Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.

Written for the 100 Days of Summer Competition. It won second place, yay! :)

Thanks to the admins of Dramione Fanfiction Writers for hosting this event!

Many thanks to my lovely beta, TippyLaRoux!

Sandcastles

His pale eyebrows knit together, and his lips pursed in concentration. It took all his effort to scoop the small mound of sand from the plastic shovel to the blue bucket without spilling a single grain.

Draco hid a smile behind the crook of his forefinger. He didn't want Scorpius to think his father was laughing at him. Sandcastle-making was serious business—especially to a three-year-old.

Draco leaned back on the chaise and gazed out to where the sea reached for the white sands, its foamy fingers stroking the shore in a hypnotic rhythm. The sun was at its zenith, yet its rays were gentle. They warmed the sand under his soles to a comfortable temperature. A mild breeze—tangy and salty and sweet—caressed his face and teased his hair.

It was a perfect day.

Almost. His gaze shifted back to his son, still busy collecting building materials for his little masterpiece. There was a tickle in the back of his mind—or perhaps more like an itch. The corners of Draco's lips dragged down as he shook off this peculiar feeling.

"Draco?" said a gentle voice, catching his attention.

Her brown curls whipped about her shoulders, and the skirt of her white sundress swayed above her knees. A pair of square-framed sunglasses hid her eyes. Her sweet smile grew as she approached.

Hermione had arrived—now, it was a perfect day.

"I've been waiting for you," he said. He opened his arms, inviting her to join him on the lounge. She took a step towards him, pausing briefly before closing the distance between them. Instead of settling in his arms where he longed for her to be, she perched at the edge of the seat next to his thigh and faced him.

"Something wrong?" he asked. His relaxed grin dissolved as he searched her face. "Are you upset that I took Scorp to the beach without you?" He quirked an eyebrow. "I didn't have the heart to wake you up. You don't get enough sleep as it is. He woke me up early, begging to come down and make sandcastles." He pointed to the spot several feet away, where their son was now turning the pail over to construct the castle's turret. "He's getting quite good at it. Granted, this is his fifth try, but—"

"Draco."

The muscles along his shoulders tightened at her tone—it was the one she used to deliver tragic news to her patients' loved ones. He tried to glimpse her eyes through the dark shades. "What is it, Hermione?"

"We have to go home." Her voice trembled at the word home. A tingle crawled up his spine, and he bolted up.

"What's happened?" he asked, swallowing the panic that rose from the center of his chest. "Has something happened to Mother? Father?" He grabbed Hermione by her upper arms.

Her lips blanched as they pressed into a thin line.

"Tell me!" he said, the pads of his fingers gripping onto her arms.

Hermione cleared her throat. "You—we have to go, Draco," she repeated. "We have to go home."

He growled in frustration. "Fine," he spat. "If you're not going to tell me, then let's just go. Whatever it is, I can sort it out in person." He turned to collect his son. "Let's grab Scorpius, and—"

She snatched his wrist and tugged him back. "No," she said. "We can't take him with us. Scorpius stays here."

Draco whipped around—his jaw dropped and his lips curled into a sneer. "What the hell are you saying? Leave our son?" He yanked his wrist from her grasp. Her hand fell limply at her side.

As he stomped over to Scorpius—who seemed oblivious of the commotion his parents were making—Hermione sped around the chaise and caught him once more. She forced him to look at her, locking his forearms in a vice-like grip to prevent his escape.

"Wake up, Draco!" she implored. "You have to stop this! We have to go home. I need you—we need you!"

"And I'm trying to get our son so that we can go home," he said, struggling to keep his voice level. He pulled from her grasp, but her fingers clamped down harder. "Let me go so I can grab Scorp, and then we can—"

Hermione released his arms, but her hands flew up to the sides of his face. "He's not real," she enunciated, her voice low and gravelly. "None of this is real."

He winced at her blunt words. Emotions tore through his chest—anger at the senseless words, and fear that they were coming out of his wife's mouth.

A clear, wet bead trickled down from under the black frames of her sunglasses. The blood in his veins froze. Gently, he reached up and pushed the sunglasses off her face. Her beautiful brown eyes were rimmed red; tears pooled at the corners.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, Draco. Wake up."

One Hour Earlier

Half a dozen talismans floated above his bed. Some twirled, some zoomed, and others glowed, but all indicated the same thing—her husband would not wake up. Not of his own volition, at least.

