Hello, all! I went back to school this week so I've been holding off posting this chapter until I've finished Chapter 6, but here you go. The next one might take a while though, but it will kick off the next part, Noon.
Thanks so much for the lovely reviews! Might I ask for more?
Happy reading.
Dawn – Part V
London, February 2
Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak off himself and slung it over his arm, relieved by his second successful attempt in less than 24 hours to sneak into St. Mungo's. The hospital wouldn't activate its Floo Network until visiting hours began, and it was only 6 AM. The sneaking in was necessitated by the hordes of reporters who had been camped outside even before midnight, when Baby Malfoy was born.
Recognizing him, the guard didn't search him nor did the receptionist ask him to sign in as he rushed past them to the elevators. The hospital's wide, white corridors were empty and quiet, until he reached the wing of the sixth floor that housed private rooms. Everyone was clustered outside Hermione's room, unnervingly silent. He easily spotted Ron, standing by a window and tapping his wand on the sill, red-eyed and unusually pale. On the plastic chairs, Neville had his arm around Luna, whose head rested on Neville's shoulder and who appeared to be asleep. Both were still in sleepwear under their coats.
When she spotted Harry approaching, Molly stretched out her arms. She, as well as everyone else, had been here since Malfoy sent word that Hermione was in labour, nearly twelve hours ago. She put her hands on his face.
"How's Ginny?"
"She's fine," Harry replied. "Worried. I finally got her to sleep. People are spreading the most ridiculous lies."
He had gone home for a couple of hours to update Ginny on Hermione's condition, and because the entire situation had made him desperate to check on his two sons. He hadn't expected that she would be asleep, but he found his wife sitting at the kitchen counter, listening intently to the radio, in tears. Seeing his ashen face, Ginny threw her arms around him and cried all the more.
"Harry, please. Please tell me it isn't true," she pleaded, eyes desperately searching his face. "The radio said Hermione was dead."
Harry's nostrils flared. "Merlin, no, Ginny, of course it isn't true!"
"I'm sorry, but you've been gone all night! What's going on? How is she?"
And Harry cried, too. "Unconscious. She fell under right after the baby was born."
Ginny had released him, wrapping her arms around herself as her body shuddered with sobs. He told her what little he knew when she calmed down enough to ask. No potions, she did it all by herself. Yes, your parents are there. No, I haven't seen her.
No one had. For the past six hours, Draco had holed himself up in Hermione's room. He hadn't expressly barred them from entering, but for the first few hours, the consensus was to give Malfoy space. Honestly, none of them knew how to comfort him, or if he would accept their consoling, at all.
It seemed that the situation hadn't changed, although there were new arrivals. Beside George sat Blaise and Tracy Zabini, impeccably dressed and unruffled, as usual. They were Draco's only people there at present, but Zabini was Draco's best friend, and Harry became hopeful that there was finally someone who would know how to handle him.
Blaise and Harry shook hands. "Thanks for coming," said Harry.
"Wouldn't miss it."
"Have you spoken with him?"
Zabini pursed his lip, then shook his head. "No one's been in there but the nurses. Look, Potter, I know you all want to see Hermione. So do I, but it's really best to just leave Draco alone for a while."
"It's been six bloody hours!" Ron yelled from his spot by the window. Molly put her hand on his arm. "He's not the only one who cares about her!"
Ron voiced out what Harry had been thinking the past six hours. He was desperate to see for himself that Hermione was living and breathing. At the same time, he wasn't sure he could bare seeing his best friend in whatever state she was currently in. The only way he knew Hermione was as the strong, stalwart pillar to whom everyone clung when things went wrong.
Now things had gone wrong for her, and none of them knew how to handle it. It was shameful.
"Mr. Weasley, would you mind calming yourself?" the stern voice of Lucius Malfoy echoed down the corridor. He was walking towards them, with Narcissa on his arm, their shoes and his cane clicking on the polished floor. "The hospital has kindly allowed us to be here at this hour, and we would not want to give them a reason to turn us out."
Hermione had been given the best of St. Mungo's – a private room and extended guest privileges, included – the entire time, thanks to the Malfoys' influence. When Harry had left, Lucius and Narcissa were terrorizing the Healers who had attended on Hermione, going on about the welfare of the new-born Malfoy, and how they could have allowed anything to go wrong, especially after the hospital's best Healers were summoned in the middle of the night..
"Post-natal comatose isn't unusual," Hermione's primary Healer had said. "We did everything we could for Mrs. Malfoy, but she had a particularly difficult labour and haemorrhaged. She lost consciousness after going into cardiac arrest, because her body is trying to cope. There is nothing more we can do but allow her to heal."
But they weren't sure if she would.
"Did you get anything more from the Healers?" Harry asked the Malfoys.
"No," Narcissa replied. "We've come from the nursery."
Molly gasped. "You've seen the baby? How is she? Did you get to hold her?"
Narcissa spoke in an awed whisper. "She's the smallest, most fragile thing I've ever seen."
"She looks like her grandmother," Lucius supplied.
"She looks like my son when he was born. We couldn't hold her because she's in an incubator. The nurses said she'll have to stay in it for a week, at the least, and until the week passes," Narcissa's voice hitched, "she's in critical condition."
Hermione had been in a panic when her water broke, because the baby was coming two months too early. Her distress had aggravated her condition, Harry realized.
"If you'd like to see her, tell the nurses you're there for Baby Malfoy, and they shouldn't give you a problem," Lucius advised.
