A/N: This is the sequel to Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost, and picks up not long after that ended. If you haven't read that, you might want to do that first; this will make much more sense if you have. I can't promise as frequent a posting schedule just yet, although I do plan for a regular one. If something happens to the routine, I'll be sure and let you know.
Thanks as always to the usual cast of suspects. You know who you are, and you rock my socks.
All fictional elements referred to herein belong to their respective owners. Harry Potter is Rowling's. No copyright infringement intended.
"I'm going to kill you, Potter," Draco growls. "I take back everything I said before, about being glad to find you and all of it, you can go back to your mountain without me."
To Draco's very great consternation, Harry, who is hustling him down the narrow aisle of this absolutely fucking insane Muggle contraption that's supposed to get them back to London in one piece, only laughs and pushes harder with the hand that's on Draco's back. Fine. Threats won't work. He'll try something else. He's not above begging, no matter what Malfoys do or do not do.
No Malfoy has ever found himself about to take off in an aeroplane, because if he had, Draco knows the Malfoys do not beg rule would have been broken long ago.
"Fine, Harry, you win. I'll stay. We'll stay here. We'll stay here and you never have to leave, I swear, just don't make me do this. Please don't make me do this!" He is babbling, and he doesn't care.
"Draco, honestly. It's perfectly safe, just sit down. Do you want to be next to the window so you can see out?" Harry's voice is irritatingly soothing, as is the hand at Draco's back, and he has the irrational urge to tape the man's mouth shut and tie his hands to his sides, just so Draco can have his tantrum in peace.
"See out?" He squeaks. "Merlin's beard, Harry, are you insane? Why would I want to see out? So I can watch the ground as I plummet towards it in this ridiculous machine?"
Harry rolls his eyes and slides into the seat next to the window, pulling Draco down by the arm into the one next to him. After another argument, this one about the piece of fabric that's meant to act as a safety belt - "Oh please, what the bloody hell good is this going to do when this thing falls out of the sky?" - and several threats by Harry to hex him that Draco begins to consider as mercy offers, he is sitting with his fingers gripping the armrests so hard he thinks he'll leave marks in the metal, his eyes shut tight and his jaw clenched as the engines roar to life.
"Harry," he whines, and Harry mercifully does not laugh at him, nor does he flinch when he pries the fingers of Draco's left hand off the armrest and instead links them with his own, and Draco squeezes them so hard that Harry's hand turns white.
"Draco, look at me," Harry's voice is quiet. Draco shakes his head petulantly, eyes shut again as he feels himself pressed into the back of his seat by the force of the acceleration of this death trap he's sitting in. "Draco. Oh honestly!"
He hears Harry huff out the last part, but is surprised when it's followed by strong fingers on his jaw and then Harry's mouth on his. He resists the kiss at first, still refusing to open his eyes, but his self-control, already weak in all things related to Harry Potter, is further dampened by fear, and he realises that kissing Harry might be just the distraction he needs. He gives in, parting his lips and concentrating only on the slide of Harry's tongue against his and the ragged softness of Harry's chapped lips.
He slides a hand up to run his fingers through Harry's ridiculous hair - which is not really that ridiculous and really does suit him and Draco rather likes it, though he will only admit it under penalty of death or in a sex-induced haze - and Harry lifts his own hand up to run feather-light fingertips down a line from Draco's ear to his shoulder and back, leaving a trail of gooseflesh on his neck and making him kiss Harry harder. When at last Harry pulls away, Draco is breathless but a fraction less panicked, and he risks opening his eyes. Harry, for his part, looks smug, though also a little glazed and rumpled, and he's shifting in his seat in a way that makes Draco certain he's not the only one who quite enjoyed that kiss.
"There, not so bad then, is it?" Harry says, and Draco realises the force that was driving him back as they lifted into the air is gone, and the whine of the engine has decreased just a little.
Draco glares. He will not admit it's not so bad, partly because it really is so bad, and partly because even if it wasn't - and it is - he wouldn't give Harry the satisfaction.
