December 2003
She attended with Ron. He attended with his mother.
Hermione turned her gaze to her left and upwards, towards one of the private boxes that dotted along the outer rim of the ballet theatre.
"I honestly didn't believe you when you told me Malfoy would be here tonight," muttered Ron, torn between amusement and bewilderment.
She almost didn't believe it either. The sight of the Malfoy heir and his regal mother sitting stiffly in luxury, casting their eyes down upon a room full of Muggles, was certainly a curious one. Malfoy, as if sensing her gaze upon him, looked in her direction and gave a curt nod which she acknowledged with a cheery wave.
She faced front again and Ron slid a comforting hand up and down her arm as she settled back in her seat.
"Feeling alright?" he asked.
"Quite," she smiled warmly and turned her attention towards the stage as the orchestra started up.
The familiar, classical music washed over her, the dances and dramatic beats she'd seen play out countless times sped by, but Hermione's mind drifted back to last week in her office.
A soft knock disturbed her concentration. Hermione looked up to see Draco Malfoy hovering in her open doorway. His office sat a few doors down the hall from her in the bowels of the Artefacts and Runes Division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
He'd maintained a quiet presence within the division for a few years; filing steady and accurate reports and they'd developed a careful, polite working relationship when cases called for collaboration.
"Granger."
Unfailingly distant and borderline deferential.
"Hi. Can I help you with something?"
He took a hesitant step forward.
"If I wanted to... well ah, that is, I had hoped to seek your counsel, but I'm not sure where to begin."
He twisted his signet ring around the fourth finger of his right hand.
"Is this about the Boyles case? Because I already submitted my reports but I can see if—?"
"No, it's not work related."
She waited him out with an encouraging smile and eventually his request came out in a more halting fashion than his normally confident way of speaking.
"It's my mother. She's had a... tough time. Adjusting. Without my father around. I thought perhaps you might know of a Muggle holiday tradition or event of some kind she might enjoy. It's... difficult for her to be out in public, but I know she misses evenings out."
Her jaw didn't drop, but it was a close call.
"You'd like my... help in thinking up a fun Christmas event for your mother? And it can be in the Muggle world?" The words out of her mouth, as increasingly incredulous questions, sounded positively insane but Draco nodded.
She took just another moment to grapple with this odd request before an idea struck.
"I know just the thing! Does your mother enjoy ballet?"
"Very much."
"Perfect!" Hermione took out a new slip of parchment and dipped her quill in fresh ink.
Draco took another tentative step into her office as her hand whizzed across the parchment.
"The Nutcracker is the ideal ballet to see at Christmas," her gaze drifted over to a framed photo of an older couple on her desk.
"It was a tradition in my family. I couldn't tell you how or when it started, just that it never felt like Christmas until my parents and I sat through another production of it. It's not the most sophisticated of ballets, but it's a lovely and fun story."
She gestured her quill at the picture. "They used to take me every year. Some of those Christmases when I stayed at Hogwarts I always regretted not being able to go with them. And now that they're... gone... I love to go just to remind myself of those times. I like to think there's a happy couple in Australia who does the same."
Her parents. On the other side of the world with no memory of her. Would they still have the same entertainment preferences? Would this still be the highlight of their Christmas season? Would they feel like someone was missing from their lives? Would they have odd thoughts about how there should be a little girl with a mop of curls bouncing in her seat in between them?
Her eyes suddenly snapped from the picture to her silent co-worker.
"Oh! Sorry! You didn't need to stand there and listen to all that! Here," she blushed and finished scribbling down the theatre address and walking directions from the nearest apparition point.
"Thank you for the suggestion," he uttered in a cordial monotone.
"Ron and I are going next Friday night. Would you like me to purchase the tickets for you?"
"No, I can manage. Thank you."
The chords of her favourite movement started and pulled Hermione back into the present.
Hermione lost herself in her coveted Christmas pastime. She thought of being a little girl, sitting in this theatre between her mum and dad. A type of magic she'd experienced before she even knew her own powers existed.
When the performers took their final bows and the curtain closed, Hermione glanced back up at the Malfoys.
Narcissa stood and clapped along with the rest of the audience, a charmed smile on her face. Hermione watched her turn to her son, alight with joy as she said something excitedly and squeezed his hand. Hermione grinned to herself as Ron slung an arm around her shoulders and they made their way to the exit.
