A million thanks to SaintDionysus for being my beta and pushing this story to be as heartbreaking as possible.
Also, thank you to Gryff_inthegame for providing this prompt that got the writing juices flowing.
The good news was that this was at least numbing. She wouldn't have been able to find a fractured peace in the whiskey had things been different. She'd have been nursing something else entirely.
Hermione Granger wasn't one for excessive drinking. She enjoyed having a good time, knocking back drinks with friends, but it'd been quite some time since she'd savored the sweet burn of the alcohol against the back of her throat. It'd been awhile since she'd seen her friends. Except for Ginny, barging in with her spare key, spelling the dishes to clean and put themselves away and her clothes to maintain a level of clean they shouldn't have achieved while being on her for so long. She'd even attacked her with a brush. When Hermione screamed and yelled, Ginny pinned her in a headlock and threatened to chop it all off like her own had she not held still.
Sometimes, it was worth it not to fight.
xxxxx
"Hey, I'm going to go. You should be good for while now. Harry and Ron have been asking about you. So's Mum. They're worried right sick for you."
There was silence as Hermione stared at the wall, clutching a small blanket in her hands.
"I'll let them know you're okay and tell them to stay away until you're ready."
More silence.
"He asked me to tell you he loves you. And he wants to see you."
The silence was almost painful to Hermione, tears welling in her eyes. Ginny rushed to her, pulling her into a hug.
"I'll tell him you're not ready, if that's what you still want. And no matter what you decide, I'm here for you. No questions or judgments, just a friend."
xxxxx
It was more than the others had done.
xxxxx
"Please, 'Mione, he's hurting too," Harry had said through her closed door. "You don't have to go through this alone."
She sat against the door, listening, imagining his face pressed up against the door. She wondered if Ron was with him or if he was alone. Maybe, if he was alone, she would let him in. But she couldn't remember where she'd put her wand and moving just seemed to require too much effort. She promised herself that if he knocked 3 more time, she'd let him in. He knocked more times that she could remember to keep counting.
xxxxx
She couldn't go through it with him. It drudged up too many memories. Seeing him reminded her of heavy sleeping breaths against her neck, hands framing her face, laughter at all the little things. It was impossible to remember the bad moments, except for the last worst moment.
One year, the best year of her life, too short a time to be with the one who held your heart. Now, the future seemed to promise only the worst, like the good just couldn't be enough.
The whiskey couldn't be enough. It numbed the pain, but it didn't erase it and she always woke up to the memories, having slept just long enough for the alcohol to wear off and leave her with the aching pain.
She wouldn't be drowning her sorrows, she wouldn't have lost it all — if she hadn't lost the baby.
oXoxoXo
"Hermione."
When he came, she thought it was a dream. A dream that couldn't hurt her. His voice was soft and sweet and she was able to remember the happy moments they had. It seemed the sad moments couldn't get to her here.
"Hermione."
Her eyes opened slowly, realizing he was here and she wasn't dreaming. Memories of their son swelled in her mind, making her curl in on herself, rolling away from him, but he grabbed her and pulled her close.
Sometimes, it was worth it not to fight.
The sobs came softly at first, remembering his sparkling grey eyes and tufts of curly blond hair. His eyes hadn't sparkled when they found him, lying still in his crib. She watched him, thinking for a moment he was still sleeping, but something told her it wasn't right. He was cold to the touch and limp as she scooped him into her arms. She screamed for Draco and began checking his vitals. Draco took stock of the situation and flooed them to St. Mungo's, Hermione still desperately waiting to feel a pulse, to feel a breath. Healers whisked him away, one staying with them and gently pushing them towards a private waiting area. Hermione sobbed against Draco's chest and could feel the tenseness in his arms and chest, a sure sign he was fighting own emotion. His hands clenched and unclenched behind her back and she could tell his jaw was doing the same thing. He needed her for comfort, a soft hand on his face, anything to provide some release, but she was drowning in her own despair, unable to return any measure of comfort to him. When she pulled away, spots of her hair were damp, proof he'd been unable to stem all his tears alone.
The healers finally came to the couple, hands behind their backs—in what Hermione knew to be the surgeon's pose—one that minimized fidgeting when delivering bad news. He was gone. There was nothing more they could do, truly nothing they could have done when they arrived. They would do an autopsy if they wanted, to find out why he had died suddenly. They could find no definite reasons currently. Hermione was unsure she wanted to know. Would it make it better?
xxxxx
"Do the autopsy." Hermione was surprised to hear Draco speak.
"Mr. Malfoy." A healer with the insignia of the psychiatry unit visible on his robes stepped forward. "You should know that an autopsy can cause more pain in a situation like this. If you were a carrier—"
"I am not a carrier for anything detrimental, nor is my wife." He pulled himself up to his full height, looking much like his father in that moment.
Hermione looked away as Draco said it again.
"Do the autopsy."
xxxxx
He'd regretted it every day since getting the results. A hereditary heart condition, one faulty gene, and he was gone without even a warning. They'd tested each of them, the healers wanting to help them prevent it in themselves, and Draco was the carrier.
xxxxx
"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, we've tested you both for the gene that took your son," the psychiatrist had begun before being cut off.
"Artemis. That's his name. Artemis." Hermione didn't want him to just be the baby, she wanted to remember him as her little boy.
"Yes, I'm sorry, we tested you both for the gene that Artemis had and we found that there was a carrier. Mr. Malfoy, I'm sorry, but—" He was cut off again, this time by the door slamming shut behind Draco.
xxxxx
He'd been unable to cope with the guilt he felt and disappeared for a week. Hermione hadn't known how to not silently find him to blame, despite the small voice of reason telling her there was no way he could have known, no way it was actually his fault. She felt betrayed by her husband, unable to find the forgiveness he needed from her so he could gain it from himself.
She was gone when he came back.
But now he was here, holding her in his arms, stroking her hair. The whiskey didn't cut it, but maybe this would, maybe he could.