A/N: "Dawn" is the third part of a series. The first part is my fic "Perserverance". The second one is "The Homecoming of Harry Potter" by vaysh11 - the link is in my profile. It's a wonderful fic - and necessary to understand this properly ;)

It's dark when Harry wakes with a start – it always is in the dungeons, and he hopes it will stay dark for a long time. It's safer. Light only comes with those who hurt him. He's forgotten their names, but they don't matter. What matters is what they do. Hurt. Crucio. Crucio!, screamed by a man with red eyes. Harry curls up tighter and shudders.

"Potter?"

The murmur makes him flinch and whimper – and then arms wrap around him, touch him. Harry freezes and waits for the pain.

"Shhh. It's me, Draco."

He knows the voice, but he can't think through the fear. Fingers sneak into his hair, and his face is pressed against something warm and solid.

"It's Draco. We're safe."

Still, the words make no sense, but this feels familiar. Good. There's soft skin against his cheek, and when he takes a deep, trembling breath, the scent, too, is familiar. Bit by bit, Harry relaxes. Gentle fingers keep petting him, and there's a slow, steady heartbeat. No pain, no Crucio, and slowly, as the minutes go by, he understands that it won't come. Not anymore. Not when he's with . . .

"Draco?"

"Yes, it's me."

Harry sags against Draco, wrapping his arms around his waist. He's safe.

"Was it a nightmare?"

Harry nods. "Hurt."

"Not anymore," Draco whispers, "never again," and Harry knows he is right. It's over, he remembers now. Voldemort's dead body. Brittany. Coming back to England. The trial. Draco accused and in shackles, everyone staring at Harry. Their disbelief. Their pity . . .

Draco keeps murmuring, too softly to understand, but it's his voice that matters. His voice and his scent, and his arms around Harry.

Harry sighs, arching closer. Draco's murmurs turn into the gentle sound of the waves at the shore, in Brittany, where they had the ocean and the salty wind, the rough shells of the oysters – and peace. Peace to drain away the hurt, lessen the sting of the memories just a little. Part of him wishes they were still there, but it's right that they came back. It's difficult, and he knows he'll dream about Draco in shackles. About the trial and what could have gone wrong if they hadn't believed him. Draco being taken away from him. He doesn't want to – he can't – imagine, and he squeezes his eyes shut, pressing closer still.

But they did believe him, and now . . .

"Draco?"

Draco stops murmuring, his hand falling still on Harry's hair. "Yes?"

Harry breathes deeply. It's hard to focus, hard to concentrate enough. He understands almost everything others say, but the words seem to disappear into nothing when he wants to use them. He won't give up, though – he's been through too much to give up ever again – so he keeps grasping for it. He is lucky this time, and when it's there, he speaks before it can slip away again.

"Home."

The word feels strange and unwieldy on his tongue, and he knows he slurred it badly. He wants to say so much more. Going to Brittany was right; they both needed the years there to heal. But it wasn't this, wasn't where they belong. They're safe here, now that Voldemort is dead and Draco a free man. And there are friends waiting for them.

He doesn't have the words, but he knows Draco will understand, as he always does. Just as Harry understands Draco. There are things between them Draco has no words for, either.

"Home," Harry repeats. It's just a tad easier than the first time.

There's no answer, and he can't see it in the darkness of the cupboard they slept in, but Harry knows Draco must be smiling. He always did, in Brittany, when there was a new word. In the end, the arms around Harry tighten, and there's a kiss pressed on his hair.

"Yes," Draco whispers. "We're finally home. It's good now."

Harry nods against Draco's chest. "Good."

Everything else will sort itself out, with time.