Twenty Questions (To Fall In Love)

by DobbyRocksSocks

Two boys, one safe house, a list of twenty questions. What could possibly go wrong? That was a trick question. Draco and Harry spend a little time alone, getting to know each other, and they find that without the war and the opposing sides pulling their strings, they actually like each other. Who knew?

Word Count: 22,803

Warnings: Mentions of canonical torture, grief, and talk about past mistakes.

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Twenty Questions (To Fall In Love)

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Harry tapped his foot against the floor impatiently as he waited for Kingsley to return to the office. When Harry had received the 'summons' to see the Minister, he'd thought it was likely for some new, ridiculous event that they wanted to parade him at.

Instead, Kingsley had come up with some whole new foolishness to torture Harry with—and had then been called out of the office before he could even explain what the hell was going on.

The door opened, and Kingsley slipped back into the room, returning to the seat he'd vacated a few minutes prior. Harry arched his eyebrow.

"You wanna start over?" he asked, leaning against the oak-wood desk slightly. "And tell me where you want me to go, and with who, and more importantly, why?"

Kingsley sighed. "A safe house, Harry. The threats against you are getting more frequent, and we have reason to believe that they're not idle."

"And who?"

"Draco Malfoy is already in residence at the house we'd like you to move to."

Harry leant back in his seat. "You really think it's a good idea to leave me and Draco Malfoy alone in a safe house? Have you lost your damn mind?"

Kingsley snorted, flashing Harry a grin before he sobered slightly. He tapped his chin. "I think that having some company is better than having no company, and since he's already there… it makes more sense than you think it does."

"It really doesn't," Harry argued, shaking his head. "It makes no sense whatsoever. We won't be in any danger from the remaining Death Eaters, Kingsley, because we'll kill each other."

Kingsley frowned, tilting his head slightly. "I didn't realise it would be this much of a problem," he admitted. "You spoke up at his trial, Harry; you're practically the reason he wasn't sent to Azkaban in the first place."

Harry looked away, kicking his foot against the floor. "It was the right thing to do. Just because I don't like him, it doesn't mean he deserved to be in that hell-hole."

"It won't be for long, Harry," Kingsley cajoled. "A month, perhaps six weeks, at the most. You've been through worse, right?"

"I guess so," Harry replied, running a hand through his head. "For the record, I'd like it noted that this is an absolutely terrible idea, and I hate everything about it."

"Duly noted," Kingsley replied with another smile. "I'll send an Auror home with you while you pack—just in case, you understand—and then you'll be taken to the safe house by a series of Apparition jumps."

"Today just keeps getting better and better," Harry groaned. He truly hated Apparition. "Can I at least let Ron and Hermione know what's going on? If I just disappear, they're likely to try and take over the Ministry to find out what happened to me—and they'll probably succeed."

Laughing now, Kingsley nodded as he stood up. "It's probably for the best that you tell them, yes. I have no doubt that they could do it, given the right motivation."

Harry stood and shook the hand offered to him, before he offered Kingsley a wry smile. "I suppose I'll see you in a month to six weeks."

…

"I can't believe I'm stuck here with you," Draco muttered, glaring at Harry from his seat at the far end of the kitchen table.

Harry rolled his eyes. He'd heard the same words in various sentences since he'd arrived a few hours before, and he was bored of them.

Ignoring the blond, Harry concentrated on the food he was cooking. Spaghetti bolognese was one of his favourite things to cook, and the smell was permeating the room wonderfully.

It was such a simple meal, but with the right spices, it tasted amazing. It also reminded him of Ron, because every time Harry made it, his best friend managed fourth helpings.

He stirred the sauce, and checked the pasta. It was almost ready. He'd almost been peevish enough to not make enough for two, but he decided that would probably set the wrong precedent for the next month, and he really didn't want to spend the entire time sniping back and forth with Draco.

Part of Harry found that he was even grateful for the reprieve from being paraded around, though the setting left a lot to be desired—as did the company.

It would be nice, though, to have a few weeks to relax and not have to answer long reaching questions about what he was going to do for the rest of his life.

Why anyone thought he knew the answer to that, he had no idea—he'd spent the last seven years expecting to die before he made it to his twenties. Now, he was faced with a long future in front of him, and he was floundering a little.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Harry turned to ask Draco if he wanted garlic bread, only to find the blond missing from the table. He was about to shrug it off when he heard a thud coming from upstairs.

Harry tossed his tea towel over his shoulder, and left the kitchen, intent on investigating what the Slytherin was up to.

…

He'd like to say that he was surprised to see Draco in his bedroom, but he really wasn't. It was just like the blond to go rooting around somewhere he shouldn't be, and Harry cursed himself for not thinking to ward his suitcase.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to keep himself calm.

"Checking for weapons," Draco replied flatly. "And poison. If you're offering me food, I don't trust it not to be laced with something."

Harry snorted. "Nobody said you have to eat it. Can you get out of my suitcase?"

Draco stood up, tossing the removed things back in carelessly. A piece of paper slid out onto the floor as he threw the last handful of clothes in, and he bent to pick it up.

Harry frowned; he didn't recognise it.

"What's that?" he asked, taking a step closer.

"It was in your stuff, shouldn't you know?" Draco asked, smirking as he glanced over the paper. "Twenty Questions To Make You Fall In Love. Maybe Weaslette is hinting that she wants to get back together."

Harry tugged the paper from Draco's hand and glanced over it, eyes widening slightly as he took in some of the questions. The page looked like it had been ripped from a magazine—Witch Weekly, if Harry had to guess.

Rolling his eyes, Harry was about to crumple the paper into a ball and throw it in the bin, when Draco snatched it back.

"I think we should do it," he suggested, looking back down at the paper.

Harry blinked. "Eh?"

"We can prove it doesn't work," Draco said, looking back up at Harry. "And then write a scathing letter to the editor of Witch Weekly, about publishing ridiculous drivel."

Harry turned away. "That… sounds like a lot of effort."

"I'm bored," Draco replied, drawing Harry back. "Bored out of my mind, and if I don't have something to focus on, I'm going to focus on irritating you, and you don't want that, Potter."

"And answering questions honestly to you isn't going to irritate me?" Harry questioned, arching his eyebrow. "Really? What in Merlin's name makes you think that I trust you enough to do this, Malfoy?"

"I'll swear on my magic to never reveal what you tell me to anyone else," Draco offered, his eyes oddly bright. It was almost like he was… eager. "As long as you do the same, of course."

Harry stared at him for a long moment, and then turned back to the door. "Dinner is ready if you think it's safe enough to eat—though why you think I'd save you from Azkaban to murder you with spaghetti, I have no idea." He paused by the door. "And stay the hell out of my stuff."

…

"Potter."

Harry looked up from the book—Advanced Defensive Tactics—he'd been reading, as Draco sat down in the armchair across from him. He had the paper from earlier in his hand.

"We're not doing it," he said, looking back at his book.

"Why?"

Harry huffed, dropping the book into his lap, his hand on the page to hold it open. "Because I don't want to, and honestly, I don't know why you want to either. You don't like me, Malfoy, there's no conceivable reason for you to want to get to know me, or vice versa."

"I…" Draco stalled for a moment, and then swallowed hard. "I want to prove to you that you did the right thing, saving me from Azkaban." He paused, and then added, "And I want to… I want to know who you are, beyond the thorn in my side that you've been since we met."

Harry bit his lip, and then said, "I don't regret what I said to the Wizengamot."

"Not regretting isn't the same thing as believing what you said though, is it?"

Sighing, Harry looked at the paper in Draco's hand, and then looked up to meet his grey eyes. He couldn't help but see the hope shining from him, and he twisted his lips.

"Fine," he said, giving in. "But you can go first with your answers, and if you try to use any of my answers against me, I'll end you. Understand?"

Draco nodded, his lips tilting up just slightly. Harry marked his page and closed his book, putting it on the table before he tucked his legs beneath him. He waved his hand for Draco to get on with it.

The blond sat back in his seat, his legs crossed at the ankle. "Okay. Question one. Given the choice of anyone in the world, dead or alive, whom would you want as a dinner guest?"

Draco looked at Harry, his head tilted to the side. Despite knowing his answer, Harry shook his head and gestured for Draco to go first. He'd been serious when he said he wasn't planning to answer first.

He didn't like the idea of giving up anything personal to Draco , without the blond doing it first. He didn't trust him not to simply laugh and walk away.

Wrinkling his nose slightly, Draco tapped his fingers on the chair arm, and furrowed his brow thoughtfully for a moment. Eventually, he seemed to come to a decision.

"Probably my grandfather. Abraxas Malfoy."

Harry nodded. "Do you want to explain why, or not?"

With a heaving breath, Draco ran a hand through his hair. For the first time, Harry noticed that his hair wasn't slicked back like it had always been in school.

There didn't appear to be any products in it at all, and while it was still smooth and almost white, it looked softer and a little fluffier than Harry had ever seen it.

"My mother told me that my Grandfather Abraxas turned his back on the Dark Lord before he died. He tried to convince my father to do the same thing, but… well, you already know he didn't manage it. I'd want to ask him what made him turn away."

"Fair enough," Harry said softly, inclining his head. "My turn?"

When Draco nodded—a little stiffly, like he was uncomfortable—Harry said, "My godfather, Sirius."

"I thought you'd choose your parents."

Harry smiled slightly. It was the obvious answer, of course. He was sure that even Ron and Hermione would have expected the same.

"As much as I would love to see them, to be able to sit around a table with them like any other family, I have more to say to Sirius. I'd like to tell him that I'm sorry, and that I love him."

Draco frowned. "Sorry?"

Harry nodded. "I don't know how much you know about what happened at the end of fifth year. I know you know that your father got arrested, but—"

"I don't know much about what happened. All I know is that something happened in the Ministry and it didn't end well for my father."

"Voldemort," Harry said, and then paused for the wince that Draco gave at the name, "lured me to the Ministry with a vision of him torturing Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. Sirius came to save me, and Bellatrix… She killed him. If… If I'd made more of an effort to control the visions, or at least properly checked if it was real or not, Sirius wouldn't have died."

Harry looked away, staring at the drawn curtains. Draco was silent for a long moment, and then, eventually, he spoke.

"I understand guilt, and I understand misplaced guilt. I'm regretfully familiar with both. I don't think it was your fault, Potter, and I don't think your godfather would have blamed you."

Harry glanced back at Draco, and then nodded. "Thanks."

"Do you, uh, should we do the next question or do you want to wait until tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Harry replied immediately, picking his book back up and opening it to the marked page. "I can only handle so much emotional stuff before I come out in hives."

Draco snorted, but nodded his head, grabbing a book from the coffee table in the middle of the room. They each settled into silence, but it was the most comfortable they'd ever been in each other's presence before, and Harry supposed that that was progress.

…

That night, Harry managed to sleep for three hours before he was up and padding down the stairs for a caffeine fix. The nightmares were expected, of course, but no less horrible for it, and he knew he didn't want to attempt any more sleep that night.

He was so tired of seeing people die, over and over, in his dreams.

Flicking the kettle on, Harry leant against the kitchen cupboard and sighed heavily. Three hours wasn't actually as bad as it could have been, he mused. He'd certainly had nights with less sleep than that.

A creak on the stairs caught his attention, and his wand slipped into his hand from the holster on his arm with barely a thought. When Draco stumbled into the kitchen, he froze when he found himself held at the end of Harry's wand.

Harry muttered an apology, stowing his wand as his cheeks heated slightly. He turned back to the kettle.

"Do you want tea?" he asked, when Draco simply stared at him.

"Please," he croaked eventually, his voice rough with sleep.

Harry nodded, and added a second cup to the side, glad that he'd thought to fill the kettle before heating it. He didn't need to ask why Draco was up in the middle of the night; Harry wasn't stupid enough to think that he was the only one still dealing with the trauma of the way, and the haunted look in Draco's eyes was all too familiar.

He'd seen it looking back at him through a mirror. He'd seen it in Ron's eyes, Hermione's eyes, Neville's eyes—the list was endless, really. No matter what side they fought on, nobody had come out of it unscathed.

He set the two mugs down on the kitchen table, pushing one towards Draco, before he sat down, his hands cradling his own mug to generate some warmth.

"Want to talk about it?" he offered, tone soft.

"There's nothing to talk about," Draco replied, wrapping his hands around his own mug, his eyes trained on a knot in the table wood.

"Okay."

Harry knew better than to push—he knew his own reactions when people had tried to push him to talk when he didn't want to. Nightmares were such a sticky point, and they could only be spoken about when somebody wanted to.

"There's literally nothing," Draco added, looking up at Harry. "That's what I dream of, every single night. A life of darkness, of nothing. No happiness, no laughter, no accomplishments, no… anything."

Harry wasn't sure what he could say to that. There was nothing that he could say that would make Draco feel better, nothing he could say that would convince him that a future like that wouldn't happen.

"You can change that," he said, eventually. He met Draco's eyes, and elaborated. "If you see a future of nothing, then work to change it. Only you can make a difference like that for yourself. Work for something better."

Draco was silent for a moment, and then he said, "It can't be much worse."

"Then the only way is up," Harry said, his lips tilting up slightly. Draco nodded, and Harry took a sip of his tea, pleased to see the haunted look clear a little from his eyes.

"What about you?" Draco offered. "Do you want to talk about what keeps you awake at night?"

