A/N

This is the last like five chapters or whatever (they're not broken into chapters) and epilogue. At some point, I will probably go through and fix the bizarre chapter structure of this fic... But today is not that day. Enjoy; I finally f #$%$ing finished this thing.

(also I've added some trigger warnings because of this final part, and honestly I think should have before I was just an idiot and I forgot. They're only mild references, but check them out just in case: cutting (not for depression - spell related), and drug use parallels).

When Harry awoke, it was to a cold, empty bed, the sun shining down onto the rumpled sheets beside him.

Strange , he thought as his mind slowly tried to pierce through the fog of sleep and function normally. I thought Malfoy would be one of those people who made their bed every morning.

Then he realised that, of course, he couldn't, because there was someone in it - Harry was in it - and he flushed crimson.

Now fully awake, he could hear noises coming from the kitchen. Quiet, domestic noises - the clink of a plate being set down on the bench, the hum of a muffled yawn. Something deep inside Harry gave a sharp twist, filling him with a longing so intense it felt like a physical blow. He wanted this. He wanted it to be real, but it wasn't.

If he wasn't already fully aware of the incredible devastation his impulsivity could cause, he would chide himself for the utter rashness of his actions last night. But what would be the point? As Malfoy would say, Harry was a filthy Gryffindor - the worst kind - and if that left Harry feeling alone and wretched after a night that had exceeded even his most daring dreams, leaving him more heartsore than he could have imagined, well… that was his problem, wasn't it?

He pushed the covers slowly back and climbed out of bed. As he made his way into the kitchen, he repeated the mantra over and over in his mind like a shield: this meant nothing. This meant nothing.

He opened the kitchen door. Draco's eyes met his, and the mantra faltered. How could this mean nothing when Draco was looking at him like that? He took a deep breath and tried to keep his emotions from showing on his face.

"Morning, Malfoy." He pasted a bright smile on his face.

Malfoy frowned slightly. "Malfoy?" His hands stilled, leaving eggs and bacon sizzling quietly in the pan. "A full night of screaming 'Draco' and you're suddenly back to Malfoy?" His smirk was amused, but there was a slight flush on his cheeks.

Harry's breath hitched, but he managed to maintain his composure. "You don't think suddenly calling each other by first names might be a little strange?" He was quietly proud of the smirk he managed to give Malfoy; he had never had a one night stand or a casual relationship before, and he had no idea how to act so as not to make Malfoy go running to the hills.

There was no longer any trace of confidence or composure on Malfoy's face. "I think, in light of recent events, continuing to call each other by last names would be stranger," he said tightly, his eyes dark with anger.

Harry's heart stammered. He had clearly said something wrong already, although he had no idea what it could be. Then again, perhaps that wasn't as terrible as it felt. Perhaps it was better if Malfoy decided it wasn't a good idea to continue this thing between them, whatever it was, because Harry had the terrible, sinking feeling that if they continued like last night, it would kill him.

Harry shrugged, avoiding Malfoy's eyes. "Whatever you think," he said lightly. "I can call you Draco if you like."

"It's not about what I like." Malfoy was staring at him intently, communicating something that Harry could not understand.

Harry stared back, unable to think of the right response - of any response. Malfoy had made it clear that he didn't have serious relationships. Surely he would prefer if everything about their relationship stayed the same, so why would he want to suddenly change the way they spoke to each other?

Unless he didn't. Unless he had been able to sense Harry's true feelings, and he was angry because he thought Harry was about to change things.

"Well then, I've grown rather attached to 'Potter'." He reached for the kettle to make them both tea.

Malfoy's expression was unreadable. Without a word, he turned back to the frypan and began viciously flipping the bacon. After several minutes of tense silence, he served it up onto a plate and practically threw it in front of Harry before walking out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

Harry stared after him open mouthed, and had just decided to follow him and demand to know what was going on when he heard the front door slam.

Harry stared at the bench for a long time, his mug of tea steaming in front of him and the bacon and eggs slowly cooling on their plate, before he pushed back abruptly and left the room. He thought of casting the spell in his bedroom - Malfoy's guest room - but it felt somehow wrong, and besides, Malfoy would no doubt be able to sense it. So, making a brief stop over at Grimmauld Place, he apparated to his flat, charred and destroyed though it still was, and was shocked at the sense of calm he felt as soon as he passed through the wards.

He knew it was the lingering scent of magic recognising him and welcoming him home, but the thought didn't scare him. He needed to slow down, he knew that. But he didn't need to stop, not from this. This gentle welcome, like warm tendrils wrapping around him and making him feel like the strongest, best version of himself, was not what he was running from.

"I just went too far," he muttered, settling himself down on the middle of the floor. "I didn't know what I was doing, but I do now. I know the signs, and I'll stop when I need to."

He pulled the ritual knife from his pocket, turning it over and over, admiring the fine carvings on the handle and the blade. He could read only a couple of them. They spoke of loss and despair, which was unusual for a dark artefact. Ordinarily they would focus on power and sacrifice, but Harry assumed those sigils must be the ones he couldn't read.

Very carefully, wincing at the sharp bite, he dug the knife into his forearm and sliced upwards. He had never made a blood offering like this before. His small forays into the rites he studied and cultivated had only ever required a token. This was a sacrifice: a deliberate weakening in exchange for strength. He would have to move beyond blood magic soon - he was sure he was limiting himself by offering the same weakness each time - but for now it would suit his purpose.

As he watched the blood well and flow, he murmured the incantation under his breath. Long minutes passed and he felt nothing, only increasing weakness from blood loss. He took a deep, shuddering breath, alarmed at the way the pale white of the carpet seemed to suddenly shimmer and glow. His stomach heaved, and he knew he was about to be violently ill.

He staggered to his feet and had nearly made it to the bathroom when everything pitched and rolled. He had enough time to consider what Malfoy would do when he finally discovered Harry here, passed out in an embarrassing pool of vomit, when everything suddenly snapped back into crystal focus.

He blinked slowly, tensing in the overwhelming silence. It filled his ears, echoing around and around until he had to double over and clamp his hands around his head to drown it out. He closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten.

Opening his eyes, he found the room had stilled, and the sounds had faded to something manageable. If he focused carefully, he could hear the small fluttering of leaves outside, and a soft sighing that sounded like wood shifting in the heat. Looking closely at the window sill, he saw movement as it creaked and expanded in the sun.

With a soft smile, he left the apartment.

He debated going back to the Dark Magic ward, but decided against it. He knew that researching the potions was important, but he wasn't sure it was the right course of action just now. Instead, he decided to go back to the smuggler's den.

Apparating with his senses heightened, while his body was physically weak, was even more disconcerting than his first portkey. When he arrived at the alley just down from the warehouse, he promptly doubled over and vomited.

When the waves of nausea had subsided, he pulled his cloak out of his pocket, hid himself beneath it, and made his way back to the warehouse.

