Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Art of Shadow Boxing	By : Tommy-Lane Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11212 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any charactors from the books and I am not making any money off of this

Chapter List
- 25
- 26
Epilogue
Make Me Complete

Several months later

The ocean rolls in with white foaming waves that lap at the speckled sand, dampening it, darkening it, and leaving a rounding pattern behind before it retreats back to where it belongs. It surges up and out with a soft, muted crash that's muffled by the thick enchanted window to keep any cold from seeping in - sheltering me from its harsh winter air that smells of salt.

I never liked the ocean and yet now I find it calming, my pulse rising and falling with the waves, a slow, methodical repetition.

It makes me wonder why I shied away from it on all my travels, the repetition in it so beautiful, the lifting and falling of the air so lovely, like it has its own heartbeat - breathing in and out around me.

"I still can't believe you like it here so much." Harry murmurs from behind me, the old wood creaking beneath his feet as he drops the heavy bag from his shoulder and comes to stand beside me. "Could have sworn you once forbade me from living anywhere near the ocean."

"I changed my mind." I say, smiling at him softly from the corner of my mouth.

"Obviously." He murmurs, rubbing his hands together like he's cold. "We need a fire."

I laugh a little, letting my hand fall from the cool glass of the window, watching my foggy hand print stand stark and clear before slowly seeping away. "We need everything."

It had seemed like a good idea when we left Thailand not to bring any of my belongings but my little box of trinkets - minus a few items - and a handful of clothes. I wanted a clean break from it, wanted to start out new again, didn't want to tempt myself with falling back into old habits or carry around any reminders that might form a noose around my neck. It had even seemed like a good idea as we traveled around for several months, revisiting places we had been before but separately - the landscape somehow new and more welcoming and brighter then I remembered them being.

Of course I didn't tell Harry that, no need to make him laugh and tease me about being a sentimental sap again.

Coming back to England on the other hand was a challenge, one I wasn't sure I was up to. Harry had stood in the middle of our hotel room in Barcelona, looking so vastly nervous I had known instantly our time for traveling around and pretending nothing else existed was coming to a close, no matter how loath I was to admit it. I remember the way he had stammered, clutching a letter to his chest before finally blurting out that Weasley's and Granger's wedding was drawing near. Even though I knew our return was inevitable I still wasn't ready to give up our isolation, but staring at Harry, chewing nervously on his lip with his eyes rounded behind his glasses, looking both anxious and hopeful - I couldn't say no.

I had smiled and agreed, quietly swallowing my trepidation. I'm sure Harry saw it though as he rather enthusiastically tried to sooth my nerves for the next several hours. And perhaps his as own as well.

We didn't portkey or Apparate back home. We took a train and then walked the rest of the way. London, the home of so many memories both good and bad for both of us, had loomed before us and we had stopped and just stared at the smoggy skyline for an undefinable amount of time. Then with a squeeze of our hands we had stepped foot back where I never intended to return, our arrival quiet and unheralded, going unnoticed by everyone . It felt like we were seeping onto the edge of a canvas, drawing ourselves into a famous picture that's been finished for ages. I don't think I'll ever really feel at home in its streets again, not like I used to anyway.

Of course the Prophet was relentless the moment they realized Harry was back on English soil. The day after we arrived we stepped out the door of the flat Granger had secured for us, intending to visit his friends only to be bombarded by flashing cameras and shouted questions that ranged from curiosity of where he had been, to speculation, to accusation, to wondering rather loudly why he was holding my hand. We had stayed for all of two minutes before Harry cursed under his breath and Apparated us away.

I couldn't catch my breath after that, not for a long time, almost like they had stolen it and refused to give it back - reminding me too much of tunneling down into the pit with their bright lights that snapped then cast my eyes in darkness. It was the first time since our fight with Bella and Madame Safiya that I feared the shadows and for a moment myself. But the difference was it passed and when I got my breathing under control and looked around I was in Granger's living room with Harry's hands on my face and reassurance on his lips. I didn't try to push down my shaken state so he couldn't see it nor did I tense and try to pull away when he kissed me full on the mouth directly in front of his friends.

Instead I pulled in the strength he was offering and filled myself full with it.

The next morning the picture splayed across the front page was a gigantic photo of us, blinking dazedly before Harry turned towards me and popped us out of existence. Of course they latched onto that, debating the nature of our relationship which rather amusingly had Harry fuming as he ranted about blind intruding nutters and Weasley pretending that the carpet was suddenly vastly interesting - again, something he's taken to doing rather frequently since Harry's become more openly affectionate.

It was amazing the amount of letters that came the same day. He didn't open any of them, tossing the lot in the fire and ignoring the few Howlers that burst to life before igniting and burning to their death. Only two were saved from the flames, one from the elder Weasley's inviting him over for dinner and the second from Seamus Finnigan of all people, welcoming him back with only a slightly vulgar yet good natured comment about said photograph.

