Here it is, the last chapter! Thank you to Daughter of Fuyuki, aliyak2812, Lumcer and LadyWhiteRose2015 for the reviews, it means a lot! Thank you to everyone else who has read/favourited/followed this story too. :)

Chapter Five

Healing

Exactly one month after the seed was first planted, to the exact hour and minute, the Salutaris was in full bloom. After Harry's date with James he had focused his attention on rearing the plant and being friendly with Malfoy. Both had been successful and, despite a slight frost in the air the first time they met after the ill-fated date (Harry assumed Malfoy was still annoyed about his lack of devotion to the plant), Harry and Malfoy had maintained a friendly, open, attitude toward each other ever since.

As friendly and as open as one could be when Harry was hiding hidden desires every time their fingers accidently brushed, or whenever Malfoy smiled or laughed at something Harry had said, or whenever he turned around to bend and pick something up for Harry in the greenhouse – especially then. But he had kept his desires locked away like iron, refusing to let them interfere with the job at hand; rearing the plant and, in turn, saving Narcissa's life.

The morning the Salutaris was due to be cut from the earth seemed to dawn slowly to Harry, with each minute of his morning routine from his shower to his breakfast seeming to stretch out before him like an eternity. He tried to ignore the weighing thought on the back of his mind that it was because it would be the last time he saw Malfoy. He would pass over the plant, they would bid each other farewell, and that would be the end of their relationship. If you could call it a relationship, when a life debt was invoked to secure a deal – but really, Harry wasn't sure what else to call it. He pushed the thoughts away, telling himself that when this was all over, when Malfoy was gone and out of his life, that he would be able to move on. He hadn't thought of James since the date, but now his thoughts drifted to him and the note he had sent. He could, when Malfoy was gone, invite him out again. The idea didn't fill him with the warm, soft feeling he got when he saw Malfoy's smile, or the sparking, tingling sensation he got whenever his skin brushed his. But then again, Harry reminded himself, it hadn't always been that way with Malfoy, either. In fact they had actively despised each other – surely the fact he was attracted to James from the start would make moving forward easier?

But now he wouldn't think about that, as he dressed in his worn work overalls and apparated away, he would only think about the job before him. He landed in his shop as always, feeling Malfoy's presence at the edge of the wards before he even opened the door. He flicked his wand toward the door to open it and smiled as Malfoy bustled inside. His entire face shone with emotion; for once he looked young, even younger than his age. His face was a mixture of feeling; clear excitement, which Harry could share, at the prospect of the plant in full bloom, yet anxious – which Harry definitely shared – at the fear that it wouldn't work. Harry firmly pushed that thought away, recalled his smile and flashed it in Malfoy's direction, offering his arm as he asked; "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Malfoy replied his words and tone supporting the existence of the two emotions Harry had picked up on in his gaze. He crossed the room, as he always did, to Harry's side and placed his arm on his. Harry closed his eyes, taking a moment longer to stand and savour the moment – the last time they would do this – before he carried them both away. The greenhouse was sweltering with heat as always, and Harry felt the sweat dripping at his brow before he had even crossed the floor to the plant. It stood tall and proud; a thin, yet sturdy dark green stem stalked from the soil with several slender, delicate, yet razor-sharp edged leaves adorning the climbing shoot. At the top blossomed a glorious flower, the petals the shape of snowdrops and were just as white, yet tinged so deeply scarlet on the ends it looked as if they had been dipped with blood. Harry shuddered as he thought back to the book on the Salutaris and just what those petals could do, wondering if their appearance was anything of a warning about their capabilities.

He pulled on a thick pair of gloves and offered the same to Malfoy. He nodded his thanks, tugging the dense material over slender, pale fingers – Harry tore his gaze away from them before he looked crazy – and turned back to the plant. They would need to wear the gloves today as they handled the plant and took it from its home in the earth. From the second the plant matured it was vital that it was touched for no other reason than its intended use. It must not, Harry had confirmed several times through the book Malfoy sent him, be handled directly by a wizard until his performing the magic he intends for it. If either Harry or Malfoy accidently brushed a leaf, or a petal, or any other part of the plant which could be deadly when it was used alone, the healing properties of the entire plant would be useless.

