Chapter Text
જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭
The soft coos of a baby echo in the morning, Draco slowly rolls out from the two warm bodies in his bed to the bassinet where his 7-week-old baby girl stared wide awake. He's quick to scoop her up before she makes any further noise and wakes up her mommy and daddy who are still sleeping peacefully, "Good morning my sweet girl, did you sleep well?" He whispers quietly, giving a soft kiss on her forehead.
Lyra blinks up at him with those bright grey eyes—his eyes—surrounded by her mother's heart-shaped face. He holds her tiny form against his chest, her weight still so foreign yet so absolutely right in his arms. Five weeks and he still can't believe she's real, that this perfect little being is his daughter.
"Shall we let them sleep a bit longer, then?" whispers Draco, gliding silently across the heavy carpet toward the door. "Merlin only knows they'll need it after you choose midnight as the perfect time for a concert."
Lyra gurgles and Draco interprets this as consent. He vanishes from the bedroom into the corridor, the cottage still bathed in early morning sunlight coming through the windows.
The nursery welcomes them with its pale sea-green walls and delicate silver stars that wink here and there across the ceiling—a bit of mystical paintwork he'd done himself in those anxious waiting months. Draco slouches in the plush rocking chair in front of the window, the one Hermione insisted on despite his protest that wizards had perfectly good hovering charms for this purpose.
"You're a little damp, aren't you?" he whispers, the bulk of her nappy against him. Gently and with still strange motions, he puts Lyra onto the changing table, his wand flashing to produce a new nappy and wipes. "We'll have you all better in a tick, little one." Lyra squirms away from the chilly air on her skin by thrashing her legs. Draco smiles gently, one arm pinning her wiggling arms down and the other gliding with familiar ease to secure the new nappy around her middle. He's gotten so much better at doing this in the past few weeks—no longer that clumsy, frightened new dad who'd nearly had a complete panic the first time he'd done it on his own.
"There we are," he whispers, scooping her up once more sitting back down in the rocker. "Much better, isn't it?"
Lyra's little face scrunches up, her lips forming a perfect little 'o' as she yawns. Draco traces a finger down her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin.
"Hungry now, are we?" he remarks as she begins to nuzzle against his chest. "Let's feed you, then." With a swift motion of his wand, he calls the waiting bottle from the kitchen. A warming charm warms it to just the right temperature—a charm Hermione had taught them before she was born. No sooner had he settled Lyra with her bottle than the nursery door burst open to let in a wild-eyed Hermione, with Theo following close behind.
"What's wrong?" Draco inquires, but concern is fleeting on his part as he surveys the scene before him. Her curly hair is a matted tangle, her cheeks flushed from dashing through the cottage. The delicate silk nightgown she's wearing sticks to her curves—curves that have plumped full and luscious since Lyra's birth, curving her out to a full, luscious-bellied plumpness that parches Draco's mouth. One strap slipped down her shoulder, and he can see the pale skin beneath and the tender bruisings his mouth had left there last night.
Theo looks equally rumpled, his black hair sticking up, his pajama bottoms perilously low on his hips, nothing hiding his erection. He has no shirt on, a good sheen of sweat making his skin glimmer in sunlight. The worried expression on his face slowly changes from tension to relaxation as his eyes fall on Draco and the baby. The tension in his shoulders is clearly easing.
"Thank Merlin," Hermione breathes, one hand clasped to her chest. "We woke up and you were both gone." Draco's eyebrow rises, a smirk playing on his lips. "And what precisely were you two up to that had you so distracted you didn't hear us leave?"
Hermione's blush intensifies as she shares a guilty glance with Theo. The color spreads down her neck to her chest, and Draco can feel the familiar flush coming on at the sight. "I might have awakened Mi in a certain manner," Theo confesses, pushing a hand through his already mussed hair.
Draco's grin broadens. "Theo baby, I know she tastes amazing, but we'll have to save some milk for Lyra." He taunts, proof of his mischief smeared on the front of Hermione's nightgown as milk drips from her full breasts. Theo's gaze darkens at the sound of Draco's voice, his eyes locked on the wet patches spreading on the delicate silk that lies over Hermione's breasts. Hermione stiffens under his piercing stare, a small whimper passing her lips as her sensitive nipples chafe against the damp fabric.
Hermione's cheeks grow redder, her hands involuntarily moving to cover the dampness at her chest, though the motion does nothing but call further attention to her engorged breasts. "I—I didn't know I was leaking," she stammers, shame and desire combined in her tone.
Theo's eyes grow dark as he notices a new bead of milk form on her nipple beneath the sheer silk. He moves behind her with feline quietness, his large hands finding her waist. "You're full, love," he whispers into her ear, his warm breath sending her shivering noticeably. "Let me help you, it appears to be painful."
"It is," Hermione admits, her voice gasping as she leans into his touch. "I woke up so full."
Draco watches them with burning interest, shifting Lyra in his arms as she goes on to suckle happily at her bottle. "By all means," he says, his voice an octave lower. "Our little one's quite occupied." Theo responds at once, picking Hermione up in his arms and taking her into the bedroom. Draco places a little muffling charm on his daughters' ears so that he can continue to hear the sounds of their wife's moans.
જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭
Lyra suckles contentedly at the bottle, her tiny fingers wrapping around Draco's as he holds it steady with a patient tenderness. Through the nursery walls, muffled by his charm but still clear, comes the unmistakable symphony of their pleasure—Hermione's high, breathless cries interspersed with the low rumble of Theo's groans, harmonizing in a way that sends a shiver down Draco's spine. The familiar sounds stir something deep and primal in him, a possessive and all-consuming heat that spreads through his body even as he feigns innocence feeding their daughter.
