Chapter 4

~*~Present Day~*~

"Morning, did you sleep well?" Severus asked as Harry stepped bleary-eyed into the kitchen.

"Um…no…not really," he replied, sliding into one of the kitchen chairs opposite Severus.

The man put his paper aside and gave him an appraising look. "Pain?"

Harry nodded tiredly. "I managed a couple of hours, but it was too insistent, I couldn't ignore it."

"Well, have some breakfast, let yourself wake up and then come down to the potions cellar."

Harry allowed himself a small smile. "Is it still the same?" he asked softly.

Severus looked at him for a moment, his jaw twitching slightly, before he got up from the table and said as he left the room, "Yes, exactly the same."

Harry had no appetite for breakfast, indeed he had no appetite for much these days. After half a mug of coffee, which he didn't really want anyway, he steeled himself and made his way to the potions cellar. He hovered on the threshold for a moment, his senses overwhelmed by the bittersweet familiarity of the smells that were rising up the stairs. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, then slowly descended into the room itself, noting that Severus had indeed been right; the room was exactly the same.

He pulled up a stool and hauled himself up onto it, trying not to disturb Severus as he decanted a simmering cauldron into several waiting vials. Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling at the man's careful, measured movements, remembering all the times he had sat like this in the cellar, enjoying every minute of it. He watched as Severus finished what he was doing, then handed him a damp rag, offering him a small smile as he did so.

"Thank you," Severus said, wiping his hands, returning the smile slightly. He reached up to the shelf above his head and pulled out a notebook, flipping the pages with his long fingers until he found a blank page. He plucked a pen from a pot on the workbench and made a couple of notes before taking his own seat opposite Harry.

"Now," he said, looking up at Harry, "I need a list of everything you're currently taking, including any muggle remedies," he said, his pen hovering over the page.

Harry sighed and rubbed his knuckles along the fabric of his jeans. "It depends from day to day, I suppose," he said, going through the catalogue of things in his mind. "Pain relief potions, muscle relaxant potions, ibuprofen, paracetamol, sleeping draughts…" He trailed off, trying to think if that was it, but he couldn't be certain. There had been times, times he wasn't going to admit to Severus, that he had drugged himself into oblivion, just to make the pain stop.

Severus wrote as Harry spoke, nodding as he did so. "I'm going to have to ask you to stop taking everything, just for a short time."

"I don't know if I can," Harry replied, his voice small and quiet.

Severus looked back up, his brow furrowed. "That bad?"

Harry paused for a second, then gave a reluctant nod. "Some days it's unbearable," he said with a shaky breath.

"I need you to get everything out of your system," Severus said gently. "The kind of magic you've been hit with could be being affected by what you're taking. It could hinder our chances of finding which curse it is and the most effective way of treating it."

Harry looked down at his shoes, the same kind he'd worn since he was a teenager, despite the fact that he was now in his late 20s. "I um…" He cleared his throat, frowning down at the battered, scuffed toes in front of him. "I've used opiates a few times, more than few times really. I…suppose I got a bit dependent on them at one point. I just wanted the pain to stop…just for a bit."

There was silence for a moment and Harry continued to glare at his shoes. He nearly missed his name being spoken in a soft, gentle tone, then a more insistent, "Harry." He looked up, relieved not to see the disappointment he was certain he would find.

"Why didn't you come back to us sooner?" Severus asked, the look of genuine concern in his face almost heart-breaking to see.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself and shrugged. "I hoped it would go away," he said, hating how feeble he sounded.

"You know enough about curses to know that that almost never happens."

"It's not so easy to be rational about it when all you can think about is the pain. I'm here now," he added softly.

Severus nodded and lowered his head. "We're going to do everything we can for you, but the next few days won't be easy. Are you prepared for it?"

Harry took a wobbly breath and dug his fingers into his thighs. "I guess I don't have a choice."

They stayed in the cellar a little while longer, Severus taking notes while Harry answered his questions, trying to be as truthful as he could and telling himself not to be embarrassed by his answers. At 11 o'clock, Bill stopped by and Harry answered the same questions all over again, this time with an emphasis on the circumstances under which he was cursed.

