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This is not about Potter anymore. This is about her. A simple change,imo,has changed the focal point of the saga. She's worth fighting for in every AU. It's important the creators remember this. Keep the yearning strong.
#malfoid #Malfoyd #Malfoy #HarryPotter #MalfoidFever
@Carina_Malfoy @EthosHeretica @Aurondarklord @Sheepfarmer373 @EveKeneinan @Frank_lymydear Take your time. It's beautiful
you guys need to read this. @EthosHeretica @Aurondarklord @Carina_Malfoy @Sheepfarmer373 @EveKeneinan @Frank_lymydear . BTW please do tell me if anyone wants me to stop tagging you. This is what the #malfoid saga is all about imo.
Yearning is a two way street.
Also: Toddlermancy
Three years after Voldemort’s defeat
The Granger-Weasley home — late afternoon
The dining table had been extended twice.
Ron was beginning to take this personally.
“Six adults,” he said, counting the places again. “Three children. We own a table. This should be straightforward.”
“Molly has seated her rabbits,” Percy explained.
Three-year-old Molly had arranged four stuffed animals along the bench. Lucy was patiently removing them and putting them back in a different order.
“They’re guests,” Molly said.
“Apparently we’re thirteen,” Harry observed.
Dracaena glanced at the smallest rabbit, which occupied considerably more space than its size justified.
“Fourteen. That one looks as though it expects a footman.”
Harry laughed, and she touched his back as she passed into the kitchen.
Three years earlier, they had stood together against Voldemort and killed him together. Six months after that, with scaffolding still braced against the damaged walls of Hogwarts, they had married.
Dracaena remembered being asked whether it was too soon.
Two and a half years of marriage had supplied her with several answers. The best one was currently helping Ron persuade a dining table to accommodate a rabbit aristocracy.
“Sit down, Harry,” Hermione called. “You’ve already moved the table, fetched the extra chairs, and repaired the latch Ron was going to fix last month.”
“I had a plan,” Ron said.
“Yes. Harry has completed it.”
Dracaena accepted a cutting board.
“What would you like done?”
“Carrots, please.”
“An attainable objective. How refreshing.”
Audrey, carrying Rose on her hip, looked from Dracaena to Harry.
Then back.
Hermione knew that look. She had seen it shortly before Audrey persuaded Percy that a weekend without Ministry correspondence had been his own idea.
“Audrey,” she said quietly.
“What?”
“You’re thinking.”
“I do occasionally.”
Harry had settled on the broad wooden bench beside the kitchen doorway. From there he could talk to Ron without obstructing anyone carrying hot dishes.
Audrey considered the arrangement.
Perfect.
“I’ll help with the potatoes.”
Hermione glanced at the potatoes, which were already being helped.
Then at Rose.
Then at Harry.
“Oh.”
Audrey smiled.
“Would you mind making a little room?”
Hermione moved a bowl.
A little too promptly.
* * *
“Harry?”
He looked up.
“Could you take Rose while I give Hermione a hand?”
“Of course.”
Rose was already reaching for him.
“Uncle Harry.”
“Hello, Rosie.”
He received her without the small ceremony adults sometimes made of accepting children. One hand supported her beneath the legs, the other settled across her back, and he shifted along the bench to give her room.
“Drag’n,” Rose reminded Audrey.
“Nearly forgot.”
Audrey handed over the small green dragon Rose had been carrying all afternoon.
Harry took it, inspected its bent wing, and tucked it securely beside her.
“Both passengers accounted for.”
Rose leaned against him.
That was all.
No fuss. No instructions. No anxious glance toward Hermione to check whether he was doing it properly.
Audrey returned to the counter.
Hermione bent over the potatoes.
“You did that deliberately,” she murmured.
“I needed both hands.”
“There are already two pairs of hands dealing with these potatoes.”
“Then they’ll be exceptionally well prepared.”
Hermione looked over her shoulder.
Harry was listening as Rose explained that the dragon was unhappy.
Her mouth twitched.
Audrey noticed.
“Oh, don’t pretend you’re above this.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“Precisely.”
Across the kitchen, Dracaena continued cutting carrots.
She heard Harry ask, “What’s the matter with him?”
“Hungry.”
“Ah. Serious.”
Rose nodded.
Harry examined the dragon’s stitched mouth.
“How does he eat?”
“Pretend mouth.”
“Of course. My mistake.”
Ron pointed a wooden spoon toward him.
“Don’t argue with that. I lost twenty minutes yesterday explaining why a stuffed dragon couldn’t have my toast.”
“Did you win?”
“He had the toast.”
Rose patted Harry’s wrist.
“Drag’n want ’tatoes.”
“A sensible dragon.”
“Gravy.”
“Good choice.”
“Cake.”
Hermione looked up.
“The dragon is not having cake before dinner.”
Harry regarded Rose with solemn concern.
“Difficult negotiations.”
“Cake after,” Rose decided.
“There. A compromise.”
Percy, retrieving a rabbit from under Lucy’s chair, nodded.
“Better than most committees.”
Dracaena smiled down at her cutting board.
Then Rose shifted.
Harry moved with her.
His arm came farther around her middle; he slid the dragon out from beneath her elbow before it became uncomfortable; he tipped his head slightly when she tucked herself beneath his chin.
