Chapter 59

Harry stood in the garden, feeling the heat of the pyre warm his front, listening to the wood crackle and the faint underlying sizzle of cooking meat. Snape still stood at his side, hand loose in Harry's grip, but Draco and Tyler had retreated back to the house, along with Dobby. The Assistant's body was halfway to ashes now.

His death had been extremely anti-climatic. He'd fallen asleep shortly before sunset, and then simply died, like an old man at the end of his life. Harry doubted he'd have noticed the passing, even if he could see, if he hadn't felt the magic around the Assistant fall abruptly still. The chain between him and Snape had dissolved away, moving from the Assistant to Snape, and when it reached Snape he'd clutched his chest, breath hitching.

Burning him was Tyler's suggestion. No one knew what else to do with his body, not sure where would be a good place to bury him.

Now, in the dark of night with only the crackle of the fire and the chirp of crickets far away, Harry said quietly, "Dad?"

Snape didn't answer. Harry realised he stood on the side of Snape's lost ear and spoke so softly he might not have been heard so he repeated himself, louder this time. Snape still didn't answer, but his hand tightened slightly around Harry's.

"Did you like having a Slave?"

He sensed Snape's head turning to look down at him now and imagined he was frowning.

"Did I like it?"

"Yes."

Snape looked forward again. "I… I don't know. I did, but I don't know how much of that was just the magic of the Bond."

"Do you want another one?"

Snape looked down at him again, his voice turning sharp. "Why are you asking that?"

"It would show if you liked it or not, if you wanted another one."

Snape didn't immediately reply, still looking at him, but Harry said nothing and pushed Snape out when he tried gently looking into Harry's mind.

"I suppose," Snape said slowly, "that I do miss having that connection." He paused, then said, "I notice its absence more than I ever felt it when he was here."

"Are you going to kill yourself?"

Snape jerked, wrenching himself out of Harry's grip and turning on him. "What?"

"Are you going to kill yourself?" Harry asked again, perfectly calm.

"Why on earth would you ask me that?"

"Because I thought you would, if I'd died."

"You haven't died," Snape snapped.

"I'm getting better though," Harry said. "Things are going to be different now. I have to decide what to do with myself. I can't just stay here and do nothing forever. You don't need to look after me all the time."

"And you think I'll kill myself because of that?"

"You haven't said no," Harry pointed out.

Snape turned away from him, stepping closer to the pyre and folding his arms over his chest. "I won't abandon you so long as you need me."

Harry didn't point out what that meant—that if the day came that Harry didn't need him, Snape would kill himself.

"When I was dead," Harry said, and felt Snape stiffen even at a distance, the magic around him whirling tensely, "Mum asked me to try and help James."

"What does that have to do with me?" Snape asked tersely. "You broke Lucius out of Azkaban once; you can surely do the same for Potter, though you put more Muggle schoolchildren at risk if you do."

It was all over the news that James had attacked a Muggle primary school, but it wasn't Azkaban that concerned Harry. He'd seen enough of James with Lucius and Sirius, and the Assistant with Snape, to know that there was a good chance James only did what he did so he could be locked in prison with Lucius.

No, what he wanted from Snape was something else.

"Will you take his Bond?"

Snape whirled and Harry couldn't help twitching away from him. "Absolutely not!"

"Why?"

"Why? Harry, I hate the man! I always have. If you were thinking that I wouldn't kill myself if I had him Bound to me, you can think again. I wouldn't care about killing him through my own suicide."

"Mum said she didn't like him being Bound to Lucius. Wouldn't you do it—"

"Don't," Snape snarled. Harry backed up a step, but Snape for once didn't temper his voice. "Don't you dare try and use your mother against me. If you want to save Potter from Lucius, take the Bond yourself."

"I can't. I don't think so, anyway."

"Why not?"

"I don't think it works with a split soul. Voldemort tried to make Antonin Dolohov put it on me once."

"That makes sense," Snape said, calming down. "I'm still not taking Potter's."

He turned away from Harry, looking to the pyre once more, and then he sighed and started towards the house. Harry didn't move from his spot, but he called after Snape.

"You owe me."

Snape stopped, but didn't turn to face Harry.