The following Monday, she looked up at the sound of knuckles against the door frame. Draco politely thanked Hermione for the recommendation and insisted his mother had a lovely time and also passed along her gratitude.
As he made to leave, Hermione called him back. "Wait! You've got to tell me what you thought of the performance! Which dance was your favourite?"
He seemed surprised that she would ask his opinion on the matter.
"Oh I... I suppose I don't have one. Which one is yours?"
Hermione wagged a teasing finger in his direction.
"Nope, not telling until you've said yours so we can have a proper debate or discussion. I suppose there's always next year."
His parting, genuine grin made her breath catch.
"Next year then."
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December 2004
She attended with Ron. He attended with his mother.
Sweet, loyal Ron. They teetered on the cusp of disaster. She knew it, he knew it. But for tonight, Ron played the part of dutiful boyfriend. She would always be his friend, but she'd miss this about him, this constant and easy comfort. He knew the special place The Nutcracker held in her heart and so for tonight, the depressing and inevitable talk of going separate ways, for good this time, would be tabled.
Hermione knew exactly where to look now. To the left and up. This year, Draco coupled his nod with an upward quirk of his lips and Narcissa responded to Hermione's cheery wave with a dip of her chin.
Hermione settled back in her seat and tried to filter out thoughts of her dwindling romance with the man on her right. Her mind wandered instead to the man seated above her.
"Will you be keeping your tradition this year of attending The Nutcracker?" Malfoy inquired last week.
"Of course!" Hermione enthused. "Ron and I have tickets for Saturday. Will you and your mother go again as well?"
He'd hummed in confirmation.
Seeing them again tonight, dressed as Muggles and expensively so, Hermione hoped that her familial Christmas custom might help another family make it through the holiday season while missing a loved one.
Then the notes of her favourite movement started and captured Hermione's every sense.
She let the seasonal joy carry her away on a cloud of contentment right up until the end of the show. As she and Ron stood to leave, walking awkwardly side-by-side, she glanced up again at the Malfoys. Narcissa smirked at her son and Hermione caught his eye roll as he offered his arm so they could descend from their box.
Hermione wondered about the curious exchange all weekend, when she wasn't busy avoiding her own flat so Ron could move out.
Monday morning brought the now-expected sound of knuckles on her door frame. The door she intentionally left open more often than not.
Hermione grinned at Draco, and leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
"Well?" she asked him. "Second time around, you must have a favourite by now. Is it the 'Waltz of the Flowers?'"
He smiled. A rare sight for her perpetually serious co-worker and one Hermione realised she'd never fully appreciated before. It softened the points of his face, showcased his even teeth, lit a spark in his eyes and for some reason, sent a jolt of feeling through her veins. A feeling she'd thought deadened in the past several months of her drawn-out, staid relationship.
"Wrong."
A reluctant laugh escaped her. "Well which is it then?"
"Nope. Not until you've admitted to yours."
Hermione shifted in her chair. "You say that as if you already know."
"Oh, Granger," his grin widened as he backed out of her office. "It's sweet that you think I don't already know yours."
-------------------------------------------------
December 2005
She attended with Harry. He attended with his aunt.
Hermione delivered her usual cheery wave towards the blond in the box sitting next to a familiar witch. Draco nodded back with a cautious smile while Andromeda waved exuberantly.
"She was so excited he asked her Hermione," Harry murmured fondly. "And Ginny was all too eager to mind Teddy for her. Which one of them will eat more sweets tonight, do you reckon?"
Hermione chuckled. "Oh, let Gin have her pregnancy cravings."
Kind, steadfast Harry. Her best friend who'd become her family, even more so this past year. He'd only asked her just the once if she'd wanted to come to the Burrow for Christmas and when Hermione flat-out rejected that suggestion, he'd dropped the subject. She wasn't in the mood for Molly's thinly-veiled comments about how Hermione had broken "poor Ronald's" heart. Never mind that Ron was dating again and they'd met up for a lunch or two with minimal animosity but a fair bit of awkwardness.
Instead, Harry readily agreed to accompany her tonight, and while Hermione appreciated his solidarity as a fellow orphan, she wondered if tonight might have played out differently.
Earlier in the week, Hermione looked up eagerly as she heard the approaching click of dragon-hide shoes. Draco didn't bother knocking this time, and leaned his long, thin frame against her door jamb.
They exchanged a few pleasantries about upcoming projects and their respective holiday plans, and Hermione already knew he'd be keeping his newfound Christmas tradition.
"Is your mother excited for The Nutcracker?"
