AN: It's finally finished! Thanks so much to anyone who reviewed/favourited/followed etc, you're awesome. This ending is fluffyfluffyfluffy. You have been warned.

I might do some more one shots in this 'verse (I owe my friend a Percy one which should be coming soon) and I'm still considering doing a next gen collection of ficlets just with my head cannons for their daemon forms. If there's anyone you'd be interested in let me know!

Unbeta'd.

When Draco and his mother get home the first thing that greets him is a ball of trembling black feathers and Addie, Addie, Addie. She's whispering nonsense into his skin and for the first time in years Draco feels whole.

His mother and Silvain cry.

His father and Kali watch from a distance, Kali's head is up and her fur is glossy. After a few moments they turn away and stalk back in to the depths of the mansion.

For a few weeks they're left alone with ghosts.

Draco can't go anywhere without being assaulted by memories, murders, tortures, severings. (He can still hear their screams if he closes his eyes) Adrasteia refuses to be in the same room as his father, flies off to sulk in his bedroom when they have their quiet, terse dinners. Lucius spends all his time in his study; his mother spends all her time trying to get the mansion back to its former glory.

Then one day a group of auros apparate in and arrest his father.

Draco thinks he should feel something, something more than Addie's claws tight on his shoulder.

When their gone his mother hugs him and cries and Draco's not sure whether it's from relief or despair. He thinks maybe it's both.

They leave the next day; go to their holiday home in Wales. It's on the outskirts of a muggle town, they're alone. Free. He sleeps through the night for the first time in a year and he starts eating again without feeling like he's about to throw up immediately after.

He still sees ghosts everywhere, relives everything he did, thing he had done to him.

It takes him almost a week to notice that Adrasteia leaves at night when she thinks he's asleep. Their bond is different now, it's still strong as ever, he can half-see what she sees as she soars across the British countryside, can still half hear her conversation with whoever she meets every night. They're stretched but still whole, like the ancient witches of the North during the time of the armoured bears.

He's summoned to the ministry in late July.

As a witness.

And then again as Death Eater.

His mother picks out a fancy suit for both days and Silvain preens Addie until her feathers gleam.

The first trial is terrifying.

He's sat in front of the Wizengamot, Adrasteia on his shoulder whispering comfortingly. The new head of Wizengamot is a sharp eyed young man with hawk daemon with a grizzled left wing. Death Eaters are led in one by one and Draco is forced to retell every vile thing he saw them do.

They jeer and their daemons snap and growl and grumble at him.

"It's okay, Draco," Addie whispers. "We're okay."

He's okay until they lead out his father.

Kali strides in by his side, teeth bared, head raised regally; her fur has lost its lustre once again but she looks no less terrifying. His father has one hand buried in her ruff and he regards Draco with cold eyes. This is the man who raised him, who taught him to be the second best in his year at Hogwarts, who taught him to fly and to read. This is the man who taught him to hate and to be cruel and vile. This the man who separated him from his daemon, who made him suffer because he was too cowardly to say no. This is the man who made all the wrong choices. Draco feels like a child again, an awkward little boy with a daemon who won't settle and a chip on his shoulder big enough to bring him down.

Addie nips his ear. "It's okay."

And he believes her.

Draco's mouth his dry and he's shaking but he answers every one of their questions. When he's done the man with the hawk daemon (Neil Smith) offers him a warm smile, "Very well done, Draco. You've helped us a lot; this should help you out a lot too."

"Th-Thank you, sir." He says, standing unsteadily.

Smith smiles again, "You're welcome. Now you better go, you'll need your rest for tomorrow."

His mother meets him in the hallway, pulls him into a tight embrace. "You did so well, Dragon. So well." She takes him by the hand and leads him to the lift. "We'll go back to the hotel and have some dinner and an early night." There's a hint of desperation in her voice, an undercurrent of fear, it reminds him far too much of their time with Voldermort.

He clears his throat, "Mother tomorrow will be-"

She cuts him off with a wave of her hand and her mouth trembles. "We'll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow." By her feet Silvain makes a small, distressed noise and Draco smiles and nods because she needs him to.

They're about to leave when someone calls his name.

He's expecting a reporter or maybe someone about to call him death eater scum and spit on him or something. He's not expecting Hermione Granger standing there determinedly, her raven daemon regarding them coolly.

"One minute Mother," he mutters, striding over to where Hermione is hovering. He shifts slightly awkwardly, "Granger," He greets.

She smiles weakly, "You really did well in there."

"Thanks," he mumbles. He wonders if he should apologise (he knows he should) or if he should ask how she's doing. Adrasteia stretches her wings nervously and he stammers, "I don't-" falls short when he realise he has no idea what he was about to say.