Harry swallowed, and was about to say no, shake his head and keep his mouth shut, when something stopped him. Draco had shared; he'd made himself vulnerable.

"I dream about the war, mostly. Things that could have happened, things that did. We all saw more than any one person should see in a lifetime."

"You saw more than most," Draco agreed quietly. "What was it tonight? What was, or what could have been?"

"A bit of both," Harry admitted. "What's the second question on the list?"

Draco looked up from his tea and smiled, fishing the paper from his pocket. When he read the paper, he snorted and glanced at Harry. "You're going to love this one. Question two; Would you like to be famous? In what way?"

Draco watched as Harry's eyes widened and chuckled. He couldn't help himself; it really was a ridiculous question for the most known person in the Wizarding World.

Eventually, Harry snorted, and shook his head. "I suppose I should answer this one first, since you did the first one."

Draco paused. That wasn't the terms they'd agreed to; he'd rather expected Harry would hold Draco to answering every single question first.

"If you want," he hedged, cautiously.

"I despise being famous," Harry said, with a wry smile.

Draco nodded, because that was an answer anyone who knew Harry even the slightest bit would expect. No matter how much Draco had teased and prodded at Harry about his fame over the years, he would have had to have been blind, deaf and a complete moron to believe that Harry actually enjoyed his fame.

"Why do you hate it so much?" Draco asked, curious. "Even in our first year… you never seemed to like it."

"I… no, you're right, I've never been comfortable with it. I didn't know about magic before Hagrid came and delivered my letter, so being brought into the world to find out that everyone already knew my name was… an adjustment, you know?"

Draco frowned. What? "You didn't know about magic?"

"That's a story for another day, I think," Harry said, smiling slightly. "Suffice to say that my life before Hogwarts wasn't the dream that people seemed to think it was. So, I went from being nobody, to having fully grown adults falling over themselves in the Leaky Cauldron to shake my hand—and I had no idea why."

"You didn't know?"

Harry shook his head. "I didn't. And then when I found out… being famous for surviving an attack that killed both of my parents isn't exactly a good reason to be famous, you know? Every year, I got more and more famous for barely surviving and it just… it sucks."

Draco nodded. He genuinely struggled to imagine what Harry's life must have been like when put into such stark words. Honestly, Draco was still stuck on Harry not having known about magic before he was eleven.

He'd known that Harry hadn't grown up knowing much about Hogwarts—their first meeting in Diagon Alley had proven as much—but to not know about magic at all was baffling.

"If you weren't… you, I suppose, if you were just any random person, and not famous already, is there anything you'd want to be famous for?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Maybe inventing something that helps people, like a potion or something—don't look at me like that, it was just an example, you arse—or a spell, or maybe for playing Quidditch? I don't know. Probably not, to be honest. Fame just… isn't for me."

Draco nodded thoughtfully, still smirking slightly at the idea of Harry inventing a new potion. He could barely follow a recipe for one that had already been invented, never mind creating a new one.

"What about you?"

Draco sobered in an instant, and he sighed. "I'm infamous for all the wrong reasons, aren't I? Everyone knows who I am, even if they all hate me for what I've done."

"I'd like to see what some of them would do, faced with the choices you were," Harry muttered.

Draco felt his eyebrows raise of their own accord, because that sounded surprisingly like he was defending Draco's actions.

Harry noticed. He rolled his eyes and said, "Don't look so surprised. Didn't I already tell you that I don't regret standing for you at your trial. You were a child—we all were—and you were forced to do those things under threat of your mother's life. Full grown adults would have done worse if faced with the same options you were."

"You wouldn't have," Draco pointed out.

"Don't be so sure," Harry replied. "I told you what happened when Voldemort threatened Sirius. I'd have done the same thing if Ron or Hermione were in danger. They're my family as much as anyone ever could be, and I'd burn the world for them."

"I… wouldn't have expected you to admit that."

Harry snorted, and then nodded to the forgotten sheet of questions. "So. If you could have been famous for anything, what would it be?"

Draco chuckled. "When I was younger, before Hogwarts, I mean, I used to dream of being famous. I didn't even really care for the reason. I just imagined hoards of people looking at me with admiration and respect. I thought about being a Quidditch Player, or even just 'the man about town', you know? The one that everyone wants to be, or be with."

Harry laughed, his fingers flexing around his mug. "I can see that actually. I can totally imagine you being the 'man about town', if we'd had normal lives."

Draco rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling and he couldn't quite force himself to stop.

"Think you'll be getting any more sleep tonight?" Harry asked, and Draco shook his head. He'd never been able to sleep after nightmares.

"Me neither. Shall we go and sit in the living room? The chairs are at least a little bit more comfortable. I'll make breakfast when, you know, the sun is at least starting to come up."

Draco watched as Harry refilled their mugs, and then wandered into the living room, clearly expecting Draco to follow him. So far, it had actually been interesting having Harry at the safe house with him. When he'd been there alone, the monotony had been almost worse than the daily death threats.

He'd only been there for a week before Harry had been dropped off, and he'd already been losing his mind.

At least now, questionable though it was, he had company. Someone to talk to. Someone to laugh with.

Draco wasn't really sure how he felt about it being Harry though. Their history was so entangled, and so negative that it felt odd to be able to smile at him. With him.

Settling down in the living room, Draco glanced down at the sheet of paper he kept with him at all times now, and asked, "Do you want to do the next question?"

Harry shrugged. "If you want. It's your turn to answer first though, so it's up to you if you want to continue tonight."

Draco glanced at the sheet and snorted. "We can do it now, it's not particularly deep."

"Have at it, then."

"Question three; Before making a Floo-Call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?"

Harry frowned. What kind of a question was that? And why would anyone bother to rehearse what they were going to say anyway?

"I do sometimes," Draco said, looking thoughtful.

Harry's frown deepened. "Why?"

"When I'm about to talk to my mother," Draco elaborated. "She worries about me, you know? I have to make sure that I have answers to any questions that I think she might ask me, so she doesn't worry even more."

"You can't just be honest with her?"

Draco snorted. "Honesty isn't a Malfoy trait, Potter. We say what people want to hear, not the actual truth—especially when we're talking to each other."

"Huh. That sounds… lonely," Harry said, tilting his head slightly.

Draco blinked. "How so?"

"Well," Harry said, choosing his words carefully, "if you're having to watch every single word that you say, how are you going to be able to talk about the things that actually matter?"

"It's more that I don't want my mother to think that there's any reason for her to not live her own life, especially now. She's been so worried, and the last few years have been… trying for her. I don't want her to be worried about me. After everything she's been through, she deserves a little peace, I think."

Harry nodded slowly. "Fair enough, I guess."

"I take it that you don't rehearse your Floo-Calls?"

Shaking his head, Harry said, "No. I never really thought about it, to be honest. But… I don't really use Floo-Calls anyway? Anyone that I would want to speak to, I'm usually with."

"What about at the moment?" Draco asked, glancing at the unlit fire.

"We're not allowed," Harry replied, shrugging. "Kingsley said only to use it in an absolute emergency—though why he thinks we're going to take the time to Floo someone in an emergency, I'm not really sure. Besides, the only people I'd talk to would be Ron and Hermione, and I've never really tried to censor myself with them."

Draco blinked. "Never?"

Harry shook his head. "There's not much point. They know me so well at this point that they would know if I was lying to them—or if there's more to a story that I haven't told them."

"That must be… irritating."

Making a questioning sound, Harry tilted his head curiously.

Twisting his lips slightly, Draco elaborated. "Having people that know you so well that you can't hide anything. It sounds… intrusive. I can't imagine having nothing held back with someone."

"Oh. I mean, I have some private things? They're good about not pushing—as long as it's not overly dangerous to leave me to my own devices, of course."

Draco snorted. "I doubt there's ever a time when you're not dangerous, Potter. Trouble seems to have some kind of fascination with you."

Laughing, Harry nodded. "You're not wrong."

They fell into a relatively comfortable silence for a while, and Harry closed his eyes, enjoying the peace of the moment. He knew he wouldn't sleep, but it was nice to rest regardless.

When the sun began to rise, and the first rays hit Harry's skin, he sighed and blinked his eyes open, stretching out luxuriously.

"Do you want breakfast?" he asked, looking over at Draco, who was staring into the fireplace, clearly lost in thought.

"Hmm? Oh. Yes. Breakfast sounds good. Uh. Thanks, Potter."

Harry smiled. "Sure."

…

After breakfast, Harry cleaned up, and then returned upstairs for a shower. When he got out, and changed into shorts and a t-shirt, he'd laid on the bed with a thought to read for a while, only to fall asleep.

He only woke when Draco popped his head around the bedroom door to ask if he wanted a sandwich for lunch, but he felt much better for the nap.

He'd probably be hating himself later that night when sleep eluded him, but for now at least, he found that he felt pretty good.

"Do you know how far the wards go around the property?" he asked, when they sat down to a simple lunch of ham and cheese sandwiches.

Draco shook his head. "No, why?"

"Just wondered if there was any outside space," Harry replied. "I'm not great at sitting still, you know? Being able to go outside, even if only a little bit, would be good."

"We can check after lunch. Can you sense magic?"

Harry nodded, ducking his head when Draco rolled his eyes. It wasn't the most unheard of skill, but Harry supposed that with the amount of magic he possessed, it couldn't really be a surprise that he could sense magic—particularly strong magic, like in wards and runes.

…

Harry was pleased to find there was a sizable garden enclosed within the wards, and by the time they'd made their way outside, the sun had rounded the house enough that it was shining directly down on them.

With a lazy wave of his wand, Harry conjured a beach towel on the grass and then stripped his shirt off, lying down in the sun with a smile on his face.

Draco stood awkwardly to the side for a moment, before a second towel appeared—green, while Harry's was red—and a shiny silver sun umbrella to cover the majority of the towel.

When Harry raised an eyebrow, Draco huffed at him.

"My skin is delicate, Potter."

Harry snorted. "Of course it is. Settle down, Princess, I didn't say anything, did I?"

An outraged sound forced its way past Draco's lips as he sat down. "Princess?!"

"Are you telling me I'm wrong?" Harry asked, grinning.

Rolling his eyes, Draco just slipped the paper with their questions from his pocket, and looked at Harry. "Ready for another one."

Harry nodded. "By all means."

Draco cleared his throat. Being faced with a half-naked Harry Potter wasn't daunting. It wasn't.

Well. Maybe it was a little daunting, but Draco was fine. He was fine, this wasn't even in the top-ten most daunting… well.

"Question four. What would constitute a perfect day for you?"

Draco wrinkled his nose and shifted beneath his umbrella as he waited for Harry to answer the question. He was trying his hardest not to think about the fact that he had to find an answer himself.

He knew it should be an easy question; everyone had an idea of what their perfect day would be, right?

Except… Draco didn't.

He'd spent so many months just trying to make sure that he was alive at the end of the day that he had no idea what a perfect day would be made up of.

The look on Harry's face seemed to convey that he was struggling with a similar issue.

"A perfect day," he mused. He rolled over onto his front, resting his chin on his palm, arm bent at the elbow to prop his head up. "I'm not sure. Something simple, probably. Flying, spending time with Ron and Hermione… not being bugged by people for my autograph, or with questions about what I'm going to do with my future. Good food… simple things."

Draco nodded slowly. He supposed for Harry, that would be good. After his years at Hogwarts—even just the things that Draco knew about, though he suspected there was much more—simple would probably fit him well.

"You?"

Draco blinked, and then sighed. "I don't know."

Harry's brow furrowed. "If you don't want to answer, you can just say so, you know? I'm not actually going to force an answer out of you, Malfoy."

Draco shook his head. "No. It's not that I don't want to answer, Potter, I just… genuinely don't know what a perfect day would look like. There are things I enjoy, sure, but… I don't know if I think they're perfect."

"I think you're overthinking this," Harry said, his lips tilting up slightly as his brow smoothed out.

"Not a problem you've ever had, I'm sure," Draco snarked, then bit his lip, because wasn't he trying to not argue with Harry?

Green eyes rolled, and Harry snorted.

"I… spending time with my mother without worrying about saying the wrong thing would be good," Draco said eventually. "And I suppose flying, too. It's freeing in a way little else is, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I always felt like I didn't have to worry about anything when I was in the air. Like I was leaving all of my problems on the ground, if only for a little while."

"I get that. I haven't been flying in ages. Not since—" He cut himself off, the Room of Requirement flashing in his mind, Harry's hands pulling him desperately onto the back of his broom as they rushed to escape the untameable flames.

"Hey," Harry murmured, pulling Draco from the memory. "Maybe when we're allowed to leave here, we can go flying?"

Draco blinked a few times and then nodded. "I… yeah. Sounds like a plan."

…

They spent most of the afternoon in the garden in a companionable silence, broken only occasionally by an absent comment from one to the other. It was nice, Draco thought.

Not something he'd ever really done before. His father had always expected every action to have a point, even something as simple as when and where Draco sat, and for how long.

Finally, Harry stretched on his towel and sat up lazily, rolling his bare shoulders a few times. "I'll make a start on dinner. What do you want to eat?"

Draco shrugged. "Whatever you want to make is fine. You know you don't have to cook every night, right?"

Harry wrinkled his nose, and Draco refused to think it was cute. It wasn't cute. Absolutely not.

"I like cooking, when I'm cooking because it's what I want to do. I think I'll probably make something with a salad though. It's too warm for anything heavy."