The Irish man actually sounded smug in it, like he had known since we were kids that we would end up together.

I had managed to talk Harry into letting me skip dinner with his adopted family, with the promise that I'd attend once he officially tells them about us and if they extend an invitation. He was gone for five hours during which I read, paced, did my warm up routine followed by some vigorous shadow boxing, and all and all trying to get used to the feeling of being alone again. Funny how quickly I've grown used to Harry's near constant presence and how very still and quiet everything is without him - like the very room is holding its breath and waiting for his return. When he came back, reeking of gravy and spices, he had immediately climbed onto the couch with me and proceeded to show me just how much he missed me.

Sometimes I can't help but think we're a bit pathetic and needy and all together much too obsessed but then...I open my eyes and Harry's still beside me, solid and warm and real and all I can do is grin and kiss him again - happy in our deliriously nomadic existence together. Maybe one day the need with lesson, maybe one day I'll crave him less...but I doubt it and if that's the biggest price I pay for my mistakes well, then I'll count myself unbelievably lucky.

The reporters found us the second time outside Granger's place and were even louder and more aggressive than before, demanding answers like he owed them something - like his disappearance and subsequent return with me was an affront against them personally. I didn't feel shaken that time, I felt angry. Angry at how they've treated him - demanding that a blasted eleven year old save them, then proceeded to lock him away when he grew up and did just that, ashamed with how he didn't come through unscathed. And as the lights flashed and the questions flew I couldn't help but wonder if this was another part of the reason Harry left, to get away from this, from the near constant spectacle they are likely to make his life into.

And now, by association, my life.

Harry had stayed remarkably composed throughout it. He had glared and stayed miraculously silent before grumbling something to himself, grabbing me, and smashing a harsh kiss to my unprepared lips.

"Misinterpret that." He had snapped to the shocked audience after ravishing my mouth rather thoroughly.

When I asked him later why he did that he said he didn't want to dance around the subject for months, that it was better to just get it out in the open and let the flame burst and die before the wedding. I haven't decided if I agree or not, still rather uneasy with anyone knowing anything about my personal life, but the picture the next day was rather spectacular. There was something breathtaking about seeing how Harry kisses from the outside perspective - his intensity and passion shining through with every little slide of his lips and move of his body.

He looked like elation and lust incarnate.

From then on we spent as little time in London as possible.

Finding the house had been a fluke.

It's small, a simple cottage with a thatched roof, three rooms with a small single room upstairs, windows and floors that would leak blinding cold in the winter and unbearable heat in the summer if not for the wards protecting it. We had run across it on a hike we had been taking in order to get away from everyone, the little house catching my attention from across the cove, its homely structure sitting on the opposite shore. It was old and nearly falling down and I should have just moved on from it but I couldn't.

I had grabbed Harry's hand and Apparated us both over onto its front porch, walked through its abandoned door, and explored its rundown expanse with glee - it was almost like being away again, with nothing but us. It was too perfect, Harry's nose red from the cold and a laugh on his full lips and everything else seemed wonderfully far away. The floor creaked under each step and made him bounce a little because of it in childlike joy and I couldn't stop myself from pushing Harry as he giggled against the door to the single bathroom and taking him quick and hard with his shirt hitched up and his jeans pulled down to his knees - his cheek smashed against the old fading wood, leaving bruises on his hips and bite marks on his shoulder.

He bought it the next day and handed me the key with a sheepish grin and the simple explanation of, "can't let something so perfect go to waste now can we?"

Harry glances down at his bag and then around him, taking in the one rickety chair and the old wardrobe with one of the door's missing. "True. We should probably go shopping, at the very least for a damn blanket."

Tugging him into my arms I feel the chill in his skin suck out my warmth, making me hold him all the tighter. "We have one in the bag." We just got here, Granger and Weasley just left, and there's no way I'm leaving to enter the chaos of London or Diagon Alley for something so inconsequential.

He frowns, placing his palms flat against my chest. "We do but it's small."

"Cozy." I argue, stealing a quick kiss.

"Miniscule and only romantic when it's warm and it's not, its bloody freezing."

"But thick." I nibble on his ear and he tries not to melt against me. I love feeling him fight against his physician reactions to my very touch, it’s like a drug, and one I grow more and more addicted to as time wears on.

"Not anymore remember, I knocked over that candle and accidentally lit half of it on fire." He reminds me, pushing a little against my chest and wiggling halfheartedly to break free.

"But you put it out."

"You're in an arguing mood aren't you? It's a tiny, fire spotted, flannel blanket that won't possibly keep us warm tonight." He tries to give me an exasperated look but doesn't quite manage, yelping instead as I rub my palm roughly over his backside, grasping the curve of his arse - his little shiver urging me on.