"Your mummy and daddy seem to be quite enjoying themselves," he whispers conspiratorially to Lyra as her eyes begin to flutter, her lids growing heavy as she nears the end of her bottle. "Can't say I blame them, little love."
Lyra suckles contentedly at the bottle, small fingers wrapped tight around Draco's as he supports it firmly with a soft-patience. Behind the walls of the nursery, muffled by his charisma but still sound, is the unmistakable voice of their enjoyment—Hermione's shrill, ragged moans punctuated by the low throaty growl of Theo's groans, harmonizing so that Draco feels a shiver run down his spine. The familiar sounds rouse something primal and ancient within him, a jealous and all-consuming passion that runs through his veins as he feigns innocence tending to their child.
"Your mummy and daddy appear to be having rather a good time," he whispers confidentially to Lyra as her eyes start to flicker, her lids drooping as she reaches the end of her bottle. "Can't say I blame them, little love."
A very, unashamedly wanton shout—Hermione in her crescendo, no doubt—resounds through the walls. Draco shifts uncomfortably in his seat, a soft growl escaping over his own lips. His mind places an image before him unbidden: Theo's dark head bent to work between Hermione's thighs, his mouth and tongue driving her wild, taking her over. Draco shifts uncomfortably, shifting about as his own excitement becomes unbearable. The vision is sharp, and he sees in his mind the shape of Hermione's hips bending, her back arching away from the bed as she responds to Theo's caresses. Her curls have to be splayed on the pillows, her mouth open in ecstatic abandon, her skin glinting with a sheen of sweat.
Theo's steady hands, so usually sure, would be straining to hold her back; the vision ignites something burning and alive within Draco, his heart thrashing faster. He pictures Hermione's fingers scrabbling at Theo's shoulders, leaving bruises that follow the outline of her desperate grip. The sound of her gasping Theo's name sends Draco's head spinning even more: her voice hoarse from pleasure, each cry a sweet pain as it penetrates to him through the walls
Draco's desire intensifies, the need to be with them a tangible thing that tightens in his chest. He imagines waiting for his turn, watching as Theo brings her to new heights again and again.
"There's nothing like a good breakfast to start the day," he grumbles, adjusting his hold on Lyra as she suckles blindly on. Noises from the bedroom are steady now—a rhythm that pulls at Draco's resolve, if Lyra hadn't been in his arms it would have pulled him to the edge with them.
The sounds in the bedroom escalate gradually, growing louder, more intense, Hermione's screams more frantic, more unraveled. They are the sounds of bare need, of total surrender, and Draco knows them. They are thrilling and familiar—the particular pitch that tells him she's reaching the brink again. Theo's low growl resonates through the walls, a counterpoint to Hermione's screams, murmuring words Draco can't quite make out but grasps in their poetic intent. Words of praise, of urging, of blatant lust that always bring Hermione to her most raw state. Words she loves, words that make her completely fall apart as Theo drives her with implacable determination.
Draco fantasizes about their knotted limbs, the warmth of them together, the wild ardor of their bodies. The idea is exhilarating and ignites his skin. Yet here in the stillness of the nursery, with little Lyra warm and snug in his arms, there exists a peace that moderates his passion.
Lyra has finished her bottle, her small mouth lax as sleep gets the better of her. Her small fingers flutter against his chest, exhaustion from a late night and early morning pulling at her. Draco carefully sits her on his shoulder, where he tenderly pats her back with well-practiced ease until she lets out a surprisingly loud burp from such a small being. He smiles, not able to help the pride in this small yet important feat.
He laughs low in his throat, pulling her against his chest once more. Hermione's voice pitches upward through the walls, and he imagines Theo's mouth working its magic, imagining Hermione stretched out on their bed in sweet submission. His heart quickens, anticipation tightening within him.
"That's my girl," he whispers, planting a kiss on her fluffy head. "Strong like your mother."
As though sensing the thoughts of her father, Lyra's small hand clenches against his chest, her breaths coming slow and even as she falls asleep. Draco looks down at her, still incredulous that someone so small could inspire such fierce devotion in three adult human beings. The noises from the bedroom have reached their inevitable conclusion—Hermione's last, shuddering sob and then Theo's low grunt of satisfaction ringing out through the walls before the silence descends.
Draco relaxes further into the rocking chair, happy to cradle his sleeping daughter as he pictures the scene in their bedroom afterward—Hermione's flushed face, her chest rising as she pants for breath, Theo's contented smile as he brushes sweaty curls from her forehead. The scene in his mind's eye is nearly as gratifying as being present himself.
જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭
Minutes tick by in gentle silence, broken only by Lyra's soft breathing and the rocking chair's sporadic creak. Draco's thumb draws calming circles on Lyra's back, his attention divided between the treasure in his arms and the delectable visions of his lovers' desire. Theo lounges in the doorway, his hair more mussed than earlier, in nothing but his pajama bottoms riding low on his hips. His olive skin glows in the morning light that pours in through the nursery windows, the muscular angles of his torso defined by shadows as he leans in the doorframe.
"Is our little princess settled?" Theo asks, his voice still rough with the remnants of passion. His dark eyes, warm like melted chocolate, take in the sight of Draco cradling their daughter with a tenderness that makes Draco's heart squeeze in his chest.
"Out like a light," Draco confirms, his gaze traveling appreciatively over Theo's form. "I take it our wife is in a similar state?"
Theo's lips curl into a satisfied smirk as he pushes off from the doorframe and pads softly across the room towards them. "She's passed out quite thoroughly. Your turn with her next, I think." His eyes gleam with mischief and lingering desire. "She's quite insatiable this morning."
