A/n: Thanks, everyone!

Ana: sorry I made you cry! I hope you enjoy this last chapter. Much love to you, and thanks again for the wonderful support. It's been awesome!

Amazonia: congrats on finishing this monster project with me. You're the best. Forever and ever and ever.

Panic Switch

Epilogue

The entirety of his world was now this house. It was a lovely, quaint place, admittedly; though he was restricted by mind and matter here. The expanse of the yard had yet to be explored, mainly because Harry wasn't curious enough about the neighboring forest to journey into it. Maybe sometime later he would, and he would likely find a village of some kind, or maybe a lake. Every morning, he watched the sun rise and was sure he was in the most beautiful place in the world. This exile seemed like paradise.

He woke by and spoke to a house elf by the name of Mim, who was a funny little thing that had been sent to take care of him. She laid out a proper breakfast for him, and, as he ate, he would look out his window and greet the beginning of another day. He settled for puttering about the house, then, walking to and from different rooms and halls.

It was a small place filled with tiny, pretty windows. There was an attic. Harry liked the attic quite a lot. The curious vines from the garden had inched all the way up to the window and, further, to the highest point of the house. When he looked down, there were wildflowers leading a wayward path to the bigger garden of the forest. Sometimes he would see red hawks perched in the trees, feeding and preening in what seemed like forever-lasting sunlight. It didn't seem to ever rain.

His bedroom was comfortable. Simplistic. At night, he left the shades open and let whatever was visible of the moon shine through. A cool breeze, enough to ruffle his hair and blush his cheeks, was perpetual here. The sounds of life were loud at all times of the day. He was soothed by them, and maybe a little less lonely.

After his restless movement through the house, he would gather himself and go down to the kitchen. It was a lovely room full of essentials, and it had a dining table big enough for two. Despite his offers, Mim never sat with him during meals. She would tug on her ears when Harry asked, endearing herself to him more, before popping away to do whatever it was she did while Harry was here. His lunch was always good – light enough for him, and tasteful. Afterward, he would go outside onto the porch and smoke a cigarette.

Sometimes squirrels came up to him, asking for food. He laid out cashews on the railing, and they scrambled up and clutched the treats in their little claws, alternatively gazing at their prize and then, suspiciously, at him. He was in a mountainous area, that much was clear. It was still winter, and, by this, he could discern he was north, but it wasn't cold enough to be Scotland, and the air didn't smell like the sea. He was somewhere likely landlocked. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

When he was tired of thinking of that, he went back into the house and into the library. It was rather compact, but full of books both magical and not. Harry liked the variety, though he never read them. He would run his hands across their bindings over and over. Some were leather, some were paper and board. There was a desk, for letter writing, probably. Harry hadn't received any letters to reply to.

By the time he was done, the sky would turn pink. He would return outside to watch the sun go down while drinking a cup of tea that Mim had brought him. No matter how little he ate them, she would insist on cakes and biscuits with his tea. Harry liked to laugh with her, though Mim scolded him when he didn't take her seriously. As the sun set, he would think about very little. He would be happy that it wasn't raining, that it hadn't in all the days he had been there. The weather told him he wasn't in England, he wasn't home. But this could be home as well, if it were not much of a prison.

Mim would herd him inside when the crickets started singing. His dinner was filling and large in proportion to his other meals. He would make his way through it, slowly but surely. After dinner, he lit the fireplace and sat in the parlor. He kept the window open, despite Mim's worry he would catch a cold. A nightcap waited for him at about ten o'clock. He sipped it as he polished Denny's gun.

It was the only thing in the house that was truly his. There were new clothes in his closet, books he had never read or owned, food he hadn't bought, trinkets from some odd place or another. But when he had arrived, the gun was sitting on the table as if it had come back to him all on its own. The soothing act of handling the gun always lulled him into a doze. He would finish his drink, stub out his smoke, and stoke the fire.

He hesitated at his bed, every night.

In sleep, the thoughts he would not entertain during the day came to him. His dreams were never peaceful. His discontent in slumber did not wholly follow him into the day, but he could count on the torture at night. More than once, he would wake with the whisper of a scream on his lips. More than once, he would be awakened crying silently, though he did not know why. Mim would come in while he stood by the bed.

