Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Harry Potter and the Black King	By : Phoenixstrike Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 10587 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Harry Potter and all characters and situations are created and owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros. No money is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Chapter Thirteen: Godric’s Hollow

The Boxing Day meeting between Snape and Hermione and Ron had gone well, in Harry’s opinion; Hermione offered nervous giggles and gushing apologies whilst Ron was mainly silent, giving an occasional nod of the head to convey his attention. Severus, for his part, was cordial to his new house guests. Privately he shared the same opinion as Draco; Granger was an asset; Weasley a potential liability, and had agreed to Harry’s plans purely for Harry’s sake. However to Ron’s credit he listened intently to his former potions master, and by the end of the meeting both understood fully Harry’s reasons for trusting the man. Harry was immensely relieved that his best friends and Severus were able to work together. It was one load off his mind.

Which was a good thing, Harry mused, as he was by now quite sure he was very much unwelcome in the Weasley household. Ginny had refused to see Harry when he had returned to the Burrow on Boxing Day with Ron and Hermione to discuss leaving Hogwarts and collect their belongings; she had, however, sent him an owl two days afterwards saying she was hurt and wished Harry had told her sooner so she wasn’t left with false hope, but otherwise saying that in time she thought they would be able to repair their friendship. She also said she didn’t blame him for anything and she understood, and apologising for her mum’s behaviour. The twins had been their usual selves when Harry visited, acting like Harry’s sexuality was one big joke and making bad puns, usually involving some variant of the ‘Boy Who Lived.’ Arthur didn’t seem to know what to say to him, other than offer a nervous hand-shake and show him an electric kettle he was given for Christmas. Molly Weasley, however, was not known for holding back her views and lectured Harry for a full twenty minutes on ‘morality’ and ‘decency’ and how Harry had ‘broken my little girl’s heart.’

When Ron finally broke the news that he and Hermione were leaving school and moving in with Harry, the woman nearly hit the roof, yelling, and forbidding (at which point Ron promptly reminded her that he was of age and it wasn’t up to her any longer), before finally collapsing, defeated, into an armchair. She turned her anger towards Harry and gave him a venomous glare.

“Your parents would be ashamed if they could see the man you’ve become, Harry Potter,” she said spitefully. Harry’s eyes widened and he felt the corners of his eyes prickle, before Ron exploded at his mother and Hermione’s arms were suddenly vice-like tight around Harry’s waist. Hermione had steered Harry quickly out of the living room then and the pair packed in silence, listening to the argument below.

“How dare you say those things to Harry,” Ron said to his mother, in a tone he couldn’t ever remember using with her before. “He is brave and good and always trying to please everyone and risking his life to vanquish You-know-who. He’s doing everything he bloody well can and I will not have you speak to him like that. We’re moving in to help him win this war, mum, and you’re acting as if we’ve all decided to live together in some kind of sexually deviant triad or something!” Molly winced and opened her mouth to protest but Ron wasn’t done.

“He’s my best mate, the best mate I could ever have. I don’t care if he’s gay! And I will not have you upsetting him. He’s doing the best he can!” Ron yelled, as Mrs Weasley turned scarlet. “I know you’re disappointed you won’t be getting The Chosen One as a son-in law now but you are just going to have to get over that. Don’t take your disappointment out on him. And you owe Harry a huge apology because what you said to him about his mum and dad was absolutely hateful.” At that moment a shaken Harry and Hermione returned to the living room with Ron and Hermione’s belongings. Ron gave Harry a supportive smile before turning back to Mrs Weasley. “My birthday is in two months. That’s plenty time to come up with something good in way of an apology.” And with a final look of disgust at his mother and not so much as a goodbye, Ron picked his school trunk up by the handle, hauled it into the fireplace, threw a handful of floo powder into the flames and disappeared. Hermione followed, leaving Harry and Mrs Weasley alone.

“Harry, dear, I…” she began, but Harry pushed past her without looking at her and stepped into the fire, shouting, “Grimmauld Place!” loudly as the Burrow and Molly Weasley disappeared. Harry stepped out of the fire and immediately shut off the floo, then all but ran to his bedroom looking for Draco, leaving Ron and Hermione standing in an uncomfortable silence in the large drawing room.

