Sunlight

It's the Same Waiting

Sunlight streamed through window, lighting up the entire room, giving the room an eerie cheerfulness. Draco Malfoy closed strode over to the window and shut the blinds. How could there be joy, cheerfulness, beauty in the world when Hermione was lying on the bed, clinging desperately to life?

He sat down beside her bed in St. Mungo's and took 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 lying in the hospital bed. Gently, he pressed his lips to her hand.

"Malfoy," he heard Potter call to him. Scarhead spent 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."

Before he finished, 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, "Scorpius has been asking about you and Hermione. Maybe you should tell him everything's going to 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?" said Draco, his voice conveying his irritation. 

Potter glared at him. "It might improve on your mood."

"I'm sorry if I'm not a ray of sunshine, Potter, while my wife is fighting for her life."

"The Healer said that she should wake up within the next day or so. She's going to be fine," Potter said. Draco had never hated Potter more than at this moment.

"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 wondering what he was going to tell his son.

------

Scorpius sat 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. 

Scorpius' grey eyes lit up the moment that Draco entered the house.

The four-year-old rushed over to where Draco was standing. Draco pulled the child in a warm embrace. Glancing 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 change 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 everyone 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.