Hello everyone! Thanks for clicking on my story. This is my first attempt at writing Harry Potter fanfiction, but constructive criticism is welcome. I will update every week on Saturdays unless something comes up. Happy reading!
Draco lay in his bedroom, unable to shut his mind off enough to fall asleep. He resisted the urge to take another dose of Dreamless Sleep for he feared he would become addicted to the potion. Had he been alone in life, he would have ingested a poison to end his existence months ago-but he did not have a choice. No choice. Those sympathetic enough called him The-Boy-Who-Didn't-Have-A-Choice or The-Boy-Who-Made-All-the-Wrong-Choices. What choice did he have now? He had a year old son whom he had to raise on his own. Astoria said she felt shackled in their marriage and hated her own son enough that made her demand for a divorce the moment she had given birth to Scorpius. She said she was done with their farce of a marriage and that she had bigger plans waiting for her in Paris.
One time. They had been together once together to conceive Scorpius and after that she started an affair with some unknown man in France. It hurt that she could not find comfort in him, her own husband, but the arranged marriage killed off the bit of happiness that Astoria had prior to their liaison. Her parents hated the Malfoy name when the betrothal contract had been signed, but with the lack of other male suitors at the time, the patriarch made do with the best option he had. Given her father's disposition and her mother's utter disdain, none of the Greengrass family members thought much of the divorce-on the contrary, it appeared they encouraged it. Astoria would leave the marriage with a hefty sum of money, free of the damaged son she never wanted, and could leave for France with nothing tying her down.
Draco had not seen it coming. He considered himself perceptive of his environment and thought that he could accurately read those around him, yet Astoria deceived himself so masterfully. The bed of lies she weaved… he fell for it. How could she leave? Did she truly not love her son-the boy that was so precious and angelic—that she could leave with no regrets? Apparently. The beautiful son he now fathered had a Muggle disease that impaired his learning ability-or so the healers said. In the Muggle World, it was something called Christianson Syndrome. This disorder caused Scorpius to have difficulty with coordination and limited his ability to walk-if he ever did learn to walk. He also had minor epilepsy issues and would never be able to speak proper words—he would only ever babble and make sounds as he drooled happily. Despite his disease, Scorpius always had a happy attitude and always laughed, even at the most random times. Draco had no choice but to go to Muggle hospitals for medication and proper treatments for his son as no one in the Wizarding World knew a thing about this disease. He loved his son for all his imperfections, but those imperfections drove Astoria away.
A small cry from the adjacent room brought Draco out of his musings and into reality. Scorpius. His baby boy needed him. Draco pulled himself off the bed and walked briskly down the short hallway to his son's nursery. As he reached the door, he realized that his mother had gotten there first. Narcissa cradled his son close to her breast and cooed sweet nothings to him. While her son recovered from his recent bout of depression, Narcissa came back to Malfoy Manor to help care for her grandson. She was the only active grandparent in Scorpius' life because Lucius had refused to acknowledge an imperfect heir. While he loved Draco, he could not find it in his small heart to love a boy afflicted with a Muggle disease. Narcissa paced around the nursery, continuing to whisper into her grandson's ear. After a few moments of observation, he cleared his throat and announced himself.
"Mother," said Draco. He winced at his raspy voice. Perhaps that double shot of Firewhiskey was a bad idea.
"Darling you should rest," replied Narcissa. She glanced up at her son and took in his unkempt appearance. Draco had not properly taken care of himself in months and it showed. As much as she loved her son, her grandson could not be exposed to a man who still had recovery to go through. "You ought to go shower and eat some food. Scorpius needs a healthy father." Draco stared back at her with glass eyes and slowly nodded in submission. He turned to leave the room but glanced back at his son before tearing his eyes away and retreating to the master bathroom.
Narcissa sighed softly into Scorpius' downy hair and gave his forehead a feather-light kiss. "What are we going to do about your father, little one?"
Hermione Granger looked up from her spot on the living room floor and glanced at the time. It was approaching 5:30 and Harry would come promptly at 6:00 to pick up his eldest son from her care. Three-year-old James Sirius Potter slept quietly in the crib after a long afternoon of flying around her flat, breaking several toy soldiers, and eating through a full pack of Gold Fish. Truly adorable, but Hermione knew that she would soon no longer be able to care for him.
It had been a few years since the end of the war but the scars still remained. Hermione, like the rest of her friends, suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. She dreamt nightly about her torture at Malfoy Manor and the faces of the many who died at the Battle of Hogwarts. Bellatrix Lestrange cropped up quite frequently. Her face, along with another unnamed Death Eater's face haunted her nights and days. Contrary to what the wizarding public thought, Bellatrix was not the only person who tortured her in that household. The unnamed Death Eater had raped her in that short amount of time it took for the boys to break out of their cell. And none of the Malfoys helped. Each of them stood and watched the atrocity unfold. She wanted to find it in her heart to forgive the platinum blond that had once called her awful names and scorned her blood status, but she could not find it in her at the moment. She had let go of some of her anger towards Narcissa Malfoy for she had set up Harry in the optimal position to defeat Voldemort, even if it was for selfish reasons.
In the aftermath of the war, she had a healer from St. Mungos examine her for extensive injuries. Fleur had done her best at Shell Cottage to fix her up, but she still had to check and see if she were pregnant. Fortuitously, lady luck was on her side and she turned out negative for that. Life had gone on after that day. Her initial kiss with Ron solidified in her head that while she cared for Ron, she certainly could not date him. Hermione made her boundaries clear with Ron and he acquiesced to her feelings. She assisted in the re-building of Hogwarts and worked returned to finish her seventh year at Hogwarts. It was a few days after her graduation that she felt off. She had strange abdominal pains and felt fatigued and bloated every day. When she reflected, Hermione realized she could not remember the last time she had her period.
The healers at St. Mungos could not figure out what her disease was so she consulted Muggle doctors and their science. A week after she graduated from Hogwarts, Hermione received her diagnosis: ovarian cancer. After that appointment, she went home and cried at her misfortune. She knew that she had a fair chance at survival, but it shocked her into seclusion. When Harry and Ron realized her reclusiveness, they inquired and found out about her condition. Both were thrown at the unexpected bombshell, but promised to be there for her through her battle. Why oh why? What did she do to deserve this? She had begun treatment for her affliction immediately and had taken all the medicine prescribed but they were not working efficiently. Consequently, her doctors recommended her to stay in the hospital for closer observation. She would start intensive treatment tomorrow in a Muggle hospital and would have to face her problems tomorrow. She wished she could divorce herself from this disease, but she had no choice. No choice.
6:00 rolled around and the Floo in her fireplace roared to life and admitted one Harry Potter into her living room. He smiled ruefully at her and gave her a tight embrace.
"Feel okay Hermione?" he asked. Harry had stopped by every day since her diagnosis and Hermione thought it rather sweet of him.
"Stop fretting Harry. I will see the doctors tomorrow, but for now, leave it alone," Hermione replied. Harry frowned a little at her abrupt dismissal of the elephant in the room. He scooped up his sleeping son with one arm and touched her wrist with the other. "Regardless of what happens, we love you 'Mione." Hermione cracked a small smile at his words and Harry went on his way. She turned and trekked to the kitchen where her medicine bottles sat waiting for her on the counter. Well, if I die, I certainly will not die alone.