"You owe me for not being there when I was a kid and you owe me for saving your life when Voldemort ordered me to kill you. If I hadn't done it, you know he'd have done it himself, and he'd probably have given you a traitor's death."

Snape turned, slowly. "What are you asking of me, Harry?"

"I want you to take James' Bond."

"Because I owe you." Snape's voice was as cold as Harry had ever heard it. "You would give me your forgiveness if I did this?"

"Yes," Harry said, and meant it. He still felt some bitterness whenever he thought of the ways Snape, his father, had failed him, but he'd suffered so much at the hands of other people that he simply didn't have the energy to hold a true grudge over it. "As long as you didn't treat him badly, or kill yourself, or anything like that."

"I would have to leave," Snape said.

"What do you mean?"

"I couldn't bring Potter into this house. It wouldn't be fair on Narcissa."

Harry hadn't thought of that. Malfoy Manor had become home in the last few months; he hadn't even considered that Snape might eventually leave.

But he'd made his decision. He had to honour his mother's request.

"I know. You can have the house in Coleford. Will you do it?"

Snape was silent. Not for the first time, Harry wished he could make out expressions with his magical sight so he could read Snape's emotions in it. He didn't even have Tyler or Draco with him so he could Wish his mind to see what their eyes did.

Eventually, Snape said quietly, "Very well. But you can never use that against me again. You can never try to guilt me by bringing up my neglect."

Harry nodded. Without another word, Snape turned and swept away, leaving Harry to wonder if he'd just done something he'd regret.

Minerva stood outside the Ministry holding cell and tugged her cloak tighter about her shoulders. She wasn't cold, but there was a chill in her bones anyway. Inside the cell, James lay unconscious on the hard bed. She'd come to take his Animancupium Bond.

The Order of the Phoenix was no more, but most of the members knew about James' predicament, Kingsley and Tonks among them. In the wake of James taking a Muggle school hostage, Kingsley realised something had to be done. As James hadn't actually hurt anyone—as Minerva heard it, even the young boy turned into a tiger had been thoroughly delighted by the adventure until his memory of it was erased—Kingsley was reluctant to sentence James to Azkaban, despite that being his intention.

Kingsley managed to convince the Wizengamot to agree to an alternate sentence: if someone could be found to take James' Animancupium, James would be put under probation under his new Master's watch. The Master would be responsible for making sure James commit no more crimes.

Finding someone to take the Bond was the biggest problem. Suspicion would come on anyone who volunteered themself, given that they were volunteering to own a slave for the rest of their life, and no person who wanted that could be easily trusted.

When Minerva heard about it, she'd not immediately considered herself. How could she? The idea of having a slave—and worse, a magically bound one—was reprehensible. But as she began to imagine what other people might end up taking it—at best, kind strangers; at worst, vicious reprobates—she wondered if volunteering herself might be the best thing for James. She liked to think she would be a good Master to him. The fact that she didn't want it even after the idea occurred to her surely worked in her favour.

Her only apprehensions were their ages and what it would mean for her career. Would it be safe to have him at Hogwarts with her, or would she have to retire? She wasn't entirely opposed to the idea, even if she wasn't quite at retiring age yet. She wasn't quite sure what she would do with herself if she did; she would get bored very quickly without anything to do.

As for the age issue—he would die if she did. If she didn't live to a 130—and many didn't, dying in their eleventh or twelfth decade, if not sooner—then he'd never seen see 100.

Still, she'd presented the idea to Kingsley, who agreed it was a good idea.

"I trust you'd be good to him," he said, and she appreciated the vote of confidence. "The only other options aren't much younger than you, so there isn't much point fretting about that. As for Hogwarts, I don't think it'll be a problem. We managed to verify most of the information he gave us on the Death Eaters' activities last summer, and it doesn't look like he was too involved in hurting anyone."

" 'Too involved'?"

"He stood aside as Malfoy and others tortured and killed, but he never did it himself. Most of Malfoy's work was politic during that time anyway. James mostly seems to have acted as an aide, and provided finances."

Her lips pursed, disliking it even knowing James had had no choice.

"You can always order him not to harm the children," Kingsley pointed out.