Their final three days in Africa had passed too quickly, running together in a blur of sex and baths and showers and stolen kisses in the backseat of the Land Rover as they marveled at the strangest mix of animals Draco has ever seen. The night before they were to return to Moshi so Harry could greet his newest clients and send them up the mountain with another guide, they sat on the balcony in the chaise lounge that had quickly become Draco's favourite piece of furniture, and Harry hesitantly first broached the subject of their return trip to London.
It hadn't occurred to Draco that the Portkey Office was out of the question, mostly because he hadn't really wanted to think about going back at all. But Harry was right, the second he registered himself at any Magical office, the whole of wizarding England would know he was on his way back, and they would undoubtedly be greeted by Rita Skeeter and a mob of adoring Potter fans. Or raging wizards demanding to know where their Saviour has been all these years. Either way, Harry wanted none of it, and Draco can't blame him.
Convincing Draco that flying the Muggle way was the best option hadn't been so easy. There may have been shouting, and possibly some stomping around the small balcony, much to Harry's amusement. Now that Draco thinks back on it, he probably did look ridiculous, pacing back and forth in front of Harry and flinging his arms this way and that, naked as the day he was born. It had not been his finest moment, and, to add insult to injury, it had done no good, because here he sits, in a bloody aeroplane, poised to fall miles out of the sky at any moment.
He crosses his arms and huffs, and this time Harry does laugh at him before leaning over to graze his teeth over Draco's jaw, just hard enough to make Draco hiss, before pressing a not-quite-repentant kiss over the spot.
"Don't be such a baby, you know we'll be fine." Harry says, and pulls a folded newspaper from the pocket in the seat ahead of him. Draco looks at him incredulously as he opens it, and when that fails to get his attention, Draco reaches up and pulls the paper down, leaning over and twisting sideways so his head is where the paper had been in front of Harry's face a moment before.
"Listen, Potter," he says, and Harry rolls his eyes at the use of his surname, "you got me on this thing. I could have just as easily portkeyed home just like I planned, but you insisted we do this the Muggle way. So here I am, and don't think you'll get away with ignoring me for the next twelve hours. You've no idea just how annoying I can be."
At this, Harry laughs. "Actually, I think I've a very good idea of just how annoying you can be, unless you've forgotten the first seven years we knew one another." He obligingly sets down his newspaper though, and looks at Draco indulgently. "But rather than revisit that version of you, fine, I'll stop reading. For now. I'm all yours."
Draco shudders pleasantly at the thrill that goes through him at Harry's words, even though he knows he's skewing the context. I'm all yours. Those words course through his mind just about every time he looks at Harry, and he's powerless to stop them or silence them, and it's all he can do to keep from blurting them out at wholly inappropriate times, like at the breakfast table. Or right now.
"Draco?" Harry is looking at him curiously, and Draco shakes himself.
"Well I haven't the first idea how you're going to entertain me, I just intend to be entertained," he manages, his voice almost sounding normal in his ears. "It's a long flight, and it's stuffy in here, and I know you think it's stupid, because we fly around on brooms all the time without a thought. But there is no magic holding us up here, if Ron and his chatter about lift and thrust and wing flap thingys is to be believed, and if you don't distract me, I'm going to start panicking again."
He knows he's teetering dangerously close to whinging again, but he doesn't do terrified especially well, and this is terrifying. Harry chooses that moment to kiss him again, and he's by turns irritated at the man for thinking that he can just kiss Draco and everything will be fine, and annoyed with himself, because suddenly everything is fine. For the thousandth time in an hour, Draco curses the effect Harry has on him, though not very hard and not with much conviction, because Harry is doing the most wonderful thing with his tongue, and...
"Bloody hell, Harry," he gasps as he reluctantly wrenches himself away from Harry's grip. "Do you think you can just kiss me every time I need distracting all the way back to London?"
Harry smirks. "I can think of better ways to distract you, but most of them would get us arrested when we land, so I suppose kissing will just have to do."
Draco feels his face flush, not because of what Harry is suggesting, because frankly, that would be lovely right about now, but that he is suggesting it at all. He's not sure when Harry became a flirt, because the boy he knew in school wouldn't have known a good line if it bit him in the arse. Truthfully, he doesn't always know one now, but the almost-possessive look that comes across his face and the brightness of his eyes and the note of Guide Harry that enters his voice combine to have a very immediate effect on the tightness of Draco's trousers, and he can't help the blush that accompanies it.