He continued discussing cake.
Dracaena’s knife stopped.
It was such a small thing.
She knew those hands. She knew the precise way Harry held a wand, the absent touch at her waist when he passed her in a doorway, the way he found her hand under a table.
Now one of them rested across Rose’s back.
Rose fitted there with absolute confidence.
Harry glanced toward the counter.
Their eyes met.
He smiled at his wife.
“What?”
Dracaena looked down.
“Nothing.”
The carrot in front of her had received exactly one slice.
Audrey’s gaze moved to Hermione.
Hermione pressed her lips together.
Rose raised the dragon.
“Aun’ Caena.”
Dracaena looked up again.
“Yes, darling?”
“Harry good chair.”
Ron made a noise into his sleeve.
Harry looked down at her.
“I thought we were friends.”
“Comfy.”
“Oh. Well.”
He adjusted her a little closer.
“Can’t argue with that.”
Dracaena watched him do it.
Audrey found a potato that urgently required attention.
Hermione found the same potato.
Their shoulders touched.
Dracaena’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Hermione said.
Audrey nodded.
“Potatoes.”
“I can see the potatoes.”
“Then we’re all agreed.”
Dracaena put down the knife.
Slowly.
“You two are doing something.”
“I’m preparing dinner,” Hermione said.
“So am I.”
“Yes,” Audrey observed. “Although your carrot seems to be waiting for instructions.”
Ron turned away toward the oven.
Too late.
Dracaena had seen his face.
“Weasley.”
“I’m looking at the roast.”
“You’re laughing at the roast.”
“It’s a very funny roast.”
Harry glanced between them, then looked down when Rose tugged his sleeve.
“Water.”
He reached for her little cup, holding it while she drank. When she pushed it away, he caught the dribble beneath her chin with the corner of the cloth Hermione had left on the bench.
Rose accepted the service as her due.
Dracaena stared.
Hermione’s composure suffered a visible fracture.
“Oh, honestly,” Dracaena said.
Harry looked up.
“What have I done?”
“Nothing.”
He considered her.
“That sounded rather more serious than nothing.”
“Continue being innocent, Potter. Apparently it suits you.”
His smile returned.
Catastrophic man.
* * *
Rose’s conversation gradually slowed.
The dragon still required dinner. It now also required a spoon, despite Harry’s observation that its paws were sewn together.
“Pretend hands,” Rose explained.
“Yes. I should have remembered.”
Her cheek rested against his shirt.
Harry’s voice softened.
“Tired?”
“No.”
“Fair enough.”
“Not sleepy.”
“Certainly not.”
Dracaena attempted another carrot.
She got through four slices before the dragon began sliding out of Rose’s hand.
Harry caught it without looking.
Then his attention went immediately to the child.
Rose’s fingers loosened against his shirt. Her head dipped. Harry shifted her carefully into the crook of his arm, keeping her face clear, and brought her legs a little farther across his lap.
She gave a small sigh.
His hand settled over her back.
One slow movement.
Another.
Rose fell asleep.
Harry looked down to make sure she was comfortable, then leaned back against the wall.
Dracaena forgot what she was holding.
Ron gently removed the knife from her hand.
“Just borrowing this.”
“I was using it.”
“Yes. Last Thursday, I think.”
She did not look at him.
Harry had turned his face slightly toward Rose. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and rather than disturb her he pushed them up with one finger of the hand still holding the dragon.
It should not have been devastating.
Dracaena had seen him face things that would have broken other men. She had stood beside him through the worst of them.
She had also seen him in the morning, barefoot and rumpled, trying to make breakfast while refusing to admit he had forgotten to put water in the kettle.
She knew her husband.
Apparently there were still ways for him to ambush her.
Her mind supplied an image with extraordinary clarity.
Their sitting room.
Harry in the chair beside the window.
A small sleeping head beneath his chin.
His eyes lifting toward hers.
They had spoken about children before. Sometimes seriously. Sometimes with the amused vagueness of people discussing a house they might one day build.
Now she could see someone living in it.
Her hand settled low against her own stomach.
Audrey saw.
Hermione saw Audrey see.
“Oh,” Hermione whispered.
Dracaena turned her head.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t—”
“You inhaled meaningfully.”
Ron’s shoulders began shaking.
Percy looked up from the picture book he had brought out for Molly and Lucy.
“What have I missed?”
“A crime,” Dracaena said.
Audrey continued peeling.
“Childcare.”
“You passed her father.”
“Ron was occupied.”
“I was holding a potato,” Ron admitted.
Hermione gave him a look.
“A hot potato,” he amended.
Dracaena pointed toward Percy.
“And him?”
“My husband has two children.”
“Harry has a wife.”
Audrey glanced at Harry.
Then back at Dracaena.
“Yes. We’d noticed.”
Hermione had to put down her spoon.
Dracaena stared at her.
“You’re supposed to be the reasonable one.”
“I am being reasonable.”
“You’re laughing.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
A tiny sound came from the bench.
Every adult stopped.
Rose shifted her cheek against Harry’s chest.
He went still, then adjusted his hand by perhaps an inch.
“Shh. You’re all right.”
Rose settled.
