i almost didn't write this. it's been a long time since i've updated, and i almost just let this story die, one chapter from the end. but i didn't. i did, however, write this in a bit of a rush and without any plan. so.

thank you, to everyone who's read this, especially those who've reviewed. i really, really, really, really appreciate it. a lot.

alright! let's do this.

What We Take; How We Win
Epilogue

Draco's eyes open slowly and he blinks a few times at the warm sunlight enveloping him. He looks around, noting the red and gold tapestry surrounding him. It's been at least a week since he's slept in his own dormitory but he still hasn't adjusted to the sensation of waking up in a tower instead of a dungeon.

He grins lazily at the battle-scarred arm draped carefully across his torso. He knows there are things he should be worrying about - like the fact that he is probably going to die fairly soon - but right now he can't think of anything but the sleeping boy next to him.

Coincidentally, the sleeping boy begins to stir now. His right hand moves briefly to his face and he opens his eyes, yawning.

"Morning," Draco smiles.

Harry tightens his hold on Draco's waist and responds with a little humming noise.

...

"I told you lot he was fuckin' Harry Potter!" laughs Theodore Nott.

Half the Slytherins laugh, too, and half stay quiet. Pansy Parkinson, who's seated across the room, angrily scribbles something out, rolls up her parchment, and stomps to the girls' dormitory.

"How is he?" Theodore scoots over so he's uncomfortably close to Draco.

"Shut up."

"No, c'mon! How's the Boy Who Lived in bed?"

Draco pushes him - hard, so he falls to the ground. Suddenly furious, Theodore reaches for his wand, but Draco quickly disarms him and sends an Engorgio Skullus his way. He looks challengingly at the other occupants of the common room, who say nothing, and then storms out.

...

"I love you, y'know."

"What?" Draco looks up from the book in his hands.

Harry smiles softly. "I love you."

They're in a quiet corner of the library reading up on various types of Dark Magic, except Draco's having a hard time reading anything when Harry's looking at him like that - like he's the king of the world, the top of the pyramid. Like he's the best.

Draco reaches out and cradles the other boy's cheek.

"I love you, too."

...

"Gods, yes..." Harry collapses onto the bed next to Draco, kissing him and murmuring words of affection.

Draco lies tangled with Harry, slowly emerging from a state of ecstasy. Everything's blurry for a few moments, but when he's able, he props himself up on his elbows and looks at Harry, who's tracing shapes in Draco's skin with his fingers (this is a favorite pastime of his).

"Harry?"

The dark-haired boy looks up at him. "Yeah?"

"What... what are we going to do?"

Harry hesitates. "Honestly...? I haven't the slightest idea," then he chuckles.

"Are we gonna be okay?"

"I dunno," Harry says, and Draco knows it's the truth, "but we're gonna be together."

Draco nods. Somehow, he's reassured.

...

Draco Malfoy is more than his father. He is more than this war and more than every mistake he's ever made.

He is a casualty of a war he never wanted to fight in.

He is Draco, and here is Harry, and Harry is his. Draco Malfoy is, finally, not the letters of his name - he's the way Harry moans it as they move together in the dark.

He is the Slytherin green of Harry's eyes and the Gryffindor red of his own blood. He's a half-healed cut with a snake on his arm.

And he can have only what he takes. So he takes Harry into his arms and drifts to sleep.

...

Maybe he's not The Chosen One, but Harry has chosen him, and that's enough.