"Master Harry is needing sleep," she would tell him, pulling back the blankets. "Is late, Master Harry. Sweet dreams."

She said the last part without being cruel. His dreams would never be sweet, but she always hoped they would be. Harry could tell. Obediently, he would climb into bed and shut out the light. And, in the morning, after a night of terror, he would lie in bed and wonder if he should even bother getting up. Eventually, he would, and his day would start all over again.

And then it changed.

Mim seemed very happy that morning. She poured Harry's tea as she chattered away about this and that. Her comfort with him always cheered him. Before she left, Mim gave Harry a stack of envelopes. He breathed in deeply as he stared at them, not daring to hope.

"Master Harry is getting letters!" she said exuberantly. "Master Harry is allowed to write back!"

Mim often spoke of what Harry was and was not allowed to do. He speculated that someone he cared about was giving these orders to the house elf, but it usually annoyed him, all the same. The letters didn't seem to be dated, and his fingers twitched to open them. To read something about the world he had left behind. Mim was ever vigilant, however.

"Master Harry must be eating first," she told him sternly. "You is reading them in the study later."

So he ate, quicker than usual, and he was soundly chastised for it. He felt more alive than he had in the month or so he had been there. Harry was tempted to laugh as he raced to the library. His hands were shaky as he opened the topmost letter. He counted and saw that there were four in total.

He opened it, but nervousness made him stop before he read. Harry placed a paperweight down on the rising parchment and took a deep breath. He reached for Denny's gun and took it apart as he read.

Dear Harry,

The moment I was allowed to write to you, I didn't wait. There's been so much that's happened while you've been gone. So much that I'm not sure where to start. I'm honestly just glad to be able to contact you. We all miss you very much. Molly and I were just talking about you last night, actually. Do you remember when you and Ron lost Ginny in the field? We were laughing, because Ginny said the one thing she would miss most about the Burrow was that pantry.

He couldn't help but smile. They had been playing Hide-and-Seek in the field, and Ginny had disappeared. There was a panic, and then they had thought to look in the pantry. Though Ginny's fervor to find the perfect hiding spot had worked, she'd actually been more attracted to the sweets hidden there by Molly. Ron had told him, later, when they were all grown up, that Ginny still stole away in there for solitude, with a pack of biscuits to munch on.

We're getting by. Sirius has helped fund the rebuilding of our home; he, along with an anonymous benefactor that I'm sure you know about. This letter, by the by, is also from your godfather, who is currently dictating what I should say and when. I imagine he'll soon criticize my tone and sentence structure.

Though Harry was understandably confused about the benefactor Arthur mentioned, he shook off his curiosity and read on.

Cassie seems to be doing much, much better. Her nightmares have stopped, and, what with the boys at Grimmauld, she appears to be thriving. Unfortunately, she's taken quite a liking to Fred and George. I'm wary of what they're teaching her. Oh, yes, the boys are here. Ron and Ginny remain at school, of course, but Charlie and Bill, along with the twins, are helping with the rebuilding. Charlie finds himself with more time off now, considering all that is happening in the world. Bill's only just gone back to work.

And I suppose you'd like some information on that, yes? You were always infernally curious. Well then, where to start? I believe you will be interested to know how the Ministry is faring. So far, Harry, things are moving quickly. Scrimgeour is still in office, of course, but he's been threatening to step down after a little tiff with the President of the United States. Apparently, the two are evenly matched in terms of temperament and tolerance. The Prime Minister is fond of Kingsley, rather, who has already taken over the diplomacy between the Muggles.

There're a few new divisions in the Ministry. The Muggle Relations and The Muggle Ambassadorial Police are the newest and most proficient additions. I myself have been promoted. My division is now a cooperative sect of the Ambassadorial Police. It's quite nice, honestly. I've got my own office. Along with these, there've been adjustments to the Muggle government as well.