That had been three weeks ago. It was now mid-January, and Harry was sitting at the kitchen table with the others, all desperately trying to come up with a new plan in yet another meeting.

“There is one area I’d like to try eventually, but we’ll need to research it much more before we can search it,” Hermione said to the table. “I remember the Sorting Hat, singing about Salazar Slytherin and the Fens during one of the welcoming feasts, and I was wondering if he was from that area. I’m sure Voldemort would have wanted to hide a Horcrux at the birthplace of Slytherin.”

“Do you remember everything, Granger?” Draco asked with what Harry thought sounded like grudging admiration. He and Ron laughed. “Yes,” they answered in unison.

“Why can’t we go now? To this Fens place?” Asked Ron. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Because, Mr Weasley, The Fens isn’t a place, it’s a region, and a rather large one at that. They cover just about the whole of the east of England. Lincolnshire, Cambridgeshire and Norfolk to be exact. That’s an area bigger than some countries. We can’t just go and search three whole counties blindly, we need some sort of a lead.” Snape replied.

“That sounds really promising,” said Harry quickly, before Ron could retort and an argument erupt. “But, er, whilst we’re researching that area more, I, um, I want to go to Godric’s Hollow.”

Four heads bored identical expressions of incredulity; Remus (who looked tired and pale from the full moon two nights’ previously) being the only one not staring at him as if he was crazy. Harry noticed Snape’s normally pallid skin had paled even further.

“What?” he said, somewhat angrily. “There’s a good chance something is there! Birthplace of The Chosen One? Come on, surely this is significant enough for him to want to hide a horcrux? Had his plans worked and he killed me this would have been the place where he finally destroyed the only chance of someone defeating him. I’d say he saw Godric’s Hollow as an ideal location for one of these bloody things.”

Draco reached over and took his hand, to which Ron only made a small noise of protest. “Harry, we’ve been over this. Voldemort is sadistic, and evil, but he’s also clever. He’ll know you’re not at school by now and are off on some mission. He’ll expect you to pitch up there sooner or later. What if he’s set traps for us, or warded the place which we’ll trigger the minute we apparate in?”

“We’ll have to risk it,” Harry replied stubbornly. “It’s been far too long with no progress. Paris was months ago now and as you say we can’t search three whole counties without at least know the general area we should be searching. This is the only thing we have to go on right now. We need to do this.”

“I think Harry is right,” Remus said from the opposite end of the table. “The location is possible at worst, promising at best. Godric Gryffindor also came from there- the village is named after him. There is a good chance Voldemort would have considered the location adequate. We’d be idiots to at least not search.” But there was a knowing glint in his eyes as he caught the emerald orbs of Harry’s, which clearly communicated that Remus, at least, was not fooled. He knew Harry needed to go home. Gratitude rushed through Harry as me mouthed a silent ‘thank you’, knowing that the place held memories for Remus, too.

“Fine then,” Hermione replied, somewhat sharply but not unkindly. “We’ll go, but Harry, can you please at least agree that we make a start on this research before we go?” Harry nodded his agreement. Hermione smiled at him and continued talking. “But that still leaves the problem of how we actually research Salazar Slytherin. I’ve checked the entire library both at Hogwarts and here and there’s nothing. Other than what’s in Hogwarts: a History there is nothing published on the man or his life anywhere.” Harry could hear her disappointment at the library’s apparent failure in her voice and smiled slightly.

“That’s because Slytherin didn’t want just anybody to be able to read about his life,” Draco replied. “His life is documented in only one tome that I’m aware of, and to which only a pureblood Slytherin can access. If a half-blood or muggle-born, or anyone from the other three houses tries to touch the book then it curses them. And most of it is written in ancient runes. Nearly all the oldest pureblood Slytherin families own a copy. I’m surprised there isn’t a copy here actually, as Sirius was the only non-Slytherin member of the Black family. There is a copy at Malfoy Manor. I’ve never even seen the book; it’s traditional in our family for the heir to study the book in the summer after we come of age. Father was expecting me to educate myself from the text this summer but, well, we all know how that ended.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Harry replied sarcastically, before offering an apology to Remus and Severus for his language. “Yet another bloody thing we have to find.”