"I'm not attending with my mother this year."
Her heart threatened to beat out of time and then possibly out of her body entirely. Harry had already agreed to take her but she'd drop him like hot coal if a certain question fell out of Draco's mouth.
He coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I've um, I've asked my aunt. Andromeda. My mother thought... thought it might be a good idea since she has a conflicting engagement that night. They've been reconnecting recently and... I thought it would be nice too, I suppose."
And though they're not the words she wanted to hear, it made her melt all the same.
"That's really thoughtful of you Malfoy."
Harry was a very good sport about the ballet, an art medium she knew he despised. He hadn't stopped bouncing his knee the whole performance, and though he did repress it, Hermione knew he longed to ask, "Er, hey Hermione, how long is this thing?"
But then along came her favourite dance and Hermione tuned out Harry's fidgety mannerisms. When the ballet ended and put poor Harry out of his misery, Hermione felt the flutter of anticipation for Monday's conversation with a certain colleague.
Draco did not disappoint her. This morning, he had a cup of tea in hand, leaning against his usual spot in her doorway. As if he intended to stay for a time.
He took a slow sip from his mug and Hermione found herself clenching her thighs beneath her desk when his tongue darted out to catch an escaped droplet on his bottom lip.
"Care to have a guess? I do so look forward to being in the rare and enviable position of getting to tell you how wrong you are."
"Your favourite part is 'The March.'"
"Wrong."
She blew out an impatient breath. "Three years now. Three years and you still won't tell me?"
"Of course not, Granger. Let's see how long we can keep this tradition going, shall we?"
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December 2006
She attended with Ginny. He attended with Astoria.
Hermione didn't perform her customary friendly wave. She couldn't bear to look up at him with her in his box.
But of course, her resolve not to look at him crumbled eventually.
She timed it for mid-performance, so she could be sure her insane, masochistic need to covet that which was not hers, nor would it ever be, would go unnoticed.
She looked up. His eyes met hers.
He jerked his head towards the stage. He hadn't been watching her, surely? Of course not, not with his enchanting date sitting inches from him.
And didn't Astoria just look the perfect companion for Draco. It almost hurt more to see the way she looked excitedly down at the performance, clearly delighted, pleased by her date's choice of evening entertainment.
Gorgeous Astoria of the same mould of all the dancers on the stage. Graceful and poised, able to carry herself in an effortlessly lithe way. Perhaps that drew Draco back each Christmas season? This pleasant feast for his grey eyes, the fine-boned beauty of the dancer. Maybe that was his type.
Year after year, he could look down upon a stage full of pretty, dainty Astorias. He could ogle the spritely female forms and now he would take home his very own version of a ballerina.
Could Astoria bend like one? Could she arch her back like the prima ballerina while writhing beneath him? Or did she ride him with perfect posture, holding herself up straight and tall astride his hips? Could she tighten her long, shapely legs around him when pressed against a wall, her delicate form easy for him to lift?
Hermione stared, unseeing, at the performance ahead while a pas de deux of heartache played across her vision instead.
She hadn't realized her cheeks were wet until Ginny squeezed her arm. Fierce, protective Ginny.
"Oh Hermione," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I know this night is still hard for you."
Hermione just nodded, glad her friend had misread her reason for tears. Because she should be crying due to missing her parents, not because she'd once again failed to capture the attention of her handsome colleague.
She hadn't realised he'd been seeing anyone. He had seemed shorter with her in recent weeks. So aloof that she'd been shocked when he'd asked about her plans for the ballet.
"I suppose you're looking forward to your Nutcracker tradition this weekend?"
"I haven't purchased my tickets yet."
"Leaving it a bit late aren't you?"
"Well, I suppose I could always ask Ginny and give her a night off from parenting. If there are no other options." She looked up at him hopefully, praying he'd read into her statement.
But his eyes widened and he took a step back from her.
"But... I thought... you and Finch-Fletchley?"
"Justin? Why would you think...? Oh!" Hermione remembered then. "Yes, he asked me if I wouldn't mind purchasing his tickets for him and his fiancée. They share a bank account and he wanted to surprise her with the show so I offered to have him pay me back after the holidays to keep it a secret."
Despite her explanation, he looked crestfallen, as if he'd made a grave error or suffered grim disappointment.
"You... you aren't attending with anyone?"
"No. I'm quite... unattached."
Hermione summoned her courage, thinking he might need a helpful prod in the right direction. "And... are you? Going with anyone?"
