Sorry chapter 4 took so long! It's hopefully worth the wait.

Thank you to my amazing beta and best friend SomethingLikeFate, she writes lovely Naruto fanfiction and is a great person overall. Mwah!

Enjoy!

Harry awoke with a start, jolting his body into a sitting position and causing a head rush in the process. He winced, feeling the effects of the sleeping pills still draining his system away. He knew he couldn't have been asleep for more than a couple hours.

Surely enough, as he cast tempus with his wand, it read 4:35 am. He groaned, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to expel the ache that was slowly but surely presenting itself in the front of his mind. Blearily, Harry rubbed his eyes and felt around for his glasses on his bedside table, stretching and cracking his back. It wasn't yet dawn, and the sky outside was still a dark blue tinged with light gray at the horizon, a smattering of stars providing the only light present in the absence of the moon. It didn't seem right, thought Harry, that the stars could still exist even if the moon didn't shine.

A loud crash broke through his thoughts, reminding Harry of how he had woken up to a loud sound coming from downstairs. Harry swung his legs over and leapt out of bed, meaning to be stealthy, but ended up knocking over the framed picture he had of his parents. Thankfully, it didn't break, and Harry's fingers lingered on their faces longer than normal before placing it back on the shelf. Wand at ready, Harry crept down the stairs, the creaking of them loud under his feet. Thankfully, the portrait of Mrs. Black hadn't been awoken by the sounds, Harry guessed, because of the soft snoring noises coming from behind the curtains. Harry pressed his back up against the wall next to the door leading to the kitchen, where the crash had originated from. Slowly, Harry peered into the open doorway, wand poised in front of him to jinx whomever had broken into the house.

What he saw was the opposite of what he expected. Draco Malfoy stood in his dark and cluttered kitchen, tending to a frying pan which was magically flipping bacon, while he poured hot water into two mugs for tea. Harry stood there for a moment, bemused, and also a little amused at the sight in front of him. While he hadn't the faintest clue what Draco was doing in his house so early in the morning, or how he'd even gotten in, the sight of him in an apron doing something as domestic as cooking was something Harry found very humorous. Draco looked like he was focusing very hard, biting his lower lip in concentration as he swirled a spatula through some unbeaten eggs in a smaller pan. Harry couldn't stifle his laugh at this, alerting to Draco his presence and causing the blond to jolt, the spatula falling out of his hand and some of the eggs flying out of the pan onto the stove.

"Merlin, Potter, you scared the living daylights out of me. Don't you know not to sneak up on people like that?" Draco muttered, clutching his chest in a mock-heart attack.

"And don't you know not to sneak into people's houses at four thirty in the morning and bang around in their kitchen?" Harry asked him, arms crossed.

Draco looked down in embarrassment, the tips of his ears coloring, something that very much reminded Harry of Ron. He was about to point out the comparison, knowing it would irk Draco to no end to have something in common with a Weasley, but Draco spoke very quietly. "I was making you breakfast."

Harry's eyebrows shot up on their own accord. "Really? I couldn't tell."

Draco shot him the filthiest of looks, reminding Harry of how he'd been in their school days. "I've never cooked before, and I don't really know any sort of domestic spells. That's why I have a house elf."

"Well, you're doing it all wrong," Harry said, stepping into the kitchen and taking charge at the stove. "First of all, these eggs need to be scrambled in order to be scrambled eggs," he instructed, pulling out a fork from the drawer and proceeding to whip the eggs into a liquid substance. "Then you turn on the fire and move them around until they're cooked." Harry ignited the burner and picked up the spatula, beginning to move the eggs around in the pan. "The bacon looks good though," he commented, the strong smell of bacon doing something to lift his spirits.

If Draco could have kicked himself out of embarrassment, he would've. "Sorry I woke you. I didn't really know where anything was, and I dropped a plate." The Slytherin could feel Harry's eyes on him, and he pointedly looked anywhere else, feeling like an idiot and regretting he'd bothered at all.

"That's alright," Harry replied, stifling yet another yawn. "I probably would've woken up soon anyway," he lied. "I'm an early riser. Why exactly are you here, again?"

"Oh, right." Draco felt his cheeks heat despite his best efforts to remain cool. "I just wanted to surprise you. Do something nice for you. Because we're friends now, and all."

