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The fourth annual Granger-Malfoy carve-off is in full swing as Hermione meticulously rounds the corner of the letter ‘e’ on her pumpkin.
It is an annual tradition Draco loathes and Hermione loves.
After the death of her parents, Hermione had vowed to keep their memories alive as much as possible. The Granger annual carve-off was one of Hermione’s fondest autumnal memories. So, year after year, she picked the perfect pumpkin and gathered her loved ones to carve them. First with Harry and Ron, now with her husband.
The first year, Draco was so disgusted by the inside of the pumpkin he gagged continuously and cut his finger on a knife— Hermione won.
The second year, Draco was more prepared, but his lackluster carving, a simple ‘I <3 U’, wasn’t enough to beat Hermione’s carving of a witch with a cauldron— Hermione won again.
The third year, Draco cheated. He was determined to beat her and used wandless magic to carve a castle into his pumpkin while Hermione was too focused on her own— Draco “won”.
Unfortunately, three months later, after drinking far too many firewhiskeys at Blaise’s stag party, Draco confessed his crimes over a sloppy voicemail. Draco renounced his winnings, making Hermione the sole champion of the Granger-Malfoy pumpkin carve-off.
“Granger, what is taking you so long? I’ve been finished for nearly fifteen minutes now.” Draco huffs.
Their small kitchen table is a mess. Various newspapers cover the table, and knives of all sizes lay across the surface. Draco, opposite Hermione, strokes Crookshanks aimlessly as he watches Hermione carefully cut into her pumpkin.
In moments like these, Hermione feels eternally grateful for whatever cosmic being brought them together. Although dramatic and whiny, Draco's caring, passionate, overly loving side far outweighs his flaws. Over the years, Hermione has come to admire and appreciate Draco for what he was– a good man.
“That’s because yours is awful, and mine is— well, my design deserves more attention this year.”
Her stomach flutters at the reason why her design deserves more attention, a future he’d wanted, but fear had prevailed; an addition she’s longed for, but was too selfish to change their lives.
Just months before, in the early Spring, they’d agreed. They were ready to set their hesitations aside and try. A family. A future. A new Granger-Malfoy.
She sets her knife down and sternly looks at Draco. “Did you even try?” she asks.
“Of course, I tried. I went with something simple.” He stops stroking the cat to inspect his pumpkin. “I’m working my way up to greatness in increments. By the time we’re eighty, I should finally win.”
Hermione rolls her eyes, picks her knife back up, and swiftly cuts through the skin again.
“Seriously, what is taking so long? Are you carving a whole film scene or something?”
He pushes Crooks gently off and starts to stand.
“No! You can’t look.”
“It’s fine. I already know yours is better.”
“It’s not fine.” She points her knife at him. “Sit down, or I’ll hex you.”
“My gods, no need to be so violent.”
“You should go make me some tea. By the time you get back, I promise I’ll be finished,” she vows.
His mouth opens slightly in protest of her request, but she knows under the faux objections, he will gladly do anything she asks.
“What? I want some tea, and you’re hovering and making me nervous. You might as well make yourself useful.” She waves a hand dismissively in his direction.
“Impossible woman,” he mutters as his chair scrapes against the wood floor.
His footsteps shuffle through the room and into the kitchen. As soon as he’s out of sight, she sits back in her chair and inspects her handiwork.
It’s not her best work— she tried to be creative with her design, something she shouldn’t have done. She ran out of surface area midway through and squeezed the last few letters together, but even still, she knows she’ll win. After all, carved across the bright orange pumpkin is an announcement he’s been hoping for for months.
She smiles at the scrunched-up letters that spell ‘Babys 1st Halloween’.
Draco enters the room with two steaming mugs. She pretends to busy herself, wiping away a stray piece of pulp from the pumpkin. He sets the mug in front of her, and she takes a sip without looking.
It’s made perfectly, as usual. Earl Grey with a slice of lemon, a touch of sugar, and not too hot.
“Thank you.” She sighs contently.
Draco slides back into his chair and sips his tea before asking, “Are you finished?”
She nods and adds, “You go first.”
He turns his pumpkin around slowly. It’s a classic Jack-O-Lantern face. Although it’s simple, she can tell he tried, his lines are straight and pristine. Admittedly, it’s good.
Hermione’s lips turn up into a smile. It’s just like Draco to show her his effort and care into something as trivial as her pumpkin carving traditions.