"You have a filthy mind," Draco says. "I see five years away didn't teach you any manners."
At this, Harry laughs aloud, and Draco has to laugh with him, because it's such a wonderful sound. "I don't know, I think you rather like my filthy mind." He says, nudging Draco with his shoulder. "But perhaps I'll let you teach me some manners, if you think you can."
Draco snorts. "I think you're probably hopeless."
"Oh, I don't know, I think it's probably just a matter of finding the right incentive," Harry says, bringing his face close to Draco's again. "I think you'll find I'm quite a fast learner when I want to be."
Draco rolls his eyes but leans forward to close the distance between their mouths again, because, as he's taken to saying so often to himself, this is what he's waited for after all. Why wait another moment?
"Is this how the two of you plan to pass the whole flight?" Hermione's voice is amused from somewhere over Draco's shoulder, and he pulls away from Harry to look up at her, trying vainly to regulate his breathing.
"Have you got a better suggestion?" he asks her wryly, and she grins.
"I was only asking. Harry, Ron and I were wondering if you'd had any time to think about Grimmauld Place. Not to be pushy, take all the time you need, really."
She looks uncertain, and Draco turns to look at Harry, because this is really her way of asking if he wants to come and stay in their flat, which is small but cosy, and Draco knows she and Ron would welcome Harry in a heartbeat, but the addition of a third person into their lives will take some getting used to, no matter what they say. Still, Draco knows Harry is grateful for the offer, because Grimmauld Place is his by rights, though somehow it's never stopped admitting Ron and Hermione, and even Draco in Harry's absence, but Draco knows that after five years, it only holds memories Harry probably doesn't want back. The trouble is, it's the only home Harry's got in London, and if he doesn't want to go there, well...they'll get to that when the get to it. Which he guesses is now, since she's asking.
"It's all right, Hermione," Harry says, "I suppose there isn't anything for it now, since we're on our way. I think, if it's okay with you," he's looking at Draco now, all the smug certainty of a moment before gone from his face, "I'd like to stay with Draco for a few days while I get used to the place again."
Draco grins, because he's been hoping Harry would say just that, but hasn't wanted to push the issue. He has a flat in London, not far from Grimmauld Place in fact, and he told Harry a couple of days ago that he was welcome for as long as he wanted - forever, gods, longer than that, he'd thought as he said it - if he wasn't ready to go back just yet. Which he'd known Harry wasn't, because the look of apprehension that crossed his face as soon as Grimmauld Place came up in conversation was the same one he got when he talked about the war and his nightmares and Miles and every other painful thing that had happened to him in his too-few years. Harry had nodded gravely and thanked him and strode out onto the balcony in the dying light of the setting sun and stared over the crater for a long time, not saying a word until Draco reminded himself that being alone isn't always what they want, it's just what they're used to. He'd gone outside to stand quietly behind Harry, resting his chin on Harry's shoulder and breathing in the clean, soapy smell of his hair until Harry took both of Draco's hands and brought them around his waist.
"It's a lot all at once," was all Harry had said, and Draco had only nodded, because he couldn't possibly understand everything in Harry's head just then, but having someone nod and hold on tight, even when they don't fully understand is better than not having anyone at all.
Hermione smiles brightly, and the relief in her face doesn't go unnoticed, though Draco thinks Harry won't take offense, because she's happy for the both of them and they know it. "I'll just go tell Ron, but you know if you need us Harry..." She trails off, gesturing vaguely.
"I'm sure I will," he says, "and thank you for the offer, really, Hermione. It means a lot."
She beams and turns to go back to her seat, and Draco can't resist another kiss, this one a little more gleeful than the ones before. He'd been hoping against hope that he wouldn't have to start getting used to waking up without Harry again, that at least some part of the magic-that-isn't-magic might follow them back to London.
He knows their return will be tumultuous at best, no matter how certain he is that Harry will be all but yanked back into the life he left with tears and open arms. Eventually. But first there will be questions and maybe a few accusations, because the family that once was Harry's and now is Draco's is a forgiving lot, but they are human after all. Still, he thinks, as he pulls away from Harry's mouth before he can't stop himself climbing across the armrest and into Harry's lap and probably getting them thrown into some Muggle jail when they land in London for indecent behaviour in a flying deathtrap, Harry won Ron and Hermione over. He'll manage the rest of them as well.