"You already did something nice for me, remember?" Harry reminded him. "You bought me a bird. Which was very generous of you, by the way. And I don't mind the food, honestly, but why so early?" Harry was usually nowhere near functional this early in the day. "I need some serious caffeine," he muttered to himself.

"We're going out today," Draco informed him.

Harry's eyes narrowed, looking back at the taller man. "We're going out?"

Draco's stormy grey eyes widened. "No, not like that. We're taking a daytrip."

Harry eyed him curiously, tearing off a piece of fatty bacon from a long strip and popping it into his mouth. "Oh? And am I allowed to ask where we're going?"

Draco smiled slyly, his fingers drumming the island countertop. "It's a surprise."

"You're just full of surprises. I hate it," Harry said jokingly, turning back to the food. "Grab some plates? They're in that cabinet—," he pointed to the correct one, "—and two forks." Harry dished out the eggs and divided up the bacon, while Draco fixed the tea. "Three sugars, no milk," Harry told him.

I know, Draco wanted to reply, but he kept his mouth shut, presenting Harry with the beverages. Harry took his immediately, sipping it and smiling, finally having the hot liquid to comfort and awaken him. Maybe it wasn't magical tea, but it did help with the remaining effects of the sleeping pills and to perk him up just a bit more.

Harry was amazed at the way things had progressed in just a short period of time, suddenly realizing how odd it was to be having Draco eating breakfast with him in his own home, not fighting or stressing or calling each other names like they did in school. Harry knew how different he had become after the War, and after what he went through with Voldemort, but Draco was a completely changed person as well. Not being evil did wonderful things for his complexion, and also his disposition, which had become lighter and freer and not so burdened with the pressure to please and protect his family. The War had caused them – not just Harry and Draco, but everyone involved – to grow up faster than they ordinarily would, exposing them at such a young age to the greatest horrors the Wizarding world had ever witnessed. Though most of the fighting was localized to England and the immediate surrounding area, Harry knew that wizards all over the world were affected by Voldemort's reign of terror. He received letters on a daily basis, sent to his PO box, postmarked from every country around the globe, the writers expressing his or her gratitude for how much he contributed to the war effort. Harry usually grimaced at these letters, throwing them aside, a sick feeling growing in his stomach at the thought of disappointing all those people by not becoming the successful adult he was meant to be. Instead he was holed up in a dingy ancient house, which reminded him every day of his dead godfather, feeling sorry for himself and wishing his life wasn't so hard. Harry knew it was piteous, and that he had no excuse to act that way. The war was over, people were well, the population was booming. And it was all because of him. And he found that he still could not take credit for it. No matter what people said, how many times they thanked him, Harry still felt the heaviness in his chest, the sense of looming danger that he could never seem to repress. There was no one to be afraid of anymore – no more Dursleys, or Death Eaters, or Umbridge or Fudge or Snape or Voldemort – but Harry Potter had been afraid his entire life. He simply did not know how to stop.

"—excited?" Draco asked him, looking up from his eggs to meet Harry's eyes.

Harry blinked, coming back down to earth. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you excited? About where I'm taking you?" His tone was insistent but not impatient.

"Oh," Harry said. "I'm not really sure. Depends on where you're taking me. Give me a hint?"

Draco smirked and shook his head slightly, pushing his food around with his fork. "You've been there before. That's all I'll say."

Harry rolled his eyes, the sheer number of possibilities as to where it could be made it impossible to list. "That's characteristically vague," he said irritably, but smiled despite himself. "Why do we have to leave so early?"

Draco grinned. "Because we're taking the train in."

And that's how Harry Potter found himself, two hours later, sitting on a Muggle train, the bleak English countryside flashing by outside the window, light smatterings of rain making it foggy and slick. Harry settled back in to the plush seats, now appreciative of the fact that Draco had bought them first class tickets. Draco hadn't said anything for a while, but there was a hint of a smile on his face that made him look like he was remembering something funny.

"What is it? Why do you look so happy?" Harry questioned him, suddenly suspicious. "Is this a prank?"

Draco chortled under his breath. "No, nothing like that. Just happy," he said shortly.