He wasn't sure what he was looking for. It wasn't as though he was going to stumble on a map with "Sally's" marked on it. But he had faith in the spell he had cast. There was something about this magic, something that filled him up and made him stronger than before. More alert. He couldn't be that tired Auror, unable to feel anything stronger than a vague irritation at life and all its hassles, when his blood was flowing with this new strength and clarity. This magic might have dark origins - blood and sacrifice - but it wasn't dark, and it didn't make him dark. It made him who he wished he was.

He took a moment to quiet himself, drawing strength from everything around , he slipped inside the open doorway and into the darkness of the room beyond.

There was no one there, of course. The smugglers were long gone. Smith and Wilson had raided the place early this morning, before dawn, and there was nothing left to show for it. With any luck, their interrogation would have already revealed the location of the exchange. But Harry doubted it. Since the war, the Ministry had been so careful to play by the book that everyone knew they were in no danger of torture or anything untoward during an official interrogation. The information Harry and Malfoy had discovered while being disguised as criminals would not be revealed to an Auror.

He began to search, taking a long time to check in each nook and cranny for evidence of where they would be meeting on the tenth - tomorrow. After an hour, all he had to show for it was a pile of cigarette butts and an empty food wrapper.

Undeterred, he began mulling over the evidence. He turned the wrapper over and over in his hand, but there were no secret messages hidden on it. It was just an ordinary wrapper, like you find at any burger joint.

Harry frowned, a thought hitting him. There was a wizarding place near the Ministry called Sally's Burgers, wasn't there? A new fast food place, modelled after muggle restaurants. It could mean nothing, but with the crowds it had been drawing since opening, it would make the perfect cover. And it was near enough to the Ministry to explain why they kept sensing the potions, and to appeal to a criminal's sense of dark amusement, right beneath the Auror's noses.

Harry dropped the wrapper and apparated back to Malfoy's apartment.

When he arrived, the place was empty. The wards tingled, humming with something new as he walked in. Frowning, unable to detect what it was, he walked into the kitchen and found a note waiting for him.

Potter.

I'm unsure where you have disappeared to, but in light of the fact that you are a complete imbecile, I have taken liberties. The wards have been altered; I will now be informed when you enter and when you exit the apartment. Rest assured, if you leave again without letting me know where and why, I will investigate.

I have also paid a visit to your apartment and Grimmauld Place. Don't think I couldn't sense you there. Fortunately for you, the stink of dark magic was so strong that I could not be certain if you had engaged in anything new. Nonetheless, your visit perturbed me, and I have reconstructed your broken wards and locked you from them.

Think this measure somewhat harsh? Think again. You had no reason to be there, and your ailment is far from cured. Returning to your apartment will, at best, make your recovery more difficult. At worst…

Harry could see some words had been scratched out ferociously. He held the parchment up to the light and thought he could faintly make out a sentence.

I have been searching for you for hours.

Harry frowned and continued to read. The letter appeared to drop that thought and move straight along.

The potion analysis has yielded nothing new; they provide immunity to dark magic. Hardly a breakthrough, considering it's basically just an inconclusive way of saying they provide immunity to Portentia's explosive potions, which we already knew. No doubt the criminals simply have them on hand for their own safety when handling the offensive potions.

I have, however, received word from our charming colleagues that they have raided our smugglers, and so I am comparing their notes to what I can find in the Dark Magic Ward. You are not invited. You are to stay at home like a good boy, and when I return I expect an explanation for your whereabouts today.

D.

Harry crumpled the letter and threw it into the bin. He could feel his heart racing in indignation. Malfoy wasn't his keeper; he was free to come and go as he pleased, and Malfoy certainly had no right to treat him like a child.

He went to leave the apartment and then swore furiously when he remembered that Malfoy would be alerted to his comings and goings. Making a decision, he found a scrap of parchment and scrawled a quick note.

Was seeing how many of my possessions survived your destruction.

Don't remember signing up for a nursemaid.

I think the smugglers are using Sally's burger joint as a meeting place. I'll go there tomorrow unless you have a better idea.

Message delivered and feeling oddly drained from the day, he went to bed.

Malfoy slid the plate of french toast across the bench to Harry, his movements oddly careful.

Harry blinked the sleep away from his eyes and frowned. "What's this?"

"Food," Malfoy said flatly.

Harry opened his mouth to fire something back when it occurred to him that he had forgotten to eat yesterday. How had that happened? He bit down his reply and pulled the plate toward him, feeling his stomach protest his stupidity.

Malfoy cleared his throat, and Harry looked up despite his efforts to avoid eye contact.

"You only went back to see what was left?" Malfoy watched him closely.

Harry felt his anger rising again, but he also felt a strange sensation of guilt welling up inside him, even though he was convinced he had nothing to feel guilty for. He took a second before replying, getting his thoughts under control. "If you were wondering," he said, unable to keep a hint of indignation from his tone, "there was nothing left."

Malfoy smirked. "That was the intent."

Harry's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

After a moment Malfoy sighed and dropped his gaze to his own plate. He began to pick at his toast, tearing it off into neat strips and popping each piece into his mouth one by one. "I don't trust you, Potter," he said.

Harry winced at the almost savage emphasis Malfoy put on his name. "You should," he said gruffly, guilt make his tone harsh.

Malfoy shrugged delicately. "I don't really care what you think. I don't trust you, and that's that. I've brought a book home." He nodded his head toward a book that Harry now saw poking out of the bag sitting on the seat next to him.

Harry reached toward the bag, but Malfoy smacked his hand away. "You're not to touch it." His voice was stern.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but then realised where the book must have come from. Malfoy nodded at the dawning realisation on Harry's face.

"If I see that this book has moved so much as a centimetre, I will chain you to your bed."

Harry swallowed at the images that suddenly flooded his mind. From the look on Malfoy's face, the thought had occurred to him as well, whether he had intended it or not; judging by the flush creeping up his cheeks, he hadn't.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Anyway, we should stake out Sally's. You could be onto something. And then we will return here. Together."

Harry threw his toast back down onto his plate and glared fiercely at Malfoy. "You're not my keeper," he spat. "Thank you for looking after me, and for letting me stay here, but honestly if you're going to treat me like a little kid then I'm leaving."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and Harry had the sinking sensation he had walked into a trap.

"If you don't want to be treated like a child, then don't act like one." Malfoy said smoothly. "Until you can prove to me that you're not going to go rushing straight back to what's killing you, I will keep you in my sight."