Draco nodded, tucking that comment away from further examination later. Harry stood up, and Draco's eyes were drawn to a scar on the back of his hip.

"How did that happen?" he asked, nodding to the scar when Harry looked at him questioningly.

Harry twisted a little to look at it, his fingertips brushing over it thoughtfully. "I'm not sure."

Draco snorted, but stood up, vanishing his conjured umbrella and towel before he followed Harry inside. He sat down at the table, only to be ordered back to his feet.

"You can chop vegetables, right?"

He was directed to a cutting board that Harry had loaded with brightly coloured vegetables, and handed a sharp knife.

"What do you want me to do with them?"

Thin slices, for everything," Harry instructed, before he turned back to the fridge. "How do you feel about stir fry?"

"I… don't know what that is."

Nodding, Harry pulled more ingredients out and then turned to the cupboard. "You're about to find out if you like it then."

Draco chopped the vegetables into thin slices as ordered, and then stepped back, accepting the quiet thanks before he returned to his seat at the table. He took a deep breath, and then said, "I think a perfect day for me would be being invisible. Not… not invisible like people couldn't see me, but… as if I hadn't made the mistakes I have. Invisible in the sense that nobody would know me. Nobody would care who I am."

Harry glanced over his shoulder and smiled tightly. "Your mistakes won't follow you forever, Malfoy. The Wizarding public are fickle. More than that, they're sheep. They'll move on to someone else to hate before long."

"You know that from experience," Draco said, nodding slightly. He knew that Harry had been to both ends of the spectrum of public opinion, and logically, Draco knew he was right.

It was just… hard to believe that, and he was impatient for it to happen.

He'd never wanted to be invisible before, but now… it really did sound perfect.

He watched Harry cook, and before long, there was a plate of the most colourful food Draco had ever seen placed in front of him. Hesitantly, he scooped some up on his fork and ate it, marvelling at the explosion of flavour on his tongue.

He glanced at Harry to see a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Okay, so you can feel free to cook every night," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

Harry just chuckled and turned back to his food.

…

Draco finished his chapter, and shut the book, glancing at the clock. He pulled the list from his pocket and glanced at the next question, chuckling slightly to himself when he saw what it was.

When Harry looked up from his own book, Draco gestured to the list.

"One more before bed?"

"Sure."

"Question five; when did you last sing to yourself? Or to someone else?"

Harry stared at him for a long moment, and then he started laughing. He couldn't help it. "Singing? What kind of question is that?"

Draco snorted, shaking his head as he glanced down at the list.

Harry hugged a pillow to his chest, still shaking slightly as he tried to suppress his laughter.

"I don't sing. Can't sing. I sound like an injured kneazle."

"Everyone can sing, Potter," Draco replied, rolling his eyes. "Not everyone can sing well, however."

"I certainly can't," Harry confirmed, grinning easily. "So I don't really bother. No idea when I last sang. Unless we're counting the school song, which I think we sang last in… fourth year?"

"Is that the year that the Weasley twins did that awful funeral march?"

"No, that was in our first year," Harry said, his smile dulling a little as he thought about Fred, who'd died laughing, and George, who hadn't laughed since. Shaking it off, he looked back at Draco. "What about you? Do you sing?"

Draco nodded, pursing his lips slightly. "I used to. Mother taught me songs when I was younger, and as I grew, I'd sing them for her when she was sad. I… I don't remember the last time I did it though."

Harry couldn't help but notice that Draco seemed sad himself at the thought.

"You… you could sing now? If you wanted, I mean? I'd like to hear what constitutes a lullaby in the Wizarding world."

There was a pause, long enough that Harry thought he wasn't going to, and then he opened his mouth and sang. The first few lines were a little rough, but as he seemed to get into the swing of the tune, Harry settled back into his seat to listen.

Draco's voice was nice. Smooth and calming in a way that Harry never would have associated with the boy he'd grown up hating. He sang softly about a self stirring cauldron whipping up a batch of Dreamless Sleep, and Harry found himself smiling slightly at the lyrics.

Despite the difference in subject, it had the same sort of feel to it as the lullabies he'd heard Petunia sing to Dudley in their youth, about twinkling stars and sleeping tightly.

When the lullaby came to an end, Harry smiled. "Now you know when the last time you sang was, and who you were with when you did it."

Draco nodded, and then tucked the paper back into his pocket. "I. Yeah. I'm going to head to bed. Night, Potter."

Harry returned the goodnight softly, and watched the blonde leave the room. Part of him wondered if maybe he should reach out and stop him. He'd heard the roughness in his throat, saw the shine in his eyes, brighter than usual with unshed tears, and he found that he really didn't like the idea of Draco crying alone in his bed.

In the end, he didn't. He let Draco leave without questioning. He didn't know if it would be welcome, and sometimes… sometimes, you just had to cry it out alone.

…

Harry knew he was dreaming.

He knew because Hogwarts had never been this empty in all the time he'd been at the school, both pre and post war. The corridors were completely empty, and the usual thrum of magic that ran through the whole castle wasn't there.

He couldn't feel it, and it was so strange.

Harry was so used to the magic of the castle, the always present hum, the minor crackle he felt along his skin, that he only really noticed it because it wasn't there at all.

Hogwarts without magic just seemed… wrong.

There were rocks scattered around the floor. The walls were scarred from misfired curses. The ground scorched and cracked. Signs of the Battle of Hogwarts were everywhere he looked, but Harry couldn't find a single person.

He checked each room as he passed them, looking for any form of life, anyone who might be hiding for some reason, but he didn't find anyone.

He was alone.

Except…

He didn't think he was. He kept hearing eerie laughter. Every time he turned to search for the source of the sound, he couldn't find anyone, but it seemed to be getting louder every time he heard it.

It wasn't until he reached a fallen wall that he realised who, exactly, he could hear laughing.

The echo of Fred's laughter got louder now that he knew what it was, louder until it was so loud that he had to press his palms to his ears to try and protect himself from it.

It didn;'t help.

It just got louder, until Harry thought that his ears were going to explode, and then hands were grabbing at him, and he opened his eyes to find himself suddenly in the cave, but all of the Inferi clutching at him were the people who'd died at Hogwarts.

They pulled at his limbs, his clothes, closer and closer to the water, and as much as he fought against them, he could almost feel the dampness in his shoes, and they were pulling him down, down, down—

"Potter! Harry, wake up!"

Harry woke up suddenly, pushing himself upright in the bed, panting heavily. Sweat poured from him, and he was sure that he could still hear the echo of Fred's laughter in his ears.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face as he heart slowed, the beat calming to its regular pace as he breathed purposefully, in through the nose, out through the mouth. It was a technique Madam Pomfrey had taught him, and post nightmare, it usually helped. He looked up at Draco. "Sorry. Did I wake you up? I usually cast silencing charms, I must have forgotten."

"It, uh. Didn't sound great," Draco said, shifting slightly. "But you didn't wake me. I was already up."

Harry nodded, shifting beneath the twisted blanket until his legs were free, his feet on the floor, his bum shuffled to the end of the bed. There was no chance of getting any more sleep.

"You called me Harry," he said, tilting his head slightly.

Even in the dim light shining from the moon through the gap in the curtains, he could see Draco's cheek's flushing. "You weren't waking up. I, uh. Sorry."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "Don't apologise. "I, uh. I prefer Harry to Potter. You know. If you want."

Draco looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded. "I'll try. I'll probably keep forgetting; it's hard to break the habits of a lifetime, and you've been Potter to me since we met."

Harry chuckled. "I know."

"Are you going to try and sleep again, or…?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "Not after… that. You?"

"If you make hot chocolate, I'll let you call me Draco?"

Harry stared at him for a long moment, and then hit him with a pillow. "Arse."

…

They were settled in the kitchen, steaming hot chocolate in front of them and a plate of biscuits between them, when Harry waved his hand at Draco.

"Come on, then. What's the next question?"

Draco chuckled. "You've changed your tune."

Harry gave him an unimpressed look, and Draco snorted, but dutifully pulled the paper from his pocket. He read the question, and then looked up at Harry.

"Stupid. The answer is that the next question is stupid."

"Well, what is it?" Harry asked, waiting impatiently. They'd already had some ridiculous questions, he wasn't sure how they'd get worse.

"Question six; if you were able to live to the age of ninety, and retain either the mind or body of a thirty year old for the last sixty years of your life, which one would you choose?"

Draco watched as Harry blinked.

"You're right. That is a stupid question. The answer is pretty obvious, isn't it?"

"What would you say?" Draco asked, curious. He knew that the answer should be obvious, but Harry… well, as much as Draco didn't think he was as bad as he'd always believed him to be, he was still a Gryffindor.

"Retain the mind, obviously," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "What's the point in having the body of a thirty year old if your mind is mush?"

Draco snorted. "That's one way to put it, I suppose. But I agree. If you've still got your mind, you can learn the spells to make your body appear younger if you really feel the need."

"Even if you didn't…" Harry wrinkled his nose. "It's just a bit pointless to have an old mind with a young body. I don't understand the purpose of the question."

"Oh, because when you last sang a song is definitely important."

"Huh." Harry tipped his head. "Point. What even is this article?"

"A way to fall in love, apparently," Draco replied, grinning. "Are you in love with me yet, Potter?"

"Absolutely. Infatuated. Can't you tell?"

"Wipe away that drool, you're embarrassing yourself."

Harry snorted and threw a biscuit at him. Draco caught it, and took a bite out of it with a smug smile.

"Have you got any parchment?"

Draco blinked at the non-sequitur but nodded slowly. "I have."

"Can I borrow some? I want to write to Kingsley."

"I don't think we're meant to send letters, Harry. It'll give away our position. Kind of defeats the object of a safe house."

"Which is why I'm going to floo it to him, instead," Harry said, nodding his head. "I want to double check that Kreacher can come here before I call for him."

"You've got an elf?"

"He was the Black family elf. Sirius left everything to me, including him, so," Harry shrugged. "It was an adventure at first, but we came to an accord eventually."

"That sounds like a story."

Harry just smiled. "I guess it is. Maybe I'll tell it to you sometime."

Draco accepted that, and left the table for his room, to grab the parchment and a quill for Harry. It was odd, how easily they were getting along.

Draco put it down to the lack of outside interference. Well, that and the fact that both of them seemed too tired to fight. Draco knew he was, anyway.

And he hadn't been lying to Harry when he'd said he wanted him to believe what he'd told the Wizengamot. He'd been so utterly convinced that he'd be joining his father in Azkaban, that when Harry had shown up on his trial day, Draco had thought that he was even more doomed than he'd been to start with.

He certainly hadn't expected the boy-hero to speak in his defence. Harry had been so adamant in what he was saying, and the way he argued for Draco, that the old gits sitting in judgement had no choice in the end. They couldn't convict Draco without bringing down the population on their heads.

Everyone followed what Harry said, what Harry wanted.

When he returned to the kitchen, he found Harry leaning against the cabinet, a box of blueberries in his hand and a thoughtful look on his face.

"How do you feel about blueberry muffins?" he asked, when he spotted Draco in the doorway.

"I feel… good about them?" Draco offered, a little nonplussed. He couldn't imagine that Harry was going to make them from scratch, and Draco knew they didn't have any muffins in.

And yet, apparently that was exactly what Harry planned.

It was a surprisingly simple process, and it didn't take long until the kitchen was permeated with the scent of fresh blueberry muffins.

"You're really going to tell me how you learned to cook, Potter," Draco said. "Purebloods never learn stuff like this, you know?"

"It'll probably come up on the question list," Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders. "But I learned some before Hogwarts, and then some more from Molly Weasley."

Draco nodded. He should have expected that the Weasley matriarch was at least to be partially credited for Harry's skill in the kitchen. The Weasleys weren't rich enough to have an elf, and he knew she was a homemaker.

It was different to the way he grew up, of course, but he was beginning to realise that different didn't automatically mean wrong. It was just different.

Harry sat down at the table and accepted the parchment and quill, quickly scribbling down a note.

"Your handwriting really is quite atrocious," Draco commented, taking his own seat again. He couldn't properly read the words upside down, but he got the general gist of it.

"I grew up using Muggle pens," Harry replied. "Hogwarts really should offer a set of beginners classes for Muggle-Born and Muggle-raised students. Teach them how to use a quill, maybe the basics for ingredient prep in potions. Snape seemed to expect us to know how to do things, when I didn't have the first clue what the difference was between chopping and dicing."

Draco frowned. "McGonagall didn't do that with you? I thought all the Heads of House did. Snape did it with the Muggle-Borns in Slytherin."

Harry blinked. "It seems stupid now that I'm actually thinking about it, but I didn't realise there were any Muggle-Borns in Slytherin."

Rolling his eyes, Draco sat back in his seat. "It is stupid. We just integrated them better, so people didn't assume that they were Muggle-Born. I wondered if the other houses did it in a different way, but… Gryffindor doesn't do it at all?"

Harry shook his head. Unless I was excluded from it because I'm technically not Muggle-Born, but I think that Hermione would have mentioned it at some point."

"She's a freak of nature, that one," Draco said, shaking his head. When he saw Harry bristle, he held up a hand. "I don't mean it as an insult. I've just never seen a Muggle-Born take to the theory of magic so fast. You picked up the actual magic easily because you're powerful, and that's mostly genetics, but Granger was… something else."

Harry smiled proudly. "She saved my life so many times because she knew random facts about random things that I'd have never even thought to research."

