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As long as the late nights turn into sunrise,
As long as we got stars to count on, we are alive.
As long as our hearts can battle scars and put up a fight,
As long as there’s tears to cry, the kids are alright.
~Kids are Alright by Tate McRae
The first funeral that Draco had ever attended was for his wife, Astoria.
The drizzling rain soaked the gathered loved ones so gradually that it wasn’t until ten minutes into the proceedings that they finally felt the biting cold on their skin. Daphne and Blaise huddled close together, their three-year-old daughter squeezed between them as the casket was lowered into the ground. Draco’s mother took shelter under a large black umbrella, her eyes never wavering from her son’s hunched over figure. Crowding along the outskirts of the proceedings were the odd Greengrass family member, a number of Astoria’s coworkers at Alchemy Apparel, a few of her schoolmates that she’d kept in touch with over the years.
Draco watched Scorpius.
His son was only ten years old and yet, he stood tall beside his mother’s casket, the steady precipitation creating tracks of fake tears down his pale cheeks. Scorpius had watched his mother die slowly and painfully over the course of this past year. He’d had ample time to come to terms with her death long before it finally happened.
Still, Draco watched and waited for his son to break. He needed his son to break. He needed him to shatter and call on his father for comfort in these trying times. If Scorpius didn’t fold soon, Draco wouldn’t be able to keep it together himself. He needed someone to comfort or he’d go mad with grief.
It was well into the night, Astoria’s wake having come to a stuttered end, when Draco finally saw his son fall to pieces.
Draco looked up at the sky for strength. He’d been looking up at the stars whenever he needed a pinch of bravery or a dash of comfort since he was child. He thought maybe the stars and constellations that represented his Black family ancestors meant that whenever night came, someone would be looking down on Draco, providing him some semblance of solace.
Unfortunately, although the rain had stopped hours ago, thick clouds were blocking out the stars.
Draco inhaled deeply.
Apparently he was meant to do this alone tonight.
“Scorpius,” Draco murmured as he stumbled closer to his son through the damp grass outside Malfoy Manor. “What are you doing out here? You’ll catch a cold.” Draco waved his wand and formed a bubble around the two of them, a warming charm gently heating that bubble until Draco felt the chill leave his body.
He saw Scorpius wipe furiously at his eyes, trying to stifle a wayward sob. “I’m fine—“ He hiccuped, frustration emerging across his features as he growled at the tears running down his face. “I—“
Draco took that last step closer to the young boy and rested a steady hand on Scorpius’s shoulder. Neither of them spoke for far too long.
When Scorpius’s heart-wrenching sobs died down, he turned and buried his face in Draco’s black robes. Draco ran a hand through his son’s white-blond hair and curled himself protectively around him, humming a tune he couldn’t quite place, but that he distinctly associated with early mornings in the kitchens with Tori. His heart fluttered in his chest and he felt the tears burn behind his eyelids. Draco quickly fortified the walls around his heart and blinked back the sting in his silver eyes. Now was not the time.
Draco leaned down and scooped his son into his arms. Scorpius wrapped his legs around his father’s waist and his arms around his neck, snuffling into Draco’s collarbone, as if he were three years old again, exhausted after a day at Brighton beach.
Draco carried his sleeping son back home as the sun began to ascend behind them.
***
The second funeral that Draco attended was for his mother, Narcissa.
It was a hot August day and the air was so thick it felt like walking through soup. The mourners, their black robes clinging to their body like lycra, stood under the sun for almost an hour. Their willingness to stick around was a testament to how beloved Narcissa Malfoy had become these last two decades. Those gathered included her sister Andromeda and great nephew Teddy. There were Parkinsons and Notts, Goyles and Bulstrodes, Rosiers and Prewetts. A most shocking number of Weasleys were present, the skin under their numerous freckles growing more tender by the second. Of course, Blaise and Daphne were there once more, their gorgeous daughter, Ainsley, standing between them. She would be starting her first year at Hogwarts in less than a month.
Harry Potter and his family were there too.
It was a most eclectic group of mourners.
Draco watched Scorpius and Albus Potter.
Scorpius openly wept, tears silently rolling down his cheeks as his grandmother was lowered into the earth. Albus stood resolutely beside him, a hand gently rubbing the nape of Scorpius’s neck just where the ends of his white-blonde hair curled in the humidity.
Draco had been nervous to discover how Narcissa’s death would end up affecting Scorpius. After Astoria died, Narcissa became the maternal figure in her grandson’s life, and she had done an excellent job at it. Draco thought perhaps he would once again find Scorpius late at night in the back garden, breaking apart after a long day trying to contain his emotions.