"It wasn't killing me," Harry burst out. "It was messing me up, sure, but it-"

"What the bloody hell do you think it was doing when it was 'messing you up'?" Malfoy suddenly yelled. Harry stopped, open mouthed at the uncharacteristic outburst of emotion. "Do you honestly think you were just a bit under the weather?" His voice continued to rise until Harry was leaning involuntarily back in his chair. "Potter, that magic was draining the fucking life out of you, and until you recognise that and convince me that you're going to keep well away from it, I'm not letting you go anywhere on your own. I shouldn't have left you unchecked for so long - I thought you'd understood the severity of the situation, but then I find you've run straight back to your apartment the second I'm gone?" Malfoy's chest heaved, his eyes shining with emotion as he stared at Harry across the kitchen bench. "Well, it's not going to happen again," Malfoy finished quietly.

They stared at each other, and in the surreal silence Harry noticed that Malfoy looked more than just angry. There was something like regret in Malfoy's eyes, and Harry wondered if he felt guilty for leaving Harry alone like that yesterday morning. Malfoy had stormed out then, after all.

"Fine," Harry said finally. "I'll stay with you until you trust me." He had no trouble getting the lie out; Malfoy was overreacting, and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

They finished their meal in silence and left for Sally's, not sure when the smugglers were intending to meet. They had decided to forego the cloak, since the likelihood of someone bumping into them in the crowded store was too high, but it was too impractical to use Polyjuice at the last minute, particularly when they weren't meant to be out in the field in the first place. Instead, they opted for subtle transfiguration to their features, softening Malfoy's pointed looks, hiding Harry's scar, and adding various freckles and small changes to the both of them. When they had finished, Harry felt rather alarmed to see a stranger staring back at him with Malfoy's eyes.

As soon as they sat down, Harry realised that, as he had suspected, the effects of the ritual had not left him. The noise of restaurant patrons rose around him like a tide, filling his ears until he had to hold his head until the gentle pressure of his hands alleviated the pain.

"You alright?" Malfoy asked quietly, picking apart his burger and managing - Harry knew from past experience - to keep tabs on everyone else in the room.

"Yep," Harry muttered back, looking up at the ceiling and wondering how long his senses would be invaded with what smelled like a swimming pool sized vat of frying batter.

Through a combination of Notice-Me-Not and confundus charms, they managed to pass several hours without being hassled. Unfortunately, it was long and uneventful enough for Harry to spend most of it left alone with his thoughts.

His thoughts, which lingered on every movement Malfoy made: the small, economic movements of his hands as pulled apart his burger; the purse of his lips when he was thinking of something particularly intriguing; the casual way his eyes roamed over the room, taking note of the smallest detail.

Harry suppressed a shiver as he thought of those hands moving over him, remembering the reverent tracing of Malfoy's long fingers over his body. Malfoy's mouth, following the path of his fingers. His eyes shining in the moonlight as he hovered over Harry, gazing down at him before he descended and covered Harry's lips gently with his own.

"Potter?"

Harry blinked to see Malfoy eyeing him strangely. "Huh?"

"You were a million miles away."

Harry shook himself and turned away, back to the room which was conspicuously free of dangerous criminals. "Just got distracted," he muttered.

He could sense Malfoy still watching him, but he refused to look back. Eventually Malfoy turned away, continuing his assessment of the area. A waitress in a pristine red apron brushed past them on her way to the kitchen, clearly unaware that they were sitting there.

Harry sighed; he must have guessed incorrectly. Sally was some criminal he was expected to know by name, and they had wasted precious time coming here instead of trying to get an address out of the smugglers like Smith and Wilson were surely failing to do.

He raised his eyes up, above the throng of people waiting for their orders, wishing that the effects of the spell would begin to fade. The constant heightened awareness with so much going on around him was making him feeling like he was tipping close to the edge.

A small movement caught his eye. Frowning, he flicked his eyes back to the painting on the wall, sitting just above the corner booth. It was a painting of a barn, with stacks of hay and wooden crates piled up around a very bored looking cow. The cow chewed slowly, turning to look at Harry with large, soulful eyes. But that wasn't the movement he had noticed; the cow had been chewing the whole time they were there. The flicker of movement had been something else, and Harry had looked at the painting long enough to know what it was.

"Malfoy, get up," he hissed.

Malfoy's head whipped up, his eyes immediately focused and alert. "Where are they?"

"They're not here, but the goods are." Harry nodded his head at the painting, pushing his chair back and walking quickly over to the booth.

He ignored Malfoy's noise of confusion and nodded politely to the couple dining there. "Sorry." He gave an apologetic smile. "I've just got to grab this painting. It needs reframing."

The girl made a disinterested noise of acquiescence while the man ignored him, and Harry leaned over to pluck the painting off the wall.

"Let's go before anyone notices," he muttered, knocking Malfoy with his shoulder so that he turned and immediately began covering Harry on their way to the door.

As soon as they were outside, they apparated to the Ministry.

"They're using the paintings?" Malfoy asked as soon as they were alone, glancing shrewdly at the frame in Harry's hands. "That's clever," he added reluctantly.

"I'd estimate we have minutes before they're due to pick up and realise it's gone." He strode quickly down the hallway to their office as soon as the elevator doors opened. "How do you think we get it out?"

He set the frame down on his desk and studied it, sensing Malfoy come to a halt beside him. After a moment's pause, Malfoy shrugged and reached forward.

"They're probably too arrogant to think anyone could intercept at this stage," he said, waving his wand several times to dispel basic wards and then simply tapping his wand on the extra crate that had appeared in front of the hay stack.

For a moment nothing happened. The cow continue to chew, gazing wistfully at something out of view of the frame.

Then the crate gave a little shake, and there it was on their desk.

The next couple of hours were a whirlwind of questions and interrogations and furious energy as they dismantled Arthur's department in the search for potions that had been smuggled into the Ministry. They found one tiny cache in a painting of an old fashioned dock, but the smugglers must have gotten wind by then and they found no further traces. Nonetheless, they had to be thorough, and it wasn't until close to midnight that they finally determined the Ministry safe.

"Sorry about all this, Arthur," Harry said, running and hand tiredly through his hair. "You didn't have to stay until the end."

"It's quite alright, Harry," Arthur said with a smile, before quickly stifling a yawn. "I'm glad you figured it out before anything could come of it."

"Me too," Harry said grimly. He had hoped they wouldn't find anything, because then it was plausible that the Ministry wasn't the target. Since they had found a stash - even a small one - they had to consider the possibility that there was someone working on the inside, waiting to retrieve the potions for some reason they had yet to determine.

"And that would be our cue to leave." Malfoy suddenly appeared at Harry's elbow, smiling brightly at Arthur and looking for all the world as if he had just woken up from an eight hour sleep. "Wiffleston is charging down the corridor with the temper and lucidity of a wounded rhinoceros, and I don't particularly feel like answering the same question fifty times over while he blusters around trying to construct a dot point list of all the times we've personally subverted him today. Are you with me, Potter?"

"Gladly." Harry shot a final apologetic smile to Arthur and climbed out the window after Malfoy.