"It seemed like such a straightforward job," he told Bill as they sat at the kitchen table, a pot of tea between them. "The house was full of dark magic and I was there to eradicate it. No one told me there was some kind of dispute over the will and these people turned up while I was there and…all hell broke loose. I felt the curse as soon as it hit me but I thought it was just a run-of-the-mill disabling hex."

Bill nodded, cradling his mug and, refreshingly, not scribbling any notes while he spoke to Harry. "What did you feel straight away?" he asked.

"Pain in my back and legs and…and overall feeling of fuzziness. It barely stopped me in my tracks though, I thought nothing of it."

"Did you notice any headaches or dizziness immediately after?"

Harry considered and said, "Yeah…I guess so. To be honest, I was tired and a bit fed up before I even set foot in the house. I'm not sure I'd notice a headache."

Bill scratched the end of his nose, the gesture so similar to the one Ron always made when he was thinking. "What were the weeks after like? How long did it take your symptoms to present themselves?"

"I felt like hell the next day, like I'd been hit with a nasty bout of flu. It seemed to go away, though, so I didn't think much of it but then…after a week or so…I found I was feeling achy all the time and everything just seemed…difficult."

"What about your moods, your emotions? Did you notice any change there?" Bill asked, taking a sip of his tea.

Harry paused. He had no idea how to answer that. What was he supposed to say, that his moods were often so black he wouldn't be able to tell if a curse had interfered with them? Should he tell Bill that he'd been drinking himself into oblivion and finding himself crying at 3 in the morning long before the curse had hit him?

He settled for shrug and said, "I guess I felt a little…out of sorts."

Bill nodded pensively and said, "Can you tell me anything about your attackers?"

"Um…no, not much. I was in Bulgaria at the time, I assume they were Bulgarians. Does it make a difference?"

"Curses vary from region to region. It would be good to narrow down the parameters. Ron's tests will help, don't worry – we'll get you a solution."

"Thanks, Bill," Harry said, forcing a smile.

"Bill, can I offer you some lunch?" Severus said, coming into the kitchen.

"Cheers, Severus, but no. I have to get back to the office. Isn't my brother due here any minute now?"

"I think you mean your favourite brother," came Ron's voice as he sauntered in from the living room, giving Severus a friendly clap on the shoulder in greeting.

"Yes, of course, my mistake," Bill said with a grin. "I'll see you all at the weekend. Harry, keep yourself well, eh mate?"

He gave them all a salute and apparated, Harry thinking wryly that the man was still as devastatingly cool as he had been when Harry had first met him all those years ago. He turned and summoned up a smile for Ron, saying, "Your timekeeping's better these days. You used to always be at least half an hour late to everything."

"Well, I suppose you can thank Draco for that," Ron said, motioning over his shoulder and Harry looked to see Draco making his way from the living room, dusting floo powder from his clothes.

"Drake," Harry said, getting to his feet, his smile genuine as the man approached him.

"Hello, Harry," Draco said, his voice as gentle and soft as Harry remembered it being. The papery scar down the side of his face crinkled as he returned the smile and Harry stepped closer to wrap the man up in an embrace.

"It's good to see you," he said, pulling back and getting a good look at the man. "You're looking well."

"Thanks. Wish I could say the same about you," Draco returned, cupping Harry's chin gently. "Looks like you came back to us just in the nick of time."

Chastened, all Harry could do was nod. Draco gave his cheek a gentle pat and said, "These two will fix you up and I'll be here to make sure you do everything they say."

Harry laughed and said, "Well, I'm not stupid enough to pit myself against you."

"Glad to see you've not lost all your good sense."

Ron cleared his throat and said, "Harry, do you want to come into the living room so I can give you a once over and show you some rehab exercises?"

Harry didn't, it was the last bloody thing he wanted, but he gave Draco's hand a squeeze and nodded at Ron before he followed the man out of the kitchen. They stood opposite one another in the living room and Ron removed his outer robes and began to roll up his sleeves.

