Emma Potter; Going to War

||Epilogue|| 19 Years Later

THIRD-PERSON:

"Do you have a brain you--you--you--YOU GURDYROOT!"

A scoff was heard. 

"Oh, great come-back" you could hear the speaker rolling their eyes, "exhaling!"

Emma Potter-Malfoy turned to face her husband with a groan. Why she thought, did she have to have children whose genes came directly from their parents? She knew she should have stolen one of Luna's and Neville's kids. Things would be much more peaceful. 

"I HATE YOU!!"

"OH? WELL, BREAKING NEWS; I DON'T CARE."

"SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU ARE GOING TO WAKE MUM AND DAD AND THEN WE'LL HAVE TO BEG AUNT ZOE AND UNCLE NICHOLAS TO ADOPT US."

"MAYBE WE SHOULD DITCH YOU OR THEY MIGHT TURN US AWAY!"

Draco Malfoy snorted, smirking at his wife who looked ready to commit a murder or suicide. He chuckled as she gave a dramatic sigh and shifted her body between his legs, he wrapped his arms around her, before knowing he had to. She was a fantastic mother, enough said, but she still acted seventeen. He checked the clock; still twenty minutes before they needed to face the war zone outside. 

"SHUT UP!"

"YOU SHUT UP!"

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!"

"Why?" Emma moaned, closing her eyes against the racket outside. She loved her children, she did, but sometimes she wished she could put them up for adoption and maybe get a dog. 

"Why what?" Her husband asked, looking way too cocky for someone up at 7:40 in the morning. 

"Why did we decide to have kids? We could have gotten a dog!"

"If we get an animal it's going to be a cat," replied Draco, ignoring his wife's indignant gasp, "and as I recall, none of them were planned."

Red dusted Emma's cheecks. Thirty-six and he could still make her blush, Draco considered it one of his proudest achievements. 

'"You're terrible," she stated. "And a dog is ten times better than a cat."

"WHERE ARE MY ROBES?!"

"HOW ARE YOU NOT PACKED YET?"

"OH, SHUT UP, SCORPION! WE HAVE 10 MINUTES. OI, IDIOT, HAVE YOU SEEN MY ROBES?"

"STOP CALLING ME AN IDIOT, SOPHIE!"

"IT'S WHAT YOU ARE!"

"AM NOT"

"ARE TOO!"

"WHY IS THIS MY LIFE?"

Emma turned, placed her legs on either side of her husband's waist. Her hands went to his hair, marvelling at how soft and neat it could be before he had a chance to get dressed. 

"How," asked Emma as Draco leaned into her touch, "is your hair so soft after all the potions you put on it?"

Draco either ignored or didn't hear the question, his eyes drawn to Emma's sweatshirt. His eyes narrowed, as he took it in. How had missed it?

"Emma," said Draco sternly, in a voice he used when one of his children (or wife) had misbehaved. 

Emma visibly tensed, but her voice was idle as she hummed her acknowledgement. 

"What did I tell you about taking my clothes?"

She met his eyes meekly, "You said not to do it, of course, Dray."