"Well, would you look at that," Malfoy said in a dry tone of admiration. "It's a shortcut to the Atrium. I can't believe nobody has figured this out yet. Come on, let's go home."

Harry had almost become used to the tugging in his chest whenever he was reminded of how unattainable Malfoy was, but hearing him casually refer to their current living arrangement as home still made his heart twist.

The living room was cold when they entered, and Malfoy promptly lit a fire. Wordlessly, they sat down on the armchairs on either side, leaning forward to warm their hands and feet. It was cosy, domestic. Harry could feel discomfort emanating from Malfoy, although he was doing a surprisingly good job of keep his face emotionless and his body relaxed.

No doubt, Malfoy was regretting the necessary homeliness of their situation. It must be difficult to bear for someone like Malfoy, not to mention that Harry's presence prevented Malfoy from comfortably bringing anyone else home. Particularly after what they had done.

He shifted restlessly, trying not to think about it, but he could already feel his body reacting to the idea. His memory helpfully supplied the image of Malfoy on his knees, Harry's fingers threading through his hair while his mouth-

"Potter."

Harry swallowed and looked up. With a twinge of hope, Harry noticed that Malfoy's eyes were dark and intent as he stared at Harry. Harry knew he didn't stand a chance in hell of walking away from this unscathed, so what did it matter if he added another night to this torture? Surely it was better than not having Malfoy at all.

"I'm not sure either of us were thinking entirely straight the other morning." Malfoy's voice was low, Harry's heightened awareness making the sound echo around in his head.

"Probably not," Harry admitted, his heart beating furiously.

"This is," Malfoy paused. "Difficult for me."

The uncharacteristic candor was making Harry feel very off balance.

"I don't usually-" Malfoy took a deep breath, having obvious difficulty in saying the words. "This is-"

Harry cut him off. "I know that you don't do serious relationships," he said, keeping his voice as light as he could. "That's alright. I'm fine with just keeping this casual." He forced himself to laugh, the sound slicing through him like a knife. "Let's face it, we'd kill each other if it was anything more, wouldn't we?"

For long seconds, Malfoy just stared at him. Finally, he nodded - a sharp, curt movement - and then stood.

"We can't waste anymore time on this case. I'm going to research those potions."

Harry stared up at him, feeling his brow furrow in confusion, but Malfoy had already turned away.

He wasn't sure how long he sat by the fire, lost in his own thoughts, before Malfoy returned. With one look at Malfoy's face, he knew he had found what he was looking for.

"They're not isolated attacks," he said slowly, sitting back down in the chair across from Harry, his nose still buried in the book.

Harry watched the firelight flicker gently across his features, casting shadows and lines where there were none, and waited silently for Malfoy to continue.

"The individual potion attacks are just a distraction to make us look outward. The thing about Portentia is that she always tried to create several uses for her potions, particularly combined uses." Malfoy set the book down and looked up at Harry, his expression grave. "If you combine enough of the potions that are being smuggled through the paintings, you achieve a highly concentrated demolition that irreparably destroys magical wards."

Harry's eyes widened. Combustive blasts damaged wards if they were strong enough, but they were ultimately designed to damage whatever was inside the wards, not the ward itself. Once the damage was caused, the wards could be refortified in a matter of seconds. But destruction like this would mean that the wards themselves were targeted, and once destroyed, they would be gone forever.

Harry noticed suddenly that Malfoy's foot was jiggling impatiently.

"You're annoyed," he said, confused. "Why are you annoyed?"

Malfoy looked up in surprise. He seemed to notice his foot, then, and kept it purposefully still. "I'm only irritated," he said mildly. "Because I got it wrong."

Harry frowned. "I thought you said you had figured it out?"

"I have. I'm right. But before that, I got it wrong." Malfoy tapped his fingers on the chair impatiently. "I thought the immunity potions were honing in on Portentia's explosives because they were providing immunity against them. When really, they were attracted to each other because they're designed to be combined into one big, magical explosion. I should have paid more attention to the test results, but I thought the vague analysis of the immunity potion was simply because Portentia's potions are so unique. Immunity against dark magic, combined with a nasty explosion, and really it's quite obvious."

"Is it?"

"For anyone with a brain, yes. The immunity potion imbues the explosion with immunity to, essentially, itself. What do you think happens, Potter, when a potion is immune to its own effects?"

"It's a stalemate?" Harry suggested, confused.

"No." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It becomes unlimited. A falling rock is inevitably contained by its own impact. If you remove that impact - in other words, if you remove the opposing force and allow the initial force to grow unhindered - then you allow those effects to multiply exponentially and impact what they normally couldn't touch, such as complex magical wards." Malfoy frowned again. "I just missed it because I got lazy with the test results. Really, it should have been obvious when the potions were only attracted to you, and not trying to protect anyone else. If they were merely providing protection against Portentia's potions, that wouldn't have been the case. Immunity to dark magic - they were essentially trying to protect you from yourself. I should have spotted that, and realised that there was another reason they were attracted to each other."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "What are they trying to get into?" Harry asked, steering the subject back to the potions. "Gringotts? The Ministry?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Presumably something with multiple layers that take days to construct. Something that ordinary magical blasts could only poke holes in; definitely not leave it open to invasion." He massaged his fingers against his temples, closing his eyes. "This is bad."

"Well, we already knew that," Harry said pragmatically.

Malfoy made a sigh of irritation. "Yes, but technically someone personally targeting Wiffleston is bad ; it doesn't mean I care. Now I know the scale of the attack, and I have to care. It's annoying."

Harry felt a wave of relief rush through him at the return of Malfoy's usual snarky banter. Maybe whatever had happened earlier didn't matter anymore, and they were going to be alright.

A thought occurred to him. The spell he had done with the knife had helped him to focus and notice things that they couldn't possibly have noticed otherwise. Perhaps there was an incantation that could help them to discover what wards the potions were intended to break.

He looked at Malfoy and felt and odd stirring of guilt at the thought of deceiving him again. The thought filled him with conflicting indignation, but it was too late. He knew that Malfoy would be against this, even though Harry knew it was perfectly alright.

"Malfoy," he said slowly.

"Yes?"

"I think… I think there are spells that could help us focus in on intent," Harry began, wondering how to phrase it and immediately regretting that he was even trying.

Malfoy frowned. "What kind of-" he froze. "No. Not a chance. How can you even think of suggesting that, Potter, after everything we've been discussing?" Malfoy's eyes flashed and he rose up out of his seat to begin pacing around the room.

Harry reeled back at the sudden anger in Malfoy's voice. "It would only be a small spell," he protested. "It wouldn't make any difference to my healing process."

