She falls.
And then wobbles back up.
And then falls backwards.
It’s a repetitive cycle, but every time he gets up to try to help Lyra walk, she wails and wiggles away from him. It amuses him to no end how independent his daughter is at only 11 months old. So much so that sometimes she won’t even let him hold her hands when she attempts a few steps around the room. She has no problem letting Hermione help her, the little Mummy’s girl that she is, and sometimes when she’s had a decent nap, she lets him approach when she’s feeling particularly affectionate. Scorpius was the sweetest, calmest baby, and Lyra, well - she’s an absolute hellion who is most definitely some kind of payback for all of the misdeeds in his past.
He never believed in all the Muggle talk of supposed ‘karma’ or whatever nonsense they believe in. But Lyra has him seriously reconsidering. He cursed inwardly. He knew Scoprius wasn’t difficult enough - the founders had seen fit to deliver his retribution in the form of his pint-sized daughter.
Scorpius refused to leave Hermione's side for the longest time, mostly in his baby days when he would cling to his mother's neck and refuse to let go. But he eventually came around to Draco. Maybe he’s biased. Or maybe Lyra has much more obvious favoritism. Merlin, Granger probably thinks that both of their kids favor him, especially considering they got all of their good looks from him (his wife would have smacked him over the head for that comment).
Looks and personalities, however…two completely different things.
“Lyra, darling,” he coos, adjusting himself on the ground and clapping his hands together. “Why don’t you walk to see Daddy? Doesn’t that sound like a great idea? Come to Daddy, Lyra Bug.”
“So demanding.”
He turns his head to see Granger standing in the doorway, her mess of curls piled on top of her head and his old quidditch jersey, her preferred lounge wear, falling off her shoulder like it nearly always is. She must have just woken up from a nap, and she obviously had a good one if the pink pillow marks on her face are any indication.
“I’m just trying to encourage her. You try getting her to walk.”
Hermione only rolls her eyes, smirking as she steps into the room and over him so that she can take Lyra’s hands in hers as Lyra stands from the ground.
“Alright, my love. Mummy needs you to walk with me, okay?”
Lyra’s face turns red for the briefest of moments, the tears and protests on the verge of emerging, but then the color fades and she’s left with pale skin as her lips press into a straight line and she focuses on walking with her mother. It’s like watching magic happen. He’ll never understand how lucky he is to have these two bloody incredible girls in his life. Their bond sometimes blows his mind. He's not ashamed to admit that he is jealous of the way Lyra doesn’t want him at times, but he loves that two loves of his life have this special bond with each other.
He can’t wrap his mind around how in the world the stars aligned so he could have them, love them, love him back. He doesn’t deserve them, he knows that. The knot of guilt and self-deprivation grows, eating away at the edge of his consciousness because he knows he doesn’t deserve to live this life after all he’s done.
“That’s it, Lyra,” Granger cheers, startling him out of his mind as he watches them take a few steps before Lyra insists that she sit down, crying out “Mama” until his wife releases her hands.
“You did so well, Lyra, but you’ve got to walk with Daddy sometimes, yeah? He gets a little jealous.”
“I heard that.”
“I know. Don’t we have another one of these wandering around somewhere?”
“He’s in the playroom watching a Muggle film. I’m afraid that son of ours hasn’t moved from the couch.”
She sighs, shaking her head fondly and reaching her hands down for him. “Why don’t we go in there and join him?”
He nods as he takes her hand, pushing up on his legs and ignoring the slight ache in his knees from standing from such a low position. “I think that sounds like a plan.”
Hermione scoops Lyra up into her arms, and Lyra burrows into her mother’s hold. They walk out of the nursery and down to the end of the hall to the kids’ playroom. The room is always a mess in the most endearing way, toys and clothes scattering across the floor and the mini kids table despite the hoard of bins that Draco swears he dumps his children’s toys in every single day. But it’s better that their stuff is mostly contained in here, despite the fact he stepped on one of his son’s miniature quidditch figures outside the floo downstairs yesterday, and he nearly screamed “fuck” so loudly that the children could have woken from their naps.
Granger had given him an earful for that.
He loves this room, though. Its a large open space with a wide set of floor to ceiling windows, and it looks out into the yard to a large apple tree that Hermione had planted years ago when it was a little sapling. He smiles, remembering how she had wanted to get her hands dirty and properly plant the tree the Muggle way. He had teased her endlessly for the dirt stuck under her fingernails for months.