When I last spoke with Kingsley, he was picking out a team to permanently relocate to the States to work with a team of Wizards for the President there. The treaty that was signed has calmed the media extravagantly, and other countries still at war have seen a very happy decline in violence. There are still people being killed, both Muggle and Wizard, but, so far, the combined Police and Auror forces are managing quite well. We all know that's Kingsley's doing, really.

As for the rest of us: As I mentioned before, Bill has his job back at Gringott's. It's up and running again, though many things have changed. The goblins have taken over the bank, and they are very happy to be in charge. The interest rates have climbed, of course, but that's to be expected with goblins. Only the pure-bloods are discontent with the new proceedings at the bank, but no one really listens to them anymore. The vaults are Warded completely now. Where Gringott's was impossible to break into before, it is now unthinkable, and likely a torturous miscalculation for any thief. Bill's been busy with that, you might say.

Along with these changes, there has been another interesting development: Dragons are now considered Conscious Creatures, and they are protected under law. This new category of beings also includes Werewolves and Vampires (though they don't seem to care at all about their protected status). The Romanian Reserve is now more of a...diplomatic outpost. Charlie is waiting for the Ministry to call the handlers back into the field once the negotiations are over. He's anxious to return, given he had such a hard time leaving the reservation. Apparently, a Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert was unhappy to see Charlie go.

Molly is cheerful that her boys are here and excited that Ron and Ginny will be with us for the Easter holiday. The Burrow threatens to be finished and ready for us to move in by then. In the summer, we hope to play host to numerous friends and family. As part our family, we were very much hoping you would join us. We would take all the necessary precautions, of course, and you would only have to disguise yourself some of the time. Please consider it.

In the meantime, it looks like everything is finally beginning to die down. There're some places, like the Ministry, that were easily repaired. But there's still a bit of rebuilding to come. Luckily, we're working together on this, not arguing about this and that (bar Scrimgeour's barney with the President, of course).

Things are settling fast, so Molly and I have hope that you'll be with us this summer. Perhaps they'll have given up searching for you by then. I know Kingsley isn't trying too hard, though Gawain Robards is a bit of a fanatic about it, ever since they found him Obliviated and Confonded in the lady's loo.

Write me, Harry, and let me know that you're well! We do miss you, very much.

They had all signed the bottom, including Cassie, whose writing was wiggly and barely comprehensible. Harry liked this very much, and he smiled as he put the letter aside and went on to the next one. This letter made him laugh.

Ron went on and on about how school was particularly boring without Harry there. He was struggling with exams at the moment, so couldn't Harry use his Invisibility Cloak and help him a bit with the answers? The most surprising news in the letter, besides Ron's apparent nonchalance with Harry, was that Draco had not shown back up to school. Rumor had it that the boy was too distraught to return. Ron tentatively asked if this was true, but Harry had no answer for him.

He briefly shuffled through the letters and did not recognize Draco's writing. Perhaps it was true.

The ache inside of him was counterproductive. He wanted to read his messages with good cheer, since they were the first he had gotten so far. Later, maybe, he could dwell on Draco.

Harry took a deep breath and set aside Ron's missive, grabbing up the next one and sliding it open. He smiled. This one was from Mina and Alejandro. Harry briefly wondered if they ever did anything separately before he began to read.

Harry,

You'll be happy to know we're allowed to contact you again. I was irritated all these weeks, not being able to write to you, so now that I'm not irritated, I can appropriately compose a letter to you. In my first unsent draft of this letter, there was much cursing, and it was entirely in Russian. Alejandro seemed to think it wasn't satisfactory.

I would hope that you are well. Perhaps living the life of luxury? We were assured that you had everything you could want, wherever you are. I know it won't be enough. Seclusion doesn't suit you. Or maybe it does? Andro is of the mind that it would appeal to you after all those years of war. He's rather sure the rest and relaxation would do you well. I think you must be restless. You're a man of my own heart, after all, and we're seldom happy with inaction.

We suppose it could be worse, though. You could be in prison or dead. Exile sounds better than that, of course. I hope you're eating, and not drinking too much. I'd be flat drunk if I were isolated. Andro's just told me I'm not being very supportive. I'm not sure why I put up with him, honestly.