Her daemon makes a short breathless sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh and Hermione reaches up to stroke his glossy feathers. "I just wanted to tell you that Harry will be there tomorrow, for your defence."

"Blessed saint Potter," he mumbles for the both of them because resentment is easy, familiar.

She smiles again but as she lifts a hand to brush back her bushy curls her sleeve rides down and there's that shiny scar on her arm. Puckered and pink, jagged letters; mudblood. He shudders and in his head he hears her screams. Adrasteia takes off with a sudden caw and he jerks back.

She stares after Addie in confusion until she catches him staring. "Oh," she gasps, tugging her sleeve down.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles quickly. "I'm sorry-I..."

She cuts him off, "It wasn't your fault."

Yes it was. "But-"

"It wasn't your fault, Draco." She repeats firmly and her brown eyes tell him she's not lying.

"Okay," he sighs.

She regards him for a few moments, "You're not a bad person Draco."

He scoffs. "Yes I am."

"Not an evil person then," she amends as Addie flutters back down to perch on his shoulder.

"Maybe not." He accepts.

His trial is over far quicker then he would have thought.

They read out a list of his crimes and his mother cries quietly then they parade a group of witnesses through both condemning and defending. When Potter walks out, hare daemon bouncing merrily along by his feet, the whole court room seems to hold its breath.

Potter smiles at him before he starts talking and Adrasteia shudders.

He doesn't want to think about why.

He's acquitted and again, his mother cries.

Draco thinks he should probably feel glad, elated even, but he doesn't. He hasn't felt much of anything since the War. Again, Granger is waiting for him upstairs this time with Potter. Draco's not surprised that the Weasel is absent.

He shuffles over to them and mumbles out thank you's and Hermione smiles and Harry pats him awkwardly on the arm. "It was nothing," he says dismissively.

"No, you only spared my life, Potter. You're right it was nothing." He mutters.

Harry laughs and Hermione smiles again, "Are you coming back to Hogwarts?" she asks, serious all of a sudden.

"I hadn't planned on it." People won't be too happy to see me.

"You should," Harry says, "You won't be able to be a healer without your NEWTS."

Draco blanches, "Who-" but then he looks down at Addie who's sat by Neala and looks up at him, all innocence. Oh. "Traitor," he mutters.

He does go back for eighth year in the end. After all, it's better than moping around the manor. He feels bad for leaving his mother alone but she assures him she'll be fine and promises to write to him every week.

He arrives early on the first day of term and unpacks in the eighth year dormitories. He's not the first to arrive judging by the neat trunks at the end of two of the beds, charmed to have Gryffindor spreads. Draco assumes its Potter and the Weasel and runs a hand through the purple spread on his own bed.

"We should leave it like this," Addie says softly. "It's a nice colour. Much better than green."

Draco nods in mute agreement. "Let's go for a walk in the grounds."

They don't come back in until it's time for the feast. The eighth years have their own table and Draco's not surprised to see most of the year has returned (apart from the Slytherins of course) He quite literally runs in to Harry at the doors to the Great Hall and for a moment they both stare at each other. On his shoulder Adrasteia giggles breathlessly and leans against him.

"Potter," he sneers.

Harry smiles, almost relieved, "Malfoy," he says curtly.

They sit at opposite ends of the table and their daemons talk quietly together under it. Draco tries to ignore the warmth in his belly as he listens to the gentle buzz of their conversation.

They fall together naturally, inevitably, after the Christmas celebration on the last day of term.

Draco's head is muzzy from the mead he's been sneaking all evening and there's a pleasant warmth thrumming through his veins. He's fallen into an (un)easy friendship with most of the eighth years, he studies with Granger, he goes flying with Harry and the rest of them tolerate him (well most of them anyway).

He's not sure why or entirely how but he finds himself at the top of the astronomy tower, swinging his legs over the edge and thinking about all the times he's been here in the past. Adrasteia soars over the grounds, singing to herself merrily and it occurs to Draco that he's never been this content in his entire life.

And then he's interrupted by Harry.

"Draco? What on earth are you doing up here?"

Draco turns to him and smirks, "Oh, you know. Admiring the view." He long ago accepted the fact that he was attracted to boys rather than girls, his mother was fine with it, his father not so much.

"Mind if I join you?"

"By all means."

Neala is snug between his arms and as soon as he sits down the hare scrambles down and sits, gazing out at Adrasteia. "What happened to her when you died?" Draco asks, staring at the daemon.

Harry runs a hand through the hare's ratty brown fur. "I don't actually know to tell you the truth," he admits. "She wasn't there when I was...wherever I was. But she was back again when I woke up."

Adrasteia returns to him and settles on the ground beside Neala. "So when we die they aren't with us?" He can't imagine not having her there.