Removing the Salutaris from its planter was a quick, simple task. Its roots eased beautifully from the soil, as if the plant itself knew it were ready to move on. Harry opened the container he had conjured the previous night for Malfoy to transport the plant and nodded to the other wizard. Malfoy already had his wand in hand and, at Harry's nod, murmured a simple, but strong, bubble charm to encase the plant as Harry placed it into the container. Once the lid was closed Harry pulled off the gloves – he hated being restricted when working with his plants and offered both the plant in its container, and a smile, to Malfoy.

"Thank you." The blonde whispered as he took the box in both hands. He was staring at the Salutaris through the clear glass Harry had chosen – chosen specifically because he knew Malfoy would want to keep an eye on it – as he spoke. After a moment he looked up, startling Harry with a wide, genuine smile.

"It was my pleasure." Harry replied, with a smile just as genuine. He waited for a moment, let a beat of silence pass between them and then, because he could, he admitted; "I would have done it – grown this for you – without the life debt, you know."

The look of surprise that washed across Malfoy's features was as genuine as his smile had been. "Why?" He whispered in question, his gaze burning into Harry's.

"The same reason I spoke for you at your trials. You and your mother don't deserve to suffer." Harry replied, keeping his eyes steady on Malfoy's, his tone soft, low and full of meaning. The air seemed to crackle around them for a moment and Malfoy's tongue darted out, licking his lips in a nervous motion. Harry couldn't help it; his gaze slipped to watch the movement and he found himself mirroring it in return. He looked up as he realised what he was doing, fighting the urge to flush at the thought he had more than likely been caught staring at Malfoy's lips and said; "and I like helping people. Hermione thinks I've got a complex."

The joke had its intended effect, breaking the tension between them and drawing a short, but honest, chuckle from Malfoy. "Granger may well have a point there." He teased in reply, before shifting the container to a single hand. He had already disposed of his gloves and, as he spoke, extended a long, slender hand to Harry. "But I'm glad you do."

Harry reached out in return, grasping Malfoy's hand, and trying not to let his face show the way such a simple touch affected him. Simple in nature, but not in gravity; it was, no doubt, the last they would share. Harry held the handshake longer than he should have, trying to remember the feel of Malfoy's smooth, warm palm against his, before he released his hand and stepped back. "I hope your mother feels well again soon." He said, because he didn't know what else to say. It was the truth, of course, but he merely said it to avoid saying goodbye.

"I'm sure she will. I should get back and brew this; I already have the potion ready, but the longer the Salutaris stays out of the ground without being infused into its potion – whatever the intention - the less potent it becomes." Malfoy explained, drawing the box in close with both hands again as Harry let his fall.

Harry nodded, waving a feeble gesture of goodbye. It wasn't words, but words didn't seem appropriate. Apparently, they didn't to Malfoy either, for within a second he had turned on his heel and vanished from the greenhouse with a pop.

A week had passed since Harry had handed the Salutaris plant, the key to healing Narcissa, to Malfoy. It had been a week since Harry had seen Malfoy or heard from him in any way. He expected at least an owl, to tell him if the plant worked or not. Yes, he knew the potion would need a few days to brew after the addition of the plant, and for a few more vital ingredients, but by now… By now Narcissa must have taken the potion. In the times where he felt anxious, Harry worried that the plant hadn't worked; that he had made some mistake in growing it, that he hadn't been cautious or attentive enough or that there was a problem with the potion, or that Narcissa had simply been too far gone. But in the times where he felt angry, Harry stormed as he tried to shed the unwanted emotion at the fact Malfoy hadn't even bothered to lift quill to parchment to tell Harry how things had gone; he had done everything in his power to ensure the plant was well cared for and blossomed into its purest form, Malfoy was a more than competent brewer and he would have never used his life debt if he knew it was too late to save his mother.