Minerva winced. "I'd prefer not to order him to do anything. I'd want to give him as much freedom as I possibly could."

"Exactly what would make you a good candidate."

He'd given her a book about the Bond so she knew exactly what it involved, and it hadn't made her any more eager about the idea. If anything, she was less enthusiastic. She asked who the other options were, but it was Wizengamot members, people James hardly knew. Minerva really was the best option.

So she'd come today, a Saturday morning, to do it. She left the school to Aurora Sinistra, her deputy, and would take the weekend to adjust to owning a Slave.

That had been the plan, anyway. When she tried to perform the ritual to transfer the Bond, James had fought violently. He'd screamed obscenities and insults, spitting things so cruel it very nearly drove her to tears. They'd known he'd be resistant to the transfer—he'd already raged against the very idea—but she hadn't expected that.

Kingsley had stunned him, eventually, but Minerva lost her nerve.

"He shouldn't be so unpleasant once it's done," Kingsley said.

Minerva shook her head. "I can't do this to him. I know it's in his best interests, but I simply cannot do it."

Now he was to be transferred to Azkaban until another candidate could be decided.

Minerva turned at the sound of the door. Kingsley returned, but instead of the Azkaban guard escorts, he was followed by Severus Snape.

"Severus, what on earth are you doing here?"

He and Kingsley came to stop beside her. Severus looked through the cell bars at James. Even then she didn't realise why he was there until Kingsley said, "He's offering to take the Bond."

Minerva spluttered, utterly undignified but too dumbfounded to keep her composure. "You must be joking!"

"Unfortunately not," Severus said, still looking—no, glaring—at James.

"Severus, you hate him!"

"Yes, I do."

Anger restored Minerva's composure. "Is that what this is? You want to take the Bond so you can abuse him?"

Severus snapped his gaze over to her. "You think I would do that?"

He sounded offended, but still—"I can't imagine why else you would want it."

"I'd like to hear your reasons myself," Kingsley said.

Severus sighed and folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the bars of the cell and looking into it. "Harry asked me to."

"That doesn't fill me with confidence, Snape. Don't look at me like that," Kingsley added at Severus' sharp look. "Your son is hardly a paragon of virtue, killer of Voldemort or not."

"I thought Harry knew about your rivalry with James," Minerva said. "Why would he suggest it?"

Severus looked away again. "He had a near death experience on Thursday. He claims to have seen his mother."

Minerva uttered a small gasp. Severus didn't look around.

"He says she asked him to do whatever he could to help Potter. Harry has decided this means I should take the Bond."

There was a pause then. Minerva watched Severus, but her thoughts were with Harry. Had he really seen Lily? Minerva liked the idea of an afterlife, but she had doubts as to the ability of those who'd moved on to communicate with those left behind. Ghosts were one thing, but for those who'd really moved on… There were necromancers, of course, though it was illegal in much of the west, including Britain, and personally she had doubts as to whether what they summoned was truly the spirit of those passed on.

Kingsley broke the silence, asking the question Minerva wondered herself.

"What happened to Harry? How did he come near death?"

Severus hesitated, then: "Suicide."

Minerva reached out to touch his arm, wanting to comfort him. "Is he still so traumatised by what he went through?"

He touched his fingers lightly to hers, but then shrugged her off. "Actually, it was remorse."

"For the people he killed?" Kingsley said.

"For Dumbledore," Severus amended, finally looking around. "He has always regretted the other deaths he caused, Shacklebolt. He only did those at the Dark Lord's command, you know that even if the Prophet won't admit it. Dumbledore was the only one he killed by choice, and he's come to regret it."

If he hadn't just said Harry tried to kill himself, Minerva wouldn't have believed it. She still remembered the day Dumbledore died and Harry's firm proclamation that he didn't regret it.

Kingsley looked between James and Severus, and then said, "I can't let you have him. I don't know you that well, Snape, but what I do know doesn't make me want to let you become a Slave owner."

Severus looked neither surprised or offended by this, until Kingsley went on.

"That said, I don't have a whole lot of options. I'm willing to let it happen, under certain conditions."

"What conditions?" Severus asked warily.