Hermione held his hand anyway as she had been doing for the past six months.

Thundering footsteps echoed down the hall, making an abrupt stop right outside the door. The doorknob jangled and squeaked. In the next instant, Harry was there, hunched over and leaning against the door frame. He looked exhausted, but his green eyes were urgent as he held out his palm.

"I got it," he rasped. He cleared his throat and spoke again. "I got it, Hermione. Those vaults were hell to break into, and even more difficult to break out of, but I got it."

She dropped Draco's hand and stumbled to Harry, reaching for the object in her friend's possession—a small vial of clear liquid. She clutched it against her chest.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Harry worried. "What if it doesn't? What if you get hurt in the process? What if—"

"What if he never wakes up?" she countered, a hint of mania tinting her voice. "Because that's what's going to happen if I don't go in and get him right now." She glanced at the talismans. They still swirled in the air as they did on the first day of Draco's admission at St. Mungo's. Back then, they rushed around in a flurry of activity, but every day, they moved slower—more sluggish, like a runner at the end of a marathon.

"I'm losing him," Hermione whispered.

Harry shook his head. "At least let someone else go in and get him. Narcissa or Lucius—hell, I'll do it!" He made to grab the vial out of her grasp, but she staggered out of his reach.

A dry chuckle escaped her throat. "Do you really think he'll listen to you?" she asked. "Even if you're friends now, he won't believe you—not about this. And you know his relationship with his parents—especially after—" She gasped, the words still sticking to her throat after all this time. "It has to be me."

"Let one of us test the potion for you—"

She held up the glass container, which was the length and circumference of her little finger. "There's not enough potion to test! And it took us this long to track this one down, and I have no bloody idea where to get more!"

Harry's eyes flickered down. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"Yes." She added, "I won't be under for long."

They stared at each other, best friends of two decades—so she knew, when he released that quiet sigh, that she had won.

"And when he wakes up?" Harry murmured. "Trying to create a Time-Turner is highly illegal, Hermione, and there's only so much I can do to shield him from the law!" He ducked his head, trying to catch her eyes as she stared at the miracle potion in her hand. "I promised to help you get him back a long time ago, but now I'm wondering if I've made the wrong choice!"

"Don't worry." She backed towards her husband's bedside. "This is going to work. And, we'll deal with—" she frowned, "—with everything once I get him back."

"Hermione—"

"He's still my husband," she interrupted, "no matter what he's done. I've promised to be there for him always, and right now, he needs me."

With a deep-set scowl, Harry nodded. He locked the door, sealing himself in with Hermione and Draco.

She uncorked the vial and grabbed Draco's chin, prying his lips apart. She tipped half the contents of the vial into his mouth and sat on the upholstered chair next to the bed.

Hermione's gaze locked on Harry.

"Be careful, Hermione," her friend warned. "Don't be long."

She downed the rest of the potion, and then closed her eyes.

Draco's hands were on her arms, his blunt nails pressing into her skin.

"Hermione," he said, his voice breaking with tension. "You—you need to tell me what the hell is going on."

Tears cascaded down her cheeks. "You're asleep," she whispered. "You've been asleep for over six months. I took a potion to enter your mind. It was the only way I could speak to you."

"What?" Draco shook his head. His eyes flickered over his surroundings, and his breaths came in short gasps. "No—"

"Draco—please listen to me," she pleaded. "You know I'm right. You know this isn't real."

His fingers dug into her arms. He swiveled his head side to side; the movement grew more violent. "No," he protested weakly.

She stared into his wide eyes.

He choked back a sob. "I'm...asleep? Where—where are we?" he whispered. "A dream?"

She shook her head, her gaze falling on the beautiful blond angel still playing in the sand. "A memory."

Draco followed her gaze. The sandcastle's turret was no longer there. The ground was flat, and, once again, Scorpius was focused on filling his bucket with wet sand. The tickle at the back of his mind became a pounding, louder and louder—until the dam broke. With fresh eyes, he realized why the tableau seemed both eerie and familiar.

"It's the same sandcastle…" he mumbled.

Hermione sagged with relief, and she nodded. "It was probably on a loop," she said, tearing her eyes away from their son. "You've likely been reliving the same memory since you've been under. That week we rented a house on the beach." A sad smile formed on her lips as she dipped into her own memories for a brief, indulgent moment.