Draco is amazed and at the same time not at how easily Harry, Ron, and Hermione fell back into their old ways after that night on the way down Harry's mountain. Since then, Hermione has been nearly relentless in her quest to learn everything Harry has done, hear about every place he's been and mountain he's climbed. Meals, when they all managed to dress and meet for them (which was only about half the time), were rarely quiet, and Harry usually was amused and exhausted by the end of supper each night.
"It's like they want to make up for five years in five days," he'd complained affectionately the night before they returned to Moshi, and Draco had only laughed and rolled his eyes and asked Harry just what he'd expected of his inquisitive friends.
Ron, in true Ron fashion, had thrown tact to the wind and asked Harry flat-out about Miles that night. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, during which only Draco felt the tremor in Harry's shoulders and the deep, calming breath he'd taken, Harry answered even that one, telling the story of how they'd met, the places they'd climbed together, and the start of Wanderlust.
Draco had been quiet, allowing Harry to grip his fingers as he spoke and keeping his own breathing and face calm. He was pleasantly surprised with himself to realise that the tugging in his chest was entirely for Harry and the loss he suffered, and not at all tinged with envy or uncertainty or insecurity that he wouldn't be able to measure up to the first man in Harry's life.
Seems he's come a long way after all.
"What's funny now?" Harry asks, and Draco realises he's smiling. He tries, with limited success, to screw his face back into a scowl, because he thinks he should not be quite so cheerful while suspended in midair miles above the earth, but as he looks back at Harry, he can't quite manage it.
"This is surreal," he offers by way of explanation, and as Draco knew he would, Harry nods and grins. Still, he goes on. "Two weeks ago, I walked into your office with the wool over my eyes - thanks very much again for that surprise, by the way, you prat - and now I'm flying back to London with you, and the last two weeks make that somehow make all the sense in the world."
At his half-hearted insult, Harry laughs, and at the emphasis on with you - because if he's being honest, it means more than just sitting next to one another on this stupid plane - Harry lifts their hands and kisses the inside of Draco's palm, and Draco flushes, because that gesture undoes him every time.
"Trust me," Harry says, eyes sparkling with mirth, "if you'd told me two weeks ago I'd be here, I'd have laughed you off the mountain. I figured the best case was that we might not all kill one another, though to be honest I wasn't certain just how that would be possible with you."
Now it's Draco's turn to snort. "Well, you underestimated my powers of seduction, apparently," he says, and promptly jabs an elbow into Harry's ribs when he rolls his eyes.
"As I recall," Harry retorts, laughing, "it was my fire and my hairwashing that won you over. All you did was whinge about not being able to sleep and about the water being too cold. It's a wonder I didn't leave you behind!"
As has become custom, Draco can't muster even the least bit of indignation, because he's lost in laughing green eyes and tanned smile lines, and he stomps all over the Malfoys do not... voice in his head, because he's tired of his past telling him how to behave. It's only been a couple of weeks, but he's pretty sure he knows exactly what's happened in the span of those days, though he's most definitely not ready to say the words out loud. Partly because conventional wisdom and the past he's trying to stifle tell him it's far too soon, but mostly because he's pretty certain they're true nonetheless, and his damnable insecurity nearly paralyses him when he starts to allow himself to consider the possibility.
A few more laughingly traded barbs give way to comfortable quiet, during which Draco spends half his time trying to figure out if he could apparate out of this contraption if it starts to fall out of the sky, and the other half surreptitiously glancing at Harry over the newspaper he's picked back up and trying to decide just when exactly he'll have to muster the courage to find out if Harry thinks this whole thing might be much bigger than sex and a shared past. He knows, logically, that he does. He wouldn't be here otherwise, but there are so many other things for Harry to go back to, and Draco wonders if things would be different if it was just Draco that Harry was leaving Africa for.
Because Draco has come to the unnerving realisation that he really will pitch his whole life in London without a thought and go back to Harry's house amidst the coffee plants if it's what Harry wants. And that terrifies him.
