Chapter 1
It was a cold, rainy evening when Draco Malfoy-Potter heard tapping at his kitchen window. Scorpius let out a gleeful cry, running to open up the window. Draco smiled, summoning their owl treats in his hands before walking to his son, putting a handful in his small, sticky hand.
"Here, my star. Give this to the kind owl." Scorpius' smile blossomed, doing exactly as his papa said while Draco took the letter in hand.
When he finally saw where the owl came from, Draco stumbled to the kitchen table before falling into one of the chairs. A letter directly from St Mungo's could never be a good thing, especially with an unruly teenager at Hogwarts and a potioneer wife. Trembling, Draco opened the letter, seeing Scorpius let the owl go in his peripheral vision. His son was distracted enough, watching the owl leave by the window.
Dear Mr. Draco Malfoy-Potter,
I am writing to you to inform you that your husband, Harry Potter-Malfoy, has woken up on the evening of October 23rd, 2020. I assume you already know his room number but, to err on the side of caution, your husband is situated in the Intensive Care Unit of St Mungo's, in room 017.
I know this may be a lot for you, but know that Mr. Potter-Malfoy has been asking for you and your son since he woke up.
Respectfully,
Patricia Comberstone, Nurse.
This was so much worse than anything Draco was expecting. Harry... Draco's ex-husband had woken up from his coma.
Thirteen years ago, Harry had left on what was supposed to be a normal Auror mission. After the war, Harry had sped through his training with Ron to continue putting stray Death Eaters to Azkaban. While he was busy saving the Wizarding World over and over, Draco had thrived being his stay-at-home husband, hiding from the world by focusing all his energy on their humble garden, and being a good host for Harry and his’ friends. After some time, though, he became a stay-at-home father, for his little James Sirius Potter, Draco and Harry's own little miracle.
Their lives were as perfect as could be; they hid from the Prophet, they helped with the reconstruction of Hogwarts, and they loved their son more than anything. Of course, nothing can last forever–especially with Harry Potter as your husband, Draco had learned quickly.
It took Ron five days to give Draco the news. "We got them," he had said, "thanks to Harry, but... he got pretty banged up, in the process. One guy got a killing curse out before we could get him, and it hit Harry right in the chest. He's not dead but... the doctors at St Mungo's say it doesn't look good. He might never wake up again, they say." When Draco took James to see his dad, the three year old climbed on, latched onto Harry and refused to let go for hours, until his crying made him pass out.
The first year was the worst. Everyday, during visiting hours, Draco and James stayed in Harry's room with him. Draco had read that sometimes, coma patients could hear what was happening around them, so Draco did his best to talk to him, to try to coax him into waking, and he always brought a book with him to read aloud. Sometimes he and James would simply play games in the room, but it had been hard at first. James simply sat and stared at his sleeping daddy, willing him to wake up.
It broke Draco's heart that such an unruly and hyperactive child could sit still for hours, not uttering a single word to anyone. Draco gave birth to James, carried him for nine months, so they always had this special connection. Still, Harry and he had been simply inseparable, best friends; everyone kept saying that James was a mini Harry. Draco feared that Harry had taken James' light with him in his coma.
After a year, Draco stopped going every day. James, resilient child that he was, got his light back and became again his mischievous self. He still loved to cuddle up to his dad in his hospital bed, just staring at his face.
But, after five years, James started complaining about going to see Harry every two weeks. He had lived more than half his small life with his dad in a coma.
Draco didn't know what to do. He didn't want James to forget Harry, to lose his father even more than he already did, but what was Draco supposed to do, to say? James had just turned eight, and he was old enough to make at least some decisions for himself. So, Draco left him at home during his now monthly visits to St Mungo's.
Now, James Sirius was in sixth year in Hogwarts, the Gryffindor spitting image of his father. Draco saw his husband in his son's hair, his selfless and foolish tendencies, his obsession with quidditch, in his hate for potions and love for DADA. But James had not mentioned Harry since his second year, when Draco gave him the Marauder's Map.