“We could always take the copy from the Manor,” Draco said. “Or, rather, I could, considering no one else here could touch it. But it wouldn’t be like the time we took the locket. The library is located next to the main drawing room which is where Voldemort is residing. We cannot sneak in undetected this time, and then I’d have to search manually for it as it has anti-summoning charms on it. Even in the middle of the night we’d be lucky to not be seen.”

Harry was just about to despair, or start coming up with a plan to get in, when another idea occurred to him. Hermione was going to hate it, probably even yell at him for it, but it was the only way… he promptly called “Kreacher!” which startled everyone and the house elf appeared in front of him.

“Master called?” Kreacher said to Harry, then he surveyed the occupants of the table. “And master has moved the blood traitor and the mudblood in too, Mistress will be disgusted to have such filth in such a noble house, oh yes. I see the Malfoy heir is sitting with master as if he is a friend. Kreacher is worrying about the heir’s sanity.”

Harry ignored him. “Kreacher, I command you to return to Hogwarts and ask Dobby to come and speak with me.”

“Kreacher must do what the half-blood brat says, and ask the traitorous elf to come into a house he’s not fit to set foot in because master has instructed me,” Kreacher replied, before disapparating with a loud Pop. Hermione, predictably, narrowed her eyes.

“What are you playing at, Harry?” She asked. Harry didn’t get a chance to reply before Kreacher reappeared with Dobby, who was beaming at Harry.

“Kreacher, leave us- return to Hogwarts, and you are forbidden to mention any of this to anybody. Through words or gestures. Including writing. You are to remain silent on the issue,” Harry ordered, and the elf once again disapparated, a look of loathing on his features. Dobby was almost hopping with glee.

“Harry Potter sir! Dobby is so happy to see Harry Potter! And Harry Potter’s friends! How can Dobby help Harry Potter?”

Harry smiled fondly at the elf. “Dobby, I have a favour to ask of you. This is not an order, it’s a request. You are free to refuse, and if you do refuse I forbid you to punish yourself in any way for it. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, of course! But why would Dobby refuse? Dobby would do anything for Harry Potter sir!”

Harry was aware of Draco next to him, torn between amusement at the elf practically fawning over him and disgust.

“Dobby, the favour I need to ask could be dangerous. I need to you to enter Malfoy Manor and retrieve a book.”

“Enter Dobby’s old master’s house? Dobby can do that for Harry Potter!”

“Harry! You can’t do this!” Hermione said desperately. Harry gave her a small smile.

“Voldemort and the Death eaters won’t know one house elf from another. If they see Dobby in there they’ll think he’s just one of the Manor’s elves gone in to clean. He can grab the book and apparate through the wards. And he is free to refuse.”

“And Dobby can touch the book,” Draco said, correctly interpreting Hermione’s open mouth as she began to argue another point. “It won’t hurt him. House elf magic has to allow them to touch artefacts that may be cursed for non-family members in order to clean, as so many of the older pureblood families have such artefacts. And Dobby is the one with the best knowledge of the manor’s layout so has the best chance of success. Besides I don’t trust Kreacher. He’s found a way to betray his master before and he could do it again, and this time it would be to Voldemort. I think Harry’s had a brilliant idea here.” This was met with nodding from everyone else around the table, and Hermione reluctantly conceded.

Draco explained the book to Dobby who, to everyone’s relief, remembered vividly and knew its location in the library. He gave a bow to Harry, and disapparated.

“So that’s my father’s old elf,” Draco said sardonically. “He’s a bloody odd little thing isn’t he.”

Not even five minutes later the elf returned, book in hand. Draco took the book from him and laid it on the table.

“Thank you Dobby, you’ve done brilliantly!” Harry beamed. “And, um, it was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be.” Dobby gave a wide smile, and, after making Harry promise to call him for anything else he may need, returned to Hogwarts. Draco immediately pulled out his wand and cast Geminio on the book, then again, passing one copy to Snape and another to Hermione.

“This version won’t be cursed,” he assured the others as Hermione accepted her copy hungrily, tracing a finger across the complex rune patterns on the leather cover.