What's funny, he thinks, as he flicks his eyes over Harry's face, smiling at the wrinkles of concentration on his brow and the way he absently chews his lower lip as he reads, is that travel back and forth to Africa is easy for a wizard. A few well-placed calls to the Ministry and he could portkey back and forth as frequently as he wished. He might even be able to apparate, once he knows his destination well enough.
But once he considers the idea of abandoning even a small part of his life in London, he starts to realise how easy it will be to give it all up. He loves his work, but there are plants everywhere, and he thinks it's very likely he'd fall under the spell of Harry's mountain if he spent much more time in its shadow anyway, and he's certain he could spend the rest of his days learning the secrets of the marvelous coffee that grows outside Harry's door.
Harry looks up at him quizzically, and Draco flushes at being caught, but Harry only smiles and goes back to his paper, and eventually the hum of the engine wins out over Draco's nerves and he feels his head start to fall back with sleep. Harry doesn't even look up, he just folds his paper in half so he can hold it in one hand, extending the other arm to pull Draco down to rest against his shoulder. Draco's lips curve up in a pleased smile and he yawns and closes his eyes, willing away his nerves and grounding himself in Harry's soapy-clean scent and the warmth radiating from his body, and knowing that despite any misgivings, Harry really does care for him too, and just now, that's more than enough.
When Harry gently shakes him awake, he realises it's more than several hours later, and the plane is pitching downward so violently that Draco might think they were about to crash if it wasn't for the calm timbre of Harry's voice telling him they're about to land. He stretches and rubs his eyes and grits his teeth against the unpleasant drop he feels in his stomach as they descend.
Despite his panicky senses telling him he's most definitely going to die any minute, they land without incident and the four of them collect their baggage and head to the nearest apparition point. It was agreed they'd go to Grimmauld Place, because they still have to sort out just how to tell everyone that yes, they had a wonderful trip, the mountain was amazing, and oh, by the way, we brought back Harry, and it's unlikely anyone would come looking for them there.
As first Ron, then Hermione and finally Harry disappear before his eyes, Draco thinks once again that this is so surreal he might not believe it's true if he wasn't standing there himself, and his gut twists as he mutters the words to meet his friends. He closes his eyes against the disorientation and disapparates.
And when he opens them again, blinking in the familiar darkness of the kitchen, he is shocked and more than a little terrified to see the bright brown eyes of Molly Weasley staring back at them all.
"Mum?" Ron squeaks a little, and normally Draco would take the opportunity to take the piss, because he sounds like a first year who forgot the password to his House after curfew, but in this case, Draco knows if he speaks he'll sound just like his friend. "What are you...? Erm, that is, how did you...?"
"The clock," Hermione says, her voice very soft. Draco wants to smack himself for forgetting about Molly Weasley's bloody clock, the one that tells her just enough about the locations of everyone in her family to keep her nerves in check. And she'd spelled it to add Harry as well, after the war was over but before he'd disappeared. The hand with his image on it had pointed to Travelling for five years, so long in fact that Draco had forgotten it would even move.
Now, he pictures that hand pointing to Home, and though the idea makes him want to smile or take Harry's hand, he's frozen in place by those eyes. Bugger.
"Hello, Harry dear," Molly says quietly, fixing her gaze on Harry, and if it wasn't for the waver in her voice and the bright sheen in her eyes, Draco thinks she could just as easily be greeting him after a trip to Diagon Alley.
Harry gulps, and Draco risks enough movement to brush his fingers over the back of Harry's hand at his side. He can't have Harry forgetting he's not in this alone, not now.
"Hi Mrs. Weasley," Harry says, just as quietly, and Draco is impressed at the steadiness in his voice.
They all stand there, tension radiating and buzzing so strongly that Draco is surprised the house itself isn't shaking, until finally Molly's intense gaze gives way to the tears Draco knew would come, and she throws her arms around a very surprised Harry's neck.
"Don't you think that I'm letting you off the hook, young man," she cries into Harry's shoulder. "You've more than a bit of explaining to do. Just slipping out of here in the dark of night and leaving nothing but that note behind! And after all that happened!"