Draco's lips tilted up. "Was she the one who made you use Gillyweed in the Triwizard Tournament? I knew you hadn't thought of that yourself."

"I didn't, you're right, but it also wasn't Hermione."

"Oh. Who was it?"

Harry grinned, but Draco noticed it was a little sad. "Dobby."

…

"My old house-elf stole from Snape's office so that you wouldn't flake out of the second task?" Draco asked, visibly shocked by the revelation after Harry had explained the full story.

Harry nodded, still smiling. He was, admittedly, probably taking too much pleasure out of the blond's reaction, but it was funny to see him so shocked.

He left the kitchen—and Draco to his shock—to send the note through the floo, to Kingsley's office. He was hoping for a quick reply, but he had no idea if he'd actually get one.

Kingsley would probably make him wait to irritate him, because Harry was bothering him after only a few days.

He quickly straightened up the living room before he returned to the kitchen. Neither of them were particularly messy, so it didn't take long, and by the time he got back, Draco seemed to have pulled himself together.

He had the paper with the questions in his hand, and a solemn look on his face.

Harry's heart sank. "What's wrong?"

Draco looked up and wrinkled his nose. "Not the nicest of questions, is all. Wanna skip it, or…?"

"You'll have to tell me what it is before I decide if I want to skip it," Harry pointed out, his voice soft.

"Question seven; do you have a secret hunch about how you will die? Like I said, not the nicest of questions."

Harry sighed. "Why would someone even ask that? How does that have anything to do with falling in love? Unless you're supposed to say that you'd die protecting the person, but… ew."

Draco snorted. "Ew?"

"Yeah. Ew. Even if you would, it's a bit… weird to just come out and actually say it, isn't it?"

Draco chuckled quietly. "I guess so. So, do you want to answer it?"

"I've already died. Or tried to. Or maybe I did. I still don't fully know how that worked, and I'm not sure I want to."

"My mother told me about that," Draco admitted, biting his bottom lip for a second. "She said that you stood there, and you just let him cast the killing curse right at you."

Harry leant down to check on the muffins, and then pulled them from the oven when he saw the golden crusts. He set the tray on the counter-top to cool. He knew he could use a spell to cool them instantly, but he really didn't like to.

It made them taste weird.

He sat back down at the table and tapped his fingers against it for a moment. "I did. I was just… so goddamn tired of fighting, and I… I had other information which made it necessary for him to kill me himself. I could have fought him, but… what was the point? When I knew I had to die at his hand?"

"What was it like?"

"Nothing… and everything. I don't know how to explain it; I don't even know if it happened at all. It was strange, and it's not something I plan to repeat any time soon. I'm not afraid of it though. When it's my time, it's my time."

"So… do you have a hunch how it'll happen?" Draco asked, nodding his head at the paper, which was laid out on the table in front of him.

"Not really. Hermione would say that it'll be by me doing something reckless, and Ron still thinks I'm going to be an Auror, so he'd probably guess at me getting killed in the line of duty or something, but… I don't know. I'd like to think I'll die peacefully when I'm old and grey."

Draco nodded. "I think that's what most people hope for, isn't it? To just drift off to sleep and not wake up after a life well lived."

"What about you? Do you want to swerve it? You know you don't have to answer, right? I won't try to force you into it."

"I'd like to believe the same as you," Draco said, with a small, wistful smile. "That I'll die when I'm old, and it'll be peaceful, and people will mourn for me, but… I guess I'm not that optimistic about it. I thought I'd die in the war, either in the middle of a battle I didn't want to fight in, or at the hands of him. Now it seems more likely that I'll be killed by someone who blames me for something that happened to them."

Harry scowled. "That won't happen."

"You can't protect everyone, Harry," Draco muttered tiredly.

There was something so defeated about him that it hurt Harry's heart. Rival, friend, or even enemy, he'd never wanted to hear Draco sound that way.

"I can try," he replied, looking away.

They were silent for a while, the air around them tense in a way it hadn't been since the first day. Eventually, Harry got up from the table and took the muffins from the tray, arranging them on a plate. He wasn't particularly hungry now, but it was something to do.

He looked out of the kitchen window and was disappointed that the beautiful weather from the day before had disappeared, replaced by dark clouds that appeared to just be waiting for the right moment to rain hell down upon them.

He'd been hoping for a good day, but his mood was completely ruined now, and if the way that Draco was glaring down at the table was anything to go by, he wasn't the only one.

…

Having spent the day lounging around and doing nothing—he wasn't sulking, dammit—Draco pulled out the paper. He was a little tempted to just throw the thing into the fire and forget all about it, but something was compelling him to see it through.

He looked over at Harry, who was half lying on the sofa, staring moodily into the fire, and cleared his throat.

"Name three things that you and your partner have in common."

Harry seemed confused for a moment, before he caught sight of the paper in Draco's hand.

He rolled his eyes, but waved at Draco to go first.

"Uh."

Draco flaked. He had no idea how to put his thoughts into words that wouldn't sound stupid, and he silently cursed himself for not thinking about his answers before he read the question out loud.

Chuckling, Harry shook his head. "Really? You can't think of three things?"

"I really can't."

"Fine," Harry said, smirking. "We have Quidditch in common; we're both seekers and we both love the game. We have treacle tart in common—don't look at me like that, you ponce, I've seen you drooling over it enough times in the Great Hall—and… and we both have mother's who'd do anything for their sons."

Draco frowned. "Sap."

"Show me where I'm wrong."

"Fine, fine. Uh. We're both eighteen, we're both male, and… uh… neither of us graduated Hogwarts."

Harry stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head. "I'm too tired to argue with you over your lame ass answers."

"I'm not wrong."

"You're not," Harry conceded. "You know, doing nothing all day is absolutely exhausting, how do people do this?"

Draco chuckled. "I don't know. Read a book?"

"If I read anymore, my brain is going to melt out of my ears."

"Anyone ever told you that you're a drama queen?"

"Yes."

…

Draco shifted in his seat, checking that Harry was as asleep as he thought he was. He hated that he'd… not lied, per say, but not answered the question as honestly as he could have.

It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to. He'd just… well. Sometimes, it was just really hard to say things, especially when he had to say them to someone else. There was a reason he had to rehearse his floo conversations before he spoke to his mother.

He sighed, looking at Harry again.

"Three things we have in common. I can do this." He twisted his lips. "We both have absentee parents, by choice or death. We were both forced into a war that wasn't ours when we were far too young for it. And… we can both see Thestrals."

He sat for a moment, letting the words sink into the air, and then he got up, silently leaving the room for his bedroom, hopeful that he might actually get more than three hours sleep before the nightmares woke him.

…

The following morning, Harry set a cup of tea in front of Draco and said, "I didn't think of the Thestral thing. I didn't know that you could see them too… though I guess a lot more people can see them now after the Battle."

Draco blinked. It took him a moment to realise that Harry was referring to his words from the night before, when he'd thought that Harry was asleep.

"You were awake."

Harry nodded, smiling sheepishly. "I was going to interrupt you, but… I guess I thought maybe you wanted to say it, even if you didn't really want to say it to me."

Feeling his cheeks heating, Draco wrapped his hands around the cup of tea and pulled it closer. "Well. At least you know I didn't flake on it completely."

Harry snorted. "Bacon and eggs for breakfast? Or do you want pancakes?"

"How is that even a question? Pancakes are always the answer, you heathen!"

Shrugging, Harry turned back to the stove. "When you're right, you're right. Gimme a question while I'm cooking."

Draco found the paper, and read out, "Question nine; for what in your life do you feel the most grateful for?" He tilted his head. "I should answer first, since you did it first yesterday."

Harry shrugged. "Whatever you want. Doesn't seem to matter too much, if we're both answering them anyway, does it?"

Draco nodded, and then tapped his fingers on the table. "I think I'm most grateful for my mother; not only because of what she's done for me over the years, but because she's finally found a bit of peace in her life. That she can finally live for herself, and not suffer through my father's messes, or have to worry about me so much. And… my friends."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You know, most people think that Slytherin's don't make friends. They think we only have acquaintances, but that's not true, you know? I've known Blaise and Pansy since we were three years old, and Greg and… and Vince were with me right through our Hogwarts years."

Nodding slowly, Harry said, "I was never sure if you were friends with Crabbe and Goyle, to be honest. I wondered if it was… an arrangement? They'd protect you and they'd gain influence from you being who you are by association."

"It started like that," Draco admitted. "But we were friends. Even if I didn't always treat them that way. But they… they were very happy with the Carrows, in our last year. I guess because they were finally in lessons that they could pass without help, and it changed. Out last year… I know you weren't there to see it, Potter, but it was rough. Even for some of us Slytherins."

"I don't doubt you," Harry replied. "I've heard what it was like from some of my housemates, and I know what it's like to try to live up to expectations, which I'm sure you—and the rest of your house—were. I don't doubt that it was hard for everyone."

Draco nodded. "It was nothing I didn't deserve, I suppose, but it was hard."

Harry regarded him for a moment, before he nodded. "I'm most grateful for Ron and Hermione, obviously. They've been with me through everything—almost everything—and it's common knowledge by now that without them, I would have died a long time ago. Beyond that, beyond the dangerous situations, I'm grateful for them just for being them. Ron was the only one who could bring me out of a funk, and Hermione… She's just so caring. There were times when she was the only one I could talk to about things, and other times when I didn't even need to say anything. She already knew."

"A lot of people are jealous of the friendship the three of you have. All the way through Hogwarts, actually, I'd hear people muttering about the three of you, how inseparable you were."

"We weren't always," Harry admitted. "Ron and Hermione didn't get along at all when we first met, and then again in our third year, there was a lot of drama. I tried not to get involved, but I think that did more harm than good, honestly. Fourth year, Ron and I fell out over the tournament, and then in fifth year, I was a complete brat to everyone. Sixth year, Ron and Hermione were pining for one another, and that didn't go well. We weren't always… it didn't always go well."

"The two of them are together now?"

Harry nodded his head. "Yeah, they are. They're heading out to Australia soon, to find Hermione's parents."

"Australia?"

"Uh huh. Before we… went on the run, I suppose, Hermione obliviated her parents about, well, her whole existence, and made them believe they wanted to move to Australia, away from the war and the chance that they would be hurt in an attempt to draw us out."

Draco stared. "She must really fucking love you, Harry."

Harry smiled. "I know. Except now, Hermione isn't really sure what to do."

"What do you mean?"

"If they're happy out there, she isn't sure if it's really fair to revert their memories. I think that she should—if it was me, I'd want to know my kid existed—but it's her choice. Ron's going with her for moral support… and probably so that they can have sex, because Molly is not about letting them share a room before they're married."

Draco shook his head. "Potter, what even is your life?"

Harry snorted. "I ask myself the same question every single day."

…

Harry jumped when a crack sounded, but he found himself face to face with Kreacher, before he could even think of drawing his wand.

"The Minister sent me to you, Master Harry. He said to tell you that you can use me to send further correspondence if needed."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Kreacher. Think you can bring me a few things to do in the house. I'm bored out of my mind."

"As you say, Master."

Kreacher disappeared again, just as Draco entered the living room. "Were you talking to someone?"

"Kreacher. Kingsley sent him instead of replying to my message and said that we can send correspondence through him in future, if we need anything."

Draco nodded and dropped down into the armchair he'd basically claimed as his own. "You sent him off again?"

"Asked him to go and fetch back some things to do around the house. If I have to stay here for weeks, I need something to occupy me, or you'll kill me for being irritating."

"Who's to say that I won't do that anyway?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, his lips tilting into a smirk. "I'd like to see you try, Ferret."

"Anytime you want, Scarhead."

They shared a look, and then both burst out laughing.

"Merlin, we were such children, weren't we? Harry said, shaking his head. "When I think of some of the things we called each other, it boggles my head. What were we thinking?"

"I was thinking that you'd refused my hand on the train," Draco pointed out, still a little sore about that, though he'd never admit it out loud. "I guess it just… escalated. There was also a lot between my family and Weasley's family prior to us even meeting. We were never going to be best friends."

"You insulted the first friend I'd ever made," Harry pointed out. "What the hell did you think I was going to do?"

Draco shrugged. "I didn't know you and Weasley had bonded so quickly, and… I wasn't used to people telling me no; that you did… I wasn't best pleased with it. Especially since my father told me that I was to try to 'lure you to our side'."

"Did you even know what that meant when we were eleven?" Harry asked, honestly curious.

He couldn't help but wonder how much, and how early, Lucius had poisoned his son.

"Not really. I guess I knew that my father wasn't on the same side as Dumbledore, though I didn't really know what the 'sides' meant back then. Just that we didn't like Dumbledore, and you'd be better off on 'our side'."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Weird."

Draco shrugged. "I didn't know that much until Easter break of fourth year. My father was a mess when I went home, you know? The Dark Mark was coming back, and he wasn't sure what that meant. I don't think any of them did, really. And he was terrified, because rather than face punishment, he'd denied any willing involvement. He knew he was going to be punished. Nobody denied the Dark Lord and got away with it. Well. Until you."

Harry snorted. "Beyond the first year, he didn't really ask me for anything."

"Wait. First year?"

"Hmm. I met him, when he was on the back of Quirrell's head. It was a very surreal experience, to see our professor unrolling his turban to show a second face on the back of his head."

Draco gaped at him for a moment. "You mean that was true? All the rumours?"

