You Are My Sunshine
Hermione stirred in her sleep with a small smile breaking across her face as a beam of sunlight slipped across her face.
Lolly pulled back the ornate, emerald silk curtains to welcome the new day. Ever since Mistress had come home to the Manor, Lolly was able to do many more things. And so, in return, she did her best to take care of her and made sure she came to no harm. She did it because she knew Master would grieve terribly if anything were too happen to his Mistress. And Lolly could not have that! Her humans were much too important. She would take care of them. She loved them.
But Lolly could not deny the delicious change that Mistress had instigated on Master. Such as being able to open Master’s prized curtains before noon without fear of punishment or,
“Good morning Master and Mistress! The world says hello!” Lolly slapped a spindly-finger hand over her mouth. She had been watching too many movies with the Young Master and Young Mistress again.
Draco shot up in bed. Looking adorable with his hair mussed every which way, on his face a squint of confusion as his eyes adjusted, the gears in his head slowly coming to life.
He looked around and his gaze landed on one, very petrified-looking, house-elf. He glanced at the clock. It flashed its angry red numbers at him. 6:37 AM. SAT. Then something clicked and his dark grey eyes flashed in warning.
Just as he was about to go into a long-winded tirade, something warm and soft nudged his calf. He looked to his left, his wife was curled up into a tight little ball, her long, cark curls wrapped around a neck that was one of many paragons he worshipped nightly on her body, in their bed. The comforter had been mainly torn from his side of the bed to accommodate her nest-like sleep tendency, but there was still enough to cover him. That was not what bothered him. Usually she slept with her head on his bare stomach and arms curled up under herself and around his torso while his long, pale fingers ghosting over her scalp as both husband and wife drifted to sleep. Instead, she was a good distance away. Worried something was amiss, Draco started to closely observe his wife.
Lolly slipped quietly out of the room, a snap of her fingers signifying that breakfast would be served in bed today, and the smell of bacon, scones, and tea filtered through the rom. Not wanting to disturb his wife’s peaceful slumber in his study, he let Lolly go, too tired to really care enough to berate her for waking him.
Hermione shifted in her bundle and inhaled deeply while she snuggled the blankets in her arms closer, burying her face. Draco looked on in curiosity. Normally when she smelled breakfast, she woke up easily. He couldn’t help but notice that she seemed to be smelling something other than the well-prepared food, and this baffled him unceasingly. Just as he was leaning over to check and see if she had stolen one of his shirts again, he felt it.
Now Draco was not one to be easily taken by surprise. He was fairly proud of his sharp wit, quick mind, and superb intuition. Not to mention he was one of the finest male specimen around. Loose-hanging, shoulder-length baby blonde hair, a stunning 6’1”, Quidditch-toned physique, and some stormy grey eyes that could pierce your soul, had he the inclination, Draco was not a man to mess with. Of course, one should also be reminded of his heritage, the Malfoy name, though no longer revered because of pureblood supremacy, held respect. With the untold riches and power behind him, Draco Malfoy was the embodiment of masculine.
But what was that sensation on his leg?! It was there, something warm brushing up against him. He was not imagining things, and it moved. He didn’t think it was Hermione, she was still curled up in a ball for all he could tell, the comforter blocking most of his vision. But he supposed it could be her. ‘Trying to warm her toes or something absurd,’ he scoffed knowingly. She was still rubbing her face in the blanket and making odd noises. Well, to each his own, or her. Maybe she was dreaming. Draco settled back on his pillow, arms behind his head for extra leverage, and fully intended to get some more shut-eye on this very fine Saturday morning, dismissing the irregularity of this morning without another thought.
Hermione glanced up under her lashes to see her husband making himself comfortable. Well, this would not do. Shifting the bundle in her arms she lightly raised the comforter to see down at his feet and made sure the situation was under control. Seeing everything to be in tip-top form, she came back up and continued to nuzzle her face into her bundle, sneaking a peek every now and then to check on the condition of her husband.
