Home

by khasael

Draco struggles to leave the past in the past and figure out exactly what he wants. Harry works to attain what he is sure he wants. Sequel to "Newfound Light". Completes the trilogy that began with "Redemption".

Title: Home
Pairing: Harry/Draco (side Ron/Hermione, Bill/Fleur, Ginny/OC)
Rating: PG-13
Era: Approximately 10 years post-Hogwarts. Canon compliant through DH, but ignores the epilogue.
Word Count ~17,000
Beta: The fabulous hanelissar
Warning(s): angst, discussions of suicide, brief mention of past self-harm
Summary: Draco struggles to leave the past in the past and figure out exactly what he wants. Harry works to attain what he is sure he wants.

Disclaimer: This piece of fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.

Author's Notes: Sequel to Newfound Light. Completes the Redemption arc.

Draco couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed his birthday. When he was a child, his parents had thrown lavish parties at the Manor, inviting their friends and some of the higher ups in the Ministry, or families Draco now knew to have Death Eater connections. Occasionally, those guests would even have children near his age. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy became regular guests at the age of six or seven. There wasn't much in the way of fun at these celebrations, but that had never bothered him. It was the life of a Malfoy—extravagant decorations, exotic foods, and high-priced entertainment (usually music—at least his mother'd had good taste in that department). It may not have been something he took great joy in, but neither had he minded much. It was what he had been accustomed to. Once he had started school, there had been massive care packages to replace the extravagant parties. No one could give gifts like his mother could.

There hadn't been much in the way of celebration since the war had ended, though. His father, of course, had gone straight to Azkaban. And while he and his mother had come through with their freedom, thanks to Harry Potter, there seemed little cause for parties. The Malfoy name was in tatters, much of their wealth had been taken as war reparations, and the number of Howlers and death-threats had made sure that Draco and his mother wanted nothing more than to hole up quietly. Every year, he would sit and remember with a pang all the parties he'd had when he was younger. If pressed, he would admit that he missed them. But no one ever asked, and he was luckier than he should have been to have his freedom.

There were no big crowds this year, no band or ice sculptures, or cakes nearly as tall as he was. There was simply an intense black-haired man to share a meal with, in a dark corner of an exclusive restaurant. Draco thought that Harry might have had to use his name to secure a reservation here, and the gesture was not lost on him. He knew how much Harry hated doing that. Which was almost funny, considering how convinced he had been years ago that Harry did that sort of thing all the time, just because he could.

"I still don't know why you didn't want a party," Harry sighed at him as he paid their bill. "I have no problem with Blaise, and I...could have put up with Pansy for an evening."

Draco smiled at him. He had been quite touched when Harry offered to throw him a party, and offered to invite his old Slytherin friends in the same breath. When he had declined, Harry had suggested inviting some of his Muggle acquaintances instead. While Draco knew for certain that Harry would get along with his neighbours much better than he would with Pansy, he had nixed that idea as well. "I would much rather spend an evening with you."

"But we do that all the time," Harry said with a shrug. That didn't stop Draco from noticing the pleased look on his face or the blush creeping up his neck.

"That's true, but it's different when you're out celebrating something. I know I don't agree to go out as often as you would like, and I'm working on that. Though you really didn't have to choose someplace so expensive when I said yes."

"I just thought this might be the kind of thing you'd like. And I wanted to do something special for you. Because I'm pretty certain the gift I got you doesn't quite measure up."

Leaning forward across the table, Draco kissed Harry and nipped at his lower lip. It reminded him of their first kiss, only he had no intention of Apparating away alone this time. "Everything you do is special." He'd had rather a lot of wine at dinner, as it seemed every time he looked up, his goblet had been full. He was feeling quite…fuzzy. In the best possible way. "Now let's go back to your place. Dinner was very nice, but dessert sounds better."

"But I don't ha—" Harry began before catching on. "Oh." He grinned, that lopsided smile that Draco loved so much. "In that case, we're wasting time just sitting here."

0—0—0

Harry had a brief flash of déjà vu when an owl brought his copy of The Daily Prophet the next morning. On the front page was a picture of himself and Draco, stepping out of the restaurant where they'd had dinner. As he watched the photograph, he and Draco clasped hands, and Draco leaned into him, tilting his face down just slightly so they could share a lingering kiss. Then Harry laughed and pulled Draco even closer before the picture began to loop. That had been mere seconds before he had Apparated them both into his living room.

The last time they had appeared on the front cover, it had been a Rita Skeeter article, some dreadful thing about how he was working to try to fix Draco's reputation, or something equally ridiculous, considering they had really been on a date. Harry skimmed this one, not giving it much more attention than he had given the other article once he saw the same by-line. Well, at least this time, she had figured out they were together. Only a few phrases really registered: closeted, former enemies, sordid tryst. Harry shrugged. Draco would be up soon; he might as well see the article. As for how he might react, Harry had no idea. He had been completely wrong the last time.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as he manoeuvred a tray of breakfast into the bedroom, where Draco was sprawled across the bed, the tangled sheet wrapped around only his hips. Harry loved the way he looked like that.

"Well, I've had worse," Draco said, muffled by the pillow. "But must your house always be so bright?"

Harry grinned. "You don't seem to mind it when you're not hung over. I still can't believe you had so much to drink. You know you don't handle wine nearly as well as you handle anything else, fancy vintage or no."

"I might not have had as much if my glass had ever come up empty." Draco winced as he sat up.

"I thought I'd told you the wine was bottomless."

"Yes, well, I've grown used to the Muggle meaning of the word, where you can have as much as you would like, but you must actually refill your glass manually. My own fault, I suppose." He looked at the tray Harry was carrying. "Is that breakfast?" He looked a little paler than usual at the thought.

Harry tried to contain his smirk. On mornings following the evenings where he overindulged, a plate of bacon and some waffles were just what he needed. It didn't appear Draco felt the same way. "Yes. But I brought you hangover potion to take first." He handed over the vial, the thin, lavender liquid sloshing around inside. "Take that and go shower. The meal can wait."

Draco tipped his head back and drained the potion with his eyes closed. "You're amazing."

Sentiments like that still never failed to make Harry feel warm inside. "You're not so bad yourself. Now go. Much as I love the way you look in my bed, it's nearly noon." He would tell Draco about the article once he was sure he was able to handle it. He gave it a good read-though while he waited. Utter rubbish. Where did that woman come up with this stuff?

Draco finally made his way out of the en-suite, looking perfectly put together, with the exception of his damp hair. Even though the ends were starting to curl as they dried, his hair still cooperated more than Harry's ever would. With an eyebrow arched, Draco sat beside Harry on the newly made bed. "Why, Potter," he drawled. "I'm surprised. You've actually straightened up the room."

Harry laughed and handed him a cup of coffee. A tiny splash of milk and two sugars, as always. If Draco was calling him 'Potter' this early, it meant he was in for an interesting day. He only did that on days he was feeling particularly feisty. "I thought I'd try something different for once, and make the place look decent. I know it's probably not up to your standards, but it's a start, right?"

"I suppose. Is that The Prophet behind your back?" One eyebrow went up again, and Harry saw the quick calculations go on behind those grey eyes. "We made the cover again, didn't we?"

"Er. Yeah."

"Let's see it." Harry handed it over and held his breath. After a moment, Draco snorted. "Well, at least she got the obvious right this time, though she used 'tryst' incorrectly in this context. And she sounds a little mad that none of your friends would comment, and she couldn't get a hold of any of mine." He said that last quietly, and Harry saw the brief look of sadness on his face before it smoothed out.

"My friends would never comment for her stories after the stunts she pulled while we were in school. I still don't know why she hasn't caught on to that."

"We've already established that she's not incredibly bright."

"I guess." Draco was taking this fairly well. He almost seemed…amused. "What is it you want to do today? I promised you an entire weekend of whatever you wanted."

Draco gave the front page another long glance before raising his eyes to Harry's. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but why don't we go out? Diagon Alley. I need a new set of robes. And while we weren't exactly keeping our relationship a secret, now that it's splashed about the paper like this, we might as well show it off, right?"

Harry felt a grin threaten to split his face. There had been a time where Draco had been so insistent upon not going out (at least not into the wizarding world), he had worried Draco might actually be ashamed of him. So having him offer something like this...well, there was no way he would decline.

"If that's what you really want." He didn't want to jinx it, but he did want to make sure. He was working on making more of an effort to be conscious of Draco's comfort levels. He didn't give him a hard time about all the long-sleeved shirts, even when the weather was warm, and he tried not to push (too often) about getting out of his house or Draco's flat.

"It is."

Harry thought there was enough truth to it to count. He stole a brief kiss. Nervous, but excited, and a little pleased. No matter what Draco said aloud, his kisses never lied. Who needed Veritaserum when he could kiss the truth out of him just as easily? "Then let me shower, and we can go."

"But you have that recently-shagged look. Do you really want to get rid of it so early?"

"I'll tell you what. We'll go out, have a pleasant afternoon, and when we return, you can put it right back."

"Potter, you have a deal." He picked up the coffee Harry had refilled with a lazy flick of the wrist and savoured it. "But hurry. I may have gotten good at waiting, but that doesn't mean I enjoy it."

Harry nodded and dashed into the shower. At least Draco had left him hot water this time. He was absurdly considerate about the little things, but Harry had noticed that the one exception was leaving hot water when trying to shower away a night of too much alcohol. He wiped the fog away from the mirror when he was done, trying to comb his hair as best he could while making a mental note to cast another anti-fog charm on the mirror. When he emerged back into the bedroom, Draco was sitting on the bed, reading the front page article again.