After fishing for details on your escape, we have to applaud that lover of yours. The Dragon King claims to have killed the beast that helped you escape, and Mr. Malfoy has assured an impressive alibi to keep him out of suspicion. He was ruthless, my dear. To prevent your execution from going public, young Draco managed to spend quite a bit of his father's money to have the execution private. Do not worry, though; apparently, it was an anonymous benefactor who appealed for a speedy hanging. The same benefactor, I do believe, who gave so much to the goodly charity for those who have lost their houses in the war. Draco assures us he merely helps your Weasleys because he's madly in love with you and is now certifiably insane. I think it's romantic.

All of the accomplices to your escape are not even suspect, that's how well your lover has done. In recent weeks, he has taken on the status of a bereaved and betrayed lover. He acts quite well, truthfully. Andro got quite the laugh out of it.

Besides that, your trail has gone cold. We think it has something to do with that Kingsley fellow, but people don't tell us much. We've stomped aboutat your Ministry recently, since Alejandro is an Ambassador now (he's not at all qualified, whereas I am, and I wasn't even offered a position), and we like the new adjustments. Andro says I'm being bitter now, but I'll just ignore him and go on.

There's been trouble in China, but it's starting to settle now. There doesn't seem much that can be done with Iraq or Pakistan. But they're used to running around fighting with each other, so none of us are very concerned. Things are better than how you left it – that is what I'm trying to say. Spain kept out of it enough to be smug; in fact, they've taken up supplying for the workers who are rebuilding internationally. Getting rich is what they're doing. Russia, my Russia, is thriving. After the bombs, we were rather upset, but after we showed our teeth a bit, the United Nations has been very cooperative. They just sent me a case of wine and cheese yesterday. I'm counting on getting a submarine by the time I'm done taking advantage of their placations.

Oh, and the United Nations is under a remodeling, of sorts, as well, but then, who isn't? You'll be happy to hear that each representative from each nation has to bring along their resident Wizard leader. It has caused much arguing, considering some Magical nations don't really have a leader. Some parts of South America are holding elections, but China continues squabbling about who is in control while alternatively trying to kill their partners. Lunacy, I say. Alejandro just says they need to grow up a bit.

But enough about that. I'm afraid I will need you to write a letter back to me before I am consumed with irritation, and I rage at Andro more. I grow tired of his lectures.

One thing we would like to establish is that we are proud of you. The world is becoming a better place, Harry, whether you believe it or not. I think you definitely had the right of it, and Alejandro keeps to his faith and claims you're a messiah of sorts. He's a bit weird, our Andro. I expect your letter tomorrow. That is an order.

Yours,

Mina Novikov
Alejandro Guillermo

P.S. When your elf...thing returns tomorrow, I'll give you a bottle of this Chateau Lafitte stuff. It's not bad.

The grin on his face was brighter than he could ever remember it being as he shuffled the letter aside. He was very happy that Mina was well. She sounded quite the same. Unruffled, as usual, but perhaps a bit more joyful. They were good friends to him, and he briefly thought upon that. It wasn't often that he thought of his friends. It wasn't often that he appreciated them. Now he did, though. Now, he believed his good mood might just keep the nightmares at bay.

But he wouldn't hope too much for it, of course.

The last letter was, surprisingly, from Griphook. Of all the people Harry expected to hear from, the goblin was not among them. For some strange reason, Harry believed the last he would see of Griphook was on the day he had escaped. Perhaps it was because the being was rarely sentimental, and he could never be described as a friend or confidante. Curious, he unstuck the Gringott's wax seal and read the contents.

Dear Mr. Potter,

As I'm sure you've noticed, you are not necessarily lacking anything in that house of yours. However, it has come to my attention that you would be pleased with the ability to buy any other miscellaneous objects that I have not thought of. Mim is in control of your accounts. Please inform her of what you would like to buy, and she shall fetch it for you.