Sleep would not come back to Draco. It would seem he was now fully awake, much to his dismay. Hermione was shuffling around and still making cooing noises. Draco would have liked to believe earlier that she had been dreaming about him, preferably in a promiscuous situation, but it would seem his ego was not meant to be inflated this morning; there was no way that Hermione would ever coo at him when he was capable of making her scream in ecstasy. He would have to find Lolly later and remind her of his orders not to open the curtains before noon. Hermione loved waking up to the sun. Whenever the sun came in, Hermione started waking up, even if it took a while, like she seemed to want to take now, and that meant no more sleep for Draco.
But wait, Lolly hadn’t been the one to wake him up he slowly realized. His forehead wrinkled as he frowned in concerned concentration. He had been coming round before the sun had so rudely blinded him. Now why on Earth was he waking up at 6:30 on a Saturday?! He always slept in. Vaguely he realized that he had been feeling damp, not a very reassuring sensation when one is supposed to be asleep. Quickly, Draco dismissed that, he must be imagining things because there was no reason why his bed would be wet.
He shifted over onto his side facing Hermione, and his foot brushed over cold sheets. He froze, his sensory perceptions kicking in. The linens were not only cold, but wet. Draco’s eyes snapped open. That was most definitely an unknown wet, sticky substance his prime body was touching. What on Earth? Well Hermione had been touching him before hadn’t she? Maybe she had scratched herself and was bleeding. No, there was too much of it to be that and she would have noticed. Maybe…it was that time of the moth again. He shuddered. But she never failed to take her potion! It couldn’t be.
As Draco sat there confounded, trying to solve this mystery, Hermione silently giggled. Boy, was he in for a surprise. She never got over how extremely narrow minded he could be, it amused her to no end. He was much more of a practical, think-it-through person, like herself; he always contemplated every angle before acting.
And then, “AHHH! WHAT THE BLOODY-”
“Shh, Draco you’ll wake the children.” Hermione’s voice cut him off. She sat up, smiling gleefully at her husband who had jumped out of the bed when a warm, sticky, liquid had dropped onto his ankle.
“The children?!,” Draco gasped in disbelief, “The children are in the nursery, they can’t hear me. There is something in there!” He pointed an accusing finger at a small lump near the bottom of the bed. “It was touching me and then it put nasty goo all over my feet!” Draco’s voice going up into a shrill squeak as the lump moved and made a noise.
Hermione just buried her head into the bundle in her arms to cover her laughs. Draco glared. Suddenly there seemed to be more than one person laughing at him, not just his wife. A series of small shrieks emitted from Hermione’s bundle and funny little guffaws issued from the rolling lump by her feet.
As comprehension dawned, Draco grabbed hold of the comforter and dove back in, head first. When he came upon his prey, he caught its small ankles and dragged it up to the surface where he found two sleepy faces smiling at him. He grinned at their mischief. Redirecting the lump, Draco pulled him from underneath the covers to produce his son, six months old, with a golden blonde tuft of baby hair in the middle of his head and beautiful brown eyes, which he got from his mother, Hyperion was content to sit on his father’s chest and babble and giggle at the attention. His sister, Soleil, snuggled deeper into her mother’s embrace while watching her twin with bright blue eyes, her short platinum blonde ringlets tickling Hermione’s nose.
With one hand holding his son upright, he leaned over and nuzzled his face into his daughter’s and then proceeded to kiss his wife. Lying back, Draco closed his eyes content. Sometime later the quiet peace was interrupted.
“Why are the children in our bed?”
“Because I missed them,” Hermione said petulantly, “And they missed us. They like waking up their father every morning.”
Draco cracked one eye open to see the beautifully constructed pout on his wife’s face. Snapping it quickly shut, he remained firm, not swayed by her manipulations. “Mia, love,” he began tiredly, “Hyde and Lei must stay in their own room now. We spoil them enough as it is.”