"There's other ways to keep warm." I murmur against his neck before applying suction just under his jaw.

"This cottage makes you randy." He gasps, gripping my shoulders and letting his head fall back and to the side.

I shake my head, slipping my hand around his side to tug at the fastening of his belt. "It's not the cottage." I inform him as I tug the long black strip of leather free with a loud crack, his hips jerking with the force of it.

"Oh? Ohhh." His eyelashes flutter enticingly as I plunge my hand down his pants and smirk as I wrap my hand around his already straining length, my stomach flipping as he wavers. "What is it then?"

"You've been gone nearly all day the last few days." I trail my lips over his neck, feeling myself harden more fully as I hold him thick and hot in my hand. "I might have missed you."

"Might?" He turns his head a fraction to meet my lips and lets his tongue drag along mine in a slow, sensual kiss.

"Granger's not as good company." I run my fingers through his hair and grip the locks firmly.

"I agree." He bucks his hips and nips at my bottom lip. "If we're confessing I may as well tell you that I might have missed you too."

"Might?" I arch an eyebrow and he grins.

"Definitely. Ron isn't as nice to look at and there's only so much talk I can endure about Hermione's breasts."

"So you've been out all day with the groom to be, discussing breasts apparently, and I've been stuck with the bride and now their finally gone and we're alone...still want to go shopping?" I snicker, twitching my wrist a little.

He bites his lip and tires not to groan. "What are my options?" He asks, opening his eyes that had fallen sharply shut, the dark shade of green that meets me giving away just how much he doesn't want to leave anymore.

I nod. "Limited and unfortunately if you still want to go I'll just have to get creative with your belt to keep you here." His breath stutters as he glances down to my other hand still holding his belt. He doesn't move or breathe for several seconds as he blinks rapidly and I have to hold back a chuckle. I can tell he's debating his answer, leaning heavily towards pretending to want to leave so I will tie him up. "Of course, if I'm honest." I murmur, stepping closer to him and pulling my hand free from his pants as he huffs in protest. "I'd rather you have the use of your hands this time."

He looks up at me and licks his lips. "Oh?"

"Mhmm." I lean down and brush my lips over his while he whimpers, letting the belt fall to the floor as he warps himself around me. "But if you're a good boy I promise to tie you to the banister later."

He nods vigorously and grinds his hips into mine. "Stop teasing."

"And?" I prompt, taking my wand from my pocket and quickly Transfiguring the chair in the corner into a thin mattress before dropping it beside the strip of leather, my pulse thundering in my ears like it always does when he looks at me like this - like fire that will surely consume me.

"And it's the first night in our new home, so you better make it memorable." Harry grins and pulls me with him down onto the new bed lying innocently on the floor.

I don't think I'll ever forget our first night in our cottage by the sea. It swings with quick and glorious movements that hit just right every time, to an unearthly high before turning incredibly slow. It's filled with lingering touches that juxtapose our heated kisses, unbelievable heat that encompasses us as the first snow starts falling out our window, his legs hooked around my hips with his heels digging into my back and the long curve of his neck exposed as he gasps and shudders beneath me - alternatively grasping at the bed, the wall, and me as we rock towards completion only to claw for control and edge back away from it.

It's perfect torture.

And with our bodies coated in sweat, my face in the crook on his neck and my thumb tracing his wet bottom lip, he cries out in both pleasure and need. "God Draco, You're taking memorable to a whole new extreme." He gasps, arching his back and pushing his hand into the wall behind him for leverage, licking my thumb as he does so.

"Still think we need the blanket?" I whisper, licking the sweat off his neck and angling my thrusts once more to drag across his prostate.

"Goddamn fuck!" He hisses. "I thought I said stop teasing." He jerks his hips up and down, tightening his legs with the muscles in his thighs squeezing me sharply.

"You better stop or I'll get the belt you were so interested in and strap your hips down." I warn him, edging out of his clenching hole until only the tip of my cock is still stretching him open.

"You're cruel." He pouts, letting his body sag back down into the mattress.

"No." I rebut, snapping forward and burying myself fully inside him once more, jabbing his sweet spot and making a strangled noise erupt from his throat. "I just love watching your face when you're so close to coming."

"Well you've been watching it for like an hour." He shudders again as I pull out and slam back in, his mouth dropping open into a wide 'o'. "Sometimes I hate your stamina."

"No you don't, you're too much of a slut." I smile against his throat, reaching up to entwine my hands with his, loving the feel of his fingers curling sharply around mine with a coiled tension that matches the ebb and flow of the pleasure building in his body. "You love it." I whisper hotly into his ear, his deep groan vibrating through my chest.