“Where’s mine?” Harry asked, half-joking. Draco sneered but looked at Harry fondly.

“Yes, because you’re going to be helpful with the research, aren’t you, Mr Expert-rune-interpreter?” He missed the flattered look Hermione gave him, but Harry didn’t, and he knew, in that moment, that Draco’s act of so casually allowing her access to the prized and treasured secrets of Salazar Slytherin and believing she was good enough to help with the translations had meant Draco had gone up a lot of notches in her estimation.

“Well, we’ve got the books,” Harry said. “We’ll go to Godric’s Hollow on Friday.” And with that he sat back in his chair, excited yet terrified to be returning home in two days’ time, to the place of the macabre scene of sixteen years ago.

The night before the planned trip Harry and Snape had a falling out. Snape had informed Harry that he had no intention of visiting Godric’s Hollow, but refused to give a reason why. Harry noticed the man was even paler than usual, and had been very quiet since the trip had first been proposed, but he didn’t know why Severus wouldn’t accompany him. He was sure it wasn’t fear of traps, but what it actually was, Harry had no idea. When Harry had pushed the issue Snape had simply walked out of the room. He didn’t rise to see them all off in the morning either.

The group had decided to use glamours rather than Polyjuice. Harry had not wanted to visit the village impersonating someone else; it didn’t feel right to him. Hermione and Remus had cast the charms and the five of them were different enough to not be immediately recognised, but not so different Harry felt like an imposter. Remus supplied them with apparition co-ordinates and they apparated to Godric’s Hollow.

Harry’s initial impression of the village was that it looked like something from a Muggle Christmas card, and was brimming with character. The buildings were detached, with wooden beams and thatched roofs, small puffs of smoke flowing from the chimneys. Although there was no snow, there was a thick frost which had not yet melted in the weak January sunlight; it sparkled like crystals, reflecting the light in a beautiful rainbow of colours. There were a scattering of shops- the butchers, the bakers, the greengrocers, and a local pub called The Apple and Cider, which Harry thought was rather typical for the West Country. There was a traditional post-office with overhanging plants framing the doorway and windows which would no doubt be covered in vibrant flowers in spring, with a post-box outside that still had a Georgian ‘GR’ on the front, and an old-fashioned red phone box with a black rotary telephone. The paths were cobbled and the roads empty of traffic. Harry instantly fell in love with the village; it was so quaint, so beautiful and so peaceful. Yet he also knew it held horror, and he couldn’t focus on the beauty of the muggle part of the village for long; he was here for a reason.

It was obvious when they had entered the wizarding area of the village. The few muggles that had been out early shopping paid this part of the village no notice, and Harry was certain that he, Remus, Draco, Hermione and Ron were the only ones in the vicinity that could see this small row of slightly abstract-looking, disjointed houses, some of which had green or pink smoke emanating from their chimneys. There were also a few wizarding shops- a small apothecary, a robe shop and what looked like a chain of Honeydukes. Harry felt a stab of longing in his chest as he gazed around him, Draco’s hand tightly clenched in his. Remus was paying no notice to the village, however, but was searching for traces of wards or traps. So far he had detected nothing, much to the others’ relief.

Remus came up and stood beside Harry, putting an arm around him.

“Harry, your parents… they’re in there,” he said, gesturing with his hand, his voice as soft and as tender as Harry had ever heard as Remus’ grip on him intensified, as did the squeeze from Draco’s hand on his.

Harry’s head whirled round and for the first time he noticed a tiny churchyard located behind a row of yew trees. He felt the colour drain from his face and a lump rise in his throat, but nodded mutely, letting go of Draco’s hand and crossed the cobbled road to the iron gate as if on autopilot.

The others made to follow him but Harry held up a hand.

“Please,” he said, aware his voice was barely more than a whisper. “I need to do this alone. Remus, just you. You can show me where they are.” He turned his attention to Draco. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

Draco crossed to Harry and planted a kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll be waiting here when you come back,” he said quietly. Harry gave him a grateful smile and pushed open the iron gate, and entered the churchyard.