Draco feels heat pool in his abdomen at Theo's words, but the weight of their sleeping daughter against his chest grounds him. "She's been that way since the healer cleared her last week," he murmurs, a smile playing at his lips. "Not that I'm complaining."
Theo moves closer, his bare feet silent on the plush carpet. He comes to stand beside the rocking chair, one hand reaching out to stroke Lyra's back with a gentleness that still surprises Draco sometimes. For all his intensity in the bedroom, Theo handles their daughter like she's made of the finest porcelain.
The tenderness in his touch belies the passionate man who had just left Hermione breathless in their bed. This gentleness, reserved only for their daughter and occasionally for Draco and Hermione in their most vulnerable moments, makes Draco's heart swell.
"She's perfect," Theo whispers.
"She is," Draco agrees, his voice soft with reverence as he gazes down at their daughter. His fingertips trace the delicate curve of her cheek, marveling at how such perfection could have come from them. "Though I must admit, as much as I adore her being here with us now, I rather miss when she was still growing inside Mi."
Theo's eyebrow quirks upward, a knowing smile playing at his lips. "Do tell, Malfoy. What exactly do you miss about our wife's pregnant state?"
Draco shifts Lyra carefully in his arms, his eyes darkening with remembered desire. "Everything," he breathes, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "The way her body changed day by day, growing fuller, rounder with our child. How sensitive she became—Merlin, remember how she would practically come undone at just the slightest touch?" His voice grows thick with desire at the memory. "Those incredible breasts, fuller than ever, so responsive when we would—"
"Gods, yes," Theo groans softly, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby. "And those hips, the way they widened... gave us something so perfect to hold onto when we—" He cuts himself off, swallowing hard as his eyes darken further.
Draco's lips curl into a knowing smirk. "And that belly," he whispers reverently. "Watching it grow rounder each day, feeling Lyra move beneath our hands... knowing we created that miracle together."
Theo nods, his expression softening momentarily before heat floods his gaze once more. "Remember how she would glow? That radiance that seemed to come from within her?"
"The way her magic would spark sometimes when she was close," Draco continues, his voice dropping even lower. "Like lightning under her skin. Especially in those last months—Salazar, I've never seen anything more beautiful."
"Or felt anything more incredible," Theo adds, his eyes half-lidded as he loses himself in memory. "The way she would arch into us, desperate and needy, her body so sensitive to our every touch."
Draco shifts in the rocking chair, careful not to disturb Lyra but unable to hide his growing arousal. "And the sounds she would make... those little breathy gasps when we would worship her body."
"The way she'd beg," Theo murmurs, his pupils dilating further. "Remember when she was seven months along and couldn't get enough of us? Both of us, all night, and still wanting more in the morning?"
Draco agrees, his eyes meeting Theo's. A silent understanding passes between them, heavy with shared desire and purpose. Theo reaches out, his fingers tracing a gentle path along Draco's jawline. "I miss seeing her that way too," he admits, his voice dropping to a whisper that sends shivers down Draco's spine. "Full with our child, radiant and powerful."
"The healer did say..." Draco begins, letting the thought hang between them.
"We could give Lyra a sibling," Theo whispers, his eyes gleaming with possibility. "Sooner rather than later."
Draco's breath catches, his hold on Lyra tightening imperceptibly. "You've been thinking about it too?"
"Every time I see her with Lyra," Theo admits, dropping to one knee beside the rocking chair, bringing his face level with Draco's. "The way she cradles her, sings to her, nurses her... I find myself wanting to see her round with our child again."
"Gods, yes," Draco breathes, the image forming vividly in his mind—Hermione's belly swollen once more with their creation, her skin glowing with that particular radiance that had captivated them both throughout her pregnancy with Lyra. "Do you think she'd want another so soon?"
Theo grabs Draco's face, pulling their foreheads together, Theo’s hot breath panting slightly against his lips, “Let’s just say I didn’t use the charm and she’s currently laying in bed full of my cum..” He pulls him in for a searing kiss.
Draco growls into the kiss, his free arm wrapping around Theo's neck to deepen it while carefully balancing Lyra against his chest. When they break apart, both men are breathing heavily, their eyes dark with desire and determination.
Draco's eyes widened at Theo's confession, his body responding immediately to the implication. The thought of Hermione in their bed, filled with Theo's seed, sent a rush of possessive desire through him.
"You didn't use the charm?" Draco's voice was barely above a whisper, thick with sudden need. "Were you planning this?"
Theo's smile was wolfish, unrepentant. "Not consciously. But when she begged me not to stop, when she wrapped those gorgeous legs around me and pulled me deeper..." He shrugged, his dark eyes gleaming. "Something just clicked. I want to see her round with our child again, don't you?"
"Merlin, yes," Draco breathed, the decision crystallizing between them without further discussion
"We do it tonight," Draco says, voice low and commanding. "Both of us. No charms, no potions to prevent it."
Theo nods, his expression intense. "She's still fertile—the healer mentioned her cycle would return soon even with nursing."
"And if we both..." Draco trails off, the implication clear in his heated gaze.
"Double the chances," Theo agrees, his lips curling into a predatory smile.
They both look down to their beautiful daughter in his arms, “I think someone’s old enough to spend the night with Nana and Papa don’t you?”
Theo's eyes light up at Draco's suggestion, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Your parents have been begging for more time with her," he says, his voice low and conspiratorial. "And your mother did mention just last Sunday that we looked exhausted."
"Mother would be thrilled," Draco agrees, already imagining Narcissa's delight at having her granddaughter to herself for a night. "Father too, though he'd never admit how much he loves making those ridiculous faces at her when he thinks no one's watching."