"One, you have an interview with a psychiatrist to decide if they think you'd abuse the Bond. Two, even if the psychiatrist clears you, you submit to regular checks to make sure you're not mistreating Potter."

Severus nodded, although he looked disappointed that Kingsley was even giving the option.

"One more thing," Kingsley said. "I'll only do it if Harry turns himself in for arrest."

Severus went stiff all over.

"Kingsley, really?" Minerva gasped.

Kingsley's expression was set, and he directed his answer at Severus. "He made this demand of you because of some vision of his mother, which he had because he tried to kill himself out of remorse for killing Dumbledore. Attempted suicide is a big gesture, but if he really regrets what he did then he'll submit to the punishment for it."

Severus' face twisted furiously. "Punishment? He was tortured and—"

"Don't," Kingsley interrupted, unthreatened by Severus' anger. "I heard all that from you and the Assistant last summer, but I'll say now what I did then: as terribly as your son suffered, it wasn't a punishment for the murders he committed. We all know that. I think he knows it, too. If I'm to believe that he made a request of you in good faith, then I need proof that his remorse didn't last only as long as his near death experience."

Severus shook with anger, hands fisted at his sides, teeth grinding so hard Minerva could hear it. She said nothing, watching him, waiting to see what he would say. She could see where Kingsley was coming from, and she had deep reservations about Severus taking James' Bond. As well as their childhood animosity, there was the fact Severus had slept with James' wife and produced a child from it. It couldn't be a good idea for them to be magically Bound together.

Gradually, Severus relaxed. Not entirely, but enough to stop his teeth grinding and his fists loosening to let blood flow again to his white fingers.

"Fine," he ground out.

"But you're not to tell him that," Kingsley said.

Minerva frowned. "What do you mean?"

"If I'm to know it's genuine remorse, Harry has to come in entirely of his own free will, not because he thinks it's an exchange or deal of any sort. Suggest the thought of Azkaban to him, but don't tell him that I'm only agreeing to let you have Potter's Bond if he turns himself in. That's my offer."

"And if Harry never turns himself in?" Severus asked.

Kingsley's gaze was unwavering. "Then I find someone else for Potter."

Draco found Granger and Longbottom in the library, no surprise. Most seventh years spent their time in the library these days, and even those who didn't still spent it studying.

With the exception of the first years, they were the smallest year group at Hogwarts, a surprising number of them lost to the war, and not all of them Muggleborns. A few of the purebloods and half-bloods had been killed during Voldemort's brief reign, but a few others were simply missing. Those left had developed a kind of survivors' guilt that drove them all to make as much of their education and their lives as they could.

Draco and Blaise were the only boys left in the Slytherin seventh year dorm. Theo Nott was among the missing; he'd never turned up to school in September, but he wasn't confirmed dead. The best idea anyone had as to his location was Lisa Turpin's claim that Theo once expressed a desire to run off to Switzerland.

Vincent Crabbe had dropped out of Hogwarts before the end of September. He'd never really been one for academic pursuit; his father died on Execution Day and his mother was less pressuring about finishing his schooling. Vincent had turned up from habit on 1st September then decided that he really couldn't be bothered and simply walked out. Last Draco heard, he was working as a bouncer for a club in Knockturn Alley.

Gregory Goyle had simply never turned up. His father had died on Execution Day, too, leaving Greg to look after his Dementor-kissed mother. Draco wasn't sure how he was earning money to pay for her care; the few times they'd spoken over the last year, Greg had been decidedly cagey about answering. Draco decided it was best not to know.

The Slytherin girls were little better off. Tracey Davis had died trying to protect her Muggle mother from Death Eaters, and the Greengrasses had fled the country early in Voldemort's reign and never come back, leaving only Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode behind.

The Gryffindors of their year were a lot better off; only Seamus Finnigan was gone, dead. But they'd lost a lot more students in other year groups, and they'd gained the fewest number of new students, with only three First Years.

Draco stalked up to the table Granger and Longbottom were sharing, neither of them noticing until he dropped down into a chair opposite them. They both jumped and Draco smirked. Granger scowled at him.

"What do you want, Malfoy? We're trying to study."

"Take a break, I want to show you something."

