On Sleepless Roads, the Sleepless Go
The yard was terribly empty at this time of day. Quiet stones blocked the smooth course of the wind blowing lightly enough to assure time's movement. Shadows began to fade with the setting sun only moments from retiring away to break for the moon's consistent shift. Stars shown uselessly beside a bright moon and far more brilliant sun.
And yet, this was his favorite time of day- a time of both beginning and end merging together. A time where colors erupted on a scale no artist could ever truly capture. A time made of promise. A time assured each and every day.
A new dusk meant a new dawn. And somewhere, a new dawn was already in the process of alighting the skies.
The sun would return here, though. It always had and always would.
"Daddy, look! I found it, Daddy!"
With the face of a Malfoy and the spirit and grace of a doe, Alya released her father's hand and pranced towards a large headstone in the center of the graveyard. A fresh assortment of flowers already decorated its base, flowing freely onto its neighboring plots and sharing their beauty.
It would be like him to share- even in death.
"These flowers are pretty," Alya beamed- still impressed with her discovery- and rewarded herself with a bright yellow rose. "And they smell lovely."
Draco smiled sadly and sat before the grave alongside his daughter. She climbed into his lap still clutching the rose to her chest and burrowed her face in the man's shoulder.
He closed his eyes and breathed carefully. It was far too quiet here.
There was no one in town that we knew, and he gave us somewhere to go.
Nearly a decade ago, Draco found himself at the home of one Harry James Potter. Abandoned, alone, and newfound father to an illegitimate love child, Draco wandered hopelessly to the only person in either world capable of forgiveness.
And, as fate would have it, Harry welcomed the father and infant daughter to his home without a shred of reluctance.
It seemed he was alone as well.
I never said thank-you for that…
"Daddy, will you tell me now?" Alya murmured carefully. "Please?"
"Tell you what, Sweetheart?"
A silence ensued for an immeasurable moment as the girl contemplated the heavy words threatening to boil over.
"Tell me what happens when you die?"
Alya, now eleven, wondered about nearly everything. Her mother having passed before she could crawl instilled an odd curiosity with death- something Draco longed to forget and avoid.
Perhaps the time had come. If he and Harry could understand death at such a tender age, why couldn't his daughter? A girl already touched by the hand of immortality.
"I don't understand it personally, but Harry said it was like falling asleep. You go someplace special. Everyone you've ever loved is there."
His daughter pondered over the idea as Draco carded his fingers through her ice blonde hair and stared listlessly at the stone. He was certain words existed, but nothing seemed legible- the letters had no meaning and allowed no room for comprehension.
"Why is everyone so scared of it, then?"
His hand stilled only momentarily. In the way it was phrased, death seemed wonderful. Everyone should have been keen to pass.
Harry, though perhaps not keen, proved to be the only man he'd ever known to willingly walk to his own demise. Not once, but twice.
Shortly after Draco's pride subsided and he gave into the kindness Harry offered without motive, the former Slytherin learned of a disease slowly etching away at the hero's remaining life. Something beyond magical or Muggle repair. Something only the walking dead could understand.
Finally settling Alya for what seemed the seventeenth time that evening, Draco collapsed onto a stool in Harry's kitchen and wandlessly charmed a teapot to warm.
Parenting alone may have been the most challenging adventure of his short life.
And Harry had already done enough.
Draco wasn't interested in collecting any more debt from his host. He refrained from asking for assistance he knew would be granted. Already, he was far more of a burden than necessary.
"Tea's done," a voice mentioned behind him. Draco startled without cause, recognizing the voice immediately. "I'll get it."
"Thank-you," he mumbled sleepily and accepted a rather warm mug. Taking a cautious sip, Draco's mind meticulously accounted for each cup he may have had while in Harry's presence. He couldn't recall a single instance and wondered fruitlessly about why Potter would know how he took his tea. "Spot on, Potter."
"You're welcome."
Both wizards sat and drank in silence. One drink alternating after the other.
"Alya was a handful tonight?" Harry questioned lightly, still only making any sort of contact with his mug.
"And every other night," he answered humorlessly, though, Potter still found something to chuckle over. "Perhaps I'll sleep when she goes to Hogwarts."
"Always something to look forward to." Draco glanced upwards just in time to note a small smile gracing Harry's face. A flush fell across his cheeks as though he'd caught a private glimpse of his counter's life. "I always wanted a child," he confessed, meeting Draco's already embarrassed gaze.
"Surely you can still have one. I'll bet the Weasley girl has been waiting a lifetime to bear the children of the great Harry James Potter."
And just as suddenly as it appeared, the smile vanished. "I don't want to have a child only to abandon him- or her for that matter."
"I don't think you'd ever leave your child, Potter. You're too Gryffindor for that sort of thing."
"I wouldn't have much of a choice."
Confusion inhabited his core as he desperately tried to wade through the riddles Harry had presented. "I don't quite understand."
"I don't have very much time, Malfoy. Five years, maybe."
"Five years until what? I'm not following, Potter." Finally, he conceded. Finally, he was willing to throw arrogance aside and honestly learn something meaningful about the man who'd saved his life- and his daughter's.
"Why, until I die."
Draco had never felt the world turn, but he knew it must. Otherwise, how would the sky move? In that moment, though, time stilled. The universe waited on baited breath for a punch line that would never come.
Harry Potter was dying. But, he wasn't afraid.
Draco was.