Theo chuckles, the sound warm and rich. "Lucius Malfoy, former Death Eater, reduced to baby talk and peek-a-boo. Who would have thought?"
"I'll fire-call them after we put Lyra down for her morning nap," Draco decides, his mind already racing with thoughts about their first night away from her.
"Are you sure they're ready for an overnight, though? Lyra's still so young."
Draco shifts the sleeping baby slightly to stand, looking down at her peaceful face. “I think it’s more of us and Mi that won’t be ready to leave her, we’re just a floo away though right? She won’t be too far away from us.”
With gentle hands, Draco moves toward the crib, lowering Lyra onto the soft mattress. Her tiny body settles against the sheet, one arm flung outward in that starfish position she seems to prefer. He watches for a moment, making sure she doesn't stir, before carefully tucking her favorite enchanted blanket—charmed to maintain the perfect temperature—around her tiny form.
"Sweet dreams, little star," he whispers, brushing a finger against her downy hair.
Theo appears at his side, one arm slipping around Draco's waist as they both gaze down at their daughter. They stand in comfortable silence, watching Lyra's chest rise and fall in the peaceful rhythm of deep sleep.
"She'll be fine with your parents," Theo murmurs, pressing a kiss to Draco's temple. "Better than fine. Spoiled rotten, actually.”
Draco agrees. "But convincing Hermione is going to be another matter entirely."
Theo's expression turns thoughtful as they both move away from the crib. "She hasn't been apart from Lyra for more than a few hours since she was born."
"And even that was only when we practically forced her to take a bath or nap while we watched the little one," Draco adds, running a hand through his platinum hair. "She's going to be resistant."
"We'll need a strategy," Theo says, his analytical mind already working through possibilities. "She needs this break as much as we need time alone with her."
Draco nods, moving toward the nursery door. "Let's go check on our wife. We can start planting the seed now."
જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭
They find Hermione still asleep in their bed, her wild curls spread across the pillow in the same position Theo had left her moments ago. She’s still sprawled across their bed, the thin silk nightgown bunched around her hips, one breast exposed where the fabric has slipped away. Her skin glows golden in the morning light streaming through the curtains, her hair a wild halo against the pillows. The evidence of Theo's passion still glistens on her inner thighs.
Draco's throat goes dry at the sight. He exchanges a heated look with Theo before approaching the bed with predatory grace. Without a word, he slips onto the mattress, his movements deliberate as he positions himself between her parted legs. The scent of her arousal, mingled with Theo's essence, is intoxicating. He lowers his head, his hot breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh before his tongue makes that first delicious contact.
Hermione stirs, a soft moan escaping her lips as consciousness returns beneath Draco's skillful tongue. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first as pleasure immediately floods her system. A gasp escaped her lips as her body arches instinctively toward his mouth.
"Draco," she breathes, her voice thick with sleep and desire. Her hands find his silky hair, fingers tangling in the platinum strands as she anchors herself to him.
He hums against her sensitive flesh, the vibration sending shivers up her spine. His tongue works methodically, tracing patterns he knows drive her wild, alternating between broad strokes and precise flicks against her most sensitive spot. When he slides two fingers inside her, curving them upward to find that spot that makes her see stars, Hermione cries out, her thighs trembling on either side of his head.
"Good morning, love," Theo murmurs, appearing beside her on the bed. His dark eyes drink in the sight of her pleasure, one hand caressing her swollen breast with practiced tenderness. "I see our dragon couldn't wait to taste you."
Hermione arches into Theo's touch, gasping as his thumb circles her sensitive nipple. "Oh god," she whimpers, her hips rising to meet Draco's hungry mouth. "Where's—where's Lyra?"
"Fast asleep in her crib," Theo assures her, leaning down to capture her lips in a searing kiss that swallows her next moan. "We've got time, love."
Draco increases his pace, fingers thrusting more insistently as Hermione's walls begin to flutter around them. Her breathing quickens, her moans growing higher in pitch—telltale signs that she's close to the edge. Her body tenses, back arching off the bed as Draco's fingers curl more insistently inside her, his tongue flicking rapidly against her clit. The dual sensation of Theo's hands on her breasts and Draco's mouth between her thighs pushes her over the edge. She comes with a cry that Theo captures with his mouth, her body pulsing around Draco's fingers as he works her through her orgasm.
When Hermione's tremors finally subside, Draco withdraws his fingers gently and presses a tender kiss to her inner thigh. He moves up her body with languid grace, settling beside her as she catches her breath. Pulling her into his arms, he tucks her head beneath his chin, her wild curls tickling his nose as he breathes in the intoxicating scent that is uniquely hers—vanilla and parchment and something indefinably Hermione.
"Good morning," he murmurs against her temple, his arms tightening around her still-quivering form. His hand traces idle patterns along her spine, feeling her heartbeat gradually slow against his chest.
Hermione makes a contented sound, something between a sigh and a purr, as she nestles deeper into his embrace. "That's quite the wake-up call," she mumbles against his skin. "You looked too beautiful to resist," he whispers, his lips moving against her temple. His arms tighten around her, holding her close as if she might disappear. "Sprawled across our bed like a goddess awaiting worship."
"Which we were happy to provide," Theo adds, his voice still rough with desire as he settles on Hermione's other side, one arm draped possessively across her waist. His fingers brush against Draco's hip, the casual touch so familiar and comforting after years together.
Hermione sighs contentedly, sandwiched between her wizards, their body heat enveloping her in a cocoon of safety and love. Draco nuzzles her hair, breathing in her scent—vanilla and jasmine mingled with the musk of their lovemaking. His hand strokes gentle patterns along her spine, feeling the subtle changes in her body since Lyra's birth. The slight softness at her waist, the fullness of her hips—changes that only make her more beautiful to him.