“Hyperion and Soleil,” Hermione quietly rebuffed, almost as an afterthought in the now somewhat tense atmosphere.
They had had this argument many times this week. Hermione loved having her children snuggled up to her as she slept. It helped her with the postpartum depression. Taking care of two beings inside of her for nearly ten months (they had been late bloomers) had been very hard, but fulfilling, for Hermione. She wanted to be as close to them as possible, she was determined to be the best mother ever. Draco, on the other hand, was terrified that he would smoosh one of his darling heirs no matter how much he, too, loved seeing their peaceful faces first thing in the morning. Hyperion was all that a father could ask for, set to inherit the Malfoy legacy. Soleil, younger by four and a half minutes, was the apple of her father’s eye, it was certain she would never go wanting. Draco was just not comfortable with sleeping with the three most precious things in his life all together in one bed. Granted, the bed was huge, but fatherhood had instilled in Draco an acknowledgement of fragility. Two of those things were too breakable, the third, well he would really rather have her alone for himself, to do as he pleased, without the barrier of twin babies getting in the way. But Hermione, it would seem, wasn’t ready to get back into the swing of things yet. She had her heart set on going to bed and waking up with her babies tucked into her side.
He had tried logic with her, ‘Eventually they would get too big, and he would not be sleeping with two horny teenagers.’ He had even tried coercion, ‘If Hyperion and Soleil were in their own beds, we could get busy with making a new baby for Hermione’s lonely stomach.’ He had even pleaded exhaustion, suggesting Lolly take a few night calls every once in a while. None of his appeals had worked. Now, Malfoys were not ones to back down, and they always got what they wanted. Last night had been the first success, Draco and Hermione had put their children down in their cribs and went off to bed for a quiet night. Apparently, Hermione had tricked him, the minx, into thinking she had finally fallen asleep and had gone to collect her angels without him any the wiser. As much as it pained him, Draco realized the only way to solve this problem was comprise.
“Hermione,” Draco tentatively started, “what if we brought in their cribs, for a few weeks or so? Hmm? Then we could get some proper sleep and they’ll still be close. We can always bring them to bed once we’re up.”
Hermione worried her lip, for all appearances looking very upset about the idea. Internally, however, she was jumping for joy. She had finally gotten Draco to change his argument. All it had taken was a well-placed, slobbery six-month old. Hermione had admitted to herself a long time ago that although, she missed having her babies kicking at her insides, she was much happier with them here in her arms, wriggling with life and love. She had been irked to find that Draco still treated her like a porcelain doll, she was tougher than that. So she had devised her plan, he was wrapped around her little finger, she always got what she wanted. She did not want the babies to go to their room yet, it was practically in the farthest wing of the manner from their own bedroom. But she did want some more space and sleep. She would never admit weakness and tell her husband that. Be difficult enough for him to capitulate, and the world was at her feet.
“Okay!” she jubilantly exclaimed, popping up from her nest of blankets. She carefully placed her baby-bundle down. Soleil sat up, eager to capture her father’s attention; he was currently regarding Hermione with a skeptical, appraising gaze. She had agreed so quickly.
“How about some breakfast family?” clapping her hands together in delight, she went about bringing the tray to their bed, a huge grin adorning her exquisite features.
Deciding her abrupt change in emotion not worth the worry, Draco, too, sat up and placed his son next to his daughter. Two more perfect creations Draco could never have imagined. Dragging his wife into his lap, he sat down to a perfect Saturday morning, with his small family rejoicing and eating and sharing and giggling at each other’s antics.
Lolly the house-elf looked on, knowing her job would be very easy with Mistress here, the embodiment of sunshine herself. And her children were well named, the sun god and the sun, two perfect angels. Lolly loved her family very much. They brought sunlight into her life. And that was why she opened the curtains so early in the morning despite orders not to, she wanted to bring the sunlight into theirs.
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