"Sure. I don't actually know what you heard, but you probably got the main gist of what happened at the very least."

"We really need to map out our years at Hogwarts," Draco said, shaking his head. "It would be nice to know what was actually going on, all those times when something happened, and I had to listen to rumours."

Harry snorted. "We'd probably need more than a month to do that, but I guess, at some point, I can at the very least outline the main points of what happened. Or you can just ask about specific things."

"You'll tell me?"

"Unless I have a reason not to, sure. Most of it is public knowledge, short of a detail or ten."

Draco chuckled. "I'm going to hold you to that, Harry."

Harry smiled. "I don't doubt it."

…

"So. Question ten."

They were lounging in the living room, letting their food settle after a fairly large meal.

"Hit me," Harry said, leaning back on the sofa.

"If you could change anything about the way that you were raised, what would it be?"

"Everything," Harry replied, tone suddenly flat.

"Eh?" Draco asked, confused.

"The Muggles I grew up with were… I want to say the worst, but they weren't. Not really. They didn't like magic, didn't like me, and didn't want anything to do with either of those things. I was dumped on them—literally left on the doorstep in a basket—when my mum and dad died." Harry sighed. "They told me that my parents died in a car crash, and then they put me in the cupboard under the stairs and dealt with me as little as possible until my Hogwarts letter came. That was a whole clusterfuck by itself, but Hagrid came and explained about Hogwarts to me, and then took me to Diagon Alley."

"Merlin," Draco muttered. "You really didn't know anything about magic before you got your letter?"

"Nothing," Harry replied. "Though I did have quite a lot of accidental magic, so I suppose that, subconsciously at least, I must have known that something was different about me."

"Oho, tell me more about the accidental magic," Draco said, leaning forward eagerly. He couldn't help but wonder about a little Boy-Who-Lived, and the accidental magic he'd done.

Harry chuckled. "I turned a teacher's hair blue once because she was mean to me. I jumped over a bin running away from my cousin, and ended up on the roof. I'm not sure if I flew, or Apparated. I set a snake free in the zoo."

"You… set a snake free?"

"I was talking to him and—"

"I thought you didn't know you were a Parseltongue before second year?"

"I didn't know there was a name for it! I thought it was a common thing, like people talking to trolls, or goblins, or mermaids. I didn't realise it was a… thing."

"How did you set one free though?"

"Well, I was talking to him, and Dudley—my cousin—knocked me to the floor, so I, uh, vanished the glass on his enclosure. He said he was going to Brazil. I wonder sometimes if he ever made it."

Draco blinked. "You're something else, Potter."

Harry nodded sheepishly. "I've been told. Your turn."

Sighing, Draco lost some of his eagerness for conversation. "I feel a bit petty now that I know what you went through. I guess… I guess if I could change anything, I'd have wanted my father to see me more as his son, rather than his heir." He ran a hand through his hair. "I was always treated more as an extension of him than as my own person; his name, his power, his reach. It's… I see other men with their son's, and there's no doubt that they're loved. I would have like to have known that, I guess."

"That's not petty," Harry said quietly. "I think that's a normal thing to wish for, honestly."

"I guess."

"What about your accidental magic?"

Draco blushed. "For the most part, I summoned a lot of things that my nanny-elf wouldn't get for me. But when I was five, I made the fire poker chase my father around his study, because he wouldn't pay attention to me."

Harry laughed. "Amazing."

"The punishment wasn't amazing," Draco said, shaking his head. "He wasn't best pleased, even if he knew it was accidental. Accidental magic is an emotional response for kids, so he knew that I wanted to do it, even if I hadn't actually meant for it to happen."

"I blew up my aunt once, if that helps? And that was after I started at Hogwarts. The summer before third year."

Draco stared. "You did accidental magic after you turned eleven? I don't think I've ever heard of that happening."

"Uh huh. She pushed me to a point that nobody has ever done, before or since, and I just… snapped. I'm pretty sure that, at that moment, I wanted her to die. Even if I know now that that's a terrible thing to want for anyone, even people you hate."

"So… did she actually explode?"

"It was more of a swelling, but like… a big swelling? She swelled up like a balloon and then like… kept going? She ended up bobbing along the kitchen ceiling to the door, and then up into the sky. I have no idea how they found her, or got her back, but they must have done it, or my Uncle Vernon really would have killed me."

"Well then. I'll make sure not to push you to that point. I can't imagine I'd make a good balloon."

Harry laughed. "Sure you would. You've always been full of hot air anyway."

…

"What did he bring?" Draco asked, popping his head around the door to Harry's room. He'd heard the pop's of Kreacher's arrival and departure, but Harry hadn't come downstairs, so he'd decided to investigate.

Harry smiled at him and gestured him into the room. He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a bunch of things.

"He's brought sketchbooks and pencils, puzzle books, jigsaws—a Muggle thing that Hermione set me off with, I find them relaxing—quills, inks, board games. They should keep us occupied for a few days, and I can call him back at any time if there's anything specific you want."

Draco joined Harry on the floor, and picked up one of the 'jigsaw' boxes, turning it over in his hand. "These are Muggle toys?"

"Sort of," Harry replied. "It's a large picture, broken down into little pieces, and you put it together to make the picture. The best thing about them is that they're time consuming."

Draco snorted. "Yeah, that does sound like a good thing."

"I'll put everything on the bookcase in the living room, and you can just help yourself to any of it," Harry said, piling the stuff up. "I'm just gonna get a quick shower first, and then I'll make dinner."

"I'll take these downstairs and put them away," Draco said, nodding to the pile. "And maybe we can do another question while you're cooking?"

"Fingers crossed it won't be something depressing," Harry said, smiling slightly. They'd had a good day, and he didn't want to ruin it.

…

"Take four minutes, and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible," Draco read, and then chuckled when he saw Harry's face.

"I… think I need more than four minutes," Harry offered, smiling slightly.

"Probably. Maybe just the basics?"

"And then you'll ask me ten million questions after?"

"Probably," Draco repeated, grinning.

"Hmm. Who's going first?"

Draco shrugged. "Whoever you want, I've forgotten who's turn it is."

"You go on then," Harry said, flipping the steaks over in the pan, and basting them in butter.

Draco twisted his lips for a moment. "I grew up in Malfoy Manor, raised mostly by a nanny-elf called Immy. My father wasn't around very often, and when he was, there was always something for him to disapprove of. My mother, when she had time, would read with me, and sing with me."

He smiled for a moment. "I grew up well off, and didn't want for anything in the way of material things. When I started Hogwarts, I made a home in Slytherin, and a rival in you. School was pretty normal for me up until fifth year, when my father was arrested for breaking into the Ministry under the orders of The Dark Lord. In the summer after my fifth year, I was forced into taking the Dark Mark, to 'replace my father and make up for his mistakes', and was then told that my first task was to assassinate the Headmaster of Hogwarts."

He took a deep breath, avoiding Harry's eyes as he continued.

"I almost killed both Ron Weasley and Katie Bell in my attempt to follow orders—not because I wanted to, but because he told me if I failed, he'd kill my mother—but in the end, I was too weak to finish the task. During my last year at Hogwarts, I tried to keep my head down, but having the Dark Lord as your house-guest isn't the easiest thing to deal with. I almost died three times during the year, and then twice more at the Battle of Hogwarts."

His time was most likely up, he knew, but he finished determinedly anyway.

"I was almost sentenced to Azkaban for carrying the Dark Mark and attempted murder, but you… you saved me, and I… I still don't know why."

When he finally met Harry's eyes, there was a tornado of emotion in them, but Draco couldn't pick out any single sentiment.

"I saved you because you didn't deserve to have you life taken from you, and that's what Azkaban would have done," Harry said softly, as he turned back to the cooker. "And because I believe in second chances. You were a kid—we all were. That's why I spoke up for you."

Draco nodded, staring down at the table.

"And Draco?"

He looked up again to meet the piercing green gaze.

"Not being capable of murder isn't a weakness."

"I… yeah," Draco croaked.

While he pulled himself together, Harry silently dished up the food, and he smiled at Draco when he put the two plates down on the table.

"I'll answer after we're done eating," he promised, as he sat down. "I just… need a minute to put things in order."

Draco nodded, slicing into his steak. It was perfectly pink, medium rare like he'd requested when asked, and he shook his head. "Have you never thought that maybe being a chef would be a better career choice than Auror for you, Potter?"

Harry arched his eyebrow. "I'm taking that as a compliment. And no, not really. I enjoy cooking, but I think if I had to do it as a job, it'd lose some of its enjoyment for me."

"So, when we're allowed back into the real world, you're heading into the Auror Academy?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "I'm not sure about that, either. I know it's what everyone expects, but… I think maybe I'm done fighting." He shrugged. "Besides, Kingsley and I talked about it, and he's concerned that if it was known that I was an Auror, people might try to lure me specifically into all manner of attacks. It wouldn't be safe for the other Aurors, or civilians or anyone, really."

"What are you thinking of doing instead?"

"No idea," Harry replied.

"You don't sound too sad about that."

Harry smiled. "I'm not. It's nice that, for the first time ever, really, I don't know what's coming next. What about you? What would you do, if you weren't stuck here?"

Draco shrugged. "This last year, I've thought of training to be a healer, but… I'm not sure how many people would even consent to being treated by me."

Harry tilted his head for a moment. "I would."

Their conversation paused while they finished their food, and only when Harry pushed his plate away did they speak again.

"Okay," he said, squaring his shoulders a little as he leant on the table with his elbows. "Four minutes. I already told you about my childhood, so we'll skip that. In our first year at Hogwarts, I thought Snape was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, helped send a baby dragon to Romania, found out that I was really good at flying, loved Quidditch, found the best friends I'll ever have in my life, realised that Snape wasn't actually trying to steal the stone, and met Voldemort for the first time. Oh. And I guess I almost died."

He took a sip of water, and smiled wryly.

"I'm definitely going to go over four minutes."

Draco snorted.

"Second year, I learned that talking to snakes isn't actually a thing that a lot of people can do, learned why you definitely shouldn't use animal hair in Polyjuice potion, and killed a fifty foot basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor when Tom Riddle—Voldemort at sixteen—tried to kill me. I was bit by the Basilisk and nearly died again, but Fawkes—Dumbledore's Phoenix—saved my life."

"What the fuck, Potter?"

Harry smiled again. "In third year, I thought that my father's best friend, and subsequently, my godfather, was a murderer who wanted to kill me, but later found out that he was innocent the whole time and had been sent to Azkaban without a trial. Hermione and I saved him using a time turner. Oh, and I learnt how to cast a corporeal Patronus, because you know, fainting in front of Dementors isn't the most fun."

Draco stared at him. "Your patronus was corporeal even against actual Dementors? In our third year?"

"Uh huh. "Fourth year, the tournament. You saw a lot of that. Out flew a dragon, swam with mermaids and nearly got speared by them, uh, the maze, and then watched Voldemort return, fought him, watched Cedric die and then barely escaped Mad-Eye Moody, who was actually Barty Crouch Jr using Polyjuice potion. The real Moody was held captive in Crouch's trunk."

He took another sip of water.

"In fifth year, I uh. Sirius died. In Sixth year… you know a lot of what happened, in sixth. I was obsessed with finding out if you'd taken the mark and you… you know how the year ended. Snape killed Dumbledore at the top of the tower and—"

"You were there, weren't you? You saw it?"

"I did. Seventh… well. What should have been my seventh year, I suppose. I didn't actually go to Hogwarts. But Ron, Hermione and I took an extended camping trip, broke into Gringotts, escaped on a dragon, and led a battle at Hogwarts. Died and came back to life, and… I killed Voldemort. Finally."

There was a pause, and then Draco said, "You went over four minutes."

"Are you surprised?"

"No. No, I'm not. But… I have questions."

"I thought you might," Harry said, grinning. "Shall we have ice-cream in the living room, and you can quiz me?"

Draco nodded. "Go sit. I might not be able to make steak like you can, but I can spoon ice-cream into a bowl."

"Don't forget the chocolate sauce and sprinkles."

Draco rolled his eyes as he stood up. "Go sit, you arsehole."

…

Harry pulled a blanket over his legs, and accepted the bowl of ice-cream Draco handed to him. He was surprised when the blond—instead of settling in the armchair like he usually did—sat down beside him on the sofa, tugging at the blanket until they shared it, each propped up against one arm of the relatively small sofa.

Harry gestured for Draco to go ahead with his questions, before he dug into the bowl with his spoon.

"Polyjuice…" Draco tilted his head. "How did you 'learn' that you shouldn't use it with animal hair?"

"Hermione brewed it in our second year," Harry replied. "But then when it was time to use it, she pulled a hair from someone's robes, and it turned out to be cat hair. It didn't end well; she was stuck in the hospital wing for weeks."

"She brewed it… in second year?"

"Yep," Harry nodded, still proud of his friend.

"What did you even need Polyjuice for? We were twelve!"

Harry felt his cheeks heat up, and he glanced at Draco with a sheepish look on his face. Draco arched an eyebrow at him, waiting impatiently for an explanation.

"I, uh. Ron and I changed into Crabbe and Goyle, because we thought that maybe you were the Heir of Slytherin."

"You… what? Wait. During the holidays? There was a day that Crabbe and Goyle were being really weird. Weirder than normal."

"Uh huh. Turned out you weren't and Ron almost hit you."