"How's our little princess?"
"She's perfect," Draco answers, pressing a kiss to Hermione's forehead. "Fed and changed, sleeping soundly in her crib."
Hermione's eyes soften at the mention of their daughter. "I should go check on her."
"Let her sleep, love," Theo says, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before sitting up. "She's fine. You know Draco's practically enchanted her crib with every monitoring charm known to wizardkind."
Draco doesn't bother denying it. The protective enchantments around Lyra's crib would make even Gringotts security look lax.
Hermione's stomach growls loudly in the quiet room, causing all three of them to chuckle. Theo presses a kiss to her shoulder before sliding out of bed. "I'll make us breakfast," he offers, stretching his arms above his head, giving them both an enticing view of his toned physique. "Pancakes? I’m in the mood for pancakes."
As Theo moves toward the door, Draco seizes the opportunity. "Speaking of our little family," he begins casually, pulling Hermione closer, "Mother flooed yesterday asking when she might have Lyra for a proper visit."
Hermione stiffens slightly in his arms. "A visit?"
"An overnight, actually," Hermione's eyebrows shoot up. "Overnight? Draco, she's only seven weeks old."
"I know, love," Draco says, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along her arm. "But Mother is practically desperate to spend more time with her. She's already transformed my old nursery for Lyra's visits."
Hermione bites her lip, uncertainty etched across her features. "I don't know... I haven't been away from her for more than a couple of hours since she was born."
Draco presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. "And you've been the most incredible mother, giving her every moment of your time and attention." His voice drops lower, more intimate. "But you deserve a night to yourself as well—a night where you're just Hermione, not only Lyra's mother, plus Father will be there to help."
"That's what worries me," Hermione mutters, but there's no real heat behind her words. They all know that despite his intimidating exterior, Lucius Malfoy is utterly besotted with his granddaughter.
Theo returns, leaning against the doorframe with an amused expression. "Are you already bringing up the overnight visit? I thought we were going to ease into that conversation."
"Subtlety has never been Draco's strong suit," Hermione says dryly, sitting up against the headboard, drawing the sheet up to cover herself. "And I'm not ready to be away from Lyra overnight. She's still so little, and she needs me."
"She needs her mother well-rested and happy too," Draco counters gently, sitting up beside her. He takes her hand, his thumb tracing circles on her palm, "What if we start smaller?" Draco suggests, his fingers trailing up her arm. "Mother could watch Lyra just for an evening. We could have dinner at that new restaurant in Diagon Alley—the one with the rooftop garden Pansy's been raving about." His voice drops to that silky tone that never fails to make Hermione's pulse quicken. "A few hours, just the three of us. Adult conversation. Uninterrupted meals. Wine."
Hermione's expression softens slightly. "I do miss our date nights," she admits, glancing between her wizards. "But what if she gets hungry? My milk—"
"You've been pumping extra," Theo reminds her, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "The preservation charms are working perfectly. We've got enough stored to last her through dinner and well into the evening," he leans forward, brushing a curl from her face. "And I'm pretty sure Cissa has memorized every one of Lyra's little signals by now."
Hermione still looks uncertain, chewing her lower lip in that way that both men find endearingly familiar. Draco moves his hand to rest on her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Just a few hours," he promises, his voice gentle. "We can floo to check on her, and if you're truly uncomfortable, we'll come straight home."
She chews her bottom lip, a habit that surfaces whenever she's deep in thought. "I suppose... just for dinner? A few hours at most?"
"Yes, just dinner," Draco agrees quickly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Mother would be over the moon."
Hermione's resistance crumbles further as Theo takes her hand, his thumb caressing her knuckles. "Think about it, love. A proper meal without having to pause every few minutes to check on her, Maybe even dessert?"
"And after," Draco adds, his voice dropping to that velvety tone that never fails to send shivers down her spine, "we could come home and continue where we left off this morning."
A flush rises to her cheeks as she looks between her two wizards, their expressions hopeful and tender. She sighs, finally relenting. "Alright. One evening. Just dinner. But we'll keep our wands ready in case we need to apparate home immediately."
Theo's face breaks into a wide smile. "That's our brave little lion."
"I'll floo Mother after breakfast," Draco says, pressing a kiss to Hermione's temple. "How does tonight sound?"
"Tonight?" Hermione's eyes widened. "That's rather... soon."
"No time like the present," Draco counters smoothly. "Besides, Mother's calendar is remarkably free these days—her sole purpose seems to be waiting for opportunities to spoil her granddaughter," Draco says, his voice brimming with anticipation. Before Hermione can protest further, he leaps from the bed with newfound energy.
"Perfect! I'll tell her we'll drop Lyra off around five," he exclaims, not waiting for Hermione's response. His eyes are bright with excitement—the prospect of an evening alone with his lovers clearly energizing him. "Come on, Theo. Let's get breakfast started while Mi has a moment to herself."
He grabs Theo's hand, practically dragging him from the doorway. Theo barely has time to shoot Hermione an amused glance before being pulled into the hallway, Draco already chattering about dinner reservations and plans for after.
જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭
"Slow down, dragon," Theo laughs as they move down the corridor.
As soon as they round the corner into the hallway, out of Hermione's sight, Theo grabs Draco by the waist and pushes him against the wall. His mouth claims Draco's in a fierce, hungry kiss that steals the breath from both their lungs. Draco responds immediately, fingers threading through Theo's dark hair, pulling him closer as their tongues battle for dominance.
"Merlin," Theo groans against Draco's lips, his hands sliding down to grip Draco's hips. "Can't believe we'll have her all to ourselves tonight."
