#theowlmouse

The one thing Draco wasn’t counting on though, was how much more of a big deal he was supposed to make over every tiny thing that happened to Scorpius. Since the twenty-fourth of October, everything was so much more meaningful because it was Scorpius’ first of everything.

Scorpius’ first night at home, Scorpius’ first bath, Scorpius’ first outing, Scorpius’ first Friday, Scorpius’ first rain. The most mundane things became important when they were Scorpius’ first time experiencing them.

Astoria wanted Scorpius’ first Christmas to be perfect. It didn’t matter that he was only two months old and wouldn’t remember it one bit, which Draco refrained from pointing out. He found himself quite powerless to protest against anything if it was something Astoria wanted.

They decorated the manor more meticulously than they had for any of the other three Christmases they’d lived there as a married couple, even though it would only be the three of them there to enjoy it after they managed to get out of hosting Draco’s parents, who were actually staying with the Greengrass family while they were in England.

Draco thought maybe he should be offended by this, but it was quite perfect that their families got on so well, better in fact that than their families got on with them. Astoria’s parents were of similar ideals to his own, and they’d bonded over a shared dislike of how Draco and Astoria had chosen to raise their son outside of the traditional pureblood realms. They avoided spending time with each other usually, but Christmas forced them together.

They’d endured a stiff and awkward, painfully formal Christmas dinner at Astoria’s family home, during which Scorpius had been appraised judgingly by everybody. Astoria’s father claimed he seemed too small and Lucius curled his lip at the pale yellow outfit Draco had dressed him in.“It should be green, he’s a Malfoy heir. Do you want him to end up in Hufflepuff?” Astoria opened her mouth to politely dispute this and Narcissa quickly jumped in with a loud comment about how much Scorpius looked like Draco did as a baby to diffuse the moment.

Eventually, finally, five painful courses later - and no fewer than four suggestions from Lucius that they leave Scorpius upstairs where a house-elf could look after him, instead of having him at the table with them (He’s two months old, Lucius, and he’s our baby.) - it was over. They were back at the manor, at home as a family.

The living room was a winter wonderland and beside the large Christmas tree, Scorpius was lying on his back in a bassinet, his tiny amount of white-blond hair, like the fuzzy seeds of a dandelion, sticking up from his head where he’d been sleeping. He was gazing with interest at his parents, making tiny snuffling noises and wriggling around.

“And this one is from Auntie Daphne,” Astoria told their son, holding a present up in front of him as if he could understand. “Would you like to open it?”

“That looks means yes Mummy but unfortunately I’ve not developed full use of my thumbs yet,” Draco explained and Astoria laughed at him.

“Shall we ask Daddy to open it for you?” she continued, handing Draco the present, picking Scorpius up gently and cradling him in her arms. He kicked his legs and arms in excitement. “That look means hurry up and open it, Daddy.”

Draco rolled his eyes and undid the wrapping paper, removing a grey, stuffed animal and holding it up in front of Scorpius. He stared at it with his clear, grey-blue eyes.

Astoria took it from him and inspected it. “Oh, it’s an owl, how sweet.”

Draco looked at her like she was mad. “I thought it was a mouse? Look at its ears.”

“It has wings, honey. See?” Astoria turned the creature round, still holding Scorpius in one arm, and indicated what vaguely resembled wings.

Draco shook his head. “No owl has paws.”

“It has a beak!”

“It has whiskers!”

“What in Merlin’s name is it?”

They were stopped by a sudden gurgle from their baby. He was staring at the toy, eyes wide, and his hand extended out towards it. Astoria moved it closer to his outreached hand and he grasped at thin air a couple of times before successfully gripping onto the toy and pulling it towards him, where he promptly stuffed it into his mouth.

“Apparently Scorpius likes ambiguous crossover owl-mouse creatures,” said Draco dryly.

“He reached out for it! He’s never reached out for anything before.” Astoria sounded overjoyed.

“I’ll alert the minister at once,” Draco said sarcastically.

“You’re so clever Scorpius, reaching out and grabbing onto things all by yourself.” She tickled him and he squealed in delight.

“He grabs onto my hair all the time,” Draco muttered, massaging the back of his head where Scorpius had previously wrenched at his ponytail.

“I told you that would happen before he was born,” his wife said to him, although she was looking at Scorpius as she spoke and tickling him under the chin with the owl-mouse.

Draco watched her with a smile. “Yes, but you still wouldn’t let me cut it off.”

Astoria looked up, offended. “Never! I love it too much.”

She adjusted Scorpius so he was upright and leaning against her chest, where he attempted to gnaw on her shoulder. The hand that wasn’t holding their baby in place came up to smooth Draco’s hair back from his forehead and towards his immaculate ponytail, which she curled around her fingertips. He wrapped an arm around her waist and she rested her head on his shoulder, Scorpius gurgled happily between them.

“This is the part of Christmas I was looking forward to the most,” Draco murmured and kissed the top of her head.

“Just us, our family,” she whispered back.

“I have one more present for you.” As Draco spoke, Astoria lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him in question.

“You do?”

Draco nodded. “It’s in here.”

He lead her into the hallway where they had a second, smaller Christmas tree in the alcove beneath the grand staircase. Under the tree was one, small gift, wrapped in silver paper. Draco gently took Scorpius from her, tucking him into his chest and kissing his fluffy head.

Astoria curiously picked up the present, giving Draco a look of confusion. After all, they’d exchanged presents hours ago over breakfast.

“I probably should have given it to you sooner,” Draco said apologetically, even though this meant nothing to Astoria because she hadn’t opened it yet. “Go on, open it.”

Scorpius was babbling excitedly over Draco’s shoulder as if he knew what was inside the present. Astoria unwrapped it carefully and removed a tree ornament by its silver ribbon. She examined the ornament and looked up at Draco, clutching the present to her heart.

“You didn’t?” she gasped and Draco nodded at her. “I thought you hated things like this.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “I don’t hate things like that. We’ve never even discussed getting one of those.”

“Because I knew you would think it was stupid,” she said, a huge grin on her face.

Draco shook his head. “It’s not stupid. Do you like it?”

“Draco, I love it.” She caught his face in her hands and kissed him sweetly. He hugged her to him, one arm supporting Scorpius and the other around his wife.

“I love you,” he said softly.

“And I love you,” she breathed into his shoulder before suddenly pulling away. “Scorpius, no baby. Don’t eat Daddy’s hair.”

Somewhere behind his head, Astoria was dislodging a section of his ponytail from Scorpius’ grip (which was surprisingly strong) and patting it back into place.

When his hair was free, Draco lifted Scorpius up and held him in front of his face. The baby kicked his legs out with a smile. “Why do you always have to go for the hair?”

He kissed Scorpius on the nose, making him laugh, and turned him around, holding him against his stomach with one hand underneath him so he could watch his mother place the ornament on the tree. She smiled at Draco and their baby and hung it carefully on an empty branch, tapping it with her finger so it gently span. Draco watched it slowly revolve, as did Astoria, and Scorpius waved his arms about, his fists clenched.