“You have her eyes.” A phrase holding meaning that Draceana never really understood and one that so many had said it to her husband over the years. Each time his chest swelled with pride, his back straightened, and his steps grew more powerful. In those early years she thought the idea preposterous, who could ever be proud to be the child of a muggle? Who would ever say that having the eyes of them was something worthy of praise? And yet, when she held their daughter, she understood. The girl’s hair was white-blonde, like her own, something she’d been smug about with Harry the longer it grew, but her eyes… She had his eyes. Irises of green looked up at her from the small one in her arms, filled with the same light Harry’s own held when her looked at her. Their daughter laughed with glee, and that sound was also her husband’s as well. What filled her were contradictions. Her heart raced, but she was utterly calm. She felt lighter, yet was sinking into the ground. She was melting, but had never stood firmer in her life. Perhaps their next child would have her eyes, a son with that unkempt tangle of brown Harry claimed was styled, but with orbs of silver beneath. Maybe both children would puff their chests out in pride upon hearing how much like their parents they looked. A pride that was not tied to purity of blood, but instead of the love that made them. Thoughts for another time, for in this moment, looking down at her daughter, she indulged in a moment of selfishness. Those eyes, that laugh, were proof of their union, an existence that could have only been brought about by them and them alone… And that was worth more than any treasure could hope to be.