Draco pulls back just enough to smirk, his gray eyes dark with desire. "No baby monitor charms, no interruptions," he whispers, nipping at Theo's lower lip. "Just hours to make her scream our names."
"Been too long since we've properly taken our wife together," Theo murmurs, his breath hot against Draco's ear. "Not properly, not the way we used to."
Draco's eyes darken at the implication, memories flooding his mind of nights spent worshipping Hermione between them—her cries of pleasure as they took her together, filled her completely, drove her to heights of ecstasy that left all three of them trembling and spent.
"Gods, yes," he breathes, his hands sliding down Theo's back to grip his arse, pulling their hips together. The friction sends sparks of pleasure up his spine. "Tonight, we remind her she's not just Lyra's mother."
"She's our wife," Theo growls possessively, his fingers tightening on Draco's hips. "Our everything."
The intensity of the moment overtakes them both. Theo pulls Draco away from the wall and guides him further down the hall toward the kitchen. Their lips never part, hands groping and pushing at clothing as they stumble backward. Draco's back hits the kitchen counter with a thud, a small grunt escaping him that Theo swallows with his hungry mouth.
"Need you," Theo growls, his hands moving frantically to push down Draco's sleep pants. "Right now."
"Yes," Draco hisses, his own fingers fumbling with the drawstring of Theo's pajama bottoms. "Fuck, Theo."
They manage to shove their clothing just low enough, their erections springing free between them. Theo grips them both in one large hand, pressing their lengths together as he begins a rough, hurried rhythm.
"Gods," Draco gasps, his head falling back, exposing the pale column of his throat. Theo takes advantage immediately, attaching his mouth to the sensitive spot just below Draco's jaw, teeth scraping against the tender skin.
"Look at you," Theo growls, his hand tightening around them both, the pace increasing. "So fucking beautiful like this."
Draco moans, hips bucking forward into Theo's grip. "Harder," he demands, voice breaking as pleasure builds at the base of his spine.
Theo complies instantly, his grip becoming almost punishing as he strokes them together. His thumb swipes over their sensitive heads, spreading the beads of moisture that have gathered there, using it to ease the friction. His other hand moves to Draco's throat, not squeezing but resting there possessively, a reminder of who's in control.
"That's it," Theo commands, his voice rough with desire. "You're close, aren't you?" Theo purrs, feeling Draco's cock pulse against his own. In an instant, his grip loosens dramatically, his thumb and forefinger forming a tight ring at the base of Draco's shaft.
"No," Draco gasps, his eyes flying open in frustrated disbelief. "Theo, don't you dare—"
"Shh," Theo whispers, using his lips to cover Draco's in a punishing kiss. "You'll come when I say you can, dragon. Not before." His eyes gleam with wicked intent as he continues stroking himself while keeping Draco firmly restrained.
Draco whimpers against Theo's lips, his hips jerking helplessly, seeking the friction that's now denied to him. His cock strains against Theo's grip, angry red and leaking profusely.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with dominance and desire.
"Tell me what you want," Theo commands, his voice dropping to that dangerously low register that never fails to make Draco shiver. His hand still forms that merciless ring around the base of Draco's cock, preventing his release while his other hand continues to stroke his own length with deliberate, unhurried movements.
"Let me come," Draco gasps, his voice strained, head falling back against the kitchen cabinets. "Please, Theo."
"Not good enough," Theo growls, leaning forward to bite at Draco's exposed collarbone. "I want to hear you beg properly. Tell me exactly what you need."
"Fuck—please," Draco's voice breaks as he clutches at Theo's shoulders, nails digging crescents into the olive skin. "I need to come, I can't—gods, Theo, please let me come." His hips stutter forward desperately, seeking friction that Theo deliberately withholds. "I've been good, haven't I? Took care of our daughter, planned our evening with our wife...Let me—need to—" His words dissolved into incoherent pleas, silver eyes glazed with desperate need.
The raw vulnerability in Draco's plea makes Theo's cock twitch in his hand. He loves reducing his proud, aristocratic husband to this—begging, desperate, completely at his mercy.
Theo's expression softens fractionally at Draco's unraveling. "That's it, dragon," he murmurs, his grip loosening just enough to resume stroking them both together. "So pretty when you beg."
"Please," Draco whispers again, the word barely audible as his whole body trembles on the edge. "I need it, need you—"
"Yes," Theo growls, his control finally snapping at the desperate pleading. "Come for me now, dragon."
His hand tightens around them both, stroking with renewed vigor as his thumb swipes over the sensitive head of Draco's cock. The permission is all Draco needs—he comes with a strangled cry, his release painting Theo's fist and their stomachs in hot pulses. The sight of Draco coming undone—head thrown back, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy—combined with the rhythmic pulsing of his cock against his own, pushes Theo over the edge. His orgasm crashes through him like a tidal wave, his own release joining Draco's as he groans deeply against Draco's neck.
For several moments, they stand there panting, foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling as they come down from their shared high. Theo's hand slows, gently coaxing the last tremors of pleasure from their spent bodies.
"That was..." Draco breathes, unable to find adequate words.
"Necessary," Theo finishes with a satisfied smirk, pressing a gentle kiss to Draco's swollen lips and with a final gentle squeeze, he releases their softening cocks and presses a tender kiss to Draco's temple.
"I love you," Theo murmurs against Draco's skin, his hand coming up to cup the back of Draco's neck. "So fucking much."
Draco's arms wrap around Theo's waist, holding him close despite the mess between them. "Love you too," he whispers, his voice still rough with the aftermath of his intense orgasm.
