The bedroom was quiet, bathed in the soft light of the late afternoon. You leaned back against the pillows, feeling the comforting weight of your baby resting on your chest.

Draco sat beside you on the bed, one knee bent, his sleeves rolled up as he studied the tiny figure nestled between the two of you. The baby had fallen asleep, his tiny fists curled close to his chest, soft blonde wisps of hair catching the light.

You tilted your head, examining the little one with a mock-serious expression. “Nine months,” you began, your voice low but teasing. “Nine months in my belly… and you…” You glanced pointedly at Draco. “You dare to be your father’s perfect twin?”

Draco’s lips twitched into a smirk as his eyes flicked to yours. “What can I say? Clearly, he knows quality when he sees it.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “It’s like you cloned yourself. The same hair, the same nose—Merlin, even that little furrow between his brows looks just like yours when you’re annoyed.”

Draco scoffed lightly, leaning closer to brush his finger gently across the baby’s tiny cheek. “He’ll thank me for it one day,” he said, his tone teasing but affectionate. “M4Ifoy charm is a gift, after all.”

“Charm? You mean trouble,” you quipped. “Mark my words, he’s going to grow up with that same smug smirk and probably get into just as much mischief as you did.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Mischief?” he repeated, his tone laced with mock indignation. “I was the picture of decorum.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Sure, and I’m the Queen of England.”

Draco chuckled, the sound low and warm as he leaned back against the headboard. “He’s perfect, though. Isn’t he?”

Your teasing smile faded into something softer as you looked down at the little one. “He is,” you whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

Draco reached out, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. The three of you sat there in a cocoon of warmth and love, the world outside the room feeling distant and insignificant.