Draco snorted. "When I asked them later, why they'd been so weird, they looked at me like I'd lost my mind."

"We, uh, gave them cupcakes filled with a sleeping potion, and locked them in a broom cupboard."

There was a long pause, and then Draco started laughing. A moment later, Harry joined him; it really had been the most ridiculous thing.

"Okay, okay," Draco said, when he finally stopped laughing. "Why'd you break into Gringotts?"

"We needed to find something, and we thought maybe it was in the bank. Turned into an absolute shit-show, the same way every plan we've ever made has, but at least we set the dragon free. I thought Charlie was going to kiss us when we told him about it."

"Charlie?"

"Ron's brother. He works with dragons in Romania."

"Ah. He's the one that you sent the dragon to, in our first year?"

Harry scooped up more ice-cream as he nodded his head. Draco just shook his head.

"Your life could be a trashy novel, I hope you know that."

Snorting, Harry shrugged. "Probably. The sad thing is that it could be the dullest thing imaginable, and people would buy it because it had my name on it. I had to have all sorts of injunctions placed against Rita Skeeter right after the war. She wanted to write a biography on me; like that trash she wrote about Dumbledore."

Wrinkling his nose, Draco said, "She's such a hack. When she used to come sniffing around for information about you, she'd take everything as gospel, because it meant she could get a story. Not the most attractive trait for a journalist."

"Uh huh," Harry agreed. "I shouldn't have eaten all that ice-cream." He set his empty bowl down on the table. "I'm about to go into a food coma."

"One more question before you collapse?" Draco offered, putting his own bowl on the table.

"Sure. Let's hope it's not one that I actually have to think about," Harry said, stretching out.

Draco nodded, and flipped open the paper, reading out, "Question twelve; if you could wake up tomorrow and have gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?" He tilted his head to the side. "I think I'd quite like to be a metamorphmagus."

"Teddy is a metamorphmagus," Harry said, his lips tilting up in a smile. "He changes his hair to black every time I walk into the room, it's adorable."

Draco smiled slightly. "Teddy is your godson, right? Aunt Andromeda has been writing to mother; she sent a photo of her grandson."

"He's the light of my life," Harry admitted. "That's the worst thing about being here—I miss him every second. He's a little star."

"He's cute," Draco said simply. "So, what ability would you have?"

"To disappear," Harry replied quietly. "I have my cloak, which is helpful, but also not really the kind of thing I can use in a crowded place. I'd like to be able to make myself completely disappear to get from A to B when I'm in public."

"Huh. That… would be exceptionally useful," Draco mused. "Almost Slytherin-esque thinking, actually. Who'd have thought it?"

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin," Harry said, smirking when he saw the surprised expression on Draco's face.

"No it didn't! Potter, you liar!"

"Swear to Merlin," Harry said. "I asked it to put me anywhere but Slytherin. Hagrid told me that all the dark wizards and witches had been in Slytherin. I learned later that it wasn't quite that simple, but by then, I was already in Gryffindor anyway."

"Harry Potter, a Slytherin." Draco looked thoughtful for a moment, before he shook his head. "Nope. Pass. Too weird."

Laughing, Harry said, "We could have been housemates, Draco," he teased.

Draco shook his head again. "Nope. I'm going for a shower… and to wash that thought from my head. So weird, don't like it."

Harry watched him go, and found himself smiling a little dopily to himself. Draco was really alright when it was just them, when they were away from Hogwarts, and the pressures of who they were.

Who'd have imagined such a thing?

…

"If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, your future or anything else, what would you want to know?"

"Oh, Merlin, no, nothing," Harry said, shaking his head. They were sitting on the steps at the back door, side by side. It was a nice night, but Harry couldn't be bothered to conjure chairs when there was no sun to bathe in. "I'm good. I've had enough fortune telling mumbo-jumbo controlling my life."

Draco frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Voldemort only came after me—after my parents—because of a Prophecy that was made before I was even born," Harry said softly, his voice seeming amplified in the dark silence. "So I'm perfectly good with never dealing with any form of crystal balls or Divination ever again."

"I… didn't know that," Draco said. "That's gotta suck."

"It really does. So… would you want to know anything?"

Draco stared out over the back garden thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, "I'd like to know if there's happiness in my future. Not what, or how, or even when. I'd just… like to know that it's worth it—to carry on, you know?"

"You're the only one who can make that a reality," Harry pointed out, tone soft to ease his words.

Draco swallowed hard, and then nodded his head. "You're right. I just… I guess I don't know what happiness looks like for me these days."

"You'll have fun finding out," Harry pointed out.

Draco chuckled, and then seemed surprised by it. Harry smiled.

"So. I assume since you're named after something up there," Harry said, gesturing to the stars, "that you know about the constellations and such?"

Draco frowned. "Of course I do."

"Tell me a story."

"A story—Potter, the stars don't tell stories."

"Draco. Tell me a story about one of the stars or constellations."

"I…" Draco cut himself off and then nodded his head. "Do you know the myth behind Orion's Belt?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Tell me."

…

Harry woke up to the sun streaming through his window and the realisation that he'd slept the whole night through without interruption.

A first, for sure.

He smiled when he remembered the night before. Draco had spent almost two hours telling him the origin 'myths' of the constellations, and even if he'd made some of them up—like Harry suspected he had—it had been a nice evening.

Stretching, Harry took a moment to enjoy the luxury of a full night's sleep before he climbed out of bed. After showering quickly, he dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and padded downstairs.

He wasn't the first out of bed, which made a change, and the sight he was faced with when he stepped into the kitchen was one that he thought could power a Patronus.

Draco stood in front of the cooker, with one hand on the frying pan. Not hugely shocking, except that he was covered in what looked like pancake mix, and there were various fruits scattered all over the counters and the floor.

He tried his hardest not to laugh, he really did, but Harry quickly lost the battle. A snigger broke free first, though it was quickly followed by a wave of hilarity that had him clutching his sides.

Draco flushed and looked like he was about to flounce off in a temper before, instead, he joined Harry in his laughter, making Harry even worse.

He turned away when Draco pulled his wand out to spell himself—and the kitchen—clean.

"I can't breathe," Harry complained, still chuckling as he pressed his hand to his aching ribs. "What on earth were you trying to do? You said it yourself that you can't cook."

"I… you've done practically every meal since you got here," Draco pointed out. "I wanted to make breakfast."

"Aww."

Harry wanted to bite back the cooing word as soon as it left him, unsure of how it would be received, but thankfully, Draco just rolled his eyes at him.

"Do you want me to teach you to make pancakes?" Harry offered, stepping more into the kitchen, and closer to the cooker.

"Or you could just make them since you're up?" Draco suggested, hopefully.

"I mean, yes. But I'll teach you to make them whilst I'm making them. Deal?"

Draco smiled. "Deal."

…

"Questions fourteen," Draco said, putting his fork down on his plate for a moment. "Is there something that you've dreamed of doing for a long time? What haven't you done?"

"Travelling," Harry said, through a mouthful of pancakes. He swallowed it down and added, "I've always wanted to see the world. One day, I'll do it."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Manners, Potter. I don't need to see pancake mush floating around your tonsils."

Harry rolled his eyes, but nodded, apologising quietly.

"Where would you want to go?" Draco asked, curiously. "If you could go anywhere in the world?"

"I'd love to travel through Asia," Harry replied, tone wistful. "But really, I'd love to travel all over the world. Maybe not all at once, obviously, but there are so many places I'd love to see."

"Have you ever been anywhere?"

"Not really. I haven't ever left the UK. We saw a little bit of different places while we were camping, but we weren't exactly able to check out the tourist spots while we were on the run, you know? What about you? What do you dream of doing that you haven't already done?"

"Travelling," Draco admitted, sharing a smile with Harry. I visited France quite often when I was younger, but I'd like to go further afield, and perhaps explore the places that never would have interested my parents."

Harry nodded. "Where would you go first?"

"I'd quite like to visit New Zealand," Draco said. "The Wizarding community there is so interesting, and I'd love to go to their national parks."

"I never really think about other Wizarding communities," Harry said. "Are they really so different?"

"Some are. I have some books, if you want to read them, about the various communities around the world. Brazil is another place I'd like to go to to explore the Wizarding community. They have such different ideas on how to look after their creatures, it would be fascinating to see it in action."

Harry smiled again, and they finished up their breakfast in comfortable silence. They cleared the table together, and then, since it wasn't exactly warm outside, Harry wandered into the living room and pulled a jigsaw from the shelf.

Draco eyed him curiously as he started pulling the pieces from the box, splitting them between edges and inner pieces, and Harry waved him over, showing him the little pieces and how they slotted together, and how to separate them.

Draco was immediately fascinated and sat down to help.

…

Three hours later, they were sitting side by side on the living room floor, working on putting the jigsaw together.

"This is strangely soothing," Draco admitted, sitting back to give his eyes a break. "But also quite frustrating. It's an odd paradox of an activity, Potter."

Harry snorted. "I like them, but sometimes, I have to step away for fear that I'll throw one through the window when I can't find a piece I need."

Draco nodded thoughtfully and looked back at the puzzle. "I can see that."

…

Harry flopped onto the sofa. They'd had lunch and cleaned up, but the weather still hadn't warmed up, and he was going a little stir crazy.

"I'm so bored," he complained, running a hand through his hair. "This is awful."

Draco joined him on the sofa, nudging Harry's legs to the floor so he had room to sit down. "You're really not good at being still, are you, Potter?"

"I'm really not. Like… really not."

"We could go flying?" Draco offered, a gleam in his eyes.

Harry blinked. "Do we have room to fly?"

"Disillusionment charms, Potter. Honestly, do you completely forget that you're a wizard when you're not battling some mad creature, or a Dark Lord?"

"Little bit," Harry said, nodding his head. "But Disillusioning charms… I'm down. Let's go flying!"

"You'll have to have you elf collect out brooms, Harry," Draco said, shaking his head almost fondly. "Idiot."

Harry laughed sheepishly. "Right. I knew that. Kreacher!"

…

The breeze in his hair felt fantastic after being cooped up inside for so long, and Draco never wanted this moment to end. He'd definitely be adding aimless flying to his list of things that made him happy.

Harry flew close by, occasionally scanning the ground beneath them. He seemed to be enjoying himself, though there was a tension about him that Draco hadn't seen much of when they were back at the house. Not since the first couple of days, anyway."

He wondered if it was the utter safety of the wards around the house that let Harry relax as freely as he had been.

Still holding onto his broom with one hand, Draco fished out the paper from his pocket and glanced down at it to read the next question. He grinned.

"Hey, Potter?"

"Hmm?" Harry looked around them, checking the air for any sign of a problem before he focused his attention on Draco. "What's up?"

Draco waved the paper at him, and asked, "Question fifteen; what is the greatest accomplishment of your life?"

Harry laughed, clearly as amused as Draco had been.

Surprisingly, or perhaps, not so surprising given the revelations the questions had brought forth so far, Harry didn't go with the most obvious answer.

"I think my biggest accomplishment is making the friends I have," he said instead, after a moment of thought. "Growing up, I didn't have anyone, and knowing that I chose so well… I don't really think I could pick anything else."

Draco could see that, oddly enough. Potter likely wouldn't have made it through half of his adventures, if it hadn't been for his friends, after all, so he supposed it made sense."

"What's yours?" Harry asked.

Frowning, Draco shook his head. "I'm not sure."

"If I might suggest one?" Harry hedged, and Draco nodded, nonplussed.

"You were strong enough to protect your mother to the best of your ability. She's alive and living her best life in France… that's something to be proud of, Draco."

"Look at what I had to do to make that happen though," Draco pointed out. "Attempted murder, regardless of my motivation at the time, isn't the best accomplishment to make note of."

"It's not, but I don't think that one has to interfere with the other. You can be proud of keeping your mum safe, while being sorry for the actions that you were forced to take."

Draco wasn't sure what to say to that. He shook his head. "You're such an optimist, Potter. It's a little sickening."

"Better than always being sad though, right?"

Draco shrugged. He couldn't actually argue; Harry had a point. Draco had always been somewhat pessimistic, but it amazed him that, despite what Harry had been through, he could still find the good in life.

He opened his mouth to ask if Harry wanted to go further out, or if he wanted to start heading back, when a flash of light flew past him, missing him by inches.

He heard Harry curse, and followed his gaze to the floor, where three cloaked figures were standing, their silver masks glinting in the sun.

Fuck it all.

…

"Merlin," Harry shouted, swerving. "Draco, head back to the house! I'll meet you there."

"I'm not just going to—"

"Draco, go!" Harry shouted, before he shot three spells down at the ground. One of them met its target, and one of the figures crumpled to the floor. "They're more than likely after you. Call Kreacher and have him alert Kingsley to my position, and then stay in the bloody house!"

Draco thought about arguing, but he knew that they needed Auror assistance, so he flipped his broom around and shot through the sky towards the safe house. Pushing his broom as hard as it could go, Draco could only hope that he'd be fast enough.

The thought of something happening to Harry was more awful that he cared to think about—and he was going to have to save that thought to analyse when he wasn't sick with fear.

…

Harry dodged and swerved in the air, returning fire when he could as he waited for backup to arrive. He didn't actually think that they were real Death Eaters; the spells weren't powerful enough and their aim was bloody atrocious, but adrenaline was rushing through him regardless.

He thought he'd left this behind.