"Why am I here?" Draco asked flatly.

She took his hands and intertwined their fingers. "You were in an accident," she said, keeping her eyes downcast. "You were trying to make a Time-Turner, and the Sands of Time contaminated your mind. You've been in a coma ever since."

He frowned, but as she gazed up at him, she saw recognition—knowledge—but also conscious denial. She prodded.

"Aren't you going ask me why you were trying to make a Time Turner?" she whispered.

His cheeks hollowed as he bit the insides of his mouth.

"Ask me, Draco."

His head shook; his fingers trembled.

She answered, anyway—he needed to hear it. She needed him to face the truth. "You were trying to save him," she murmured, pointing to their little boy. A sob escaped from her chest. "You were trying to get back to a few weeks after this day—this memory—when he was taken by someone torturing former Death Eaters and—" She gritted her teeth. "—and he died in a broom accident."

Draco bowed his head and buried his face in her hair. His tremors came in waves. Hermione stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him.

"I chased them down." His voice was wracked with grief as he recounted his newly-resurfaced memories. "I chased them down, but there was a thunderstorm. Their broom got struck by lightning, and they fell. I—I tried to catch him." He gasped. "I tried to catch him, Hermione! I tried—" He broke into a wet sob.

She sniffed, squeezing him as hard as she could. "I know you did," she replied, her voice equally drenched in misery. "You punished yourself for almost two years for what happened."

"I deserved it all, and more," he said, trying to pull back from her embrace.

Hermione held on to him tighter. "No, Draco. His death is not on your hands." She placed a finger under his chin and turned his face so they could both gaze at their Scorpius. "He was a light that was taken away from us. Our angel." Her voice grew hard as she said, "But if you let his death be the reason for you to give up your own life, you're doing him an injustice!"

"I don't want to let him go."

For an agonizing moment, she, too, was tempted to stay. To be part of this paradise for as long as she could with her son playing blissfully in the sand.

There was a flutter in her belly; with a heavy heart, she turned away from the temptation.

"There are still those of us in the real world who love you and want you back," Hermione said to her husband. "Your parents. Me." She placed his hand on her flat belly. "So does she."

His eyes jerked up to meet hers. "She?" he whispered.

Hermione nodded. "She. I was about seven weeks along with her when you had your accident."

"She," Draco repeated numbly, gazing at his hand on her abdomen in disbelief.

She pressed his palm on her belly firmly. "She needs you, Draco."

He glanced back at Scorpius, still building his sandcastle in his happy little bubble. Tears shone in Draco's eyes.

"He'll always be here," she said softly, "in your memories. He'll always stay our perfect angel. You'll never be without him."

"Can I—" He swallowed. "Can I at least say goodbye?"

Agony gripped her throat; she couldn't speak. She held his hand and led him to the spot where their angel played.

They kneeled next to him. Draco tried to wrap his arms around the boy, but his limbs went through the memory-image. An anguished cry escaped his chest, and Hermione bit her knuckle to keep from sobbing.

With a fortifying breath, Draco hovered a hand over Scorpius' chubby cheek. "I'm—I'm sorry, son," he cried softly. "I'm so sorry."

Scorpius continued to shovel sand into his pail.

"Goodbye," Draco whispered.

Hermione wrapped one arm around her husband while the other reached out for her son. On that warm sand—for the last time—they were all together.

Draco stared, his gaze drinking up the sight of his son like a camel filling up on water for a long journey through the desert. Then, he turned to her and nodded. "All right. I'll go back. For you." He caressed her belly. "For both of you."

She opened her mouth to say more—to thank him for deciding to come back to her; to tell him how much this meant to all of them; to say how much she missed him. A thousand words danced on her tongue—but he kissed her, and they faded into dust.

When he opened his eyes, the talismans above him zoomed with energy. Their presence was at the periphery of his attention, though, as his eyes locked onto his wife.

She smiled down at him, her eyes bright with tears. Her enlarged belly pressed against the side of his mattress. With great effort, he placed his palm on the swell where his daughter lay—alive and safe.

There would never again be a perfect day for Draco—but he could make it so that every day of his daughter's life would be filled with joy.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!

Prompts:

"He's still my husband, no matter what he's done." And "A thousand words danced on her tongue as she clung to him but he kissed her and they faded into dust."