Harry waited another moment before looking up.
His voice remained low.
“Did somebody want something?”
Dracaena closed her eyes.
Audrey made a strangled noise.
Hermione put a hand over her mouth.
Harry looked at Ron.
Ron gave him the sympathetic expression of a man who had decided sympathy was all he intended to contribute.
“Good luck, mate.”
“With what?”
Dracaena opened her eyes.
“With continuing to sit there.”
Harry looked down at Rose.
“I don’t think I’ve much choice.”
Rose sighed and curled her hand more securely into his shirt.
Dracaena’s composure went with it.
Hermione leaned toward Audrey.
“That was unfair.”
“You’re enjoying it.”
“Yes, but it was.”
“I can hear you,” Dracaena said.
“We know,” Audrey replied.
* * *
Dracaena left the cutting board.
Ron took possession of the carrots without comment, which she considered the least he could do.
She stopped in front of Audrey.
Audrey looked up.
“Can I help?”
“You already have.”
“How kind of you to notice.”
“I had no idea you were like this.”
“Helpful?”
“Devious.”
Percy turned a page for the girls.
“I could have warned you.”
Dracaena looked toward him.
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t consulted.”
“Percy.”
“Yes?”
“Tell your wife to stop.”
He considered Audrey.
Audrey considered him.
“I’ve submitted that request before,” he said.
“Rejected,” Audrey supplied.
“As you can see.”
Ron had to set down the knife.
Hermione leaned against the counter, laughing silently.
Dracaena folded her arms.
“We killed Voldemort together.”
The room softened for a moment.
Harry looked up at her.
“I remember.”
“I should be able to survive you holding a small child.”
His eyes moved down to Rose.
Then back to his wife.
The understanding arrived slowly.
“Oh.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“As though you’ve just discovered another way to be unbearable.”
His mouth moved.
She pointed at him.
“No smugness.”
“I’m holding a sleeping child. I’m hardly in a position to gloat.”
“Your face remains available.”
“Right.”
He tried to arrange it differently.
That was worse.
Dracaena turned back to the counter.
Hermione was watching her with open affection now, although the mischief had certainly survived.
“You could sit beside him,” she said.
“Thank you. I had forgotten how furniture worked.”
“I thought you might like a clearer view.”
Audrey bent over the potatoes.
Dracaena stared at Hermione.
“Oh, you are absolutely involved.”
Hermione lifted her chin.
“Rose is comfortable. Harry’s happy. Dinner is being prepared.”
“And I am being subjected to an organized attack.”
“An observation,” Hermione corrected.
Audrey nodded.
“With practical assistance.”
“On my marriage.”
Harry spoke from the bench.
“I’m quite happy with our marriage.”
Dracaena turned toward him.
He was looking directly at her.
His thumb moved once over Rose’s small shoulder.
“So am I,” she said.
For a moment she forgot the audience.
Harry’s expression gentled.
And Audrey, who knew when she had achieved something, returned quietly to the potatoes.
Hermione ruined the restraint approximately three seconds later.
“Reproducible, then.”
Dracaena wheeled back.
“Granger.”
Ron laughed aloud.
Rose stirred.
He instantly covered his mouth.
Harry glanced up.
Ron held up both hands.
Sorry.
Molly, watching from beside Percy, put a finger to her lips.
“Rose sleeping.”
“Yes,” Percy whispered. “Some of the grown-ups are finding that difficult.”
Lucy tucked a rabbit under Molly’s arm.
Molly looked down at it.
Then toward Harry.
She tucked it in more carefully.
Audrey saw the small imitation and softened.
Dracaena caught her.
“There. That.”
“What?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
Audrey met her eyes.
“Yes.”
Hermione gave a delighted little gasp.
“She’s admitted it.”
“I’ve admitted that I needed help with supper.”
“And?” Dracaena asked.
Audrey glanced toward Harry.
“And that I knew he would be very good with Rose.”
“And?”
A smile.
“And that you might enjoy noticing.”
Ron looked between them.
“Fairly strong case, that.”
“Thank you,” Dracaena said.
“For the defence,” he added.
She reached for the dish towel.
Ron stepped out of range.
Harry watched her with warm amusement.
Dracaena noticed.
“Your friends are appalling.”
“Our friends.”
“That was a particularly cruel correction.”
“I’ve been learning.”
“Clearly.”
* * *
By then Ron had finished the carrots, checked the roast, and returned to a kitchen in which nobody seemed capable of concentrating for more than thirty seconds.
He stopped beside Hermione.
Harry remained on the bench.
Rose slept against him, the dragon’s green tail draped over his wrist.
Dracaena stood close enough now that Harry could touch her if he wanted to. She had arrived there in increments while arguing with everyone else.
He wanted to.
His free hand reached for hers.
She gave it to him immediately.
Ron’s grin changed.
Hermione noticed.
“What?”
He shook his head.
For a few seconds he watched his daughter sleeping in his best friend’s arms.
Then Harry’s wife, looking at both of them.
Three years ago, he had scarcely dared think beyond the next day.
Now the greatest immediate problem in his house was that a very small girl had fallen asleep before dinner and taken several adults’ dignity with her.
He swallowed.
Dracaena caught it.