Longbottom glanced at Granger, who stared suspiciously at Draco. "Show us what?"

"Come with me and find out."

"Why should we trust you?" Longbottom asked.

"Why shouldn't you?"

"Because you're a racist bully?"

Draco bristled. "Was a racist bully," he corrected. "When was the last time you heard me use the M-word? Or see me pick on anyone?"

"That may be," Granger conceded, "but we're still not friends. The only thing we have in common is Harry."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Longbottom gasped and Granger looked around conspiratorially then leant forwards over the table to ask in a whisper, "Is this about him?"

"Granger, you realise you're drawing more attention to yourself right now than you would by just acting normal?" He stood up. "Just come with me, will you?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just stalked away, but he smiled when he heard them hurriedly packing their things up. He slowed his pace enough that they could easily catch up, then picked it up outside the library.

He shushed them when they asked where they were going, and led them up to the seventh floor. Opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls ballet, there was a door set into the wall, and he stopped just in front of it, hand on the doorhandle.

"What are we doing at the Room of Requirement?" Granger asked.

Draco looked up and down the corridor, making sure it was empty. "Don't shout, don't get angry, and most importantly, don't touch him."

Hermione gasped, but Draco didn't give them time to do more than that. He twisted the handle and quickly ushered Granger and Longbottom into the room beyond. It was fashioned into a sitting room, several low, squishy armchairs set around a circular coffee table, a window letting a cool breeze through.

Harry sat in one of the armchairs, legs crossed and feet tucked under him, Kiwi on his lap. He turned his face towards them when they came in, but didn't get up, just tightened his grip on Kiwi. Draco moved over to him and Harry immediately held out a hand for him to hold.

"Granger—Hermione and Neville are here," Draco told him. "Where's Cid?"

"He left," Harry said quietly, but he didn't sound distressed so Draco didn't have to find Villiers and curse his bollocks off. More loudly, Harry greeted, "Hey."

"Oh, Harry…" Granger's gaze never left him even as she moved forwards into the circle of chairs. She looked as if she wanted to throw herself at him for a hug, but Draco glared and she dropped into the chair opposite. Longbottom was more wary, moving forwards but stopping outside the circle of chairs.

"Harry, are you… I mean, how are you doing?" Granger asked tentatively.

Harry gave a weak smile. It made his scar twist, not making him look any more attractive, but at least he was smiling these days. It was never very big, but it was something.

"I'm… getting better," he answered. "Not great, but I'm getting there. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Studying for NEWTs, you know. It's—but Harry, what are you doing here? Does Professor McGonagall know? Is your father here? Is everything alright? Has something happened?"

"Have you come to kill us?"

"Neville!"

Longbottom shot Granger an apologetic look, but drew his wand when Draco drew his. Neither of them raised them, but they were both prepared to use them.

"I'm not here to kill anyone," Harry said, giving no indication he was offended or upset by the question. "I don't want to ever kill anyone ever again."

"Of course you don't," Granger said. "We know you'd never have done it before if it weren't for Voldemort making you."

"So you don't think he should go to Azkaban anymore?" Draco asked, and then at Granger's startled look added, "Severus told us about your visit to Saint Mungo's last summer."

Harry tugged on his hand. "Draco, stop it. I don't blame you guys for being angry at me. I know the things I did for Voldemort were wrong, and I am sorry about it, even though I only did it to save your lives. I wish I hadn't had to."

Granger leant forwards, sitting on the edge of her seat and apparently restraining herself from leaving it only because Harry sank back within his own chair at her movement. "Harry, it's alright, we don't blame you. We're not angry at you and we don't think you should go to Azkaban. What happened at the hospital last summer—I just hadn't realised what you're been through and…" She bit her lip, but pushed on. "Don't take this badly, but your father was… well, an arse."

She clearly worried Harry would take offence at that, but he smiled. "He taught you for five years and you're surprised when he acts like an arse?"

"He was more of an arse," she said dryly, and Harry shrugged.

"I can't apologise for him, and he probably won't ever do it himself."

"I doubt I'll ever meet him again," Hermione admitted.