"Papa?"
Draco shook out of his thoughts at Scorpius' voice, giving him his undivided attention. "Yes, my star?"
Scorpius, ever perceiving of his papa's emotions, raised his arms to get picked up. His head fell on Draco's shoulder and Draco held his son tight, taking deep breaths. "Would you like to see mama and James today, Scorp?" It was a school day, but Draco knew Minerva would let James go.
"See mama!" Scorpius yelled joyfully, squirming out of Draco's hold to run around the kitchen excitedly as fast as his chubby legs would let him. "'ames!"
Draco forced a smile for his son and stood up. "Let's go get dressed, mmh?"
***
Astoria, bless her, understood Draco and his relationship with Harry. When they got engaged, Draco explained everything to her; he was already married, he came with a thirteen year old boy, and he still carried affection to his comatose husband. He might never stop loving Harry. She had understood perfectly, as this wedding was only supposed to be for the pleasure of their parents and to continue the pure bloodline. They could be friends, she told him, friends who had to perform their married duties from time to time. She became his rock when his guilt became him, when he woke up one day and realized he missed six months of visits to Harry. When he became pregnant again after their first time as husband and wife, she helped him and let him continue to stay at home. She was a renowned potioneer, and made enough money for them both. Them, and their son Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.
When he and Scorpius flooed to her work, he knew she would come with him to St Mungo's and support him. He only had to explain the situation to her.
"Mama!" Scorpius ran the second he saw her, colliding with her legs. Astoria laughed, a crystalline sound, and kissed the top of his head.
"Hello, my son." She smiled at Draco, giving him a kiss on his cheek. "Hello, dear. Did James get in trouble again?"
"No," he said, smiling a real smile. His wife could always lift his spirits up, simply by being in the same room as him. "But we need to go to St Mungo's. Harry... he woke up today. James is going to meet us there, I floo-called professor McGonagall and she said he'll floo directly to the ICU."
"Oh, darling," she took him in her arms, holding him tight. She knew how hard this must be for him, getting thrown back into the part of the husband with a comatose war hero. He burrowed his face in her soft neck, inhaling her vanilla and jasmine perfume. It was only now that he realized he was trembling, held tight like a string about to snap. He took a deep breath and stepped back, squaring his shoulders. He picked up Scorpius, who had lost interest in his parents' embrace and had drifted off to a shelf with a lot of brightly colored bottles, taking as much comfort as he could from his son.
"Let's go, shall we?" Astoria looked like she wanted to argue, but she nodded and together, the small family headed to St Mungo's.
Inside St Mungo's was the same as it always has been; a flurry of movements, people walking back and forth, patients groaning, doctors talking, nurses at the front desk. All of the sudden, memories that Draco had been repressing for the past years resurface.
"Hello, darling," Draco sits down on the chair next to the hospital bed, taking Harry's hand in his. "I hope you're enjoying your little vacation, you fiend. You'll have so much to answer to when you wake up, you know that?"
Draco strokes Harry's hand with his thumb, and he sighs. "Teddy came over last night," he continues. "He was such a pleasure, of course, but he kept asking for you. I don't know what to tell him... the Healers say they have no idea when you'll wake up, if you wake up." Draco holds Harry's hand so hard, as if the pain alone would make him wake up. "Harry, you better wake up or I'll never forgive you. James needs you, James needs his dad... and I need my husband. Do you hear me, Potter? Your family needs you."
"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione is telling him, her hand resting on his shoulder. Draco has been staring at a fixed point for hours now, empty-headed. "You need to eat, and you need to rest. Harry... Harry isn't going anywhere, he'll be right there when you come back."
"Hello," Draco's voice came off strangled and weak, like something was stuck in his throat. He coughed, feeling his ears burn with shame. This was not the time to show weakness. He had to be strong, for his sons.
"Hello, my name is Draco Malfoy. We're here to see Harry Potter."