“Oh, no.”
“What?”
“You’re going to become sincere.”
“I do occasionally.”
“It’s deeply inconvenient.”
Ron smiled.
“You two really don’t need help being ridiculous about each other.”
Harry looked up.
Dracaena’s fingers tightened around his.
Ron gestured toward Audrey.
“She’s just found a way to make it everybody else’s problem.”
“Ron,” Hermione said.
“What? It’s true.”
Audrey appeared entirely untroubled by the charge.
“I’m glad someone appreciates the work.”
“Work?” Dracaena repeated.
“Toddlermancy,” Ron said.
Silence.
Harry looked at him.
Hermione blinked.
Percy lifted his head.
Dracaena stared.
“Excuse me?”
Ron pointed toward Rose.
“Toddlermancy.”
Hermione’s mouth opened.
“That is a dreadful word.”
“It’s an accurate word.”
“That isn’t an established branch of magic.”
“Apparently we’ve established it.”
Audrey set down the potato peeler.
“I rather like it.”
“Of course you do,” Dracaena said.
Percy looked thoughtful.
“Would it fall under Charms?”
“No,” Hermione said automatically.
“Influencing perception through the careful arrangement of external circumstances—”
“Percy.”
“An unorthodox charm, perhaps.”
Harry was laughing now, very carefully.
Dracaena looked down at him.
“Don’t encourage them.”
“I’m trying not to wake Rose.”
“Try not to encourage them quietly.”
Hermione looked at Ron.
“You’ve invented a magical discipline involving our daughter.”
“I’ve identified a phenomenon.”
“You’ve identified Audrey handing Harry a toddler.”
“Deliberately.”
Audrey raised one finger.
“For a legitimate domestic purpose.”
Dracaena gave her a long look.
“Which one?”
Audrey smiled.
Hermione folded.
She leaned against Ron’s shoulder, laughing hard enough that he had to steady the dish she was holding.
Ron took it from her.
“Careful. We need that.”
Dracaena appealed to Percy again.
“Surely there is a regulation.”
Percy considered.
“Against handing a child to a trusted family member?”
“Against your wife.”
“That would require a considerably broader instrument.”
Audrey blew him a kiss.
Molly looked up from the picture book.
“Mummy magic?”
Percy glanced toward Dracaena.
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Good magic?”
Harry answered before anyone else could.
“The potatoes will tell us.”
Ron lost the battle.
Hermione caught his sleeve.
“Quiet!”
He pressed his face against her shoulder.
Rose slept through the whole thing.
Dracaena looked at Audrey.
Then Hermione.
“You are both insufferable.”
Hermione wiped beneath one eye.
“Yes.”
“You’re not even going to deny it?”
“We’ve rather lost the opportunity.”
Audrey inclined her head.
“Your husband is very good with her.”
Dracaena’s answer came without effort.
“I know.”
The laughter eased.
She looked down at Harry.
He was watching her now, with none of the teasing left in his expression.
Two and a half years married.
She could read the question.
She could also decide when to answer it.
Dracaena sat beside him.
The bench creaked softly.
Harry shifted just enough to make room, keeping Rose settled against his other side. Dracaena laid one hand lightly over the child’s back.
Rose’s little fingers opened.
Found Dracaena’s sleeve.
Closed again.
“Oh,” Dracaena whispered.
Audrey turned away.
Hermione looked very hard at the oven.
Ron suddenly found the carving knife fascinating.
For once, all three managed to leave it alone.
Harry leaned a little closer to his wife.
“All right?”
She nodded.
Then looked at him.
“We should have that conversation again.”
His expression changed.
“The one about—”
“Yes.”
He glanced briefly at Rose.
Then back at Dracaena.
“All right.”
“At home,” she added.
“Of course.”
“Where nobody is peeling potatoes at us.”
Harry’s smile returned.
“Reasonable precaution.”
She leaned against his shoulder.
He kissed her hair.
Across the kitchen, Audrey and Hermione exchanged a look.
Dracaena saw it.
Naturally.
“If either of you says ‘successful experiment,’ I will leave you both to explain to your husbands why dinner is on the ceiling.”
Hermione looked wounded.
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
Audrey nodded.
“Neither was I.”
Percy turned another page.
“A remarkable coincidence.”
“Percy,” both women said.
Ron lifted the roast from the oven.
“Right. Dinner. Before somebody publishes a paper.”
Harry looked down at Rose.
“I may have a problem.”
Dracaena glanced at the sleeping child.
Then at his hand, still holding hers.
Then at the dragon lying across his wrist.
“No,” she said softly. “You look rather good at this.”
Harry met her eyes.
The smile he gave her was private, despite the room.
Hermione opened her mouth.
Dracaena pointed at her without looking away from her husband.
“Not. One. Word.”
Hermione shut it.
Audrey took the potatoes to the table.
Ron followed with the roast.
And Percy, gathering Molly, Lucy, and their several additional dinner guests, quietly moved Dracaena’s place setting beside Harry’s.
She noticed.
He said nothing.
For that, she decided, he could live.