He thinks he might build a treehouse among the branches one day. He knows that most children grow out of using them after a few years, but he thinks they’ll enjoy it more than most. Besides, he built his wife a special cushioned swing out near the end of the property and their room gets a nice view of the sprawling property. The children can get this.
“What are you watching, darling?”
“Chicken Little. The sky is falling from the sky, Mummy.”
“Oh no,” Hermione gasps dramatically, sitting down next to Scorpius on the couch and settling Lyra in her lap while Draco grabs some blankets out of the basket in the far corner of the room and dims the lights a little bit.
“Don’t worry, Mummy. I checked our sky. It’s still there.”
“Oh, phew. Thank the Gods.”
Draco coughs to cover the laugh he desperately wants to let out and then leans back in a recliner, propping his legs up. His son is quick to abandon his spot on the couch and scramble up on his lap, his bony elbows and knees poking Draco until he finally plops down in the small open space left in the chair and tugs at the blanket until it complies with his wishes up over his legs, looking up at Draco and flashing him the widest grin. Scorpius looks so proud of himself, and he has no idea why. He’s probably hidden Draco’s wand or something.
The movie continues to play, everyone quietly settling in. After several moments, Scorpius speaks.
“Why isn’t Crookshanks my brother but Lyra is my sister?”
“I’m sorry…what?”
“Is Crookshanks my brother?”
His eyes glance over to Granger’s, and she simply smiles and shrugs, giving him absolutely no help whatsoever for how to answer Scorpius' bizarre question. His son’s name is nearly as long as the mangy beast’s, and while he and the creature have shared a tentative understanding since the children’s arrival, he doesn’t like the insinuation that the infernal mongrel shared genetic traits with them.
“Well sprog, you’re a part of our family like me, Mummy, and Lyra.”
“And Crooks.”
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth, “I suppose…and Crooks. But he’s a kneazle, remember? He has all of that fur that he leaves lying all over our nice sofa and carpets.”
“And eats yucky food.”
“Exactly, now you’re getting it. I know you love him, but Lyra is your sister and you love her too, right?”
“Yeah, but she cries.”
“She’s not crying right now.”
Scorpius tilts his head to the side, his eyes falling away from the telly and toward his sister who’s intently watching the movie while Hermione’s fingers play with her small locks of platinum blonde hair. Without any kind of warning, Scorpius leaps up from his spot, knocking the wind out of Draco as he knees him in the stomach multiple times before he’s off of the chair and moving to sit on the couch. He stares at Lyra with rapt fascination as if she hasn’t been alive and living with them for almost a year.
He finally nods and reaches over to kiss Lyra’s cheek in a move so gentle that Draco feels his heart nearly burst out of his chest. He doesn't know how he made such sweet, tender hearted children. Those are definitely Granger's genes.
“I love you, Lyra,” Scorpius whispers while Lyra tries to decide if she likes her brother or not, her eyes slanted as she studies him suspiciously. She’s always kind of wary of him at first, but then again, she’s always wary of anyone who’s not Hermione. “You’re not a dog, but that’s okay.”
They spend the rest of the day in the playroom, watching movies and letting the kids run their toys over the two of them before they feed them dinner and get washed up for bed. It takes far too long every night, but it’s a routine that Draco finds himself looking forward to nearly every night. The moment he closes Lyra’s door, the wood softly clicking into place, Hermione takes his hands and intertwines their fingers while the corners of her lips turn up into a smile.
Beautiful.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Oh, Draco,” she whispers, walking backward down the hall and tugging him with her, “I know that you’ve gone all soft on me, but I still like to think that you know when I’m trying to seduce you.”
“Is that what this is? Because I don’t know if you’ve looked at yourself today but – ”
“Jackass.”
He tugs her closer even if she resists a little bit until their chests are pressed so tightly together that they can hardly breath. He dips his head softly, gliding his lips over hers in a languid kiss and staying still for a moment until she begins to move against him. Her hands let go of his so they can wrap firmly around his neck, fingers teasing his hair at the base. His hands skate down her waist until he finds her hips and the skin that rests under her shirt, warmth in every inch of it that dances across Draco's own skin.
She’s soft, always so soft even when she’s firm.
“Am I still a jackass?” he whispers when his nose is still heavily pressed into her cheek.
“Absolutely, but I’ll allow it.”
“Oh thank goodness.”