Harry looked around, wondering what he had to be happy about. It wasn't even seven o'clock in the morning yet, it was rainy and damp, the cabin was chilly and neither of them had brought jumpers, and the train ride was too bumpy to even begin to consider sleep. "Okay," he replied sarcastically, dismissing it. He felt Draco's eyes trained on him, and instead of avoiding his gaze, Harry looked up and met those cool dark eyes with his own. The moment was intense but not awkward, the same electricity jumping between them as it had on the first day, back at Malfoy Manor. Harry was promptly reminded of what occurred between the two of them that day, feeling properly embarrassed, wondering how the two of them had discarded that and pretended it never happened. Harry's thoughts were drawn back to what Malfoy had said that day, crooned those sweet words into his ears, and it became all too much. Harry forcibly pushed those thoughts from his mind, knowing it was inappropriate to think of Draco in that way now, because they were friends and that was all Harry wanted, all he could stand at that moment.

"Are we going to Hogwarts?" Harry asked idly, picking at a stray thread in his pullover.

Draco laughed. "No, I wish."

"Really?"

"What?" His pale eyebrows came together, his face twisting rather adorably.

"You miss it?" The question was more loaded than Harry intended it to be, and Draco picked up on it.

"Of course I do. It was the one place I really felt safe."

"Me too," Harry muttered, flooded with a sudden nostalgia for the place he had called home for so many years. "I wish I'd gone back to complete my Seventh year with the rest of them. It wouldn't have been the same, without Dumbledore, but it would still be Hogwarts." Harry was silent for a moment, remember the professor who had passed on tragically. "Did you ever learn that I was there that night?"

"Which night?"

Harry's eyes came to rest on Draco's, looking at him sadly. "The night Dumbledore died. I was there, hiding under my cloak. I saw you raise your wand at him, heard you talk. You didn't do it."

Draco's eyes filled with sadness and regret. "I would have. I was more frightened in that moment than I had ever been in my life previously, but I would have done it if Snape—," Draco's voice broke, "—If Snape hadn't come when he did."

"You had a hard lot, Malfoy. Nobody blamed you. Voldemort would have killed you if you hadn't done it."

"No," Draco disagreed, shaking his head furiously, soft threads of blonde hair falling into his eyes. "I was a coward. I was too afraid to stand up for myself, too afraid to seek help for my family and for myself. I was a proud little git, and I didn't want to seem weak. When the Order extended their protection for my mother and father and I, it seemed almost too good to be true. I wanted to believe it, but I know my family did some pretty awful things, and I couldn't be positive that they wouldn't just kill us on the spot. I couldn't just turn my family in so easily – I was arrogant, and I believed I could protect them myself. And in the end that's what almost got me killed."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Been there."

"What . . ." Draco started, trailing off. Harry raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, and Draco proceeded. "What actually happened, to you? When you were fighting him? I've heard rumors, but I never actually knew . . ."

"I died," Harry said promptly. "I actually died. I went to where Voldemort was in the Forbidden Forest and I let him kill me. I passed on into a great white room, which looked like King's Cross, and Dumbledore was there. We talked, and he told me I had a decision to make. I could stay there, in that white room, until I moved on into the afterlife, or I could go back into my earthly body, basically. Everything was kind of hazy, I don't remember it that well. I just remember feeling very lost and unsure of what to do. But I made it back to my body. Your mother found me, was asked to check to make sure I was dead. She knew I was alive, but I gave her information. About you," Harry added, gesturing in Draco's direction. The boy in turn looked very surprised. "I told her you were alive, and she proclaimed me dead. And then Hagrid carried me out of the woods, and Neville destroyed the last Horcrux. And then we fought, Voldemort and I. And I won."

"Wait, wait," Draco said, the information he'd just received reeling in his mind. "You let him kill you?"

"Yes."

"How'd you gather the courage to just walk to your death?"

"Ever hear of the Deathly Hallows?"

Draco nodded. "Of course I have. Every Wizarding child has. It's a classic fairytale."

"It's not a story," Harry corrected him. "The three Deathly Hallows are real. I had the Resurrection Stone, and I used it to summon the people I loved who had died. The ghosts of my parents and godfather and Lupin gave me enough strength to go."

"Wow," Draco said, a little stunned. "That's a little hard to believe. So, the Invisibility Cloak from the story . . ."