Everyone's eyes fell to the floor.
"It doesn't feel right for us to see her before Draco," said Molly.
Narcissa gave her an appreciative nod. "My poor boy. He hasn't slept or eaten."
"He won't want to move until she wakes up," Blaise told them. "And he isn't going to see the baby without Hermione."
Harry became agitated. "That's ridiculous. This is ridiculous. Draco isn't going to hex us if we go in there."
"By all means, you're the saviour," Blaise drawled. "Go ahead."
"I will," Harry declared. He took a deep breath as he opened the door and slipped inside.
The room was dark, the rising sun merely peeking through the drawn blinds. Hermione's brown curls were spread over her pillow, the only thing that seemed natural enough for him to almost ignore the blue bubble covering her nose and mouth, and the round white pads attached to her temples, which monitored brain activity. Tubes stuck out from her arm and throat. She was dressed in a clean, standard hospital gown, covered up to her waist by a blanket. One hand rested on her stomach, which was still slightly round. The other, the one with Bellatrix Lestrange's memento carved on the forearm, had been claimed by her husband, who sat hunched in a chair beside her bed with his forehead pressed to the back of her hand. He didn't look up when Harry came in, nor as he approached the bed.
Harry wished he had come up with a plan before marching in. Malfoy's usually neat hair was mussed. He had haphazardly thrown his suit jacket and tie over a sofa, and the plain white shirt he wore, with the sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone, was wrinkled. Harry realized that he hadn't seen Draco Malfoy looking this unkempt since the war, nor helpless.
"You need a break, Draco."
"I'm not the one in a coma, Potter. I'm fine." His head was still bent over Hermione's hand.
"You can't just stay cooped up here. You've been awake for more than a day. Go home, eat, get some sleep – the rest of us are here."
Malfoy lifted his head. His eyes were sunken, cheeks hollow, and his skin had a grey pallor, but he looked Harry straight in the eye. "The last thing she said was my name. She said 'Draco.' She called for me right before she lost consciousness – not you, not the Weasleys, not my parents."
"We don't love her any less than you do," Harry said calmly. "We aren't any less worried. We want to see her, but we've all been in the corridor all night because we wanted to give you time. At least you've seen her. Her parents are still in your house – you know they can't enter the hospital. They haven't had any news since last night. If you won't go home to take care of yourself, you have to at least see them and let them know how their daughter is doing."
"My parents can – "
"No, Draco," Harry said firmly. "They have to hear it from you. And you should check up on your daughter before you see the Grangers. They should know they have a granddaughter."
"I won't see her before Hermione can."
"Then just ask the Healers about her. Or your mother. Your parents have already visited her," Harry told him, hoping that talking about his child would persuade Draco to move. "She's been in an incubator this whole time, and she hasn't been held by family since she was born. She must be terrified. She needs you, too. Hermione wouldn't want you to ignore her."
"I'm not ignoring her! I can't leave Hermione, and I can't see our daughter without her!" Draco roared. "And stop talking about my wife as if she's gone. She's right here, she's going to wake up soon, and I'll be damned if I miss it." His jaw was visibly quivering, and he pressed his mouth to Hermione's hand to hide it, resuming watch on her face.
Harry sighed. "Look, I understand that you want to be here when she wakes up, but the Healers say it won't be for a while. Or for a couple of days, even. Just take a few hours off, and you can come right back here. We won't leave her alone, Draco, I promise."
When Draco didn't budge, Harry pulled up a chair beside his, sat and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and stared at Hermione's slumbering form, joining the vigil.
"I apologize for raising my voice," Draco murmured. Harry wasn't sure if Draco was talking to him, or to Hermione. "The Healers said she can hear us. They told me she's in there and she can feel everything. She'll know if I'm not here."
Harry decided that it was best to keep Draco talking. "What else did they tell you?" he asked, not entirely expecting an answer.
"She's in there, but if this goes on any longer, she might not be herself when she wakes up."
If she wakes up. The words Draco didn't say hung over both men.
"Can you imagine that, Potter?" Draco said, suddenly louder. "She's been petrified, she's been tortured, she survived a war, but this had to be the one thing that defeated her. Would you have ever imagined?"
Harry's heart had skipped a beat when he saw the state Hermione was in when she was brought to hospital, and he actually felt scared. He got to St. Mungo's right when all the Malfoys did, and witnessed Hermione Granger having a panic attack for the first time in probably both his and her lives. Tears were running down her pale, clammy face, and her hands were shaking as she gripped Draco's, refusing to let go even as she was put in a wheelchair and brought to a private room. When Malfoy's eyes met his momentarily, Harry could see that the man was doing no better than his wife. The Medi-witches warned them that they would have to sedate Hermione if her heart rate and breathing didn't stabilize soon. Knowing that Hermione wanted to give birth without potions that could harm the baby, Draco held her and kissed her shaking hands until they stilled, and she stopped hyperventilating enough for her to tell her husband that his tie was askew. The tightness in Harry's chest was relieved then.
Until the Healers exited the delivery room to tell them that Hermione was comatose, Harry had been convinced that she would be one of those women who breeze through labour, deliver without any issue, and be out the door the next day. Hermione Granger would ace childbirth, because that was how she did everything. Ginny had cried and cursed at him with every contraction for both of their boys. For six hours, Hermione only conversed calmly with Draco and her visitors. She had even been in a good enough state – at least, mentally – to trade inside jokes with her husband. It usually confounded Harry how much Malfoy's dry, Slytherin humour had rubbed off on Hermione, but last night, he had taken it as a sign that she was going to be alright, though he could tell that she was having a harder time than his wife ever did.