But Albus Potter had obviously been a good influence on his son. Somehow, that boy had burrowed into his son’s life and opened him up to the world. It was a most peculiar happiness that fluttered in Draco’s chest when he saw a Malfoy being so candid with his emotions.
It was taking Draco a lot longer to be so forthright. He still had to wait for nightfall to have an honest conversation with… well, anyone really, including himself. He needed the strength he found in those stars, in all those ancestors that came before him, a majority of which he’d never even met.
It was an odd thing, to find strength in those he’d never known and never would know.
Draco was seated on one of the numerous park benches that lined the gardens of Malfoy Manor. It had been his mother’s favorite bench, the place where she read, wrote letters to her friends, tended to her favorite calla lily flowerbeds.
The sun was just beginning to set when Scorpius took a seat beside him. They watched dusk fall in silence.
As soon as that first star appeared in the sky, Draco felt the first signs of sorrow prick at the corners of his eyes.
It was as if Scorpius could sense it, had been waiting for it. The seventeen-year-old tilted his head until it rested easily on Draco’s shoulder. Scorpius sighed deeply, almost as if he were instructing Draco on how to properly breathe.
Which was nice.
Draco had forgotten how to breathe for a second.
He sucked in air, gasped for it, took a moment to wipe his face with both hands.
Then he wrapped his son in his embrace and squeezed until he was sure he’d break an arm. Scorpius simply let it happen. He turned and buried his face in the crook of Draco’s neck, and cried.
They cried together for a long time.
When they broke apart, Draco spotted a nervous Albus over Scorpius’s shoulder trying to discreetly sneak away.
“There’s a Potter looking extremely unsure of himself behind you,” Draco whispered.
Scorpius laughed, loud and unencumbered. “I was just about to say the same thing to you!”
Draco twisted around on the bench, shocked to find none other than Harry bloody Potter. The man was frozen mid-step, wide-eyed like a niffler caught gold-handed.
Scorpius clapped his father on the shoulder and stood from the bench. “I’m gonna go put Al out of his misery. Be nice to my future father-in-law.”
Draco scowled as Scorpius flounced away, cackling right up into Albus’s waiting arms.
“Er— sorry.” Draco glanced back at Potter who shuffled nervously from foot to foot. “I told Albus we probably shouldn’t go to the wake, but he wanted to be there for Scorp and I can’t say ‘no’ when he’s being so… caring and gross.” Harry clicked his tongue and glanced away, running a hand through his unruly dark hair. He returned his gaze to Draco and held up the bottle in his hand. “I brought fire whiskey.”
Draco smirked and scooted down the bench, creating a space for Harry. He gestured at the spot. “Well, then by all means, do have a seat, Potter.”
Harry snorted, but strode across the garden and joined Draco on the bench. He conjured two glass tumblers with a wave of his wand and as he poured a generous amount in each, Draco smiled, his first genuine smile for at least a week. It felt strange on his face.
He and Harry weren’t really friends, but they were… friendly…friend-adjacent. Their sons were dating. It wasn’t as if they could go back to pretending the other didn’t exist like they’d been doing for almost twenty years.
Well… they certainly could have. But where was the fun in that?
“Thank you for bringing Albus to the funeral. For Scorpius,” Draco murmured as he accepted one of the glasses Harry held out for him.
“Well, I was going to attend either way, so bringing Albus was no trouble at all, really.”
Draco blinked. “Wait— you were?”
Harry looked up at him with those piercing green eyes. “Of course I was. I had to say goodbye.”
Draco looked away. Harry’s earnestness was too much, even in the dark. The blond looked up at the sky and raised his glass towards its inky blackness. Then he took a sip.
“Did you just toast the sky?”
Draco felt a debilitating foolishness settle into his bones, his veins, his arteries, his lungs. It took a long time to ease himself out of it, and only did so when Harry inquired curiously as to “Why?”
Draco ran a hand through his thinning hair and looked back up at the stars, gaining a distinct sense of fortitude in their presence.
“That’s where she is now,” he confessed, motioning to the great expanse of black with his fire whiskey. He brought the glass back to his lips and took a large gulp of the liquid, swallowing painfully around the burn in his throat that wasn’t entirely due to the alcohol. ”That’s where they say all the Blacks go when they die,” he continued with a croak.
Potter furrowed his brow, and glanced up at the sky himself for a moment. “Oh.” He took a sip of his own drink in contemplation. “That’s a nice thought.”
