A/N: Last chapter you guys! Remember, I'll post future stories as sequels. I'll update this story when the first one posts, so you know it's up. Thanks for reading!

The house thrummed with anticipation.

Luna had whisked Harry and his armloads of bags into the kitchen the moment he returned from his mysterious shopping excursion, and they'd been giving one another significant looks all morning. It was driving everyone else to distraction.

Well, everyone but Ron.

Ron had begun his task the day before, and had approached it with a cheerful diligence he'd been missing lately. He'd brooded terribly while waiting for Luna to pronounce his fate, and was inclined to dread it, no matter how many times he was reminded that it was Luna setting his forfeit, and not someone he needed to be afraid of. His skin had had a decidedly gray tinge all through breakfast that morning, and he'd jumped nearly out of his chair when Luna had dropped her fork onto her plate with a quiet clatter.

"I've got it!" she'd announced gleefully.

Ron had sunk lower in his chair. Luna had had that wicked gleam in her eye again, the one that spelled doom for whoever caught her attention.

"Walburga," she'd said decisively, sounding pleased. "That's just the thing."

"Er, the name's Ron…"

Luna had frowned at him for a moment, a puzzled crease between her brows. "What?" Then her face had cleared. "Oh. No, silly. I want you to chat with Walburga, convince her to stop yelling at us so Sev and I can get that potions lab set up. We really do need more room if we're to do any proper experimenting."

Ron had swallowed. "Right. I'll just, er, get on that, then," he'd said weakly, turning pleading eyes on Harry and Hermione.

Harry had shrugged, a "what can you do, mate?" expression on his face, and turned to whisper in Draco's ear. Hermione had never bothered to look up from her book.

Ron had crammed his last slice of bacon into a suddenly dry mouth, shoved back his chair, and trudged up the stairs like a man walking to his doom.

But that was yesterday.

Today, Ron was cheerfully tucking into his breakfast, whistling under his breath.

"So," Harry asked brightly, as he dropped into the chair beside Ron with a thump. "How's it going with Walburga?"

Ron beamed at him. "Great, actually."

"Great," Hermione echoed disbelievingly.

Ron's grin widened. "Yep. Me and Aunty Wally had a long chat yesterday. Turns out she's quite the softie, under that 'screaming harpy' exterior."

"Really." Hermione let her book fall closed, not even bothering to mark her place.

"Yep. She's got some great ideas. We should have a functioning potions lab in there by the end of the week."

Everyone was staring now. Severus placed his fork precisely in the center of his plate.

"Well. Good, then."

Lucius cleared his throat. "And what will our task be?" he asked, indicating Severus with his fork.

Luna grinned. "I'm so glad you asked…" She reached behind her chair and produced two bags with a flourish, depositing them in front of the men in question. "Well, go on then. Open them," she prompted, when neither man moved to take his bag.

Severus sighed heavily, rolling his eyes, but reached obediently into his bag, producing a bundle of cloth. His brows drew down as he stared at it. "What's this?"

Luna bounced on her toes, clearly hard pressed to contain her excitement. "It's an apron. And a chef's hat. And an oven mitt, I think." She glanced at Harry questioningly, and he nodded.

Lucius made a strangled noise as he held up his apron, proudly emblazoned with the words 'I Love Lucy.' "What in Merlin's name is this?"

Luna sighed. "An apron. Like Sev's." She jerked a thumb at Severus, who was staring at his apron in disbelief. It said 'Kiss the Cook.'

"Yes," Lucius said, still staring at the apron. "But, why?"

Luna's grin became blinding. "Because, Lucy, dear, for your forfeit – and yours, Sev – I'm going to teach you to bake. With Kreacher's help, of course."

"Baking." Severus stared at her, face completely blank. Lucius gaped, mouth hanging open, though whether at the thought of baking or at being called Lucy, it was difficult to say.

"Oh!" Pansy leapt from her chair, diving into the closet and rummaging through her bag. She resurfaced, cradling her beloved camera. "For posterity, you know," she said, patting the lens-cap fondly. "I've a project coming up that this will be perfect for." She took a lot of ribbing for her newfound passion, but they were all secretly glad that she'd found something to care about. The muggle art school she attended had rekindled a spark she'd been missing since the war, further back than that, really. Draco had never seen her with so much life, and they were all willing to indulge her. Even, it seemed, letting her document embarrassing baking lessons.