"Do I have to lock you up?" Malfoy yelled, spinning around and staring at Harry with wide, dangerous eyes. "Are you actually trying to convince me that you could engage in a small piece of dark magic without your Severe Proximity being effected? The answer is no, Potter. No I will not allow it, and no it would not leave your Severe Proximity uneffected. It would send you straight back down the path to destruction, no matter how small the spell." He ran a hand through his hair, dishevelling it in an wholly un-Malfoy like way. "Is that actually how you measure this? On whether or not a spell will kill you? Have you been listening to anything I've been saying?"

Harry tried to interrupt, but Malfoy continued to yell over the top of him.

"No, it would not kill you. Not immediately. But one spell will lead to another spell, and eventually you will be consumed by the very thing you so foolishly sought to control. It is possible that someone who has not been damaged by dark magic for as long as you have could engage in one or two spells without the same inevitable outcome, but that ship has well and truly sailed for you. Like it or not, you cannot have even the smallest contact with any of it until it has completely left your system and all traces of curiosity has gone. The fact that you even want to still engage in it is telling enough." His eyes suddenly narrowed. "You did do something the other day, when you went back to your flat."

The whole time Malfoy had been ranting, Harry had stayed still, shocked by the emotional outburst. But the scathing accusation was the last straw, and driven by anger and gut-wrenching guilt, he exploded.

"So what if I did?" he yelled, standing up and taking two furious steps forward until he was pressed up, nose to nose with Malfoy. "I know that what I did was wrong, but that was because I didn't know what I was doing, and now I do. I'm not going to end up the same way that I did before. I'll be careful this time, and, Christ, Malfoy, I'm only asking to do this one thing, for this case, because it's important."

"First it's this case, then it's another case, then it's another," Malfoy gesticulated wildly. "I know you, Potter. Everything is important to you. You will stop at nothing to help someone, and it terrifies me. For years you've been stuck in some kind of unbreakable apathy - we both have - and now this is what brings you out of it? I haven't seen you so empassioned about something since Hogwarts, and this is what you choose to defend ?" He stopped short, his eyes looking so broken and confused that Harry's heart went out to him.

He faltered. "No, I'm not defending dark magic," he said, quieter but still fierce. "I don't- I don't think it should be a part of my life anymore, not like it was, I just don't think it should be cut out like that. It's not as bad as you think."

Malfoy just stared at him, incredulous and sad. "It's not as bad as you think," he repeated softly. "Well, you'd know, wouldn't you?" The sarcasm and anger in his voice hurt, but Harry forced himself to hold strong. "Just because I haven't experienced what you're going through, doesn't mean I'm wrong," he finished tightly, before turning and leaving the room.

Harry desperately wanted to call out, "It doesn't mean you're right either," but he didn't.

Instead, when he was certain that Malfoy was asleep, he pulled the knife out from where he had hidden it under the bed and repeated the incantation from yesterday. He knew that Malfoy would be able to sense it when he woke up, but he didn't care. If it helped him notice something - anything - it was worth it.

This time, he did vomit. He made it to the bathroom just in time to clutch the toilet and heave wretchedly. When he managed to finally open his eyes to a still room, he waited for the clarity to hit him and make everything - the vomiting, the fight with Malfoy, all of it - worth it. But nothing happened. Everything seemed a little lighter, a little crisper, but that was it.

Frustrated, he fell into bed fully clothed, not bothering to pull the blankets over him, and went to sleep.

He was woken to an angry drumming that reverberated around in his head painfully. He winced, and as Malfoy burst into the room he realised that it was the sound of Malfoy knocking on the door.

It took Malfoy three seconds to spot the knife where it had fallen on the ground. Harry hadn't bothered to pick it up. Long, tense moments passed where Malfoy just stared at the knife, his face stricken.

"I can feel it," he whispered, finally looking up to meet Harry's eyes.

Harry just stared back, leaning up slightly on his elbows and frozen by the intensity of Malfoy's gaze.

"You've filled the whole house with it. What did you do? "

Harry looked away, knowing with certainty that the spell didn't work like it was meant to and wishing he knew why. "It will help," he said sullenly, wondering if that were even still true.

"No it won't." Malfoy turned away and left the room.

Harry managed to dress himself without issue, and made his way into the kitchen where Malfoy was waiting.

"Ready?" Malfoy asked, and when Harry nodded he simply leaned forward, grabbed his hand, and apparated them both away.

Despite the fact that the spell hadn't worked, the side effects were worse than before. When they arrived at their office, Harry had to run to the bin before he was sick all over the carpet. He was surprised that it hadn't happened in the Atrium, but small mercies, he supposed.

He stood up to see Malfoy watching him. All anger from the previous night was gone, and he looked strangely brittle.

"Do you need a potion?" Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry shook his head, not sure what a healing potion would do to him when he still had the effects of the spell coursing through him.

"I'll be fine," he rasped.

They had arranged to meet with Wiffleston to update him on Malfoy's discovery, but he was away from his office, meeting with representatives from America, so they had to wait. Much to Malfoy's chagrin, this meant they had time to prepare the update as a report, like Wiffleston was demanding.

They were barely a page in, when a knock came on the office door.

"Enter," Malfoy said, sounding annoyed, though Harry knew he was ecstatic at the interruption.

Smith and Wilson walked through, and Malfoy groaned.

"Don't you have some restaurants to interrogate?" he muttered.

Wilson narrowed his eyes. "I must say I have my suspicions that your list of suspects, Mr. Malfoy, were completely unrelated to the case," he said stiffly. "Nonetheless, we have been providing you with constant, personal updates - despite Mr. Wiffleston's request - to the detriment of our workload, and we would like to see some respect for it."

"Good man," Malfoy said distractedly. "What's your report?"

Wilson's report was drowned out by Harry's sudden, violent gagging fit into the bin at his feet. When he sat up again, he saw Wilson and Smith looking at him with an expression well past alarm.

"Mr. Potter, you look terrible," Smith said weakly. "Do you need to take time off?"

Wilson held out a hand abruptly. Harry watched with a sinking feeling as Wilson's eyes flitted from Harry to Malfoy and back again.

"He's not sick," he said finally. "I never knew you were an alcoholic, Mr. Potter."

"I'm not," Harry said furiously, feeling his stomach protest the harsh emotion. Overcome with a fresh wave of nausea, he leaned over the bin and heaved up the remaining contents of his breakfast.

Wilson snorted disbelievingly. "You're unfit to be at work." His voice had turned nasty; the zealous fervor of a bureaucrat who has discovered a long forgotten, frequently broken, regulation.

"He's fine," Malfoy said, a dangerous edge to his tone. "Are you forgetting your place?"

"Not at all." Wilson turned back to Malfoy, his eyes lit with pleasure. "I will report this, and we'll see exactly what Mr. Wiffleston says."

Malfoy lifted his hand and the door slammed shut behind Smith and Wilson, making the two Aurors jump. "You will do nothing of the sort," he said calmly. "Potter will go home and sleep off this nasty stomach bug, and he will return tomorrow to work on your reports."