"Yeah, I guess." He took a shaky breath. "Anyway, I just wanted to come visit you both. I… I wanted to know if we're still… well, friends. It's okay if you don't want to be," he added quickly. "I won't blame you if you don't like me anymore because of the things I've done, and I can't be a very good friend even if you don't hate me because I'm still… I'm not good. I can't deal with people very well yet still. But I just… I wanted to know."

Granger stood up, ignoring Draco's glare as she moved around the table. Harry's hand tightened around Draco's and his other clenched around Kiwi. Granger sat on the table, facing Harry, and reached out a hand.

"Granger—!"

"Shut up, Malfoy," she interrupted. "Harry, do you mind if I touch your knee?"

Harry twitched like he wanted to back further into the chair, and Granger looked disappointed, but then Harry let go of Kiwi to hold out his other hand. "Not my knee."

Granger smiled and took it, wrapping both her hands around Harry's one. "I still want to be friends with you. I don't know what your father said about last summer, but I did say some stupid things and I'm sorry for that. I don't think you should be in Azkaban and I—"

"I do."

Draco lifted his gaze to Longbottom. Granger twisted around to look at him too, gaping. Harry's head turned towards him and he tugged both his hands free from Granger and Draco's grip. Longbottom avoided Draco and Granger's gazes, eyes fixed on Harry.

"I'm sorry, I know you were tortured and everything, but that wasn't a punishment for killing Dumbledore. That was just Voldemort."

"Neville—"

"No," Harry interrupted Granger. "It's okay. He can think that. It's true, anyway. What Voldemort did…" He shivered, hugging Kiwi again, "That was punishment for betraying him, not for killing Dumbledore. It's true that I haven't been punished for that."

"Bullshit," Draco snapped, fingering his wand and glaring at Longbottom even as he spoke to Harry. "Just because the Dark Lord didn't do it because of Dumbledore doesn't mean it doesn't count. You've suffered more than enough to make up for everything you did, and anyone who thinks otherwise is just too stupid to realise what you've been through."

Granger leapt up from the table, never noticing that Harry flinched at the movement. "Neville's not stupid."

"He's as thick as this castle, and just as empty headed."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Longbottom snapped, surprising Draco. He didn't think the other boy had the backbone for it. "You're just too in love with Harry to see his flaws. He's a murderer, and murderers are meant to be punished. You wouldn't be so kind about him if he'd killed your father!"

Draco stared at him, baffled. "What does my father have to do with anything? It's not like he killed your father. I don't see why—"

"He didn't kill their torturers, either!"

That didn't make Draco any less confused, but Harry's head snapped up, suddenly ashen, his arms tightening around Kiwi so much she bent in half, his voice coming out in a strained gasp.

"What?"

"You heard me," Neville said, blinking several times as he eyes grew wet. "I don't believe what they say about only true Death Eaters dying when Voldemort did. I think you killed them in one of your magical outbursts, but Lucius Malfoy didn't die, or your dad or that Assistant guy, and neither did Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange, the people that tortured my parents nearly to death."

Harry was trembling now. Draco turned away from Neville, crouching by the chair; he knew he wouldn't be able to touch Harry without getting hurt right now, but he tried to keep his voice soothing. "Harry, it's okay, ignore him. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Oh yes, I do! Their names weren't in the lists of the dead. They're still alive!"

"No," Harry whined, shaking his head. "Dad said Bellatrix was dead, he said so. What about the others? Please, please, don't let them hurt me again."

"Harry, they're dead, you're safe, I promise. No one will ever hurt you again. Rodolphus and Rabastan are dead, too."

"They aren't!"

Draco whirled. "They are, my parents killed them!"

Silence.

Longbottom and Granger gaped at him. Draco looked away, focusing on Harry again.

"Harry, they're dead. They can't hurt you."

"Your parents killed them?" Harry's voice was quiet, but less afraid now, seeking reassurance. Draco didn't want to say any of this in front of Granger and Longbottom, but he had to for Harry's sake.

"They killed all of them when they tried to come and rescue me, the day we escaped the Manor. I promise you, Harry, they're all dead and they can't hurt you again."

Draco turned a glare on Granger, who had her hands to her mouth, looking horrified, then to Longbottom, who was as pale as Harry. "So there. You know the truth—the Lestranges are all dead, and you have my parents and to thank for it. Do you still condemn Harry to Azkaban?"

