Sunlight streamed through the window, lighting up the entire room, giving the room an eerie cheerfulness Draco Malfoy despised it. Really, he despised everything within a twenty mile radius. How could there be joy, cheerfulness, beauty in the world when Hermione was lying on the bed, clinging desperately to life?

He was sitting beside her bed in St. Mungo's holding her hand. His white shirt was corroded with dirt and for the life of him he couldn't remember where he had left his robes after the gala. But he didn't really care much. He was more concerned with the witch laying in the hospital bed. Gently, he pressed his lips to her hand.

"Malfoy," he heard Potter call to him. Scarhead had seen fit to spend the majority of the day in St. Mungo's, coming into the room every few minutes to check on his friend. "Maybe you should go home for a bit? Take a break? I can sit with her for a few minutes."

Draco was already shaking his head. Potter had given this same argument all day long. He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to leave her alone. He wanted to see her brown eyes when she finally woke up. He needed her to wake up. "Malfoy," Potter continued irritatingly, "Scorpius has been asking about you and Hermione. Maybe you should tell him everything's going to be okay? You don't even need to be gone all that long. Just–"

"If I leave for half an hour, will it shut you up, Potter?" spat Draco. Potter glared at him.

"It might improve on your mood."

"I'm sorry if I'm a ray of sunshine, Potter, while my wife is clinging for her life."

"The Healer said that she should wake up within the next day or so. She's going to fine," Potter felt the need to explicate. Nothing had changed for Draco, he still hated Potter. The Chosen One was nothing more than an undesired menace.

"And if she doesn't wake up within that time, she could never wake up." His voice broke at the end of his sentence.

There was a small pause in which Draco was certain Potter was choosing his next words very carefully. "Whether you're waiting here or waiting at home, it's the same waiting. Get some rest, explain things to Scorpius. I promise I won't leave her." Draco knew that if he had to trust Hermione's safety with anyone, it would be Harry Potter. With a sigh and a nod, Draco stood up, already what he was going to tell his son.

Scorpius was sitting on the sofa of Draco and Hermione's small house with Ginny Potter. Hermione claimed that Scorpius was the spitting image of Draco, but the man was able to see much of his lovely wife in their son. He had Hermione's spirit. His grey eyes lit up the moment that Draco entered the house.

The four-year-old rushed over to where Draco was standing, his elegant white shirt in complete disarray. Draco pulled the child in a warm embrace. He glanced around the house, his eyes landing on the spot where only hours before he had found his wife lying with puddle of blood around her. He shouldn't have gone to the gala, he reprimanded himself again. He should have just stayed home with Hermione and Scorpius.

"Potter's still at St. Mungo's," Draco told Ginny. "He's sitting with Hermione for a little while." Ginny nodded, a guilty expression on her face.

"Any news?" Draco shook his head. No chance at all. Hermione was still lying on the hospital bed, still unconscious.

"She'll wake up," Ginny promised. "She's Hermione. She's strong." Draco had no doubt about that.

Draco told Ginny she could go. He knew he must have looked miserable, and not just because everything kept telling him so. He'd been sitting in that chair for almost twenty-one hours now. He knew how he must have looked. But in all that time, Ginny had been here with his son. She needed to rest too.

Ginny just shook her head in response. "Try again after you've showered and slept a little." She even raised her wand a little to prove she was serious.

Draco just smirked and did as she said.

He hated to admit it, but Potter was right about him needing a small break. He could feel the tension in his muscles slowly disappear as the warm water splattered across his skin.

He allowed himself to think of the night before once more. He had replayed the night a thousand times throughout the day, questioning what he should have done. How he should have prevented this.

It wasn't even so much that he wanted to go to the gala in the first place. It was all Hermione's idea. She wanted to help raise money for the numerous orphans that appeared following the war. Draco wasn't much in the mood for appealing to the wealthy benefactors that still despised him for what happened during the war. No, he wanted to go because Potter lost a bet with George Weasley and had to appear at the gala dressed in one of Weasley's new inventions. Throughout the entire night, it was going to change periodically to different ridiculous outfits, beginning with a chicken costume and allegedly ending with a toga.