Harry stared at Malfoy. He looked over at Smith and Wilson - one of them very obviously wishing they were anywhere but here, and the other looking like a cat with a large, feathered bird in its mouth. He had no choice.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said to no one in particular, and left the office.

Why hadn't the spell worked? He wondered in the privacy of Malfoy's living room. He had done it exactly the same as he had the day before, but there was almost no effect.

And each second that he wasted was a second more that the criminals stayed ahead of the Aurors. He needed to stop them. They were planning something large scale, and if Harry didn't find out what it was soon, it could be too late.

But if he left the apartment, Malfoy would know. And besides, what would he do? The spells didn't seem to be working.

Unless he let someone else do it for him. He froze, contemplating the idea. He had already admitted that he was out of his depth when it came to actually using the magic; perhaps that was where he had gone wrong. He had missed some vital step that he had done by accident the first time.

He looked at the time, and realised that Malfoy would be stuck with Wiffleston, no doubt explaining the urgency in tiny little steps for Wiffleston to follow. He might not even notice Harry passing through the wards.

Mind made up, he apparated to Knockturn Alley.

A strange sound was filling Harry's ears. The sound of a deep voice chanting, the words rasping in a language that was both familiar and foreign. He opened his eyes but there was nothing to see, the room was black, and when he tried to reach for his wand he realised his hands and feet were bound.

His disorientation washed abruptly away and he realised he was bound to some kind of table, lying on his back with his limbs spread and bound to the corners.

Still, the voice droned on. It was only one voice, but Harry could sense there was more than one person in the room. The voice moved, pacing slowly around him, and Harry frowned as his mind started to build a clearer picture of the room. Small, but empty. Empty but for the two of them.

But he could sense the others.

A small whimper escaped him just before his blood turned to fire and he arched back off the table in a scream. The voice droned on, and Harry felt himself being filled with magic so strong and deep it was like a well of darkness. With everything in him, he knew suddenly that Malfoy was right: this was wrong. How had he come to this? His small ventures were nothing like this primal ritual.

He could hardly remember how he had gotten here, and what had he possibly thought would be waiting when he did? A little light-hearted dark magic? There was no such thing.

Harry screamed again as the fire coursed through him, the pounding of blood in his temple beating out a terrifying rhythm to the pain.

Then, suddenly, the voice faltered. There came the sound of a door opening, and dingy light filled the room, blinding Harry to the sudden noise of spells. Auror spells.

Awash with relief that the pain had stopped, he passed out.

It didn't surprise him that he woke up in St Mungo's, but it did surprise him that the first sight he saw was Malfoy's face hovering over his. When he saw Harry's eyes open, he gave a smile as relieved as it was fleeting, and Harry wondered if he'd imagined it.

"You have no idea the strings I've had to pull to make sure you don't get stuck here," he muttered, speaking quickly. "And you don't deserve any of them. If anyone asks, we took down a criminal in Knockturn Alley and you got caught in some nasty spellwork."

Harry had enough time to nod before a nurse bustled over and began checking him with brisk invasiveness, all the while asking questions like "what were you hit with?", "did you see the colour of the spell", and "was the incantation in latin or greek".

Harry thought it best to plead absolute ignorance, and when the nurse finally left him alone with Malfoy, he found himself feeling oddly subdued.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say before Malfoy could open his mouth. "You were right."

Malfoy's jaw dropped, but he quickly regained his composure and smirked. "You're bloody right, I was right. The only reason I haven't ratted you out is because Granger is close to popping, and I fear what the discovery of the full extent of your pigheadedness will do to her health. Besides, we've had an anonymous tip off and we need to move fast. I need you."

Harry stilled at the words, even though they were entirely out of context. He looked up to see Malfoy apparently fighting some internal battle, wanting to say something else. Malfoy's hand lifted, like he was going to reach out for Harry, but then he dropped it and raised his eyebrow in familiar acerbicness.

"Shall we?" he said simply. "We don't have much time."

Harry nodded, reaching down to pull on his shoes. "I won't do it again," he said quietly.

"Yes you will."

Harry looked up at the blunt words.

Malfoy shrugged. "You will. It's the nature of it. I had misplaced faith in you, I think." He smiled wrily. "I thought you would be stronger than the others, but that was stupid of me."

Harry wondered if he had sustained a head injury; never before had he heard Malfoy admit he had made a mistake. Even if it did still result in insulting Harry.

Malfoy glanced at him with a look that was equal parts sadness and acceptance. "You will do it again, but I'll be here to stop you. And now I have the memory of this half-witted, moronic, empty-headed, witless, and just plain fucking stupid escapade to hold over your head. Which you - a filthy Gryffindor - will find just guilt-inducing enough to make you pause. And when you pause, I will hex you and tie you to the bed. Now, are you coming? They're going to attack the Dark Magic ward."

Harry's eyes widened and he fumbled to finish putting on his shoes.

When they arrived at the Ministry - well after ordinary office hours - there was chaos around the entrance to the Dark Magic ward. Harry realised resignedly that this meant people would have to know about what he had come to think of as his secret place, but if it was between that and having it infiltrated by criminals, the answer was clear. He felt a begrudging sort of pride at how quickly Malfoy had managed to throw the Aurors into action.

"What was the tip off?"

Malfoy handed him a scrap of parchment that simply read "They want to get into the Ministry Dark Magic ward". Harry frowned. The writing looked vaguely familiar. "Do you trust it?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Not entirely," he admitted. "But you have to admit that it would be devastating if they gained access to the ward. It's better to be cautious."

Harry suddenly grinned. "How long did it take you to convince Wiffleston that the ward existed and that you'd been in there?"

An Auror hurrying past did an alarmed double take at the grin that spread across Malfoy's face and hurried along.

"The poor dear was quite adamant that it was impossible," Malfoy said wistfully. "He needed a practical demonstration."

Harry was sorry he had missed it.

An Auror by the name of Milstred walked up to Malfoy, nodding respectfully to the two of them. "Mr. Wiffleston has agreed to your increased staffing," she reported. "Aurors are stationed in twos in the dungeons and on each level of the Ministry.

"Good."

Milstred departed. Suddenly, the events of the day caught up to Harry, leaving him feeling suddenly very tired and drained.

"Do you think they'll still try it, even with the extra security?" Harry asked. "How long can we keep the protection measures up?"

"As long as it takes," Malfoy said tightly. "They'll either wait it out in the hopes that we grow tired and lax, or they'll go for the element of surprise and attack immediately. And I would be very surprised if they actually thought we would get tired on our home ground, as it were. This isn't a siege. We can bring in replacements for as long as it takes."

Harry nodded, wishing he wasn't feeling quite so off kilter. Malfoy was right, though - he did need Harry here. At any moment, Wiffleston could decide that the whole thing was a hoax and veto Malfoy's decisions. At least with Harry here, making a public spectacle, he would be forced politically to concede more than his pride would ordinarily allow.