@BoringBattlecry She's so vulnerable. She's the softest of them all. People keep forgetting that this is not about HP. It's about her. They overcame everything including Sectumsempra for this. What could have been the reason for her to postpone it. Btw i have read it a billion times.
https://t.co/xxCG4VFuU0
@EthosHeretica @Aurondarklord @kasmosd1 @Sheepfarmer373 @Carina_Malfoy by @Zandran2
#malfoid
#malfoy
#Harrypotter
@Carina_Malfoy Pansy will be beside her after sectumsempra. Not Daphne.
@Carina_Malfoy I'm telling you it's Daphne. Pansy talks a lot. She's harmless..
@kasmosd1 @RDiavolos Kosmo!!! I forgive you....a little bit. This is where the real story begins. The guilt professed. The redemption begins. The yearning is strong.
@kasmosd1 Kosmo!! Why are you turning her into a psychopath?
@redteneri @redteneri thanks a lot for kickstarting this especially at a time when the relationship between men and women are at it's lowest . We all yearn for a simple love , without any agenda.
Yearning is a two way street.
Also: Toddlermancy
Three years after Voldemort’s defeat
The Granger-Weasley home — late afternoon
The dining table had been extended twice.
Ron was beginning to take this personally.
“Six adults,” he said, counting the places again. “Three children. We own a table. This should be straightforward.”
“Molly has seated her rabbits,” Percy explained.
Three-year-old Molly had arranged four stuffed animals along the bench. Lucy was patiently removing them and putting them back in a different order.
“They’re guests,” Molly said.
“Apparently we’re thirteen,” Harry observed.
Dracaena glanced at the smallest rabbit, which occupied considerably more space than its size justified.
“Fourteen. That one looks as though it expects a footman.”
Harry laughed, and she touched his back as she passed into the kitchen.
Three years earlier, they had stood together against Voldemort and killed him together. Six months after that, with scaffolding still braced against the damaged walls of Hogwarts, they had married.
Dracaena remembered being asked whether it was too soon.
Two and a half years of marriage had supplied her with several answers. The best one was currently helping Ron persuade a dining table to accommodate a rabbit aristocracy.
“Sit down, Harry,” Hermione called. “You’ve already moved the table, fetched the extra chairs, and repaired the latch Ron was going to fix last month.”
“I had a plan,” Ron said.
“Yes. Harry has completed it.”
Dracaena accepted a cutting board.
“What would you like done?”
“Carrots, please.”
“An attainable objective. How refreshing.”
Audrey, carrying Rose on her hip, looked from Dracaena to Harry.
Then back.
Hermione knew that look. She had seen it shortly before Audrey persuaded Percy that a weekend without Ministry correspondence had been his own idea.
“Audrey,” she said quietly.
“What?”
“You’re thinking.”
“I do occasionally.”
Harry had settled on the broad wooden bench beside the kitchen doorway. From there he could talk to Ron without obstructing anyone carrying hot dishes.
Audrey considered the arrangement.
Perfect.
“I’ll help with the potatoes.”
Hermione glanced at the potatoes, which were already being helped.
Then at Rose.
Then at Harry.
“Oh.”
Audrey smiled.
“Would you mind making a little room?”
Hermione moved a bowl.
A little too promptly.
* * *
“Harry?”
He looked up.
“Could you take Rose while I give Hermione a hand?”
“Of course.”
Rose was already reaching for him.
“Uncle Harry.”
“Hello, Rosie.”
He received her without the small ceremony adults sometimes made of accepting children. One hand supported her beneath the legs, the other settled across her back, and he shifted along the bench to give her room.
“Drag’n,” Rose reminded Audrey.
“Nearly forgot.”
Audrey handed over the small green dragon Rose had been carrying all afternoon.
Harry took it, inspected its bent wing, and tucked it securely beside her.
“Both passengers accounted for.”
Rose leaned against him.
That was all.
No fuss. No instructions. No anxious glance toward Hermione to check whether he was doing it properly.
Audrey returned to the counter.
Hermione bent over the potatoes.
“You did that deliberately,” she murmured.
“I needed both hands.”
“There are already two pairs of hands dealing with these potatoes.”
“Then they’ll be exceptionally well prepared.”
Hermione looked over her shoulder.
Harry was listening as Rose explained that the dragon was unhappy.
Her mouth twitched.
Audrey noticed.
“Oh, don’t pretend you’re above this.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“Precisely.”
Across the kitchen, Dracaena continued cutting carrots.
She heard Harry ask, “What’s the matter with him?”
“Hungry.”
“Ah. Serious.”
Rose nodded.
Harry examined the dragon’s stitched mouth.
“How does he eat?”
“Pretend mouth.”
“Of course. My mistake.”
Ron pointed a wooden spoon toward him.
“Don’t argue with that. I lost twenty minutes yesterday explaining why a stuffed dragon couldn’t have my toast.”
“Did you win?”
“He had the toast.”
Rose patted Harry’s wrist.
“Drag’n want ’tatoes.”
“A sensible dragon.”
“Gravy.”
“Good choice.”
“Cake.”
Hermione looked up.
“The dragon is not having cake before dinner.”
Harry regarded Rose with solemn concern.
“Difficult negotiations.”
“Cake after,” Rose decided.
“There. A compromise.”
Percy, retrieving a rabbit from under Lucy’s chair, nodded.
“Better than most committees.”