He turns his head and captures my lips, kissing me wetly with panting kisses as he shudders beneath me, rising in anticipation of each thrust. "I am not - oh! - a slut." He grinds out, barely managing to keep his head from hitting the wall as I thrust sharply forward, but there's a spark in his gaze and a hitch in his chest as his cock twitches between us that reminds me just how much he likes being told such things - no matter how much he argues to the opposite. I never really thought he would and it's so far from the truth that it's almost laughable but there's no denying his reaction to it and I find I rather like making that look come into his eye. "You do realize I've only ever slept with you right?"

I realized some months ago what it was, what fueled that look, its surrender. He likes it when I hold his control in my hands and use it to demonstrate just how much I desire him. He likes his hands tied and knowing I'll only drive him towards pleasure, he likes his eyes blindfolded knowing it will still be me when it's taken away, he likes being commanded until my voice is rough with need and I take him hard, he likes being called the things he's not and still having me tell him I love him in the next breath.

And I get it, it’s for all the same reasons I like doing it all to him. Because as much as he needs to surrender and lay back and know I'm not going anywhere, I need him willing to let me have that control - to trust me enough to know it will always be okay and that I won't run. It's all those exact reasons he loves being made loved to slowly, wrapped tightly in my arms with our lips brushing and our eyes locked as well.

Sex with Harry is always an adventure because it's all surrender, every little moment, it's what we need and crave and is therefore always shattering.

I graze my teeth along his neck and hum in agreement. "And that's how it will stay because you're my slut aren't you?" Lifting my head, I lock gazes with him and fight against the desperate urge to kiss his swollen lips, lips that are thick and red and abused from the long amount of time they spent wrapped around my cock before I pushed him over and slid inside him.

"Yes." He breathes and whimpers as I pick up my pace just a little.

"You love being fucked." I press on, demanding he keep his eyes open and steady on mine with just a look.

"Mhmm yes."

"Yes what?"

Tugging on my neck, he kisses me deeply before his head snaps back against the bare mattress with a shout. "Yes! I love it when you fuck me."

Rising up till I'm sitting straight up with his legs over my thighs and his arse in my lap, I hold his legs apart and look down at myself sliding in and out of his red, clenching hole, disappearing into his impossibly tight heat with a little dying sound of pleasure each and every time from Harry. "Want me to keep going than?"

He nods and clamors at the wall again, desperate for purchase but unable to find it as I jerk him forward with each inward push and pull him back in quick succession. "Please." He groans and lifts his legs a little, opening himself up wider.

I stop moving with great difficulty and run my hands up his sides. "Then clench around my cock and jerk yourself off." He hisses and wraps his hand around his hard member that's leaking profusely against his stomach but then hesitates, looking up at me uncertainly. "I want to watch you." I explain at his unspoken question. "You're so beautiful when you touch yourself but don't worry love, I plan to make it so you can't get up tomorrow."

He smiles and with his eyes barely managing to stay open, works his hand up and down as he clamps down around me, pleasure rushing hotly through my veins as I watch him - glistening in the soft light and struggling for air and it isn't long before he's arching off the bed, jerking his hips just enough to impale himself a little more and coming all over himself with a shout.

The convulsions of his release around me is almost too much and I find myself counting strategically in my head until the deepest waves of pleasure subside. Leaning down I capture his lips for a demanding kiss as he tries to regain his breath, stealing his air for my own and keeping him panting beneath me, covered in his sticky come. "Beautiful." I murmur against his mouth. "Now I do believe I have a promise to fulfill."

His eyes widen almost alarmingly as I pull out and drag him up to his feet with me, his limbs weak and making him wobble in my arms. "You do?"

I nod, summoning his belt to my outstretched hand and pulling him with me out of the room and into the hallway. "Time to christen the stairs." I inform him, catching the grin forming on his lips before I press him against the banister.

Sometime later when I finally come deep inside him with his hands bound at the base of the railing, with his arse sticking out as he's bent over the banister at an awkward angle with his toes scrapping against the ground, all I can think is that memorable is an understatement.

And when he pants that he loves me as we stumble back to the bed and pull him close, I close my eyes and breathe deep with a smile, drifting off to a satisfied sleep knowing he'll be there when I wake.

****

I never realized how unpractical robes were until now. Unpractical and uncomfortable.

The mirror before me is reflecting an image that seems odd and unfitting, long flowing silk of black with a trim of silver in a swirling pattern that reminds me of the night sky and the stars that light it around my wrists, throat, and on either side of the opening in the middle. The collar is high and has been buttoned, unbuttoned, and re-buttoned too many times to keep track. It remains hanging open now, my throat seemingly deathly pale beneath the midnight black, my fingers stark in contrast as I toy with the hundreds of tiny black buttons holding it together. It makes me think of Snape...if he had had any fashion sense at all that is.