But Ginny had been up and about less than twenty-four hours after both James and Albus, and his unbeatable best friend was the one lying in front of him, looking the most vulnerable Harry had ever seen her. Now that he was seated close enough, he could see the prominent shadows under her eyes, and how pale her lips were under the blue bubble. If her appearance shook him to the core with the fear of losing his best friend, how could he offer sympathy to the man who was on the brink of losing both his wife and child?
"I didn't want to come in here, you know," Harry admitted. "I've never seen Hermione with the flu, and I didn't think I could stand seeing her like this. Everyone relies on her, and that's how she likes it. She likes to be strong, she likes to be invincible for the ones she loves.
"And she was, wasn't she, Draco? She handled everything better than Ginny, for sure. She gritted her teeth and held on because she loves your daughter and you. I believe the Healers that she's aware and alive inside, but her body can't keep up with that tireless mind of hers all the time. She's going to be fine, but she needs you to do everything she can't right now. At least on the outside, you have to be strong for her and your baby, and you can't do that if your body fails you, too. She doesn't want you to drive yourself into a hospital bed next to hers, Malfoy.
"And I don't think she minds if you get to see your daughter before her. I think Hermione would rather you check on her and make sure she's got everything she needs. She," Harry swallowed. "She isn't in the clear yet."
"All I know of my daughter is that she weighs two pounds, thirteen ounces, and that she's probably only as long as my forearm."
"Your mother's been pulling all the strings she can, and the Healers are doing everything they can for her, but they're waiting for you to make further decisions about her treatment."
Draco didn't respond to that. Harry shifted in his seat, remembering the cloak folded over his arm.
He held it out to Draco, who finally tore his eyes from Hermione to see what Potter was offering him. "If you decide to take a break, you're going to need this to get out of the hospital. The Floo's still down, and it's a circus outside."
"You're not going to give me any peace until I agree to leave, aren't you?"
"She would kill me, otherwise."
Draco continued to eye the cloak, his jaw clenched. A muscle in his cheek visibly twitched before he took the cloak from Harry, whom he stared straight in the eye.
"Swear to me that she won't be alone for a second, Potter."
Harry nodded. "Hermione will never be alone," he promised, extending the oath to the rest of Hermione's life.
Draco repeatedly kissed Hermione's limp hand, a silent sorry for having to leave her side, among the multitude of things he felt guilty for. Then he stood, gingerly pushed her bangs away from her forehead, on which he pressed a cautious kiss.
"I wanted to ask you not to wake up without me," he whispered against her cold skin, "but I'd rather you woke up as fast as you can. I won't be gone for long, so you better work your magic quickly, Granger."
He folded the hand he was holding over the other one on her stomach, and raised the blanket higher.
"If anything changes – "
"I'll keep you posted," Harry said. Draco inclined his head gratefully to him and headed out the door, but not without shooting another pained glance at Hermione.
He was met by several pairs of tired eyes when he stepped out into the corridor. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley both stood, Ron pocketed his wand, and Luna untangled herself from Longbottom. His mother raised a hand to her mouth.
To his surprise, Blaise and Tracy were there. He didn't know they had arrived. His friend approached him and held out a hand.
"The gang send their regards," offered Blaise.
The corner of Draco's lips twitched. "Sure they do. Potter kicked me out. I'm going home for a while, but thanks for coming," Draco said to him. To everyone, "Thank you all for staying. You can go in and see her, if you want to."
Draco made for the elevators before anyone – Molly – could attack him with solace, but he would have to walk past his parents. Lucius stood his ground with a worried look in his eyes, but a teary-eyed Narcissa stopped Draco and made to touch his face.
"Oh, my boy," she almost sobbed.
"Please don't, Mother," Draco said, and Narcissa's hand fell to her side. It would be so easy for him to throw himself into his mother's arms and let her soothe and coddle him like she had when he was a child, but he hadn't been a child for a long time, and now, he had one of his own. Potter was right – he needed to be strong for both Hermione and their daughter, and he wasn't about to break down to his parents and let them know that he was so terrified that he couldn't figure out what to do.
Draco swept past his parents and into the elevators, digging his nails into Potter's cloak. He knew what it was, and he threw it over himself before the doors dinged open.
The frenzy that greeted him as he stepped into the street made him fume. People treated him and Hermione as if they held the right to know about every detail of their lives, or the right to speculate about them and predict their actions as if they knew them. His daughter was only a few hours old, but she was going to be subjected to the same treatment, too, because of whose child she was.
Not wanting to delve into the crowd, even with the Invisibility Cloak, Draco Disapparated right outside the hospital doors and into the foyer of Malfoy Manor. An elf in a little green sweater was there to receive him.
"This is Mr. Potter's," Draco told the elf, handing him the cloak. "I'll need it again when I leave."
"Yes, Master. Madam Malfoy's parents are in the morning room. Will Master be joining them for breakfast?"
Despite the aching hunger, Draco wasn't sure he could stomach food. Or seeing Hermione's parents so soon.
Nonetheless, he ran through the manor's corridors and stairs, almost ramming through the doors of the room where the family customarily broke their fast. Philip and Helen Granger looked at him with startled eyes, before scraping their chairs back and springing towards him.
Helen reached him first, but stepped back when she got a good look of his face. Her round, brown eyes were red and swollen. She had rolled her hair into a quick chignon, so haphazardly that a few curls fell around her face. As she stared at him, she chewed on her quivering lower lip. Hermione did the same thing when she was uncertain about anything.