Harry found his own quill hovering above parchment on countless occasions. Sometimes he thought of writing to Malfoy, to ask how the potion had worked, to ask after Narcissa's health… Sometimes he thought of writing to James, to explain that the other man in his life was (unfortunately, although Harry wouldn't have written that part) now gone.

Neither received their letters, because none were ever written.

Both his anger and his loss, however, were soothed by the earth beneath his hands as he kept the daily tending of his plants. It truly was remarkable, he thought, how such a thing could calm his sea of emotions and bring peace to his world. One particular morning he stopped by the smallest greenhouse on their land; a small, old until held together by several charms. It was the first greenhouse Harry had ever worked in, the one Neville first gave to him to practise his skills. Harry no longer kept any plants he grew for business in there, but he grew flowers he enjoyed. He grew daffodils, because Hermione loved them. He grew tomatoes and strawberries as muggles did, because he liked the taste of eating something he had grown himself. He grew lilies, to honour his mother.

That was when Harry had an idea.

It had been a further week since Harry had put his plan into action and it was – thanks to several charms which aided speed in the process of growing – almost complete. He dropped into his first greenhouse to check, tenderly stroking the petals of the lilies as he passed, when the buzz of the wards let him know he had a customer. He spared a glance toward the flower beside the lilies – growing rather nicely, as he knew they would – and disapparated.

Standing in the doorway was Malfoy.

A barrage of emotions hit Harry like a stunner to the chest. The first was joy; he couldn't help it, seeing Malfoy's face after all this time (two weeks, his brain reminded him, was hardly a long time, but Harry ignored that). Although he had stared before, he had never really appreciated Malfoy's unique beauty. Yes, some like Ron would say he was pale and pointy, but he held his features in a regal, defined way which made them undeniably attractive. Second came hope; had he missed Harry too? Had he come for friendship after the loss of their time together? Did he… Did Harry dare to believe that he could miss him in a different way? Then there was fear; it had been two weeks, then he had chosen to come in person. Had something gone wrong? Was he here to curse Harry in blame? Last came anger; how dare he, after two weeks without contact, swan into Harry's shop with no care in the world? Did he not think Harry had cared, that he had worried?

All of the emotions fought for the surface, but none prevailed. Instead, flat out surprise won, as Harry simply said; "Malfoy."

"Hello Potter, it's nice to see you." Malfoy greeted, and flashed him a smile. Harry's heart fluttered, he bowed his head in a nod, and smiled back.

"It's nice to see you too." He replied, because it was the truth.

"My mother asked me to stop by." Malfoy said, and the smile on Harry's face dropped. Oh, his heart thought, so he's not here for me. Not for himself, anyway. Malfoy seemed oblivious to the change in expression and continued. "She wishes to see you."

"Is she commanding her life debt too?" Harry joked, attempting to lighten the disappointment which had hit him, although it only became worse when Malfoy's features darkened.

"No." He murmured, flickering his eyes from Harry to the floor. "I had hoped, after what you said, that she wouldn't need to."

You're an idiot, Harry cursed himself. "Of course she doesn't. I was planning on making a visit at some point anyway." He said, attempting to move past the conversation as quickly as he could. That was the truth too, it was what his plan in the first greenhouse was all about. "Is she well?"

"You were?" Malfoy asked in response to Harry's mentioning a visit, drowning out Harry's question. His cheeks gave a slight flush of pink which faded in an instant, yet stayed long enough for Harry to catch it. He wondered why Malfoy would be embarrassed that Harry had planned to visit, if that was what his mother wanted. "Yes, she's well. The plant was accepted by the potion and after another five days of brewing it was perfect. She took daily doses for three days…" Malfoy trailed off with a slight shake of his head. Clearly he had decided that since Harry didn't ask for the details, he didn't want them. Harry hoped nothing in his expression had suggested that; of course, he did. "She's very well. She's back to full health."