"Bad pain today?" he asked.

"That obvious?"

"It's etched all over your face."

"Yeah well…Severus said I had to stop all my pain relief so…it's worse than normal."

Ron looked at him for a moment, his hands on his hips, before he said, "We'll figure out proper pain relief for you soon, I promise. In the meantime, physical rehabilitation will help and make things more manageable."

Harry didn't believe him, but nodded, nevertheless. Ron gestured to the sofa and said, "Lie down and we'll start."

"I don't like the look in your eye," Harry replied, toeing off his shoes and moving to perch on the edge of the couch.

"Don't flatter yourself mate, I've never had those kinds of thoughts about you."

"Liar."

Ron snorted then poked his head outside the door and shouted, "Sev, come in here and watch what I do."

"Why does he need to watch?" Harry asked, instantly feeling anxious.

"He needs to know what to do; I'm not going to be here every day."

"But – "

"Harry don't be a prick. This is physical therapy, it's to help with the pain."

"I know that but – "

"Lie down on the sofa before I hex you myself."

Harry sighed and flung himself face-down onto the sofa, propping a cushion under his head that he punched into submission first.

"I'd really rather you didn't abuse my furniture," came Severus's voice as Harry buried his face in the cushion, which, he noted, smelt disobligingly like the man himself. He had the childish urge to say that actually it wasn't Severus' furniture, most of it he had simply inherited from McGonagall, but he decided that that would be a decidedly foolish thing to do while he was currently lying prone at the man's mercy.

He settled for simply grunting, shifting slightly to allow himself to breathe. He heard Ron sit down beside him and he braced himself. He was in no mood for either the pain that he knew was to follow, or for the awkwardness of having his best friend essentially give him a massage.

"Right Sev, you'll need to do this for Harry once every couple of days, preferably in the evening. Don't be afraid to put a bit of muscle into it, this isn't supposed to be relaxing. Right, now position your thumbs here just either side of the trapezius muscles and press down hard for ten seconds," Ron said, doing as he was instructing. Harry bit his lip as the pain rolled through him, wishing very much that he could turn around and push Ron off the sofa.

"Now you need to do that down the rhomboideus, applying and releasing pressure in ten second bursts, then you need to use the heel of your hand to create these circular motions from the sixth to the twelfth thoracic vertebrae."

Harry tuned Ron's words out after a while. He had no interest in learning the terminology for all the places that Ron was torturing. He was in agony and Ron was in no way being gentle with him. Physical therapy my arse, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of pain as Ron's strong fingers worked to make his muscles submit.

"Christ, Harry, you're wound more tightly than a spring," Ron said as he continued to manipulate the body beneath him.

"You're telling me as if don't know," Harry ground out against the cushion, wondering what he had done so wrong in his life to be subjected to such punishment.

"You'll need to put a bit of strength into the obliques," Ron said again to Severus, "and given how much pain Harry's having in his hips, you'll need to try and really work your fingers into the fascia muscle here," he said, pressing his thumb into the line of muscle just above Harry's backside, causing Harry to bite the edge of the cushion in an attempt to muffle the pained, strangled noise that tried to make its way out of his throat.

"I hate you," he half-sobbed, a couple of tears escaping out of the corner of his eyes.

"I love a grateful patient," Ron said, and Harry could hear the grin in his voice. He was definitely going to thump the prat.

The demonstration continued all the way down his legs and for a couple of minutes after he simply lay there, hating everyone and everything, listening while Ron instructed Severus in the more efficient ways to torture him. They could both sod off as far as he was concerned, what did they know anyway?

He had been off all forms of painkillers less than half a day and already he wanted to kill himself. Severus had forbidden so much as ibuprofen to pass his lips and so even the mild tension headache that had settled itself behind his eyes couldn't be chased away.

"Come on, Boy Wonder, up you get," said Ron, and Harry felt himself being lifted bodily off the sofa. He'd forgotten how strong the bloody prat could be when he wanted to.

"You're a sadist," he growled, twisting himself from side to side to see if his spine would re-align itself as nature had intended.

