Summary: No longer young boys, Draco reflects on the life he and Harry have led together and how much he loves the "Boy who Lived". A sequel of sorts to "Comfort in Unusual Places" and "The Smutty Collection".

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling

Prompt: The Fates have spoken: you've drawn The Lovers, upright. This card represents union, partnerships, and duality. It means there is trust and harmony between two people. You will right a story that encapsulates these ideals and shows them present in either one single event or in short vignettes of a long period of time. Your words will total between 504 and 980

Harry's scar had long ago faded into his wrinkles, with it went his notoriety. His defeat of Lord Voldemort hadn't been forgotten, but sixty one years had passed since that day. Harry had become a legend, a name whispered with a certain reverence that few could obtain during their lives. But, gone was the recognition, the questions on how he did it. He and Draco were free now to live their lives – together.

Draco wished his dark mark had done the same. It had faded, yes, and age depleted it's appearance even more, but it was still there, still visible, still a reminder of the things he had done. No matter how many years passed, he still wondered how Harry was able to see past the mistakes and recognize the broken boy that Draco was underneath. Why Harry had come to him of all people when he was in need. Draco had long ago lost count of the times they had been there for each other, but a few instances stood out in his mind.

"It'll be in the Prophet tomorrow. For now, just love me." Draco had obliged. Despite the heartbreak they had caused one another only weeks before, he never have could denied Harry that night. The pain in his eyes when he had come to him, the desperation, the need to be comforted. Harry had been through enough horrors in his life. He needed every sliver of love he was offered.

He had been right, the events of that night had been published in the Prophet the next day. Draco had been angry at first, seeing his father slandered across the cover with many others. Harry had humiliated the man, had put him on the Dark Lord's bad side (that is, if he even had a good side). Harry had jeopardized the Malfoy family and Draco had been able to feel little else but rage. What space in him was left was filled with confusion.

Lord Voldemort had been there, had tried to kill Harry and nearly succeeded, but that wasn't what confused him. Harry had faced the monster four other times before that evening, had witnessed death with every interaction, but none had destroyed him as much as that night in the Ministry.

It was Sirius, he knew that now. He'd found out some time afterwards. Harry had lost the man that was supposed to be his family. That was what had changed between Harry and Draco, had finally brought them back together. Harry had been in pain, Draco suspected he still was to this day, and Draco had been the only one to provide the comfort that Harry needed. The only one to make him feel loved. Draco had sworn to himself that he would continue doing so for the rest of his life.

And Harry was there just as much for him.

The day the war ended had been a devastating one for both of them. They both lost friends, people they considered family. Draco had lost Harry himself. He would never forget that terror he felt when he saw Harry's limp form cradled in Hagrid's arms. His head lolling like a ragdoll's. The fear that the Dark Lord had conquered wasn't his main concern, not like everyone else. The memory still constricted his breathing, tightened every muscle in his body as he thought of how close he had come to losing the love of his life.

Harry hadn't been the only loss. His mother and father had been lucky to survive themselves, had abandoned the war effort at the last possible moment, but they had survived. Others hadn't been so lucky. Friends of the family, even his aunt, had lost their lives, people they were close to. They may have been Death Eaters, but they were important to the Malfoys all the same. The death of his professor, his godfather was the hardest.

That of Snape was the one death he and Harry had in common. The one death that affected them both nearly equally.

In the days, the weeks, the months after the war ended they had been there for one another. The majority of their time was spent in each other's company. Draco remembered with laughter, and perhaps a slight cringe, when Harry had discovered, had explained, the funny collection Draco had been harboring. They'd spent the remainder of that evening trying each toy out, pleasuring one another. It was perhaps the first day since that fateful one in May that they were able to laugh, to enjoy one another, without the reminder of their actions.

Draco had proposed three days later.

"Of course I'll marry you, you ferret." Harry had laughed as if there had ever been a doubt. In Draco's mind there hadn't been.

Draco stared across the table at the "Boy who Lived" the "boy that was his". Strands of hair that long ago turned silver hung into his green eyes as he stared down into the plate in front of him. "Harry." He lifted his eyes, green meeting silver and Draco couldn't help but smile. "Happy 60th anniversary."