Remus led him through the short grassy path, to the far right of the churchyard. There was a tidy, if bare, headstone, in a grey marble. Harry looked at Remus and he simply nodded, staying where he was whilst Harry edged nearer. When he was about twenty feet away he could make out the writing on the stone.

James Potter, 27^th March 1960- 31^st October 1981. And his beloved wife, Lily Potter, 30^th January 1960- 31^st October 1981.

They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it. Death cannot kill what never dies.

Hot tears fell down Harry’s cheeks and he wiped them away irritably, refusing to break down. There, in thick black letters was proof. His parents had died for their love of him. Everything came back to love. He sank to his knees on top of the grave, his fingers reaching out to trace the lettering on the stone. He idly thought over all those things he’d never thought to ask before. Who had arranged the funeral? Chosen the words for the headstone? Who had paid their respects? Where had the gold come from to pay for everything? Anything, other than having to think about the fact this was the closest he had been to his parents in over sixteen years, and they were lying, dead, cold, and oblivious just feet below him. He was still fighting the tears.

“Remus,” he said calmly, in a normal speaking voice but the yard was so silent his voice travelled easily, his face never leaving the headstone. “Do you think my mum and dad would have been ashamed of me?”

Remus was at his side in an instant.

“Why on Earth would you think that, Harry?” he said, before thinking back to Christmas Day, then how Harry had returned so upset from the Burrow the following evening. “Ah, I see. Is that what Molly Weasley said to you?” Harry said nothing but nodded his head, sniffing deeply. Remus swore under his breath, mentally making a note to have a little talk with the woman as soon as possible.

“Harry, your mum and dad were always so supportive of Sirius and me. Any time we faced any negativity or bigotry your dad would threaten to ‘hex their homophobic arses off’. They might have been shocked with your choice of partner, as we all were to begin with, but they’d have seen very quickly how much Draco loves you. They would not have minded at all that you prefer men to women, and they certainly would never have been ashamed of you. You have my word as a wizard on that.”

Harry just stood still, giving no indication he’d heard, but when he felt the tentative touch of Remus’ arm on his shoulders once more he turned into the embrace, burying his head into the man’s shoulder, hugging him tightly, and receiving a tight hug in return. Minutes later they broke apart.

“I’m going to get the bastard you know,” Harry said, determination in his voice. “He took all this from me. I’m going to make him pay.”

“I know you will kiddo, it’s never been in doubt,” said Remus in reply.

When Harry had asked Draco to stay behind, it had hurt. But Draco understood. However it meant he was left alone with Weasel and Granger. He figured he should probably try and clear the air a bit. Maybe it would be easier when they didn’t look completely like themselves. It would also stop acting in a very un-Malfoyish manner and go tearing into the cemetery after Harry. But to his amazement it was Weasley who spoke first.

“Malfoy,” he said, without heat. “I, er, I still don’t like that you’re with Harry, but I’m not blind. We’ll probably never get on and be friends, but I know you care for Harry.” Draco raised one eyebrow, Hermione whacked him on the arm, and Ron thought he might as well do the whole thing properly. “Okay, fine, I know you love him. And he obviously loves you. Very much. And whatever’s happened before between us, I know that we’re on the same side now, and you’re not going to turn around and stab Harry in the back and that’s what’s important, not the past. You and Hermione seem able to be civil to each other, and I’d like it if we could be the same.” And he held out his right hand.

Draco stared at it, not really wanting to take it, but knowing it would make Harry happy, and they did have to work together now, after all. Plus Draco was grudgingly grateful for the way Ron defended Harry to his hag of a mother. He extended his own arm and shook his hand.

“A truce then,” he said. Both men broke the handshake as soon as was polite to do so, Hermione looking on approvingly at the two.

Harry and Remus exited the cemetery a few minutes after this. All three practically ran to Harry, hugging him tightly. Harry hugged them all back before breaking away, giving a shaky laugh and assuring them he was fine.

Just then Remus spoke up. He looked sombre.

“Harry, I’ve tried every spell I knew, and every spell Severus taught me, to detect Dark Magic. I’m sorry, I really don’t think there is a horcrux hidden here. I’d have detected a trace of it by now I think. I will of course check the house but I believe we have been unlucky this time.”

