A/n: I am so lucky to have all you lovely people. I truly am. Thank you so much for all the nice reviews and thank you for sticking with me. This is the last chapter of HaHS… But I might be doing past or future fics. Send me requests, and I'll see what sparks my fancy. (I cried writing this, btw.)

As always, still not JK, still don't own anything.

Two Years Later

Draco Malfoy- or Drake Malloy, as he was called now- stood in front of the small flat in France he'd bought two years ago. In one hand he clutched a key. In the other, he held a much folded-unfolded-folded again piece of parchment, worn at the seams and barely readable. He checked the street for Muggles, then closed his door- not locking it; nobody ever stole in Chanson Prair. The former Slytherin walked nonchalantly down the street, walking straight out the dead end into the meadows that bordered the small town. The grass was high- almost above his knees- and he did his best not to leave a path.

Draco hadn't changed in the past two years- a little taller, maybe; face a little drawn from years of tapping on a radio to hear about the man he had to leave behind. He was even wearing similar clothes to two years ago- jeans, a deep green button-down, his hair gently slicked back so parts of it were soft and touchable. The only major difference was the black leather jacket he wore (it was something he'd never heard of before his run). Draco Malfoy looked like a man stepped out of time. He was wondering what Harry looked like as he strode towards the far end of the meadow, behind the one tree that grew outside Chanson.

He took off his jacket, hanging it on a convenient branch. Personne âgée was what the natives called it- old person, and so he patted the old tree before leaning against it, one foot propped against the tree, the other still in the grass.

He had a clear view here of a massive valley full of forest, with the mountains in the distance. There were two reasons he'd chosen this town when he'd finally come to a rest two months after leaving Harry and Hermione and Ron. First, nobody had ever really heard of Chanson Priar who hadn't lived there first- he'd quite literally dropped in on it, exhausted by a long night of flying. Second, it was beautiful, and peaceful, and though everyone knew everyone, everyone loved everyone. Draco had friends here: a crone named Arelle, a woman his age named Jacqueline… there were more, but he was closest to them. He regretted leaving Harry every single day since leaving him at the Hogwarts gates. But if he had to choose a place to go into exile, this would have always been it.

And now, he knew, from long nights listening to the radio- Harry was alive, Voldemort was dead, Hermione and Ron were alright and so were his parents. So now was the time. Now was the time to use the parchment that had held him comforted on long winter nights when the nightmares came back and there was no warm boy holding him. He had waited long enough. Surely- surely now this would be alright.

He unfolded the parchment.

Draco, read Hermione's tiny writing,

I know that you love him. He loves you. But if you truly go into exile, you won't be able to contact any of us ever again, and you'll be wandless, and so it is all very impossible.

There is only one type of magic that can be consciously cast without a wand. I don't know if you've ever learned this, but in the DA we did, and we all got it down quite well. I expect you'll have to practice it, but anyway, the way it goes is this:

You have to think of the happiest thing that's ever happened to you, and you have to hold it in your mind. Kind of like casting the Ridikulus charm, but happy, not funny. And you have to will everything to be right. Keep the happy memory in your mind and then say, Expecto Patronum. That will cast a sort of silvery-blue animal that will go to Harry and he can follow it back to you.

I'm so sorry I couldn't teach you this, but you're going so suddenly. I wish you the best of luck wherever you are, and for you to come back to us soon.

Love,

Hermione

Draco refolded the parchment and put it in his pocket. Leaning against personne âgée, he closed his eyes, shutting out the meadow, the trees, everything except his heart and the wind. And then, with all his might, he concentrated on the memory of kissing Harry in the Valentine's Woods those years ago- the fizzy feeling that had filled his veins, the way Harry had looked so astonished and happy as Draco pulled away, gasping. The way he'd known that no matter what, they would always be together, in spirit, mind and soul.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

His voice echoed into the trees, rebounding a million times. The wind picked up, just a little bit. There was a folding- tearing- sensation. Draco opened his eyes.