"That's brilliant." Harry said and gave a smile to show he meant it. Malfoy gave him one in return and for a moment they stood together, in the companionable silence Harry had missed, before Malfoy cleared his throat and said;

"So tomorrow? You could stop by for lunch… Unless…" He paused and gestured around the shop "the evening would be preferable?"

Harry consulted the mental diary in his mind; it was mid-week and although it was December, Harry didn't have to keep up with the same Christmas demand George did at WWW. He could check on his plants in the morning and would be able to find someone to cover the afternoon shift in the store. "Lunch would be fine."

Harry came home from his early visit to the greenhouses, satisfied that all the plants were well tended and that Clara had a handle on the store before he left. It felt strange to be home at such an early hour, stripping off his overalls and heading for the shower. He spent longer in there than necessary, scrubbing at every inch of his skin exposed to the dirt and sweat of his work; although he only had experiences of the Manor during the war, he presumed Narcissa would keep it no less than immaculate. He didn't want to cause offence, or stand out like a smear of dirt on their marble floors. When satisfied he was clean he left the bathroom, dried and dressed himself in a pair of robes. Not the immaculate, formal dress robes he'd worn on his date with James – no matter how much a part of him wanted to, to use the opportunity to show Malfoy he could be elegant and attractive – but a pair of well-made, presentable robes all the same.

He was about to leave – Malfoy had written to him the previous night with the apparition co-ordinates that would leave him directly outside their gates – when he remembered his plan. Or, as it was now, his gift. He went to the vase in his sitting room, taking the freshly cut narcissus flowers from their water. He took care in placing a preservation charm to keep them fresh and another to wrap them in a fine, patterned paper which shone with twists of green and silver.

When he arrived, a small, deeply bowing house elf greeted him at the gates. "Mr Potter, sir, I is being Hinks, I is welcoming you to Malfoy Manor, inviting you inside." The elf bowed so low that its elongated nose almost scraped the gravel path beneath it as it snapped its fingers, sweeping the tall iron gates open in a silent, grand motion. "You is following me, Mr Potter sir, to where Master and Mistress Malfoy is waiting for you."

Harry nodded and did as he was requested to, following the elf as he walked up the path. The gardens were, of course, immaculate. Harry gazed down at the bunch of flowers he held, suddenly feeling them a pathetic gesture in light of the life blooming around him. He was just considering if he should vanish them, when the elf's voice squeaked again.

"You is coming inside, Mr Potter. Master and Mistress Malfoy are waiting for you in the East sitting room." He informed him as they stepped through the grand doors into the entrance hall of the Manor. The East sitting room, it turned out, was only a few turns to the left, giving Harry no more time to consider banishing the narcissus he held. When they reached the door Hink's opened it, bowed in farewell, and disappeared with a crack.

"Mrs Malfoy." Harry said as he felt her gaze turn to the doorway, landing squarely on him. She sat on a sofa by the fireplace, illuminated by the soft glow of the flames there. Her face was pale – although no paler than the times he had seen her in the past – and clear, her hair was immaculate and her eyes shone like blue ice. "You look well. I'm pleased the potion worked."

"Please, call me Narcissa. We have now saved each other's lives, I feel surnames a little formal for such a relationship, don't you?" She replied, beckoning him into the room with a curve of her finger and a gentle smile.

"Of course." Harry agreed, because how could he disagree, when he was a guest in someone's home? That and the fact that the flowers he held suggested comfortability with her given name that would be strange if he refused to call her by it. As he stepped inside, more of the room was revealed, and he saw Malfoy sitting in a chair at the other side of the fireplace. He wore robes of a grey so light it could be considered silver that – although he didn't look – Harry knew would bring his eyes out magnificently. Malfoy was looking at his mother, rather than Harry, and Harry realised it would be up to him to offer the first greeting. "Ma-" He started, before stopping himself. How could he call Narcissa by her first name, yet continue to call Malfoy by their family name? "Draco." He amended, surprised at how right the name felt on his tongue.