"They don't want to leave behind the people who love them. You see; we don't all go together. Some of us wait a very long time to see each other again," he explained.
"D'you think Harry's waiting for us?"
The father liked to think so. But, what would Harry think of him now? So lucky, so strong, so proud. He wouldn't be here without the Boy Who Lived.
I never said thank-you for that. Now I'll never have a chance.
Draco nodded and pressed a kiss into his daughter's hair. "I'm sure he is, Love. I'm positive."
"I want you to help me with Alya, Potter," Draco stated abruptly in the midst of bidding the other goodnight.
Harry gaped at the statement only slightly resembling a request. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"She deserves the best. She's a Malfoy. I want you to be her Godfather."
"I don't know what to say."
Striding purposefully towards the former Gryffindor and gripping his shoulder forcefully, Draco smiled. "Say you'll be there for her. As long as you can be."
Harry placed his own hand atop of Draco's and grinned in return, his eyes watering. "Thank-you."
He could do this for Harry. He could give Harry something no one else could.
He would do anything.
Darker and darker, the night moved forward. Twinkling stars painted the once pink sky and Harry's tombstone still shown brightly against its blackening backdrop.
Alya purred in his arms- a quiet snore breaking the air.
You'd be so proud of her, Harry. She's started Hogwarts this year. She's in Gryffindor- just like we knew she'd be. She's so brave and so smart. You'd be so proud.
Unwanted tears cascaded freely over Draco's cheeks and fell against the yellow rose still pressed to his chest.
Alya had turned five when Harry worsened. He'd become bedridden and slept most of his days away. At night, if up to the task, he'd read his Goddaughter a story- something lighthearted. A story to remember fondly.
And if reading proved too much, Draco would sit at Harry's bedside and tell his own tales until the ill man would fall back asleep.
Visitors came and went- far more than Draco would ever expect for himself if he were in Harry's situation. Of course they'd known for longer than Draco of Harry's imminent death. They spent their childhoods constantly in threat of losing him.
This was all so new to Draco. Watching someone he loved-
"Draco," Hermione whispered one evening after seeing Harry to sleep. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine," he answered readily, rubbing his tired eyes and scratching at the stubble along his chin. The witch cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. "What other choice do I have?"
"No one would think less of you if you decided to tell him."
"Tell him what, exactly?" Draco hadn't meant to sound so defensive. He was just so exhausted and drained- void of control over himself.
Hermione's mouth lifted sadly at the corners as she wrapped the disheveled man in her arms. "That you love him. We've all said our goodbyes. It's your turn. Let him go. He's earned his rest."
"I'm not as strong as you are or he is. I can't just-." A hand stilled any other words threatening to pour and with a quick peck to his cheek, the witch excused herself.
After what felt like a lifetime's journey, Draco stepped quietly into Harry's room- half hoping he would be asleep and that this particular conversation could be pushed back for at least a century.
"Draco?" a weakened voice sounded. "Come lie with me."
Never having lain beside another man, the former Slytherin awkwardly positioned himself accordingly and wound his fingers through themselves atop his stomach. Unconsciously, their breathing synchronized.
"I wanted to thank you, Draco. For allowing me to be a father to Alya. If I ever had a daughter, I would have wanted someone like her."
"She loves you, you know," he responded simply. It was easier to confess someone else's affection. Easier to hide behind another's love.
"I love her, too. Both of you." Draco's breath caught in his throat and his chest constricted. How could someone say the most important words he'd ever heard without flinching? "I've always loved you, Draco."
"Why wouldn't you have said something sooner, Potter?" His tone was angry, but not towards Harry. Never towards Harry. "If you knew how long I've-."
The man at his side shushed his speech and unlaced his hands only to intertwine one in his own. "The past few years have been perfect. You gave me a family I never hoped for."
Slowly, Harry made to rest his head against Draco's rapidly rising and falling chest. Draco could swear his breaking heart was audible, but Harry-bless his heart- didn't comment.
"You saved me, Draco. I've been meaning to thank you for that."
"Harry- I didn't-."
Again, he shushed Draco's mindless chatter. "Please, don't. I can't go without knowing you understand how important you are. How much you've given me."
But, he could never really understand. Through his eyes, Harry earned the world and Draco gave him little more than a trunk full of misery.
This is what he needed, though. Harry needed the comfort of Draco's wellbeing.
And Draco would give him anything.
So, he nodded his assent and held the hand in his tightly while a free arm encircled the Boy Who Lived. His breathing calmed and fell back to Harry's rhythm. And when Harry's hand began to limp with sleep, Draco reigned in a Gryffindor's courage.
"Harry?"
"Mmm?" came an unintelligible reply.
Gulping once and clearing his now curiously dry throat, Draco uttered, "I love you."
Harry tipped his head upwards and rested his chin against the spot directly above Draco's heart- delivering a heart-melting smile that stretched from ear to ear.
"I know."
The morning after, Harry wouldn't wake. It should have left Draco utterly disturbed to wake beneath a corpse and yet all he felt was a strange combination of peace and regret as he kissed the scar that branded Harry.
Six years to the day since his passing. Six years since the night that gave Draco's life purpose. He could be loved and he could love in return.
Harry gave him that.
Harry gave him everything.
Standing with his daughter in his arms, Draco finally managed to make out the headstone's scrawling.
In deep, bold print, it read, "ALL WAS WELL."
And so it was.
The End.