Longbottom was as pale as Harry. He swallowed thickly and nodded jerkily. "Yes. I'm glad the Lestranges are dead, but Harry's still a murderer."

Draco shook his head, letting his face express every bit of disgust he felt for Longbottom, then turned back to Harry, taking care to soften his voice. "Come on, Harry, it's time to go."

Harry said nothing, but he grabbed Draco's arm and stood, holding tight as the furniture of the room vanished. Granger reached towards Harry as they moved towards the door, but Harry shied away from her.

"Harry, please, Neville doesn't mean—"

"Yes, I do."

"It's okay," Harry said quietly, unseeing eyes still staring forwards. "I appreciate your support, Hermione, but Neville's allowed to think what he likes. I'm sorry, Neville. I wish things were different. Goodbye, both of you."

He started walking and Draco went with him, not sparing the two Gryffindors another glance.

Out in the hall, they turned and headed for the nearest staircase. Draco murmured a reminder to make them invisible and Harry assured him they were. The only other person that knew they were in the castle was Tyler, who was currently in McGonagall's office discussing his enrolment for next year. The possession had undone whatever it was that turned him squib, which he'd decided was fair payment. He'd forgiven Harry, too; they'd never be great friends again, but Tyler no longer held a grudge against Harry.

He also still had all Riddle's memories, including his knowledge of magic, which he was using to argue that he could go straight into seventh year come September, skipping the sixth year studies. He claimed it was a desire to stick with his old year mates, but Draco suspected he just didn't want to spend two years in school. Tyler had been the one to say he wanted to finish his education, but he also seemed reluctant to leave the manor, and glad he wouldn't start schooling until September.

Draco had extended an invitation to Tyler to remain at the manor as long as he liked, when Tyler said he had nowhere else to go because he point blank refused to move back in with the Swifts. Part of Draco didn't want to, because Tyler had tried to kill Harry, but Harry was convinced Tyler's hatred was gone. Without that, Draco had no objection. He liked Tyler well enough, and in truth he had selfish reasons for wanting Tyler around—he hoped there might be a chance of something between them.

He felt horrendously guilty thinking it, but he couldn't help it. He loved Harry, he really did, but he knew that anything between him and Harry was a very long way off. He didn't resent Harry for it, he knew that Harry had suffered things Draco could scarcely imagine and it took time to recover from that—if he ever really would—but the fact remained that he was a healthy eighteen year old boy. He wanted sex and he wasn't sure how long he could go without. He wouldn't do anything without Harry's permission, because he refused to cheat on him, but he hoped Harry would be as understanding as he had been before. He doubted Harry would want to watch again, but he might still agree for Draco to use Tyler for physical relief.

"You should make those two idiots forget what I said about the Lestranges," Draco said as they made their way down through the castle. "Longbottom will probably report it otherwise and the Aurors might try to arrest Mother."

Harry nodded, but said nothing. Draco wanted to rage about Longbottom, but he had a feeling Harry wouldn't really appreciate it, so they walked in silence to the ground floor, out the front doors, and down the front lawn to the school gates. They were shut, but there was no Auror presence like there had been last year, and it was almost curfew for even the seventh years so there was no one to see the gates swing open so the two could leave.

They stopped just outside, beyond the Anti-Apparition perimeter, and Draco turned to Harry.

"I should come with you."

He hadn't wanted to return this evening, unwilling to leave Harry alone after his near death four days earlier, but Harry assured him he would be fine, and in some ways he did seem better since it happened. Draco was sure part of that was Riddle's absence; no matter what Riddle or Harry had ever said about it, Harry could only be better without him.

Harry didn't turn to him, but he smiled faintly. "No, it's okay. You should do some studying at school. The teachers can better guide you in revision than me or Dad, especially now."

"Now?"

"I don't think Dad will focus well on tutoring when he's dealing with James."

Draco shook his head. "He might not have to deal with James. You heard him; he said Minister Shacklebolt refused him until he gets seen by a psychiatrist."

"It'll be fine," Harry said assuredly.

