Draco shifted in his seat across from his mother in the manor parlor. He loved his mother, but these little get-togethers she insisted on (even though he was an adult now) nearly drove him spare. She sipped at her tea delicately, glancing up at him with a certain kind of assessing in her eyes.

"Saw you made the front page of the Prophet," she began. And Draco bit back a sigh. "How is Harry?"

Hearing his mother use Potter's first name startled him slightly, and he swallowed thickly at the unmistakable affection that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Bloody hell, I know she saved his life, but she spoke to him one time!

"Lonely," he admitted. "If his drunken confession is to be believed."

"Lonely? Yes, I suppose fame can be rather isolating. And you?"

She lifted the china back up to her painted lips, raising an eyebrow as she cast what must've been the fiftieth assessing glance down and up him. And he rolled his eyes.

"Fine, mother," he emphasized with a sip of his own tea. It tasted like too many memories, and he hated visiting this place, but here they both were, alive and well, and his father… Draco slammed the lid firmly back down onto that box of thoughts. "As well as can be expected."

Narcissa gave a soft hm, smoothing the plaits of her skirt with long, french-tipped fingers. He very nearly snapped at her to get on with her usual line of frantic mothering, since she was free to do so now that his father– Nope. Dammit, that's why I hate these visits. She looks at me like I'm him.

"Your cologne ad was lovely." Her wand slipped from her skirts into her hand and she gave a dainty flourish, and the magazine featuring said ad drifted across the room into said hand. He hadn't seen it yet; he tended to avoid looking at anything featuring his face. But as she flipped through it to find it, he was startled again to see her eyes… Shining? "I can't remember the last time I saw you smile like that."

Frowning, he leaned forward to peer at the ad she'd flipped to, and seeing his intent, handed it to him. His frown was gone in an instant, replaced with shock. If he was guessing correctly, this had been the precise moment he'd recalled how Potter – Harry Potter, of all people – had called him gorgeous. How he'd forgotten about the camera and considered the fact that someone as easy on the eyes and miserable as Potter had reached out to touch him like he couldn't help it.

His mother was right. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled like that, either. He looked so… Pleased. Happy, even. Draco nearly didn't recognize himself. Of course his mother would be the one to deduce that this had been a genuine smile.

"Glad to see your range expanding, given that modeling seems to be working for you."

Draco didn't miss the judgment in her tone, but couldn't be bothered to sneer or scoff. His attention was firmly on the strange, smiling man in the field of flowers. Bloody hell, if having Potter compliment me is all it takes for me to turn into this person, his company might just help further my career.

Truthfully, it wasn't just how hot Potter was that made him so pleased to hear he found him similarly alluring. Of course, it was their history. The fact that he'd broken his nose, and Potter had sliced him to ribbons and they'd both been at each others' throats for years, and he still wanted to touch him. Wanted much more than that… If his looks could overcome all the hatred they used to hold for one another, surely he actually was as 'gorgeous' as he'd claimed?

Warmth lifted to his ears as his lips threatened to split into a grin, but he forced it off his face. And thrust the magazine back towards his mother, averting his gaze as he internally berated himself for acting so childish about such a silly little drunken admission.

Luckily, his infuriating elation was quickly quelled when his mother finally returned to her seemingly ingrained script.

"So, have you been seeing anyone special lately?"

He groaned aloud, allowing his head to fall back onto the back of his chair as his eyes squeezed shut.

"Mother, I can't keep giving you the same bad news over and over. You won't be having any grandchildren, I'm not interested in women!"

"Alright, alright!" Narcissa huffed a little sigh, one that seemed to play on a loop somewhere in Draco's brain. "Can't a mother wish for her son's happiness at the very least?"

The fact that she hopes for even more Malfoys in the world is a mystery, given that there's already one too many.

"If you truly wanted me to be happy, you'd leave well enough alone!" he snapped. And choked back another sigh as regret swelled in him. When he finally lifted his repentant gaze back to her, she was scowling down at her lap. "I'm sorry. I just…"

The sigh he'd choked back eked its way through his lips as he leaned forward to return his cup of tea back onto its saucer. And pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, elbows on his knees.

"I worry for you, Draco," she admitted quietly. "Being a mother isn't easy."

Being your son isn't easy! He swallowed his temper with a measured breath.

"I know."

Sorry you ended up with me.


By day three, Harry reluctantly accepted that it was time to return to his life. The Resurrection Stone's reputation preceded it, and he was quickly realizing just how poisoning an influence it could have on a person. And he wasn't keen on inviting anymore cursed magic into his life.

He returned to his flat first, showered, shaved, and changed into fresh clothes. And then was the hard part.

I just love making my own life difficult, don't I? He grimaced as he peered down at the small, unassuming rock in his hand. Gripping it tightly in his fist, he recalled Malfoy's words all of a sudden: life isn't hard enough to be exciting anymore.

He Apparated directly onto Ron and Hermione's stoop, deciding to take the polite route and knock first. He was one of the precious few with an open invitation through their magical barriers, but he wouldn't put it past them to be up to all manner of conception behind that door; a thought that had a shudder dancing up his spine.

Harry didn't have to knock. His presence was announced simply by him passing through their wards, and not a moment later, the door swung inward to reveal a curious and surprised ginger.

"Harry!" Ron crossed the threshold to pull him into a hug, startling the shit out of him. Ron wasn't affectionate; at least, not with anyone but Mione. But he supposed it made sense – he had been effectively "missing" for the past three days.

"H-hey, Ron," he answered as he hesitantly wrapped his arms back around his best friend. "Sorry, I… Had some stuff to work through." In true Ron fashion, he broke apart to take Harry's shoulders in his hands, beaming.

"'S alright." And left it at that. "Come in, come in!"

Grateful again for his brevity, Harry tittered nervously and followed Ron into their home. And in the pocket of his hoodie, his hand gripped the Resurrection Stone that much tighter.

"Gave us all a right scare," he chuckled. As if Harry would ever be in danger again. "Mione! It's Harry!"

Thunking footsteps above them answered his call into the house and then Hermione was racing down the stairs, a panicked sort of relief on her face.

"Oh, thank god!" She closed in on him with a quickness, throwing an even more suffocating embrace around him. "Where have you been? We've been trying to reach you for ages!"

Her accusation stung as she released him, and a grimace tugged at his lips.

"Y-yeah, er… Sorry, Ron, can I…?" He gestured to the brunette, and Ron needed no further invitation.

"Yeah, course, mate. Shout if you need me."

He smacked a kiss onto Hermione's cheek before retracing her steps upstairs, and Harry chewed on his lip. Fuck.

"Come sit, tell me everything." She started towards the den, and Harry hesitantly followed. "Your interview sounded nice. Ruby deserves a raise."

Another forced laugh choked in his throat as he allowed himself to be invited to sit with her.

"Y-yeah…" His fingers started to ache in his hoodie pocket, so tightly was he clenching. Hermione frowned at him.

"Harry?"

I can't do this. I can't say goodbye twice.

Unwelcome tears gathered in his eyes, and he pressed his lips together to stop the lower one quivering. And the panic he'd glimpsed in Hermione's eyes returned. His answer to her unspoken question was to silently, painfully withdraw his hand from his pocket. And he held out his fist to her.

Still frowning, she extended an open palm. Curiously. And he just about Apparated away right then to summon the rest of the dead to apologize, to mourn, to say everything he still couldn't say. But eventually, his fist eased open and the small stone dropped into her palm.

His own hand hesitated over hers as he debated snatching it back. No. No more cursed magic, no more dealing myself agony. This is the right thing to do. Hermione retracted her arm, studying the small stone in it as Harry very, very slowly withdrew his own.

"That–" His voice came out strangled, and he cleared his throat before starting again. "That sh-should be in a vault somewhere." Swallowed. "Out of reach."

Realization dawned on her smart face, and she turned a pained expression up at him. One he only allowed himself to glimpse before turning his attention decidedly to the carpet. The geometric pattern started to swim before him as even more tears gathered in his eyes.

"Oh, Harry." She lowered herself onto the floor to get close enough to tug his shoulders back down into an embrace. And a sob escaped his careful rein. "You've been using this this whole time?"

A tremble passed through him as he allowed his face to bury itself in her shoulder. And he nodded, still vehemently resisting the sobs that were clogging his throat. It had to be her. She worked for the Ministry, and thereby had access to vaults even Gringotts couldn't reach. Even with all the sway he now held in the Wizarding world, he was sure she was the answer to removing this particularly cruel Deathly Hallow from his grasp. Hermione clicked her tongue sympathetically, rubbing a hand up and down Harry's back.

"I'm s-sorry, " he choked out, followed by a gasp. Stop. Stop it. They're all dead, all of them. They can't come back, not even with the stone. All I'd be doing is hurting myself further.

"Shh," she whispered, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "It's alright. I understand. I won't tell them you've used it, and you never have to see it again."

The thought wrapped a surprisingly violent fist around his heart, and the dam broke. And so did Harry.