Dracaena smiled down at her cutting board.
Then Rose shifted.
Harry moved with her.
His arm came farther around her middle; he slid the dragon out from beneath her elbow before it became uncomfortable; he tipped his head slightly when she tucked herself beneath his chin.
He continued discussing cake.
Dracaena’s knife stopped.
It was such a small thing.
She knew those hands. She knew the precise way Harry held a wand, the absent touch at her waist when he passed her in a doorway, the way he found her hand under a table.
Now one of them rested across Rose’s back.
Rose fitted there with absolute confidence.
Harry glanced toward the counter.
Their eyes met.
He smiled at his wife.
“What?”
Dracaena looked down.
“Nothing.”
The carrot in front of her had received exactly one slice.
Audrey’s gaze moved to Hermione.
Hermione pressed her lips together.
Rose raised the dragon.
“Aun’ Caena.”
Dracaena looked up again.
“Yes, darling?”
“Harry good chair.”
Ron made a noise into his sleeve.
Harry looked down at her.
“I thought we were friends.”
“Comfy.”
“Oh. Well.”
He adjusted her a little closer.
“Can’t argue with that.”
Dracaena watched him do it.
Audrey found a potato that urgently required attention.
Hermione found the same potato.
Their shoulders touched.
Dracaena’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Hermione said.
Audrey nodded.
“Potatoes.”
“I can see the potatoes.”
“Then we’re all agreed.”
Dracaena put down the knife.
Slowly.
“You two are doing something.”
“I’m preparing dinner,” Hermione said.
“So am I.”
“Yes,” Audrey observed. “Although your carrot seems to be waiting for instructions.”
Ron turned away toward the oven.
Too late.
Dracaena had seen his face.
“Weasley.”
“I’m looking at the roast.”
“You’re laughing at the roast.”
“It’s a very funny roast.”
Harry glanced between them, then looked down when Rose tugged his sleeve.
“Water.”
He reached for her little cup, holding it while she drank. When she pushed it away, he caught the dribble beneath her chin with the corner of the cloth Hermione had left on the bench.
Rose accepted the service as her due.
Dracaena stared.
Hermione’s composure suffered a visible fracture.
“Oh, honestly,” Dracaena said.
Harry looked up.
“What have I done?”
“Nothing.”
He considered her.
“That sounded rather more serious than nothing.”
“Continue being innocent, Potter. Apparently it suits you.”
His smile returned.
Catastrophic man.
* * *
Rose’s conversation gradually slowed.
The dragon still required dinner. It now also required a spoon, despite Harry’s observation that its paws were sewn together.
“Pretend hands,” Rose explained.
“Yes. I should have remembered.”
Her cheek rested against his shirt.
Harry’s voice softened.
“Tired?”
“No.”
“Fair enough.”
“Not sleepy.”
“Certainly not.”
Dracaena attempted another carrot.
She got through four slices before the dragon began sliding out of Rose’s hand.
Harry caught it without looking.
Then his attention went immediately to the child.
Rose’s fingers loosened against his shirt. Her head dipped. Harry shifted her carefully into the crook of his arm, keeping her face clear, and brought her legs a little farther across his lap.
She gave a small sigh.
His hand settled over her back.
One slow movement.
Another.
Rose fell asleep.
Harry looked down to make sure she was comfortable, then leaned back against the wall.
Dracaena forgot what she was holding.
Ron gently removed the knife from her hand.
“Just borrowing this.”
“I was using it.”
“Yes. Last Thursday, I think.”
She did not look at him.
Harry had turned his face slightly toward Rose. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and rather than disturb her he pushed them up with one finger of the hand still holding the dragon.
It should not have been devastating.
Dracaena had seen him face things that would have broken other men. She had stood beside him through the worst of them.
She had also seen him in the morning, barefoot and rumpled, trying to make breakfast while refusing to admit he had forgotten to put water in the kettle.
She knew her husband.
Apparently there were still ways for him to ambush her.
Her mind supplied an image with extraordinary clarity.
Their sitting room.
Harry in the chair beside the window.
A small sleeping head beneath his chin.
His eyes lifting toward hers.
They had spoken about children before. Sometimes seriously. Sometimes with the amused vagueness of people discussing a house they might one day build.
Now she could see someone living in it.
Her hand settled low against her own stomach.
Audrey saw.
Hermione saw Audrey see.
“Oh,” Hermione whispered.
Dracaena turned her head.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t—”
“You inhaled meaningfully.”
Ron’s shoulders began shaking.
Percy looked up from the picture book he had brought out for Molly and Lucy.
“What have I missed?”
“A crime,” Dracaena said.
Audrey continued peeling.
“Childcare.”
“You passed her father.”
“Ron was occupied.”
“I was holding a potato,” Ron admitted.
Hermione gave him a look.
“A hot potato,” he amended.
Dracaena pointed toward Percy.
“And him?”
“My husband has two children.”
“Harry has a wife.”
Audrey glanced at Harry.
Then back at Dracaena.
“Yes. We’d noticed.”
Hermione had to put down her spoon.
Dracaena stared at her.
“You’re supposed to be the reasonable one.”
“I am being reasonable.”
“You’re laughing.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
A tiny sound came from the bench.