He had stared at virtually the same face for hours, and as he met Helen's eyes, he remembered willing Hermione's similar ones to open. His mother-in-law had mild crinkles around hers, and the lines on her forehead were pronounced as her brow furrowed. Would he get to see Hermione look exactly as her mother did at this moment, at this age?
With that thought, everything Draco had been holding back since the night before could be suppressed no longer. It started with a single tear rolling down his cheek, but Helen immediately caught him and pressed his head down to her shoulder.
She cried with him.
"Don't you think you should have gone home with Draco, Mr. Malfoy?"
Lucius raised a brow at the man with messy black hair, who sat across him on the other side of his daughter-in-law's bed. This stare-off they were having was vaguely familiar, and Harry Potter still looked like the petulant twelve-year-old who poked his nose into things that didn't concern him.
"I mean, you haven't slept, either."
"Neither have you, Mr. Potter," Lucius drawled. "We are all in the same, proverbial boat."
If someone had told him – right at that moment when the twelve-year-old Potter tricked him into freeing his elf – that he and Potter would be brought together in a hospital room by his Muggleborn daughter-in-law, Lucius would have sent that person flying all the way from Hogwarts to St. Mungo's.
"Besides, Narcissa insists on hovering over the child, and Draco would not have stood for his mother and myself to leave his wife's side while he is gone."
"Are you avoiding going home because the Grangers are there?" Potter blurted out. His cheek was appalling.
"I have just become a grandfather to the most perfect infant girl, who could not have been born of a better set of parents. She happens to be a Half-blood," Lucius sneered. "Do you think that matters to me, Mr. Potter?"
"Good that it doesn't."
"I know you have some sort of saviour complex, but Hermione is a Malfoy now, and if there's anything this family is good at, it's looking out for one another."
"While that's true," rang the voice of Narcissa, who just entered the room, "it's almost noon, and Draco should be back shortly. He shan't hesitate to send both of you out if he happens upon you bickering in front of his wife." She waltzed over to Lucius and draped a slender arm over the back of his chair. "Won't your wife miss you, Harry?"
"I've been meaning to give her a call, actually," Harry said pleasantly, knowing that it would irk Lucius, how well he got along with Narcissa. "But I lent Draco my cloak, and Muggle phones don't work inside."
Husband and wife exchanged baffled looks, and Harry took the chance to stare at them. Ogle, more like. The Malfoys were undeniably the most put-together of Hermione's party – they didn't even look like they'd spent an entire sleepless night in a hospital, at all. Hermione told him before that the Malfoys liked to dress for dinner, which explained the especially conspicuous evening garb. For Mrs. Malfoy, at least, who wore a knee-length dress that had a wide, flouncy skirt. It was blue, like her eyes, and embroidered in a floral pattern. Lucius was in his standard black, and that coupled with his cane made him look all the more like the grim reaper.
Harry shuddered. He still found it hard to believe that his grounded, no-nonsense best friend lived with this sort of fanciness, let alone was related to them.
"This is such a difficult time. We're so very fond of her, and so grateful that you're here," said Narcissa earnestly, "but you don't have to stay. We do not want to keep you from your family."
"Hermione is my family," Harry quickly answered. "We're the closest thing the other's got to siblings. And I promised Draco I wouldn't leave her till he gets back."
Narcissa folded her dainty hands in concession. "Well, thank you, Harry. Meanwhile, if you'd like to step out to call your wife, I can arrange for you to be given access to the roof. Would that serve?"
Harry shot a nervous glance at Hermione first, but nodded. "That would be great, thanks."
"Of course," said Narcissa, elegantly gesturing to the door. "Allow me to walk you out; it's almost feeding time at the nursery, anyway, and I'd like to be there for it. Darling," she called to Lucius, "you'll be alright with Hermione for a while, won't you?"
She led Harry out the door before Lucius could reply.
Mr. Malfoy almost jumped when the contraption hooked up to his daughter-in-law's head beeped. He narrowed his eyes at it and saw that there was an unusual spike on the screen.
"I'll take that to mean that you're awake," he told her, then caught himself. "Or rather, that indefatigable brain of yours is. This is your father-in-law speaking, though I suppose you can tell.
"You can thank me later for stopping Narcissa from casting cosmetic charms on you. She's itching to magic those dreadful circles under your eyes, apparently so although you will certainly feel like hell when you wake, at least you won't look like it. The Healers say that won't happen for quite a while, but I'm telling you now that you can give up the charade because you've proven your point – everything, everyone, my son falls apart without you.
"However, if you're refusing to wake because you're scared to face me, because you've gotten it in your excessively clever head that I am disappointed that my first grandchild is not male, for once in your life, Ms. Granger, you are wrong. Frankly, I find her more endearing than I did my own son at his birth. I've taken to thinking of her as our miniature Narcissa, though she's yet to open her eyes, so she may have yours or Draco's. Mine, really. I should warn you, though – the Malfoy genes are quite dominant.
"Summon that blasted Gryffindor courage of yours and face the world, Ms. Granger. My mother didn't hold a fraction of interest in me as you so obviously do for my granddaughter, and look how I turned out. Draco, for all his good intentions, won't be able to raise a child as well as he can if he had your help and you know it, and that's why I'm sure you're going to be alright. You were tortured by that demented sister-in-law of mine and didn't lose your wits, but we all will if you aren't around. I won't allow it, Ms. Granger. We Malfoys never lose one of our own."