Draco felt a grin start to creep across his face again. “Yeah. It’s annoying how the stars only come out at night, though.”
“Actually, the stars are always there, even when you can’t see them, even when it’s day time, even when it’s cloudy. They’re just… there. All the time.”
Seemingly unintentional in nature, Harry brought a hand to his chest, the place right above where his heart beat, as if remembering some lovely sentiment told to him a long time ago.
Draco didn’t need to know what that sentiment was as Harry Potter had just given Draco one of his own to carry with him for the rest of his days.
The blond hummed around the glass of fire whiskey resting against his lips.
“Is that where you’ll go?” Harry asked, nodding his head toward the sky again.
“I’m not really a Black,” Draco admitted. “In fact… I guess there aren’t any members of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black left now, is there?”
“Yes there are!”
Draco was taken aback by the vehemence in Harry’s voice. He hadn’t realized that Potter cared so deeply about this topic. He thought they’d just been talking existentially, like people tended to do after a death.
“I— well…”
“There,” Harry interrupted, pointing in the direction that Scorpius sped off to a while ago. “There are the new Blacks, Malfoy.”
Draco peered over his shoulder to find Scorpius and Albus chatting animatedly with Teddy Lupin. The young man’s hair was a dark, midnight blue and his arm was wrapped around a leggy blond girl that Draco assumed was his fiancee.
He supposed Harry had a point. Teddy was the grandson of Andromeda Tonks née Black. Scorpius was the grandson of Narcissa Malfoy née Black.
And Albus… was Harry Potter’s son. And Harry Potter may not be a Black by birth, but he was a Black by love, as Sirius Black had left everything to the boy when he died.
The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black lived on with new surnames. They lived on in the Lupins, Malfoys, and Potters of the world.
Some of those dead Blacks in the stars were probably extremely upset about their new heirs.
Draco glanced back at Harry, at the way his green eyes shined like jewels in the moonlight, and he could hardly look away now. “Alright, Potter. When I die, that’s where I’ll go,” Draco stated, as he blindly stretched out his arm and pointed to the sky. “And that’s where you’ll go,” he added.
Harry blinked and Draco could finally look away. The brunet smiled at Draco and raised his glass of fire whiskey out towards him. “Deal.”
Draco laughed, loud and unencumbered. He clinked Harry’s glass with his own. “Deal,” he echoed.
***
The last funeral that Draco attended was for his brother, Harry.
The weather couldn’t have been more perfect. Practically the entire wizarding world was in attendance.
Draco watched Scorpius, Albus, and their two children, Cedric and Cassie.
Albus was carrying Cedric, the boy’s head resting on the man’s shoulder. Little Cassie had her back leaning against Scorpius’s legs, her fingers clinging to her father’s robes as she stared down at a daisy popping out of the earth by her feet.
Draco’s heart swelled with so much love for his beautiful family. He couldn’t believe how fortunate he was to have such wonderful grandchildren. It didn’t even seem fair.
Even less fair was how he, Draco Malfoy, was considered a loved one of Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy was standing next to Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger-Weasley. He stood with James Sirius and Lily Luna. He stood with Rose, Hugo, Teddy, and Victoire. He stood next to Neville and Hannah Longbottom, next to Rolf and Luna Scamander.
When had he bothered to learn all their names? When did he become lucky enough to care about them? When did he think himself worthy enough to stand next to them and mourn this man they all loved?
It was all thanks to Scorpius and Albus for befriending each other without prejudice or malice in their hearts that first day on the train to Hogwarts. Albus may have taken Draco’s son on dangerous adventure after dangerous adventure, ones that struck fear in a weary father’s heart. But at least his son went on adventures.
And, in all honesty, it was thanks to Harry Potter himself that Draco felt comfortable enough to stand here as a member of this sprawling family that never seemed to stop expanding. It was thanks to Harry that Draco found the strength to be a part of the world even when the stars weren’t shining.
The ceremony ended, and one-by-one the crowd dispersed. Draco lingered until the gravesite was nearly empty, blessed with the knowledge that everyone he loved had someone to take care of them, that they wouldn’t need his presence at the wake for a little while longer, that the kids would be alright.
Draco looked at Harry’s gravestone for a long moment. Then he peered up at the bright blue sky. Although he couldn’t see the stars, he knew they were there, he knew that they were all looking down on him, the entirety of the once Ancient and Noble House of Black.
In Draco’s mind, Harry was up there too now. And when Draco died, he’d join him in the stars.
He smiled.
“We shall meet again, Potter. And this time I’ll be worthy of that handshake.”