They remain entwined for several heartbeats before Draco shifts slightly. "We should clean up before—"
"Before what?" Hermione's amused voice interrupts from the doorway.
Both men freeze, then turn their heads in unison to find their wife leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, a smirk playing at her lips.
"You two are impossible," she says, her eyes dancing with amusement as the sticky evidence of their activities vanishes with a wave of her wand. "I could hear you from the bedroom. Honestly, you're like teenagers sometimes."
Draco and Theo have the decency to look slightly abashed, though neither seems particularly remorseful. Draco tugs his pajama bottoms back up while Theo does the same, both still flushed from their activities.
"Can you blame us?" Draco asks, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "The thought of having you all to ourselves tonight..."
"Is rather exciting," Theo finishes, his dark eyes still smoldering as they rake over Hermione. "We've missed you, love more than you know." Theo steps toward her, his eyes dark with renewed desire despite his recent release.
Before he can reach her, a sharp wail pierces the air through the baby monitor. All three of them freeze, the sound of Lyra's cries instantly shifting their focus.
"So much for sleeping soundly," Draco murmurs, already moving toward the hallway. Hermione beats him to it, maternal instinct propelling her forward.
"I'll get her," she says, but Draco catches her wrist gently.
"Let me, love. You’ve barely had a moment to yourself in weeks."
Hermione hesitates, another insistent cry from Lyra making the decision for her. "Alright, but bring her to me if she's hungry."
Draco nods, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before heading to the nursery, Theo watching him go with a fond expression before turning back to Hermione.
જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭
In the nursery, Draco finds Lyra squirming in her crib, her tiny face scrunched up in distress, cheeks flushed pink with exertion. "There, there, little star," he soothes, lifting her into his arms with practiced ease. "What's all this fuss about, hmm?"
He checks her nappy—dry. She turns her head toward his chest, rooting hungrily. "Ah, someone's ready for breakfast, I see."
Instead of immediately returning to Hermione, Draco makes a split-second decision. With Lyra cradled securely against his chest, he strides purposefully to his study where the fireplace connects to the Floo network. Settling into the leather armchair, he shifts Lyra comfortably in his arms, reaching for a pinch of Floo powder from the dish on the side table.
"Malfoy Manor," he calls softly, tossing the powder into the flames which immediately turn emerald green. Within moments, the elegant visage of Narcissa Malfoy appears in the dancing flames, her platinum hair immaculately styled even at this early hour.
"Draco, darling!" Narcissa's face lights up, her eyes immediately finding her granddaughter. "And little Lyra! What a delightful surprise."
"Good morning, Mother," Draco says, adjusting Lyra so Narcissa can better see her. "I hope I'm not calling too early."
"Nonsense," Narcissa waves away his concern, her eyes never leaving the baby. "I've been up for hours. I find myself rising with the sun these days, eager to start my correspondence and planning. One never knows when one's presence might be required by a certain precious granddaughter."
"About that, Mother," Draco says, adjusting Lyra as she begins to fuss more insistently against his chest. "I was hoping you might be available this evening to watch Lyra for a few hours? Hermione's agreed to dinner out, and—"
"Say no more!" Narcissa's face brightens with such enthusiasm that Draco has to suppress a chuckle. "Lucius and I would be delighted. What time shall we expect you?"
"Around five, if that suits?"
"Perfect," Narcissa practically purrs, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I've been working on a new mobile for her nursery here—enchanted butterflies that respond to her moods. Absolutely enchanting. And we can finally use that new bassinet I commissioned from that craftsman in Geneva." Her excitement grows with each word. "And I've prepared a special tea for Hermione—my own blend to help with her milk production. Oh! And Lucius has been reading those Muggle child development books. He won't admit it, but I caught him practicing different voices for bedtime stories."
"Oh, and I've stocked her dresser with the most darling little nightgowns—enchanted with temperature-regulating charms, of course. The softest Egyptian cotton."
"Nightgowns?" Draco asks, one eyebrow raising slightly.
"Well, naturally," Narcissa continues, not missing a beat. "For when she stays overnight. Which I assume will be tonight? After your dinner?" Her voice rises with barely contained excitement.
Draco opens his mouth to correct her assumption, but Narcissa continues before he can speak.
"I've already had the elves prepare special bottles for her midnight feeding. And Lucius has been practicing the lullaby his mother used to sing—though he'd never admit it, of course." Her eyes sparkle with mischief.
"Mother," Draco interjects gently, recognizing the familiar gleam in Narcissa's eyes. "It's just for dinner. A few hours at most."
Narcissa's smile doesn't falter, but takes on a knowing quality that makes Draco shift uncomfortably. "Of course, darling. Just dinner." She pauses, her elegant fingers tapping thoughtfully against her cheek. "Though the Manor is quite prepared should you... extend your evening activities."
Draco can't help but laugh, shaking his head at his mother's transparent scheming. "Mother, your hopes are rather obvious—and I admit they align perfectly with mine," he confesses, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Theo and I would love nothing more than to have the entire night alone with Hermione. But it will take some convincing. She's... reluctant."
Narcissa's eyes gleam with understanding. "Ah, the first separation. I remember it well. I was inconsolable the first time I left you, even for an evening." Her expression softens with memory. "Your father had to practically drag me from the nursery. And you were nearly six months old by then."
"Lyra's not even Three months," Draco says, glancing down at his daughter who has begun to fuss more insistently. "Hermione's nervous."
Lyra's fussing escalates into full-blown cries, her tiny face reddening with the effort. Draco shifts her position, trying to soothe her, but her hungry wails only grow more insistent.
"I'm afraid I need to cut this short, Mother," Draco says, already rising from his chair. "Lyra's demanding breakfast, and I promised Hermione I'd bring her straight in when she got hungry."