"I didn't know you were so attached to my wife, Father."
Draco was leaning against the door, hands in the pockets of his heavy marled wool coat. He had changed into freshly pressed grey trousers and a black jumper. His hair was in its usual, slick coif.
"She's an acquired taste, but she has grown on me," Lucius said flippantly. He didn't even deny it; Draco had to smirk. "I almost miss hearing her order you around."
"I could do with a spot of that, as well." Draco laid his coat on the back of a chair. He stood over Hermione, then brought his face closer to hers. He looked over her sleeping face before kissing her cheek. Nothing had changed in his absence.
"The elves wanted to let Mother know that the nursery is finished," he told his father.
"I will pass it on to her. Have they moved all your and Hermione's belongings from your flat?"
"Yes," Draco replied. "It was quite strange, sleeping in my old room again."
"I'm glad you finally slept."
"Barely."
That much was obvious. Draco's face looked no better than it did when he left.
"And did you make sure the Grangers have everything they need?"
"What they need is to see their daughter," Draco snapped, "but this bloody hospital won't allow it."
"Believe me, my boy, your mother has done her best, but letting the Grangers in is the one thing the hospital can't let us have," said Lucius.
The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy barred Hermione's Muggle parents from St. Mungo's. Having to hide magic always incensed Lucius's Pureblood sensibilities, but not even the hospital's most generous benefactors could skirt around the law, especially given the Malfoys' past record.
"Don't call me that," Draco said through clenched teeth. "You and Mother must stop calling me that. I am not a boy anymore."
"You are certainly acting like one, Draco," Lucius retorted. "It's as if you've forgotten that you were a fully functioning man before Hermione. She didn't marry a little boy who's afraid to meet his own child."
It was a little harsh, but Lucius knew his son and how to push him, especially now that it was for his granddaughter's sake.
"I'm going to bring your mother home. We both need rest. We'll return in a few hours, alright?"
Draco stiffly nodded. He had lost himself watching his wife, latched onto her hand once more.
"Your mother doesn't want to leave because of the child's condition, so in order to persuade her, I will tell her that you yourself will keep tabs on your daughter," Lucius informed his son. He fastened his cloak and tapped his cane on the floor twice before opening the door, as was his habit.
Draco always looked at Hermione the same way. Lucius had no idea that his son, who was so much like himself, could love so intensely, nor did he know from where Draco learned how. He was definitely not around to display affection for Narcissa enough to influence Draco during his formative years. The Muggleborn girl's pull must be that strong.
"Go see your daughter, Draco," Lucius ordered. His voice was still firm, but with less bite. "She's absolutely beautiful, and worth all this. I have never felt prouder of you than when I saw her, son."
February 3
The next day, Draco still hadn't obeyed his father's request. He had gone back to Malfoy Manor again to have dinner and a shower while Ginny watched Hermione, but he came back within an hour and parked himself on his usual chair by her side. Sometime during the night, he had leaned closer to her and fallen asleep without noticing, his head resting on the edge of the bed, hand still wrapped around hers. He was awoken by a bright glint near his eyes, so bright that he could see it through his closed lids.
Draco lifted his head from the mattress, looking around. The nurses must have come in not too long ago and drawn the blinds he had kept closed since yesterday morning. Outside the window, London looked as grey as ever, but the first rays of the sun shone through the tall buildings and into the hospital room. What had woken him was the sunlight bouncing off the two rings on Hermione's left hand.
How poetic.
He had not proposed to her with a ring from the family collection. Hermione Granger deserved more than that. She was his fresh start, and deserved something untainted by his ancestry that showed her that she meant more to him than a priceless jewel can say. The ring was not less precious, of course. More than a hundred tiny diamonds were arranged in a gold frame carved in the shape of the sun. That's what she was to him.
The sun had risen enough to light up Hermione's face, and despite the tubes and patches, Draco's breath hitched at the sight. The first morning that he had woken up with Hermione beside him, he couldn't understand how he survived doing otherwise all his life. It always complemented her, the sun. It shone on her like it knew that she was its kin.
Suddenly, he wondered if his daughter would be that lovely, bathed in sunlight.
He already guessed that she was blonde, unlike her mother, based on Lucius's testimonies. She looked like his mother, whom he looked like, and he was worried by the implication that his daughter might inherit the parts of his personality that he didn't like.
Truth be told, the things he liked about himself would be a short list.
Presently, he hated that his daughter was already twenty-six hours old, yet he still hadn't seen her. How could he bare it? Potter had mentioned not being able to see Hermione as broken as she currently was. Draco felt the same about his child. At this point, he couldn't figure out who between mother and daughter was in a more precarious state.
But he loved her. That he was already, completely certain of from the start. He loved her from the moment Hermione told him that they were going to be parents, and he loved her so much that the prospect of being a father to her terrified him.
He was already failing her. She was in danger, and there was nothing he could do for her. It reminded him of the day before, when he'd finally looked Hermione's father in the eye and howled "I'm sorry" repeatedly. Draco had promised never to let any harm come to Philip's daughter when he married her, but he couldn't keep her safe. His two girls were in this fight together, without him, and he had never felt more alone.
Hermione was unconscious, but their daughter wasn't. Was she feeling as lonely as he did? Did she already miss the parents who had never even held her?
Draco kissed the ring on Hermione's finger, and slowly walked to the door. He glanced back at her before actually heading out, which had become a habit – she might wake up while his back was turned, and he loved how she always looked at him whenever she awoke, like she couldn't have chosen anything better to lay her eyes on first.
The nursery was on the same floor. Draco walked past a wide window through which he saw a roomful of infants. They were all swaddled alike, and he wondered if he would be able to tell which one was his. An office was attached to the nursery. Three Medi-witches were inside. He knocked on the open door.
A middle-aged woman, whose smile made her suitable for her post, looked up at the knock, but she jumped up from her seat when she saw that it was him.
"Oh! Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," she stammered. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Why not?"
"Your mother told us not to," she explained, "until Mrs. Malfoy wakes up." She walked around her desk to shake his hand. "My name is Mrs. Halper. I'm in charge of the nursery during the mornings. Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?"
"There's no need," Draco replied. "I've only come to ask for permission to enter the nursery. I know it's well past the appointed time, but I'd like to see my daughter."
"That shouldn't be a problem," said the Medi-witch, "but she's not in the nursery. We have to keep her under observation, so she's in a special room for premature babies. If you would follow me, I can show you in."
Mrs. Halper led Draco out of her office and down to the end of the nursery hallway. Without being prompted, she told him about his daughter as they walked.
"She's very well-behaved, Mr. Malfoy, not a crier. The Healers say it's because her lungs aren't very strong – nothing to be overly concerned about, that's normal for babies born at only twenty-eight weeks. Still, she doesn't fuss when she's being changed or fed or examined."
"What treatment have the Healers been giving her?" Draco inquired.
"Nothing too intensive, yet. She's being supplied oxygen, and incubated, and her food is given to her through a tube. The Healers have cast every standard charm and spell to help her body function, but they need your permission before they can administer potions to fully develop her organs and improve her immunity. Preemies are very susceptible and have very weak immune systems, which is why I will need you to scrub and change your clothes before you can go in."
The Medi-witch brought him to a small, sterile room with a curtained-off corner and shelves holding white uniforms, gloves, masks, and caps. She fetched one of each for him, and he quickly changed behind the curtain. When he was done, Mrs. Halper waved her wand from the top of his head to his toes, both front and back. She hovered over his hands multiple times.
"The policy is to keep your gloves on at all times," Mrs. Halper said, "but I'm sure you'd like to actually touch her. It will be good for her to feel warm skin."
A lump formed in Draco's throat upon realizing how completely alienated his daughter had been.
Mrs. Halper stood between him and the door that led to the preemie room. "Mr. Malfoy, I must tell you what to expect so you can brace yourself. Many parents have difficulty seeing their children like this," she said, a more sober look in her eyes.
Draco thought to himself that there couldn't be anything worse than what he'd seen of Hermione the past two days.
"Ideally, mothers spend a few hours holding their premature babies every day because they can't produce much of their own heat, but as your wife is indisposed, your daughter is in a bubble that keeps her body warm and helps her grow, so you will only be able to reach your hand in. She has an air mask just like your wife's, and it's connected to a monitor that records her breathing. There is a feeding tube in her stomach and a patch on her chest to measure her heart rate, but your mother gave us onesies to dress her in, so you won't see it."
Draco clenched his jaw.
"Would you be alright to proceed, Mr. Malfoy?" the nurse asked gently.
He nodded, and Mrs. Halper opened the door for him. The room was dimly lit, as it was still quite early. There were fewer infants here than in the nursery, and the little raised beds were arranged in two columns. Mrs. Halper walked down the aisle between the cribs and stopped at one in the middle.
Draco trailed after her, but remained in the aisle, staring at the bed that held his daughter.
This was it.
"She has the regular weight and measurements for a baby born at twenty-eight weeks," Mrs. Halper told him in a whisper, so as not to disturb the infants. "The Healers found that her brain and heart are as well as can be, though her heart is a little small, and she has a complete set of fingers and toes. Her vision and hearing checked out fine when – "
"What colour are her eyes?" Draco blurted out.
Mrs. Halper raised her eyebrows. "Well, she hasn't opened them yet, and most infants normally have blue eyes for around a year after birth, but let me check." She took a folder that hung from the side of Baby Malfoy's crib and flipped through papers until she found what she was looking for.
She gave Draco an impressed smile. "Looks like she's a special case. The record says she has brown eyes."
Draco inhaled sharply, and the air that filled his chest was warmer. Still, he didn't approach the crib.
"There's also the matter of her birth certificate, Mr. Malfoy," Mrs. Halper informed him. "Your parents told us that you would fill it in."
"No," said Draco. "Not until my wife wakes up. We haven't decided on her name yet."
"Understood." Mrs. Halper closed the file and returned it. "I'll be in the scrub room, if you need anything."
Draco nodded his assent, and the Medi-witch left the room.
There was a stool by his daughter's bed, and he sat on it to be level with her. They had put her in a white onesie, but there were wires sticking out of her. She was heartbreakingly small, her face almost completely covered by the blue air bubble, but she had a puffy tuft of blonde hair. He yearned to touch it.
Draco slowly reached his hand into a gap in the yellow bubble of magic that surrounded the little bed. He was reminded of Hermione in the sunlight by the light of the incubating bubble, which gave the baby's hair a golden glow. His daughter was an angel, and it amazed him that he had been involved in the creation of this ethereal creature. He was sure he would have thought her beautiful even if he had seen her when she was red and squalling and wrinkled.
He stroked her hair, and it was as soft as he thought it would be. She was so new, and so unspoiled. He realized she was awake when he moved to pull his hand out of the bubble, but she latched her tiny hand around his forefinger.