Harry physically deflated, but assured Remus it was okay, it was worth a shot, they still had a lead with the Fens, and today was important to him still and he didn’t regret coming. He also made it clear he still wanted to visit the house, and shouted down Hermione who opened her mouth as if to protest. Harry knew this was going to be hard, way, way harder than visiting his parents’ grave, but he just really felt the need to do it. He needed to see the house he was born in, his first home. Where he had a family of his own. It was something Draco had not understood when Harry told him Wednesday night of his desire to visit, but had given him his full support. He summoned every single ounce of his Gryffindor courage and followed Remus down the street.

The Potter house was at the end of the row of wizarding cottages. Harry had wondered whether the fidelius charm on the property would mean he wouldn’t be able to see it. However Voldemort must have broken the charm, or the fidelius breaks automatically when its subjects die as he could see it plain as day, and, Harry assessed after a quick look, so could the others.

He’d expected the house to be in ruins, or at least in a dilapidated condition. However, apart from a very overgrown garden, the house appeared relatively normal, if neglected. Harry realised that sixteen years ago the house would have been a very pretty cottage indeed. He fleetingly saw in his mind’s eye his mother in the garden on a summer’s day, in dungarees and a large straw hat, gardening, whilst a year old Harry clumsily toddled around near her. Suddenly it all became very real. He was looking at his home, the place where he had parents, had been happy. The building which had been the setting the destruction of it. Harry paled and leant forwards, holding the moss-strewn wall for support, which was replaced almost immediately by Draco’s arm.

“Are you sure you wish to enter?” Remus once more asked Harry gently. For a second Harry wanted to say, no, of course he wasn’t ready, and disapparate away immediately. Instead his mouth automatically formed the word ‘yes’, and he began to walk up the overgrown stone path leading to the front door, which was on the side of the cottage.

The change of angle revealed what couldn’t be seen from the street; simultaneous gasps from everyone except Remus carried through the chilly air as the upstairs of the back of house was revealed. The roof and entire back wall of what must have been the upstairs bedroom had been obliterated, leaving a huge gaping hole.

Hands shaking, Harry pushed open the front door. He was unsurprised to find the door unlocked. He stepped over the threshold, Draco’s arm securely round his shoulders, and stood in the hallway. He heard a small cry coming from Hermione but ignored her.

The hallway was small. The wallpaper, yellowed from age, had a floral pattern, and lead up the stairs to the landing. The carpet was a pale sage, but was covered in a thick layer of dust. A small table by the door contained a glass vase with a thick green algae in the bottom. Harry assumed they contained flowers which had long since decomposed. He knew James Potter had been killed in the downstairs hallway; Harry stared at the floor, wondering where his father had been standing when he died. Harry could hear Ron and Hermione talking in whispers behind him, but he was not listening. He looked over at Lupin; the man was white and also staring at the floor. Harry knew that he, too, was wondering exactly where his best friend had been killed.

The living room was quite empty, except for a writing desk, some browned parchment and an empty ink bottle. There was also a comfortable-looking sofa, which, Harry noticed with a lurch to his stomach, James’ wand rested upon. James had rushed out to face Voldemort and defend his family and hadn’t even picked up his wand.

Harry held the length of mahogany in his fingers, before uttering a quick lumos. He smiled mournfully as the wand-tip glowed with light, before wordlessly pocketing the wand in his jeans pocket next to his own holly wand. Forgetting the others were even there, he crossed from the living room into the kitchen.

A kitchen table. A highchair, a baby’s bib with ‘little Gryffindor’ in gold lettering embroidered on it. A copy of The Daily Prophet date marked the thirty-first of October 1981 laid open in front of one of the dining chairs. A sink and draining board, with two upturned mugs resting upon it. One had a picture of a snitch, the other a lily. His parents’ favourite mugs. Harry felt his eyes prickle at the sight, before cursing under his breath. They’re only cups he scorned himself before sweeping out of the kitchen, pointedly refusing to look at his old baby highchair.

Draco, Ron, Hermione and Remus followed Harry up the staircase to the damaged first floor and headed straight for his parents’ bedroom before stepping inside. Hermione started to follow but Remus placed a hand on her arm.