The first attempts did not go well. Lucius and Severus had to be talked into wearing their new baking gear, and they'd threatened to take them off when no one could hold back the laughter. Pansy had gleefully snapped some photos of them, all cheerful aprons and thunderous scowls, and Luna had had to talk Lucius out of hexing the girl. Finally, order had been restored, and it was time for the baking lesson to officially begin.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Lucius asked in disbelief, holding up the fork Luna had pressed into his hand. "Surely you don't mean for me to eat this disgustingly soft warm butter?"

Harry snorted. Hermione giggled. Lucius glowered.

Luna pinched the bridge of her nose, even her legendary patience wearing thin. "Here. Like this." She demonstrated the proper butter-mashing technique, and then how to cream the butter and sugar together, and how to fold in the chocolate chips.

Lucius scowled down at his batter, stubbornly refusing to resemble anything close to the dough Luna was now shaping into neat circles on her baking sheet. Narcissa rolled up her sleeves and joined her husband, startling him. "Like this," she said softly, somehow turning the unrecognizable goop in his bowl into cookie dough.

Lucius stared at her. "You can bake?"

Narcissa wiped a smudge of flour from her cheek and grinned. "Cookies, anyway. Draco and I used to sneak down to the kitchens and pester the house elves into letting us 'help.' It was our secret."

Lucius stared at his wife and son in shock, and then grinned and shook his head. "All these years, my dear, and you still surprise me." He leaned in as if to kiss her, but swiped flour across her forehead instead. Narcissa squealed indignantly and waved the spoon at him, but he danced out of her reach.

Lucius managed to catch Severus with a puff of flour next, streaking his dark hair with dingy white. Severus 'accidentally' flicked a spoonful of batter into Lucius' hair in retaliation. And then batter was flying, clouds of flour were puffing about the room, and everyone was laughing.

Everyone but Kreacher, who wrung his hands, moaned and wailed about what the Black ancestors would have said, and then shooed them out of his kitchen. The cookies disappeared from the platters as soon as he brought them out, but everyone agreed that the lumpy, misshapen ones tasted the best, even if they were slightly burned and just a tad doughy in the center.

"So," Luna said brightly, ignoring the flour smudged across the bridge of her nose and the batter clinging stubbornly to her hair, "has anyone thought of a name for our home, yet?"

Hermione brushed flyaway curls behind her ears; her nose wrinkled as she considered Luna's words. "Why do we need another name for it, though? Number 12, Grimmauld Place works well enough."

Luna blew out an exasperated breath, fluttering the wayward strands of hair that fell across her eyes. "Because," she replied, slow and patient, as if she were addressing a child, "that is the name of our house. I'm talking about the name of our home."

Hermione frowned and opened her mouth to argue. Draco jumped in before she could. "I have." He flushed as all eyes in the room turned suddenly toward him. "That is," he backpedaled quickly, "if you want to hear it. Actually, it's probably rather stupid, so… never mind."

Luna smiled at him, radiating confidence and kindness and comfort. And home. "Go on," she prompted gently, drawing Draco's attention back to her, and away from the scowl on Ron's face. "Let's hear it."

Draco cleared his throat, immensely grateful for the warmth that seeped into him from Harry's hand at the small of his back, easy and solid and reassuring. He reached behind him, seizing Harry's hand, twining their fingers together and squeezing. "The Harry Potter Home for Wounded War Heroes," he said quickly.

There was a beat of silence, and then everyone started nodding and talking at once. Luna clapped her hands, squealing, "Oh! Draco, that's perfect!"

Harry squeezed his hand and leaned in for a quick peck on the cheek. Severus eyed him appraisingly and then nodded. Even Ron nodded grudgingly.

Suddenly, Draco felt his hold on Harry loosening as Luna seized his other arm and dragged him toward the nook she and Pansy'd claimed as their "studio."

Later, when their carefully lettered sign hung proudly on the front door, Draco realized that the empty spaces in his heart, the ones he'd acquired during the war, had been filled quite without his noticing. For the first time in a very long time his heart was filled with light and love, laughter and joy. For the first time in a long time, he was happy. He was content. He was home.

~The End~