A/n: Thank you to my readers for being so patient with me. Finishing a master's degree while working and trying to manage life apparently leaves very little time for writing, which makes me sad. But, don't let my sob story keep you away from the actual sob story you're all here for.

Just a quick warning for triggers: There are subtle descriptions of dissociations, body dysmorphia, panic attacks, and imposter syndrome in this chapter. They are not explicit, but if any of these are personally triggering for you, please read with care and at your own discretion.

Chapter 21: The Homecoming

Draco's heart is in his mouth as he rings the doorbell to Ron and Hermione's flat. Although his Hermione had said he didn't need an excuse to see Harry, and he had foolishly agreed to the sentiment, he realises upon arriving at his destination that, in fact, he does.

At least I had enough presence of mind to don my disguise, he thinks just as a younger Hermione opens the door.

"Oh, hello," she greets, her surprise evident. "I'm sorry, were you meant to have a session with Harry today?"

"Er, yes," Draco says, suddenly feeling guilty for all the bald-faced lies he's been telling.

Hermione frowns. "Harry isn't home right now. He must've forgotten." She shakes her head. "Honestly, that boy." She offers Draco an apologetic smile. "Would you like to come in and wait? I could send an owl to fetch him."

Draco waves his hand quickly. "Oh, no, it's quite alright. I have another house call after this, so I wouldn't be able to wait too long anyway."

They stand smiling at each other awkwardly, and Draco finally says, "Will you let him know I dropped by? I'll send an owl to reschedule our appointment."

Hermione nods. "I really am sorry. He's usually not this irresponsible."

Draco smiles as Hermione makes excuses for Harry as a mother would for her son and catches himself before he launches down the path of psycho-analysing her overly maternal tendencies.

"Well, I shall be off, then," he says and tips his hat.

Hermione says a polite farewell, and Draco feels her eyes on him as he walks down the hallway. Draco ducks down the stairwell self-consciously, his heart thundering in his chest, feeling embarrassed at his foolishness.

You're a man in his thirties, Draco admonishes himself. Stop behaving like a silly teenager.

He sighs as he exits the building and stands staring out on the street in a daze.

Now what?

He watches the passersby mill about, wrapped up in their coats and furs against the winter chill, and feels oddly out of place. He feels as though he's watching a memory in a Pensieve; it feels real and seems to be occurring in the present, but the watcher is a spectre that has no effect on the actual happenings and doesn't belong there. Draco feels that way now, as though he has no influence on how events are to unfold. It's a familiar sensation, one that he felt often in his youth and after the war.

Interloper, his brain supplies unhelpfully, and Draco exhales a shaky breath.

The irony is that I'm only here because I was able to influence the future, Draco thinks sardonically.

He crosses the street and catches a brief glimpse of his appearance on the shopfront. He startles, having forgotten that he was in disguise, and that only furthers his imposter syndrome. He shudders, experiencing a strange out-of-body experience where he feels as though his soul has accidentally landed in the wrong body.

He quickly uncasts the charm and returns his face to himself, but watching the process happen is just as bad, creating a more pronounced dysmorphic experience.

Looking away, he walks down the street, reeling from the dizzying experience. He turns a few corners until he's in a deserted alleyway. Inhaling deeply, he closes his eyes and spins on the spot.

He's so zoned out that when he arrives at his destination, he finds that he's not certain where he is. Taking a moment, Draco attempts to orient himself by finding identifiable markers. He recognises the faint sound of running water and turns. He finds that he's beside a rickety-looking bridge built over a little rivulet.

Walking to the centre of the bridge, he looks over one side, still feeling disoriented, then turns to the other. The sun catches him in the face and blinds him for a moment, but once he can see again, he notices that he's looking at a glen along the river bank. Something about the sight of the willows hanging over the water, swaying gently in the wind, is vaguely familiar.

Crossing over to the other side, Draco makes his way down to what he discovers to be a cemetery. And all at once, he knows where he is.

Godric's Hollow, he thinks as a shiver runs down his spine. It's the very same cemetery where James and Lily Potter are buried.

It's where Harry was buried.

A wave of panic courses through him, and Draco rushes through the rusted old gate and winds his way past the overgrown headstones. All the while, he can vividly picture the marble headstone that had Harry's name on it.

It was all a dream is the thought that keeps running through his mind. It was all a dream and now I've returned to the terrible, terrible reality.

At the very back of the cemetery, just as he comes around a heavyset tree, Draco stops abruptly.

A man, dressed in black, stands with his head bowed in front of a headstone. Draco walks forward tentatively, heart pounding in his chest, chest constricting, breathing heavy. As he draws closer, the man turns, and green eyes widen in surprise.

Draco stops short, unable to move, relief washing over him like a tidal wave.

He's alive. Harry Potter is still alive.