The Ministry has placed everything in your possession under frozen accounts here at Gringott's. Yet, it comes as no surprise that I now control everything that goes on in this bank. Your vaults maybe accessed, to a limit, so that we do not draw suspicion. Any purchases will be approved by me before Mim grants them to you. Here, in your vault, a number of artifacts will be kept safe. Among them, your wand and cloak. I took the initiative of placing the stone with them. If this vault is ever opened entirely, it will be your decision, Mr. Potter. Goblins have no responsibility to Wizards, sir, and we are not the law.

I look forward to doing business with you.

Goblin Griphook
Head of Gringott's Council
Diagon Alley
London

Harry simply had to laugh. Griphook, for all of his grumpiness, was a conniving, clever little bugger. And thoughtful, too, he reckoned, glancing at the smokes and decanter of scotch. He would not limit Harry's habits, it seemed. Which told Harry quite a bit about who was allowing him what. Whoever was housing him and keeping him safe knew he would need to be kept happy. Whether because he was volatile when inactive, or simply because they cared enough about him to provide for him. Maybe both.

He entertained an idea of who it was, but threw the speculation aside hastily. There had been no contact from his lover. Harry would not hope too much or too little. His hands had moved quickly as he read, and the gun beside him was now back together and gleaming. He glanced at it briefly.

Mim managed to get him out of the study, and he enjoyed a light lunch, more carefully eaten, given his pensive mood. Afterward, he returned to his desk and replied to each letter, feeling light and cheerful as he signed the bottoms. He could not think of asking Mim to purchase anything, though it was pleasant to have the means.

By dinner, his happiness was declining, and by the time he was standing beside his bed once more, he was afraid the letters had provided an unwelcome drawback. He knew his dreams tonight would be more like memories.

Another day passed, and one after that. Harry kept to the routine he had humored before the letters had arrived. He thought, rather sadly, that he would ask Mim to purchase more feed for his squirrels. They seemed less suspicious of him every day, which he thought was a grave mistake on their part.

Denny's gun went through the stages of being apart and being whole. His scotch ran out, but more bottles appeared in its wake. The sun rose and the moon rose and each day went by, and he wondered if anything would change. It rained one day, and Harry was cheered to see it. Its tomorrow was brighter, as if to make up for the weather it'd had yesterday.

And then, a month and a half after his exile, there was a knock on his door. Harry stared at it, scared, since Mim wasn't around, and he was otherwise rather defenseless. Then he thought of Denny's gun and quickly grabbed it up. The knock came again.

His worry was for naught, it seemed, for, when he opened the door, it was only Draco. Only Draco.

It was Draco.

The gun dropped, useless, and he beamed like he never had before, not in all of his eventful life. Draco smiled back.

.o00o.

The room was bathed in moonlight. Every now and again, a stray cloud would dim the glow and everything would look smaller. Closer. The tops of the trees lit up like lights, as if they were a city at night. Harry watched them shine and let the moon cast shadows upon him.

A pleasantly cool breeze seemed to lift his naked skin. He soaked in the blaze and turned to look back at the open door to his room. At the bed where Draco slept. In the hall, before the door to the outside world, the gun still lay on the floor. Denny's gun.

Harry moved away from the window and slowly picked it up. In the still quiet, the peaceful world at night, Harry held it in his hand and thought of its weight. He thought of its owner. His possession and all he had wanted, long ago.

He glanced at the open door once more. All he desired was already here, and that mattered, perhaps more than the past. Harry was urged, by some sort of happiness, to go back to bed. To slide beneath the cool coverings beside his greatest achievement.

A small smile quirked the corners of his mouth. With the moon as his only witness, he placed the gun in a drawer and turned the key. With the promise of sleep in sight, he moved towards his room and shut the rest of the world away. He'd left the key in there, a visible temptation, but knew he would never open that door again.

Maybe there would never be redemption. Maybe nothing would ever be the same. But there was a new liberation in all that he did. No matter that he had believed the house his chains, Harry came to realize there were no limits but what he made for himself. And one day he would be free. And knowing this, now, meant he was already unbound. There was a new part of him to discover. In truth, everything he had ever wanted was now unlocked, and it would be so, as long as there was freedom.

And so he would remain.