And it certainly got his attention. The blonde's gaze snapped towards him, surprise flickering in his eyes – as well as, Harry noted warmly, joy – as Harry called him his given name. He offered Harry a smile, nodded in welcome, and returned the favour. "Harry."

If Harry had thought it right to call Draco by his given name – surprising how easily his mind adapted, as well as his tongue – it had nothing on how it felt to hear his own name from Draco's lips. His smile came more broadly, and he stepped further into the room. "It's nothing grand, but I brought you a gift." He said, turning back to address Narcissa. He approached her at the sofa and offered the flowers to Narcissa. She reached out and took them, holding them gently in both hands and giving a soft, warm smile, softly murmuring; "Narcissus".

"Yes." Harry nodded, glad his intentions hadn't been missed. "I, well, I mainly grow for the potions market, but I also keep a greenhouse where I grow for myself. I grow lilies, to remind me of my mother. I thought.." Harry trailed off, because he wasn't sure what he thought. That and he had just admitted, to a relative stranger, that he grew lilies to remind him of his dead mother.

"It is a beautiful gesture." Narcissa assured him, taking the flowers into one hand so she could snap her fingers. "However, it should be I making the gestures, when I invited you here to thank you for helping my son in saving my life."

Harry was glad to have a moments reprieve in the form of the crack that sounded the room as the elf Narcissa's snap had summoned arrived in the room. It was a different elf to the one who had greeted Harry at the door, and for a moment Harry vaguely wondered how many elves the Malfoy's had.

"Mistress, what is you requiring?" The elf asked – a female elf, this one, Harry thought from the few garments she wore – before curtseying; definitely a female then.

"You will find a vase for these and place them somewhere I will be able to appreciate them." Narcissa directed, handing the bunch over to the elf. "Then you will bring our lunch. We will take our tea and sandwiches in here today." She paused, turned to Harry, and asked; "Do you have any preferences?"

"Er-" Harry said, for a moment shocked that his notions would be taken into consideration. "Not really. I like anything. Apart from pickle."

Narcissa's delicate nose wrinkled as if someone had placed a particularly foul-smelling dung bomb in front of her. "I don't think the Manor would contain such an ingredient. Unless a guest required it, of course." She stated, wiping away the look of distaste as she turned her gaze back to the elf. "That is all."

The elf nodded, curtseyed once more, and disappeared with a second crack. Harry took a seat in the chair next to Draco's and was surprised by how easily he fell into light conversation. They covered polite, simple topics such as Harry's business, Narcissa's growing health and Draco's movements in the potions market. Both the tea and sandwiches – and the delicate cakes the house elves served afterward – were mouth wateringly delicious and Harry ate a great deal more than his share. He feared at first it may be considered rude, yet Narcissa simple smiled at each cleared plate and offered him more. He was struck by the urge to laugh as his mind made a comparison between her and Molly Weasley – both female, pure-blood witches trying to feed him up – but swallowed the desire immediately. Even in the newfound tolerance Narcissa and Draco had found since the war, he didn't think such a comparison would be kindly tolerated.

Harry took the breaks in conversation to glance at Draco; he seemed happy, comfortable and relaxed in his home, leaning back in his chair and talking to his mother with ease. He smile was gentle but constant, calm in a way Harry found more attractive than anything he had seen at his greenhouses. Or, Harry reasoned, more attractive simply because he had missed it.

Or, he thought but didn't dare to believe, more attractive because of the way he felt Draco glancing at him in return.

"It has been a pleasant afternoon." Narcissa said once the plates were clear and the pots of tea empty. "I must thank you again for your services."