So, of course, Draco was going to be there. He couldn't imagine a better use of gala time than to spend it relentlessly mocking Harry Potter for dressing in that ridiculous costume.

On the night of the gala, however, Angelina Weasley, who had volunteered to watch Scorpius for Hermione and Draco, fell ill at the last moment. Apparently, she had been feeling off all day, but ignored it, claiming she was fine. George firecalled them at the last moment to tell them how ill Angelina really was.

Unfortunately, practically everyone they knew was scheduled to attend the gala or had other plans for the evening. It was one of those rare moments that Draco desperately wished he hadn't freed all of his house elves, per Hermione's request.

Hermione, in the end, said that she was going to stay behind with their sleeping son. At the time, Draco was silently rejoicing. He hated galas, but he desperately wanted to see how ludicrous Potter was going to look in that costume. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He simply couldn't pass it up. "Are you sure, love?" Draco asked her.

She just nodded. "I am sure. I've been feeling pretty tired myself lately. Don't worry about me. Have a good time."

So, Draco did.

But now, Draco did nothing but regret the night before. He should have just stayed with Hermione and Scorp. Or, at the very least, insisted that Hermione go in his stead. And they didn't even try to entertain the idea of bringing the four-year-old, not that it would have ended well.

But anything would have been better than coming home early to find Hermione laying at the bottom of the stairs with a terrifying amount of blood gushing from her forehead.

He would have gladly traded the image of Harry Potter dressed as a flower pot for Hermione to open her eyes, to come back to him. Hell, he would gladly have traded his own life for Hermione's.

When Draco returned to the hospital, he took his son with him. The moment Ginny had left, Scorp tormented Draco with questions about his mum. When he had found Hermione lying on the ground, he knew instantly that he needed to take Hermione to St. Mungo's, but he couldn't very well leave his son alone. Afraid to wait for someone to watch Scorp, he had taken his son with him. Scorp was confused and disoriented, still half-asleep, as they walked into the hospital with Hermione.

Eventually, the Potters arrived, volunteering to spend time with Scorp and possibly explain what had happened.

And Draco knew that Scorp had been dying to know what had happened to his mother.

Scorp climbed up onto the bed beside Hermione while Draco took the all too familiar chair beside the bed. Scorpius gently poked his mother's arm, hoping that this would wake her as it had numerous times in the past. But Hermione's eyes remained closed. Scorp glanced up at his father, as though his father would be able to fix everything like he had in the past.

But Draco couldn't fix this. He could only hope.

Healer Abbott entered the room then. Draco hadn't been able to remember much of Hannah Abbott from when they were in Hogwarts. And he was surprised when Hermione mentioned that she and Hannah become good friends in their years working at St. Mungo's together. He knew she was a good Healer and good friend to Hermione. He trusted her to know what to do.

"There's been no change, Draco," Hannah told him. Can see that well enough for myself, thanks, Draco thought to himself bitterly. "It might help if you spoke to her." Draco raised an eyebrow at the Healer's suggestion. Hermione had often spoken about patients like this. When their families would refuse to leave, when the Healers would see the hopeless expressions on the families' faces, they would offer a solution like this. Talk to them. Talk to the person in the coma. Draco remembered asking Hermione if it helped or not. She just shrugged. "Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, it helps the families. They're our patients, too, at times."

"Thank you, Hannah," Draco said quietly. Hannah nodded a little, mentioned that she would be by later to check on Hermione, and vacated the room.

Draco glanced back at his son. Scorpius hadn't said anything yet, but Draco could plainly see that his son was scared. And when his son was scared, Hermione told him stories. Draco didn't know if talking to Hermione was going to help or not, but he had a story and he was certain Scorpius wasn't the only one who needed to hear it at the moment.

With a deep breath, Draco said, "Scorp, you want to hear Mummy's favorite story?" Scorp nodded. "Well, it all started many years ago in this very hospital…"