"I'll patrol-" Harry began, but was interrupted by a large explosion coming from beneath their feet, followed by a second one that sounded like it was somewhere near the entrance.

"For fuck's sake!" Malfoy swore bitterly, and the two broke into a run, sprinting down the stairs to the dungeons.

In the chaos of smoke and surprisingly few pieces of rubble and debris, it took several seconds before they could make out the figures of Auror's standing in combat positions, searching for an enemy.

Harry scanned the room, his tiredness evaporated and every sense alert and ready. He counted the Aurors - one, two, three, four, five. All present. No one extra, and very little destruction.

Malfoy waved his wand and a shimmering light swept through the dungeons, catching effervescently in the final cell before fading away. "They've done it," he snarled. "It's broken the wards and not the building."

Just as Malfoy was about to leap forward, Harry noticed it: a small, triumphant smile that was utterly incongruous to the damage before them.

He yelled, "Incarcerous," and Smith came crashing down in a heap on the floor.

Malfoy turned to Harry, saw the look in his eye, and changed direction, hauling the bound Smith up and holding him against the wall.

"What did you do?" Harry spat.

Smith, unusually calm, stared back. "It doesn't matter anymore." His voice was nothing like its usual timid self. "The difficulty was all in setting off the first explosion. You won't be able to stop the rest."

Malfoy threw him back down onto the ground just as the first sounds of spellwork reached their ears: fighting in the stairwell.

Expecting a wave of figures wearing hooded, black robes, Harry and Malfoy stopped dead when the first shimmer of an iridescent, white patronus galloped out of the stairwell.

Not a patronus; a ghost.

The sound of howling echoed round the tiny dungeons as a tall lady, mounted atop a gigantic steed, swept past them. Her long hair flew behind her, and her face was a beautiful, emotionless mask as she galloped to the back of the room, and simply disappeared.

Harry barely had enough time to realise that she looked strangely familiar before he felt Malfoy stiffen beside him and heard the cold horror in Malfoy's voice as he whispered, "Portentia."

Chains rattled and the howling grew like thunder as more ghosts emerged, galloping and clattering through on horse and foot alike, ignoring the Aurors who stood watching on in horror, realising that against this threat, their spells were utterly useless. Harry's mind was filled with images of the Headless Hunt that Nick had so longed to join, and he swore he could see at least one ghost riding past with a pale white skull held imperiously beneath their arm.

In a moment, they were gone, leaving silence in their wake.

A strange sound started, softly at first, but growing until Harry realised incredulously that it was laughter. Rounding on Smith, he heard the words "told you", just before Malfoy shot him with a stunning spell and Smith collapsed back in silence.

"What do we do now?" one of the Aurors asked, daring the question that Harry couldn't bring himself to say.

There was nothing they could do. Not against this.

"Come on," Malfoy snapped, and ran to the back of the dungeon, Harry right beside him.

They charged through the broken wards, the crumpled figure of the portal lying before an ordinary hole in the wall, every Auror from the Ministry following behind them.

They emerged into chaos. The lanterns were blown out and only the eery light of the ghosts at the top of the stairs lit their way. The sound of howling had stopped, and the strange sounds of a battle appeared to have replaced them. Books flew down the stairwell, crashing into the wall coming to an expectant halt, while delicate apparatus swirled in surreal serenity above their heads.

"They're taking all of it." Malfoy muttered as they leaped up the stairs. "Why the hell are they taking all of it?"

Harry felt despair flood through him at the thought of the damage this knowledge could do in the hands of the enemy. This knowledge was no longer common, or indeed present in living memory - how could they possibly hope to combat it?

An earsplitting screech broke through his thoughts just as they reached the top of the stairs, all the Aurors clattering out into a useless huddle, wands drawn and aimed at the ghosts.

"You dare to disturb the sanctity of my abode?"

The scream filled the hall, and Harry wasn't the only one who doubled over in pain. Through the overwhelming rage he could feel emanating from the walls, he realised he knew the voice; he had thought he had guessed at Mildred's anger before, but he had known nothing.

It was all he could manage to shield the Aurors while Malfoy fired off every curse he knew that could possible have an effect on a ghost. He didn't know many. But as the battled dragged on and Harry began to notice the details of what was going on around him instead of just a blur of fighting, he realised that the ferocity and purpose of the invaders was no match for the intricate knowledge and skill of the three guardians within.

While Mildred attacked with a single-minded purpose that made Harry think immediately of McGonagal, Barnaby and Reginald quickly and efficiently vanished the contents of the room, shielding themselves and the artefacts as they went.

It took Portentia and the others several minutes longer to realise what was happening. With a howl of rage, Portentia slammed her fist into the wall beside her; it passed straight through, and for a moment the room was filled with light, serene and ice cold.

And then, they were gone.

The Ministry had survived the invasion with surprisingly few injuries. It had seemed that the ghosts were intent on the raid, rather than the battle, and no one had predicted the resistance they would find within the Dark Magic ward.

Free now to roam the rest of the Ministry, Barnaby, Reginald, and Mildred had spent a full week reacquainting themselves with the building they had worked in all their life - and death - and had quickly decided that it was not for them, and insisted on overseeing the rebuilding of the Dark Magic ward.

Harry couldn't help but smile when he had wandered down and saw Mildred berating a contractor yet again for installing a modern designed bathroom when 'luxuries such as hot water are detrimental to proper focus and self discipline'.

The general good mood of the rebuilding process was enough that Harry even managed to only shake his head incredulously when he found out that Amy had been behind the anonymous tip off.

"I knew my great, great, great, etcetera aunt was up to something," she said apologetically, waving her hand and rolling her eyes at the excessive number of 'greats'. "Her portrait kept harping on about lost chances and immortality, and when I realised that her ghost was still riding around on that monster of a horse, I knew she was planning something dangerous. I was hoping I could get some information to you subtly, but then she caught onto what I was doing and it wasn't safe for you."

Harry had made sure that Amy knew he wasn't upset or angry, and thanked her for her help.

"Can I take you out to dinner to make up for it?"

When Harry had shaken his head and said gently, but firmly, 'no', she had looked hurt but understanding, and Harry had left relieved that at least one thing in his life seemed to have wrapped itself up nicely.

"At least they're keeping it down below the dungeons," Malfoy muttered to him when he returned to their office after his morning visit to the three delighted ghosts.

"I like having them around," he said. "It reminds me of Hogwarts."

"Of course it does," Malfoy drawled, his voice thick with disgust, but when he glanced up at Harry his expression was strangely fond.

Harry felt his stomach flip, as it had so often since the events several weeks ago. Malfoy had been looking at him like that more and more, and Harry had to fight to remind himself that it didn't mean anything and never would.