Harry had picked it out. Standing in the robe makers shop, atop the little platform as the wizened old woman measured and pinned and tucked, I had never felt more like I was wearing someone else's skin. I felt like I was reliving someone else's life and I was the imposture that was sure to be found out. Because the swish of the fabric around my feet threatened to make me trip, the billow of it around my frame if I moved too quickly made me feel slow and sluggish. It all felt wrong. It felt like someone was trying to bind me back and I felt exposed, like I wouldn't be able to defend myself if need be.

Oddly enough I felt, feel, stupid. Harry said it makes me look dashing, he had even swallowed thickly and got that look in his eyes right in the middle of the shop - not allowing me to change before taking us home and falling to his knees before me, muttering something about 'stunning' before everything went fuzzy and I couldn't think properly. The robe ended up on the floor then sometime later hung carefully in the new wardrobe, where it has rested until now - I always forget how much of a thing he has for me in all black until I'm dressed head to toe in it and he can’t keep his hands to himself.

"This is a disaster." I grumble, tugging at the collar, half convinced it’s going to strangle me the moment I take my eye off it.

"You're right I think." Harry hums in agreement, the door I hadn't heard opening swinging softly shut behind him as he comes to stand behind my shoulder, staring at our reflection in the mirror. "Should have gone for the gray." He nods to himself, eyeing me up and down.

"Really?" I ask disbelievingly because no matter how much I feel terrible in them, I know Harry doesn't agree.

"Yeah." He runs his hands over my sides until he clasps them together on my stomach, leaning his chin on my shoulder. "You're too damn sexy in them, it's going to be hard to keep my hands off you."

"I think Weasley will hex your balls off if you try to molest me at his wedding." I arch an eyebrow in the mirror at him, scowling at the near audible swish of the robes as I move just a fraction.

Harry smiles with a shrug I can feel more than see. "I think he won't even notice anything after they say their vows."

"That randy is he?" I ask, wishing I didn't know that Granger was withholding until the wedding night. What I wouldn't give to have not stumbled in on that conversation between him and Harry.

Harry snickers and runs his fingers over my hipbone, eliciting a shiver down my spine despite my sour mood. "Randy? That would be an understatement and stop second guessing the robe, it looks fantastic."

"It's not this robe in particular but robes in general." I grumble. "How does one move quickly in them?"

Harry laughs and releases me from his embrace. "Can we put a hold on this conversation because I think Ron would get a right kick out of it."

"I don't see how it's funny. There so...constricting."

"There actually rather loose Draco, that's where all that dreadful swishing you keep complaining about is coming from." Harry corrects me, pinching the fabric at my side and pulling it out to demonstrate his point - making me look like a doll with all the stuffing ripped out.

"Not the fit." I snarl, slapping his hand away and turning to scowl at him properly and not just in our reflection. "It's the movement of it, it's too long and there's too much fabric, how am I supposed to-"

"Go for a jog? Demonstrate to the wedding guests your impressive Muay Thai skills? Bend over so I can see your lovely arse?" Harry teases, biting his lip against a laugh as I glare at him. "Seriously though all you have to be able to do in them is walk and sit down. I think you'll be able to manage. Who knows maybe it will be like riding a broom and all your previous graceful technique of striding haughtily around will come back to you."

"I just think-" I stop, unsure how to word my trepidation, it's just... all wrong and I have no idea how to get that feeling across to Harry - not when this should be a natural transition for me.

"You feel like a Malfoy again?" He supplies for me, somehow tapping effortlessly into my thoughts and catching my hand that has started playing absentmindedly with the buttons again, folding my fingers lovingly between his.

"Perhaps." I smile softly, brushing a thick curl out of his eye, making a mental note for the hundredth time to give him a haircut - who knows perhaps one of these days if I think about it enough I'll actually be able to go through with it instead of just threading my fingers through it and using it as leverage to pull him into kisses.

"It's not a bad thing." He's smiling his reassuring smile, the same one that always comes out when he's beginning to get worried about me. And perhaps it should annoy me with the frequency of its presence but it doesn't. I've found I rather like it because no matter where we are, what he's doing, or who we're with if he senses something’s off his lips curve up just so, his tone dips lightly, and his touch becomes present and gentle. Like a guide in the night, he is my angel.

"Perhaps not, I just haven't decided yet."

"Decided what?" He tips his head and blinks questioningly behind his glasses, the frames bobbing on his nose and I can't help but reach out and fix them with a soft touch, correcting their position once more.

"That's the question now isn't it?" I murmur and he frowns up at me.

"You're being vague again." He accuses.

I chuckle and turn back towards the mirror, tugging on the hem of my sleeves before fiddling with the collar once more. "True but we don't have time for explanations, Weasley is expecting you."

He grimaces but nods in agreement, sagging a bit dramatically into my side, our reflections opposites before us. Whereas I am pale and swathed completely in black, Harry has retained his golden hue somehow even in the dreary winter weather - his own robes a lovely forest green with similar gray trimming that makes his hair look even darker and his eyes somehow brighter. And even if I miss being able to see the curve of his body in his jeans and form fitting shirts, I can't help but acknowledge the graceful way the robes fall against him, the color purely striking against his features.