"Draco?" Harry whispers, walking over. He looks at Draco with concern and reaches over to clasp his arm gently. "Are you alright?"

Exhaling shakily, Draco nods. Harry seems to sense his distress and envelops him in a hug. Draco feels his knees buckle, but Harry holds onto him until he can regain balance.

After a long moment, Draco pulls away and looks past Harry to where he had been standing. He sees the empty space beside the Potters' grave and swallows thickly.

"I have to go," Draco says in a strained whisper, recognising that his anxiety has escalated, knowing he needs to take a moment to breathe through it. Before Harry can respond, Draco turns away and stumbles out of the cemetery.

The panic has set fully now, and Draco finds himself hyperventilating, gasping for breath as he lumbers over to a bench by the river and collapses onto it. He places one hand on his chest and the other on his abdomen and focuses on his breathing. As he inhales, he expands his abdomen, and as he exhales, he contracts it. He refocuses stray thoughts back to his breathing, allowing his tense muscles to loosen with every exhale, relaxing back into the bench.

As the minutes pass, he feels his breathing slow, his heart rate even out, and his anxiety settle. When he opens his eyes, he sees Harry squatting down before him, concern colouring his youthful countenance.

"I'm okay," Draco says softly, patting the bench beside him. Harry tentatively rises and sits, focused on Draco.

Draco can't meet Harry's eyes, so he stares at the river and allows its gentle gurgling to soothe him. He wonders if he has the strength to talk about what happened, and decides that he won't know unless he tries.

"I visited here often," Draco says, his voice sounding far away to his own ears. "Visited you."

He finally turns to look at Harry and sees understanding dawn on the younger man. Harry reaches out to place his hand on Draco's knee and squeezes.

"I don't know what to say," he says softly, his voice kind and gentle and music to Draco's ears.

"Say anything," Draco says. "Tell me anything so I can hear your voice again."

Harry hesitates, then says in a soft but clear voice, "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Draco crumbles. He surprises himself with how suddenly the wave of emotion hits him, causing him to convulse in a fit of quiet sobs. Harry holds him tenderly, as though Draco were too fragile to be embraced with vigour.

Sighing, Draco rests his forehead on Harry's shoulder and inhales deeply. He revels in the familiar scent of Harry, his warmth, the feeling of his body, his realness.

Again, the sense of belonging without belonging encroaches his mind. It's strange, being in a place where he had spent a decade mourning Harry's death, yet finding himself in the arms of the one he had mourned.

It's too surreal for Draco. The disbelief is too profound. Bringing the dead back to life is an impossibility, yet he had miraculously succeeded in his endeavour.

It feels like a fever dream that he's about to awake from at any minute, his grasp on it like sand running through his fingers.

"Let's get out of here," Harry says suddenly, startling Draco back to his senses.

Draco nods mutely, allowing the younger man to lead him out and away from the land of the dead, back to the living. When Draco returns to himself and looks up, he finds himself seated in a little cafe with a warm cup of tea in his hand.

Harry is watching him, still with that look of concern from before, as though he is just as afraid of Draco fading away as Draco is of Harry. Suddenly, Draco laughs at how unbelievable it all is. He shakes his head and takes a long sip of his tea, letting the warmth seep through him and return him, really and truly, back to the real world—the world of the living.

I am real, he tells himself. I'm just as real as Harry, and we're just as real as everything else. Who knows what that means, in the grand scheme of things? But what does it matter? I am here now. I am allowed to simply relish in this moment.

Draco exhales and offers Harry a small smile. The other man shifts forward, reaching out his hand, and Draco squeezes it. Harry seems satisfied and sits back.

After a moment of silence, Harry asks, "What were you doing there?"

Draco swirls the last of his tea. He says, "I was looking for you." He looks up at a confused Harry and smiles. "I went to Ron and Hermione's and couldn't find you there, so I Disapparated and ended up at the cemetery without intending to." He shrugs. "Perhaps my yearning was so great that I subconsciously chose the one place I always went to when I wanted to see you."

Harry had dropped his gaze as Draco spoke, as though the topic of conversation made him uncomfortable. Understandably so, Draco thinks, since he's discussing the death of someone who is very much alive, with that very person. Harry plays with a sachet of sugar for a long moment, then reaches up to finger the chain around his neck.

"I wonder if you were drawn to me." He pulls out a vial from under his shirt, and Draco eyes the dark blood glistening within. "I wonder if the blood pact ties us together in more ways than we know."

Draco shrugs. "It's not a magic we fully understand, so it could be a possibility." He looks into Harry's eyes and asks, "I take it this means you don't want to dissolve it?"

Harry glances down at the vial before slipping it back in its place under his clothes and patting his chest. He shakes his head.

"I've thought about it a lot, this past week," he says, leaning forward. "I've weighed all the options and was even convinced that destroying it was the only way forward, but…"

Draco inhales through his mouth and finishes Harry's sentence by saying, "But you feel more secure being bound to me in a tangible way."

Harry's green eyes are stormy as he asks, "Wouldn't you?"

"More than I was willing to admit until just now," Draco answers softly.

Harry looks relieved. He looks around, then says, "Do you want to come back with me to my flat?"

Draco is surprised and has to consciously focus on keeping his breathing and heart rate even.

Harry winces, looking sheepish. "We don't have to. I just thought, since you had to confront my death earlier, it's only fair that I finally bite the bullet and do the same."

Draco nods slowly, although every fibre of his being seems to be against the idea. If that was Harry's motivation, Draco hardly has the right to disparage it. Besides, Draco wonders if his resistance has more to do with his own fear of facing a past he isn't ready to confront rather than any concern for Harry's well-being.

After all, if Harry thinks he's ready to go through with it, then it's Draco's duty to provide support, primarily as his Mind Healer, secondarily as his… partner?

Draco shakes his head. No, they have far too much to concern themselves over for him to bring up something as silly as labels just then. He files it away and focuses instead on smiling supportively.

"Alright," Draco says. "Let's go."

Although Harry's flat is more out of the way than Ron and Hermione's, it doesn't take them very long to get there—he lives in a much nicer Muggle neighbourhood and establishment than Ron and Hermione do thanks to his inheritance—and Draco feels more at ease being in an area where the likelihood of people recognising him is low.

They stand staring at the three-storeyed townhouse from across the street, both men exuding nervous energy. Draco fiddles with the buttons of his coat then consciously lets his hand fall loose at his side to avoid participating in anxious habits. His hand brushes against Harry's and the latter grasps Draco's hand and squeezes it quickly.

Harry lets go, inhales deeply, and nods.

"Okay," Harry says, and crosses the street. He strides across with purpose and confidence, and Draco follows behind more tentatively.

Harry pulls out a set of keys, and Draco wonders if the younger man had made up his mind to come here today regardless of the incident with Draco. It makes Draco feel both relieved and conflicted at the same time. He shakes himself out of his critical thoughts and follows Harry up the stairs.

Despite the carpeted interior, both Draco and Harry seem to take extra care to tread lightly, like ghosts in the night, as though afraid to stir any consciousness, be it human or otherwise. Harry pauses outside the penthouse flat and places his hand on the doorknob.

Draco feels the magic of the wards stir, then come to life slowly, like a groggy guard dog after a long nap. He feels the enchantments poke and prod him gently, identifying the new arrivals, determining if they're friend or foe. Draco pictures a dusty old spirit rattling about, trying to come back to life after a long slumber, and finds himself smiling at the image.

At long last, Harry turns the key in the lock and pushes the door open gingerly. They walk into the dingy flat, and Draco can feel the warmth of the wards as they pass through them. Warding enchantments are hardly ever felt, he knows from living in a heavily warded home his entire life, and it is a testament of how powerful the magic around Harry's flat is that it's a tangible sensation.

Harry waves his wand and the flat comes to life; the drapes and blinds pull open, the lights turn on, and the vents begin to noisily suck up the stale air and dust hanging in the air. It is a strange feeling, to enter a place that had become a memory, one that Draco never thought he would return to.

Draco glances at Harry, who's waving his wand across the sofa and armchairs, going about making the place more habitable while Draco stands frozen on the threshold, teetering between regret and yearning. Finally, he walks towards Harry, who turns around and offers Draco a small smile.

"Is it too soon to say welcome home?" Harry asks, speaking in a low tone, as though he's afraid to disturb the dust in the flat.

Draco looks down at his hand then reaches out to take Harry's. It feels familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, and Draco decides that's how he feels about everything when it comes to the two of them. Familiar yet unfamiliar.

He normalises the experience, knowing it had been a decade since he was in Harry's presence. It was strange, turning memories into reality again, but it was getting easier to do with every day that passed. He consciously veers away from the implications of a decade-long yearning on their relationship and focuses on the person standing before him in the present.

Harry is not a memory, Draco tells himself. He is alive and real and deserves to be seen for who he is now, not for whom I remember him to be.

Harry squeezes Draco's hand, as though sensing the shift in Draco's thoughts, and steps closer. Draco realises he hasn't answered Harry's question.

"It's not too soon, but, oddly enough, it's not too late either," Draco says earnestly. "I think it's just right."

Harry smiles, and for the first time that day, Draco feels really and truly safe.

"Yes," Harry says, closing the distance between them until their lips are a hair's breadth apart, "It's just right."

Draco melts into the kiss, and he belatedly thinks how odd it is that here, of all places, he feels like he's finally come home.