Harry watched him for a moment, trying to ignore how his shirt stuck to his back. He never waited long enough between drying off and throwing on clothing. Draco looked torn between relief and worry. Creeping up softly on the pads of his feet, Harry climbed behind Draco, the mattress dipping under his knees. He rested his lips softly against the curve of the other man's pale neck. Draco smelled like soap and the bottle of expensive shampoo he kept under Harry's sink. The writing was all in French, and Harry still hadn't worked out the scent. Musk and something lighter. Vanilla, maybe? "Ready to go?"

"Yes." Though he said so, Draco didn't move for a moment, and Harry flicked his tongue against the pulse point in Draco's neck, making him shiver just a little. He tasted even better than he smelled. After a bit, Draco got up, gracefully moving off the bed, leaving Harry to clumsily climb behind him. Once he had found his trainers, he took Draco's arm and Apparated alongside him, staggering just a little as the sounds of Diagon Alley hit his ears, a marked change from the silence of his bedroom.

"Where to first? Madame Malkin's?" When Draco nodded, Harry snagged Draco's hand in his own and pulled him close to his side. Though he had agreed to this outing, suggested it, even, Draco's body language wasn't easy and fluid like it was when they were alone. A quick squeeze of hands, and Draco's posture relaxed somewhat. That was good enough for Harry.

"I really don't know why you asked me along, Draco," Harry told him nearly an hour later. "You obviously don't need any help. And I'm awful at this kind of thing. Hermione picked out my last set of dress robes for me."

"I'm not entirely surprised you had help," Draco said with a little of the smirk that was so much warmer than the one he used to wear. "But you're not as bad as you used to be. You match. You wear things that fit these days. Besides, maybe I just wanted to have someone to tell me how good I looked."

When the witch kneeling at Draco's feet giggled around a mouth full of pins, Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. Madame Malkin still ran the place, but her young apprentice had run forward and insisted on helping Draco with his fitting. Harry saw the way she looked at him, and then the way she had looked at them both, and he had a feeling she'd seen the paper that morning as well.

"Bottom hem's done, Mr Malfoy. Just need to do your sleeves."

Now Harry was sure she had seen the article. They hadn't given names when they had come in, and though he often bought from Madame Malkin herself, he had never seen this young woman before today. And with as infrequently as Draco was a patron in Diagon Alley, chances were good that he never had, either.

Draco gave a curt nod, tensing perceptibly. At first Harry thought the witch had stabbed him with a pin, but then he saw her holding Draco's left wrist. Harry stood, placing a hand on the small of Draco's back for a brief moment, but the witch only trailed her eyes over the tiny bit of scar tissue that showed past Draco's sleeve and moved on without comment. Harry could hear the air being quickly released through Draco's nose, and the look of relief was not lost on him, either. It had been nearly ten years since the end of the war, and this girl had likely not even started at Hogwarts until a few years after it was all over. While she likely knew of the Dark Mark, Harry didn't think she connected it with the scars on Draco's arm. So much the better.

When Draco had finished his fitting, he led Harry to Florean's old shop. Once he seemed to realise that the young witch had noticed his scar and thought nothing of it, he seemed lighter on his feet than he usually did in public.

"Ice creams before we even have lunch?" Harry asked. And Draco said he acted like a child.

"Why not? You promised me a weekend of what I wanted, and this is on my list. Besides, I've been wanting to try the new sorbet flavour. You should try it, too." He smirked. The expression still seemed to beg for Harry to kiss it right off Draco's face. "Especially given Rita's article."

Remembering Draco's penchant for appropriate ice cream flavours, Harry tried to think of what flavour might represent the reporter. Pickled hag? Sour grapes? As he mused, Draco let out a humourless laugh and gestured with a tilt of his head. "Well, speak of the devil."

Harry looked over his shoulder and saw the unfortunately familiar head of curls and unmistakably bright wardrobe that framed Rita Skeeter. It appeared she had seen them as well, as she was at their side in an instant.

"Well, well. The famous Harry Potter, and the…infamous Draco Malfoy."

"Rita," Harry managed. He loathed the sight of the reporter so much it gave him visions of crushing beetles under his heel. "Looking for quotes, are you?"

Looking pleased that he had caught on so quickly, she flashed a smile at him that was more predatory than friendly. "Seeing as how your friends were so unpleasant about being interviewed… Hexing really is beneath you all, at this age, really," she added with a huff before resuming her thought. "And who better to ask than the new couple themselves?" A Quik-Quotes Quill appeared at her shoulder, and Harry eyed it with distrust. A mountain troll with a bad head cold had a better chance of quoting him accurately.

"It might help if you got the basics right," came a lazy drawl from very near Harry's ear. He had almost forgotten Draco was standing near him. He could feel Draco's breath on his ear. "First, we're not a 'new couple'. We've been together for several months. Second, this isn't a 'dalliance', it is a relationship. Third—"

"Third, I'm not 'closeted' or even 'newly out'," Harry cut in, enjoying the look on Rita's face. "I thought any reporter with even a dash of common sense knew that. Neither am I under the Imperius Curse, or being dosed with Amorentia, or any other sort of potion." He turned to face Draco, who was looking at him with amusement. "Did I leave anything out?"

Draco's gaze was soft, a barely concealed laugh on his lips. He wove his fingers through Harry's. "No, I think you've covered the main errors in today's supposed…story." With that, they walked past Rita, who was shooting the most evil of looks Harry had seen in a long time. "Now, about this ice cream. Give it a try, would you?"

Harry sighed as he followed Draco through the door. He really wanted his standard strawberry. But if he used the 'you should try new things' line on Draco ever again (and he quite likely would), Draco would remember this and counter with it. "If you think I'll like it, I'll try it."

"Good." When it was their turn, Draco simply asked for the new flavour. When they were presented with two bowls of something that was suspiciously bright pink, Harry raised his eyebrows. "Don't judge it on looks. Just try it," Draco said with a roll of the eyes.

"It's not some tropical thing I've never heard of, is it?" If he was going to vary from his standard, he would really rather have chocolate. He thought briefly of Honeydukes. It had been far too long since his last visit there. He felt a little funny being one of the few adults in there not chaperoning a child, but the owner always seemed happy to see him. Then again, he had probably supported one of the man's children entirely on his own with his purchases of Chocolate Frogs and Sugar Quills over the years.

"So what if it is? Don't you trust me?" Draco's voice was mock-wounded, and Harry rolled his eyes. One of his favourite things over the last few months was how much more like the young Draco this Draco was becoming. Only…not a prat. Well, not much of one. Well, okay, he was kind and considerate, anyway. And he made Harry laugh. And he was bloody gorgeous. That didn't hurt.

"All right, all right. You know I do." He wasn't going to be poisoned. And if he didn't like it, he didn't have to finish it. He snorted a little. He had made similar deals with Teddy Lupin in the past. He took a small spoonful and looked up at Draco, who was watching him. "Okay, you were right. And I get it. Cute, by the way."

Draco beamed at him, then rolled his eyes at an older wizard who walked by and pointed at the two of them, muttering to his wife. "I know that being with you means people are going to talk, but really. That stupid Imperius rumour is kind of insulting."

"I think it's almost funny, considering I was the one who had to try to get you into the relationship."

"I had issues I was dealing with. Am dealing with. Whatever. Had nothing to do with you. If this doesn't die down in a few weeks, I'm taking out an ad in The Prophet to reiterate that I am not a Death Eater, and you are with me of your own volition. It's been ten years. I've not made a move toward anything Dark, and I would kindly like everyone to let me the hell alone."

Now Draco looked cross. Harry took his hand over the table and heard another whisper from the table behind them. He remembered something like this when The Prophet had run the equally inaccurate piece about his breakup with Ginny. It had died down, and fairly quickly. "Just forget about it. I know the truth about you, and I'm in love with you for who you are now. I don't care about all that old stuff. Now can we get back to the ice creams?"

Draco sighed. "So you do like it, then?"

"I do. I wonder, does your little ice cream flavour game always work?"

"Well, I haven't been wrong yet. And the Weasleys enjoyed the ginger ice cream, did they not?"

"They did. Ron called it gingerbread, though. I couldn't correct him." Harry lifted another spoonful. "So this is strawberry and lemon?"

"Yes. The flavours complement each other well, don't you think?"

Harry thought about what Draco had said about each of their original preferred flavours the first time they had come here as he ate. He'd used the words 'childish', 'innocent', and something about 'traditional' in regards to Harry, and 'tart and not too sweet' and 'crisp, with a little bit of bite' about himself. He claimed the description could be said about both the blood orange he used to get, and the lemon he now preferred, only the lemon was a little lighter. "They're very nice together. What is it you want to do after we've finished our deep conversation on ice cream flavours and their hidden meanings?"

Draco smiled as he swallowed his small bite. "I already told you. As soon as we're done, I want to put that look back."

Harry dropped his spoon, remaining ice cream immediately forgotten. "Ready when you are."

With a laugh, Draco flicked his wand and sent the bowls into the nearest bin. "Such a waste. But as I said earlier—I don't like to wait. Let's go."

0—0—0

"Are you ready yet?"

Draco took another look in the mirror. It had been nearly ten minutes since Harry had asked the last time, and he was beginning to sound impatient. Draco was as presentable as he was ever going to be, but that didn't exactly mean he was 'ready'. He set his jaw and walked out into Harry's bedroom. "How do I look?"

"You look great. As always. Now let's go. We'll probably be the last to arrive. Planning on being fashionably late?"

"Something like that," Draco murmured. He couldn't believe he was about to do this. He was about to willingly walk into a Weasley stronghold. The thought nearly made him sick. This wasn't about the way he used to image their home, cramped and dirty. He just wasn't sure he could face them all. And not just them—Harry's other friends as well. He hoped he could get through the night without being hexed into St. Mungo's. Harry had assured him that wouldn't happen, but the closer Harry's birthday came, the less Draco was sure about that.

"Because Merlin forbid you be anything but fashionable," Harry said with a laugh. "Come on." He held tight to Draco's arm and a moment later, they were standing on the front porch of the Burrow.

"Harry, wait," Draco said, suddenly certain this was a bad idea.

"What?" Harry paused with one of his hands clasping one of Draco's and the other one on the door handle. A light summer's breeze blew, ruffling Harry's black hair, and Draco caught the scents of fresh-cut grass and wildflowers on the night wind. He could practically feel the anticipation of happiness flowing out of Harry. He couldn't deny him that. It was his birthday, and he had been looking forward to this night all month, solely because his friends would be here.

"Your collar's crooked." He raised a hand up to fix the material that wasn't really out of place.

"Thanks." Harry squeezed Draco's hand and opened the door.

Noise assaulted Draco before they were even fully in the house, and he winced. A small body shot toward Harry and threw itself into his arms, and Harry's hand was knocked loose from his. "Harry! Happy birthday!"

Harry laughed and lifted the boy up into his arms. "Thanks, Teddy. Is your grandmother here?"

"She's in the kitchen with Mrs Weasley. Harry, look what I can do!"

As Draco watched, the boy's hair went from light blue to nearly black and a faint lightning-shaped scar appeared on his forehead. Harry just laughed again. "Very good."

"I've been practicing! Gran says I'm almost as good at is as my mum was. Maybe by the time I get to school, I can be better." With that, he was off, running up the stairs.

Harry looked at Draco. "Teddy Lupin. Remus and Tonks' son. My godson." An interesting smile quirked one side of his mouth, but Draco didn't know what it meant. He wondered if Harry had forgotten the boy was his cousin. If so, he couldn't fault him. This was the first time Draco had ever seen the boy, as his aunt hadn't brought him along to his mother's memorial service. "Come on."

Harry was positively swarmed with people once they entered the living room of the house. Draco watched a dozen people all come up and wish Harry a happy birthday, all of them offering embraces. Draco couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable. No one touched him but Harry, really. After a moment, Harry pulled him into the centre of the room with him, where he was talking to Weasley and Gran—Weasley and Weas—Ron and Hermione.

"Hello, Draco," Hermione said with a polite little smile. A small infant had her hair wrapped in its hand, its face buried in Hermione's shoulder.

"Hermione. It's nice to see you." He wasn't sure if this was true or not. "And you, Ron." That name felt odd on his tongue. He wondered if he would ever get used to it.

"So, Malfoy," Weasley began, before being elbowed by his wife. "I mean, Draco. How have you been?"

"I've been well." This was so awkward. He hadn't seen either of Harry's best friends in person in years. He had heard Hermione's voice a few times from his place in the back of the Apothecary when he was working, and he'd seen Weas—Ron around the joke shop in Diagon Alley plenty of times, but he had never made his presence known. And he had managed to avoid their previous invitations to get-togethers. Draco looked at the infant and gestured. "What's her name?"

Hermione's face positively lit up. "This is Rose." She shifted the baby so Draco could see her face. She had just the slightest bit of reddish-brown hair, and bright blue eyes that regarded him carefully.

"She's very pretty." She was, too. She was studying him so seriously that Draco was disarmed into a smile, thinking that perhaps she had inherited her mother's brain. That couldn't be all bad.

Rose lifted her chubby little arms toward Draco and opened and closed her fists. "Thank you. Do you…do you want to hold her? It's okay if you don't. But she loves everybody."

That kind of attitude sounded just fine to him. "Thank you, but I'm afraid I'd drop her. I'm not good around children." That wasn't entirely true, but he wasn't exceptionally good with them, either. He didn't think he had ever even held a child so young before. He had watched one of his neighbour's children once; it had thankfully remained asleep the entire three hours, while its mother had gone to do some shopping. But even that had been a few years ago.

"Oh." A little of the smile left Hermione's face. "All right, then." She placed a little kiss on Rose's forehead, and when Draco turned back to look at Harry for guidance, he couldn't find him. He wasn't anywhere Draco could see. After a moment, something like panic began to fill him as he thought of all the people in his house he had wronged, and he excused himself to the restroom, guided by Hermione's directions. Maybe he couldn't do this, after all.

0—0—0

Harry stood outside the bathroom door, listening to the sound of water splashing in the basin. He had paused to find Andromeda, and it wasn't until a few minutes later that he had realised Draco hadn't followed him. When he had come back to where he had left Draco, he was nowhere to be seen. Hermione must have seen the concerned look on his face, because she slipped up behind him and put a hand on his elbow. "If you're looking for Draco, I think he's in the restroom. He didn't look well."

"Thanks, Hermione." She had just smiled at him and turned back to her conversation with Fleur.

After a moment, the splashing stopped and the water was turned off. "Draco?"

"Harry?" The relief in Draco's voice was plain, and Harry felt a little stab of guilt for just leaving him alone without saying something.

"Yeah. Can I come in?" After a moment, the door opened, and Harry walked in to see Draco sitting on the edge of the Weasley's tub. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

Harry shook his head. "I've told you before, you're not nearly as good a liar as you used to be. What's wrong? Is it the number of people crowded in the Burrow?" He was quite used to it, but for someone who had spent an awful lot of time alone in the last several years, Harry supposed it could be overwhelming.

"Not exactly."

Harry took a good look into Draco's eyes and it all seemed to click. "It's them. You still feel guilty, don't you? You're not a bad person, Draco. They know that."

"It's different for you, I'm sure. You're good. You've always been good."

Harry frowned at him. "That's not true." They had all done things that were, at the very least, questionable. He had found pleasure in other's misery before. Merlin knew he had found plenty of pleasure in Draco's misery before, back when they were younger. He had lied. He had stolen. His friends had helped. He thought briefly of how guilty Hermione had felt about Marietta Edgecombe years after the event, the way she had broken down into tears when her apology had been rebuffed. "I'm not perfect. I have as many faults as anyone." Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Harry kneeled and reached forward and took Draco's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Difference is, I've tried to forgive myself for things I can't change."

Draco looked at him for a long time. "Perhaps I don't feel I deserve to be forgiven. Perhaps I'm not the one who can grant that forgiveness."

Harry sighed, pulling Draco closer. "Well, then, maybe you should actually ask." He saw the panicked look in those grey eyes, and placed a gentle kiss on Draco's cheek, hoping it would be of some comfort. "You'll never know unless you do." After a moment, he pulled Draco into a standing position. "Come on. Let's get back to the party. I can't enjoy it, knowing you're in here feeling miserable." It was great to see his friends, the people he considered family, but he didn't feel right having a good time if Draco was this uncomfortable. "If it gets to be too much, we'll leave."

Draco's eyes widened. "You would leave your own party because of how I feel?"

"Yeah." Harry shrugged. "They're my friends. They'd understand."

Taking a deep breath, Draco shook his head. "I'm fine. Let's get back to your celebration."

Harry smiled. He had faith in Draco, even if Draco didn't have much in himself.

0—0—0

Draco braced himself for what he was planning to do. His brain told him Harry was right, even if his body wanted nothing more than to leave instead of confronting his fears. But then he saw Bill Weasley, scars deep across his cheek and pulling down the corner of one eye slightly. Though it had happened years ago, the wounds still looked recent.

He took a deep breath, and Harry squeezed his hand before letting go and moving just a little bit away. "Bill?"

Bill turned around and looked at Draco, surprise written on his face just as plainly as the scars. "Draco?" He seemed unsure how to continue, so Draco figured he would just say his piece and spare them both the awkward silence.

"Listen, I wanted to talk to you, while we had a moment alone."

"All right."

"I wanted to apologise." He willed himself to look away from the scars, but they were all his mind wanted to see. "I was the one who let Fenrir into the school. I'm the reason th-that happened to you. I know nothing I say could ever make up for it, could ever fix it, could ever make your life better, but I just wanted you to know I truly am sorry for my actions, though I don't expect you to forgive me." He felt like vomiting.

After a moment more of silence, Bill spoke, pushing his hair back behind his ear. "You're sorry?"

"I am." He tried to keep the tremble out of his voice, and he thought he succeeded reasonably well.

"You know, I don't even think about that night anymore. I do thank you for your apology. I know that can't have been easy. But Harry's explained it all to us. Some of it years ago, during the trials for your family, and some of it more recently. I'm not mad at you, Draco. My life is fine—better than fine. I'm happy." Draco finally lifted his eyes off the floor and looked at Bill, who was looking at him with a small smile. "Besides, in a small way, it was a blessing."

"I don't understand. How…how…?" He couldn't even get the rest of it out.

Bill's smile widened a little, and Draco noticed that even that was crooked, the scars stretching it out into a different shape. "Believe it or not, that's the only thing that got my mother off my back about Fleur. It was at that point that she stopped nagging us and accepted that we were good together. And now I have a wife I couldn't possibly love more, two beautiful, healthy children, and plans for a third. You don't need my forgiveness, Draco. But if it helps, know that I hold no grudge. I'm lucky, and I know it. I have a life I love." He placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, and Draco felt buoyed just a little by the gesture. "Now go enjoy the party." He removed his hand and walked away, leaving Draco standing against the wall, stunned. He didn't even move for several minutes, busy thinking over everything Bill had just said.

"Hello, Draco."

Draco turned his head toward the light voice at his side, only to see Luna Lovegood staring at him with those protuberant eyes of hers. "Hello, Luna. How are you?"

"I'm quite well, thank you. I'm glad you came along with Harry tonight. He really wants you to get along with his friends."

Draco just nodded. Harry had never said as much, but it was obvious enough. "Listen, Luna, while I've got you here, there was something I wanted to talk to you about." She just kept looking at him, and that gaze of hers was somehow dreamy and penetrating at the same time, and it shouldn't have been able to be both things, but it somehow was. "I wanted to say I'm sorry for the way things went so many years ago. I'm sorry that you were…kept prisoner at my family's home. And worse."

Luna shrugged. "Yes, that was quite an awful time. I don't blame you for it, of course. You weren't really a Death Eater, and it was clear you weren't comfortable with what was happening. You seemed almost as unhappy about it as those of us who were prisoners." She took a sip of her drink. "You know, I had something I wanted to say to you, as well."

Draco steeled himself for it. "All right." Whatever she threw at him, he would do his best to take it.

She raised her wrist, and the gold bracelet and Ravenclaw charm attached gleamed in the light. "This was from you. I never got the chance to say thank you."

For a moment, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. When his brain found the track this new conversation was on, all he came up with was, "It was from Harry."

Luna just smiled at him. "As much as I love Harry, we both know that the gifts he gave me that night aren't things he would have chosen. He's a wonderful friend, very loyal, but he doesn't give things like this. This was well-thought-out, and personal. I especially liked the book on pet therapy—the idea that animals can help speed healing is one I am quite interested in. Thank you again." She gestured with her chin to a place across the room. "You should go to him. He looks worried. You know, I'm glad you're happy together. Whether he knows it or not, I think he needs you, in a way. It's funny. Strong hate sometimes fuels the strongest love." With that, she gave him a strange smile and left as suddenly as she had appeared.

Harry made his way over to Draco's side a short moment later. "Was that Luna you were speaking with?"

"It was." Even he could hear that his voice was a little dazed. "She's not quite as loony as she used to be, is she?"

"Hm? Oh, no, I suppose not." Harry looked her way and smiled over Draco's shoulder.

"Has she always been that…blunt?"

"Yes. Actually, the honesty's been toned down a bit since she became a Healer. She's much gentler about the truth these days."

Draco nodded. If that was Luna being gentle, he wasn't sure he could have handled the conversation before she had tempered her matter-of-factness.

"Things going okay? I saw that you spoke to Bill, as well."

"They were both very…" He frowned. "It went much better than I'd ever thought it could. I think I have you to thank for a lot of that."

"What do you mean?"

"Bill mentioned that you'd done a lot of explaining on my behalf, both around the time you testified for my family, and sometime since we've started seeing each other. Without that… Well, I'll just say that I probably wouldn't have been invited along tonight and treated so well."

"I told you that it wouldn't be as bad as you thought. I know these people well, Draco. And they see how happy I am now. That's the biggest factor. Now, do you think we might be able to mingle a little? I promised Andromeda and Mrs Weasley that I would come back once I found you. They probably think I got lost. Or that we're hiding somewhere doing unspeakable things to each other."

As Harry smirked, Draco turned pink. "That's my aunt. I don't need to worry about that. All right, lead the way. I really should thank Mrs Weasley for her hospitality."

"Did you know you resort to being snobbish and polite when you're embarrassed?"

"I'll keep it in mind. But I would keep the snide comments to a minimum if you want to share a bed anytime soon."

Harry snorted as he picked his way through the room. "I'd be curious to see which of us cracked first. Not that I plan on testing it."

Draco laughed, quickly affecting a small polite smile as they approached the two older women. The anxiety that had filled him not an hour ago had receded into the background, though it wasn't completely gone. He could do this after all. Harry helped.

0—0—0

The night had gone better than Harry had hoped. Not only had Draco agreed to accompany him to the Burrow, but he had stayed the entire length of the party. Harry had worried for a bit that they would have to leave early, but Draco had faced what he seemed most afraid of, and after a couple of much-needed conversations, he nearly became the person Harry loved so much. He hoped his friends could see a little bit of the real Draco. There was nothing he wanted more than for them all to get along.

Arthur dragged him out to the back yard shortly before they gathered around for dessert. Teddy was playing around with one of Ron's old training brooms, hovering a few feet off the ground. Victoire was watching him in awe, asking for a turn that he didn't seem to want to give her. "Molly's still not thrilled that I spend so much time tinkering with this thing," he said, gesturing to the old television Harry had donated a few months back. "But she still lets me have my fun, as long as I don't leave parts lying around the house." He turned it on, looking delighted when the screen flickered, though Harry worried he might shock himself senseless. He looked like he was finally getting somewhere with modifying it to work without electricity.

Smiling, Harry listened to Arthur go on for his plans for adapting the television, and his hopes that he could do the same with an old VCR he had managed to find somewhere. Harry didn't have the heart to tell him how outdated the technology was. When Fleur came to find them, Harry got up and dusted off the knees of his jeans. "Better wash up, Mr Weasley."

Mr Weasley looked down at his shirt, which had become quite dirty as he moved parts around and showed Harry a few of his other projects. With a quick Evanesco, he was clean enough to appease his wife, and they headed back inside, with Fleur following them and making a disapproving noise Harry was sure she didn't realise sounded quite a bit like Mrs Weasley.

Harry looked around for Draco as everyone crowded around the table that strained under the weight of puddings and treacle tart, dishes, punch, Butterbeer, and a pile of gifts. After a moment, Draco wandered his way, Neville trailing him. Harry watched with a crooked smile as he caught the tail end of their conversation.

"I find that I get better results if they're picked at dawn, actually. They seem to be more potent." Neville shrugged. "Though there is something to be said for planting them during a full moon. I will grant you that."

"Are you expecting a good harvest after the term begins?" Harry's smile widened. This was one of the versions of Draco he liked best—passionate Draco. "If you have any you'd be willing to sell..."

Neville smiled broadly. "You know I'd be happy to supply you after we secure enough for the Herbology and Potions lessons for the year. I'll meet with the Headmistress to discuss the details. You pay a much better price than—"

Draco held up a hand. "Of course we do. And you know better than to mention that man to me," he added with a laugh. "Besides, I would much rather get our Golden Vine from you than that farm in France. They sell for cheap, but the quality's just not there." Draco put his arm around Harry's waist, a curiously relaxed gesture that Harry didn't expect. "Sorry. I probably shouldn't be talking business during your party."

"It's all right. As long as you're not boring Neville."

"Not his fault, Harry—I started the conversation. There's just not anyone else here who cares about the best times to plant or harvest, or how weather conditions affect an herb's potency. Besides, Draco and I have had a pleasant working relationship for a couple of years now."

Harry threw a sideways glance at Draco. He'd had no idea that the two of them had a relationship—professional or otherwise. It made logical sense—Draco bought ingredients for the Apothecary, and Neville was the Herbology professor at Hogwarts. Harry wasn't quite sure how it had escaped his attention. Draco was always so worried that no one would forgive him, so guilt-ridden. But he had managed to forge a civil relationship on his own with someone he had never gotten along with. Draco didn't always make sense.

Full of sweets and overwhelmed by his friends' generosity, as he still frequently found himself, Harry spent the next hour of the party sitting on the Weasley's sofa, trying to remain awake. Draco had left him to have a quiet conversation outside with Andromeda, and sensing this was a family matter, Harry had chosen not to follow. Hermione sat herself down next to him, and he yawned. "Where's Rose?"

"Ron's upstairs, putting her to bed in Ginny's old room. They've asked us to stay overnight. How are you?"

"Sleepy."

"You stuffed yourself full of treacle tart, didn't you?"

"I might have." Being a mother agreed with Hermione. Harry didn't think Rose or any other children they had would put much past her.

"Are you doing okay otherwise? I know that sometimes on your birthday, you…well, you know."

Harry gave her a tired smile. "I know. It gets easier as the years go on. I still miss all those people we lost, the ones I wasn't able to save. But I'm dealing with it, the same as everyone else is. I try not to take each friend who's no longer with us as a personal failure. It's harder with some of them—Sirius, Remus, Fred, Tonks—but..." He hadn't lied. It was easier now than it had been. That didn't mean it wasn't still depressing. He actually hadn't thought about it yet tonight until just now. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Ron came down the stairs just then. "Where's Mal—Draco?" He shrugged at Harry. "I'm trying, but it's hard to get used to."

"I actually wanted to talk to you two about that. I wanted to thank you for being so polite to him this evening. He was really worried that… Well, he was worried, after all the things he had done in the past, that no one here would forgive him."

"Well, it was a decade ago," Ron said. "None of us is who we used to be back then. We've grown up, learnt what matters." He made a face, and Harry wondered if Ron was remembering leaving the two of them in the woods all those years ago. "And besides the fact that he's not the pompous little prat he used to be, he makes you happy, doesn't he? I can put up with him and even get along with him if that's the case. Who knows? Maybe we could even be friends someday. I mean, it might take another ten years, but I can try."

"We both feel that way, Harry. It's easy enough to think of him as a different person than he used to be. Just—just don't ask me to spend any time at Malfoy Manor, okay? I've forgiven him, quite a while ago actually, but I don't think I could bear to be in that house again, not after the last time I was there." Hermione shivered.

"I don't think that will be a problem, Hermione. Even Draco hates spending time there. He says it has far too many unpleasant memories to—" He was interrupted by Molly Weasley approaching them, and Harry knew from the look on her face that something had finally tried her patience just a little too far.

"Ronald Weasley, I've been trying to find you for the last twenty minutes. Your brothers are out in the back, trying to keep your father from maiming himself with that—that—machine, and I think George is just encouraging him instead. Would you please get out there and talk some reason into him?" Mrs Weasley looked beyond exasperated, and Harry and Hermione exchanged glances as Ron grudgingly heaved himself off the sofa, muttering that they wouldn't listen to him anyway.

"I should go keep an eye on them," Hermione said a moment later as a sound that might have been an explosion, followed by an outburst of laughter, reached them. "That cannot be a good sign."

Harry smiled. "I think you're right. Go. I'll be fine. I've been meaning to talk to Ginny all night, and she and Jackson are just over there."

"Have fun. And if Ron or any of his brothers lose a finger to whatever they're trying to do out there, well… we'll just have to reattach it again. But he might be sleeping on your sofa for a day or two."

Harry shook his head as she walked away and moved toward the kitchen table, where Ginny and her boyfriend were sitting. Hermione certainly had her hands full. It was a part of being a Weasley.

Harry spent a full thirty minutes talking with Ginny and her fiancé when all was said and done. Jackson played for the Cannons (which pleased Ron to no end. If Harry was never going to be his official brother, than being related to the Keeper for his favourite team was the next best option), and was a nice enough bloke. And Ginny seemed happy, which relieved Harry more than he cared to admit. He hadn't really been able to do that for her, no matter how hard he had tried.

"We play each other next month, you know. I'm sure one of us could get you a couple of tickets," Jackson told him happily, as Ginny brought him another Butterbeer. She was holding a sleepy-looking Dominique on her hip. Fleur was somewhere in the kitchen helping to find room for all the leftover food, and all of the Weasley children were being passed around to sets of ready arms. "Though I'm sure you'd be rooting for Holyhead."

Harry laughed. He privately thought that Draco might cheer for Chudley, just to be difficult, but he didn't tell them that. "I—we—would love to go to another match, but don't trouble yourselves. Do you find it difficult to play against one another?"

"Nah," Jackson said with a smirk firmly on his face. "Makes things interesting though for the week before and after. Especially in the bedroom."

"Jackson!" Ginny admonished him. "Sorry, Harry. Just ignore him. I do." She pulled him away, leaving Harry to shake his head and watch them.

"Do you regret any of it?"

"Hm?"

Draco had come up behind him, and was now resting his chin on Harry's shoulder, following Harry's gaze. "Do you regret what we're doing? Seeing her, them—Ginny, her new flame, and her holding that child—is that what you want?"

Harry was quite positive the answer was no, but he thought that if he said it too quickly, Draco wouldn't believe him. "I don't regret it in the slightest. That's not for me. A family, maybe, but not like that."

"Like what, then?" Draco's voice was quiet, so quiet, and Harry knew his answer to this was important. Hopefully, he wouldn't mess it up.

"More like what we're making for ourselves."

Draco went very still behind him; even his breath on Harry's ear paused. "Oh," he breathed after a moment, and Harry didn't miss the tightness in his voice, mirrored by a slight tightening of Draco's arms around Harry's waist.

Harry let Draco hold him for a moment more, enjoying the feeling of being wrapped up so tightly, being claimed and needed. "Come on. Let's go home. I'm exhausted."

"You ate too much treacle tart, didn't you?"

Harry snorted. "You sound like Hermione."

"Yes, well, intelligent people often have the same ideas. Or we both know you well enough to know you should never be left to serve yourself certain desserts."

"Point taken. Maybe you can help me work off the extra helping." He yawned. "In the morning."

"Don't promise what you can't deliver, Potter," Draco laughed, relinquishing his hold.

"Oh, I have every intention of delivering. As soon as I get some sleep."

They were in bed not long after, Draco's head nestled easily in the crook of Harry's arm. Harry rubbed his fingers up and down Draco's spine in lazy movements as he felt himself drifting off. "Harry?"

"Hm?" His eyes were closed, but he didn't have to see the look on Draco's face to know that he had been thinking hard since they'd climbed into bed.

"Thank you." Draco tilted his face forward and placed a kiss on Harry's collarbone.

With a sleepy smile, Harry kissed the top of Draco's head, blond hair tickling his nose. "Thank you." He heard and felt Draco's soft sigh, and after that, it was all sleep and dreams.

0—0—0

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Harry muttered.

Draco favoured him with a smirk. "Yes, well, I thought the same thing myself the night of your birthday. And honestly, this is one invitation I expected you to decline."

"Well I didn't want you going out dancing by yourself."

"I wouldn't be by myself, Harry. Pansy will be there with her date."

"You know what I mean. I didn't want you to go without me and find random strangers to dance with."

"Jealous?" The smirk wouldn't leave his face, no matter how much he tried to replace it with something else. It was flattering, really, how possessive Harry could be. He didn't seem to realise just how little competition he would ever have.

"Maybe."

Draco crossed the room and grabbed Harry by the hips. "While I do love how protective and territorial you can be, you don't have anything to worry about. I'm very much yours. Do you believe me?"

Harry looked up into Draco's eyes, studying them for several moments before giving an answer that really should have been more convincing. "I do."

"Good. Besides, who would want me? You're the one I have to worry about. Everyone wants a piece of you. You're saviour to the bloody world. And you're not bad to look at, either."

A cynical look flitted over Harry's face, a hint of amusement trailing behind it. "Thanks. But you know I hate that 'saviour' rubbish."

"I know. Now let's go. Fashionably late is a Slytherin trait, but if we keep Pansy waiting, she'll have our heads."

Harry sighed as Draco led him to the fireplace downstairs that was connected to the Floo Network. "Right behind you."

Draco caught Harry in his arms as they stumbled into the club, people crowded around the area. "Honestly, is it so hard to move away from the Floo once you've arrived?" Draco asked with a sigh. "What were these people taught as children?"

Harry laughed at him as they pushed their way through the crowd. "Well, not everyone had the stellar upbringing you did."

"That had better not be a crack at my mother's expense, Potter," Draco said with a dour expression over his shoulder. That was a subject still very much off-limits. He could forgive Harry a lot of things, but that was pushing it.

"Not at all. I just meant that not all children were given such rigorous rules about manners. And even those children that were often chose to ignore them once out of their parents' sight."

"Are you implying that I wasn't a polite child?"

"No. I'm flat-out telling you that you were a downright prat, Draco." Harry squeezed his hand and let himself be led to Pansy's table, one of the furthest away from where they had entered. "But I love you anyway."

"Well, what should I expect from someone raised by Muggles? Given that family of yours, Harry, it's a wonder you're this well-adjusted. I may not have met them, but I've heard the stories. I used to believe they were everything my parents cautioned about. It thankfully didn't take too long after the war to realise how far outside the norm they were. Because if all Muggles behaved that way…"

He didn't finish his sentence. Harry squeezed his hand again. "What if they had?"

"I probably wouldn't be here. Or anywhere." He hoped that Harry dropped the subject. He'd considered ending his life, but that was far behind him now. He didn't want to broach that subject. It was painful on so many levels.

Harry didn't respond for a moment. "I'm very glad you realised how decent people really can be," he said, just loudly enough that Draco could hear him over the music. Draco gave him a small smile and stopped, dropping Harry's hand in favour of embracing Pansy.

"Draco, darling. So good of you to come," she said warmly. "You so rarely come out." She let go of Draco and turned to Harry. They both looked so uncomfortable, and if he had been any less mature, Draco would have laughed. He was having a hard enough time controlling the smirk as it was. "And Potter. You made it."

"Er. Yeah. Hello, Pansy. You look nice."

"Thank you."

They all stood there awkwardly for a moment before Pansy's date leaned across the table with his hand outstretched. "I'm Anton. Harry, correct?" His accent was nearly indistinguishable, and Draco wondered where exactly Pansy had picked up her newest amour.

"Right." Harry looked relieved that someone besides Draco was going to be more friendly than civil toward him. "Nice to meet you."

Draco introduced himself as well, then nudged Harry into the booth. "Have you two been here long?"

"No. We've only just arrived. In fact, I was just about to get the two of us some drinks. Can I get anything for either of you?"

Before Harry could say anything, Draco leapt up from the table. "I'll come with you, actually. Harry and Pansy can sit here and chat."

Anton gave him an amused grin, as if even he knew that their dates weren't on the best of terms and 'chatting' would be better described as 'sitting here and trying not to hex one another'. "All right."

"Draco, what—" Harry hissed, looking either irritated or panicked, Draco couldn't tell.

"Don't worry, Harry. Just sit here and play nice while we run to the bar. I can't trust you to place my drink order, can I? Unless you know which vintage of wine I'd prefer?"

Harry glared at him and Draco bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud. "Of course I don't. But maybe you should tell Pansy to play nice. She's the one who needs the guidance."

"Right. He looked up at Pansy and smiled cheekily, the look that always felt more at home on his face when he was around his fellow Slytherins. "Pansy, dear, do play nice with Harry. As a personal favour."

She returned that same look back at him. "Yes, darling. Now scamper off. We have some talking to do." Harry paled and Draco let the laugh come, following Anton to the bar. That likely wasn't good for Harry.

"You and Harry, have you been seeing each other long?" Anton asked as they waited for the bartender to pour their drinks.

"Less than a year." Draco thought about it. "Actually, the time line's fuzzy. We've been seeing each other seriously since February." That was true, but it didn't feel right, either. Before the brief breakup, they had certainly been seeing each other for a couple of months, and hadn't that been serious enough? Draco had been quite serious about it, even if he had been afraid it would all go up in smoke. When had it all started between them? Not that day in the Malfoy family crypt, though that was a little step along the path. The day Harry had barged his way into the Manor after Draco's mother's death? Another step, but no. The night Harry had kissed him for the first time? That was close, but not quite there. Draco's best guess would be the night Harry saw the scar on Draco's left wrist. That had been the middle of last October, and their attempt at a new beginning had come the following month. And here it was, September again. Another week, and it would be a year since he'd lost his mother. Time passed much more quickly these days.

"Ah," Anton said with a knowing grin. "Pansy and I have something like that. I couldn't tell you when we really started as a couple. But you and Harry, you've known each other a long time?"

Draco snorted, unbecoming as the gesture was. "Yes. We were in school together. But we weren't friends then. Far from it."

Anton shrugged and paid for the two drinks the bartender placed in front of him. "There's nothing strange about that. The first time I met Pansy, she insulted me. And I gave it right back. It's intensity of emotion. That's what's important."

With a brief nod, Draco thought back to what Luna had said the night of Harry's birthday. Something about strong hate fuelling strong love. A popular opinion, it seemed. Maybe there was something to be said for it.

0—0—0

Harry wasn't sure if he was going to forgive Draco for leaving him alone with Pansy. She had said they had things to discuss as their dates had wandered away, but they'd been alone nearly five minutes and she hadn't said a word. Finally, Harry could take the silence no longer. "Is this someplace you like to come often?"

Pansy looked back at him, taking her eyes off the people dancing beyond the tables. "Hm? Oh. It's a nice enough place, for this part of town. There's a little club in Venice that's much nicer, but I don't get out that way often."

Harry made a noise that he hoped sounded interested. He'd never been to Venice. And he wasn't really one for clubs in any case. He had gone to a few after he broke up with Ginny, looking to enjoy himself, but the number of women (and even men) who had thrown themselves at him had unnerved him, and since then he had stuck to pubs and restaurants with his friends, finding the Muggle ones to be more relaxing. He tried to remember if he and Pansy had anything in common besides Draco. They had never gotten along in school. She had called for him to be handed over to Voldemort, though that certainly hadn't gone over well for her. And none of the times they had met since had gone well. He decided to abandon the small talk. "You said we had things to talk about?"

"I did." She chewed on her lower lip, wearing away the crimson lipstick she had applied for the evening. The look of concentration didn't look at home on her face. No, that wasn't it. It was the uncertainty. Slytherins had an arsenal of facial expressions, most of them involving some sort of superiority or derision, but uncertainty didn't look right on them. He had seen enough of it during the last bit of the war and immediately after. He still saw it on Draco's face now and then.

"Well?"

"Shut it, Potter, I'm thinking."

Well, that was more like it. That was the Pansy Parkinson he knew. "Whenever you're ready." He was a bit proud of himself—his first instinct had been to retort with something closer to 'don't hurt yourself trying something new'. He wondered if Draco would be proud of him, too.

"It's come to my attention, Potter," she said at last, now worrying the chain around her neck in a distracted fashion, "that this thing you and Draco have isn't some passing phase."

"You worked that out, did you?" Harry said before catching himself. So much for Draco being proud of him. Well, he should have known better than the leave the two of them alone.

"Ignoring the rude comment, I'll just say that even if it wasn't obvious, he as much as told me himself."

Harry was torn between revelling in the knowledge and wondering exactly what that meant. "As much as told you?" he said, hoping she knew what he meant by his emphasis.

"He didn't say it directly. But to someone who's known him since we were small children, he may as well have. He has made allusions that he likely hasn't even realised. This isn't some infatuation because of who you are or because he's finally ready to start…living again. Whatever this is, it goes deep into him. There's no cutting you out of his life. If you had any idea what that fight of yours early this year did to him…"

She didn't continue, and Harry couldn't help but think of the feral sneer she had given him when he and Hermione had run into Pansy and Draco in Fortescue's ice cream parlour. When he looked at it properly, it reminded him of a lion protecting her cub. Harry didn't think either Draco or Pansy would like the comparison. Too Gryffindor. He was distracted from his thought by the sight of someone approaching Draco at the bar. Some dark-haired man was leaning much too close to be casual. And then he put a hand on Draco's arm. Harry's blood pressure went up.

Pansy followed his gaze. "You don't have to worry, you know." They both watched as Draco said something with a smile. After a moment, the smile faded and Draco's face went cold. It was the look he used to give Harry when they attended Hogwarts. Draco said something sharply and yanked his arm away, turning to Anton instead and shutting off the other man's advances. "See? Whether you realise it or not, Potter, you're exactly what Draco needs. Further, and more importantly, mind you, you're what he wants."

Harry looked away from the bar and into Pansy's dark brown eyes. "It just so happens those things are reciprocated."

"Glad to hear it. The last thing I want is him hurt again, especially when he's so much like his old self these days. He may have kept me at arms length for a number of years after finally reappearing from self-imposed exile, but I would do anything for him. Including being nice to you." She narrowed her eyes at Harry as he opened his mouth to ask if this was what she considered nice. "I'm trying, okay? I know it means a lot to him that we get along. And call me a sap, but I like seeing him happy."

Harry decided against saying that he had never considered Pansy a sap, and wouldn't be starting that now. "You're not the only one."

"Good. I know we've never gotten along, Potter, and I can't say I'll always be sweet, but we can put up with each other, right? You can't tell me your friends immediately took to Draco. If they're okay with your relationship in the first place. I have a hard time picturing Weasley being even remotely civil."

"If you want us to get along, Pansy, you might want to cut the disrespect toward my friends. Maybe Draco isn't who they saw me dating. But they're polite and want to get to know him because—"

"Because you want them to," Pansy finished for him. Harry had actually been about to say 'because he makes me happy'.

"Close enough."

"The boys are headed back, but I have one last thing for you," she said, dropping her voice. "If you feel the way you say you do, then show it. Make sure he knows."

Harry rather thought that the front page of The Prophet a few months ago made sure everyone knew, but he didn't say that. Pansy probably meant something else by her comment anyway. "All right."

Draco handed Harry a small glass of Firewhiskey and slid into the booth next to him as Anton did the same on the other side of the table. "I see you both remain unhexed. I knew you could behave."

"Of course we did, Draco. Just a couple of peacekeepers. You know us," Pansy said with a perfectly straight face. Damn Slytherins. Harry no longer put a lot of stock into some of the house stereotypes, but some people were the epitome of those traits.

For his part, Draco simply laughed. Harry loved that sound, which was sounding more and more natural and easier as time went on. "Indeed I do. Which is why I'm surprised neither of you drew your wand at the other." He took a sip of his wine and placed his unoccupied hand lightly atop Harry's left thigh. Moving his hand slowly as Anton told them about himself, Harry laced his fingers through Draco's. He did want this. More than he could really make anyone understand.

0—0—0

"Harry?"

Harry looked up from the papers he had spread across the desk. He generally made it a point not to bring work home, but this was a favour for a friend of the Minister's, and though he was getting paid, he wanted it over and done with. "What is it?" He made a face as he absentmindedly nibbled on the quill in his hand. Ink. Not a Sugar Quill.

"Chewing on your quill is a bad habit, Harry. As is working on your day off."

"I know. But I want this finished."

"Is that the investment project for the Minister's friend?"

"Yes. Did you come to lecture me about work habits?"

Draco shrugged, looking suddenly smaller. He hadn't moved from the doorway of Harry's study. Harry wondered what time it was. He cast a quick Tempus in the silence. After midnight.

"I was just wondering when you were coming to bed. I wanted to talk to you about something."

Harry managed a smile, though it felt stretched. He wanted to be back in bed with Draco. His bed felt right with the both of them in it, the warmth from their bodies removing the chill from the cool sheets. And though Draco never said anything, Harry thought he might sleep better when they slept together. The nightmares seemed to have gone, save for a few rare occasions, and it was uncommon now for Harry to wake up to find Draco staring out the window. "All right. Give me another twenty minutes. I just need to run a few more numbers. I'll be there soon."

With only a nod, Draco left the room, padding softly in bare feet. Whatever he had come to talk about, it had to be something unpleasant. He had shrunk in on himself. Finally satisfied with his work, Harry flicked his wand and sent the paperwork into his briefcase and trudged off to bed.

Draco lay there, facing toward the window. He was curled up under the covers, his arms around himself, and his breathing was deep and even. Harry felt guilty for making him wait long enough for him to have fallen asleep. Shedding his jumper and jeans, Harry slid carefully into bed, trying not to disturb the body next to him.

"Get everything finished?"

Harry jumped at Draco's low, quiet voice. He hadn't been sleeping at all. That meant he had been lying there, thinking about whatever had him so serious as he waited for Harry. "As finished as I can get them without checking a few last things at Gringotts. But I'm done with work for the weekend. I'm all yours until Monday." He shifted and Draco rolled over, facing Harry in the dark. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

Draco said nothing for several moments. Finally, when Harry's mind began to drift enough that he realised how tired he really was, he spoke softly. "I've been thinking about finally getting rid of the Manor."

Harry forced his eyes open. Draco was looking at him intently, face close to his. His eyes were silver in the moonlight. He wasn't sure what to say. "Are you sure?"

"I am. I don't think I'll get what the house itself should be worth if I sold it, given its history with the war, but I don't care. It's not about the money. I have everything I need on my own, and money can't buy a damned thing I want." Harry thought that Draco's father might roll over in his grave if he could hear his son eschew riches so forcefully. "After the Ministry took so much of what we had, I learned to value other things. I just want…" He trailed off, and Harry could feel the unhappiness in the air. "I just want it over and done with. Father's been gone five years, Mother's been gone for one. It's been nine months since I last stepped foot in the Manor. Even if it doesn't sell, I can't bear to own it anymore. I'll donate it to a charity. Pick one of your favourites. I know you care about that sort of thing."

"Is that really what you want?"

"It is, Harry. I've been thinking it over for a long time. And I made the decision while visiting the family mausoleum to pay my respects to my mother. It seems right."

Harry didn't doubt that Draco wouldn't be swayed from this decision. His voice was firm. On any other subject, Harry would have teased him about that stubborn tone. Instead he just drew Draco into his arms. "Then say the word, and I'll help you pack up and get it ready. Tomorrow, if you want."

A hint of a smile passed over Draco's lips, gone before it had a chance to find a home. "You would do that?"

"I'd do that," Harry assured him, their bodies melding together underneath the duvet. He would do a lot of things for Draco. Helping him achieve closure wasn't even something he had to think about.

0—0—0

The work of packing up the Manor was tiring, but Draco knew it was more than just the act of putting things into boxes. This was the most emotionally draining thing he had done in a long time, and that was saying something. Packing up his old room was difficult, and though a lot of things went into storage, Draco had a strong feeling he would never pick them up again. Few of the memories were unsullied. Harry asked him over and over again if he was sure about some of the items he said should be donated. Neither of them even mentioned the cellar. Draco had been avoiding thinking about it as much as possible.

Even that wasn't the worst of it. Draco tried to remain unemotional about the business at hand as much as he could. But when he got to his parents' bedroom, he nearly lost the composure he had been able to keep. It was an easy enough decision to keep some of the Black family heirloom jewellery his mother had owned, and also simple enough to decide to donate both parents' wardrobes. He had no use for all those expensive clothes. But when he came across his parents' wedding bands… He had no idea how long he stared at them before Harry came up behind him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Draco said softly. It was a lie, and they both knew it, but Harry didn't call him out on it. His mother had taken to wearing his father's wedding band on a chain around her neck after his death, a personal keepsake. And she had left both rings to him in her will, requesting not to be buried with them as he thought she would want. He had placed hers on the same chain the day after the funeral, not long before Harry had wandered in on him sitting in his mother's garden. He hadn't looked at them since.

Harry stood behind him and wrapped his arms around Draco's shoulders and chest. "You're keeping those." After a moment, he let go with one arm and picked up the chain, slipping the jewellery into Draco's pocket. "Anything else in here you want?"

Draco looked around at the remaining things. "Just that armoire. Everything else can be donated. Next room."

"There's only one room left," Harry said, likely in an attempt to cheer him. Their work was almost done.

Draco didn't need Harry to point that out. He knew exactly which room they had left. He had been avoiding it, same as he had been ignoring the existence of the cellar. But he had never told Harry about his feelings for the room, and he led Harry to it determined to close himself off to protect himself.

He entered his father's study carefully. It was just a study. Bookshelves everywhere, books fastidiously organised. A fireplace that had been unused for five years now. And a large mahogany desk, the only item in the Manor that had a layer of dust on it. Neither he nor his mother had set foot in here, and they hadn't even bothered with the dust-repelling charms. No one used this room anymore.

He didn't even realise he was shaking until Harry took his hand. "What's wrong?"

Draco closed his eyes to try to shut out the visions his memory had dredged up. It didn't work. "This is where he did it. This is where my father killed himself."

0—0—0

Harry felt something inside his chest tighten. He had known Draco's father had committed suicide. But that was all Draco had ever told him. He didn't even know it had happened at home. "Oh. I didn't realise."

"We kept it out of the papers, somehow." Draco's voice was distant, devoid of any real emotion. "So no one got to revel in the sordid details. But I was the one who found him. I came in one night to tell him Mother was asking when he might come to bed, and there he was, collapsed over the desk. It was poison. The empty bottle was on the floor. I don't know what he used, I don't want to know, but it left this horrific look of fear on his face. Maybe it was painful. Or maybe he saw what was waiting for him after this life."

Harry had no idea what to say. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. It was the best he could do.

Draco didn't seem to hear him. "There was no note, no apology. I never knew what he had been thinking. We had never been close, and we'd grown further apart after the war. I didn't sleep for four days after finding him. But it nearly destroyed Mother. She had a—a breakdown of sorts, not long after. The Healers said it likely contributed to her early death. She was always quieter, a little sadder about everything, after that. She didn't even go into her garden as much. When she fell ill, they said it was just the stress and guilt catching up with her. Even now, it's still hard to believe he left us like that."

"I'm sure he thought it was his only option," Harry tried, barely believing that he was trying to defend Lucius Malfoy, of all people.

"I don't care!" Draco spat, emotion rearing up from where he'd had it hidden. "It was selfish, and true to form. I don't care how miserable he was—so were we! All he ever thought about was himself. That was true his entire life. If he hadn't been so obsessed with how to make things easier for himself, he never would have followed that lunatic! He thought it the fastest, easiest way to gain power and respect—and fear, which was close enough to respect for him. He didn't think about us, and what it might do to us. He didn't think about what it would do to Mother. She was never the same after that. And it wasn't until that night that I even thought about doing it myself!" He froze, only lifting his eyes to Harry's. He hadn't meant to admit to that, Harry was sure.

"You thought about it?" He now recalled a bit of conversation from the night they had met up with Pansy and her date. Because if all Muggles behaved that way, I probably wouldn't be here. Or anywhere.

"Yes, Harry. I thought about it," Draco said quietly. "Quite a lot. But unlike my father, I tried not to be selfish. I knew what it would do to my mother. And so I decided against it, for the time being. I figured I could always re-evaluate after her death. At that point, there would be nothing and no one keeping me from it."

Knowing that Draco had been so logical, in his own way, about taking his own life made Harry feel sick. He had run into Draco not long before Narcissa had passed away. And thinking back to the day he had come to offer his condolences, he thought he could see a little of the loneliness, the misery and the desperation to escape it, that might cause someone to consider it as an option. He looked Draco straight in the eye and spoke firmly. "I don't know what caused you to decide not to do it at that point, but I cannot express how glad I am that you didn't. Whether it was your job, or friends, or simply the fact that you were coping, the result is the same. My life wouldn't be the same without you. And what's saddest is that had you done it, I really wouldn't know what I was missing."

Draco sighed. "You've never been that eloquent before." There was just the slightest smile underneath those words. "I'm actually impressed."

Harry grinned at him in an attempt to lighten the mood just a little. "It happens now and then. Just don't expect it often."

This time, Draco did smile back. "I know better than that. And I've never told you, and I had never planned to tell you, but I think part of that decision was made the day you found me in the garden. It showed that someone did care, that my mother wasn't the only one who would notice my absence. It was such a little gesture, but sometimes those are the most important."

Something like fireworks went off in Harry's head. Hermione had said something about the little things making all the difference, back when he and Draco had been apart. And Pansy had asked him to make sure to show Draco how important he was. An idea bloomed within him, some gesture that might mean a lot to Draco. It was only something small, but he had the feeling it was just right. And if he was lucky enough, maybe he would even get something he wanted very much out of it. He needed to make a call, see if he could get the assistance he needed to pull it off properly. And he couldn't let Draco know. It had to be a surprise. "I think you're right about that. Why don't you take a few moments to yourself? I'll finish up in here. Is there anything you might want?"

"No, I don't think so. And thank you, Harry. Really."

Harry nodded and shooed him out the door. "Don't mention it." His mind was racing with his new plan. He would have to act quickly. As soon as he had a moment alone, he would make that Floo call. He thought about it as he packed everything up to donate. The Malfoy library was quite extraordinary, and he thought of how upset Hermione might be if she knew someone was giving up a collection like this. He set aside a few volumes; he would ask Draco if he minded if he gave them to her as a gift, just in case. Another little gesture. He had always been lousy at them, especially at giving gifts. But if Draco was changing so much for the better, then he could stand to improve himself a bit, too. He was already doing much better at reading Draco's unspoken messages, beyond just his kisses. And he could even play nice with Pansy. That right there was an enormous step.

When the room was packed up not quite two hours later, Harry found Draco where he knew he would—sitting on the lip of the fountain, in the middle of the garden. Draco was facing away from the stone path, but he shifted minutely when Harry approached.

"Hey," Draco greeted him without turning. His blond hair fluttered in the breeze. "All done?"

"As far as I can tell," Harry said softly, sitting on Draco's left. This really was a beautiful garden, though there were bits of it that were starting to look overgrown. In some places, the untamed appearance was nice. It reminded him of how his favourite look on Draco was not the perfectly polished one he wore out in public, but the more natural look Harry got to see in private, the one that was soft in some moments and bright with passion and wildness in others. "All set to hand over to the woman from the orphanage next week. I was thinking… Did you want me to handle it? We could change the wards just a little, and I could come back here to finalise it."

Draco shook his head, and Harry began to wonder about the feasibility of his plan. "No. But thank you for offering. For all that you've done, really. We can reset the wards, in case something happens and I'll be late getting off work that day. But I feel I should be there. There's something very final about it, and I think I need that."

Harry nodded. "Of course."

They sat together a moment longer, and then Draco stood up with a sigh. "We should head back to your place. It's getting late, and we both have to work in the morning." He pulled out his wand murmured a spell. After a moment, the water in the fountain stopped flowing. Now that the sound of gently flowing water was absent, the place felt different. Lonely, as opposed to tranquil. "Come on."

Harry followed Draco's lead, shutting and latching doors and whispering spells, changing the wards as they went. Now Harry would be able to get in without Draco, should he need to. They might be planning on being back here Friday evening, but it seemed as if Draco was saying whatever goodbyes he needed to now. Harry's heart ached a little for him. The one house he'd said goodbye to forever had been somewhere he had been nothing but miserable. He wouldn't care a whit if the Dursley's old house on Privet Drive went up in a blaze. But as much as Draco said he didn't want this place, he obviously cared for it in some way. Harry thought it had to do with Draco's parents—his mother, especially. It was one of the few remaining links he had to them. And now it was about to be severed.

0—0—0

Of all days to leave work late, this day was quite inconvenient. But there had been a new customer in, one who insisted on speaking with the buyer, wanting to argue about potency and be babied with every choice. And given how many hundreds of Galleons they had ended up spending, Terry Jigger had likely been justified in pulling Draco out of the back, where he was trying to finish up another round of inventory. But it still rankled Draco. He didn't much enjoy coddling customers. At least this one hadn't given him that cool look, the one that said he was recognised for what he was—what he used to be.

Glancing at his watch, he cursed under his breath and Apparated outside the gates to the Manor. He nearly Apparated directly onto Harry, who only laughed it off. The woman from the orphanage looked at him with raised eyebrows, but he thought she might be trying to keep in a giggle. "I apologise if I've kept you waiting," Draco began, but she waved him off.

"Not at all, Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter here was kind enough to take me through a final walkthrough of the Manor, and the wards were changed as we went. But if you'd like to go through it once more, now that you're here, I completely understand. You are the rightful owner."

Draco shook his head. Harry had taken care of the part Draco least wanted to do, Merlin bless him. He really had come a long way in the past year. He still couldn't give gifts worth a damn, but he picked up on unspoken sentiments much more than he ever used to. "That's all right. I trust Harry to have done an adequate job." He ignored Harry, who was standing behind Miss Allenworth. He'd stuck his tongue out over the woman's shoulder at Draco's use of the word 'adequate'. "And I no longer wish to be the rightful owner. Let me sign the last of the documentation, and that can be corrected as well." He tried to smile at her, but it was difficult.

The petite redheaded witch nodded and handed over a long piece of parchment. She reminded him of the Weasley girl in appearance, if in nothing else. "Once again, Mr Malfoy, we greatly appreciate this donation. Your Manor will make a brilliant place to hold gatherings and house the children. We just didn't have the room at our other location. And here they can not only live and learn until they reach school age, but they can thrive. It truly is a beautiful place."

Draco only half-heard her. The thought of the Manor being overrun with small children, laughing, playing, making noise, leaving fingerprints and shoeprints on all available surfaces, and possibly even breaking things made him tense for just a moment. And then he relaxed and smiled. Someone should be able to do those things in this place. Merlin knew he hadn't. "Thank you." He took the quill she had conjured and signed his name with a flourish. The letters glowed silver for a brief second before returning to the look of standard ink. That was it, then. The Manor was no longer his. "I'm glad you can put it to good use. Is there anything else you need, Miss Allenworth?"

"No. Thank you, Mr Malfoy. You know how to get hold of me, should you have any need."

"Likewise. It was a pleasure doing business with you." He stuck out his hand and she offered hers back. He and Harry wandered away from the gates, leaving the witch on her own, holding a briefcase and looking up the path with a smile. "You're in an awfully good mood today," Draco said, wishing he could share in the feeling.

"Am I?"

"Yes. All but dancing, it seems. What's gone so well for you?"

"Nothing," Harry told him, but Draco didn't believe him for a second. "Just a good day at work, I suppose. And a fantastic lunch." The smile faded from his face, replaced by a look of curiosity. "You had this odd look on your face a few moments ago, when she talked about how wonderful the Manor is. What were you thinking about?"

Draco let out a little laugh. "I was thinking I'll likely be receiving calls from the people who maintain the family mausoleum."

"Oh?" Harry's eyebrows went up. "Why's that?"

"I imagine that there will be some extra fees, given all the rolling my father will be doing in his grave. Children running around, being messy and loud in the Manor and all."

Harry laughed and pulled Draco into an embrace. "Snarky git."

"Love me or hate me, Potter, but it comes with the territory."

Harry's face lit up in amusement the way it always did these days when Draco called him 'Potter'. It had been such a hard thing, calling him Harry, accepting that invitation into familiarity. Now it was second nature. But he still slipped back, especially when he was feeling mischievous or especially sarcastic. Old habits did indeed die hard.

"I know it does. And I'm not complaining. Just observing. Now what do you say we get out of here. I have something for you at home."

"Your place?" Harry nodded. "Tell me it's dinner, and not from that Indian takeaway place."

"Not Indian food, I promise."

"Then ready when you are." He heard Harry Disapparate and followed suit. He popped into Harry's kitchen, alone. There was no sign of dinner. "Harry?"

"In the living room," came Harry's call.

Draco wandered that way, wondering what Harry had in store for him after all. "What on earth is all this mess?" He had to step around large boxes to get to where Harry was standing.

"Just some of your stuff from the Manor."

"Harry, I told you, I don't—"

"I know what you told me, Draco. But there was some of this stuff that didn't deserve to go into storage forever. It looks messier than it is. It's just kind of tossed around for the moment. I was looking for something."

"Going through my things?" Draco asked, making an effort to sound the way he had when they were younger, with that lazy, cocky drawl he had perfected.

"Well, as I'm the one who packed them, I didn't think you'd mind."

Draco trailed his hand over a photo album that was sitting atop the closest box. He knew this album. It had been his mother's. Wedding photos. "Where did you find this?"

"In the study. You said not to keep anything, but I thought you were wrong. I saved a few things, in addition to the stuff I took for Hermione. She said thanks, by the way."

"Tell her it was nothing. All you."

Harry smirked a little. "I did. She doesn't believe me. She knows I can't give gifts to save my life."

"Well, then I'll have to re-educate her the next time I see her. Though you do have a track record, you know."

Something crossed Harry's face then, something that looked like a brief attack of nerves. "I know. But I was thinking I could work on that."

"Hm." Draco looked around, wondering how long these boxes would stay. Harry would likely be only too happy to leave them like this a while. If he didn't want to put them with the other things in Draco's storage, Draco supposed he could shrink them down and find room in his flat. Merlin knew there was little in the way or furnishings there. "So what is this thing you have for me? It's obviously not dinner."

Harry shifted and cleared his throat. "No. Not dinner."

"Well, then?"

"Close your eyes, and I'll show you."

"Close my eyes?"

"Yeah. Or I could conjure a blindfold."

"That won't be necessary. I'll keep them closed. I promise." Harry had piqued his curiosity.

"All right. I'll Apparate you there with me. That way I don't walk you into a wall or anything." Draco nodded, dutifully holding out his arm and closing his eyes tightly. Harry had said the surprise was here, at his place. Why would they need to Apparate? And why all the secrecy? He felt that odd feeling of being squeezed through a tube much too small to fit him and then he felt Harry steady him as they reached their secret location. Apparating with one's eyes closed was quite disorienting. He felt a soft breeze and heard a bird trill overhead. They were outside. What the hell? "Open your eyes," Harry whispered, his voice soft and nervous in Draco's ear.

Draco opened his eyes slowly. And then they widened as they took in the sight all around him. Harry had taken them to the roof of Grimmauld Place. Draco had seen it once before, when they had come up here and he'd tried to show Harry some of the constellations his family was named after. Back then, it was simply an expanse of concrete, with a couple of folding chairs and one lone potted shrub in the corner. An old, broken broom had leaned against the wall, next to the door at the top of the stairs. This was a far cry from that.

Now the entire place was covered in greenery. There were vines around the walls, tendrils curling artfully over the ledges. There was a small bench in one corner, big enough for two to relax upon. And in the centre of the roof was a small pond with a fountain. Draco could see a handful of silver fish swimming slowly through the water. Atop the fountain's pillar was a spray of white and yellow flowers—Narcissus flowers. Draco turned around to face Harry and saw that the back wall, where the broken broom had once laid, now was lined with several yellow rosebushes. Whatever words had been at the tip of his tongue melted away.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked, looking quite unsure of himself.

Of course he liked it. It was bloody beautiful. And it was the best bits of his mother's garden. The fountain, the soothing sound of flowing water, the roses. And the Narcissus flowers. There oddly hadn't been any of those in the garden at the Manor. "I don't understand. Why?"

"It was obvious that the garden was the only part of the Manor you still cared for. And I didn't want you to have to give that up. I did what I could here—admittedly, I had a lot of help from Neville. I'm just afraid it doesn't live up to your—"

"You finish that sentence, Harry, and I'll hex you so fast your head will spin." Harry wisely shut his mouth while Draco tried to find words for what he was feeling. So this is what had Harry nervous. He wondered if Harry had been in such good spirits because he had managed to keep Draco from going through the Manor and seeing that the garden had been tampered with. No wonder he had asked the wards to be changed so he could get in without Draco.

As Draco looked around the garden again, he saw all the trouble Harry had gone through to get things right. With help in execution, yes, but he knew the idea had been all Harry's. He took a deep breath and smiled softly. "I don't like it; I love it. It's a very moving gesture. I suppose I'll be over here now more than ever, just to sit up here, if you don't mind."

Harry shifted from one foot to the other again, rubbing the back of his neck. "Actually, I've been thinking about that. What if you could come up here anytime you liked?"

"Can't I already?"

"Yes, well, I didn't mean that way. I meant, what if you could come up here in the middle of the night, or while I'm in the shower, or… What if you just lived here?"

Draco fought to keep the ridiculous and stunned look off his face. He spent significantly more time here than at his flat these days. And his place was simply a place to live, a residence. Harry's place was much more than that. "You would want that?" It sounded too good to be true. And with the exception of the last few months, Draco had learned that those things were never true. But things with Harry were…different. He meant the things he said.

Harry looked at him so intensely that Draco almost took a step backward. "Yes. I would. I do. I've wanted it a long time."

Trying to calm the feeling of dizziness and light that ran through his body, just knowing he was wanted, that he meant so much to Harry, Draco smiled. "Well, in that case, I don't see how I can say no." He knew this step was the right one. It was one more way to share himself with Harry, and for Harry to share with him. And no matter what else, Draco knew that this place, with this man, was home.