He doesn't look ill at ease in them either I decide as he smiles at our reflections. But then, Harry could make his home anywhere, he's like water, flowing and adopting to any condition.

"I'll be happy when this weddings over." He sighs, straightening again and planting a kiss on my cheek before he turns to gather his wool cloak from the wardrobe. "You've heard of bridezilla? Well she’s got nothing on Ron."

"That bad?" I smirk, watching as Harry swings the cloak over his shoulders and fastens the thick silver clasp.

"Bad?" He snorts, glancing around himself before grabbing his bag from the neatly made bed that's currently housing Granger's wedding band, his speech, and if I could guess I'd say a flask or two. "It's like the lack of sex has driven him mental and he's completely snapped. You know when he firecalled last night?"

"How could I forget?" Weasley had popped up in our fireplace at midnight, dragging us from the sleep we'd just managed to fall into and making Harry hop around frantically for his clothes in a desperate hurry because he assumed something was terribly wrong. Like any sane person would when someone calls at such an hour.

"It was about flowers. He was panicked about the cold weather and the lilies and something about frost...I don't really know but he's lost it Draco, I didn't even know weddings could do that to guys."

I hold back a snicker at Harry's explanation of his best friend, choosing to leave out the fact that the redhead is even driving Granger insane with all his crazy worrying about everything being perfect. "Weasley's always been a bit intense." I reply instead as Harry nods absentmindedly, already lost in his next thought, a clear sign that he’s nervous of miss stepping and having his raging friend come down on him.

He's tugging on his bag and looking around himself once more, worrying his bottom lip as he tries desperately to remember everything. "I'm missing..." He trails off, looking so truly lost that I can't stop the smile from forming on my lips.

Plucking the blinding white envelope from Harry's desk in the corner, I hold it up in front of myself. "The contract?" I quip an eyebrow as he spins around to face me.

"Oh damn, Hermione would have slaughtered me." He swipes the contracts used in traditional Pureblood marriages - despite the fact that the Weasley's are tying themselves to a muggle born - from my grasp and stuffs it unceremoniously into his bag.

"Would serve her right for leaving it with you."

"Well it's a good thing I've got you to remind me then, isn't it?" He winks and twists his fingers through his hair, suddenly standing uncharacteristically still, like he's forgotten what he's doing and where he should have been five minutes ago.

"Harry?" I step towards him, frowning at the miniscule tremor making his fingers twitch against his scalp.

"Yeah?" He blinks and jerks a little, like coming out of a daze. "Sorry just, god I hate large gatherings."

Prying his hand out of his hair, I hold his shaking palm tightly to my chest as I lean down and kiss him lightly. "You'll be wonderful."

"There's going to be a lot of people, people I haven't seen in...years." His eyes are wide and haunted and I press his hand tighter to my chest, trying to still the tremor with sheer will power.

"And you'll be you." I murmur, brushing my lips over his again and again until the shaking eases against me. "You'll be fine."

He nods and blows out a breath, letting his eyes slip shut as I move my mouth over his, my fingers caressing the curve of his jaw and the hollow of his throat until the tension flows out his feet. He's gotten better over the last few months, the shaking in his hands diminishing greatly and he hardly even smokes any more - saving them for the thankfully few and far between intense episodes that have been coming less and less. Though there's times like these that he needs something to help him through it and I'm only all too happy to give it to him as I've found that physical touch grounds him in record speed - whether it be a simple caress, a light kiss, or sometimes something much, much more until he's shaking for a very different reason. It’s gotten to the point now that I’m almost able to predict the times where he'll come tearing through the house to find me – or pull me away from a social gathering - only to tackle me to the ground with an intense heat in his eyes, and I can only lend myself to his will, to let myself be used to drag him back to the other side.

It reminds me of our time together during the war, when he couldn't stand that he was wasn't fighting so he'd wrestle with me until we both couldn't breathe properly. And just like back then, I don't really mind at all, happy that I'm here and can be there for him as he needs me and not in some distant country while he sucks in smoke and tries to shut out the splitting in his head.

Of course it's not just sex that he's found an outlet in but in cooking as well, baking in particular, kneading his hands through the dough almost a cathartic experience for him. He'll close his eyes and pour his strength into the sticky substance, rolling it against the powdered surface of the counter and coming away with flour smudged across his cheeks and brow and dusting his hair. I like to watch him work when he doesn't know I'm there, the peaceful expression on his face almost hypnotic.

"You make it sound so easy." Harry leans his forehead against mine as he eases his hand out from under mine.

"Well you're a Gryffindor, if it comes down to it just tap into that infamous courage of yours."