She goes on for a bit in something that's caught between a shout and a wail, tears falling down her cheeks. Harry's eyes are wide, and Draco knows it's partly because he's shocked that she's hugging him in spite of her non-stop stream of admonishments, and partly because Molly can rival Hermione with the fierceness of her hugs, and Draco suspects it's getting rather difficult for Harry to breathe.
Molly must have noticed as well, because she takes a step back, but keeps her hands firmly on Harry's shoulders. That much, at least, Draco understands. After five years of nothing but the idea of Harry in their heads, the need to hold onto the real thing is very strong indeed.
She looks up into Harry's face, eyes still wet with tears.
"You look well enough," she says, eyeing him up and down in a way that has become familiar to Draco and always makes him feel as though he's too thin or too formal or too...something. Usually too thin, because that look is almost always followed by Molly's insistence that he eat a meal large enough to feed a whole Quidditch team. And sure enough, she doesn't let him down now. "A bit thin though, didn't they have food where you were?"
Draco has to bite his lips to keep from smiling, but his amusement quickly fades as Molly turns first to Ron and Hermione, and then to look at him.
"Did none of you think perhaps we'd want to know that you found him? Hm? I've no clue where, and I assure you, Harry dear, you're going to answer every one of my questions until I'm satisfied with the answers." Harry blanches and looks back at Draco for a split second.
Draco does his best to look sympathetic to Harry's plight and appropriately unnerved by Molly's outburst at the same time. Truth be told, he expected this. The woman is nothing if not endearingly predictable, and Draco knew she'd hug Harry and cry over him first, and then begin the inquisition.
"I can only assume you didn't just stumble upon him at that airport, which must mean you've been with him for some time. And it didn't occur to any of you to send word? Honestly Ronald, I thought I'd raised you better!"
"Molly," Draco begins, and is promptly silenced by a sharp glare.
"And you, Draco Malfoy, you of all people should have known just how much the rest of us would want to know you'd found him! Considering the torch you car-"
"Molly!" Draco blushes furiously and cuts her off, avoiding Harry's eyes, which he knows are amused at Molly's almost-admission about just how much Draco has thought about Harry in the last five years. Harry knows, he knows that, but the point is, he doesn't need everyone else reminding him.
"We wanted to tell you," he goes on more gently, trying to look apologetic, though he suspects he's failing miserably, "but honestly, if you'd gotten an owl that said 'Dear Molly, lovely holiday we're having, the mountain's rather imposing but we're feeling pretty fair about our chances, and oh, by the way, Harry Potter is our guide,' you might have been just a bit put out?"
It comes out more petulantly than he meant it to, but honestly, what does she expect? Molly sighs.
"Perhaps," she says slowly, releasing her iron grip on Harry's shoulders, "if you start from the beginning. And don't leave anything out, I'll know if you do. I can see a lie on each one of your faces the minute it comes into your pretty little heads, so just forget about it."
Draco snorts, Ron reddens, and Hermione actually smiles, and they all know she's dead on. Harry, for his own part, looks so bewildered that Draco finally throws caution to the wind and takes his hand. Molly will find out before the story's over anyway. She lifts her eyebrows as she looks at their joined hands and the small, grateful smile Harry flashes at Draco, but says nothing.
Molly makes tea, because it's what she does, and they sit awkwardly at the large table in the Grimmauld Place kitchen until finally Draco can't take the silence any longer.
"There isn't a lot to tell, at least not for us," he says, looking at Ron and Hermione first, then glancing apologetically at Harry, because most of this story is his to tell. "Harry is the owner of the guiding company we commissioned. We didn't know when we made the booking, so when we arrived, we had a bit of a shock, but eventually came 'round to the idea that maybe we could find some common ground if we let him guide us after all."
He goes on to tell her about the climb, and Ron and Hermione cut into the conversation more and more as he goes on, adding details first, then their own observations and experiences with Harry. Ron tells her about learning to rock and ice climb with such enthusiasm that Draco thinks she might be a little proud of him, and Harry blushes, though he doesn't speak. They go on through several cups of tea, telling her about the trip down to the tiniest detail. Except...
"I think you're leaving something out," she says, looking pointedly at Harry and Draco's clasped hands, though she's smiling a little as she does.
