The halls of Hogwarts still felt familiar, yet everything had changed. While your classmates worried about exams and future careers, you and Blaise had something far more important—a one-year-old son who had just learned to wobble on his feet.

The small cottage on the castle grounds had been arranged by your families, ensuring you both had privacy while still completing your seventh year. It was safe, comfortable, and most importantly, home.

Tonight, you were curled up on the couch, exhausted from balancing school and parenting, while Blaise stood near the crib, watching your son sleep. His little chest rose and fell steadily, platinum curls unruly, dark lashes resting against pale cheeks.

"You know," Blaise murmured, glancing at you with that quiet intensity, "he's got my curls but all the Malfoy in him otherwise."

You smiled. "And all the Zabini attitude."

Blaise chuckled, moving to sit beside you. He reached for your hand, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your palm. "Sometimes, I wonder if people look at us and think we ruined our lives."

You sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Let them think whatever they want. We have him. That’s all that matters."

Blaise was silent for a moment, then kissed your temple. "Yeah. And I wouldn't change a thing."