"You mean famous?" He takes a step back and tries to sooth his hair to no avail.

I shake my head. "No I had it right, now go before Weasley comes and sets our house on fire to get you moving."

With one last kiss and a promise to be along shortly, Harry spins on the spot and vanishes, the air where he was standing shimmering and displaced for a moment before it's gone. I still hate watching him do that, it feels a little too raw still to have him gone so suddenly and even though I know I'm being silly and overly dramatic, I stare at the spot he just vacated and touch my still warm tingling lips.

"Stop it." I grumble to myself, forcing my hand to my side and turning sharply away, annoyed that still after all these months that there's a tiny part of me that fears that this is all a dream - that I'll wake up in the dark one of these days to find that I never really escaped Bella, that I'm still under her ritual, that this is all just my imagination - a way to cope with my actual reality.

Funny how I only have these bouts of madness in the seconds after he Disapparates.

All in all I'm doing so much better that I barely recognize myself at times. I can touch Harry and not fear tainting him, I can merge into the flow of a crowd and not cringe from the press of bodies, I can listen to all the chatter around me and not dread the broken silences and the shifting shadows. For the most part I feel broken but whole, like a shattered picture with all the pieces accounted for and slowly merging back together. There are times when it's painful, times where I'd rather run from it and not face the issues and questions it brings up, but I find my strength and press through because even though it hurts I don't want to let any of the pieces go.

I want to be reformed and I will be, one day I will no longer be fractured.

And like Harry has his cooking I've found that I love working with my hands, using my own strength to complete tasks. I spent days fixing the old cottage after we moved in, replacing broken steps, squeaking floorboards, and missing shingles and painting the side of the house where the paint had completely faded away. I laid on my back with my head under the sink, trying to coax the ancient plumbing back to life, and nearly electrocuted myself when I started fiddling with the wiring that ran through the walls of our bedroom - much to Harry's amusement.

I like the feel of things solid under my touch, like that I can know what something is just by the feel of it - whether it be our cottage inside and out or the stretch of sand outside our door that proceeds and ends each run I take or every little curve and dip of Harry's body and rise and fall of his voice.

I want it all written into my fingers, like a new map that I can regain my footing by and therefore often forgoing the use of magic in my day to day life.

Yet it's not about fear anymore, it's not about keeping my heritage down so I won't give into the wolf inside. I haven't felt the darkness since that day Bella strapped me down into her ritual but there's times where I'm unsure if it's gone or if it’s just lying dormant. Because even after all the days and hours I've spent contemplating it, I can't know if I was horcrux for sure and if I was, if I managed to kill it that day. I don't think I'll ever have a complete answer to those questions and there's times I worry I'll give into my doubts and try to back away again and those are the moments I need Harry's strength the most, the times I need to cling to him instead of my own thoughts.

I refuse to back pedal even in the moments where I can't help but stare at my hands and wonder about all the blood that's graced the knuckles and feel the air suck out of my lungs like something’s pulling it from me.

But I don't crave the fight anymore, I miss it at times, I miss Donnie and Caleb and the pumping in my veins and the roar in my ears, but I don't need it - not like I did. It's like a hobby now, a way to keep healthy and fit, with the desire to compete creeping up every now and then but mostly I'm happy keeping it where it is - sparing with Harry and shadow boxing.

I know one of these days that I'll need to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life, as will Harry, but not now - not yet.

The cloak is thick and heavy and weighs down on my shoulders as I settle it around myself, trying not to be annoyed that I can't wear my normal clothes and my comfortable wool jacket instead. Concentrating with my destination firmly in mind, I turn and lurch through space, coming out on the other side on unsteady feet and with a turning in my stomach, my vision pulsing around the edges as I try to regain myself.

"Alright there mate?"

I nod quickly, squeezing my eyes shut and clutching at the waist of the cloak, the fabric soft beneath my fingers. "Yes."

"Good, good." Neville Longbottom surveys me from the corner of his eye as he simultaneously peers around at the other arriving guests on the magically warmed lawn. "I hate weddings. Don't tell Gin that though, she didn't sleep a wink last night she was so excited."

Feeling the ground solid under my feet once more, I nod again, noticing with a twinge of jealousy that he's wearing a pair of fitted black slacks and a slimming white button down with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. No robes. No cloak. He doesn't even look cold - than again I'm starting to get a bit hot as I realize that the bubble I've entered hasn't just been warmed but is almost near boiling.

Stupid weasel and his damn lilies. He's going to end up melting all his guests.

"Sure it wasn't more to do with her uncontrollable vomiting?" I quip, remembering the last time I had seen Neville he had been bemoaning his wife's pregnant state that was making her violently ill. I still have a hard time believing that he has somehow become my closest friend since we've returned - his easy, straightforward nature like a breath of fresh air in comparison to Weasley who runs drastically hot and cold and Granger who over analyzes everything. His redheaded wife, and consequently Harry's ex, the only thing that makes some of our times spent together a little awkward.