"Is mine, yes."

The blonde boy whistled low in his throat. "How did you survive the killing curse the second time?"

That question was one Harry had been expecting. "The night Voldemort killed my parents, he unknowingly created a Horcrux – in me. In order to destroy me, he had to destroy the Horcrux first. What died that night was the piece of Voldemort's soul that was lodged in my body."

Draco shuddered, the horrible thought passing through his body, raising goosebumps on his arms. "I'm so sorry, Harry," he said. Harry believed he really meant it. "I'm glad you won."

He'd said it before, but Harry truly felt the conviction in his words now, because they weren't tainted with any feeling other than relief.

"Me too," Harry whispered.

They rode the rest of the journey in a respectful silence, each absorbing what the other had said and connecting without speaking. Harry stared out the window most of the time, as they passed through boring countrysides and nondescript small villages. Harry saw nothing he recognized, didn't even know what direction they were heading, but he trusted Draco to keep him safe.

The train came to an abrupt stop more quickly than Harry imagined. From what he could see, they weren't really anywhere, and he couldn't fathom why there'd be a train station in the middle of nowhere, but Draco was standing and collecting his belongings, so Harry made to follow him. They exited the train and found themselves on a platform. The station itself was small, harboring only a restroom and a ticket window. The two of them exited the platform onto a narrow unpaved path, winding through some trees and over a hill. Harry's eyebrows knitted together, but he stayed silent, following Draco along the path. He seemed to know where he was going, and they both stumbled over the loose rocks that gave them poor footing. Then Draco strayed from the path, veering off to the left and Harry began to grow worried, but they apparently reached what Draco was looking for. It seemed to Harry that it was just an old tree, the wide trunk and limbs gnarled with age. Draco pulled out his wand and tapped the tree in various places, and just like the brick wall entrance to Diagon Alley, the tree transformed into a portal, which Draco pushed Harry through unceremoniously, following close behind. Harry was sucked up into a black vacuum of space, stealing his breath and squeezing his chest, before he was placed back on his feet, on considerably more solid ground. Draco came out behind him, nearly knocking Harry over in the process. Dusting off his jeans, he gestured to Harry, and they walked over a tall hill, Harry still very confused as to where they were going and what had just happened.

But then he was met with the most magnificent sight. There, just down the hill and a little to the right, was a wrought-iron gate, Godric's Hollow scrolling across the top in gleaming gold, like a beacon in the foggy morning air. Harry felt himself go numb, not from the cold but from the memories seeping into his mind – the Peverell grave, the snake, his wand snapping . . . The memories he had of this place weren't pleasant, and he didn't think he'd ever want to go back. But now that he was here with Draco, Harry felt more secure, and more willing to face the demons of his past.

Harry looked back at Draco, wanting to say something but not possessing the words to express how he felt. Instead, he took the other man's hand and squeezed it briefly, before traipsing down the hill toward the gate. Draco followed suit, pleased with the reaction that Harry had given him. Harry hurried to the gate, surprised to find a gatekeeper at the entrance.

"How may I help you," the man drawled, not looking up from his Prophet.

"I'd like to, er . . ." Harry hesitated. "Enter?"

"No one enters unless they live in the village or have written permission to enter," the man replied, repeating a speech he'd probably made a thousand times. He flicked to another page in the paper and kept reading.

"Um . . ." Harry said, bewildered. Why would anyone need express permission to enter? Why was it so protected?

"They put wards around the village after the War. It became a sort of tourist attraction, with so many of the Order's graves located there. Let me handle it," Draco murmured into Harry's ear. The blond haughtily turned his attention to the gatekeeper. "Please open the gate."

The man finally looked up, not at all impressed by Draco's menacing stature. "Do you have permission?"

Draco growled – actually growled – and grabbed Harry. "Is this permission enough?" And the gatekeeper looked at Harry, his eyes widening immediately in recognition.

"Mr. Potter!" the gatekeeper exclaimed, jumping to his feet and bending in half, giving Harry what could only be described as a bow. "Please forgive me, sir, I had no idea, no idea, I would never—,"

Harry raised a hand to silence the man. "I just wish to visit my parents' graves. Please let us pass."