Every adult stopped.
Rose shifted her cheek against Harry’s chest.
He went still, then adjusted his hand by perhaps an inch.
“Shh. You’re all right.”
Rose settled.
Harry waited another moment before looking up.
His voice remained low.
“Did somebody want something?”
Dracaena closed her eyes.
Audrey made a strangled noise.
Hermione put a hand over her mouth.
Harry looked at Ron.
Ron gave him the sympathetic expression of a man who had decided sympathy was all he intended to contribute.
“Good luck, mate.”
“With what?”
Dracaena opened her eyes.
“With continuing to sit there.”
Harry looked down at Rose.
“I don’t think I’ve much choice.”
Rose sighed and curled her hand more securely into his shirt.
Dracaena’s composure went with it.
Hermione leaned toward Audrey.
“That was unfair.”
“You’re enjoying it.”
“Yes, but it was.”
“I can hear you,” Dracaena said.
“We know,” Audrey replied.
* * *
Dracaena left the cutting board.
Ron took possession of the carrots without comment, which she considered the least he could do.
She stopped in front of Audrey.
Audrey looked up.
“Can I help?”
“You already have.”
“How kind of you to notice.”
“I had no idea you were like this.”
“Helpful?”
“Devious.”
Percy turned a page for the girls.
“I could have warned you.”
Dracaena looked toward him.
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t consulted.”
“Percy.”
“Yes?”
“Tell your wife to stop.”
He considered Audrey.
Audrey considered him.
“I’ve submitted that request before,” he said.
“Rejected,” Audrey supplied.
“As you can see.”
Ron had to set down the knife.
Hermione leaned against the counter, laughing silently.
Dracaena folded her arms.
“We killed Voldemort together.”
The room softened for a moment.
Harry looked up at her.
“I remember.”
“I should be able to survive you holding a small child.”
His eyes moved down to Rose.
Then back to his wife.
The understanding arrived slowly.
“Oh.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“As though you’ve just discovered another way to be unbearable.”
His mouth moved.
She pointed at him.
“No smugness.”
“I’m holding a sleeping child. I’m hardly in a position to gloat.”
“Your face remains available.”
“Right.”
He tried to arrange it differently.
That was worse.
Dracaena turned back to the counter.
Hermione was watching her with open affection now, although the mischief had certainly survived.
“You could sit beside him,” she said.
“Thank you. I had forgotten how furniture worked.”
“I thought you might like a clearer view.”
Audrey bent over the potatoes.
Dracaena stared at Hermione.
“Oh, you are absolutely involved.”
Hermione lifted her chin.
“Rose is comfortable. Harry’s happy. Dinner is being prepared.”
“And I am being subjected to an organized attack.”
“An observation,” Hermione corrected.
Audrey nodded.
“With practical assistance.”
“On my marriage.”
Harry spoke from the bench.
“I’m quite happy with our marriage.”
Dracaena turned toward him.
He was looking directly at her.
His thumb moved once over Rose’s small shoulder.
“So am I,” she said.
For a moment she forgot the audience.
Harry’s expression gentled.
And Audrey, who knew when she had achieved something, returned quietly to the potatoes.
Hermione ruined the restraint approximately three seconds later.
“Reproducible, then.”
Dracaena wheeled back.
“Granger.”
Ron laughed aloud.
Rose stirred.
He instantly covered his mouth.
Harry glanced up.
Ron held up both hands.
Sorry.
Molly, watching from beside Percy, put a finger to her lips.
“Rose sleeping.”
“Yes,” Percy whispered. “Some of the grown-ups are finding that difficult.”
Lucy tucked a rabbit under Molly’s arm.
Molly looked down at it.
Then toward Harry.
She tucked it in more carefully.
Audrey saw the small imitation and softened.
Dracaena caught her.
“There. That.”
“What?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
Audrey met her eyes.
“Yes.”
Hermione gave a delighted little gasp.
“She’s admitted it.”
“I’ve admitted that I needed help with supper.”
“And?” Dracaena asked.
Audrey glanced toward Harry.
“And that I knew he would be very good with Rose.”
“And?”
A smile.
“And that you might enjoy noticing.”
Ron looked between them.
“Fairly strong case, that.”
“Thank you,” Dracaena said.
“For the defence,” he added.
She reached for the dish towel.
Ron stepped out of range.
Harry watched her with warm amusement.
Dracaena noticed.
“Your friends are appalling.”
“Our friends.”
“That was a particularly cruel correction.”
“I’ve been learning.”
“Clearly.”
* * *
By then Ron had finished the carrots, checked the roast, and returned to a kitchen in which nobody seemed capable of concentrating for more than thirty seconds.
He stopped beside Hermione.
Harry remained on the bench.
Rose slept against him, the dragon’s green tail draped over his wrist.
Dracaena stood close enough now that Harry could touch her if he wanted to. She had arrived there in increments while arguing with everyone else.
He wanted to.
His free hand reached for hers.
She gave it to him immediately.
Ron’s grin changed.
Hermione noticed.
“What?”
He shook his head.
For a few seconds he watched his daughter sleeping in his best friend’s arms.
Then Harry’s wife, looking at both of them.
Three years ago, he had scarcely dared think beyond the next day.