“You might beat me by the time we are forty,” she allows.
His face lights up with her praise. “It’s better, isn’t it?” He beams.
He falls back into his chair and crosses his arms. “Alright, go ahead. Let’s see the masterpiece.”
She takes a sip of her tea, stalling. Her stomach flits with nerves, and her heart beats like a hummingbird's wings. Despite her excitement, she’s nervous about Draco’s initial reaction. She’s worried his tendency toward self-deprecation and doubt will ruin the initial joy of their new adventure. She sets down her tea and turns the pumpkin agonizingly slowly towards him.
His eyes rove over the pumpkin. Once. Twice. Three times. His face scrunches in confusion.
She knew it would be a long shot for him to understand her abbreviated, sloppy announcement.
“Granger, first, if you’re referring to me as a baby, I find that wildly offensive. I’ve been nothing but mature about this silly tradition you love. Second, your one should be a four, or have you forgotten the past three years of our marriage?” He leans closer to the pumpkin and remarks, “I thought you were trying to win. This is atrocious.”
“First, you are not the baby I’m referring to, you dolt. And second, it is the first.”
She huffs indignantly and stares him down, letting his mind work out the puzzle she’s created for him. Finally, it hits him, and she sees the immediate change in his body. His eyes widen, his demeanor stiffens, and his mouth opens in surprise.
Baby.
“ Granger ?”
She bites her bottom lip to control the smile she’s holding. She nods enthusiastically, worried any other form of affirmation will send her sobbing.
Within seconds, he kneels before her, eyes shining with pride and tears.
“Let me see,” he demands. He reaches into his sweatshirt pocket and pulls out his wand. He quickly hands it to Hermione. She takes it, hands shaking, and casts the detection charm over her stomach– it glows a vibrant yellow as bright as the sun on a summer day. Pregnant .
“A baby,” he says in disbelief.
“A baby,” she confirms.
Draco finally moves his eyes from her stomach to meet hers. She sees it, the whirlwind of emotions over his face– tears of joy in his eyes, a tense jaw full of worry, lips pursed in unease.
Quickly, to quash his rising anxieties, she lays her hand softly on his cheek and says, “You will be the best father, Draco.”
Year four— Hermione wins.
🎃ONE YEAR LATER.🎃
Much like the past four Halloweens, the kitchen table is in absolute disarray. Old newspapers lay across the wooden surface, and various utensils are sprawled everywhere.
Hermione had wanted to forego the annual Granger-Malfoy carve-off, citing exhaustion from caring for a six-month-old who refused to sleep most nights, but Draco had insisted. He’d come home from work with two pumpkins and all the appropriate items to continue their tradition. He wouldn’t let his hatred for the orange gourd stop him from seeing his wife’s eyes light up with nostalgia.
She sits opposite Draco, a much smaller pumpkin in front of her. He’s slouched in his chair, looking at her in dread.
He huffs, regretting his decision to insist on the carve-off. “Do we have time even to carve pumpkins?”
Hermione looks at the clock on the wall and quickly calculates the time they have left before Lyra inevitably wakes. “We have exactly thirty minutes until Lyra is up from her nap.”
“This might be the one time she sleeps through nap time.”
Hermione ignores his grumbles and picks up a knife to start carving into her pumpkin.
“We might have to make it quick, Malfoy, but I’ll still beat you.” She smirks, and he shakes his head, reaching out for his own knife.
Hermione makes exactly three cuts before Lyra’s cries echo through their home.
“I’ll go,” Draco suggests before she can even set down her knife.
He stands and places a kiss on top of Hermione's head as he passes through to the upstairs.
She hears the muffled sound of his voice through the walls. The shuffling of his footsteps suggests he’s pacing with her, trying to calm her cries.
Hermione stares at her pumpkin in front of her and is focused on something other than her parents’ tradition for the first time in years. Her heart now longs for the little bundle just upstairs. She quickly finds her wand and carves a simple Jack-O-Lantern face, just like Draco’s the year before.
It’s nostalgic, a classic face her father used to carve every year.
Draco’s soft whispers bring her out of her wistful recollection of Halloweens past. He’s holding their daughter tightly in his arms, bouncing her lightly as he approaches.
Lyra is no longer dressed in her simple pink onesie but instead a tiny, bright orange pumpkin outfit. Hermione smiles from ear to ear, and Draco soon follows, both admiring the newest Granger-Malfoy.
Year five— Lyra won.