"I'm a doctor," Ron corrected imperiously.

"Same bloody thing," Harry countered.

Ron rolled his eyes and turned to face Severus, who was standing with his arms folded, looking as he always did when taking an academic interest in something. "How's the pain relief potion coming?" Ron asked.

"It's a slow process," Severus replied. "At the moment I'm relying more on old-fashioned muggle apothecary remedies, it's too risky to have Harry ingest anything magical in case it tampers with whatever magic he's been hit with."

"I guess we'll be in a better position when we can figure out what exactly that is. We can have a chat with Bill about it at the weekend, Hermione too. I'm sure she'll have a few ideas." Ron turned back to look at Harry. "You are coming aren't you? To Elodie's birthday party?"

"Of course I am," Harry said with a touch of indignation. "She's my goddaughter."

"That hasn't always meant that much to you," Ron replied, his expression harder than usual.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, feeling his anger rise.

"You know exactly what it means. How many times have you seen Elodie since she was born?"

"I…I see her plenty," Harry said defensively. "Look I'm sorry my work takes me out of the country but we can't all live around the corner from our entire family!"

"We don't mind your work taking you out of the country, Harry," Ron argued. "What we mind is the fact that nothing seems to bring you back to it."

"That isn't fair."

"Isn't it? You're Elodie's godfather and yet I'll bet you can't tell me the first thing about her. In fact, I'll be surprised if she actually recognises you on Saturday."

"You can be a real git sometimes, Ron, you know that?"

"Yeah well I learnt from you mate."

"If you're going to be like this then I don't want your help. I'll sort myself out without it."

"Oh yeah, you've managed really well so far haven't you?"

"I've managed worse problems without you, Ron, don't bloody flatter yourself."

He pushed past Ron and Severus, out of the living room, into the porch and out of the cottage, slamming the door behind him. He stalked over to the cliff edge, his jaw set firm, his nails digging into the skin of his palms as he clenched his fists tightly.

He was shaking with anger and his pulse was uncomfortably quick. He could feel the headache he'd been warding off all day fight to gain a stronghold behind his eyeballs and the pain in his back and hips seemed worse than it had ever been.

The worst thing about it all was that he wasn't really sure he was in the right. He hadn't seen much of Elodie and the little girl was going to be five in a couple of days. He was her godfather and Ron was probably right – there was no guarantee she would even know who he was when he turned up. He didn't even know if she'd like the present he had bought her.

He released a shaky sigh and tried to concentrate on the breaking waves in the distance, but they were of no comfort to him. He became aware of a presence by his side and eventually a deep, level voice said,

"He's gone."

"Good."

"You don't mean that."

Harry sighed. "No, no I suppose I don't." He clenched his fists again and said, "You agree with him, don't you?"

Severus paused for a moment, no doubt considering his response, then said, "What you do with your life is your own affair." There was a long moment of silence before he eventually added, "But you can't blame people for missing you."

Harry felt the comforting presence disappear and he didn't have to turn his head to see that Severus was walking back to the cottage. He emitted a noise of frustration and, for one brief moment, considered throwing himself off the cliff.

Harry stood in the garden of Hermione and George's home, nursing a paper cup of sadly non-alcoholic punch and looking around at all the people who were probably thinking the same thing that Ron was. He had been given a warm welcome and, much to his relief, his goddaughter not only knew who he was, but had been thrilled to see him, throwing herself at his legs and insisting on being picked up.

She was now happily ensconced with Severus, who was shockingly good with her, and genuinely seemed to adore the little girl. Harry would never have imagined the man would not only be so good with children, but that he would actually enjoy their company. Elodie, for her part, was enraptured by the man and never seemed to be more than a few feet away from him.

Harry sighed and put his untouched punch to one side, wishing that he didn't feel quite so much like a stranger amongst people who were supposed to be his family. He'd had the usual enthusiastic greeting from all the Weasleys, with the notable absence of Charlie. It had been seven years and there was still a gaping hole in the family where he should have been, one that was horribly noticeable at times like these.