Narcissa nods understandingly, though disappointment flickers briefly across her features. "Of course, darling. A hungry princess must not be kept waiting."
"I'll floo you later with the details for this evening," Draco promises, bouncing Lyra gently in his arms. "And Mother... if we do decide to extend our evening—"
"The Manor will be ready," Narcissa finishes, her smile widening. "I'll prepare everything for an overnight stay. Just in case."
"Thank you, Mother," Draco says, relief evident in his voice. "We'll see you at five."
With a final elegant nod, Narcissa's face disappears from the flames, which return to their normal orange hue. Draco looks down at his fussing daughter, her cries growing more insistent by the second.
"Come on, little star," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her downy head. "Let's find your mummy before you bring the cottage down around our ears."
Draco strides quickly through the hallway, Lyra's cries growing more frantic with each passing second. He finds Hermione and Theo in the kitchen, Hermione already unbuttoning her nightgown in anticipation.
"There's my hungry girl," she coos, reaching for Lyra with practiced ease. The baby's cries immediately soften as she senses her mother's proximity, tiny hands grasping eagerly as Hermione settles into the kitchen chair. Draco transfers their daughter into her waiting arms, watching as Lyra immediately latches onto Hermione's breast, her tiny fists kneading against the soft flesh as she nurses hungrily.
"There we go," Hermione murmurs, her expression melting into that serene look that appears only when she's nursing their daughter. Her free hand strokes Lyra's cheek tenderly, thumb tracing the delicate curve of her jaw.
Theo moves around the kitchen with practiced ease, pulling ingredients from cupboards and the cooling cabinet. "Pancakes for everyone, then?" he asks, already measuring flour into a bowl. "With blueberries for Mi, and chocolate chips for our dragon?"
Hermione nods gratefully, adjusting Lyra slightly to improve her latch. "That sounds perfect. I'm starving.”
Draco catches Theo's eye across the kitchen and raises his eyebrows significantly. Holding Theo's gaze, he focuses his mind and gently pushes forward with Legilimency, a skill both men had mastered during their years together. The connection forms easily—they've done this countless times when needing to communicate privately.
Mother is preparing for an overnight stay , Draco projects into Theo's mind, the memory of his conversation with Narcissa flowing between them. She's already set up a nursery, complete with enchanted butterflies and special nightgowns. She's expecting Lyra to stay the night. I didn't correct her.
Theo's eyes widen slightly, but his hands continue their work with the pancake batter, not missing a beat. A small smile plays at his lips as he receives Draco's thoughts.
Perfect, Did you mention it to her? Theo's response flows back through their connection.
Didn't have to , Draco thought, grinning. His mind then shifts, anticipating the evening alone they could share.
Theo feels the thrill and starvation coursing through Draco's brain—images of what they could do with an entire night to themselves with Hermione, without baby monitors or feeding schedules. He feels glimpses of Hermione stretched out on their bed, her skin flushed and trembling as they take her together. Hermione's back arching as they push her over and over again. Her voice, hoarse from screaming their names, begging for more.
The erotic daydreams overwhelm Theo's mind so intensely that he nearly drops the whisk he holds. He holds on to the counter edge for support bracingly, his body responding in a split second to the erotic visions that Draco is deliberately feeding into his mind.
Maybe we could take our time with her, Draco continues, the fantasies becoming more explicit.
Do you remember when she was first pregnant? How gentle she was? How needy? Theo's response comes paired with images of his own—Hermione's pregnant self, swollen with their child, full of life as they ooh and awe over her the two of them. How responsive she was, coming undone at the mere brush.
The loud, surprising sound of Lyra burping interrupts their mental connection, yanking both men back to reality. The sound is surprisingly robust coming from such a tiny body, causing Hermione to laugh in delight as she pats Lyra's back.
"My goodness!" Hermione exclaims, resettling Lyra on her shoulder so she can continue to pat her back. "That was something for one so small." She beams with pride over their daughter's success, completely oblivious to the heated argument that had just occurred between her husbands.
Hermione's gaze rises, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in the looks on Draco's and Theo's faces. They're both staring at her with an intensity that makes her flush—Draco's eyes dark with desire, his lips curled in that particular smirk that always means he's plotting something, and Theo's face set in that predatory focus he usually reserves for when they're alone in their bedroom.
"What's the matter with you two?" she asks, switching Lyra to her other breast. "You're looking at me as though I'm the last treacle tart at a Weasley family gathering."
The men exchange a brief glance before Draco's features ease into practiced innocence. "Nothing, love," he replies, his voice studiously casual as he moves toward the table, placing a hand on her shoulder in a gentle gesture. "Just appreciating how beautiful you look this morning."
"Mmm", Hermione gives them a suspicious glance between them, her eyes narrowing. There's something in their collective gazes that sets alarm bells ringing in her mind—that particular gleam in Draco's eyes, the way Theo's interest seems decidedly set on whisking pancake batter. They're up to something, of that she's certain.
"If you say so," she replies, her voice making it clear she's dubious. She adjusts Lyra slightly, wincing as the baby latches on rather too eagerly. "Easy there, little love."
Lyra squirms suddenly, her tiny face screwing up as a distinctly un pleasant odor emanates from her nappy. Hermione wrinkles her nose, quickly unlatching the baby from her breast.
"Someone needs a change," she says, buttoning up her nightgown with one hand while cradling Lyra in the other. "I'll be right back."
She rises from the chair, easily transferring Lyra to her shoulder. "Don't scorch those pancakes, Theo," she says, casting one last suspicious glance between her husbands before heading in the direction of the nursery.
જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭 જ⁀➴𖹭