Finally—it could have been five or fifty minutes, he didn't have any idea—Kingsley arrived on the scene with four Aurors. Harry landed on the grass when the three attackers were in magic-suppressing cuffs.

"I told you to stay in the safe house," Kingsley said, raising his eyebrows as the Aurors Apparated away with their criminals.

"I was bored," Harry complained. "I hate being cooped up, Kingsley, and it's been forever."

"I can widen the wards a little," Kingsley offered, looking a little chagrined. "Enough that you and Draco should be able to play a seeker game, at least."

Harry nodded gratefully. "That would be brilliant. Did you see him?"

Kingsley shook his head. "I came straight here. Kreacher seemed to think that he was in a bit of a state, worried about you."

Harry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck a little awkwardly. "Who'd have thought it? Draco Malfoy, worried about lil' old me."

"I knew you two would be able to get along, given the opportunity," Kingsley said, eyes twinkling in a way that reminded Harry disconcertingly of Dumbledore. "Everything is fine at the house?"

"Yeah, fine. Except the whole dying of boredom thing. Let me know what those jokers were playing at, eh? I want to know who they are and which one of us they were after."

Kingsley nodded. "Will do. I'll send a letter over with Kreacher later today, okay?"

"Thank you."

"Apparate back," Kingsley said, cuffing the back of Harry's head. "Put Draco's mind to rest that you're fine. And stay within the wards, okay? I'll have them widened for you by tomorrow morning."

Harry nodded, and, clutching his broom tightly, turned on the spot and vanished.

…

"Merlin, Potter," Draco said, shaking his head when Harry appeared in the doorway, windswept but otherwise fine. "Are you okay?"

Harry nodded. "I'm good. Kingsley and the Aurors arrived before they even landed a spell, I promise."

Nodding slowly, Draco relaxed a little. "That was too much adventure for me. I don't know how you do it, go through that, and seem so relaxed about it."

"Exposure?" Harry suggested. "I'm relatively sure that they weren't actual Death Eaters, but Kingsley said he'll write later on today and let us know who they were and what the hell they were playing at."

Draco pursed his lips. "I'm not sure I even want to know."

Snorting, Harry sat down at the kitchen table. "It's up to you if you read the letter or not. I figure information is something I'll always want to have, even if it's not something I particularly want to know."

"You really need to stop being so much like a Slytherin," Draco complained, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's creeping me out."

Laughing, Harry waved his hand. "What's the next question?"

"You're actually asking for one?" Draco said, eyebrows raising. "I thought you were just indulging me?"

Harry huffed. "Just read the damn question, you arsehole."

Draco pulled out the paper, and read, "Sixteen: What do you most value in friendships? This is easy for me. Loyalty is the most important thing in friendships for me. There's no point having friends if they're just going to turn around and stab you in the back at the first opportunity, is there?"

"You're right," Harry agreed. "Loyalty is important. I think, for me, honesty is the biggest thing. I've had too many people try and hide things from me, that now I just… can't do secrets. If it's something I should know, then I expect to be told, you know?"

Draco nodded, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I never really thought about that but… yeah. Honesty is important too."

Harry's stomach growled, breaking the silence and making them both laugh.

"I can't believe you're hungry after all that," Draco said, shaking his head. "Did it shake you even a little bit?"

"Sure," Harry said, shrugging. "But it's over, and I'm a growing boy and I need my food. Besides, adrenaline always makes me hungry."

"You haven't grown since you were fifteen," Draco scoffed. "You're tiny."

Harry pressed a hand to his chest, mock hurt. "Wounded. I'm wounded! The audacity! You can make your own dinner for that! I'm shocked and appalled that you'd say such a thing!"

Laughing, Draco said, "You're such a dork, Potter."

"And you've got a really bad memory. You're supposed to be calling me Harry."

"So I am. Sorry. I'll try harder."

Harry grinned and then winced when his stomach growled again. "I can't be bothered cooking," he admitted. "Do you mind if I have Kreacher make us food? He's a good cook, I swear."

Draco shrugged. "Whatever is fine, I'm not really that hungry. Still feel a little sick to be honest."

A sympathetic look on his face, Harry nodded and called for Kreacher to make a simple dinner of soup and sandwiches.

He smiled when Draco emptied the bowl of French Onion soup. Kreacher really was good at that.

…

The middle of the night found Harry sitting in the living room, one hand wrapped around a cup of tea, his other hand turning the pages in the book that was propped up on his thighs.

It was no surprise that he'd woken up sweating and panting.

Despite the attack being little more than kids with a grudge, it was still an attack, and it had caused an uncomfortable reel of flashbacks to haunt his dreams.

Kingsley's letter had been brief and to the point, and it had been little more than Harry had expected. Harry had been seen—his disillusioning charms had never been the strongest—and they'd had the misfortune to fly over wizard owned land that had been mapped in a similar way to the Marauders map.

They'd thought to scare him, aiming more for fear than actual harm, though Kingsley was going to push for an attempted murder charge regardless.

If Harry—or Draco—had fallen from his broom, or been hit with a spell in the air, he could have easily died.

Draco had been surprised that the attack wasn't aimed specifically at him, and he'd been even more surprised when Harry wasn't particularly angry about it being him. As far as Harry was concerned, it was people being stupid, and they'd undoubtedly learn their lesson by the time the Auror's, Kingsley, and the Wizengamot were done with them.

He was almost to the end of his book when he heard light footsteps on the stairs. He wasn't surprised that Draco was up; it had seemed to bother him far more than it had Harry. Then again, given that Draco had lived among those that wore similar masks, it wasn't hard to understand why.

Draco shuffled into the living room and looked utterly unsurprised to find that Harry had beat him there.

"Do you want more tea?"

Harry glanced into his cup to see how much was left—not a lot—then drained and handed it over to Draco. "Thanks."

"Uh huh. The next question is about your most treasured memory. Indulge me, Potter, I need some happiness."

Harry snorted, but nodded his head as Draco left for the kitchen.

His most treasured memory… he wasn't sure he could pick just one. Two were coming to the forefront of his mind, and he tried to consider which one was the happiest. He twisted his lips thoughtfully, the book forgotten on his lap.

When Draco returned with two steaming cups of tea, he still wasn't any closer to a decision. Draco curled up in the armchair, both of his hands wrapped around his mug.

"Treasured memory, go."

Harry chuckled. "I can't decide between two, so either you go first, or I'll have to tell you both of them."

"Tell me both," Draco requested softly.

"The first is when Hagrid came and liberated me from the Dursleys. We were in this mad little hut, on a rock in the middle of the sea—my Uncle decided to try and outrun the letters, it was a disaster—and Hagrid got mad because my uncle made a derisive comment about Dumbledore. Hagrid gave my cousin a pig's tail, and then took me out of there to Diagon Alley. For about a week, I wondered if it had all but some crazy fever dream."

Draco chuckled. "Hagrid gave you cousin a pig tail? Why? I mean, I know you said it was because of your uncle, but why a pig tail?"

"Dudley was always overweight—if there was food around, he'd eat it, it didn't really matter where it came from. Hagrid brought sausages with him and cooked them on the fire. Despite my uncle warning not to eat them, Dudley did, of course. Hagrid told me later that he'd attempted to turn Dudley into a pig, which… it's probably for the best that he didn't."

Draco shook his head, still smiling faintly. "The second memory?"

"Finding out that Sirius was innocent," Harry said, a small smile tilting his lips. It was bittersweet now, but still one of his favourite memories. "That I had family, real family, that cared about me… that was an incredible feeling. For a little while, we'd thought that maybe I could go and live with him, but… it all turned into a shit show and Sirius had to stay on the run. But even… even after he was gone, it still meant a lot, to know that there was an adult out there that cared about me, you know? Someone who'd be in my corner regardless of the circumstances."

"I'm sorry you didn't get to experience having a home with an adult who loved you," Draco offered, after a moment. "And I'm sorry for your loss, Harry."

Harry swallowed thickly. "Thanks."

Draco nodded, and then smiled slightly. "My memory is the Christmas before I went to Hogwarts for the first time. My mother was so happy that year, but also, she pulled out all of the stops because she considered it the last Christmas of me being a child. I think, maybe, she was worried that I'd want to start staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, I'm not sure.

"Anyway, that year, she helped me decorate the tree by hand instead of using magic to get it perfect, and she baked cookies with me. I remember her singing Christmas carols while we did it. It was the best few weeks of my life. Even my father wasn't quite so cold that year."

Harry smiled. "That sounds amazing. I'd never had a real Christmas before Hogwarts. I was in awe of the decorations, and I don't think any child has been as shocked as I was that I had presents on Christmas day."

"That's the saddest… but quite possibly also the most adorable thing I've ever heard, Potter."

Harry felt his cheeks heat up, and took a sip of the still slightly too-hot tea to hide it. "What's the next question?"

Draco shook his head. "Not one that I want to answer when I'm still coming off a nightmare. We can pick it up later."

Harry nodded, accepting it without question, and leant his head back against the sofa. "Whatever you want."

…

They spent the day quietly pottering around the house, and it wasn't until night fell once more that they came back to their sheet of questions.

Harry was tired, but not yet tired enough to sleep, and they'd curled up on the sofa together. Harry bemoaned the lack of tv, and then spent an hour explaining what, exactly, it was that he was missing to a fascinated Draco.

"When this is all over, I'm totally taking you to the cinema," Harry told him, forcing himself not to think about how much that sounded like an offer of a date. It wouldn't be a date, right? Just… two friends meeting up.

That was all.

Right?

Draco had readily agreed with a small smile on his face at the thought.

"So, what's the next question?" Harry asked, leaning his head sideways, so that he was facing Draco.

Draco's face fell. "Can we just not?"

"It's up to you," Harry replied, tone gentle. "But we have to push through this one if you want to finish the list, right? I assume they're in a certain order for a reason?"

Pursing his lips, Draco nodded. "What's your most terrible memory, Harry?"

Harry winced. "Ah."

Smiling tightly, Draco shifted slightly. At first, Harry wondered if he was uncomfortable with their proximity on the sofa, but then he realised that Draco was shifting a little closer.

"Wanna go first?" the blond offered.

"I… yeah. I can do that," Harry said, nodding. It wasn't like he had to think about it, really, despite the horror in his past. "I always thought that my most terrible memory would be watching Sirius fall through the veil, but it's not. The worst memory I have is standing in the basement of Malfoy Manor, listening to Hermione scream for help."

Draco looked paler than Harry had ever seen him, and he seemed to be shaking slightly beneath the blanket. Harry reached out and squeezed his hand; Draco squeezed back and didn't let go.

"The one thing I've been scared of since… since first year really, is putting Ron or Hermione in a situation where they could be hurt, and to hear her screaming, to hear such pain from her…" Harry shuddered. "That was the worst thing I've ever heard in my life."

Draco nodded. "As it turns out, we have this in common. That's my worst memory too. I just… that was the first time that the war felt really real for me. I know that must sound stupid, because of everything I did in sixth year, but… Granger always seemed so untouchable." He shook his head. "She had your protection, and she was always just so smart, always ready with a spell or an answer. To watch Bellatrix torture her like that… I felt sick for weeks after that night."

Harry hadn't been expecting that, but he was oddly glad to know it. To know that Draco truly regretted what had happened, what he'd done and seen. Harry had already thought that he did—it was part of the reason he'd spoken at Draco's trial—but this seemed more… conclusive, he supposed.

"She's fine, you know," he said, smiling softly. "Did a little therapy immediately after the way, but she's had the scar removed and she's doing okay. She doesn't even really have nightmares about that anymore."

Draco nodded slowly. "I… thanks. For telling me that. I don't think I'll ever forget the sound of her pain, but I'm glad… I'm glad she's okay. I really am."

Harry smiled, and squeezed Draco's hand again.

They sat in silence for a while, until it was getting harder for Harry to keep his eyes open. He knew he should go to bed, but he also knew that he would be in for a bad night—he always was when he'd thought about that night in Malfoy Manor.

Instead of climbing the stairs, he shifted slightly on the sofa and closed his eyes.

He didn't let go of Draco's hand.

…

They took a few days off from the questions, and honestly, it was great. Getting to know Draco a little more organically was much more fun; especially when he did it by chasing him around their little ward enclosure on their brooms.

Another nice day found them back outside, and Draco pulled the list of questions out. "Shall we?"

"Sure, sure." Harry waved his hand for Draco to read the question.

"Nineteen. Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? And why?"

Harry frowned. "That's a bit of a weird question, isn't it?"

"How so?"

"Well, I mean, surely anyone with like… a large family would struggle choosing just one? I mean, I don't have any blood family that I'm close to, but even then, I can't actually choose between Teddy, Ron and Hermione."

Draco shifted on the blanket, reaching up to rearrange the parasol so it protected him more completely. "I guess it could be hard for someone in a close family. For me, I'm sure you already know the answer."

"Your mother."

Draco nodded. "Of course. She's the person in the world I love the most. I'd be… I don't know if disturbing is the word. Devastated, certainly."

"It's an odd word choice," Harry agreed. "But—"

"You two look like you're having fun."

Harry sat up, his wand trained on their uninvited guest before Draco even had the time to look up and see who it was. He was a little surprised, both by how fast Harry had reacted, and how slow he'd been to react himself.

He supposed that, during his time in the safe house, he'd relaxed a little.

He wasn't sure what it said that Harry was still so quick on the draw.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, lowering his wand as he eyed Kingsley.

