations?”
Narcissa raised an elegant eyebrow at her husband. “Lucius, care to explain?”
Lucius carefully lifted Scorpius off his shoulders and set him down, looking thoroughly unbothered. “We were bonding. Scorpius requested a game of hide-and-seek, and things… escalated.”
“Escalated?” Hermione repeated, her voice dangerously calm. “Do you mean to tell me that ‘escalating’ now includes letting a toddler commandeer the chandelier?”
Draco tried for a charming grin. “To be fair, he’s got an excellent grip for his age.”
Narcissa sighed, placing her hands on her hips. “Honestly, Lucius. You and Draco are worse than the children.”
“But, Gwanny,” Scorpius chimed in, tugging at Narcissa’s robes. “It was fun! Daddy say I can fwy!”
Hermione glared at Draco. “Flying inside? Really?”
Draco raised his hands in surrender. “In my defense, it kept him entertained.”
“Entertained,” Hermione muttered. “Twinky!”
With a sharp pop, Twinky appeared, looking slightly frazzled. “Mistress calls?”
“Please clean this up while I have a word with my husband,” Hermione said sweetly, her tone belying the fire in her eyes.
Twinky glanced at Draco and Lucius and smirked. “Masters Draco and Lucius in trouble? Twinky approves. Very messy boys.”
As Twinky busied herself tidying up, Hermione grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him toward the sitting room. Behind them, Narcissa shook her head, giving Lucius a pointed look. “You’d better hope she goes easy on him, because you’re next.”
“Malfoys,” Hermione muttered, shaking her head but unable to hide her smile. Christmas at the manor was never dull.