Draco is dying; he’s only 50, and he’s alone and bitter. He hates that he’s trapped in this hospital. He’s angry that he’s outlived every single member of his family.
Parents, dead after the war. His father got the kiss, and his mother died shortly after. A secret soul binding they never shared but quickly revealed just hours after his father passed when his mother joined him.
His wife, a stupid blood curse. Another thing that was hidden from him. His sweet, beautiful Astoria. She always deserved better. He was the reason she was a stranger to her own family. With only him by her side, as she dies, bringing their son into the world.
His son, his star in the sky. The boy that he had honestly tried with. In the end, he failed at that too. He couldn’t protect him from the evil of the second wizarding war. He has to live knowing that his childhood actions killed his son.
Now he’s getting a headache from the woman crying in the room across the hall. He knows the sound. He’s made the same heartbreaking scream four times in his life.
Someone just lost their heart.
Draco winces away from the feeling. It’s too hard. The cries don’t stop; he wishes he had shut the door. He should have told the Medi-witch to shove it. It makes his stomach turn and bile sting his throat.
Why is his life like this? He’s a Malfoy; they don’t have lives like this. He must have done something to deserve it. The tight pain in his chest—it’s never ending.
The door across the hall opens, and a young woman steps out in the hall. Draco sees a bright shock of red hair with some of the wildest curls he’s ever seen. No, that’s not true. Granger had hair just that unruly. He wondered what happened to that shot. Did she get married and have lots of little ginger babies? Maybe just one?
The young woman wipes the tears from her eyes as she turns and she looks at Draco. Seeing him for the first time, she smiles sadly. He knows by looking at the smile this has to be a Granger/Weasley. It’s like looking at Granger with different colored hair and eyes. She looks like her mother did after the war. Tired.
Draco coughs to clear his throat, hoarse from disuse. “Are you okay?” It sounds like he’s got gravel in his mouth.
The girl attempts a smile again, and with a teary “I’m sorry, my mother just died,” she turns and quickly is out of his sight.
Leaning back against his pillows, he coughs again. A sick wet sound. He knows, Hermione Granger just died alone in that room with only her daughter by her side. How can this be possible? Why were they alone? He has so many questions.
She deserved better than that.
Draco thinks back to 8th year. He remembers her being very close to that female Weasley. Toward the holidays, they stopped talking. Granger was alone all the time after that. Then, after Christmas, she never came back. He never saw her again.
Breathing is just hard; living is hard; everything hurts now.
He had liked to watch her 8th year. After the war, she was different; he remembers thinking she always looked so paranoid. Always on edge, that trust maybe wasn’t given away like it was before. Then the female Weasley stopped talking to her. Draco saw the scowls she would toss Grangers way. He always wanted to ask what happened.
Draco relaxes further back into the pillows; he’s just so tired. His thoughts flicker to his horrible life and what could have been if he had just made better choices. He gasps. Tries to clear his throat. It doesn’t work.
Cringing Draco closes his eyes and coughs again. It hurts so much. He thinks of Granger dead across the hall and wonders again what could have been different for her. If others had made different choices.
Everything feels slow now; it can’t be long. He’s wanted to die for years. He can’t feel his fingers and toes, and his chest rattles with every breath. Finally, it’s over.
As Draco surrenders himself to his death, he welcomes it with open arms. With only one last thought. “What could have happened?”
Blessed silence.
****
He hears his mother singing as she walks down the hall towards his room and smiles, snuggling his head down into his pillow. He loves it when she sings.
Dracos eyes pop open at the sound of his mother’s voice.
“Good morning, my dragon; it’s time to get ready to leave for the train. I wouldn’t want to be late for your first year at Hogwarts.”