Balaur | By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 25216 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3 |
Disclaimer: I own nothing of HP nor do I profit in any way from these missives. I almost own the laptop I'm writing this fanfic on, tho'. |
“Wolf, you can’t cure Loser’s Lurgy with aquavirious maggots. They must be prepared properly before you eat them.”
“Yes, mu— blechhh!”
Stepping out of the floo with barely sufficient time to change, the rushed family head’s best shoes now sported a slimy coating of partially digested maggots previously churning in his three-year-old’s belly.
“What’ve you been snacking on, little one?” the affectionate father posed.
“Wolf’s upset that Rolf wins all their races.”
“Your brother’s a full head taller, Wolfie” the patient father explained during his third Scourgify to remove the sick from his feet, “Longer legs. You’ll catch him in time. Keep working at it.”
“Your father had to work very hard at certain spells but he learned them. He’s as good as your Uncle Harry now.”
“Da!?” the boy squeaked out.
“Your Da just needed to believe in himself. Like you. No more aquavirious maggots unless you cook them completely. Dirigible plums are a better cure. Go get your things and help Rolf.”
With an affectionate swat to his backside Luna Lovegood Longbottom sent her youngest off to prepare to spend the weekend at Malfoy Manor.
“How’re you feeling?”
“My feet hurt. I brewed a tea of horklump juice to settle things.”
The very pregnant healer hummed as she made her way around the room, straightening this and putting away that. Neville smiled at the serene look of her, lovingly soothing her enormous belly.
Of the child soldiers finding normalcy again after the war, this unlikely couple — shy Neville and quirky Luna — continued to cause head-scratching amongst the people who loved them. Luna avoided the crash-and-burn of post-traumatic syndrome by immersing herself in the healing arts immediately after the war. Her quick mind (and frankly bizarre outlook on life in general) protected her from emotional destruction — not to mention her unbridled optimism that all would eventually be as it should. Neville’s equilibrium virtually shone like a beacon whenever he and his wife were together; she’d tell the world how far he’d come and how much he’d done to protect magical Britain, a kind of faith and quiet pride he’d not enjoyed before. The withdrawn, bumbling, forgetful boy gave way to a man who took intelligent risks and succeeded admirably.
“Charlie and Vlad said to bring the pics.”
“I packed them. The nargles kept interfering; I almost forgot where I put them.”
“That’s what being pregnant does to you, sweetheart. Ginny says she can’t remember a thing.”
“Nargles. Grimmauld Place is most likely full of them since Kreacher’s been working for the Ministry. I’d like to have another, if that’s alright.”
“Another what, luv?” Neville called out from the tangle of shirt sliding over his head and down his arms.
“Another child. Not right away, but not too long after. I’m going to open my own clinic in the side room. We can see after the children in the back. Most of my patients drink there anyway.”
Taking her in his arms, Neville snugged her as tight as he dared and kissed her a promise for later; her libido (always healthy) got bigger as she did. Responding to the desire in Neville’s eyes in that direct manner of hers, Luna massaged the expanding bulge in her husbands pants, oblivious to their scheduled departure time only minutes away.
“Different kind of healing goes on in our pub, Luna” the establishment’s most recent owner chuckled in their apartment over their business, “Come on, luv; Draco will pout like Wolfie if we make them late.”
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