The gatekeeper nearly tripped over his own feet trying as fast as he could to get to the gate and unlock it for them, murmuring alohomora followed by a whispered password that Harry didn't hear. The gates shined despite the absence of the sun behind the clouds and they swung open inward. The gatekeeper was still muttering apologies and Draco and Harry swept past him into the center of the village of Godric's Hollow.

It was exactly how Harry remembered: a main strip of housing and shops, with winding cobblestone paths leading up to houses further up on the hills. The village was quaint, but not small; it had become a popular place of relative sanctuary during the War, and it seemed nearly untouched. Few people were out at this time of morning, mostly those who had small dogs to walk, errands to run, or places to be. Harry rubbed his hands together, feeling them chap in the brisk morning wind. Draco tapped them gently with his wand, and a heating charm made its way up his hands and arms into the core of his body. He instantly felt better. Harry set off down the cobblestone street, skirting around a large stone statue of his likeness that he tried very hard to ignore. He felt more than heard Draco's presence behind him, the rhythmic scuff of his trainers against the stones below his feet soothing Harry's inexplicable nerves.

The graveyard was easy enough to find, situated beside a small church towards the center of the square. The last time Harry had visited, it had been winter, a soft layer of snow covering everything, but now it was spring, and someone had apparently been landscaping. Patches of colorful flowers adorned the graves, along with the flowers loved ones had obviously recently placed there. Harry felt suddenly sad he had nothing to put on his parents' grave, until Draco cleared his throat and produced a bouquet of lilies (no doubt for his mom, at which Harry couldn't keep his eyes from watering) and handed them to him. He found their marker, a weathered wood square with a gilded inscription Harry could have recited in his sleep. He saw the now familiar scrawls of other witches and wizards surrounding the dedication, vows of dedication to Harry and wishing him the best, all in Everlasting Ink. Harry thumbed over the words, remembering not for the first time how much his parents sacrificed to keep him alive. Some of the messages on the wood were new, Harry could tell: they thanked Harry for what he did and wished him every happiness under the sun. He placed the lilies on the ground in front of the headstone, among the others that had been thoughtfully placed there. Harry looked over his shoulder briefly, but Draco was keeping a cool distance, wandering toward the other end of the small cemetery. Thankful for the moment alone, Harry recalled the last time he saw his parents, besides this morning in the frame. At that time, when Harry summoned their ghosts, he'd been scared and needing of someone to help guide him through the pain. His dad had looked so much like himself that it was painful, his mother so beautiful he could cry. And that's what he did. Tears slipped down his cheeks and fell into the grass below his feet, and Harry let them go. The pain swelled in him like a tsunami tide, and he rode out the storm of grief, his body trembled and wracked with sobs. Just when he felt like the waves of loss and agony would overtake him, drown him, it washed away and left him feeling exposed but dry. Harry had never known his parents, couldn't recall any of his own memories of them, would never know the kind of people they were. He would never get to love them the way he so desperately wanted to. He would never go to his father for advice, his mother would never see her grandchildren, should Harry choose to have any. They died in the most tragically heroic and pointless way, betrayed by a friend they so blindly trusted. It was so senseless, their deaths were so unnecessary, and yet Harry accepted the truth of the matter. They were gone, and they were in a better place. They were in the brilliant white world beyond the train station, and one day when Harry was ready, he would join them. They would be reunited in the best possible way, and Harry would be healed, because there is no hurting in the afterlife. Only bliss.

Harry stood then, not even realizing he'd dropped to his knees, to find Draco's gaze resting on him. He looked up, a small smile crossing his features as he laugh-sobbed, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his sweater. Harry walked over to where Draco was standing, hands shoved into his pockets, face carefully arranged into an unreadable blankness. "Thank you," Harry whispered into the cool spring air. "I needed this."

Draco nodded, sympathy softening his slate grey eyes.

"But how did you know?"

"I just knew you needed closure," Draco said, lifting his arm as if to touch Harry and then dropping it back to his side. "I figured we'd start where you needed it the most."

Harry sniffed, drying his eyes with the opposite sleeve. "I think I'm okay now. And what do you mean, start?"

Draco smirked then, a wicked smirk that Harry hadn't seen in a long time. "Oh, I'm just getting started."

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