"Yes." He cleared his throat and looked away. "Astoria Greengrass."
Jealousy burned hot and bright with such blinding intensity that it almost made her succumb to an irrational and overemotional response.
She wanted to shout at him. She wanted to scream out the most ludicrous confessions. She wanted to come undone in a mad, passionate display and yell into his ethereal, beautiful face.
Don't you know? Haven't you noticed the way I look at you? Do you know how often I'm seconds away from losing all sense around you? Since when are you dating Astoria bloody Greengrass? What does she have that I don't? Did you ever consider me, the way I've considered you? What gives you the right to make me anticipate each and every work day just for another moment in your presence? How could you? How could you make me fall and pine and long for you?
And when the fire of her envy cooled, it left Hermione with the lingering shame of her own self-deluded foolishness. As if his smiles had ever meant more. As if he'd stopped by her office daily for anything other than work purposes. As if he'd thought about her at all outside of the realm of "colleague."
So instead of unravelling in a spectacularly unprofessional manner, she'd forced out a quick, breathy lie about some unfinished work and all but closed her office door in his frowning face.
She couldn't stop thinking about the expression on his face.
As the performers took their final bows, Hermione stood and turned her back swiftly on the private boxes, looking for the quickest exit. She brushed off Ginny's maternal concerns that she looked quite pale. Tonight usually served to buoy her good spirits, despite missing her parents. But this year, she felt a double pang of permanent loss: that for which she'd never have again and that for which she'd never have at all. An odd mix of grief that she couldn't properly mourn.
Monday morning came and Hermione realised far too late that, by force of habit, she'd left her office door open.
An incoming click of dragon-hide shoes forced her gaze down to her desk.
"All right Granger, let's have it. What's your guess?"
"It's common courtesy to knock, Malfoy."
She couldn't look at him. She wouldn't look at him. Not when she'd been so hopeful that this year, finally, he'd ask her. A dance she'd grown tired of, one she wanted to end.
A slow and sarcastic rap of knuckles against her door frame.
"Morning Granger, if I could trouble you for a moment of your time?"
His light, teasing, familiar voice coursed through her like a fiery poison for which there existed no antidote.
"I don't have time for this today, so why don't you just say your lines and leave me to do my work in peace?"
She could not look up. She would not look up.
"My lines?" he repeated blankly.
"Yes, this is the bit where you, once again, tell me my guess is wrong then toss out a quip about already knowing my favourite part. So there, now it's over and done with and you may move on with your day and your life."
Let me move on with mine. Please.
"No."
She looked up.
"No?"
"No Granger. I don't think I will be moving on."
Her scowl deepened with every audacious step he took further into her office. His impertinent stride continued until he landed right in front of her desk. He placed both his large hands on the surface and leaned his smirking face down until it was an inappropriately short distance from her own.
"You see," he murmured. "A very smart witch once taught me about the importance of traditions. About what they come to mean to a person. Would you be so cruel as to deny me mine?"
She couldn't deny him anything. Not when he lingered this close, not when she could feel his breath against her lips, not when he stared through her with such heat in his eyes.
She swallowed. "Your favourite part is... is the 'Pine Forest in Winter.'"
"Wrong. But don't worry," he stood tall and pushed away from her desk. "I have a good feeling about next year."
-------------------------------------------
December 2007
She attended with him.
Months of glances. Glances turned to gazes. Gazes evolved to stares. Stares she'd relive later, alone in her bed, imagining how those stares might escalate into touches, kisses, thrusts.
Too many nights as of late, she'd run her hands down her body until she'd have to give in to the urge to put her fingers in her knickers and touch herself to the dream of how their solo steps in parallel might finally meld into a perfectly paced duet.
She pictured how his hands would skate and skim along her skin. His lips would brush and ghost along her body. His light and precise tongue. His sure and steady movements. He'd gift her with his graceful coordination, elevating his less refined partner in this effortless choreography of lust.
She imagined how their bodies would slide sinuously together in a controlled, powerful dynamic. How they'd anticipate each other's moves and bend flexibly to accommodate one another. How he'd be confident and commanding, doling out demands and praise in equal measure in that drawling voice of his.
The same way he'd been confident and commanding when he'd sealed her fate for this year.
"Which evening are you attending the ballet?"
"Oh! I haven't quite decided. I suppose I'll just—"
"Attend with me."
"Yes."
