There were so very many nights that both of them wanted to walk way, give in, toss it all to the wind. They couldn't. It didn't matter how many miles Draco put between them when he was most agitated, or after a hard day at work for Harry; they always returned to the cottage.

Dealing with the fallout of no longer being a Malfoy was harder for Draco. This was a heavier burden to bear. As the years wore on, and Harry grew to be more a part of him, or perhaps they became a part of each other, they made the mutual decision to have a bonding ceremony. Friends and family gathered. Some faces were familiar from their time at Hogwarts. Others were acquaintances they'd made during the war. Others still were family, adopted and stolen throughout their lives.

It surprised some that Narcissa was not there, nor any of the Malfoy lineage. The only true family that Draco invited were his aunt Andromeda and cousin Teddy. After all, he'd chosen to take the Black name after Narcissa abandoned him; he was free to do so as Harry had inherited the estate following Sirius's passing. With everyone gathered, Draco became a Potter-Black and Harry a Black-Potter. They chose to share in each lineage, so that any future children might take either name. Mrs. Weasley cried and hugged Andromeda. Both women cried on Draco, who wanted nothing to do with crying women. Harry was amused.

Most moons, Draco allowed the transformation. After the first, during which Bill was present and ready for all of the questions, hurt, and confusion, Draco learned to give his wolf freedom. He needed to run and play, to feel the grass beneath his paws and curl up beneath the stars. At the end of each night, Draco would pad across the porch and into the open cottage door, finding a warm spot on the rug in front of the fire. By morning, he was snug against his lover in their bed. There were some nights, though, that Harry joined him.

It took a while, and many long visits to McGonagall, but Harry discovered his animagus. Surprising no one, Harry turned into a tall, wire-coated hound, much like that of an irish wolfhound. In that form, he joined Draco on runs around the countryside. In the middling hours of morning, they fell together in front of the fire, tired and content.

Draco grew uneasy in the stillness of the cottage. At times, it was a warm embrace that wrapped around them like a familiar blanket; at others, it was a suffocating press of whispered assurances and sweat-slicked bodies. In the end, it was Harry's restless feet and steady breathing through the night that kept him grounded. For those who knew them well, this was a treasured life. A life that had taken many such lives to build—something they would remember until the day the veil welcomes them home.

For those of you who have read, reviewed, and stuck with this story through until the end, I appreciate your time. This was supposed to be a quick one-shot and it turned into much more for me. While I could write so much more for these boys in this particular story, I feel like they deserve some peace. Thank you