"Hi," he breathed. "Hi, I love you."
It was all he could think to say upon contact. As he ran his thumb up and down her soft skin, his eyes glazed over. He allowed himself to look away from her for a while so he could collect himself, while still holding her hand. His gaze fell on the name card on the side of her crib. 'Malfoy', it said simply. A wave of guilt swept over Draco because his daughter had no name of her own. He didn't even know what to call her.
"Daddy's sorry, baby girl," he whispered, and it just fell out. When he realized it, he was quite surprised himself, but he continued talking to her. "Daddy's sorry for leaving you alone for so long. I'm so sorry your mummy isn't okay right now. You would like her, she's the best mummy in the world – but don't tell Grammy Cissy I said that. Do you like Grammy Cissy?" he asked her in earnest. His daughter only cooed and hummed. "She's the pretty lady who's been taking care of you because Daddy's too much of a wuss. You look like her, but you have Mummy's eyes, and Mummy's eyes are my favourite.
"Daddy was scared to see you because he doesn't have Mummy with him. I love you, baby girl, but I wouldn't know how to raise you properly without Mummy. I want you to be exactly like her and nothing like me. You're already as beautiful as she is, and you're still a tiny, little thing. I can tell that your grandfather is already in love with you. He's a giant softy, really, and I think you're going to bring that out more than I did when I was as little as you.
"I caught your grandfather giving Mummy a motivational speech, or as close to one as Lucius Malfoy will ever muster. If I'd come in a minute later, I might have seen my father cry for the first time." Draco actually let out a chuckle for the first time in two days.
"Well, anyway, he was telling your Mummy to wake up because she's lived through harder, more terrible things than childbirth – of course, what would we know about that? We're men. But it is true that your mother is a survivor. She's the strongest person I know, and I think you're a fighter like her, aren't you?
"Daddy isn't very good at promises, baby girl, but every promise I make to you will be a holy oath – you and Mummy are going to make it, I swear."
Draco leaned in and pressed a kiss against the yellow bubble, above his baby girl's head. He peered down and saw himself in her little face.
But she had Hermione's eyes, and he felt excited to see her grow, to know what else she had of her mother. He didn't think he had enough in him to love anyone as much as he loved Hermione – he didn't even know that he would love Hermione so much – nor if he would be able to love anything that reminded him of himself, but this little girl was his second miracle.
"I have to check on Mummy," he told her, "but I will come back for you. You have Daddy's heart for always, baby girl."
February 4
Draco played with Hermione's engagement ring. It had woken him at sunrise for the second morning in a row. He held the one finger between his, while the rest of her hand hung limply. Her hand was just as soft as their new-born daughter's.
"I forgot to mention that I saw her yesterday," he said to Hermione. He'd visited his daughter a few times, and to his delight, she was always awake whenever he came. She just hadn't given him the pleasure of seeing her eyes yet.
"I know we didn't talk about names, but I was thinking of 'Aurora'. Lucius misses you so much that I don't think he'd mind if we threw 'Granger' into the mix," he continued. "I thought of it as soon as I looked at her. It seems fitting, doesn't it? I wish you could see her."
He felt some resistance from the finger he was holding, and thinking the worst, his eyes fell on her chest to check if she was still breathing. It rose heavily, and Draco shot out of his seat.
Under the blue bubble, her mouth was open as she gasped for air. For a second, he stared at her in horror, trying to figure out if she was awake or if her lungs were failing. He held the sides of her head.
"Hermione, you're alright." Please be alright. "You're safe, calm down." Please open your eyes. "It's Draco."
Hermione's brows furrowed as she opened her eyes. Her throat, her lungs were burning, as did her eyes at the sudden brightness. For a while, everything was white.
As her eyes finally stopped frantically darting around and focused on him, Draco became afraid that the Healers had been right, that she wouldn't be herself when she awoke. That after two days, she wouldn't know who he was. She looked confused and scared.
And then her face softened, slowly, into a small smile. The dark circles under her eyes were still there, but Draco noticed for the first time that she had a couple of crinkles around the edges.
He made to stop her when she reached up to her face to pull the air mask off, but then she whispered, "There you are," like she had just found him, with that familiar smile still on her face.
"Me?" Draco laughed, and he realized that his own vision was blurred with tears. She was the one who had been asleep for days. "Where have you been? I missed you."
"Really? I feel like I just fell asleep last night." Her voice was very hoarse. Draco summoned a glass of water. After a couple of sips, she asked, "How long was I gone?"
"Two days."
Hermione's lips fell open. "I've missed out on two days of our child's life?"
"She's been waiting for you. She's a quiet one."
A girl. They had chosen not to find out what they were having."Just like her father." Hermione raised her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him down, weakly, then pressed a long kiss to his cheek.
Draco turned his face and kissed her soundly on the lips. "Merlin, I missed you," he repeated, making her laugh. "Let me get the Healers."
"Wait, Draco," she grabbed his hand. "Tell me about her."
Draco looked into those eyes that he felt like he hadn't seen in forever. He had only known his daughter for little more than a day, but there was already so much he could say about her.
"She's like the sun," Draco said simply.
Hermione gave him a knowing smile.
After the Healers had come and examined her, a Medi-witch asked if they wanted their daughter brought in. Hermione said yes before the nurse could even finish her question. When she opened the door to fetch the baby, Hermione and Draco saw that there was a crowd of hospital staff out in the corridor, peering into the room.