Instead of sitting down amongst the crowd, Hermione found herself in his private box, seated very close to him, no need to settle for a distant wave and a covert peek from afar.
He'd behaved the proper gentleman all evening; offering his arm to escort her up the stairs, taking her coat from her shoulders, and complimenting her dress. But now, in the darkened theatre, the scent of his cologne, the heat from his body, and the proximity of his hands inspired rather distracting, unladylike thoughts in her mind for most of the show.
Indeed, his innate ability to distract caused Hermione to almost miss the beginning of her most treasured part of The Nutcracker. Draco took the opportunity to lean closer and distract her further.
"I propose a change to our tradition."
"Our tradition?"
He smirked.
"Yes. You see, I'd rather not wait until Monday to tell you. It's this dance. This bit is your favourite."
Of course he'd gotten it correct, but she'd not give in that easily.
"You seem awfully sure of yourself."
"Granger I've known this to be your favourite part from the very first time."
She turned her head slightly towards him, inviting him to elaborate.
"You have so many tells, Granger. You're so easy to read. You gave everything away and you don't even know it."
She frowned and turned to face the performance again. Was he mocking her?
He leaned closer. Just a hair's breadth from her ear. "Your eyes go wide. Like you want to take it all in at once and you're afraid to even blink lest you miss a moment."
No, not mocking her.
"When you were with Weasley, you'd grab his hand. When you were with your friends you'd clutch the armrests instead. You needed something, anything, to anchor you."
He put his hand on her knee.
"And your mouth. You know this show backwards and forwards and yet every single time it reaches this bit, your mouth falls open just enough for me to imagine all sorts of things."
She faced him head-on.
"What things?"
His nostrils flared and he let out a quiet groan. "Gods Granger, that mouth of yours is your biggest traitor. It just won't stay closed will it?"
"Perhaps it just needs to be otherwise occupied?"
He kissed her.
Brief and gentle, just a notch past chaste, and at odds with his bold hand gripping her thigh and her wandering fingers splayed across his chest. As their soft kiss ended, her eyes fluttered open and met the silver, feral stare that held a promise of more , a vow of longer , and an absolute guarantee of swollen lips, introduction of tongues, mussed hair, and removal of clothing.
Hermione knew that a lovely arrangement of Tchaikovsky played in the background but she could no longer hear the music.
She could only hear his sharp intake of breath when she whispered, "Now you know mine. You have to tell me yours."
He licked his lips. "None of them. I hate ballet."
She pulled back slightly, brow scrunched. "But then...? Why?"
"Why do you think?"
"Even... even that first time?"
"Yes."
She kissed him.
A moment longer than their previous one, but this time, she parted her lips ever so slightly. An invitation to deepen, to taste, to explore, but instead he retreated. Draco pecked the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, and then beneath her ear.
"I should like to leave now," he intoned. "With you."
Hermione stood and held out her hand. They barely made it out of the theatre before she found herself pressed up against a building with his hands in her hair and her tongue in his mouth.
He kissed down her neck and she shivered, but not from the chilly night air. Draco could keep her warm in the December cold with nothing but his arms surrounding her and his full weight against her. But Hermione didn't want mere warmth. She wanted to burn.
"Is my place acceptable? I can apparate us."
"Granger, I would have had you in the coat room back there if you'd been amenable."
When they landed in her bedroom a moment later, they wasted no time in resuming their snogging. The tantalising preview to tonight's true performance had her dizzy with anticipation.
But as they progressed to the second act of the evening and on to the scene of undressing, nerves made their grand entrance.
She tripped when attempting to remove her shoes. His belt got caught in the loops as she impatiently tried to tug it free. It took several flubbed attempts to remove her bra. He stumbled when his trousers were around his ankles.
With no knowledge base for how their partner moved or what they liked, Hermione's fantasy of seamless sexual choreography became, in reality, a hastily improvised mess.
A far cry from the grace she'd envisioned, but transcendent in its clumsiness and divine in its imperfection.
His tongue plunged desperately into her mouth, a long way from refined. He didn't tenderly stroke her breasts but groped them possessively. His mouth greedily explored her cunt, hardly precise in its movement.
Her hands had no care for how hard she gripped his hair. Her teeth shot right past nipping lightly on his neck and into full-on bites that would leave marks. She left an undignified trail of saliva down his abdomen in her haste to have his cock down her throat.