"I came to liberate you," Kingsley said, conjuring a comfortable looking lawn chair beside Harry's blanket, so that he could join them. He sat down, his elbows resting on his knees, leaning forwards slightly. "We caught the guy sending the threats. The boys we arrested attacking you were actually his sons. Veritaserum pulled out the full story. The guy's youngest boy was killed by Death Eaters."

Harry nodded, as though that explained everything. Draco frowned.

"What does that have to do with Harry?"

If Kingsley thought that the use of Harry's first name was weird, he didn't react to it. Instead, he glanced at Harry, who answered for both of them.

"Some people think that I should have ended the war sooner than I did. They blame me for their losses as much as they do the people that actually committed the murders, unfortunately."

Draco's frown deepened. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Harry snorted. "It's… it is what it is. As sad as it is to say, I'm used to it. You're not the only one who's been spat at in the street, Draco. People want someone to blame, and I suppose I'm one of the easiest targets for them."

"Of course," Kingsley added, "anyone with a brain knows that none of it was Harry's fault, but grief can do strange things to people's thought processes. Anyway, he's been caught, and he's getting the help he so desperately needs, so… you can go home, Harry."

Harry nodded slowly, glancing at Draco. "That's good. What about Draco?"

Kingsley sighed. "I can't make you stay," he said to Draco. "But I don't think it's safe for you to leave yet. It's your choice. It's always been your choice, you know that."

Draco sighed, flopping back onto his blanket. "I'll stay for a while longer, if you think it's best."

Kingsley nodded and looked at Harry expectantly.

"I'll have Kreacher take me home later today," Harry told him, less happy about it than he thought he would be. "And I'll drop by your office at lunchtime tomorrow."

"Good. Have a good rest of your afternoon, gentlemen."

They exchanged goodbyes, and Kingsley left, leaving behind his lawn chair and an air of tension between Harry and Draco that hadn't been there for weeks.

Harry opened his mouth to speak—without really knowing what he was going to say—but Draco beat him to it.

"We've only got one more question left. Shall we do it before you pack up?"

Settling back on his blanket, Harry nodded. "Hit me."

"Share a personal problem with your partner, and ask for their advice. Merlin."

"Nothing like an easy question to finish it off, is there?" Harry asked wryly, reaching up to run his hand through his hair. "Bloody hell."

Draco chuckled quietly. "I can help you pack while you think about it, if you want?"

Harry shook his head. "I can have Kreacher do it, it's fine."

Draco nodded, and then took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll go first then. How, uh… how do I go about making up for the mistakes I've made. How do I move on from them?"

Harry sat up, twisting himself so that he was facing Draco. "I think that you could—and probably should—apologise to the people you personally hurt. You could do that by letter, or face to face, but I think it will help you if you at least try. And it could help them too. And… I think you should train to be a healer."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"What better way to make up for your mistakes than helping people? Healing is all about helping people, right? Or at least trying to help people. To make them feel better. And well… it's what you want to do, and that will make you even more effective at it."

Draco was quiet for a moment, and then a small smile tilted his lips up. "Thanks, Harry."

"Uh huh. Okay, uh. My turn, I guess. How do I break the mould set out for me by the Wizarding world? I'm going to leave here, and the public are expecting me to walk straight into the Auror Academy, like they've been expecting since the Battle of Hogwarts. I don't want that."

"I think you need to decide to just say 'fuck em'," Draco replied, shrugging. "You've got to live the rest of your life for yourself. You gave them your teen years. If they don't like it, tell them to go and sign up for the Aurors and put their own lives at risk. I think they'll probably hush right up, if you tell them that."

Harry chuckled, but eventually, he nodded his head. "I think you're probably right. Thanks, Draco."

He stretched out on the blanket for a moment, and then pushed himself up to his feet. Silently, they vanished their outdoor furniture, and Draco followed him inside.

Harry wandered around the house, picking things up that he'd left draped here, or on a table there.

Despite knowing that Kreacher would be able to do it in minutes—if not seconds—he was prolonging the moment. He tried to tell himself that he didn't know why he was procrastinating on leaving, but that would be a lie, and he tried not to lie to himself.

He knew exactly why.

He didn't want to leave Draco.

There was no attachment to the house; Harry was actually really looking forward to being back in his own flat, in his own bed. He was looking forward to seeing his godson, and his friends, but…

Yeah, he really didn't want to leave Draco.

When he couldn't procrastinate anymore, Harry called Kreacher to transport his things back to his flat before he walked down to the kitchen, where Draco was sitting at the table, scribbling over a piece of parchment with a quill.

"What are you doing? He asked, as he set the kettle to boil.

"Writing a letter to the editor of Witch Weekly," Draco said, looking up to meet Harry's eyes. "I told you I'd be writing to them when we finished the questions, didn't I?"

"Oh."

Harry glanced at the kettle, and then sighed, flicking it off. "Well, I'm heading out. I… I guess I'll see you around, Malfoy."

Harry didn't wait for an answer. He knew that he shouldn't be hurt, but he was. Really hurt, because sure, maybe Draco hadn't fallen in love with him, and maybe he thought that the article was stupid, but…

They'd become friends over those questions, hadn't they? They'd shared things with each other that they'd never said to anyone else, and now Draco was just… disregarding all of that so that he could send a damning letter that would probably just get added to a pile of hate mail and set on fire.

Had Harry been stupid to think that Draco had taken the whole thing as seriously as he himself had?

"Harry?"

"If you need anything, call for Kreacher," Harry said, offering a tight smile. "I'll make sure he knows to come to your call."

"Oh. Uh. Thanks."

Harry nodded, shuffling his foot against the floor. "Right. Well. Bye, Malfoy."

Draco seemed taken aback by the quick change, but he nodded anyway. "Bye, Potter."

…

Draco watched Harry walk out of the kitchen with a sinking feeling in his stomach. After everything, after all that they'd shared, he was just going to walk away?

Maybe he hadn't been as invested in the time they'd spent in the house together as Draco had been—as Draco had thought that Harry had been.

A niggling thought in the back of his mind annoyed him, but he pushed it away, his focus landing instead on the hurt he felt at Potter just… leaving.

It wasn't like Draco had expected him to stay indefinitely, but… he'd thought that they would arrange a visit, or maybe make plans for when Draco was finally safe to leave and return to the real world.

What was going to happen when that finally happened? If he saw Harry in the street, would he even be able to say hello to him without feeling awkward?

Draco glared down at the parchment he'd been furiously writing on, and sighed. Maybe he should have at least asked Harry to read the letter he'd written to the editor of Witch Weekly. If nothing else, it would have opened up a dialogue, the possibility of them at least being friends when they were both back to their usual lives.

Opportunity suddenly lost, Draco tossed his quill down on the table and sat back in his chair.

It didn't escape his notice that since Potter wouldn't be reading the letter, he no longer had any interest in writing it.

…

Harry made it to the edge of the wards and stopped. Could he really just leave things like that? Even if Draco was writing a scathing letter to the editor, he thought that maybe Draco had taken the questions seriously.

Maybe even more so than Harry had.

Sure, they hadn't worked for Draco in the way they were supposedly meant to, but that didn't mean that they weren't friends now, right?

Turning back to the house, Harry pushed the door open and walked back through to the kitchen, frowning when he found that Draco wasn't there. Surely he hadn't finished his letter already?

The parchment was still laid out on the table, and Harry picked it up, curious despite himself.

Dear Witch Weekly,

I recently came across your article, Twenty Questions To Fall In Love, and was deeply sceptical that it could possibly work. I've been in rather unique circumstances for the last few weeks, and so, I had the opportunity to test it out with… someone that I never would have dreamed that I could even be friends with.

As we answered the questions, as the days passed us by, I found myself proven wrong. A man I thought was the complete opposite of everything I liked in a person showed me that I can be wrong about a lot of things.

And I fell in love.

I'm writing to thank you, and to also caution you against putting such things in your magazines. The end of our time together has come, and he's going to wander off into the sunset, into an undoubtedly blessed life, and I'm left alone to pick up the shattered pieces of a broken heart.

Such an article can't possibly work for everyone; there will be many who it doesn't work for, but there will be some that it does. Some that will fall in love, only to be left in the dust at the end. That seems rather callous to me, one who has been burned in such a way.

I don't

Harry read through the unfinished letter twice, trying to understand the words he was seeing on the parchment, and wondering how they'd both gotten it so wrong.

The letter was clearly unfinished, but Harry could only imagine what would come next.

"Forget something?"

Harry turned to see Draco watching him from the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes guarded as he glanced between Harry's face and the parchment in his hands.

Harry dropped the parchment to the table, and crossed the kitchen in three strides, his hand settling on Draco's hip as he tugged him close.

"Yes."

Their lips met, and it was like fireworks were exploding behind Harry's eyes. Draco opened his mouth in shock and Harry took advantage, deepening the kiss as he pulled Draco even closer, his hand reaching up to play with the hair at the nape of Draco's neck.

The movement seemed to spur the blond into action, and he practically wrapped himself around Harry, pushing his whole self into the kiss, giving as good as he got and more as he melted into Harry's embrace.

When they parted, panting and grinning like idiots, Harry pressed their foreheads together.

"I thought it was just me," he admitted. "I thought… I thought you just wanted to be friends… or maybe not even that… but I realised I had to come back and see."

Draco snorted. "I thought the same thing. We're always idiots about each other, apparently."

Harry nodded. "I… yeah. I guess we are."

"Are you still leaving?" Draco asked, biting his bottom lip.

Harry wrinkled his nose. "I'll have to leave for a little while. I have to see Kingsley tomorrow, and I want to drop in on Andromeda and see Teddy. But… I'll come back as soon as I'm done."

"And you'll stay?"

Harry smiled and pressed a soft kiss to the side of Draco's mouth. "I'll stay."

…

Epilogue

"Draco, we're going to be late!" Harry called through the house, rolling his eyes when Draco called back that he'd be five minutes. He'd said that twenty minutes ago.

Harry checked the cupcakes he'd packaged up, and then climbed the stairs, two at a time, to find his wayward boyfriend.

"What are you faffing about for?" he asked, walking into their bedroom. Draco was standing in the mirror holding two shirts up against himself, worrying at his bottom lip. "Draco, what's wrong?"

"I don't know which one to wear," Draco complained. "I want to make a good impression."

"Draco… I hate to tell you this, but Molly and Arthur aren't going to care about the shade of blue your shirt is. Arthur will want to know about your healer training, and Molly will want to feed you, because despite eating my cooking every night and being my tester for the bakery, you're still skinny as a bloody rake."

"You're just jealous that you have to work out," Draco teased, holding the shirts up again. "Which one do you prefer?"

Harry walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a green t-shirt and a pair of jeans. "Wear these. Nobody else is going to be wearing black trousers and a shirt, and you said you wanted to fit in. You look gorgeous no matter what you wear, you dolt."

Draco leaned up for a kiss, which Harry pressed to his lips. "Thank you."

"Uh huh. And remember, Draco. It doesn't matter what they think in the end; you make me happy, and that's the important thing, okay?"

Draco nodded. "I'll be down in a couple of minutes. Promise."

Harry smiled at him and left the bedroom, making his way back downstairs. The house—the one they'd stayed in while in hiding—had been completely redecorated since Harry had convinced Kingsley to sell it to him, but Harry wasn't used to it yet, and he fell over the coat rack at the bottom of the stairs.

The same way he did every morning.

Cursing softly, he rolled his eyes when he heard Draco laughing from upstairs. He was sure Draco had put it there on purpose, just so Harry would keep falling over the stupid thing.

He sat down at the kitchen table—one of the few things they'd decided to keep from when it had been the safe house—and tapped his fingers against the hardwood.

So much had changed since the first time he'd sat there, it was a little mind-boggling when he remembered it had only been a few months since they'd finished answering twenty random questions from a Witch Weekly article.

Draco had gone into Healer training as soon as Kingsley had given him the go ahead to leave the house, and after a lot of deliberation, Harry had decided to open a bakery.

He was still in the planning stages—which meant lots of cakes and cookies for Draco—but while he'd thought that cooking could become a chore, he absolutely loved baking and didn't think he would ever get bored of it.

It was a little freer than cooking, a little more creative, and he'd been having so much fun coming up with different recipes and flavour combinations. Not all of them had been successful, but Draco was honest with him about it. Sometimes to a fault, which often led to icing fights and flour all over the kitchen.

It was a good job that they were wizards and the clean up was easy.

But baking was certainly less stressful than chasing dark wizards, and honestly, if nothing else, Harry was glad that he'd accepted that he really didn't want to be an Auror.

Draco stepped into the kitchen in the clothing Harry had suggested, and Harry smirked at him, eyes moving up and down his slight body unashamedly.

"You look hot; I think we should stay home instead," he said, standing up.

Shaking his head, Draco reached out to bop him on the nose. "I know how much you've been looking forward to seeing Weasley and Granger."

Harry sighed, but nodded, because Draco wasn't wrong. Ron and Hermione were finally back from Australia, and he couldn't wait to see them.

"Yeahhh, I know. Come on, then. I'll save you for dessert, hmm?"

Draco snorted. "You're an idiot, Potter."

"Always for you, babe," Harry replied with a cheeky grin.

"I love you," Draco whispered, leaning closer for a quick kiss.

Harry kissed him back, and then kissed his cheek before he wrapped an arm around his waist. He summoned the box of cupcakes, and said, "I know. I love you too."