Draco grimaced. "It's even worse outside."
"I bet it is," Hermione sighed. She held his hand. "Draco, I don't want to bring her into that."
He almost replied that it can't be helped, but it made him angry that people wanted to turn his child into something, not even a person, to be poked at and scrutinized.
Sensing his distress, Hermione leaned into Draco and stroked his neck.
"They can't follow us to France," she said matter-of-factly.
He furrowed his brow. The idea of having to leave their home, as if in exile, only to escape the public didn't sit well with him.
"We can discuss it later," Draco said as their daughter's crib was wheeled in. "For the meantime, we'll have enough privacy in the manor."
"I hope you don't mind," the Medi-witch said shyly, "but everyone's just really happy that you're awake, Ms. Granger." Her eyes flickered to Draco. "I mean, Mrs. Malfoy."
"Please give them my thanks for taking such good care of us," Hermione told her. The Medi-witch tapped her wand against the yellow bubble around the crib and it dissolved.
"You'll have to hold her against your body, Mrs. Malfoy," she instructed, "with her head between your breasts so she'll be stable." Draco helped Hermione sit up higher against the pillows. The Medi-witch tucked her hands under the baby's head and back, slowly lifting her from the crib.
Draco watched with some trepidation – he had never been this close to his daughter without the yellow bubble between them. He was finally going to have a better look at her.
"She won't fuss. She'll know who you are," the nurse told them with a smile.
Hermione's breath hitched as her daughter's warm weight was transferred into her hands. She positioned the baby just as she had been taught, fixing the wires and tubes so that the baby would be comfortable.
The child gave a satisfied mewl as she settled against the familiar sound of her mother's heartbeat. Draco, who had been transfixed on his daughter, looked up when Hermione sniffled and saw that she was crying.
Overwhelmed with affection for her, Draco pressed a kiss to her hair.
"I'll give you a moment," the Medi-witch said. Before the door closed behind her, Hermione lifted a hand to wave at the people outside, while keeping the other secure on the baby's back. Draco lowered himself to rest his cheek on Hermione's arm so that he could be level with the baby.
When the three of them were alone, Hermione murmured, "She looks nothing like me," although with awe rather than regret.
"The Malfoy genes are dominant," Draco smirked.
Hermione cocked a brow at him. "Did your father say something like that to me while I was asleep?" Draco's laugh was enough of an answer. "She's a mini Draco."
"She's a mini Narcissa," Draco corrected.
"I have a feeling your mother will make our lives miserable if we don't name her doppelganger after her."
"They told me she has your eyes, though." He rubbed his daughter's back and said, "Won't you open your eyes for Mummy, baby girl?"
She didn't, but Hermione was staring at him in shock.
"What did you call her?"
"I know, it just happened when I was with her yesterday," Draco explained. "I've been spending too much time with your dad."
Hermione frowned. "Have my parents been here?"
"Sorry, love," he said sincerely. "Hospital wouldn't budge. They're at the manor, and they're as calm as can be expected."
"Which is not at all. I'm an only child – my parents don't know what peace is," Hermione joked.
"I suppose that's our life now," Draco pointed out. He'd meant to make her laugh, but she only looked at him with an apology in her eyes. They would have to ask the Healers if Hermione would be able to have any more children.
While Draco wanted his daughter to have a sibling, what both he and Hermione didn't have, he would never put Hermione's life in that sort of danger again.
As both of them continued to watch their daughter, he said, "We should name her for your dad."
Her eyes lightened up as she crinkled her nose in thought. "Philippa?"
"Yeah. That way both pairs of grandparents are appeased, and your dad won't mind that I've stolen his nickname for you."
"Aurora Philippa Narcissa," Hermione tested.
Draco looked up at her, wondering if she had heard him.
"I thought it would be nice for her to have something like 'Draco'," Hermione shrugged. "Not a constellation, but something celestial. And you said so yourself, she's like the sun."
Draco smiled and returned his attention to his daughter. "She is," he agreed.
Hermione bowed her head to kiss the top of Aurora Philippa's blonde head.
"Draco," she said, "have they bathed her?"
"No, I suppose not," Draco replied. "I don't think she's big enough for it yet. Why?"
Hermione sniffed her daughter's hair again. "Come closer and smell her."
He did, and caught a faint whiff of cherries. His eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Hermione pressed. "She smells like cherries?"
That cracked Draco up. "How could she not? You didn't eat anything but when she was inside you."
"I like it, though. She smells new." Hermione kissed her again. "My brand new little Pippa."
"Is that what we're calling her?"
"As much as I like Aurora, it is a bit of a mouthful," she reasoned. Draco wanted to fight for 'Aurora', but it was best to concede because someone who grew up as 'Hermione' would have a better sense of how to name a child.
"When she starts school, she can decide if she wants to be Aurora or Philippa. But to Mummy and Daddy, she's Pippa. Is that alright?"
Draco kissed his wife. "Yes. It's perfect," he hummed, and draped his arm over his wife and child. "When do you want me to call everyone?"
"Not soon," Hermione decided. "I want it to be just us, even for a little while."
It felt like Christmas morning to Hermione, like she had woken up to the gift of her new family. Perhaps it was fitting, what she had gone through to birth her daughter, so that she herself could be somewhat reborn. As far as she was concerned, all the other events in her life would only ever be 'before Pippa' or 'after Pippa.'
The emotions were off as I wrote this chapter (I've never been married or had children) so I apologize if this isn't my best chapter. Critique is much appreciated!