“Let him be,” he said. Hermione nodded once and held back.

“I’m going in there with him,” Draco said. There was no way he was letting Harry do this alone. He quickly followed Harry into the room, and stopped dead.

Harry was standing next to a cot, in front of the blown-out wall, a small blue unicorn in his arms which he was hugging tightly to his chest. He was staring at a dressing table next to a large double bed, on top of which was a hairbrush with a few auburn strands of hair entangled in the teeth, a bottle of floral perfume, and some jewellery. He looked at Draco with wide eyes but didn’t speak or move. Draco crossed the room to him instead.

“Harry,” he said, in a voice so gentle it didn’t sound like his own as he ran a finger over Harry’s cheek, “It’s okay love, you can be upset.”

Draco’s words seemed to force down some barrier Harry had conjured around himself and Draco watched, helpless, as Harry mentally and physically broke down before him. Harry finally gave in to his grief, sinking to the floor and letting out a wail of mental pain. All Draco could do was hold his boyfriend whilst Harry sobbed uncontrollably, shaking from the effort and the adrenaline flowing through him.

After many minutes Harry’s sobs became quieter and his breathing evened out. Draco thought for one incredulous moment he’d fallen asleep but Harry was trying to gain some control.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” he told Draco in shuddering breaths. Draco kissed him.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said.

He helped Harry collect a few more personal belongings- including Lily’s perfume and jewellery- then he wrapped an arm tightly around him and the pair exited the room, to be greeted by a concerned Remus, Ron and Hermione.

“Sorry guys,” Harry said, and received a chorus of ‘Don’t be sorry!’ ‘It’s totally understandable!’ and ‘Anyone would be the same mate!’ from the trio. Remus caught Draco’s eye and a silent communication went between them. Remus cleared his throat.

“As suspected, there’s no trace of lingering Dark magic here. I think we need to accept that Voldemort has not hidden a horcrux at Godric’s Hollow.”

Harry nodded.

“I really need to go home now,” he said, wincing on the word ‘home’. Remus nodded, and the five of them turned on the spot, returning to Grimmauld Place.

“Do you know, no one has ever seen me break down like that. Not really,” Harry said that evening, when he and Draco were in bed. “Remus comforted me the night I rescued you after I killed Rowle but other than that, nothing. Not even Ron and Hermione.” He reached out and wrapped an arm around Draco. “I love you so much, you know.”

“I love you too,” Draco replied, slightly startled by Harry’s revelation. In fact, it made him feel rather honoured that Harry trusted him so much that he allowed Draco to witness him so vulnerable.

“Do you regret going?” he asked Harry carefully. Harry thought for a long moment.

“No. I probably should, but I can’t. The village is wonderful, and that was my home. I needed to see it. I didn’t even know what it looked like. Plus I got a few things that belonged to my mum and dad.” Harry’s father’s wand was lying on his bedside table next to his own, and it was James’ wand rather than his providing the light in the room this evening.

Draco leant over and gave Harry a long, deep but chaste kiss. Neither were in the mood for anything more that night.

“You really did like the village didn’t you,” Draco said. It wasn’t a question; that much had been obvious to the blond the minute they apparated in. Harry nodded. “Then how about, when all this shit is over and Voldemort is rotting in his grave you and I buy a cottage together and live there? If that’s not too weird?”

Harry smiled- the first genuine smile that had crossed his face since they had left the Potter cottage that afternoon.

“You mean it? We’ll live together?”

Draco laughed. “We already live together, you idiot.”

“Yes, but you know what I mean…”

“I do. Yes, together. Just us, forever.”

“Forever.”

Harry was just drifting off in Draco’s arms when he heard a knock on the door, and Hermione entered. In one hand she was holding Salazar Slytherin’s book, the other a copy of Spellman’s Syllabary. She was beaming.

“I’ve got it!” she said excitedly. “Slytherin’s birthplace! I know where it is!”

A/N: The verse on the Potters’ grave comes from the poem ‘Fruits of solitude’ by William Penn. I didn’t write it.
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Harry Potter and the Black King