Harry wriggles and scrunches up his face (an action which Draco's drunken brain classes as adorable) "I dunno, I mean she wasn't physically there but I didn't feel alone, if that makes any sense."

Draco remembers being stretched, how it hurt so godamned much but he could still feel Addie there even if she was miles away. "It does," he says quietly.

Harry smiles a little sympathetically. "Will you be going home tomorrow?"

"Yeah, can't leave mother alone for Christmas. Will you miss me, Potter?" he teases.

"Oh yeah, I'll count down the days until your return." Harry replies with a wry smile.

They talk a little and at some point (Draco's not entirely sure who moved first or how) but he ends up kissing Harry like his life depends on it.

And Harry kisses back.

He thinks he hears Adrasteia sigh, "Finally."

"We can't," he mumbles against Harry's lips.

"I know."

"This is wrong," he moans.

Harry bits down on his collar bone. "Draco, shut up."

Draco decides he's in love on a frosty January morning when Harry falls over in the snow and lies giggling for a full five minutes as Neala bounds around him. It's disgustingly sweet and cliché and so irrevocably normal that it makes his stomach roll. But there it is.

It's not illegal in the wizarding world to be gay but it's not entirely accepted either. And that's not for any bigoted reason or anything; it's just for the simple fact that wizards are a dying breed. Especially pure bloods.

Draco knows that if he asks Harry to stay with him forever that he would but he won't ask that.

"Will you marry the Weaselette?" he asks one day when they're sprawled across Harry's bed, curtains drawn. Their daemons are a tangle of feathers and fur at the end of it and Draco's tucked against Harry's side.

"Her name is Ginny, Draco," he chastises gently and yawns. "I suppose I will unless you don't want me to."

"Will you tell her about us?"

Harry chuckles, "I don't know. Maybe."

Draco's mouth twists. "Do you love her?"

"I dunno," Harry says, winding his fingers through Draco's hair.

"Is there anything you know?"

"Guess not," he laughs.

Draco sits up and studies him. "Do you love me?" he asks quietly and immediately regrets it.

Harry smiles, "Do you even have to ask?"

After Hogwarts they stay in touch.

Draco marries a pretty girl named Astoria with a butterfly daemon. She's funny and clever and kind and doesn't ask to much about the amount of time he spends with Harry (and Draco in turn doesn't ask about the muggle shop girl Astoria spends most of her days with) They get on well and Draco would be lying if he said he wasn't a little bit in love with her, just not like that.

Draco becomes one of the head healers at St Mungo's and Harry (unsurprisingly) becomes head auror. Unfortunately he remains as accident prone as ever and spends a lot of his time out of action (or in a hospital bed which is fine by Draco.)

Scorpius is born a few days after Harry has his second.

They celebrate together a few days later.

"Do you think they'll be friends?" Harry asks as they compare photos and anecdotes.

"Only if your kid doesn't mind being bested at everything," Draco says with a grin.

Harry laughs and kisses him, "Well, I didn't seem to mind it that much."

Things all go to hell when Ginny finds out.

It's not that she didn't know before, it's more that she couldn't ignore it.

Harry, sleep deprived and vexed, screams at him for not being careful enough, for not thinking ahead and Draco snarls back because how is this his fault?

They don't talk for years.

Adrasteia pines but after a while she starts disappearing at night again. Draco falls asleep to her conversations with Neala for the first time in years.

Eleven years later they stand opposite each other on the platform of the Hogwarts express.

Harry's kid is pale and nervous and his daemon is an emerald snake at his wrist. His older boy, James is followed by a messy-haired black dog and his red headed daughter has a bluebird on her shoulder. They make a pretty family, Draco thinks as he watches them hug goodbye.

Ginny catches his eye and her hawk daemon spreads his wings threateningly so Draco stops looking, concentrates on saying goodbye to Scorpius, his daemon a little arctic fox at his feet. Astoria is crying delicately and Draco hugs his son tightly. Their daughter is at home with her grandmother and Draco chastises himself for still angsting after Potter.

It's been years.

Over a decade.

He has all he could ever want.

Scorpius bounces on to the train and waves enthusiastically, shaking with excitement. "Bye dad! Bye mum! See you at Christmas!"

The train pulls away and Draco has his arm around Astoria, waving and convincing himself that those aren't tears burning the backs of his eyes.

When they turn to leave however he finds himself facing Potter. "I'll catch up with you," he says to Astoria who nods and ducks away into the crowd.

"Can we talk?" Potter says slightly awkwardly, head bowed. "Later on I mean."

Draco does his best to sneer, "Won't the Weaselette be upset?"

"Probably."

"And you don't care?"

"I dunno," Harry says, smiling weakly. "Please, Draco."

"I'll think about it," he says stiffly.

"We will meet him, won't we?" Adrasteia whispers.

"Of course," Draco smiles.