"You shouldn't interfere with it," Draco warned. "You need to let the shrink make their own decision. If you force things, it'll probably be worse for James than leaving him with my father."

He didn't like his father enslaving a man, not even after seeing the way Snape and the Assistant interacted over the last nine months. He knew the relationship with his father and James Potter was a lot different to Snape and the Assistant's, but he'd also learnt enough about Snape to know that he wouldn't be a much better Master for James. He didn't think Harry should have even suggested it, let alone blackmailed Snape into doing it.

"I won't interfere," Harry said reluctantly. "But I'm sure Dad'll get it. There's no one else who can."

Draco doubted that, but he didn't bother saying so.

"I'm still not sure you should go home alone," he said, changing the subject to better things. "You haven't been alone before and this was your first time out the house. Let me come with you and I'll Apparate back here myself. I don't even Splinch myself anymore."

Harry squeezed his hand and finally turned to face him. "Draco, I'm okay. Really, I am. I can manage to get home."

"I know you can, I just…"

Harry cocked his head slightly, then said, "There, I Wished away the Anti-Apparition spells on your house so I can teleport straight into the house. Does that make you feel better?"

"Not really," Draco admitted.

"Draco." Harry moved closer, surprising Draco when he lowered the hand clutching Kiwi to his chest so he could stand close enough to press his forehead gently to Draco's chin. His hair tickled Draco's nose and he resisted the urge to nuzzle against it, afraid of scaring Harry off from this unusually intimate gesture.

Draco's voice was barely a breath of whisper when he spoke. "I love you."

"I love you too. And I'm okay."

"I thought you wouldn't be, after Longbottom upset you like that."

Harry squeezed his hand. "They're dead, and I'm safe, and I'm alive." His breath hitched with a swallowed sob, but when Draco started to pull away, Harry's other arm come up and pressed to Draco's, Kiwi still occupying his hand but the message clear enough that he wanted Draco to stay. He shifted his head to Draco's shoulder, shaking slightly as they stood front to front, just enough room between their bodies for a sheet of parchment. Draco hardly dared breathe, clinging to Harry's hand.

"I'm alive, Draco. I'm alive when I never thought I would be. I've got a future and I've got to do something with it, and I need to step into it by myself. I know Dad's waiting for me and I know you're here whenever I need you, and I'm grateful for you both, I really am, but I need to take this step by myself. I don't even have Riddle anymore, and I need to know that I can do this by myself, without anyone else holding my hand. I need to be able to do this if I'm going to do anything else with my life."

Draco brought his free hand up, laying it gently against Harry's hip. Harry twitched slightly, but he didn't burn Draco and he didn't pull away.

"Alright," he said softly. "Going home isn't that big of a deal, but I guess that's why it's so important. Baby steps. I'll see you next weekend then. Just let me know that you get back safe. Send me a note."

In reply, Harry just brushed his nose against Draco's neck. "I love you."

Draco drew back slightly. "Harry, are you sure you're alright?"

Harry's head tilted up, eyes unfocused but attention irrefutably fixed on Draco's face. "I'm fine. As fine as I can be, anyway. I'm realising something, that's all. The future's mine, Draco. You've always known that, but it's new for me."

"Then why are you saying I love you like it's a goodbye?"

"It's not a goodbye. It's a reminder, for you and for me. The future is mine and it's empty and terrifying, but I love you and that'll hold me up through whatever's ahead of me. Tell me you love me."

"You know I do."

"Say it. My mother's love protected my against Voldemort. I need yours now to protect me against whatever else life will throw at me."

Draco couldn't help himself: he ducked his head and kissed Harry. Harry stiffened and Draco started to pull back, but then Harry relaxed and leant into it. It remained chaste and lasted only a few seconds, but it said more than any words could.

Even so, Harry had asked him for something, and Draco would give it, just as he'd give Harry anything for as long as they both lived, and with any luck that would be a hundred years and more. Draco fully intended to spend every single year at Harry's side, willing to give him absolutely anything he asked for, whether it was the world or just three simple words.

"I love you."

That's all, folks. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!

Will there be a sequel? Short answer: maybe. Long answer: see the FPS tumblr. Hopefully this ending wraps things up enough that it satisfies even if a sequel never comes.