After everything had settled, and the Ministry had acknowledged the fact that they now had to consider the danger of criminals they had buried centuries ago, along with the knowledge of dark rituals well beyond what modern Aurors could imagine, the Ministry had agreed to reinstate the Dark Magic ward. With the help of the Unspeakables and researchers from overseas, it hadn't taken long to construct a complicated system of wards and traps to protect both the Ministry and the dangerous knowledge they now realised they held. They still had a long way to go, and all the departments were on edge at the possibility of an unexpected attack, but Harry considered it an excellent start. Despite the danger of Portentia and her unknown number of accomplices, it felt infinitely safer to be researching the threat instead of running blind in the hope that there wasn't one.

The sound of a door softly closing made him look up, and he gave an involuntary intake of breath when he saw Malfoy walking slowly toward him.

"We need to talk," Malfoy said quietly.

Harry closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Malfoy was looking at him with that same strange expression: fond, exasperated, partially annoyed. But Malfoy was always partially annoyed.

"I know you have this issue with getting serious with someone," Malfoy said, and Harry felt his eyes widen in surprise. "And honestly, it surprised me at first. I never thought you were like that. But it would be hypocritical of me not to be understanding. So, I don't hold it against you, but I just wanted you to know-" he paused and took a deep breath. "I just wanted to you to know that if you change your mind-" he trailed off, leaving Harry gaping at him.

"If I change my mind?" he asked after a long pause. "What the hell do you mean? You're the one who doesn't fall in love."

Malfoy frowned. "Exactly. Which is why this is so hard for me."

Harry closed his eyes again, unable to keep the wince of pain from showing on his face. Then he realised that what Malfoy had said didn't quite make sense. "What do you mean it's hard for you? Why is it hard for you?"

"Because I'm not used to loving someone!" Malfoy burst out, losing his calm composure and throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I don't know how to do it. I feel all these, these things and it's uncomfortable, and honestly I thought you might be a little more helpful, but it turns out you're just as bad as I am, and-"

Harry held up a hand, his head spinning with the effort to keep track of Malfoy's admission - at least, what he thought was an admission. "Are you saying you're in love with me?"

Malfoy stared at him, incredulous. "Of course that's what I'm saying, what did you think I was saying? Are you telling me you didn't know?"

For long seconds they just stared at each other, eyes comically wide.

"No," Harry finally managed in something like a squeak.

"But, but the Amortentia," Malfoy choked. "And the rescuing. And the sex ."

"You have sex with people all the time!" Harry yelled, rather more loudly than he probably should have, considering they were in their office. "And you're an Auror; it's your job to rescue people!"

"Exactly," Malfoy yelled back. "It's my job! Do you really think I'm going to do it in my spare time if I don't lo-" He swallowed and tried again. "If I don't love the person?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted.

Malfoy muttered in exasperation. "Well, I'm not, so now you know, and if you change your mind about-"

"I love you."

Malfoy stopped dead. "Come again?"

"I love you, Draco." Harry looked into grey eyes, his heart filling with warmth until he thought he would burst.

Slowly, carefully, Malfoy's lips curved up into a smile. "I love you, too, Harry." He reached out tentatively; the same motion he had made weeks ago at St. Mungo's. But this time he didn't falter, but set his hands on Harry's waist and pulled him close.

Harry brought his hands up, running them through Malfoy's hair and holding him still as he leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed him.

Epilogue

Harry lowered his wand, bringing the couch to a soft landing and smiling to himself when Malfoy tutted and readjusted it.

"Do I need to ask why you bought a bright red couch?" Malfoy asked in disgust.

"Pissing you off was my first reason," Harry mused. "And, second to that, probably came pissing you off."

In protest, Malfoy waved his wand and three silver cushions dropped down on top of the couch.

Harry made a face. "It looks hideous."

"Doesn't it?" Malfoy said with an affectionate smile. "We'll see who cracks first."

Harry burst out laughing. "You will."

"Will I? Will I, Harry?"

Harry reached out and snagged the back of Malfoy's jumper, drawing him back toward him and sliding his arm around his waist. "Then it can be our ugly couch," he murmured into Malfoy's ear, enjoying the way Malfoy trembled when Harry's breath slid across his neck. "And we'll pretend we love it and watch all of our guests squirm as they try not to offend us."

Malfoy smirked. "You know I'm going to turn it green when you're not looking, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Harry pulled Malfoy backward until their knees hit the back of the couch and they tumbled down, landing on top of each other. The rest of the apartment was unfurnished, despite several days of intense furniture shopping.

"Why couldn't we get the cast iron bed?" Harry asked mournfully.

"Because it was cheap. Does the bed I selected look cheap to you, Harry?"

"It wasn't cheap," Harry mumbled.

"Precisely. Although I must give you a small commendation for suggesting a bed that I could easily tie you to." Malfoy leaned back and smirked at him.

Harry huffed in fake exasperation. "You haven't had to do that, and you know it."

"I do know it," Malfoy said seriously. "You're doing really well."

Harry felt himself warm with pride. He still had to fight the occasional battle within himself when the insidious thoughts slipped in - that it wouldn't be that bad to just practice a little dark magic here and there. But whenever he felt that way, he went to talk to Malfoy, and they would find some way of distracting him. He'd become so confident lately that Malfoy had even allowed him to study in the newly refurbished Dark Magic ward.

Which was good, because they had a long way to go when it came to dealing with all the new rituals that were popping up across Britain. Portentia had managed to steal some things after all, and word was spreading amongst the underbelly of the wizarding community. They no longer had to deal with only petty criminals and wannabe Death Eaters; ancient dark magic was returning to their world, and 'know thy enemy' was more important than ever.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the firm press of Malfoy's lips against his.

"So, we've got a bed and a couch," Malfoy murmured against his mouth. "And we're choosing to sit on the couch. Can you please explain to me why that is?"

Harry grinned and lifted him up, laughing softly at Malfoy's surprised expression.

"My hero," Malfoy said drily, batting his eyelashes as Harry carried him into the bedroom.

"You've got that the wrong way around, actually," Harry said, feeling unexpectedly sappy.

"At least someone knows it."

When Harry rolled his eyes, Malfoy simply smirked and pulled Harry down onto the emerald green sheets beside him.

A/N Thank you for sticking with this... for reasons that are obvious from the notes throughout, this fic is kind of messy. It took me so long to finish it that there are probably millions of inconsistencies and errors through the whole thing, as well as possible loose ends and I know I paced it faster than I had intended to... Let alone the terrible chapter structure stuff. But I've finished it. That's all I wanted to do, and I've done it - can I get a hells yeah? So, apologies for the messiness. At some point, I may go through and tidy some things up, but for now it's done and it's a weight off my mind. Thank you for your kind words along the way :) I'm also mostly active over on tumblr now, so if you want my drarry drabbles and smutty fics that I don't post here, come find me under the same name.