He let his eyes roam over the assembled crowd, stopping when they fell on Ron and Draco. The two were standing alone, having some quiet, gentle conversation, the kind that Harry suspected wasn't really about anything in particular. Draco reached up and brushed a crumb of birthday cake off Ron's lip and Ron smiled brightly at him, leaning in for a slow, gentle kiss. Harry could see the affection shining so plainly between them and something tight clenched at his chest.

A movement next to his elbow caught his attention and he turned to see Hermione standing next to him, her unfocused eyes looking, but unseeing, in Ron and Draco's direction.

"Hello, 'Mione," he said softly.

"Hello, Harry," she said with a smile. "You don't have to stand by yourself in the corner you know."

"How do you know I'm alone?" he asked.

Hermione raised her face towards the afternoon sun and tilted her head slightly as though she was listening for something. "It's true what they say you know, about being blind. Oh not that rubbish about your other senses kicking in necessarily, I don't suddenly have a super-human sense of taste, but I can sense other things far more clearly than before, people's energies for example. I can sense yours a mile off."

"And what does my energy tell you?" Harry asked, wondering if Hermione was really telling the truth.

"What I already know," she replied, turning her face back to him, the unseeing eyes making Harry feel as though he were pinned to the spot. "You're unhappy," she concluded gently.

Harry looked away from her, back out to the garden. He couldn't see those eyes, couldn't think of all Hermione had lost that night she'd been hit with the blinding hex. She hadn't been able to see what George looked like on their wedding day, couldn't see how she herself looked in the beautiful wedding dress that she had chosen with Ginny's help, and worst of all, she had never been able to see what her own daughter looked like. It made Harry feel sick, and worse, it made him feel like a coward; facing Hermione was far too painful, so he did it as little as possible.

"I'm fine," he lied and Hermione shook her head.

"You think you can lie to me just because I'm blind?"

"Hermione – "

"Ron's told me about the curse," she said, cutting him off. "That amount of pain must be hard to deal with, I can only imagine. I hope they find a cure for you, Harry, no one should have to live with that kind of pain indefinitely, it'll destroy you in the end."

"Hermione…" he tried again, but the words wouldn't come.

"You're welcome here any time, Harry, I hope you know that." She paused and inclined her head away slightly, saying, "I sense Severus needs rescuing from my daughter, I'd better go and give him some respite."

She stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to Harry's cheek, the familiar smell of her perfume and shampoo washing over his senses, then she moved off into the crowd, her movements sure despite her impairment. Harry watched as she moved over to Severus and Elodie, both of whom seemed a little put out to have been interrupted in whatever conversation they had been having.

Harry moved a little closer, on the pre-text of casting his eye over the buffet table, and strained his ears to listen to the interplay, glancing up every now and again to watch.

"Uncle Severus says I can," said Elodie, her hands on her hips.

"Uncle Severus is a pain," Hermione answered good-naturedly.

"I promise, only the most basic of potions," Severus said.

"I've said no potions until she's six," Hermione said, unknowingly mirroring her daughter and placing her hands on her hips.

"That's ages away," said Elodie, as though her mother hadn't quite grasped the concept of age. "I want to help Uncle Severus now. He says I'll be the best potions maker in the world if I start early enough."

"Uncle Severus is creating a monster. Don't think I've forgotten about my bloody rug," Hermione said, directing the last comment at the man himself.

"I said I'd buy you a new one," the man replied with a smirk. "You know full well that with the mix of yours and George's genes that she'll be starting plenty of fires under her own steam soon enough. Better surely that someone is there to help channel her energy."

"You rotten old Slytherin," Hermione said with a great deal of affection.

"I'm going to be sorted into Slytherin when I go to Hogwarts," Elodie said assuredly.

"Almost certainly," Hermione answered wryly. "I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that Uncle Severus won't be there to be your Head of House."

"Relieved," Elodie asserted. "After all, if he was, he'd have to treat me like the other students, and neither of us would like that."

Severus' laughter was still one of the most perfect things Harry had ever heard, and when it was a real, heartfelt laugh with no malice or sarcasm attached to it, it made Harry's heart constrict in his chest. He had yet to decide whether the feeling was unpleasant or not.

Harry watched as Severus scooped the little girl up onto his lap, one hand steadying her while the other came to twirl in the vibrant, auburn curls that adorned her head. The two made quite a pair and even Harry couldn't stop the smile from sliding onto his lips.

"Uncle Harry!" Elodie called, spying him out of the corner of her eye. She beckoned him over from her perch on Severus' knee and, never one to ignore the women in his life, he obeyed and moved over to join them. "Uncle Harry, do you think I'll be sorted into Slytherin?" she asked.

"All signs seem to point that way," Harry replied in the same serious tone his goddaughter was using.

"Uncle Severus and Uncle Draco were both in Slytherin," the little girl said, as if that settled the matter.

"Well," said Harry, kneeling down beside Severus so he could meet Elodie's eyes better, "Uncle Severus and Uncle Draco are two of the bravest, cleverest men I know. As role models go, you could do a lot worse."

Elodie nodded sagely, as if she had suspected as much herself. "I know Mum and Dad were both in Gryffindor…and you and Uncle Ron…and – "

"And every other Weasley in existence," Severus finished for her.

"Now that's not true," came George's voice and he appeared next to Hermione, slinging an arm around his wife's shoulders and grinning down at his daughter. "Your great-great-great grandmother was a Slytherin."

"Was she really?" Elodie asked, her eyes shining.

George nodded. "She was indeed, and what's more, she was responsible for discovering the Riddikulus spell."

Elodie's eyes widened and she turned her head to face Severus again. "Did you hear that Uncle Severus? That settles it, I'm definitely going to be in Slytherin."

Severus dropped a kiss to his goddaughter's head and Harry's heart swelled at the sight. He rose shakily to his feet and excused himself, pretending he needed the loo. He walked into George and Hermione's little home, which was as similar as The Burrow to be an almost painful reminder of his youth. It was cosy and homely but without the general feeling of chaos that The Burrow had, which was remarkable in itself, as George had always been responsible for at least half of the chaos there.

Harry eased himself down onto the sofa, feeling suddenly very heavy-limbed. Pain was spreading through his hips and lower back and there was a dull ache forming behind his eyes. He heard the patio doors open and he looked up to see Draco stepping inside, the strange kind of gentleness he possessed settling about him like a cloak.

"Come in here to babysit me?" Harry asked wryly and Draco merely shook his head with a smile as he took a seat on the sofa next to Harry.

"Some of us need a break from the festivities too," he replied. "Do you need babysitting?"

"Some people seem to think so," Harry said with a sigh, letting his head fall back against the sofa. "I'm sick of talking about myself, tell me about you. You're um…you're in business with Neville now, right? How's that going?"

Draco smiled. "Very well. I had thought I had a talent for Herbology until I saw Neville work, the man's a genius. Severus won't accept any other supplier for his ingredients."

"Are you enjoying it?" Harry asked.

"More than I expected to," Draco replied. "Neville has a keen mind and, as I say, his talent is unparalleled. We've got more orders than we can comfortably handle, we'll have to take on some staff soon."

"I'm pleased for you, Drake."

The blond tilted his head and fixed his grey eyes on Harry. "Should I ask how you are or will I get hexed for my trouble?"

Harry sighed and said, "I'd answer you if I knew how to."

"You're still in pain?"

Harry nodded. "This time of day it starts hitting in. Severus wants to trial a potion later though, so keep your fingers crossed for me."

"Ron's been working very hard on it, he'll find a cure," Draco replied, eyeing Harry carefully. When it seemed no response was forthcoming, Draco sat a little straighter on the sofa and turned his body to face Harry fully. "Why don't you go and speak to him, make it up?"

Harry pursed his lips, then, realising it probably made him look like Molly Weasley, quickly reversed the action and settled for a scowl instead. "Why doesn't he come and make it up?" he asked petulantly.

Draco chuckled and said, "You two are as bad as each other." Harry rolled his eyes, knowing full well that he was behaving more immaturely than his four-year-old goddaughter. "He hates arguing with you, Harry," Draco said gently.

"It's not exactly a barrel of laughs for me either," Harry said defensively.

"He misses you," Draco replied, clearly not put off by Harry's tone. "He wants you to be around the corner, able to go for a pint with him after work or to have a quick fire-call with over lunch to complain about how terrible life is being in love with a Malfoy," he finished with a wry smile.

"He can talk to me any time he likes, just because I'm in a different country doesn't mean – "

"That's exactly what it means, Harry," Draco said in the firmest yet gentlest tone of voice Harry had ever heard anyone use. "It isn't just that you're not here physically, you've taken yourself away from us in every way possible. Ron doesn't feel that he can just call you up at a moment's notice, that you'll want to apparate back on a Friday evening to come for dinner, or pop back on a sunny weekend to play with Elodie. You've created this barrier and none of us really knows what to do."

Harry glared down at his hands, wishing Draco would just rant and rave at him like everyone else so that he could feel justly vindicated in telling him to sod off. Instead he had to be so bloody reasonable, so mild and temperate in his censure that Harry knew he had no option but to sit there and take it.

"If you hadn't been cursed," Draco continued, "would you have come back?"

Harry frowned, still looking fixedly down at his lap. "I…I would have been here for Elodie's party," he said eventually.

Draco nodded. "There and back in the same day as usual?" The blond sighed and Harry felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. "People here love you, Harry, and we struggle to understand what we've all done so wrong that you want to take yourself away from us."

"No one's done anything wrong," Harry said quietly. "I…I had to leave when I…after…after Voldemort fell. I needed to get away, to put some distance between me and…everything else. I don't know…it just got harder and harder to come back."

The hand on his shoulder slid up to his neck in such a familiar and affectionate gesture that it made Harry's raw, wounded heart feel soothed. He turned to face Draco, his eyes embarrassingly watery, and the man offered him a sad smile.

"Were you waiting for something to bring you back?" he asked gently.

"I…" his breath caught in his throat, a deeply embarrassing sob trying to make its way out instead.

"Oh, Harry," Draco said, scooting along the sofa and pulling Harry into a surprisingly strong hug. The grace and elegance of Draco's movements hid the fact that the man possessed a good deal of strength, and that he could use it when he had a mind to.

Harry let himself be held. It had been so long since he'd had this kind of physical contact and it felt good. It was full of warmth and comfort and was so purely platonic that it made Harry swell under the unbridled affection of it. He rested his head against Draco's chest and Draco ran his hand up and down Harry's arm soothingly. He'd forgotten just how much regard he had come to feel for the man over the years and how close they had once been.

He hadn't been lying to Elodie when he had described Draco as brave and clever, but he should have added how kind and insightful the man was. He had changed so much seen he had been a teenager, and he was one of the best men that Harry had ever known. Ron was a lucky sod.

"You need to get this buggering curse out of your system, then all the rest can be dealt with. How can you expect to make sense of anything when your mind is so clouded with pain?"

"What was my excuse before the curse?" Harry asked, knowing that it was a question he should have asked himself a long time ago.

"Cut yourself some slack, Harry. What you went through when Voldemort fell…I can only imagine. But you know…others suffered losses too, you might have been able to find some comfort from people who were grieving if you had stayed. You didn't have to cope alone."

Harry lifted his head from Draco's chest and disentangled himself slightly from the man. "I did everything alone, Drake."

"Maybe that's the problem. You're going to have to learn to let people in."

"I do let people in," Harry argued.

"You used to," Draco countered. "But somewhere around the time that you lost Sirius you closed yourself off, shut down and started pushing people away. It's time to let us all back in. Or maybe, more specifically, it's time you let him back in again."

"Ron?" Harry asked with a frown. Draco gave him a look that was obviously meant to let him know that he had it wrong. "Oh," he said softly. "Who's to say he'd want me to let him in again?"

"Oh, Harry. It's time you stopped running from the past."

AN: Had an absolute pig of a day so decided to cheer myself up by posting a chapter. Apologies for not responding to the reviews from the last chapter, life stuff, you know?