Now the greatest immediate problem in his house was that a very small girl had fallen asleep before dinner and taken several adults’ dignity with her.
He swallowed.
Dracaena caught it.
“Oh, no.”
“What?”
“You’re going to become sincere.”
“I do occasionally.”
“It’s deeply inconvenient.”
Ron smiled.
“You two really don’t need help being ridiculous about each other.”
Harry looked up.
Dracaena’s fingers tightened around his.
Ron gestured toward Audrey.
“She’s just found a way to make it everybody else’s problem.”
“Ron,” Hermione said.
“What? It’s true.”
Audrey appeared entirely untroubled by the charge.
“I’m glad someone appreciates the work.”
“Work?” Dracaena repeated.
“Toddlermancy,” Ron said.
Silence.
Harry looked at him.
Hermione blinked.
Percy lifted his head.
Dracaena stared.
“Excuse me?”
Ron pointed toward Rose.
“Toddlermancy.”
Hermione’s mouth opened.
“That is a dreadful word.”
“It’s an accurate word.”
“That isn’t an established branch of magic.”
“Apparently we’ve established it.”
Audrey set down the potato peeler.
“I rather like it.”
“Of course you do,” Dracaena said.
Percy looked thoughtful.
“Would it fall under Charms?”
“No,” Hermione said automatically.
“Influencing perception through the careful arrangement of external circumstances—”
“Percy.”
“An unorthodox charm, perhaps.”
Harry was laughing now, very carefully.
Dracaena looked down at him.
“Don’t encourage them.”
“I’m trying not to wake Rose.”
“Try not to encourage them quietly.”
Hermione looked at Ron.
“You’ve invented a magical discipline involving our daughter.”
“I’ve identified a phenomenon.”
“You’ve identified Audrey handing Harry a toddler.”
“Deliberately.”
Audrey raised one finger.
“For a legitimate domestic purpose.”
Dracaena gave her a long look.
“Which one?”
Audrey smiled.
Hermione folded.
She leaned against Ron’s shoulder, laughing hard enough that he had to steady the dish she was holding.
Ron took it from her.
“Careful. We need that.”
Dracaena appealed to Percy again.
“Surely there is a regulation.”
Percy considered.
“Against handing a child to a trusted family member?”
“Against your wife.”
“That would require a considerably broader instrument.”
Audrey blew him a kiss.
Molly looked up from the picture book.
“Mummy magic?”
Percy glanced toward Dracaena.
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Good magic?”
Harry answered before anyone else could.
“The potatoes will tell us.”
Ron lost the battle.
Hermione caught his sleeve.
“Quiet!”
He pressed his face against her shoulder.
Rose slept through the whole thing.
Dracaena looked at Audrey.
Then Hermione.
“You are both insufferable.”
Hermione wiped beneath one eye.
“Yes.”
“You’re not even going to deny it?”
“We’ve rather lost the opportunity.”
Audrey inclined her head.
“Your husband is very good with her.”
Dracaena’s answer came without effort.
“I know.”
The laughter eased.
She looked down at Harry.
He was watching her now, with none of the teasing left in his expression.
Two and a half years married.
She could read the question.
She could also decide when to answer it.
Dracaena sat beside him.
The bench creaked softly.
Harry shifted just enough to make room, keeping Rose settled against his other side. Dracaena laid one hand lightly over the child’s back.
Rose’s little fingers opened.
Found Dracaena’s sleeve.
Closed again.
“Oh,” Dracaena whispered.
Audrey turned away.
Hermione looked very hard at the oven.
Ron suddenly found the carving knife fascinating.
For once, all three managed to leave it alone.
Harry leaned a little closer to his wife.
“All right?”
She nodded.
Then looked at him.
“We should have that conversation again.”
His expression changed.
“The one about—”
“Yes.”
He glanced briefly at Rose.
Then back at Dracaena.
“All right.”
“At home,” she added.
“Of course.”
“Where nobody is peeling potatoes at us.”
Harry’s smile returned.
“Reasonable precaution.”
She leaned against his shoulder.
He kissed her hair.
Across the kitchen, Audrey and Hermione exchanged a look.
Dracaena saw it.
Naturally.
“If either of you says ‘successful experiment,’ I will leave you both to explain to your husbands why dinner is on the ceiling.”
Hermione looked wounded.
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
Audrey nodded.
“Neither was I.”
Percy turned another page.
“A remarkable coincidence.”
“Percy,” both women said.
Ron lifted the roast from the oven.
“Right. Dinner. Before somebody publishes a paper.”
Harry looked down at Rose.
“I may have a problem.”
Dracaena glanced at the sleeping child.
Then at his hand, still holding hers.
Then at the dragon lying across his wrist.
“No,” she said softly. “You look rather good at this.”
Harry met her eyes.
The smile he gave her was private, despite the room.
Hermione opened her mouth.
Dracaena pointed at her without looking away from her husband.
“Not. One. Word.”
Hermione shut it.
Audrey took the potatoes to the table.
Ron followed with the roast.
And Percy, gathering Molly, Lucy, and their several additional dinner guests, quietly moved Dracaena’s place setting beside Harry’s.
She noticed.
He said nothing.
For that, she decided, he could live.
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