Touches from both of them lacked any and all finesse as neither party bothered to set a proper pace but contented themselves with wanton and sloppy explorations of the other. Devoid of elegance, deficient in sophistication, but overwhelming in a thrilling sense of joy as enthusiasm morphed into a delirium that would eventually lead to ecstasy.
When he finally entered her, their tempo slowed. Their previous frantic rhythm settled into something cautious.
A shift here. An adjustment there. An asynchronous rolling of their hips.
Draco didn't huskily order her around or whisper filthy demands. He asked her a lot of questions about her preferences all while sliding in and out of her.
Was a Contraceptive Charm okay? Was she in any pain? Did that feel good? What about this? Would she prefer to be on top instead? Was his weight too much? Did this feel good? Could she tell him when she was close? Was she close? Could he finish inside her?
The sounds exiting her mouth were hardly the sultry moans she hoped for and more high-pitched whines as she answered him.
Yes. No. Yes. Yes. No. No. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
She offered a hurried apology for an accidental elbow to his ribs as she climaxed. He buried his face in her neck only to sputter and choke on her unruly curls the second after he finished.
He propped up on his elbows and rolled off her with a flushed face as he coughed. Hermione wasted no time in scurrying into her adjoining bathroom to freshen up and returned with glasses of water.
"Thank you," he murmured and gulped the water gratefully.
Hermione clambered carefully back into bed to sit beside him. She didn't have a script for anything going forward and meeting Draco's tentative gaze, she knew he didn't either.
After a few beats of silence, he gestured a hand vaguely towards the door and shifted toward the edge of the bed, away from her.
"I can—"
"Stay."
She reached out and put a hand on his arm. "You can stay."
Draco let a shy smile escape and, Merlin, if she didn't want to see that look on his face every day.
He slid down underneath the covers and held up the sheets with an expectant look in her direction. Hermione took her place at his side. Her hand placed softly on his bare chest inspired a countermove on his part of a firm arm wrapped around her.
Sated and comfortable, Hermione remarked in amusement, "This was certainly a detour from our annual tradition."
He barked out a laugh. "And I'm certainly in favour of keeping it."
Hermione woke the next morning to a hand brushing her hair away from her forehead.
"Any chance I could coax you into an encore performance?"
A request for a reprisal uttered in his delectable baritone. One she would gladly indulge.
While last night had been a beautiful, yet borderline disastrous first meeting of partners, this morning's coupling would hit all the right notes.
Reciprocated kisses and well-timed touches culminated in a reverent appreciation of bodies, a savouring of skin, gentle exultations in the sounds of gasped given names and ardent worshipping in the form of near constant eye contact.
He had more questions for her.
Did she have any idea how good she felt? Did she know how long he'd dreamt of doing this? Could he take her from behind this time? Did she like being on all fours for him, facing her mirror? Did she like watching herself get fucked by him? Was she close? Did she think she could come around his cock for a third time? Could she see how beautiful she looked when she moaned and came for him? Would she let him have her like this every day from now on?
Her chorus of answers only alternated between loud exclamations of "Yes!" and "Draco!"
When they rested back against the mattress, panting and spent, Draco reached for her hand.
"I don't want just an annual tradition anymore," he stated.
"Me either."
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December 2014
She attended with him.
And a smaller version of him.
Technically a smaller version of both him and her, but Scorpius Granger-Malfoy favoured his father in all but eye colour.
Scorpius fidgeted in his seat, squirming with happiness that he finally got to attend The Nutcracker with his parents. He was currently in the middle of listing off all his favourite characters from the storybook, intent on impressing his father with his recall abilities. Scorpius was still too young to realise he only ever needed to exist in order to impress Draco.
"—and and and the sugar gum fairy!"
"Sugar plum fairy," her husband quietly corrected their son with an indulgent smile.
"Sugar plum fairy," Scorpius repeated solemnly to himself, a vow to never say it incorrectly again written all over his very serious toddler face.
Hermione held his little hand during the performance, Scorpius bouncing in his seat all throughout the show. But as the ballet wore on, she felt his grip slacken and suspected he'd tired himself out from all the excitement. Draco, seeing the boy slumped sideways in his seat, lifted his tiny, sleeping form and cradled Scorpius against his chest.
Hermione smiled fondly at the pair. "Should we get him home? I don't mind leaving early and missing the rest."
Draco shook his head as the notes of "The Sugar Plum Fairy and Her Cavalier Pas de Deux" started up.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Granger," he murmured and stroked their son's fair hair. "You know this is my favourite part."
FIN
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