Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

Soth-ince Den, Lizard Point, Cornwall, July 1997 (25)…7:12 p.m.

The instant Harry felt the road beneath his feet, he opened his eyes. Surprised to have escaped the disorientation and nausea he often felt after Apparating, he took stock. Satisfied that he still had ten fingers, ten toes and all the rest, he looked around, waiting. When Draco popped into view a few feet away from him, his grip on his walking-stick eased. Snape, gripping Fang's collar, appeared seconds later.

As the warm southerly breeze washed over him, Harry wondered if it had missed him as much as he had missed it. Even Fang paused, his big tongue lolling, tasting the sea on the wind as it blew his ears back on his head. Then he barked and took off, loping through the grasses until he reached the top of the hill. He stopped when he felt the magic marking the entrance to the valley below.

"Where's the house?" Draco said, disappointment coloring his words.

"Just over the hill," Harry said, turning to look at him.

"How are you feeling?" Snape eyed Harry critically.

"Fine."

"The descent is steep and it's late…"

"You should have woken me when you got back from the Ministry," Harry muttered. He ignored Snape's irritated sigh and jabbed his walking-stick into the ground.

Fang shot back down to meet him when Harry started up the hill. He stayed by the boy's side, patiently pacing his steps to keep time with the Gryffindor, allowing Harry to use him to balance himself whenever he felt wobbly. The hill was modest, nothing an adventurous three-year-old couldn't easily master, but Harry had to stop midway to catch his breath and wait for the cramping in his legs to ease.

Harry adored the walking-stick Aberforth had given him, but he couldn't wait to be rid of it. He longed to walk more than twenty-five steps without fear of losing his footing or becoming so exhausted he needed more than just the walking-stick. He longed to run and jump without having to brace himself against the shooting pains that spiked through his bones the second his feet hit the ground. He longed for his body to be the way it was before he fell out of the sky.

Sometimes it seemed as if that fall had happened ages ago. Other times he dreamed he was still asleep in the hospital wing, hooked up to that breathing machine, his head pinned in place by that harness. Those times he woke up panicked and sweating, crying out for Snape.

Now that they were at Soth-ince, Harry hoped he'd find peace amidst the familiarity of the cottage and the valley. Sensing the shift in the boy's mood, Fang whined and licked his hand, then nudged Harry's hip with his shoulder.

Harry gave him a wan smile. "Almost there, eh?" Fang woofed in agreement. "C'mon, let's show those Slytherins how it's done."

Snape and Draco had lagged behind since starting up the hill. At the top, Harry stood waiting for them, beads of sweat coating his brow, his breathing labored. His right arm shook with exhaustion and his legs felt like rubber.

"See?" he said, trying, but failing to calm his breaths once they arrived. "Made it."

"Congratulations," Snape said, sounding deeply unimpressed. "However, you won't be going the rest of way on foot."

"But I…"

"No!" Snape said. "I've allowed you to run roughshod over me since the moment you asked for a walker, those crutches, then began strutting about with that walking-stick! No more. You are not walking down this hill and you are not walking across that valley. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry opened his mouth, a sharp retort at the ready, but he swallowed his words when Snape's right eyebrow shot upward.

"Yes, sir. But…"

"Shut up!" Snape snapped, then searched the ground. After a moment, he crouched down and picked up a leaf. "Go on," he told Harry, gesturing toward the valley.

Without a word, Harry disappeared over the boundary, followed by Fang and Draco. Once Snape crossed over, he opened his palm, muttered an incantation, then blew the leaf he'd collected into the air. As a puff of wind caught its edge, it transformed into a rectangular shaped carpet. After a few test passes, the rug zoomed down to hover next to Harry's knees.

"Get on," Snape said.

The man still sounded a bit cross, so again, without a word, Harry did as he was told. He would have preferred using his broom, but he didn't dare say so.

"If you want to fly ahead, go on," Snape said.

Harry shifted to lie on his stomach. Loosely gripping the front edge of the carpet, he zipped forward. "Whoa!" He tightened his grip, surprised at how intuitive the carpet was.

After getting his bearings, he made a loop, hooting as he went. Fang leapt at the carpet, trying to nip its fringe to bring it down. Harry made another loop, then came round to float alongside the boarhound.

"C'mon, boy!" Harry patted the rug and waited for Fang to get on, but the dog balked. "C'mon, it's okay." Harry crooned.

After giving the carpet a sniff, Fang put his forepaws on it, then slowly brought the rest of his body along. Harry waited patiently, as patiently as Fang had been during the trek up the hill. His long legs shook, not entirely convinced of the carpet's stability, even though it didn't give an inch under his weight when Harry urged it up.

"S'okay, boy. Just relax." Fang licked Harry's face and gingerly settled beside him, still eyeing the carpet suspiciously. Harry steered the rug, taking it higher; Fang whined and scooted closer to Harry. "S'okay. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise. Let's go see my tree, eh?"

Snape and Draco watched him swerve smoothly to the left towards a tree that looked like a bent old woman.

"He's going to kill himself," Draco said.

"He'll be all right." Snape looked over at Draco.

Draco caught his eye, then looked away. "Don't. I'm fine, really."

"The other night you had a nightmare. What was it about?"

"I don't remember."

"Draco…"

"Please. I was tired… I'm still tired, especially after being in London all week…"

"We will talk about this, when you're ready."

"You needn't worry about me," Draco said, feeling Snape's eyes on him as they walked.

"Don't be silly."

They walked in silence, their arms occasionally brushing. When they reached the cottage, Draco said, "Quaint."

Snape sighed. "Draco, if you're going to be unhappy here, perhaps Andromeda…"

Draco frowned. "That's not…"

"I had hoped this place would be a refuge for you, as it is for Harry."

"This is home for him."

"Yes."

"I don't…" Draco began. "Never mind. Anything I say will just make me sound like an ungrateful beast."

"Speak."

Draco sighed. "I should like it here. You're here, Potter... But I miss the castle. I miss Blaise, Pansy, Theo…"

"They'll all be here in a few days. Your Mr. Weasley shall arrive even before them."

"I know. It's fine; I'm fine, really."

"So you've said. Corage is the password."

"Corage," Draco muttered. Nothing happened. The cast iron latch didn't click, and the door didn't swing open as it had done for Harry last summer. Draco tried depressing the latch to open the door. It didn't budge. "Did I say it wrong?"

"No." Snape frowned.

"Does this mean I'm not allowed inside?" Draco said, a bitter edge to his tone.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Snape barked. "Try it again."

"Corage."

The door remained shut, amplifying the silence and the stillness as the two Slytherins watched and waited.

"Shall I erect a shack in the paddock?" Draco said.

"Stop it! Without the password, you must be invited in."

"Lovely. That should do wonders for my reputation as a vampire."

Snape blinked. "You've been accused of being a vampire?"

"No, but considering everything my family did in the name of keeping bloodlines pure, it wouldn't be so hard to believe, would it?"

Snape opened the door. "Come inside."

Draco glanced back at the rowan. "Potter?"

"Yes?"

Draco looked up at Snape and shook his head. "You charmed that carpet to signal you if he found trouble, didn't you?"

"Charmed it? I cursed it with sentience. Should he have a hunger pang, stub his toe, or be struck by lightning as he flies around on that thing, it shall suffer the same, a thousand times over."

*SP

Soth-ince Den, Lizard Point, Cornwall, July 1997 (25)

An hour later, just as the sun slipped from sight, Harry threw open the door, red-cheeked and smiling, the rug tucked under his arm.

"Thanks for the magic carpet!" he said to Snape, who was sitting at his desk, quill scratching across a sheet of parchment.

"I live to serve," Snape said dryly.

Harry closed the door after Fang passed through. "Where's Draco?"

"In his room."

"His room? This place only has two bedrooms."

"And a rather large attic."

"Oh..."

Harry hadn't minded sharing the bedroom in Snape's quarters at the castle, but he loved his room here at the cottage and frankly wanted it all to himself. Not to mention it was a tight fit anyway. Introducing another person into it would be impossible. Well, not impossible, they were wizards, but Harry was thrilled to have his own space in this place he loved so much.

He looked around. The first time he'd seen the sitting room, sunlight had been spilling over everything. Now, a whitish-yellow glow from the wall sconces illuminated it. The sight of Fang's big window, the oversized sofa, Snape's toffee-colored club chair, the tattered old arm chair, and the coffee table sitting atop the oval rug with four monkeys all reinforced how good it felt to be home.

He had wanted to watch the stars twinkle into sight from a spot at the northwest edge of the oak grove, but the carpet had had other ideas. As soon as the sun touched the horizon, the rug started edging towards the cottage, ignoring Harry yanking on it to make it stay put. He quickly realized that Snape had charmed the thing to bring him back once the sun began to set.

He probably could have forced it to do what he wanted, but he cheered himself with the knowledge that he still had all of August to stay out late to watch the night come on—and his birthday was only three days away. After that, he could use his magic as much as he liked. Because it was untraceable, he could use it now (and had done for minor tasks like fetching the Prophet), but he'd made a vow to himself to wait. He'd be an adult soon enough, a fact he knew bothered Snape.

Harry had never seen himself as a wide-eyed innocent. Living with the Dursleys and battling Voldemort since the age of eleven had put paid to that, but he knew Snape wished to shelter him as though he were innocent. Harry thought he understood why.

He wouldn't be a typical seventeen-year-old wizard.

Reaching his majority meant facing the fact that much of the wizarding world would see him as the most powerful wizard alive. He didn't want it to be true, he didn't want to wear the crown, but he had to accept it, and so did Snape. That last night at Hogwarts, when he told Snape he wouldn't stop needing him, he had meant it, but he also didn't want that dependence to stunt his magic.

While packing his trunk to leave the castle, he'd rummaged around it, trying to make room for Hedwig's cage after Draco charmed it to fit. Under a set of dress robes, he'd found the book on white magic Snape had given him at Christmas.

"Is that…" Draco said, when Harry pulled it out. "Is that Gwyn Dewindabaeth?"

Harry looked at him. "Yeah. The professor gave it to me last Christmas." He held it out to Draco. The Slytherin was slow to take it.

"You know Merlin wrote this?" he said.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah."

Draco snorted softly. "Severus told you."

"Shut it."

Draco kept turning it gingerly back and forth, not opening it.

"Take it," Harry said, "read it, if you want."

"I couldn't." Draco shoved it back at Harry.

"What? Can't read Middle Welsh?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Granger?"

"Shut it!" Harry poked him in the shoulder.

Draco smirked and looked back down at the book. "If you really don't mind..."

"What's mine is yours."

"Oh, brilliant, but only the nice things, yes? Like your broom?"

Harry growled. "Piss off."

Draco opened his trunk to gently place the book on top of his immaculately packed things. "I'll take good care it."

Harry nodded. Seeing the book again made him anxious to read it himself, to see if he could discover something about his own magic, but he'd never get through it without help. Harry figured he'd ask Snape. The man would never own a book without knowing how to read it.

"All right?" Harry heard Snape say, bringing him back to the present.

Harry looked at him. "Yeah. Tired, though. Long day."

Snape hadn't looked up from the parchment during their exchange. Harry wondered what was so important.

"Love letter?"

Startled, Snape looked up. "What?"

Harry nodded at the parchment. "Must be important. You haven't looked up once."

"Ah, well, please forgive me. I didn't realize my ability to do two things at once would offend your delicate sensibilities. Truly, narcissism does not become you. In fact, I'd heard tell that you were quite the opposite of a narcissist, shunning all manner of attention, great and small."

"Ugh. I'm going to bed." Harry started for his room.

"Rest well."

Harry stopped, hearing the sincerity in Snape's tone. "You, too. Don't stay up too late."

"Yes, Dad," Snape muttered, resuming writing on his parchment.

Harry snorted. "You're in for it tomorrow. Or…some time."

"Yes, yes. I shall make certain to be on my guard."

"Comin', Fang?" Fang rose from his spot by the big window then plopped down next to Snape's feet. "Traitor," Harry muttered, the proceeded up the hallway. Just as he was about to enter his room, Draco opened the bathroom door. He had on his black silk dressing gown and his hair was damp.

"Oy," Harry said. "How's the attic?"

"It's an attic."

"So you're camping out on top of old trunks and moth-eaten quilts, eh?"

"No, Severus and I tidied it up, and I added some touches."

"So it looks like the Taj-Mahal now?"

"Shut up, Potter."

"Can I see it?"

"Perhaps. Once you're able to manage the ladder to get up there."

"Really?" Harry said.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Good night, Potter." He slipped his wand into his hand and aimed it at the ceiling near the back of the hallway. "Descendo."

When an oaken ladder slid down, Harry muttered, "You could turn that into stairs, you know."

"Good night, Potter," Draco repeated, then stepped over to the ladder to begin the climb up.

"Yeah," Harry said softly. "Sleep well."

Draco stopped to look back at Harry. This would be the first night in months that they hadn't shared a room, he suddenly realized.

"Tomorrow," he said, "after you've rested, there'll be stairs."

Harry grinned.

*SP

Harry's Room, Soth-ince Den, Lizard's Point, Cornwall, July 1997 (26)

"Mmph."

Bacon.

Harry knocked his pillow off his head. He sniffed, making sure he wasn't dreaming. When his stomach growled, he reached for his glasses. It was after nine o'clock. He'd been more tired than he'd realized. He left his room to shuffle stiffly down the hallway.

"Mornin'," he said after entering the kitchen.

"Good morning," said Snape.

Harry grimaced and rubbed the back of his head

"How is it?" said Snape.

Harry brought his hand down from his head. It was just a twinge. "'S'nothing. I'm starved."

"Sit," Snape filled a glass with pumpkin juice and set it next to Harry's plate.

Harry eased down onto his chair then leaned his walking-stick against the table. "Draco?" he said as Snape scooped eggs onto his plate.

"He and I ate earlier. He's outside, having a look around."

Harry ate a forkful of eggs, then said, "He hates it here, doesn't he?"

"He misses the castle."

"Would he rather stay with Andromeda?"

"No."

"He'd probably hate it there more than here."

"He doesn't hate it here. It's just unfamiliar to him."

"He never said a bad word about the pub or Aberforth when he stayed at the Hog's Head after Christmas. I reckon after escaping from Lucius and Voldemort, anyplace would have been like a palace."

"Mm."

"Something else is bothering him, too."

"Talk to him."

"He doesn't talk to me the way he talks to you."

"He simply confides in you when he's ready. I believe there's very little about him that I know and you don't."

Harry thought about what Snape said as he bit into a strip of bacon. "I'll go find him after I finish."

Snape nodded.

*SP

Soth-ince Den, Lizard Point, Cornwall, July 1997 (26)

After changing into a pair of jeans, trainers, and a faded cranberry colored T-shirt with betWay on it (a West Ham T-shirt he'd borrowed from Dean ages ago), Harry stood at the back edge of the wild garden. As he scanned the northern end of the valley, he spotted the overgrown mining walk that snaked up the hill. The walkup was another entry point to their valley. He had discovered it last summer after seeing Snape and Fang return from one of their strolls.

Beyond the path, through the lingering mid-morning haze, he saw the tip of an old mining stack. According to Snape, their neighbor, a Muggle woman called Myfanwy Turner, lived near there. He'd never met her, but he'd eaten the blackberry tarts Snape had made using her blackberries.

Last summer, when Snape, Poly-juiced as Edmund Brockman, and Fang went for walks, she had always fed Fang fat strips of bacon when they passed by her place. While chatting one day, Snape mentioned how much Harry loved treacle tarts. From that point on, whenever Snape and Fang stopped by, Myfanwy gave him a tart from the shop she ran out of her house. Harry hoped she'd be in as charitable a mood this summer.

Eventually, Harry spotted Draco's blond head bobbing up and down as the Slytherin skirted the northeast end of the valley, near the oak grove. Fang plodded along beside him until Harry whistled. The boarhound looked toward the house, then barked when he saw Harry. As Harry started towards them, Draco and Fang doubled back to meet him.

"Anything wrong?" Draco said.

"No. Wanted to know where you'd got to."

"I'm just taking things in."

"You hate it, don't you?"

"No, Potter, I don't."

Harry scratched at his right wrist. Scars, livid pink reminders of where he'd been tethered to those Thestrals, encircled both wrists. Hermione had described the scene to Draco, of seeing Harry from the air as she and Brân were flying back to join the fight. By the time they all fought their way through to the main courtyard, he had freed himself to float above everyone. Draco had watched the Dark Lord fire the Killing Curse at Harry, then watched Harry react as if the dark wizard had performed a harmless Scouring Charm. But he'd been spared the sight of the Gryffindor bound and seconds from being torn apart.

"Severus could take care of that, and the ones on your ankles," Draco said.

"He offered."

"And you refused?" Draco frowned. "Why?"

"They're a part of me, just like this one." Harry gestured at his forehead.

They walked in silence for a bit, Draco's steps slow and even. Every other one of Harry's steps dragged across the worn grass of the path. He'd forgotten his walking-stick in his room.

"Sometimes I don't understand it," Draco said, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"What?"

"Us. Me, you…Severus."

"What's to understand?"

"I don't know. All of this…quiet has got me thinking. For most of the year, we've done nothing but be attacked, train to fight, train to be on our guard, and now we must face the aftermath of everything on our own…"

"It's been a shit year."

Draco snorted softly. "To say the least. I just… I could never have imagined me here."

"Where? With me?"

"Anywhere, Potter."

"Oh…" They walked in silence for a bit, then Harry said, "Ever think about what would have happened if Voldemort had won? With your mum and Lucius, I mean."

"After the Dark Lord returned, I was scared, all the time, wondering what we'd have to do, what I'd have to do to remain in his good graces. I think that if he had won, we wouldn't have survived." He was quiet a moment, then said. "In Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor sits on land a lot like this. It's better maintained, of course, impeccable. Not a blade of grass, or a flower out of order, and definitely no overgrown hedges framing the grounds, ever. They're trimmed to stand at precisely eight feet so that guests can see the albino peacocks strutting about the tops of them."

"Peacocks?"

"Albino peacocks."

Harry snorted.

"Once the Dark Lord moved in, I grew to hate being there even more. I couldn't wait to get away."

"You'd still rather be somewhere else."

Draco threw up his hands. "I don't hate it here, Potter, it's just…" He uttered a rueful laugh. "This time last year, I positively despised you."

Harry chuckled. "Didn't like you much, either."

"And this time last year, my…my father didn't lift a finger while the Dark Lord murdered my mother. I feel…I don't know, I feel like it's just now starting to sink in, how much everything's changed. I don't know what my life would have been like if my family hadn't followed the Dark Lord. I've tried imagining it, and I can't. So much of who we were was wrapped up in hating people who weren't Purebloods. I felt—I can't really say I was ever happy, but I knew who I was. I knew the Malfoy name meant something, that I had a legacy, dark as it was."

"And now?"

"Now I feel as if I have to be someone…different, someone new."

"Draco, there's nothing wrong with who you are."

"What I mean is that I have to figure myself out for myself."

Harry frowned, confused. "Brilliant."

Draco waved a hand at him. "You can't understand—you're Harry Potter. I come from a family of blood purists and Death Eaters."

"You talked to Dad about this? If anybody would understand, it's him."

"I haven't. I suppose I could."

Harry grinned. "Is that your way of admitting I'm right?"

Draco scowled. "Please."

As they neared the paddock, Harry said, "Why do you only call him Dad sometimes?"

"I know who he is to me, and it doesn't bother him."

"It does."

Draco frowned. "He said something to you."

"No, but he gets this look, like he's been goosed or something when you call him by his name. I think he's gotten used to us calling him Dad."

"Oh."

"He'd never say a word about it, but I do think it bothers him."

"Mm."

"And, Malfoy, it's—it's all right for you to be, you know, happy."

While watching the paddock grasses sway in a sudden gust of wind, Draco said, "Is it?" Anger colored his tone as he swept a lock of hair out of his face.

Harry stopped walking, forcing Draco to do the same. "You made a choice, the right choice. You get rewarded for that, right?"

"And my mother? She tried to make the same choice, and it cost her her life."

"But you know why she did it."

"Yes, and that only adds to the guilt I feel every moment of every day. Here I am, alive and well, and she's not. Gods, I miss her. Every day there's this dreadful, shattering pain here." Draco pressed his hand over his heart. "Sometimes I-I-I can't bear it. And now, with all this quiet, all this space, I…"

"I-I don't know what to do, what to say to make you feel better."

"I don't mean to burden you with this."

"You're not burdening me, Draco. We're talking."

Draco snorted softly. "What could you possibly know about 'talking?'"

Harry grinned. "You've met my girlfriend, yes?"

"The brain with hair attached to it? It's good of you to remember her."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Thomasin, the girl at the inn?"

Harry scoffed.

"I saw how you were looking at her, Potter."

"She was pretty!"

"Beautiful."

"So?"

"Be careful."

"I'll probably never see or hear from her again."

"Ah. I take it you missed the letter waiting for you on your side table."

Harry's eyes widened. "A letter?"

"'To Harry, from Thomasin,'" Draco drawled.

"Oh. Well. I s'pose I'll have a look when we get back."

Draco breathed in, then breathed out. "I think I'll stay out a bit longer. I'll walk you back, though."

Harry scowled. "I don't need walking back. I'm not a dog!"

Fang woofed.

"No offense, boy," Harry said.

"I'll be round in time for lunch, then," Draco said.

"All right."

*SP

Soth-ince Den, Lizard's Point, Cornwall, July 1997 (30)

"Harry? Draco?" Snape called as he shut the door, then set his packages on the floor.

When there was no answer, Snape followed Fang as the boarhound padded down the hallway to the stairs that led to the attic. He waited until Fang climbed up and entered the room before doing the same. Inside, he found Harry asleep on Draco's bed while the blond sat at his desk writing a letter. Hedwig was perched on the sill of the open window just above Harry's head.

Draco looked up. "Nice walk?"

"I got two baskets of blackberries from the village. Should be more than enough to make tarts for the party."

"Why did you go to the village? I thought there was a blackberry farm nearby."

"Yes, Myfanwy Turner's farm. Apparently, it burned down a few weeks ago, with her in it."

"What happened?"

"Old Lady Davies suspects witches."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

Snape shook his head. "She's a Muggle. Although, this area is known for being haunted. A lot of villagers make a fair living letting out rooms in their houses and barns to paranormal thrillseekers."

"Could there be anything to it? You said a lot of magical people live round here, too."

"It likely was an accident, gas leak, or something, but if it were someone magical, why kill her? There're plenty of abandoned houses and farms to choose from. Why hers? And why make it so public?"

"Still…"

"I know," Snape said quietly, then he nodded at Harry. "How long has he been out?"

Draco shrugged. "Twenty minutes?"

"Well, I'll be out in the lab for about an hour." Snape turned and started down the stairs.

"So we shouldn't expect to see you for at least two hours."

Snape looked back over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed minutely. "An hour and a half."

Draco nodded and went back to writing, a small smile on his lips.

*SP