Easier To Run

I keep staring down at the boy. There is little else I can do just now. Finally, regaining some control of my motor nerves, my mouth begins to work. His head is tilted in that curious way, just like Harry used to. Tears burn at my eyes, and I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to find the words to answer him. So much innocence and hope shines in his eyes. He is the spitting image of Harry Potter, as I remember him from our first year, though three years too young. Like his father, he will attend Hogwarts, that I will make sure of. Before I even speak to him, I'm planning his...our...future. I can't take my eyes away from his face, simply because he looks so much like my love. Plus, I never actually dreamed I'd come back to this place, let alone be faced with raising his child alone.

"Yes," I finally croak.

That pale, slender little face lights up like a Muggle lamp. A twinkle takes life in the deep emerald of his eyes, and I can't help but smile back, even if it's forced. His arms fly around my waist, and I cough lightly, shocked at the strength in the thin arms. After a moment, I lift my hand, letting it hover in the air, before settling it over the back of his head, stroking softly. Even his hair is as silky and raven black as Harry's was. I still can't comprehend this.

Looking up at the doorway, I see a very tired, very weak-looking Ginny. She smiles wearily at me, and then down at her son. The freckles on her cheeks are more noticable than ever, and I realize this is killing her. She loved Harry. Now, she's having to give up the last piece of him she had, and to me, of all people. After all the things I said and did to their family while in my first years of wizarding school. It's amazing that she's still willing to do this. Only love could make someone so forgiving. My cheeks burn, and I lower my chin towards my chest, my other arm sliding over Dustin's shoulders. He's everything I need to turn my life around from the downward spiral that it currently is.

"Hello, Draco," she murmurs.

"Ginny."

"I told him that you're his father. He knows ...about Harry. I should have written, I know, but I wanted..." Her voice breaks, and she dabs at her eyes with a knuckle gently. I feel wretched, standing here, holding her son in my arms. "I wanted a few years with him."

I nod. Dustin steps away from me, but I keep my eyes trained on his mother. If I look at him now, I'll surely burst into one of my fits, and embarrass myself. Regardless how much I've changed, I'm still a Malfoy, and still have my pride. I would never be allowed to live it down, were I to do such. As it is, I ache inside. Being back here has brought so many precious memories back to the forefront of my mind, and all I want to do is crawl in bed, and sleep them away. For some odd reason, I've never dreamed of him since I was told he was dead. You would think that would be one of the first things to happen. Then again, nothing about Harry was ever normal. That's only one reason why I loved him. I could give several million, I think.

"I understand. Just...Ginny, I'm truly sorry. You know how I," I pause, and glance down. Everyone knew what Harry and I had at Hogwarts, and the two years following. It was no mystery that he and I were together, and that we were desperately in love with one another. Often, we were called 'sweet'. I always rolled my eyes, and shook my head. Harry would simply squeeze my hand and smile down at me, with those bright eyes of his, and rattle my world all over again, making me fall just that much farther for him.

"How you felt for him? Merlin. There was never any doubt in my mind of what you felt for one another, Draco. I could never figure out why he stayed with me, you know? I wasn't pregnant or anything. He had no reason to do so. But he did, and for that, I'm sorry. I never had any claim on his heart."

With that, she turns, and walks back out the door, closing it softly behind her. Dustin glances up at me, and gives a decidedly sheepish smile. Just like him. Carefully, I remove my shoes, and sit down on the side of the bed. He comes over and slides onto the covers beside me, leaning against me, his warm body so small and fragile-seeming against my own, which has been hardened by years, and made more sturdy by my lack of activity. I was offered a chance to play for England's Quidditch team, but after Harry died, I couldn't. My passion died with the one I loved, and here I sit, with his son resting against me. His thin arm slips around my waist, and I shiver. He knows what I'm going through. There's no doubt in my mind, if Ginny told him. Any son of Harry's would be bright enough, even at that age, to understand why I am the way I am now - so bitter, and distant from others. He knows, too, though, that he will break my shell away, and make me love him, more easily than I could simply trying on my own.

Kicking his shoes off, he crawls under the covers, perhaps unknowingly taking Harry's side of the bed. I shake my head slowly, and smile down at him, raking my fingers through his dark hair. Without thought, I lie down by him, and he curls up against me. He's known me perhaps ten minutes, and already, he is so comfortable with me. It takes me a few moments longer, but I wrap my arms around his child's body, and begin to hum a lullaby I learned as a young thing, from my grandmother.

A very few minutes later, we both drift off to dream.

But just before I drift away, I realize that I can't run anymore. This is what I was born to do, and this is what Harry wants. Therefore, my course is decided.

Fin