A shimmering silver lion pawed the air before him, regarding him regally. Draco knelt in reverence, afraid to touch it, scared to touch the happiest he'd ever been. His mouth opened, and without him willing it, a single waiting word tumbled out, carried by the wind.

"Harry," said Draco, and the lion nodded once before padding away into the night. Draco stooped, and fell back onto his back, head knocking on the roots of the tree. It was done. After all these years, it was done.

Draco didn't move much for three days. He went back into town, yes, for the toilet and to change clothes, but the rest of the time he watched out over the cliff waiting to see a shining silver figure, with a person on a broom behind it. And he thought, mostly about Harry. How he would look. How he must feel. What he would say when he saw him again. He thought so much that he could almost imagine the other boy standing opposite him. When he woke up, always, though- there was nobody there.

It commenced like that for a week, always sunrise, sunset with no Harry on the horizon. Draco refused to give up hope. Every day without fail he was out leaning on personne âgée, waiting, waiting, for a boy who never seemed to come.

It was sunset. The trees were tingeing red and there was a cold bite in the air that just barely signified that summer was coming to a close- it was going to be fall soon. Draco shivered, drawing his jacket around him. He was just nodding off when he saw a silver spark on the horizon.

"Is- is that?" he asked of the air, standing to see better.

The spark grew nearer, and his chest grew warmer for the first time in days. And there- there was a dark speck against the red of the sky. Draco sat down very suddenly in the grass, one hand pressing to his lips as tears slipped out of his eyes. It was Harry. Oh, god, after all this time- Harry.

It took ten minutes for the lion to touch down gently in the meadow. It sauntered over to Draco and gave him a regal nod before dissipating into his chest. And then- there he was- disheveled, cloud-streaked, exhausted. He stood and looked at Draco. Draco stood and stared at him.

He looked older. He walked a little straighter; his eyes were a little distant. He'd grown a few inches as well, and he still had muscles. He'd gotten skinnier, though- his clothes weren't quite hanging right. As those emerald eyes met his, he almost didn't recognize him. Draco swallowed. He couldn't handle it, if this was how it was going to be. He couldn't handle having to let Harry go again. And his eyes were so far away…

"Harry…" Draco murmured, moving to the boy he loved. And the green eyes looked up and met his, and as he said his name, they sparked. They kindled to life. Draco held his breath as he laid a single hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry Potter leaped at Draco and held him so tightly he thought that he could break. Draco gasped at the pressure, but returned it, raining tears down on Harry's head. Harry was whispering Draco's name over and over, crying, unashamed, into Draco's chest. Draco felt the familiar fizzing, the familiar electricity wherever Harry touched him, and he almost screamed with the joy of it, of feeling love after two years in complete isolation.

Harry raised his head to meet Draco's eyes. He had only six words that he wanted, needed, desperately to say after all this time, after thinking he was going to die- the one person that had kept him going through all the press and thanks and groveling and killing and chaos. Harry had needed this for two years, but the words came out measuredly, though his voice was shaking with emotion.

"Draco, I love you. Marry me."

Draco took a sharp breath in, one hand in Harry's hair, the other stroking the side of his face as if he still couldn't believe it. God, what this boy could do to him.

"I swear on my magic I'll marry you," he said, making the most serious oath a wizard can make to the boy he loved. Harry's smile finally returned to his face and he leaned his head in, quietly touching his forehead against Draco's, breathing his air. They sat like that for a while, just getting acquainted with the other one's heart, skin, eyes, touch.

"I love you, I love you," whispered Draco ceaselessly to Harry in the small space between their lips.

In response, Harry kissed him, and sparks erupted in his skin, in his brain, in his heart. Draco smiled against Harry's lips, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. It was the sparks that proved it. He was the true soulmate of Harry James Potter. Their love was stronger than the world. And as they walked on, it would always be together.

It seemed that with a little hope, harebrained schemes worked after all.

Fin