A/N: This was written for the final round of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. The prompt was to write about whatever I wanted so I chose to write about Draco, of course! Enjoy!

Lifeless

Harry Potter was dead. He laid in Hagrid's arms, motionless, breathless, and lifeless. Draco almost could not believe what he was seeing. He knew that Voldemort had been planning on killing Harry Potter the whole time, but suddenly it was a reality.

Draco unexpectedly felt a surge of grief and guilt flow over him. Could any of his own actions in the last year led to this? Of course, Draco knew the answer instantly. Not hours ago, he had confronted Harry in the Room of Requirement, attempting to take him back to Voldemort in hopes to regain his trust, which ended with Crabbe's death. A couple months ago, he identified Harry, Ron, and Hermione at Malfoy Manor, albeit a little reluctantly.

Voldemort was making a speech now, something about making Slytherin the one and only house at Hogwarts; Draco was only half listening. He'd stopped really paying attention to Voldemort's soliloquies a while ago. They almost always amounted to the same thing: purebloods were better than mudbloods and mudbloods should be extinguished from the Wizarding community.

And then there was chaos. One second Voldemort was belittling Neville Longbottom and the next Neville was holding the sword of Gryffindor and had chopped off Nagini's head. Shouts and screams began again as fights between everyone else broke out once more.

"WHERE'S HARRY?" Hagrid bellowed. Draco looked back at the half-giant from his secluded, hidden spot. Sure enough, Hagrid's arms were empty. His shouts seemed to cause a frenzy. It alerted everyone to the disappearance to the boy who was meant to be dead.

Draco slid into the shadows, hoping to remain hidden. A green colored spell hit the wall behind him and Draco turned and sprinted to the Great Hall. Jinxes and spells, mostly the deadly kind, flew over his head or missed his torso by mere inches as he ran. He wasn't sure what he was trying to achieve by running away from the fight, and into a seemingly bigger one. He just knew he wanted to survive this.

Duels between students, teachers, the Order and the Death Eaters filled the Great Hall. A curse was shot a Draco's head and he blocked it quickly with a Shield Charm. He was drawn into a battle with someone he had never met or seen before.

It was possibly only a minute of dueling until Draco heard a loud, almost blood-curdling scream. He looked to his left and saw Bellatrix's dead body on the floor and Voldemort's expression of pure hatred and anger directed towards Molly Weasley. Voldemort sent spell towards Molly Weasley only for it to be repelled by a Shield Charm.

Harry Potter stood between Molly Weasley and Voldemort now. There were shouts of "Harry" and "HE'S ALIVE!" coming from everywhere, on both sides. Looking at Harry now, Draco no longer saw a boy he once bullied at school. He saw strength, confidence, and bravery in Harry's face. A true Gryffindor.

"I don't want anyone else to try and help," said Harry. "It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."

Both of Draco's parents had been reunited with him soon after the battle had ended, after Voldemort had died. They hugged and kissed him and comforted him, but he was still lost in the events of just an hour ago.

Harry and Voldemort had dueled and it ended with Voldemort's death. Draco felt no remorse or grief for his death. For a split second, he had been truly happy that Voldemort had died. But it didn't interest him for long. It was the conversation between the two that had caught Draco's attention.

When Draco stood in the Astronomy Tower last year, wielding a wand against Dumbledore, he had won the allegiance of the Elder Wand, the most powerful wand ever created. And now Draco was stuck in a daydream, wondering what could have happened if he had known, if Harry had never disarmed him at Malfoy Manor.

He would have killed me, Draco realized. As soon as he had figured out that the wand was mine, he would have killed me. Or he might have just sent someone else to kill me instead.

A feeling of gratefulness towards Harry filled Draco. He no longer cared about the embarrassment of having to use his mother's wand or being disarmed in his own home. He was alive and it was all probably thanks to Harry Potter.

Although Draco would probably never say it out loud, he was thankful that Harry Potter was alive.

Nineteen years later, Draco stood on Platform 9 ¾ once again. He held his wife's hand in one hand and the other was placed on the shoulder of his son.

Scorpius Malfoy had been born just over eleven years ago and it was Draco's number one priority to ensure that Scorpius had a childhood without being taught prejudice.

"Prejudice leads to war," he would say to his son.

"That's being a bit dramatic, Dad," Scorpius would say back.

Not that dramatic, Draco thought grimly.

Draco double-checked that Scorpius had packed enough stationary to write his parents often, much to Scorpius' annoyance. He had the feeling that someone was looking at him and so he looked up. He saw a pair of green eyes looking at him and took quick notice of the lightning bolt scar just above them. Draco sent him a curt nod and Harry nodded back.

They worked together, sometimes, or saw each other at the Ministry. They never really talked unless necessary though. Once every year, however, Draco sent the Potters a Christmas present with no tag. It was always an empty thank you card and a package of chocolate frogs.

Because even though Draco Malfoy still wouldn't admit out loud, he was very grateful that Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived.