Many A Winding Turn

by germankitty aka Dagmar Buse

During their Eighth Year at Hogwarts, Harry and Draco share their dreams about and for the future, discovering that they're not so very different. When they try to turn them into reality after leaving Hogwarts, though, they learn that reality bites - and bites HARD - before they may come true.

Many A Winding Turn

1. On the way to there

"In an ideal world, what would you want to do once we've left Hogwarts?" Harry asked Draco.

Draco was momentarily startled, having almost forgotten that he wasn't alone. He and Harry had made peace with each other at last once they'd returned to complete their 'Eighth Year', and Draco's childhood wish to be friends with the Boy-Who-Lived had finally come true.

He'd also learned that there was far more to Harry than the Gryffindor bravado he'd so often denigrated, yet secretly envied at times; however, he could still be surprised by previously-hidden depths like the almost philosophical nature of this question.

It was late, and the fire in the hearth was casting gently-flickering shadows over the Eighth-year common room. The two of them were the only students still up and about, preferring to wind down on their own after the impromptu party they'd thrown on the last evening before they started prepping for their N.E.W.T.s in earnest.

Harry was sprawled in one of the squishy armchairs – one covered in a warm mustard-yellow fabric - close to the fireplace. Draco shifted against the armrest of the mossy-green couch he'd chosen, and absently started tapping one of the many cushions piled around him with his wand, changing the colour from apricot to orange to terracotta to russet and back, plus every imaginable shade in between. The mindless action helped him think about what kind of answer he might give. Restlessly, he stretched his long legs towards the dying fire, slouching in a way that he'd never have allowed himself before.

Harry grinned as he noticed the subtle yet precise spellwork – there'd been a lot of that going on in their quarters in the months they'd been living here. They'd been given furniture in neutral colours, both in order not to offend anyone and to curb former house rivalries. As Lavender Brown had remarked upon seeing the room for the first time, comfort and functionality definitely trumped style.

Nobody could say afterwards who'd cast the first colour-changing charm on what, or who'd transfigured wood into metal, nor had anyone followed a definite plan. Once they were finished, though, everyone agreed that for them, the original Class of 1998 – despite actually completing their education a year later – the chaotic riot of colours simply worked.

*What do I want to do once I'm out of here?* There was a part of Draco which knew a very precise answer to that innocent yet loaded question, but caution and insecurity stopped him from revealing his deeply-buried wish. Another part was dying to answer, but he was unsure whether he dared laying himself open like that. True, he and Potter had become friends at long last, but he hadn't counted on, and couldn't have known as an eleven-year-old, that friendship was turning out not to be enough … and likely never would be.

*How can it, when all I want is to drown in his eyes, to touch him, to kiss him … and more?* But of course he couldn't ever say that to the man whom the whole wizarding world revered and idolized, could he? Better to keep his secret, and his dreams, to himself–

"Draco?" Harry's voice derailed his train of thought, and the warmth of a strong hand touching his shoulder made him look up and meet those damnable *gorgeous* emerald-green eyes. "It's not such a hard question, is it?"

"No … no, it's not," Draco admitted, captivated almost against his will by the honest concern in Harry's expression.

"Then … will you give me an answer? You don't have to if you don't want to, but …"

Draco smiled resignedly. "I know I don't, not really, but I think I should regardless," he murmured, managing just to tear his gaze away from Harry's. It wasn't the Malfoy way, it certainly wasn't Slytherin, and in a small corner of his mind Draco was sure Professor Snape would be turning in his grave if he knew, but whenever Harry looked at him like that, he could do nothing but comply. "Just … just bear with me a moment, will you?"

"Of course."

"Always so accommodating," Draco said, knowing that even this small attempt at his usual snark was falling woefully flat. If he was being completely honest, his formerly fail-safe way of hiding his emotions behind layers and walls of sarcasm and biting wit had never worked well when he was still dealing with Potter, and had become utterly useless against his friend Harry. *Well, this won't do. So – when all else fails, go for broke.* He could only pray that he wouldn't walk away from this conversation with a broken heart.

He braced himself as he finally prepared to reply. "In an ideal world, you say?"

"Yeah – you know, somewhere where it doesn't matter who or what you are, what people think of you … a time and place where all you have to do is wish for something, and it'll come true, no matter what, erm …" Harry coughed, unaccountably embarrassed.

"-happened in the past," Draco finished. "It's just a word. You can say it, you know."

"I didn't want to bring up bad memories," Harry said apologetically.

"You can't 'bring them up'," Draco whispered. "They've never gone away."

Harry's breath caught, and he shifted closer to reach for the other man's hand. "Draco, I—"

With a wry, if rather wan, smile Draco linked their fingers and matched the pressure around his own. "Don't you dare apologize. It's not your fault, and I'll deal with it. Am dealing, really, it's just taking longer than I like."

"If there's anything I can do to help …?"

"Not at present, but thanks for offering all the same," Draco murmured, then took a deep breath. *Just get it over with.* "Back to your question; you asked what I'd want to do in an ideal world?" He started ticking off items on the fingers of his free hand. "First … a job that's fulfilling and will support me and mine honestly and in reasonable comfort, I suppose. Then … eventually find someone to love, and marry. Maybe even have a child or two, to leave a legacy to that hopefully will be better than mine. And last but not least, live happily ever after." He folded his fingers back, clenched them into a fist and snorted, rolling his eyes for good measure. "How's that for sappy sentimentality? I might as well have Sorted bloody Hufflepuff!"

"There's nothing wrong with being a Hufflepuff," Harry chided gently. "I've known a few who were absolutely amazing." The names of Tonks and Cedric hovered unsaid between them.

"I guess," Draco sighed, slumping his shoulders. "Still …"

Harry grinned. "It's not exactly you, I'll grant that much."

"Thanks ever so," Draco replied drily. "Anyway, that's it. Not at all what you expected, right?"

Harry sat back, leaving his hand resting comfortingly close on the back of the couch, should Draco want to reach for it again. "Yes and no," he mused. "I mean, it is somewhat surprising because you've always come across as … well, rather posh and ambitious. A year ago, I'd have thought you wanted to become Minister of Magic, or a famous potions master, or something else glamorous, for want of a better word. And here your dreams and expectations are really quite normal, like everybody else's. That's rather refreshing, to be honest."

"Great. Refreshing and normal. Just what I always wanted to be."

"Would you rather be abnormal, then?"

The teasing quip earned him a half-hearted glare. "You know what I mean. Prat."

Harry chuckled, then grew serious. "Trust me, normal is good – better than some other things I can think of, anyway."

"Yeah, well …" Oh yes, Harry would know all about the benefits of being normal versus extraordinary. It had taken Draco a long time, but he'd finally come to accept that Harry's claims to wanting to be 'just Harry' rather than any of the personas the Wizarding World had assigned to him were nothing but the plain truth. It didn't mean, though, that Draco wasn't still harbouring a secret wish to be special in a way that had nothing to do with his family or the recent past that had garnered him a rather ignominious reputation. He was yanked out of his ruminations by Harry's quiet voice.

"Actually, when you get down to it, your perfect world isn't so very different from what I want for myself, too."

"Oh?"

Harry shrugged and looked down at his lap, twisting the hem of his shirt. "You know," he muttered. "A good job, a nice home … a partner to share my life with. Like most people, I guess." *Everything I never had, or dared hope to have. Until now.*

Draco smiled. "Knowing you as I do now, that's not much of a surprise. Why, then, did you break up with Miss Weasel, though? Didn't she offer you all of that, and more?"

Harry grimaced; his split from Ginny right after New Year's was still something of a sore subject, and not one he cared to elaborate upon. "We … we weren't as well-matched as we once thought we were," was all he would say. "So we decided we were better off as friends and should look for partners elsewhere."

Draco had a suspicion that the break-up of Gryffindor's Golden Couple hadn't gone quite as smoothly as Harry's words implied. "That's sensible, I suppose – and better to realize it now than later, after you've made more serious commitments or have children to consider."

"Yeah."

Harry's tone made it clear that the topic was closed, so Draco decided to let it slide – for now. "So both of us basically want the same thing, right? A country cottage, pied-à-terre in the City, a crup and kneazle, the whole domestic bliss thing?" Draco waited for Harry's sheepish nod, then said blandly, "How positively revolting."

Now that surprised a laugh out of Harry. "Doable, though, don't you think? Even for two has-beens like us."

"Speak for yourself, Potter," Draco huffed.

"Well … you're a former 'Misguided Youthful Villain' – and were crap at it, I might add – whereas I used to be 'the Chosen One'." Harry sketched quotation marks into the air around the epithets they'd been saddled with far too often by Rita Skeeter and her ilk, and sent a sardonic look at Draco. "I'm fairly sure neither one of us considers that viable career options for our respective futures. Ergo, we're has-beens."

"Hmph." After a moment, Draco reluctantly conceded. "Well, maybe you have a point there. All that saccharine perfection should be easier for you to achieve than me, though."

"Oh yeah? Should I just latch onto the next fangirl that flutters her eyelashes at me and take her on a hippogriff ride into the sunset, or what?"

"Oh come on, Harry," Draco huffed. "I'll give you that it might be hard to separate those who can't see beyond the whole 'Saviour' thing from people who like you for yourself, but you'll have to admit, it's easier to get past that – and your execrable fashion sense – than find someone willing to look beyond 'failed Death Eater' or 'the imbecile who let a feral werewolf into the school' when they see me," he added, his voice lowering with old shame and regret.

"There's more to you than that," Harry protested. "And you didn't know Greyback would be there!"

"Didn't I?"

Exasperated, Harry sat back. "Draco, I may have believed you were an utter shite and totally up to something bad during sixth year, but even I never once thought you would've willingly let that … that monster loose on a school full of children!"

Draco stared into the fierce green eyes, feeling a small part of the burden he knew he'd be carrying for the rest of his life gradually lift and drift away. "I … think you actually mean that," he mumbled at last, flushing just a bit. "Thanks."

"Damn right I do," Harry declared, then visibly gathered himself and changed the subject back to its original track. "Anyway – you basically want your own 'happily ever after', then?"

"Mh-mmm," Draco nodded, relieved to turn away from the past to the future, even if it wasn't one he could ever see happening for himself.

Harry smiled. "Got anyone specific in mind to share it with?" he asked with a tiny wink.

"What if I have?" Draco replied before he could curb his tongue. *Nonono, don't let me go there!*

"Oh? Do tell. Anyone I know?" Harry's face lit up with curiosity and something fleeting Draco couldn't identify, it came and went so fast across the mobile features.

Cheeks suddenly burning, Draco just shrugged, hoping Harry would let it rest, but no such luck. And of course he noticed Draco's blush.

"I'll take that as a yes, then," Harry crowed, completely unimpressed and unaffected by Draco's instant scowl. "Who is it? Girl? Boy? Moaning Myrtle, a mermaid, or perhaps Hagrid's little second cousin on his mum's side? C'mon, spill!"

"Potter!" Draco was sputtering, torn between outrage and amusement at Harry's preposterous suggestions. "That – that is – no. Just no! Eww!" He shuddered dramatically

"Hmph. Be that way," Harry mock-grumbled, but subsided readily enough when he saw that amusement was winning. "But have you at least asked them whether they'd be interested? Who knows, they might feel the same, and you could get lucky."

"If I had a cauldron full of Felix Felicis brewed by Professor Snape, maybe. Any other way, not a chance."

"You don't know that. Haven't you ever heard of 'nothing ventured, nothing gained'?"

"Of course. That may work for you Gryffindors. Which, in case you've forgotten, I'm not."

Harry gave him a slightly crooked smile. "You know … I forget whether it was the Headmaster or the Sorting Hat who told me, but I know that we all have at least part of all the Houses within ourselves. Just look at Snape – Slytherin to the bone in cunning and ambition, and yet frightfully intelligent, braver than almost anyone I've known, and loyal unto death." He paused to let his praise sink in, then added softly, "You certainly have shown both loyalty worthy of any Hufflepuff towards your family … and courage a Gryffindor would be proud of when it counted. And that's despite having Sorted Slytherin."

"What, no Ravenclaw intelligence?" Draco asked even as he preened just a little under Harry's words. He picked up his half-finished bottle of butterbeer and drank deeply just so he didn't have to meet those clear, warm, *so fucking beautiful* eyes.

Eyes which sparkled with mirth now. "Weeeell … I could probably give you a long list of all the dumb things you've said and done since we've known each other, but the whole joining up with the Dark Wanker was so monumentally stupid of you … so, nope. No Brainy Points for you there, sorry," Harry drawled in fair imitation of a younger Draco.

Colouring up with chagrin, Draco had to chuckle despite himself. "Touché. But what, in Merlin's name, are 'brainy points'?"

Now it was Harry's turn to shrug. "Obscure Muggle reference, and kind of a bad pun on top. Sorry."

"You should be. Puns? Really? You know they're the lowest form of humour, don't you?"

"Only to those who didn't think of them first. But never mind."

Draco gave him a very sceptical look, but Harry wouldn't be baited. Instead, he finished off his own butterbeer and heaved himself to his feet.

"Guess I'll turn in," he said. "It's late, and I have a feeling Hermione's planning on dragging me and Ron to the library right after breakfast. Gotta have some beauty sleep before that."

*Not that you need it.* Draco swallowed the traitorous thought and simply saluted Harry with his own, near-empty bottle. "Good night, then."

"Night, Draco." Harry ambled towards the hallway leading to the dorm room he shared with Ron and Neville.

Draco watched him go, and was suddenly overcome with an irresistible impulse to simply tell Harry what he truly desired for his future. Here was the opportunity he'd subconsciously been waiting for! And it would prove that he did indeed possess some degree of courage as Harry had claimed, wouldn't it? Unfortunately, the unquenchably-Slytherin part of his brain preferred to call it sheer insanity. An instant later, though, it reminded him that, should everything go pear-shaped instead, he could always blame it on the lateness of the hour, pre-exam jitters or too much butterbeer.

The one thing Draco knew with sudden, absolute certainty was that he couldn't not ask. So he did. "What … what if I wanted to ask you?"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. It took him a few seconds to reply, but when he did, his answer stole Draco's breath.

"I'd tell you that I would very probably say yes," Harry said very, very softly. "If you ever asked me."

2. While We're On Our Way ... Why Not Share?

"Will you come see the world with me?"

That was the first question regarding the future Draco asked Harry, an impulse he had on their way back to London on the Hogwarts Express, a day after officially finishing their education. Harry gave him a long, searching look, then smiled.

"I'd love to."

Hermione had spluttered and protested, of course, but once the idea had taken hold, Harry couldn't be swayed. After all, they were both young, single and without any obligations for once - so why shouldn't they embark on what was essentially a traditional Grand Tour?

"I've never been out of Britain," he told her. "And I'd love to travel at least some before settling in a job."

"I suppose I can understand that," Hermione said dubiously. "But honestly, Harry, with Malfoy?"

"Yes. Who better than Draco to show me all the wizarding places? Besides, we're friends now."

She had to admit the truth in that. Even Ron had been abroad with his family; so who was she to begrudge her friend an experience she'd taken for granted growing up? Harry could certainly afford to take some time off and travel, if he wished. Even more, he deserved to do something for himself at least once. "I guess so," she sighed. "Just - be careful?"

"As always. Won't do anything you wouldn't do," Harry promised.

Somehow, Hermione wasn't reassured.

-===ooo000ooo===-

"Let's make love, shall we?

Draco's second question, asked at the Place de l'Opéra in Paris, was more in the nature of a suggestion, but Harry really didn't mind. Ever since their first kiss he'd known that they were heading this way, and welcomed it. So he smiled, drew Draco into his arms and replied with a question of his own.

"Your room, or mine?"

-===ooo000ooo===-

Draco finally summoned the courage to ask his third, and most important, question as they were standing on the balcony of their suite at the Winter Palace hotel in Luxor, Egypt. The past six months had been the best of his life, and it was time to go back to Britain. It hadn't been mentioned, but they were beginning to miss their friends and families … and neither wanted to spend Christmas away from home.

The Nile stretched below them, the mighty stream a rose and golden expanse under the setting sun. It was a beautiful and serene sight, but it paled next to the warmth in Harry's expression as he gazed at the man in his arms.

"Will there still be an us when we get home?"

"If you want it to," Harry said softly, tightening his embrace.

Draco's heartbeat sped up. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the emerald gaze focussed intently on him, and he caught his breath. *It's now or never. Who dares, wins.* An instant later, he shook his head and snorted.

"What?" Harry asked, somewhat disconcerted at having the moment disrupted.

"Nothing," Draco murmured, then gave Harry a rueful smile. "It's just, my inner Severus told me I'm turning into a walking cliché."

"Ah." Harry grinned and brushed a tantalising kiss across Draco's mouth. "I'm sure he'd get along perfectly with my inner Hermione."

"What a horrendous thought."

"Terrifying," Harry agreed, then slid one hand up from Draco's waist to cup his cheek. "But you haven't answered my question yet."

Draco leaned into the warm, calloused palm. "Strictly speaking, neither have you." He smiled and batted his lashes in the way he'd learned would make Harry do anything for him. *Well, almost.* "And I asked you first."

"So you did," Harry agreed, growing serious. "We've found something that means a great deal to me. And I don't think I could bear to lose what we've found."

"Neither could I," Draco whispered. "So … where does that leave us?"

"With my question. Do you want to keep what we have?"

"More than anything."

"Then … will you move in with me?"

Draco didn't have to think twice. "Yes."

The kiss Harry gave him was both tender and passionate, promise and affirmation. It was all Draco had ever hoped for, and he gave himself up without hesitation.

*Seems that if you wish hard enough, dreams do come true.*

3. His Welfare Is My Concern

Harry was frying bacon for breakfast when a small parliament of owls descended on 12 Grimmauld Place early one morning, so it was Draco who collected the various missives from their carriers, paid the seven Knuts for the Daily Prophet and handed out owl treats. As soon as the birds had left, he waved his wand over the table to clear it of stray feathers, pulled out a chair and sat down with his second cup of tea, sorting their mail into piles.

"Anything interesting today?" Harry asked as he deftly transferred crisp strips of bacon to a piece of kitchen crêpe and cracked some eggs into the pan. He used to hate cooking breakfast for the Dursleys, but found that he didn't mind doing it for himself, his friends … and especially Draco.

"Pretty much the usual," Draco replied. "Postcard for you from the honeymooners." He handed over the piece of cardboard depicting a lush jungle scene. A colourful parrot kept peeking out of the foliage in a perpetual loop, so life-like that he could almost hear its raucous cries.

Momentarily ignoring the sizzling eggs, Harry smiled as he skimmed over Luna's message. "Guess what, apparently there are no Blibbering Humdingers in Brazil."

"Naturally," Draco drawled, looking at his lover with a straight face. "Everybody knows they live in the Galápagos Islands." He cocked an eyebrow. "Or was it Madagascar? I forget. Mind the eggs."

With a small yelp, Harry quickly turned back to the stove and rescued their breakfast. Filling two plates, he carried them over to the table and sat down next to Draco. "Whatever. Either way, it's one of those places that have creatures and plants like no other on the planet."

"Like Lovegood's mind, you mean?"

Harry barely suppressed a snort. "Be nice," he chided gently. "It's Scamander now. And Luna's mind just is a very … unusual … place."

"That's one way of putting it," Draco murmured, cutting up the last of his bacon and chewing for a few moments. He mopped up the rest of his egg with a piece of toast and finished his tea, then reached for the thick envelope tied with a rich brown ribbon. "Hmm, a message from Cornfoot and Zeller."

"Your lawyers?"

Draco nodded, already distracted by the complicated legalese on the sheaf of parchment. "Uh huh."

"Anything important?" Harry asked curiously. He wasn't aware of any current problems at the property development firm Draco had founded with Justin Finch-Fletchley. When Draco had seen the house in Spinner's End he'd inherited from Professor Snape, it was fairly obvious that it was even less habitable than Grimmauld Place, and that it would need major renovations before it could be sold. As Justin's family dealt in real estate, he'd been the logical person to ask how to go about it and somehow along the line, the partnership was born. As unlikely as their association had seemed in the beginning, Draco and Justin worked surprisingly well together and continued to prove all the doomsayers wrong for well over two years now.

A frown marred the smooth skin of Draco's brow. "Potentially," he murmured, scanning down to the signature. "Damn. It's family business."

Harry nodded in understanding. The Wizengamot had recently taken the stewardship over the Malfoy fortune and investments away from Lucius and appointed Draco in his stead. Lucius would probably never have won any 'Father of the Year' awards, but he had done a good job teaching Draco financial acumen - something Harry, as Draco's partner, profited from as well now that he had to manage both the Potter and Black inheritances.

"I'll have to go see them," Draco sighed.

"Today?"

Draco grimaced. "I guess. Cornfoot said 'as soon as possible', so I'd better."

"Well, it's not as if we can't postpone our plans," Harry said reasonably. He smiled and held up his hand to forestall his lover's protest. "I know Justin wants you to go to that antiques auction in Bristol for your next project, but really, how much difference does a day or two make?"

"Not that much," Draco conceded grudgingly. "Still, it's an all-around hassle. I've made reservations for us at the Mezze Palace, which I'll now have to cancel. Who knows when we'll get another opening."

They both had developed a taste for Middle-Eastern cuisine during the months they'd been travelling after Hogwarts. Specifically since they'd come from a Lebanese restaurant to view the illuminated Eiffel Tower that night in Paris; that memory lingered still as it was the night they'd become lovers - when they had shared kisses that had seared both their souls. They'd been a couple ever since.

"Bugger," Harry said.

"Maybe tonight," Draco shot back immediately, then looked for a moment as if he'd gladly bite his own tongue. For once, he had not wanted to make the sarcastic quip. "Merlin, Potter, must you?"

Quickly, Harry leaned over and brushed a kiss against the pouting mouth. "Yes, I do," he murmured. "I love it when you're snarky."

"I'm trying to be adult about this whole sorry affair!"

"We can be very adult when you come back," Harry said with a slight leer, adding huskily, "and I thought we're having much more than an affair."

Draco rolled his eyes even as he returned the kiss. "You're hopeless."

"But you love me anyway, right?"

The stormy grey eyes softened until they resembled molten silver. "Merlin knows why, but … yes. I do."

-===ooo000ooo===-

Harry came home from work in time for dinner and saw that Draco was already seated in the front parlour. Grimmauld Place was still very much a work in progress, but they'd made sure to have a few key rooms fit for use. As they'd originally planned to eat out and thus hadn't made preparations to cook, he'd brought takeaway and left it in the kitchen under a Warming Charm before going upstairs to shower and change into comfortable sweats. At last, he was ready to join Draco in their favourite spot, the cosy reading nook between the fireplace and the bay window.

"Hi," he said upon entering and crossed over to greet him with a kiss, but much to his surprise Draco wouldn't look up and muttered something indistinct. Perplexed, Harry perched himself onto the armrest, gave Draco a one-armed hug and just pressed his lips against the sleek hair.

"What's wrong?" he asked, beginning to knead the stiff neck. "Is your mother okay?"

Startled, Draco met his eyes. "I … yes, why?"

"I've never seen you so tense unless it concerned her," Harry explained, sliding his hand in a soothing rhythm across Draco's shoulders up into the short hairs at the back of his head and down again. "Or is something wrong with the company?"

"No – no, I firecalled Justin from Cornfoot's and he took care of everything," Draco murmured distractedly, adding "and Mother's fine," almost as an afterthought.

Harry frowned; this was very unlike Draco. He must've received some very disturbing news from his lawyers. Harry froze with sudden alarm. "It's not your father, is it?" he asked. There was no love lost between him and Lucius; the man deserved every year in Azkaban he'd been sentenced to, but even though Draco had managed to shake off his poisonous influence at last, Harry knew he still loved his father despite his faults. If something should've happened to Malfoy Senior—

Draco sighed and slumped against Harry's side, burying his face in Harry's soft, faded shirt even as he shook his head no. "Father's doing as well as can be, last I heard," he mumbled, then looked at Harry with dull eyes. "It … it's something else. Something bad."

There was a tone in the usually smooth voice that sent an icy shiver down Harry's spine. With a few economic motions, he wandlessly Summoned a second armchair to sit as close to Draco's as possible and slid into it. Knees touching, he bent forwards and took both of Draco's hands into his. The fingers were cold and clammy, so he began chafing them carefully.

"Tell me," he commanded as gently as he knew how. "Whatever it is that's upset you, we'll deal with it together." He smiled crookedly. "After all, we're an unbeatable team, you and I, right?"

"Unfortunately, I don't see a way how we can beat this," Draco sighed, relaxing gradually under Harry's ministrations. "This is all so royally fucked up." He leaned back, closing his eyes wearily.

"How about you tell me what 'this' is?" Harry was beginning to get seriously worried; normally, Draco would rant and rave at problems until Harry shut him up by the time-honoured - and extremely effective - method of dragging him into the shower or bed, shagged him senseless and made sure they both had a good night's sleep. The next morning, Draco would then be able to use his sharp and agile mind to come up with a solution.

*Doesn't look as if it'd work tonight.* Harry had never seen this kind of despondency in Draco, and had the uneasy feeling that for once, sex was the very last thing on his passionate lover's mind.

"I don't even know where to begin," Draco said just when the silence after Harry's question was becoming uncomfortable.

"How about at the beginning?" Harry suggested, and was heartened by the weak glare he received in return. *Yes! Success!* He bit back a smile and laid a finger against Draco's lips. "On second thought, can you hold on a minute? Let me make some tea; that'll give you time to order your thoughts, and will help if the telling gets long."

There was another pause during which Draco was visibly weighing the pros and cons. "Yes, please," he mumbled at last, turning his head so he could stare once more into the dancing flames. Harry pressed a quick kiss against the knuckles of one long-fingered hand.

"Right. One pot of tea coming up," he said, rising from his chair. "Don't go anywhere, hmm?"

Draco just shrugged, and Harry made his way to the kitchen with alacrity.

It took less than ten minutes for Harry to prepare Draco's favourite tea, even without magic. Tea snob that Draco was, he was likely to complain if he hadn't, and they didn't need the additional aggravation now. Loading a tray with pot, cups and accoutrements plus a plate of ginger snaps, Harry returned and fixed Draco's cup the way he liked. He then curled up in his chair with his own beverage and gently nudged Draco's leg with one stockinged foot. "Ready to talk now?"

"Not really," Draco sighed. "But I guess I don't really have much of a choice." Pushing his hair out of his face with one hand, he reached over to the small side table and picked up a newspaper he'd apparently collected while Harry was busy in the kitchen. "Do you remember the speech the Minister made last month?"

"The one about how we should all try to have more children to make our society more viable and stable?"

"Yes."

Now the Daily Prophet back issue made sense, even if Harry still didn't care much for the lurid headline they'd given the transcript. "Your Civic Duty: Procreate!", indeed!

"Barely, why?" Harry had skipped most of it, as the article had cited whole paragraphs of statistics and references. On the whole, it had all sounded nice and sensible and admirable, but it still baffled Harry how the speech could cause Draco to become so visibly shaken. So he gently pried the old Prophet from Draco's hand and skimmed over the salient points to refresh his memory. Finished, he folded the paper back up. "I don't get it," he said. "I mean, not that I don't understand the point Kingsley is making; I suppose there's quite a bit of truth in it, even. But Draco, what has this got to do with us?"

Draco sighed. "Have you never wanted children?"

Harry shrugged. "To be honest, I haven't really thought about it. Maybe once or twice when I still thought I might marry Ginny or some other girl, but not since I found you."

Draco gave him a tiny smile of pleased gratitude, but sobered almost immediately. "But what about your heritage – your legacy? You're heir to two families, the Potters and Blacks; one of them is even a Noble and Most Ancient House."

"I never cared much about the name," Harry replied. "Who knows how the Peverells became Potters? And then there's Teddy; he has at least as much right to the Black name and inheritance as I do thanks to Andromeda, and Ron's already asked me if I'd be willing to stand as Godfather to his and Hermione's children, so it's not as if my parents' fortune would fall to the Ministry, or something."

Draco made an impatient gesture. "It's not about the money," he said sharply, then checked himself. "Well, some of it is," he conceded. "A wizarding inheritance is also about family artefacts, grimoires, customs – even special gifts of magic, like being a Metamorphmagus or you being a Parselmouth."

"That's hardly something I'm proud of," Harry interrupted. "Okay, so it's pretty rare, at least here in Europe, but I'm sure you can see that the Dark Wanker kind of spoiled the whole thing for me."

"Understandable," Draco murmured, briefly patting Harry's hand that had clenched around the newspaper. "But it's not something that you should so easily dismiss, either."

"I'm not dismissing it," Harry said, feeling slightly beleaguered. "Just … postponing the matter." At Draco's sceptical look, he sighed. "Look, I'm not ruling out that I might like to have a family one day. But it doesn't have to be now, does it?"

"I guess not," Draco murmured, taking a sip of his tea. He cradled the cup between his hands for a few seconds, then slanted a look at Harry from underneath his bangs. "But … but you have thought about it?"

*Have I?* If he were being honest, Harry knew he had, albeit in a vague, some-time-in-the-unspecified-future kind of way. Growing up with his travesty of a family had made a him yearn for the real thing - to have a family of his own like the Weasleys, full of love, laughter and unquestioning support. Well, with fewer children, but still. And he also wanted a partner - no, a spouse - to share it with. More to the point, he wanted a family with Draco.

"'Course I have," Harry said. "Remember our conversation about future dreams, back at Hogwarts?"

Draco's memory could be every bit as good as Hermione's when the situation warranted it. And this one had stayed especially vivid. "How could I forget? 'A country cottage, pied-à-terre in the City, a crup and kneazle, the whole domestic bliss thing'," he quoted. "Wasn't that what you said?"

"Actually, I think it was you who said that; I don't think I've ever used the term 'pied-à-terre' in my life." Harry chuckled. "I even had to look it up the next day."

This small attempt at humour barely coaxed a smile from Draco, and Harry was getting seriously worried. "I thought you wanted the same thing," he said slowly. "At least that's what you told me at the time." Draco wouldn't meet his eyes, and an icy knot began to form in the pit of Harry's stomach.

"Have … have you changed your mind? Don't you want the same thing anymore?"

"Don't be an idiot." The reply was swift and full of conviction, which helped ease some of Harry's dread.

"Then what is it?" he whispered. "Talk to me, Draco. Please?"

Groaning, Draco got up and went to look out the window. His back to Harry, he fisted one hand into the curtain as if holding on to a lifeline. Finally, he started to speak.

"I … living with you has made me very happy," he began haltingly, his words low enough that Harry had to strain his ears to understand. "More than I ever thought I'd be."

"Same here," Harry murmured. But Draco continued as if he hadn't heard.

"Recently, I've started to hope that eventually we might even make our relationship official … enter a permanent commitment, as it were."

There was no way Harry could stay in his chair at this confession. He surged up and joined Draco at the window, embracing him from behind.

"I'd like that very much," he said huskily. "Whether it's a marriage, Bonding, Civil contract … whenever you want, in whichever way."

Draco leaned against him then, grey eyes full of love. "Thank you." They shared a long, slow kiss.

"Does that mean we're engaged now?" Harry teased, but tensed when the momentary joy in Draco's expression slowly drained away, leaving his features even more pale than their usual wont.

"I wish it were that easy," he said, then braced his shoulders, stepping out of Harry's arms.

"Draco—" Harry reached for him again, but Draco held up a hand, gesturing Harry to stop.

"No, please don't. It … it's easier to say when you're not holding me."

"Easier to say what? Draco, you're scaring me!"

Drawing in a deep, heavy breath, Draco nodded towards the discarded newspaper. "That transcript of Kingsley's speech I just showed you? It's the reason I went to see my lawyers the day after it came out. I wanted to know exactly what I could offer you before I said anything about a union between us."

"That's what your meeting today was about?"

"Yes. Cornfoot needed to do some research first, and wanted to give me the results as soon as possible."

Harry didn't have to use Legilimency to realize that those results hadn't been what Draco expected – and that they likely weren't good.

"What did you have him research?" he asked.

"Marriage laws – between two wizards in general, and my family's in particular." Draco smiled slightly. "It was reassuring to learn that I'm not the first Malfoy to prefer a male partner."

"Then what's the problem?" Harry wondered.

"The problem is that I'm the last Malfoy," Draco replied with a heavy sigh. "And that ties in both with the population issue, and also with inheritance."

"Ah." Harry thought he could see where this was going. "So what, you're telling me that you'll have to have children?"

"Basically, yes. Although it's more than just 'have to'," Draco murmured. "Like you, I hadn't given it much thought yet, because we're still young; I never fancied becoming a father almost right out of school."

"But you do want them?"

"…Yes?"

Harry nearly laughed with relief. "Is that all? I told you, I wouldn't mind having a child or two myself. Maybe one for you and the Malfoys, one for me and the Potters, and Teddy can inherit whatever the Blacks left behind. Problem solved!"

"You wish," Draco scoffed. "Where do you propose we get those children?"

"Er … adopt?" Harry ventured, slightly taken aback by the unexpected tinge of anger in Draco's voice. "Surely we can find an orphan or abandoned magical child somewhere when the time is right – if not here in Britain, then elsewhere."

"If only it were that easy." The momentary surge of temper had given way again to the earlier despondency. "You'd have no problem doing that for a Potter heir, and I suppose it doesn't matter in the long run whether the Blacks remain among the Sacred Twenty-Eight or not, what with your and Teddy's parentage—"

"If this is about Blood purity again—" Harry started, but Draco waved him down.

"Relax; you know that I've changed my views on that issue. Well, most of them, anyway," he amended. "I wouldn't be with you if I hadn't – and Granger and Justin are actually rather tolerable, now that I've got to know them."

"Yeah well, you needn't gush so," Harry grumbled, but both knew that their attempts at humour were woefully inadequate. With a sigh, Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Let's cut to the chase, Draco. What did Cornfoot find out that has you in such a dither?"

Draco wearily closed his eyes. "He had a look at the Malfoy bylaws. They demand that only a bodily heir of the line can inherit – and both parents have to be Pureblood."

"As in, the biological child of a born Malfoy?"

"Yes."

Harry regarded Draco steadily. "Did your father write those bylaws?" It would be just like Lucius to try and control his son even through his choice of life partner.

"No – and neither did my grandfather, even though he was a Knight of Walpurgis," Draco muttered. "Cornfoot found the relevant passage in a marriage contract set up for Sébastien Ovid Malfoy to Honoria Selwyn, back in 1790. Seems Sébastien wanted to marry a Halfblood witch who'd emigrated to Britain because of some Muggle conflict in France."

The date seemed familiar, and after a few moments the memory clicked for Harry. "The French Revolution," he said. "Yeah, that was a bad time; the resulting wars eventually spread all over Europe."

"If you say so." Draco might have changed his opinions on a few select non-Pureblood persons, but was still supremely indifferent to Muggles overall. "Anyway, Sébastien's father decreed that no Malfoy heir should ever come from someone who can't prove at least four generations of wizarding ancestry."

*Thereby guaranteeing that there won't be any embarrassing Muggle relations to deal with, given their shorter lifespan.* Harry fought down a cynical smile as he did the math. *But at least he was sensible enough not to condemn his family to generations of inbreeding.*

"Okay, so adoption is out, at least for you," was what he said out loud. "So we'll look for a nice Pureblood girl who'd be willing to act as surrogate."

"Surrogate? What does that mean?" Draco frowned, puzzled. He knew the word, of course, but had no idea what it meant in this context.

Harry shrugged. "A woman who's willing to carry and bear a child for someone else," he explained. "It's a procedure for those who want children and can't have them on their own for some reason – infertility, bad health, or even gay couples like us. It's fairly common among Muggles."

Draco looked faintly horrified. "I'm assuming that these women get compensated somehow for their … services?"

"Usually, yes – unless it's a very good friend or relative of the couple who volunteers. Why?"

"You can't seriously want your heir to come from a whore!"

"Draco! Surrogates aren't whores! They're generous, kind persons!"

"For Merlin's sake, they're having sex with other women's husbands for money! How is that not being a whore, even if it's to produce a child?"

"Oh!" Relieved at the misunderstanding, Harry laughed. "No, you've got it all wrong. Surrogacy is mostly being handled by artificial insemination – they never have any more intimate contact with the prospective father than a handshake, or a friendly hug. They even sign a contract that they'll waive all parental rights after the birth, I think."

"I don't know whether I should be fascinated or revolted," Draco muttered at length. "It's certainly an ingenious solution to childlessness as such, but …" He shuddered. "It's not a method I should care to employ."

"Whyever not?" Harry wondered. "It'd be unusual, yes, but as long as we'd be fair to the girl …"

The grey eyes lifted towards his, the expression in them unreadable. "Because right before he died in 1871, Sébastien Malfoy added a codicil to his father's decree," Draco said grimly. "He wrote it into family law that the Malfoy heir had to be legitimate."

Harry felt his lips go numb. "Meaning what?"

"His or her parents had to be married – to each other," Draco stated. "Under a fidelity clause, too, so that there would be no doubt that the child was a true Malfoy by blood."

"And … and if they weren't?"

"The Malfoy scion responsible for the illegitimate child would be formally disowned, thereby losing all assets, up to and including the right to bear the family name. And the line would die out."

-===ooo000ooo===-

In the hours that followed, they made a futile attempt at eating the food Harry had brought; neither had had much of an appetite, though, so the bulk got stored in the Cold Box for another day. Now they were sitting in front of the fire – Harry with his legs stretched out towards the flames and Draco crosswise to him, knees drawn up and his head resting against Harry's shoulder, safely ensconced in his lover's arms as they both stared into the fire, lost in thought.

They hardly spoke; after all, what was there to say after Draco's revelation? The ramifications were all too clear – should Draco choose Harry, he'd lose everything.

If it were just a question of money, Harry had enough funds to support them both comfortably; he'd also be more than happy to give Draco his name – whether Potter or Black, it made no difference. The Manor … well. Harry suspected that it would hurt Draco to give it up, but then again he hardly had a lot of truly joyful memories of the place. And they could always make a new home elsewhere for themselves that'd be unencumbered by the past.

No, the sticking point was everything else that made up the Malfoy legacy: the family's long and rich history, stretching back nearly a thousand years in Britain alone. The heirlooms, ranging from rare books to costly jewellery. All the traditions that the Malfoys had learned, created and held up that were worth preserving – how could he ask Draco to give up all of it? For him?

*How can I go on without him if he won't?*

At last, Harry tightened his embrace and kissed Draco's forehead. "It has to be your choice," he murmured in a heavy voice. "Much as I want to, I can't – and won't – make it for you."

"I know," Draco whispered. "A part of me wishes you would, though. It'd make everything so much easier."

Harry laughed briefly, but it was not a happy sound. "The easy thing would be for me to say 'sod it all, stay with me'. I could be just selfish enough for once to do it, too." He sighed. "But you have the exact same right to be selfish and choose what means the most to you."

With a pained sigh, Draco curled deeper against Harry's chest. "I've been selfish for most of my life, until everything went to hell in a handbasket thanks to the Dark Lo-, no, Voldemort, fuck it. And him. You'd think I'd know how to be so again. Only I don't," he said bitterly. "Because no matter what I choose, I'll have to give up something I don't think I can live without."

Harry couldn't help but remember a choice he had had to make on a spring day at Hogwarts, nearly four years ago. Walk away and live, or go to certain death so that others could live. In the end, it had been easy – choosing to die had been the right thing to do, and ultimately he'd been rewarded with life, after all.

If Draco should choose his family and leave him, Harry might as well have stayed dead.

*But it'd be right.*

Harry really didn't want to say it, but knew that he had to. If he didn't, he knew with bone-deep certainty that he'd never be able to live with himself. He buried his face in the bright strands of hair and spoke, nearly choking on the words.

"Draco … I know how much family and your legacy mean to you. They have shaped you, you went through hell for them, even bound yourself to a mad megalomaniac. You wouldn't be the man I love without them. So I'm telling you this – and I'm only going to say it once: I won't hold it against you if you choose to do your duty. I love you, and want what's best for you … and if that best doesn't include me, that's okay. I'd do anything for you. Anything."

A single tear ran from the corner of Draco's eye towards his temple, and he was trembling. "Even letting me go?" he rasped.

It was only one word, but it still had the power to break his heart into a million pieces.

"Yes."

4. Everyone's Heart Isn't Filled With The Gladness Of Love

"Will you marry me?"

Across the expanse of carpet in the drawing room of her family's home, Asteria Greengrass regarded Draco with cool eyes, noting his pallor and the minuscule tic in his left cheek.

"Give me one reason why I should."

Draco met her gaze steadily. "You are a younger daughter of an old family with very few prospects, as your father's fortune has suffered significantly during the War through no fault of his. Every resource your parents have is going to your sister Daphne. If you agree to be my wife, I will set you up with an independent fortune, to do with as you will."

She pondered his reply for a few moments. "An attractive proposition," she murmured at last, coming a few steps closer. "Although I wonder … what do you stand to gain from this marriage? Provided I accept your proposal, that is."

He gave her a wintry smile. "Social redemption. Your family stayed neutral, whereas mine … well." He shrugged eloquently. "It's my goal to restore as much of the Malfoys' good name and fortune as possible, and for that I need an impeccable spouse."

"As if you couldn't get that through your association with Harry Potter," she scoffed. Surprised, his eyes flew towards hers and it was her turn to shrug. "You may have been astonishingly discreet, given who you both are, but one has heard … things."

Draco stiffened, paling even more. "There are reasons why our … association … had to be terminated," he said through bloodless lips.

Asteria sighed, and sat down on one of the spindly-legged armchairs dotting the formal room, gesturing for him to join her. "Draco … I'm not judging you. But you're asking me for a very personal commitment, and I need to know exactly what I'd be letting myself in for. I will not be made a laughingstock because my husband is pining for someone else, or worse, is having an affair behind my back!" She huffed. "And for the record, it wouldn't matter whether that person is a man or a woman."

"I didn't think it did," he said, sinking down next to her. He really hated having to expose himself like this to a virtual stranger, but Asteria had Sorted Ravenclaw and came from a family with strong Slytherin ties; she would see through any kind of subterfuge or evasion as well as, or possibly better than, Hermione Granger-Weasley. He fought the urge to fidget or fiddle with his cuffs, then finally looked straight at her. "I need an heir."

A slight smile curved her mouth. "And was that so very hard to say? I already suspected as much," she added, not waiting for him to reply.

Draco flushed and looked away, unable to meet her knowing gaze. "Yes, well …" he mumbled uncomfortably.

The silence that settled between them was not wholly uncomfortable. They were both Purebloods, after all, and had grown up with very similar conventions and expectations.

"I would have a few conditions of my own," Asteria said at last. "Beyond the financial arrangements."

Her calm, almost businesslike manner helped Draco regain his composure. "I'm sure we can work things out to our mutual satisfaction."

She laughed, and rose. Politely, he stood as well and accepted the hand she held out to him. "Have your lawyers contact my father's," Asteria said. "If between them everything can be sorted the way you need and the way I want … then yes, Draco Malfoy, I will marry you."

-===ooo000ooo===-

The wedding of Draco Malfoy and Asteria Greengrass was the social highlight of the year. If the groom was entirely too composed and the bride calmly reasonable, all the guests were too polite to comment on it.

Harry Potter attended the ceremony along with most of the rest of the 'War Generation', as their class had become known as. None of his close friends made a single comment on his reserved and rather distant manner, even though it was quite at odds with his usual openness. He brought a lavish gift, spoke the customary words for the occasion and left right after the reception. A few days later, the house at 12 Grimmauld Place was closed down and Harry all but disappeared from wizarding Britain.

-===ooo000ooo===-

It took over five years until Asteria fell pregnant. Not only did the Malfoys have trouble conceiving, she also suffered from several complications during the nine months. But when the attendant Mediwitch put his son into his arms for the first time, Draco felt as if his heart would burst with love for this new, tiny being.

"Hello, little man," he whispered. "Welcome to the world."

Asteria smiled tiredly, leaning back against the plumped-up pillows now that her ordeal was over.

"You're content, then?"

"More than that." He sat down on the edge of her bed, leaning forward to that they could both look at their son. "Thank you."

"I wish I could say it was my pleasure, but after the past few hours … I'd be lying." She winced as she shifted and sore muscles twinged in unexpected places.

Draco chuckled. "I should think so. Well, maybe this will make up a bit for your efforts." Casting a silent Accio, he handed her a black velvet box that had wiggled from an inner pocket of his cloak at his Summoning. "A small token of my deepest gratitude."

Giving him a pleased yet quizzical look, Asteria opened her gift. Inside, on royal blue satin, was a round platinum brooch, almost two inches in diameter. There was a stylised S-shape made out of diamonds in the centre, and the rest of the surface was covered entirely by tiny pearls that followed the curve in a soft, undulating wave.

"It's beautiful," she murmured. "Thank you."

"No, thank you," Draco repeated, then returned his attention to the newborn who wiggled a bit, yawned and subsided once again into sleep. "You've given me something much more precious than any piece of jewellery."

Asteria covered her hand with his on the baby's small chest. "Was it worth it, then?"

Draco glanced briefly at her, then back at the baby. His voice was almost inaudible, but rang with conviction. "He's worth everything."

-===ooo000ooo===-

Asteria swept down the stairs into the foyer of Malfoy Manor, her travelling cloak draped over her arm. Draco was waiting for her by the Floo, watching her personal elf shrink her luggage and stow the dozens of tiny containers into one single designer trunk with a few snaps of her fingers.

"Are you sure you have everything?" he asked, a slight smile on his face. "For that matter, have you left anything in your suite?"

"Yes, and the only thing I couldn't take is the Aubusson rug," she laughed. "It's just too big for my apartment. More's the pity; I really liked the colours."

"You couldn't have shrunk it to fit?"

Asteria shook her head. "I tried, but it completely ruined the pattern," she pouted prettily. "That's the trouble with Muggle-made things; no matter how beautiful some of them are, they just don't adapt well to using magic on them."

"Maybe you should've talked to Arthur Weasley," Draco said lightly. "He's still Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office; he might know a trick or two."

"I'd rather not. Too many restrictions and regulations," she replied.

"In that case, I'll get you a new one that fits for Christmas," Draco promised.

"That'd be lovely, but you don't have to."

"Anything to make sure that my best friend is comfortable in her new home," he said. He reached for her hand and drew her close. "Seriously, Stella; if there's anything else you want or need, don't hesitate to let me know."

She nestled briefly against his chest in a way that had become familiar and habit over the past six-plus years. "I won't, but I don't think I'll have to. After all, your settlement on me has been more than generous."

"All the gold in Gringotts couldn't ever repay you for what you've given me," he murmured, pressing a kiss on her hair. "It's nothing measured against Scorpius."

"I'll never understand why you had to saddle our son with that name." she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. "Naming traditions are all fair and well, but honestly, Scorpius Hyperion? He'll only end up with some ridiculous nickname."

"Says the woman named Asteria Charys," Draco smirked. "Don't worry, he'll be fine."

"If you say so." Closing her eyes, she fell silent, staying a few minutes in the loose embrace they'd shared so often before gently disengaging herself. "I guess this is good-bye, then."

"Regretfully, yes. I'll miss you."

Asteria laughed. "You'll miss someone who can fix your tea exactly the way you like, not my sparkling personality," she corrected, shrugging into her cloak.

"Can't I miss both?"

Her patent look of disbelief made Draco chuckle even as he guided her towards the fireplace and offered her the lacquered box containing Floo powder from the mantel. She lifted the lid, but made no move to reach inside. Instead, she tilted her head and regarded him in a way that sent a sudden shiver of apprehension down his spine.

"Stella? Is something wrong?" She'd already taken leave of their son the night before and was hiding the inevitable turmoil well, but if she needed a last-minute glimpse, Draco would gladly accommodate her.

But, no – as so often in their marriage, Asteria managed to surprise him.

"Does he know to fix your tea?" she asked softly.

Draco froze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me, Draco. Do you honestly think I don't know that you still love Harry Potter?"

He blanched. "Asteria—"

She gave him a gentle smile. "Don't worry. I know you haven't betrayed our vows … something I truly admire you for. And while I believe you've come to care for me as well, I'm certain that if it hadn't been for the one thing I could give you that he can't, our marriage would never have happened."

"I'm sorry, I… I don't know what to say," he stammered, thoroughly rattled by her perceptiveness and serene acceptance.

"Say that you'll remain my friend," she requested. "And that I can continue to be a part of our son's life, as we agreed."

"I'd never deprive Scorpius of his mother." Draco inhaled deeply, trying to calm his racing pulse. "You'll always have a place of honour in my house for giving him to me. That we managed to become friends despite the … less than cordial beginning of our relationship is an unexpected bonus." He smiled wryly. "Also, it's not as if I have friends to spare; I'd be an idiot to give up even one, much less you."

"That's more than enough," Asteria said with finality, and took a generous pinch of the glittering powder. Throwing it into the flames, she clearly spoke her new address and waited until they changed colour. Just before she stepped into the hearth, she turned towards him once more and tapped Draco once on his chest. "Rumour has it he's back," she murmured. "As a last promise to me – will you go see him?"

Completely flummoxed and feeling more than a little shaken by so much unexpected generosity of spirit, Draco could only nod. "When I'm ready."

"Fair enough. Good-bye, Draco."

"Good-bye, my star," he whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat as he watched his ex-wife step out of his house and his life in a rush of emerald fire.

5. It's A Long, Long Road

The door at 12 Grimmauld Place swung slowly inward, but instead of the ancient house-elf he had expected, it was Harry himself who opened it.

They stared at one another, struck mute with surprise. Draco couldn't help shifting from foot to foot, and Harry was clutching the door jamb for dear life as they both took in the other's appearance. A slightly hysterical part of Draco's mind jabbered at him that he should've dressed better than the casual Muggle pants, shirt and jacket, but it had become his usual work attire – and visiting Harry's house had very much been a spontaneous decision after his mother had firecalled him at lunch to tell him that she'd be happy to babysit Scorpius 'should he have plans for the night'.

Harry was actually dressed very similarly – minus the jacket, obviously, but in much better quality clothes than Draco was used to seeing him in. They fit astonishingly well, too. For once, his trim physique was emphasized rather than hidden under baggy fabric, and Draco's hands began to itch with the need to touch.

He was yanked from his meandering thoughts by Harry's voice, low and slightly rough with an emotion Draco couldn't immediately identify.

"Draco? What are you doing here?"

And like a complete idiot, he forgot all the carefully-worded phrases he'd rehearsed for this occasion and blurted out the real, the one reason for showing up on Harry's doorstep unannounced.

"I've come back to you."

He faltered under Harry's scrutiny. "If … if you'll still have me, that is."

And Harry, impulsive, foolhardy, brave, impetuous Gryffindor that he was and would always be – not that Draco would have him any other way – let go of the doorframe, held out a hand that trembled even as his whole face lit up with the biggest, brightest smile Draco had ever seen. On anyone.

"Do you really have to ask? I'll always have you, any way I can."

Following the insistent tug on his hand and crossing the doorstep, Draco's brain was only just catching up to the fact that Harry was not going to kick him out. Then it registered what Harry had actually said, and Draco's tongue seemed to take up a life on its own.

"Not right here in the hallway, I hope."

Harry stopped as if he'd been Stupefied by the unexpected innuendo, and Draco literally face-palmed, mortified at his lapse of control. "Merlin, Mordred and Morgana, I can't believe I just said that!"

"I can," Harry laughed, a rich, free sound that Draco hadn't heard in far too long. "It's so very you." He grasped Draco's shoulders and shook him slightly before pulling him into a crushing embrace. "Merlin, I've missed you. Smartarse mouth and all!"

Very glad for the fact that he could hide his flaming face – and the moisture pooling in his eyes – in Harry's shoulder, Draco needed to clear his throat twice before he could speak.

"I've missed you, too. Every minute of every day." He looked up then, meeting the gorgeous green eyes he'd always admired. "Forgive me?"

Harry sobered, but the smile wouldn't leave his face. "Already have."

Draco nearly sagged with relief, very glad to still have Harry's arms around him for support. "Thank you. I know I don't deserve it after what I put us through, but—"

"Stop right there, Draco," Harry interrupted him firmly. "You're back; that's all that matters. Now we'll have all the time in the world to hash out what happened in the past few years – to both of us." His expression turned wry. "There are a few things I've done that'll need explaining, too … and I suggest we do that over dinner and a drink or five." He slowly lowered his arms until he was only holding Draco's right hand in a firm, reassuring grip. "Come on into the parlour; I'll call for some Chinese takeaway, if that's okay?"

"I don't know if I can eat, but I definitely could use a drink," Draco admitted.

"Go make yourself at home, then; I'll be right with you."

Innocent, polite words as any good host might say to a visitor – and yet coming from Harry, here, today, they meant so much more. Feeling rather giddy, Draco nodded and turned towards what had once been their living room. As soon as he stepped through the door, his senses were being assaulted by the familiar scents and sights of the space they'd created together and shared when their love was still new. Overwhelmed with memories, Draco let his eyes wander, looking for any changes that might help anchor him in today's reality rather than drown him in the past.

The room was almost exactly the way Draco remembered it; of course the plants on the windowsill were new, and it seemed Harry had replaced the old, ugly and inefficient oil lamp in the reading nook with a new bronze one topped with a colourful leaded-glass shade that depicted dragonflies, of all things, in brilliant reds, greens and blues. But it wasn't that which caught Draco's attention; instead, he was drawn inexorably to the mantelpiece where the collection of photographs of friends and family seemed to have gained a few new additions.

He slowly reached for a frame standing between a very young James and Lily Potter dancing in the snow and the Gryffindor Quidditch team holding the Cup. The picture showed a young boy with brown curls and bright blue eyes riding a toy broom over a piece of lawn, sporting an exact replica of the beaming smile Harry had bestowed on him just a short time ago. With an indescribable feeling coming over him, Draco set the picture back and took up another, only to look at what seemed like a miniature Harry, minus the glasses. Laughing green eyes under a mop of wild black hair, with just a hint of difference about the shape of the boy's face - not Harry, then.

Numbly, Draco picked up a third picture, of both boys playing together on a beach. It must've been taken at about the same time as the other two photographs; the children didn't look differently, anyway. They seemed to be about two years apart in age, the younger being maybe as young as Scorpius. Despite their slightly different colouring, there was enough of a family resemblance to see that they were brothers.

*When did Harry have children? And who's their mother?*

Draco felt a wild flare of jealousy surging through him, which he immediately suppressed. He'd left Harry, however reluctantly, in order to have a child to carry on the Malfoy legacy; he had absolutely no right to complain if Harry had done the same. Still, he couldn't help but wonder – who was the mystery woman who had given Harry not one, but two children? Had he married her, like he'd married Asteria, with a terminated contract, or had he made use of a surrogate, as he'd suggested they do all these years ago? Was the children's mother even a witch? Most importantly, though, was she still in the picture somehow?

He didn't think so, now that he'd calmed down a little. Not after the way Harry had welcomed him back. But one never knew … He tilted the picture towards the window and better light, for a clearer view. The older boy was energetically patting down the sides of what looked like the beginnings of a sand castle, while the toddler valiantly tried to press a few large shells into the wet sand with clumsy little fingers. It was so like what he'd seen Scorpius do with Rose Weasley in the sand pit Hermione had insisted they set up in the garden of their cottage, it made Draco ache deep in his very bones.

"That's Jamie and Ryan," came Harry's voice from the doorway, startling Draco. "My sons."

"Ryan?" Draco wondered. "Where did you come up with that name? It's very -" He hesitated. "Some would say Muggle."

"Yeah, well ... It's actually Jamie's creation," Harry explained. "Jamie is James Sirius, after my father and godfather, and it seemed unfair not to have at least some connection to their mum for the new baby. Her family has a tradition of plant-based names; that's how we came up with Rowan. I wanted a Black connection, too, so he's Rowan Orion. Jamie couldn't pronounce either name properly at first and kept calling him Ryan. It kind of stuck." Harry smiled fondly.

"I see." Draco nodded and carefully placed the picture back among the others. "Their resemblance to you is quite obvious."

"Thanks, I think," Harry laughed. "Ryan looks more like me; poor kid even has the Potter hair. Jamie favours his mother."

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to ask her name, but he bit it back just in time. This would be for Harry to divulge. Something must've given away his curiosity, though, because Harry set the tray with food and drink onto a table and came to stand next to Draco in front of the mantelpiece. Running a finger down the side of one frame, he spoke without looking at Draco.

"Their mother is Lavender Brown."

Draco needed a moment to place the name, then memory provided a picture of a giggly blonde, one of their yearmates in Gryffindor.

"I didn't know you were … interested in her," he ventured.

"I wasn't," Harry replied. "In fact, she used to date Ron for a while - before he wised up and finally admitted he was head over heels for Hermione." His face darkened. "During the Battle of Hogwarts, she was attacked by Fenrir Greyback."

Draco shuddered; he'd always feared and loathed the werewolf. "Was she-"

"Infected? No. Just badly mauled … and to be blunt, somewhat disfigured, especially in her face. As you know, those scars can't be removed, and so she had a very hard time finding work after school."

"I can imagine," Draco murmured, his throat dry. Scars that might look dashing on Bill Weasley's face - scars for which he felt responsible - would be devastating on a once-pretty woman.

"There's a Squib surgeon in America who has developed ways to make some Muggle procedures work on magicals, specifically doing skin grafts to hide scar tissue. Lavender had heard of him and wanted to know whether he could help her. He could, but the price for his services wasn't one she could afford. Out of necessity she took a job serving drinks in a bar, and that's where I ran into her."

Harry remembered the encounter all too well.

-===ooo000ooo===-

After Draco's wedding he'd been too heart-sore and proud to stay in Britain, and so went travelling again. It had been hard to avoid all the places Draco had shown him; he'd also started drinking far too much and was drifting along rather aimlessly, sitting hunched over a table in some bar when he suddenly heard his name spoken with honest surprise.

"Harry? Harry Potter?"

He looked up from his drink with bleary eyes. It took some effort to recognize the young woman, especially with a net veil fastened to her curls hiding half her face, but eventually he could put a name to her. "Lavender," he slurred. "Fanshy meetin' you here." He hiccuped. "Or is't fanshy meetin' you here?" He sloshed his drink. "Where's here, an'way?"

Exasperated, she pried the glass from his hand and wiped up the spillage. "We're at the Seaside Inn in Atlantic City - and you are drunk!"

"Yesh," he mumbled, trying vainly to grab the bottle he'd bought to refill his glass. It was difficult, because he was seeing three of them, and somehow he kept missing the right one. "Wanna f'rget … f'rget Dray."

Lavender shook her head, and provided him with a hearty meal as well as copious amounts of coffee. Slowly, Harry sobered up enough to tell his story. "... Draco got married to have a child. E's'gonna pay that gal a bucketful of Galleons f'r it, too …"

Lavender grimaced. "I'd take such a deal myself if I could, but I'm hardly someone a person would want to look at every morning across the breakfast table." She touched her mangled cheek. "Looking the way I do now, who'd want me?"

"Long story short, I made her an offer she couldn't refuse. Lavender didn't believe me at first and tried to talk me out of it, but the longer I thought about it, the better it sounded," Harry concluded. "I mean, if you could handle getting a child that way, why couldn't I? So I told her I'd pay for her medical treatments and set up a nest egg, and she agreed to a pregnancy. Win-win, really."

"Did ... did you marry her?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. We weren't going to, especially as we were friends at best, but then we said 'why the hell not' and just went ahead with it. A simple Muggle ceremony to make Jamie legitimate, and we filed for divorce after his first birthday, when Lavender found a job in theatre, creating costumes for the stage. She's always been interested in fashion, the acting world is quite tolerant about people who are different, so …" He shrugged. "Ryan was actually a surprise. Our divorce was going full steam ahead already when he came along, but he's still legally my child since he was conceived while we were still married. We visit once or twice a year, and I keep Lavender supplied with reports and pictures as the boys grow older, but we're living our own lives and are happy with the way things turned out."

"Asteria and I have a very similar arrangement," Draco said. "She's moved to Italy to paint, and I believe she may have met someone, but … it's none of my concern anymore. She'll always have a place as Scorpius' mother, but she is not going to play an active role in our lives."

Harry snorted. "And here we are, two single dads with three children between us, seven years older ... and hopefully a little wiser."

"Here we are, two men who loved each other enough to do what is right and gained a family in the bargain," Draco corrected gently. "Are we wise enough to go on from here - together?"

Harry wrapped his fingers around Draco's. "I'd like to think so," he murmured. "How about we give it a try? For us?"

"For us and our sons," Draco agreed, linking their hands. "Having them made everything worthwhile."

"Indeed."

-===ooo000ooo===-

Rebuilding their life together was a lot harder to do this time around than it had been ten years ago; not only did they have to consider three little boys' needs, but also had to accommodate their different careers. Draco and Justin's property development firm was busier than ever, and he had increased responsibilities managing the Malfoy estate. As for Harry, meeting Lavender's surgeon and learning his story had got him interested in how to improve the lives of Squibs and better integration of Muggleborns' families.

"I don't see why we can't make use of people who've learned about magic already because their children or siblings got a Hogwarts letter," he said one day when they'd met up with a number of their former classmates. "For example, why not have a retired or unemployed Muggle teach our children their alphabets and numbers, some basic geography and whatnot? Things every pupil should know before they start at Hogwarts. After all, not everyone can afford to hire private tutors, and not every parent does an adequate job at homeschooling."

"Don't remind me," Draco groaned. "I still have occasional nightmares from reading Greg's essays."

Hermione nodded. "Teach them the basics of good study habits, legible handwriting, how to structure an essay … it's a sound idea, and I'm sure you could get Ministry funding."

"I'm not overly keen on associating with the Ministry," Harry replied, thinking of the disaster that had been Dolores Umbridge. "But it's certainly something to think about eventually."

6. So On We Go ... We'll Get There

By the time winter was approaching, Draco and Harry had moved into a spacious farmhouse near Brighton they'd bought a couple of weeks ago. It was close enough to London by Apparition or Floo to keep Grimmauld Place open, but just rural enough to provide lots of space for themselves and their sons.

A house-elf had been hired to see to their day-to-day needs and look after the boys, and they were all settling in nicely. They'd even already invited the rest of the Black family, Teddy, Andromeda and Narcissa, for the holidays. A large tree had been put up in their living room last night, with the 'help' of three excited children who oohed and aahed over every bauble, ornament and fairy that they could coax to settle in the branches. But it was finally done, and peace had settled over the property they'd decided to name "Blackhaven", in honour of the family connection they all shared.

On the day before Christmas. Harry woke up to the delicious sensation of Draco's hand caressing his stomach and the nudge of morning wood against his arse. He reluctantly cracked open one eye, saw that it was still dark outside, and closed it again as he burrowed deeper into both pillow and blanket.

"Good morning," Draco whispered into his ear.

"Hmph. Still asleep here," Harry slurred, reluctant to leave his comfy haven of somnolence, no matter how tempting the situation.

Draco chuckled softly, his warm lips brushing against Harry's neck as he pressed even closer. Harry's buttocks flexed instinctively as Draco's cock slid between them. "No, you're not."

"Am too." Despite himself, Harry's lips curved into a smile.

"Guess I'll have to do something about that, then." Draco's seductive voice was still barely audible in the cosy bedroom, and he gently nipped at the juncture of Harry's neck and shoulder, almost immediately soothing the slight sting with the tip of his tongue. At the same time, he skimmed his fingers upwards to Harry's chest, teasing a hardening nipple. "Come now, wake up."

Harry sighed sleepily even as he felt his own cock stretch and fill. "Don' wanna," he mumbled, torn between the desire to go back to sleep and burgeoning excitement at the prospect of wake-up sex.

"Liar."

"Mmph."

Draco laughed soundlessly. "Bet I can persuade you." To make his point, he let his hand drift down again, across the taut, flexing stomach and through the coarse black curls surrounding the base of Harry's prick. "Don't think it'll take much, either," he murmured, cupping the heavy balls.

Harry caught his breath when those nimble fingers fondled him for a minute, then closed loosely around his cock and squeezed gently. How is a body supposed to sleep through that? he thought woozily. The prospect of having sex while both were still wrapped in their warm cocoon of blankets was enticing, but it certainly wouldn't do to give in too easily. Besides, he really didn't want to wake up yet.

"Hate you."

"No, you don't," Draco contradicted smugly and stroked him once from root to tip, swiping a fingertip through the moisture already pearling on the crown.

"Do, too."

"This –" another gentle squeeze was followed by a twist around the head, causing a more insistent throb of blood into the almost fully-engorged shaft, "‒ says otherwise." Draco released his cock, much to Harry's chagrin, and shifted behind him. A second later, he brushed that same fingertip against Harry's lips. Reflexively, Harry's tongue slipped out and licked at the slightly-calloused skin. The drop of pre-come was still slick, salty bitterness exploding across Harry's senses as he tasted himself.

Groaning, Harry squirmed around so they were lying face-to-face and half-heartedly glared at Draco through bleary eyes.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?" he grumbled.

"Now that I finally have you awake and interested? Nope," Draco grinned, entirely too cheerful in Harry's opinion. His eyes sparkled in the faint light streaming through the bedroom window, the first blush of wintery dawn staining the horizon in pale pinks, purples and oranges. "Don't be a grouch."

"I'll give you grouch," Harry muttered, moving so he could retaliate in kind.

"I'd rather you gave me head, but … aahh," Draco sighed blissfully as Harry wiggled his own hand between their bodies, grasped the hot, straining flesh rising from an already-damp patch of hair and began to stroke leisurely up and down in the rhythm he knew Draco loved. "That'll do nicely for now. Merlin, don't stop!"

"I won't," Harry promised huskily. "Stop squirming."

"Malfoys do not – ungh – squirm. We move – ah! – languidly with the – yessss – flow of passion," Draco said loftily, but spoiled the effect by moaning deep in his throat when Harry formed a ring of his forefinger and thumb around the base of his cock and squeezed. "That's so good …"

"This'll feel even better," Harry panted, sliding his other hand across Draco's hip towards his arse. A silent, wandless spell provided a generous dollop of lube, and despite their less-than-ideal position he was able to dip easily into the cleft, probing for the tight opening between. Working a finger inside, he carefully slid it in and out, delving deeper and deeper until he grazed the knot of tissue that was Draco's prostate.

"Merlin, YES!"

Grinning to himself, Harry proceeded to rub and press against the hidden pleasure point, synchronizing it with the pumping motion up and down Draco's throbbing shaft. He loved how Draco was gasping and trembling in his arms with pure need at the double stimulation.

"Come for me, love," he whispered into the shell of one ear. "Give it up for me."

The blond head was thrashing wildly on the pillow; Draco's grey eyes were wide open and blown with pleasure. He opened his mouth to speak, but was incapable of producing any sound other than desperate moans. When a pink tongue crept out to moisten his lips, Harry bent forwards, captured it between his teeth and bit gently into the tip.

Draco tore his head aside with a strangled cry and convulsed, spilling his essence into Harry's waiting hand. Harry stilled all movement as Draco rode out the waves of his orgasm, holding the slender body until his lover relaxed into a near-boneless heap of sated bliss. Only then did he withdraw his finger from the tight channel and released the softening cock.

He had to wait a few minutes until Draco came down from his euphoria and hooked a hand around the dark head, drawing Harry into a long, leisurely kiss.

"Now that's what I call a good morning," he purred.

Harry chuckled fondly. "I'd be inclined to agree if I could persuade you to return the favour," he proposed, pressing his own still very prominent erection against Draco's abdomen.

"Mmm. Give me a few more minutes and I might be talked into giving you a blowjob in the shower."

"Sounds like a plan," Harry agreed easily, a tiny hitch of anticipation in his voice. Bringing Draco off like this was an incredible turn-on, but he wasn't so desperate that he couldn't wait to have that talented mouth wrapped around him while hot water cascaded down over them both.

They cuddled under their blankets, sharing gentle touches and kisses until Draco felt ready to leave their bed. However, just when he was reaching for Harry's still-hard cock, the door to their bedroom opened with a creak.

"Dada?" "Papa?" Two small voices called almost in unison.

Barely managing to stifle a disappointed groan, Harry rolled to the side, trying to will down his hard-on while Draco leaned up on one elbow, peering at their two youngest. They were standing in the now-open doorway, wearing near-identical footie pyjamas in purple and bright blue, with little reindeer and snowmen dancing up and down. Scorpius' fine blond hair was as badly-mussed as Ryan's, they were holding hands and each was dragging a plushie in the other.

"Scorpius, Ryan," he said as calmly as he could. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Want bet-fus, Dada," Ryan declared as earnestly as only a not-quite-two-year-old could. "Me 'n' Torpy hun-gee!"

"Yes, Papa," Scorpius agreed. "Bet-fus, pweeze. Mimi 'n' pantits!"

"Talk about lousy timing," Harry muttered sotto voce from behind Draco's back, having regained most of his composure courtesy of a quick breathing exercise. "I'm almost tempted to do something drastic to them if they weren't so damn cute."

"Hush, you," Draco admonished him just as quietly, but had to agree. Their sons had had a bit of a rocky start together, with jealousy issues and a few spectacular tantrums along the way, but that had stopped almost completely since they had all moved to live together at Blackhaven. Now they were as thick as thieves, and often drove Jamie to distraction when they ignored his big-brotherly decrees on which game to play.

Getting back to the matter at hand, Draco turned back to the two toddlers. "Boys, it's still dark," he said in his most reasonable tone. "We can't have breakfast when there's no light."

Scorpius' lower lip pushed forward and began to wobble alarmingly. "No pantits?"

"Papa can't make pancakes if I can't see."

"Dada?" Ryan dropped his plushie, stuck his thumb into his mouth and began to suck, always a bad sign. "Pweeze?"

"Draco's right, Ryan," Harry hurried to say. "It's still too early. Now, why don't you two go back to bed again, just for a little while until Mr Sun is shining, and you can have all the milk you want with your pancakes?"

Ryan looked at Scorpius. Scorpius stared back. Both were clearly pondering the issue.

The two men shared a brief glance; Harry's rather hopeful – maybe he could get his blowjob after all?

Alas, it wasn't to be. There was bright flash of light coming from downstairs, followed immediately by a loud shriek.

"Jamie!"

Harry jumped out of bed and tore down the stairs in sudden panic, Draco hot on his heels. He skidded to a halt in the living room, expecting to find monsters, intruders, or whatever else disaster had befallen his eldest, but all he saw was Jamie kneeling in front of the fire, clutching the kneazle that had come with the farmhouse to his belly with one hand and holding Harry's wand in the other.

The tip was shining brightly blue.

Breathing hard, Harry stared at his wand, his son and back at the wand. "Jamie … what did you do?" he asked, his voice still strangled from fright and the rush of adrenalin.

Wide blue eyes met his guilelessly. "Whisky climbded inna de tree, an' I wuz gonna get him out. Dere was dark, an' I tooked your wand an' sez Loo-moss like you, and den I seed Whisky an' got him."

"His name is Whiskers, not Whisky," Draco groaned from behind him. "Anyone who hears our sons mangle that beast's name like that is going to think we're bringing up three budding alcoholics!"

Harry sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "That was very nice of you, Jamie, but you. Must. Not. Take. Daddy's. Wand. Never, EVER. You hear me?"

"Yes, Daddy," James Sirius Potter said amiably enough. Then his little face turned crafty. "How 'bout Papa's?"

"No, not my wand, either," Draco decreed, feeling a big bubble of happiness rising in his chest at the boy's word. This was the first time one of Harry's sons had called him Papa! "You must wait until you get your Hogwarts letter; then you'll get your very own wand."

"Okay." Jamie shrugged, let go of the wiggling kneazle and ambled over to his father, holding out the holly wand. "'Nuff light; make it go out, Daddy?"

Gingerly, Harry plucked his wand from the small fingers and softly said "Nox." The room was cast into darkness again; through the window, the light of dawn was slowly becoming visible above the trees lining their property.

"Guess we'll have to start keeping our wands out of certain little people's reach from now on," he remarked.

"Indubitably," Draco agreed, then froze when a tousled blond head peeked around the doorjamb, followed by an even messier black one. "Uh-oh."

"Dada 'n' Papa no coths," a big-eyed Scorpius told his companion, who nodded sagely.

"Uh-huh. Dey's nekkid."

Harry and Draco winced in unison. In their headlong rush from bed to living room at Jamie's shriek, they'd completely forgotten that they were butt-naked … and currently flashing their three sons, the kneazle and Buster the house-elf, who decided to pick this moment to pop in.

Buster took one look at the two men, and began to scold. "Masters be going putting on clothes right now! Masters must not be showing their danglies to little masters!"

"We're going, we're going," Harry muttered, knowing that he was flushing from head to toe. A quick peek at Draco showed he wasn't doing much better. "Buster, will you please—"

"Buster is being looking after little masters," the elf told them sternly. "Yous not coming back until yous is being decent!"

Meekly, Draco and Harry trudged back up the stairs and entered the bathroom. "Was it my imagination, or did Buster just actually shoo us out?" Harry asked, his sense of humour returning now that he was away from curious eyes. He turned on the shower, waited a few seconds until the water ran hot, then drew Draco under the steaming spray with him.

"I believe he was," Draco said with twitching lips, reaching for the shampoo even as the excited sound of childish voices wafted upstairs. "Granger would be so proud of him."

"Not as proud as I am that Jamie did his first bit of magic," Harry said. "He's been accidentally Summoning or Levitating his toys for months, but to actually use a wand, with intent and purpose? That's pretty amazing for his age, isn't it?"

"Yes, and we're going to make sure that he doesn't do it again until he gets his own," Draco sighed. "With the way our three hellions are feeding off of one another, can you imagine the havoc they could wreak? They'd be worse than the Weasley Twins on Pepper-Up!"

Laughing, Harry drew Draco against him and kissed him soundly. "Well, at least one thing is certain," he said. "The ideal world we once dreamed of is going to be anything but boring!"

Finite Incantatem.

End Note: I chose "Asteria" rather than "Astoria" for Draco's wife just because I wanted her to have "Stella" as a nickname. Asteria is the name of a Greek goddess whose name translates as "the starry one", and "Stella" means "star" in Latin. The idea is taken (with permission) from the works of GMWWemyss.

The chapter headers are taken from "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" (1969 version by The Hollies), written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell.