I will show you the way back home

Never leave you all alone

I will stay until the morning comes

I'll show you how to live again and heal the brokenness within

Let me love you when you come undone

When daybreak seems so far away

Reach for my hand

When hope and peace begin to fray

Still I will stand

When the rain falls I won't let go

I'll be right here

-Ashes Remain

Harry kept wondering when he would wake up. He felt certain that he was stuck in a dream, because there was no way he had woken up every morning next to Draco this week, their limbs tangled together and warmth radiating between them like freshly burned embers. The morning sun glared through the window on the eastern wall, drawing Harry out of a peaceful sleep. He blinked drearily, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table and then burrowing deeper into Draco's side.

He felt completely and incontrovertibly happy. It was his birthday after all, and he couldn't imagine a better way to greet it than to be pressed against Draco's side.

"Stop wiggling," Draco mumbled as he shifted against him. Draco's skin was as soft and smooth as silk, and Harry couldn't help but brush his knuckles against his ribs. Draco squirmed at the touch, hissing between his teeth.

"You're ticklish," Harry observed.

The only response he got was a soft hum.

Breathing a soft sigh of contentment, Harry's hands traveled down to Draco's stomach, his fingertips catching on the fine hairs below his navel. Again Draco squirmed, causing Harry to grin.

"Nn brehkin up wid uh," Draco grumbled.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that. You're not speaking troll are you? Should I call Carly to translate?"

Somehow, Draco managed to glare at him with his eyes closed. "I'm breaking up with you."

"Oh?" Oddly, the words only caused a swell of affection to grow in Harry's chest. "On my birthday?"

"Sod your birthday. I can't date morning people. Mornings are the world's ultimate evil."

"What if the said morning person you're dating made you coffee?"

One of Draco's irises made an appearance, gleaming silver in the morning light. "You made coffee?"

"No," Harry said. "But I could make coffee."

Draco shook his head, closing his eyes once more. He turned his head and kissed the bridge of Harry's nose. "Have you ever even made coffee before?"

"I used to make breakfast for my aunt, uncle, and cousin every day. I'd like to think I got pretty good at it."

Reaching down between them, Draco grabbed Harry's hand. With obvious effort, he forced both of his eyes open. Shimmering grey filled Harry's vision, making his pulse skip. "I didn't know you liked to cook."

"Oh, er, I don't really."

Draco blinked at him, and Harry could almost see him trying to work through the thought. He saw the moment that anger hit Draco's eyes—it was like flicking on a light switch. His grip on Harry's hand tightened.

"Draco," Harry said, hoping his tone sounded soothing, "it really wasn't a big deal."

"They made you cook for them?" Draco seethed.

"Um…I'm going to go with no because you're looking sort of murderous."

"Like a servant?"

Harry bit his lip. "Can I just take back everything I said in the last two minutes?"

An angry red broke across the ridges of Draco's cheekbones. "Where do these relatives of yours live?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to kill them."

The scary thing was, Harry had no doubt in his mind that Draco would do just that. To him, killing Harry's family might seem like pest control. It was very difficult for Harry not to mention the fact that he wouldn't be very far off from the truth. He smiled at Draco fondly. "I didn't know Slytherins were so protective."

Draco snorted, as if the notion offended him. "Gryffindors aren't the only ones who are loyal you know. Slytherins are used to being unreasonably antagonized and having the odds stacked against them. It has made us develop an intense sense of protectiveness towards our own."

Strangely, Harry wasn't surprised. He'd seen most of Draco's owls to McGonagall, and in every single letter, one thing had been made consistently clear: no one was to mess with the Slytherins. Harry wished that Draco would talk more with him about what had happened last year at Hogwarts, but it was a subject that Draco studiously avoided.

"So let me get this straight," Draco continued. "This so called family of yours, hid the fact that you were a wizard, treated you like a servant, and made you sleep in bloody cupboard, and you still don't want me to kill them?"

"I don't want you to kill anyone, as a matter of fact."

"You ruin everything fun in life, Potter."

Harry pouted at him.

Rolling his eyes, Draco smirked. "Harry. I'm sorry—old habits die hard and all that."

"Hey, Draco?"

Draco looked at him, his smirk closer to a smile now.

"I love you," Harry said.

Draco's expression didn't change. "I love you too."

They were words that had already been exchanged several times between them over the past week, but even still Harry felt an elated joy bubble in his stomach every time he heard them. Harry dropped his gaze to Draco's chest, distantly admiring the smooth alabaster skin, shining gold in the sunlight. Draco's hand was still gripped tightly in his own—warm, firm, and real. Slowly Harry pulled their hands out from under the duvet and his eyes immediately found the ugly black mark that stained the Slytherin's arm. Harry trailed his thumb across the tattoo's length, and he could feel Draco's pulse quicken beneath his touch. Draco let out a shuddering breath that stirred Harry's hair.

"Do you not like me touching it?" Harry asked gently.

The smile on Draco's face was gone now, returning his face to an array of hard lines.

Uncomfortable with the silence, Harry tried again. "You know that I don't care right? It doesn't mean anything anymore."

Grey eyes flashed like a mirror catching sunlight. "It does mean something. It will always mean something. There will never be a day when I wake up and that mark isn't there. There will never be a moment when you look at me, and not know that it's there. This mark is the Dark Lord's brand on me. It's a part of who I am, and nothing I do will ever change that."

"He branded me too, you know," Harry replied softly. "My scar was his mark on me. And yes, it's a part of who I am, but it doesn't mould me. It doesn't define me any more than your mark defines you."

"That's…" Draco's lips twisted, "surprisingly enlightened of you."

Harry supposed it was. A few months ago he doubted that he would ever have said such a thing. A few months ago the Malfoys were evil and he was good, and there was a dark wizard on the loose who would never give his mind enough peace to think otherwise. He wished that he'd been able to see this part of Draco back at Hogwarts. He vaguely wondered if the version of Draco that he knew now had even existed back then. He hoped that it had—or that at least some fraction of it had. The years of Voldemort's return had done a lot to shape him, but Harry still wanted to believe that the Draco he'd hated so adamantly back at Hogwarts had been an entirely different creature behind other lenses.

It was cringe worthy how nasty they'd been to each other as boys. Harry vividly remembered the forceful stab of hate that had overcome him every time he saw Draco—filling him, consuming him. Not even Dudley had managed to elicit such a fervent emotion from him, despite all his years of torment.

His mind was jostled back as Draco slid a warm hand across the side of his neck. Harry looked at him, very aware of how close Draco's face was to his own.

"I'm glad it doesn't bother you. I did…worry that it might."

"You worried?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"A bit. Very little. In fact, the amount of worry I felt was so marginal that it probably shouldn't count at all."

Unable to help it, Harry beamed at him.

He wondered if their hatred was why they were here now. They'd both been through so much. Too much. And Harry remembered what the beginning of the summer had been like for him—the feeling of being stripped down to the remnants of flesh and bone, and the void inside him growing deeper and darker with each passing day. The world had felt as empty and vast as a dessert, and he'd been alone in that place with no hope of escape. But then Draco had stepped back into his life—an apparition appearing out of the darkness—and reminded Harry what it was like to feel alive.

The rush of adrenaline and furious emotion, igniting things within him that he'd long since given up for dead. Harry didn't think that anyone else could have done it. He wondered if Draco knew that…

Draco's hand moved, drifting down Harry's chest. "What are you thinking about?" he asked softly.

"You," Harry answered truthfully.

The Slytherin's cool hand slithered across Harry's stomach, sending pleasant chills dancing across his skin. "Harry," Draco breathed softly, nipping at the corner of Harry's mouth, "listen, if I don't—"

He was broken off by a sudden sharp rapping at the window.

Harry frowned, turning his eyes to the window. "An owl? This early?"

The bed shook suddenly as Draco practically leapt over him to get to the owl. Harry sat up, growing nervous as he watched the abnormally frantic way Draco's fingers shook as he unlocked the window and pushed up the pane.

"Draco?"

"It's my mother's owl. How he even found me…" Draco trailed off distractedly. He had the note the owl had brought clenched tightly in his hands, and his grey eyes were flying across the words fervently. Then he went still, his shoulders stiff and his breathing slow. He looked up at Harry with glassy eyes that made Harry's body quiver.

"My father…he…he's…" The air between them went stagnant, looming with something dark Harry couldn't quite name. But he saw it there, in that moment, stretched in the pale dread of Draco's mouth, and pushing heavily down on his thin frame, making him look small and crippled in some way. The knowledge hung over them—both of them knew what neither was willing to say.

The letter fell from his fingers, floating to the ground with barely a whispering crackle.

Suddenly, Draco's face came alive with a wild panic. "I have to go." And then he was sweeping across the room and gathering his things.

"Go?" Harry jumped off the bed, grabbing for his boxers and pulling them on. "Draco…Draco, is he…?" Harry couldn't manage to get all of the words out.

A harsh cold tore through the room like a tornado. Harry shivered, his teeth chattering behind closed lips. Draco shook his head slowly. "He's not…."

"Then maybe the wand cou—"

"No."

The harshness of the word was enough to make Harry flinch. He stood very still, his eyes following Draco's frantic movements around the room. "Do you want me to go with you?" he asked when he didn't know what else to say.

Draco wouldn't look at him. He was almost fully dressed now, in a dirty, wrinkled shirt and black jeans. "No. You should stay here."

Harry simply stood, staring as Draco raced around the room, desperately avoiding his gaze. He felt his heart sink. He didn't know what to say. "But," Harry fumbled, hands shaking, "is everything alright?"

"No," Draco answered quickly. "But I don't have time to explain now."

"Will you be back?"

Draco stilled. He was standing in the doorway now, his bag slung over his shoulder, and his hand gripping the doorframe so tightly his knuckles were white. Harry couldn't see his face from where he stood, but he could feel Draco's pain nevertheless.

"I'll owl you." And without another word, Draco was gone.

A warm breeze blew through the room from the still open window, and Harry heard the soft rustle of the letter being pushed across the floor. Harry blinked at it before mechanically stooping down to pick it up. He held the parchment gingerly, his fingers overly sensitive to the rough, dry feel of the paper against his skin.

Dearest Draco,

Your father, I fear, has taken a turn for the worse. He has asked for your presence at the Manor. Please understand that I will not be there when you arrive—I cannot bear any more of it. I love you dearly, and I hope you can forgive me.

Love,

Mother

The letter fell to the ground once more. Harry was shaking so badly his vision had begun to tremble. Something was terribly wrong—there was a horrible feeling of trepidation that he just couldn't shake. It was like pieces of a puzzle falling together all at once.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Why hadn't Draco wanted to use the Elder Wand? If the hour was already this late, surely they could have tried…

"Master?" Kreacher hobbled into the room, "Mr. Malfoy has just left."

Harry didn't look at the house elf. "I know, Kreacher."

Kreacher shifted and wrinkled his long brown nose. "Well, Kreacher was wondering when we should expect him back."

"I…I don't know," Harry breathed.

"You don't know, Master?" Kreacher actually sounded distressed.

"Could you fix me some breakfast?" Harry tried to keep his voice even. "I'm hungry."

"Of course, Master"

"And fetch me a broom too, will you?"

"Will you be going after Master Malfoy?"

Harry clenched his teeth. "Just do it, please."

The house elf grumbled under his breath but assented to Harry's commands and bowed before exiting the room.