This was originally written for the HP Get Lucky Fest on LiveJournal. The amazing misslexilouwho helped me beta this – thank you very much for your help! Any remaining mistakes are my own.

A Lucky Man

-oOo-

Triple locking spells on the front door and all the windows, in case his wards failed. Detection spells on the thresholds of all internal doors, to alert him before any intruders got to the staircase. Hidden traps strewn across the house, waiting to be sprung on anyone not recognised by the wards.

Being related to most of pure-blood Britain helped; his ancestors had been a nasty bunch, judging by the grimoires they left behind. Then again, only those who survived could pass on their knowledge.

Ensuring the physical safety of their home only went so far. Lily and James Potter were betrayed by one of their friends. Draco trusted no one; unfortunately his wife wasn't as cautious. Left to her own devices, she would open their home to waifs and strays from both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. Discouraging her philanthropic tendencies towards people in general while ensuring they still applied to him was a delicate balancing act, requiring all the tricks he picked up in Slytherin and then some.

He nearly tripped over a tricycle on his way to checking the back door the Muggle way (of course his wife insisted on having an actual lock). Draco managed to right himself before he hit the floor face first, but as he fought to regain his balance, he stepped hard on a brick of Lego. It had no business on its own in the dining room, but that was no consolation for Draco's foot. The infernal little bits of plastic always hurt like buggery.

Perhaps he should add strategically placed Lego pieces to his security measures.

With a flick of his wand, Draco closed off the Floo connection for the night. While being without Floo reduced their escape options, especially with children in tow, he considered the (highly illegal) International Portkeys he'd created a decent trade-off against the ability to ensure no one came through the other way.

Floo connections were supposed to be secure. Better men than he had put their faith in the Ministry being half-way competent and lived to regret it (albeit shortly).

"Are you coming to bed, or what?" a sleepy voice asked just behind him. Draco had his wand trained on the silvery beast doing the speaking before his brain caught up. Last time he checked, Hermione had been snuggled up under the duvet upstairs with a book. As usual, she dispatched her Patronus when she got fed up of waiting for him to join her.

"Soon," he told his own peacock. It hopped off upstairs, despite the staircase being more than wide enough to accommodate its impressive wingspan. While the bird itself was suitably impressive, acquiring a Patronus that actually flew had apparently been too much to hope for. Draco probably ought to be grateful he could cast the spell at all – it had taken him a decade longer than it should have.

He had managed it in the end, driven equally by his refusal to be outdone by something Potter had mastered in fifth year, and determination to master a vital defensive spell. As long as he lived, Draco would make sure his family was kept safe from harm. Being able to stave off Dementors was not an optional extra.

Hermione scoffed at his precautions – 'paranoia' had been mentioned – but Draco wasn't willing to run any unnecessary risks. The Malfoys had not got to where they were by hoping things would turn out for the best (Hermione had a thing or two to say about that, but at least she couldn't deny they had made their mark on the world).

She had also done her best to persuade him the poor choices he made at sixteen weren't entirely his fault, but Draco remained to be convinced.

'Lucky' didn't quite cover his conversion from snotty little fucker with a broomstick up his arse to his present self. Fortunate sounded marginally more adequate.

He had been fortunate to survive the war and emerge as a slightly wiser man at the end.

He owed his life to Snape and Dumbledore, and probably his sanity, too. The burden of gratitude wasn't reduced by the demise of his protectors. Saying gratitude didn't come naturally to Draco was like suggesting young Tom Riddle had caused a bit of a stir in the wizarding world.

Irritatingly, he owed his freedom to Harry bloody Potter. It made for awkward conversations in the lift at the Ministry whenever they crossed paths.

Being indebted to Hermione for being the happiest man in England did not bother him at all, funnily enough.

Bumping into Hermione in the lift at the Bulgarian Embassy on his twenty-first birthday had been pure luck. His reason for crashing the party had been the free champagne, which also had ensured Hermione was tipsy enough to talk to him. By some stroke of fortune, Draco hit on a subject she actually was interested in: Experimental Charms had kept them going up and down in the lift for half an hour, and subsequently seen them meeting in broad daylight.

Hermione had been interested enough to keep seeing him, which eventually resulted in their current state of marital bliss. It was nothing short of a miracle. Draco lived in constant fear of fucking it up, despite Hermione's assurances that she was about as likely to leave as the Giant Squid was to leave the lake at Hogwarts and live in Loch Ness. It even kept his interactions with Weasley civil (which came with the added benefit of keeping the nitwit in a constant state of confusion).

If Draco could manage to hold on to Hermione, he would remain happy beyond anything he had ever known even to hope for. It was a double-edged sword, that prospect – the possibility that it would all be taken away, by some whim of fate, kept him awake at night.

Hence his late night expeditions policing the protections of their home – living in fear made you weak. Mastering it made you powerful, and protected what was yours – even if you didn't think you deserved it.

"I won't be asking a third time." The otter sounded distinctly peeved, and Draco hurried to cast his final sealing charms before Hermione, never the most patient, tired of waiting for him. He would just check on the children – she never complained about that – and then he could join her in bed, sneaking under the duvet and make her yelp when his cold feet hit her warm ones.

There were many ways you could get lucky in this world. Somehow, Draco had hit on every single one of them.

THE END