Draco looks at Harry, wondering just where to begin. To his very great surprise, Harry finally chooses this moment to speak.
"With all respect, Mrs. Weasley," he says, still sounding ever so much like the boy he'd been last time he saw her, "I'm not entirely certain good portions of that story are anyone's business but Draco's and mine."
If Draco thought he was surprised when Harry spoke, his words are outright shocking. Even Hermione is staring open-mouthed. No one, not even Draco Malfoy at his most petulant, told Molly Weasley to leave off. And yet Harry just did it as though it was old hat, and now he's sitting there looking at her defiantly, and Draco can't believe his ears.
Molly looks at him for a long time, her lips pressed into a thin line. No one speaks, they all just look at Harry looking at Molly and Molly looking at Harry, wondering who will blink first. At last, Molly nods, and reaches out a hand to pat Harry's knee.
"Good boy," she says, and Draco feels his own mouth drop open at the same time he actually hears Ron's baffled squeak. "He really must mean something to you then, if you don't want to tell me. See that you don't hurt him, Harry. I won't be easy on you if you do."
For the first time in two weeks, the lump Draco feels rising in his throat has nothing to do with anything that Harry has done, and he looks at Molly with such open surprise and gratitude that she spares him a genuine smile.
"I won't be easy on myself," Harry says quietly and moves his hand in Draco's so their fingers twine together.
Draco's mind is whirling, and even after five years with a bunch of Gryffindors, he still isn't completely accustomed to such outward displays of affection. He thinks he must be living in a dream, listening to Molly Weasley threaten Harry Potter against hurting him, but the warm pressure of Harry's fingers and the absent stroking of his thumb over Draco's assure him he's really here, and this is really happening. Molly, for her part, nods again and stands.
"This isn't over, you mark my words," she says. "You're all coming to the Burrow tomorrow for lunch, and we're having this out properly. But you've all only just arrived and you look tired. I'll see you tomorrow at noon. Don't be late."
With that, she moves to kiss each of them, lingering only for an extra moment or two when she reaches Harry and smoothing his hair good-naturedly. When she apparates away, they all sit there for a moment, looking at one another, until finally Hermione starts to giggle. At first, Draco is shocked, because honestly, what was so funny about that encounter? But when Ron joins in, and then even Harry begins to shake at his side, Draco realises that they're all completely knackered, and that they've just passed the first hurdle of Harry's return and lived to tell about it, and he grins and before long finds himself laughing right along with them.
Before long, Hermione and Ron rise from their seats and gather their things, exchanging promises to meet for coffee in the morning to strategise before lunch at the Burrow as they prepare to go home. Hermione flings her arms around first Harry and then Draco and even Ron claps them each on the back, and Draco realises abruptly that their holiday is over, and their regular lives begin anew in the morning, and he's suddenly not entirely certain he's interested in any of that.
In a few moments, it's just the two of them, and Harry looks at him uncertainly.
"Did you want to look around before we leave? Not much has changed, but I know it's been a long time since you were here..." Draco trails off, and Harry lets one corner of his mouth quirk up.
"No, in fact I'd like to go before I start to get melancholy, and I was just trying to figure out how to ask you if we could leave now," he says, and Draco is caught between the urge to grin at how easy it had been to anticipate Harry's thoughts and the need to comfort him.
In the end, he opts for neither, instead realising just how long it's been since he's kissed Harry and deciding, upon reflection, that since they're all alone, and since Harry's last memories of Grimmauld Place are sad ones, it's up to him to begin to replace them. He reaches out and pulls Harry by the wrist until they're pressed together from sternum to knee, gazing steadily into tired, slightly sad green eyes.
"Welcome back," he whispers, his nose brushing Harry's as he draws their faces together, and Harry smiles and closes the gap between their lips. Their kiss is messy and breathless and desperate, and Draco isn't sure if it's because they've left Harry's magic mountain behind or because they're starting something new, or just because he really likes kissing Harry, and he thinks Harry likes kissing him back just as much. But when they break apart, Harry is still smiling, and now Draco is too, and he apparates them away from Grimmauld Place before Harry's eyes turn sad again, never loosening his grip around Harry's waist as they depart for Draco's flat.