This is written for the QLFC training camp - round 2.

I'm chaser one for the Banchory Bangers.

Main prompt: Write about your OTP dealing with death.

Extra prompts: Unravel, coated, and a flashback scene.

WARNINGS: THIS DOES DEAL WITH A STILLBORN DEATH. PLEASE TAKE CAUTION. I TRIED TO USE THE LEAST AMOUNT OF DETAILS AS POSSIBLE, BUT IT CAN STILL AFFECT THOSE.

[WC: 1214]

People always said that there is a light at the end of each tunnel - I've yet to find mine. They say time heals all wounds, that patience is key in dealing with these matters - especially with her. They say that the mother of our child, would be taking it harder; I say we're dealing with it the same.

She doesn't leave the nursery anymore - the nursery that never got to see the child it was built for. My mother helps her eat, helps her bathe, helps her live through the pain. My father wallows in misery with me, seeking help from the bottle together.

We shouldn't have been dealing with this, our lives were going fine. We both have a stable income, a stable home; we used to have a loving life. It's been dark since that day three months ago.

"Draco… It's time!" shouted Hermione.

I looked up from the papers on my desk in the study. I was trying to finish the contract for our new partner, but it looked like our little one wanted to arrive now.

Hermione had been having contractions for the last few hours, and being as stubborn as she was, she wanted to wait until the last possible moment.

I rushed to my beautiful wife - she looked frantic. Water was slowly dripping down her legs, and she was slightly bent over the bed holding her side. Even though she was in pain, she was so strikingly beautiful.

Checking she was okay, I grabbed the overnight bag that held clothes for us and the baby. I wrapped my arm around her and helped support her to the fireplace.

When she was comfortable and ready, I grabbed a handful of Floo powder and shouted our destination: "St. Mungo's!"

We swirled in a colorful array of greens, until we were spit out at the grate. I helped Hermione into a chair as I ran up to the receptionists desk.

"My wife… Hermione Granger-Malfoy, she's in labour! We have a private room in the labour ward, with Healer Monroe!" I practically shouted at her.

"Okay, Mr. Malfoy. Head on up to Floor 6, room number 421. I'll have a nurse come with you with a wheelchair."

I waited for the said nurse, it was a blur when she arrived and helped Hermione into the rolling chair. I barely remember walking with them, riding the lift, or arriving in the room.

I remember nurses and healers running in and out of the room. I remember holding Hermione's hand, telling her the breathing techniques, watching her push our little one out.

I know from the books I read with Hermione, that once the head's out, they clean it's little nose and mouth out, allowing the baby to take in its first breath of air.

I remember seeing them do just that - what I don't remember is its little lungs screaming. It never wailed. I saw them as the baby slid the rest of the way out.

I saw them rush to a side room, refusing us to see our baby.

"Where are you taking my baby!" Hermione shouted.

I remember her voice cutting through my haze. After that, everything came crashing down.

'Was he okay?'

'Where is he?'

"Why aren't they letting us hold him?'

"What's wrong with him?'

Thoughts ran across my mind, each one more brutal than the last. I numbly collapsed in the chair by my wife. My beautiful, panic-stricken wife. I remember reaching out and grasping her hand once more.

It seemed like hours had went by when the Healer finally exited the room. He checked that the nurse did the stiches the correct way from where he had to cut her in labour. I watched with bated breath as he pulled over his stool to sit by us.

"I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. We've tried everything Magical and Muggle to help your son. Sometimes, we can't help what happens. His lungs never cooperated, he never took his first breath. I'm so sorry for your loss. Nurse Holly will bring him out for you to hold. If you would like, we also have a special photographer to take photos of him with you both. A special Healer will also come in to talk about loss, and how to cope with it. Here comes Nurse Holly now."

I still remember how his words were like a mountain of ice. Each word an avalanche that crushed my being, each word coated my heart in sorrow, each word carved my soul in loss. I wanted to run, but I couldn't without Hermione. But now, that's exactly what we were doing - my father and I.

I glanced down at my tumbler, it was empty again. I got up to refill it, grabbing my dad's glass on the way.

The memories always rushed back when I was sober. I know I'm weak for not confronting it head on like Hermione - but I lack her courage. I lack everything that makes a person strong.

No, my mother was constantly with her, helping her along. It should be me.

It should be me helping her get through the pain, helping her get through her own days of sorrow.

But its not.

I need to be strong - for Hermione, for myself, for our son.

The answer was right there in my face. I slammed our glasses down and stormed out of the room, ignoring my fathers shouts. I ran to our wing, turning haphazardly into our bedroom. His mother and Hermione weren't in there. I quickly head inside our bathroom, to find Hermione in the bath sobbing uncontrollably, while mother was rubbing her back with a sponge.

The scene broke me - it washed over me, tearing at my senses. Everything unraveled. My life, my love, my wife; why can't I be strong enough for her?

I walked over to the large claw tub and fell to my knees beside my mother, taking the sponge for her. She knew without speaking that she wasn't needed anymore at that moment.

I waited until she shut the door behind her before stripping off my clothes. I climbed into the tub behind Hermione, and pulled her flush against me.

I let her re-adjust herself to wear she was laying on her side on top of me. I swept her hair over and ran the soaking sponge across her body.

We sat like that till the water ran cold. Our shallow breathing and the sloshing of water the only sound in our ensuite bathroom. The scent of honeydew and sandalwood invaded my nose from her hair.

We may not be whole - but we are alive.

I may not be strong - but I can be for her.

Our days may be bleak and dark, but one day, the sun may shine back through. I'll be able to see the beautiful smile on her face, how her eyes light up and her cheeks fill with blush.

We'll never forget our son that never was. But one day, we'll give him a little brother or sister.

We will get through this.