"Not at all, I'm glad you well. If there's anything I can do in the future…" Harry trailed off, leaving his offer open. He would, he had no doubt now that he accepted his feelings for Draco, return to assist with anything the Malfoy's may need. Harry fought the urge to laugh – if Hermione could read his thoughts, she would sigh and roll her eyes; she always said he had gone from being a martyr in service of the wizarding world to one in service of hopeless love affairs. It was true, he admitted, that his previous relationships had been less than successful; one would think that Harry Potter would be able to find a decent date.

The problem was, right now, Harry didn't want one.

He pushed that thought to the back of his mind as Draco's voice drifted to him. "No need, mother, I'll show Harry out." Harry blinked, brought his attention back to the conversation at hand and saw the way Narcissa had raised her hand, clearly ready to summon a house elf; she turned her gaze to Draco and offered him a small, knowing smile, before nodding and lowering her hand.

Draco stood, motioned toward the door, and waited for Harry to follow him. Harry did so, following behind – he was only too happy to appreciate the sway of Malfoy's robes from behind, the way the clung to him, tailored to his body in just the right places – before they reached the door of the Manor all too soon.

"I'll see you to the gate." Draco said as the doors magically opened for him with no more than a sweep of his hand. Harry nodded and followed once again, this time falling into step beside Draco. Harry tugged his cloak more tightly around him as they walked – the bitter chill of December was definitely taking root in the air – the sight of the gate coming all too soon.

"Thank your mother again for inviting me." Harry said as they stopped at the gate. It hadn't opened, which Harry took as a sign Draco wanted to say goodbye.

"I will do." He nodded, flashing a quick smile before he turned his gaze to the gate behind Harry. Harry turned in time, feeling a disappointing tug in the pit of his stomach as he looked at the gate, waiting for it to open, until;

"Wait." Draco said, and Harry instantly turned around. "I wondered…" He paused, licked his lips, and lifted his eyes to Harry's. "I appreciated your company. I wondered, if you would be interested in…" he paused again, shaking his head, as if clearing whatever line he had prepared in his mind, offering his hand to Harry and simply asking; "friends?"

The tug of disappointment in Harry's stomach quickly turned to a block of ice; hard, painful and unconquerable. At one point he would have told himself he would be glad of the friendship, if he could have nothing more, but after their afternoon, after the glances he was certain he'd seen returned…

Apparently the feeling in his gut had translated onto his face in an inappropriate way as Draco moved to drop his hand and said; "Of course, if that's not-"

"No!" Harry interjected, sweeping out his hand to clutch Draco's before it dropped. His grip didn't quite form the handshake he had been offered, yet it didn't quite qualify as the loving hold he desired. Draco stared wide-eyed, first at their joined hands and then at Harry. He flushed, unable to help his embarrassment. "I mean, it's not that at all."

"Then what is it?" Draco asked. His voice was cool, his face straight. Even looking into his eyes – the way Harry had learnt to read his thoughts – offered little. He was sure he could see hope, maybe even desire, sparking there, but how could he be sure? He didn't even know if Draco was gay. He could have misread every signal so far. He could be wrong.

Then again, he could say nothing, and he would never know.

In the end, Harry chose to say nothing.

He did, however, let his lips do the talking in a different way. He used their joined hands to pull Draco closer, leaning his head in to Draco's and capturing his lips with his own. They were soft, yet icy cold from the chill of the winter air. He moved his mouth slowly and, after a moment's hesitation, Draco began to move his own. The kiss was chaste at first, but quickly deepened. Harry slipped his tongue out from between his lips, dancing it against Draco's for entrance. It was accepted and soon their tongues melted together, each providing warmth that contrasted with the cold breeze whipping around them.

When their lips broke apart, Draco's eyes no longer held hope, but the desire Harry had believed was there was now unmistakable. "Well." He breathed, his voice so soft Harry could barely hear it. "If that's what it is, I'm more than happy to oblige."

Harry laughed, light and carefree, and sank back against Malfoy to claim another warm kiss, more than happy to oblige himself.