Ginny hates me still, even with a handsome, rather brilliant botanist of a husband and the fact that even if Harry wasn't with me he wouldn't be with her - considering he's gay. Or Draco-sexual as he likes to call it but I think that's just him being sappy. But then maybe it isn't the fact that I'm still with Harry, since she does seem to love Neville but the fact that she likes to think that I stole him away and apparently if you stole her boyfriend at any point in your life that automatically puts you on her hated for all-time list.

Not that I mind. She seems rather tedious.

"Uncomfortable?" He asks as I yank the cloak off, huffing in the heat and wishing very much my robes weren't so...everywhere.

"This is ridiculous." I toss the cloak at Neville and swiftly undo the next few buttons of my robe, flicking a piece of hair out of my eyes. "I can't wait till this bloody thing is over."

"Oh it's good for you Draco." He smiles, his teeth white and straight and nearly glittering in the sun. "You barely ever leave that cottage of yours."

"I've been renovating."

"You've been hiding."

"Well what’s out here but people I don't particularly like and apparently vomiting wives and artificial summers? Not much incentive."

Neville snorts and with a wave of his hand vanishes my cloak. I'm not sad to see it go. "Of course not, not with Harry holing up in there with you. You heard the Ministry is trying to hire him?"

I wave a dismissive hand and fall in step beside him as we make our way under the flowery arch that reeks of lilies and roses. "Of course but he's not interested. I do believe he equated the idea to sleeping on a bed of nails."

"Hogwarts then?"

"What?" I stop, staring at Neville as he smiles at me, the thin square wired glasses perched on his nose framing his eyes and reflecting the sun with a twinkle - making him look remarkably like the professor he is.

"Their looking for a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." He stops and contemplates me for a moment before continuing, clearly gauging my minute reaction as he does. "I recommended Harry."

A movement over Neville's shoulder catches my attention as his news washes over me, my eyes landing on Harry standing across the lawn with a grin as he spots me, winking at me as someone I don't recognize talks at him. He looks relaxed despite his apprehension and I find myself smiling softly back at him.

"Full time?" I hear myself ask, vaguely noticing Neville nod in the corner of my eye.

"I believe so, he wouldn't have to live there so you guys could still keep the cottage." He reassures me and I feel the little panic I hadn't realized was racing through me subside. I don't think I could live close to Hogwarts...too many unhappy memories for me.

But not for Harry. Perhaps this is the step we need, a little push in some sort of direction and Harry would be an excellent teacher, not to mention that he loves Hogwarts. He could roam the halls he once called home and teach a new generation of children that will no doubt idolize him, breaking their little teenage hearts and inspiring all the others. He could have a purpose again.

More importantly he could start living again and not just in the bubble we've created around ourselves. A bubble we love yes, but a bubble none the less, and one we can't stay in forever. It's a terrifying thought though, taking another step into a further unknown. My heart beats a little faster as I watch him smile and shake hands and laugh at something someone says, a small part of me unwilling to let anything change, to take any steps that will take him from me.

But then that's not really living is it? Life is about risks, without them I wouldn't be where I am today. I wouldn't be me, I wouldn't have Harry, and in all reality I would most likely be dead. It's bloody scary but then it's not a risk if there's a clear path with a shining light at the end.

Harry reaches up and tucks his hair behind his ear, my ring flashing in the sunlight, and I feel myself settle, my blood humming in my veins. No matter what happens, I'm never going back. I may not know what the future holds or if I'm through with the war inside me but there is one thing I know for sure as Harry's eyes dance in the light as he locks them on mine, his lips curving into a silently posed question.

The world is moving on and us with it and for once, I'm not afraid.
The End

A/N: Oh my goodness it’s over! I'm sad to see this done but am excited at the same time. I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who stuck with me and read this and I hope you all enjoyed it and were satisfied with the ending :)
If you’ve enjoyed this story I’d love to hear from you one last time (or for the first time), as always your reviews make me deliriously happy and give me energy to write!

MoonlightVampiress: I'm a bit sad too but proud of myself for finishing it ;) And now that I'm all done with this I definitely get to read RWS tomorrow, woot woot! I've started writing my next story, it's going to be much, much shorter and way more lighthearted, hopefully it will be out soon. I'm so glad you liked the scene in the forest, Neville is one of my favorite characters and I just could not in good conscious take away his snake killing rights, he needed to kill that blasted animal and he had to have fun doing it, lol! Glad you liked the climax too, that was so so difficult to write and I'm so happy it came across so perfectly to you, Having Draco kill Safiya at the very end was something I kept changing my mind on, I think I wrote that ending scene with her like ten times but she needed to go and he needed to do it. As for the conversation with Caleb, well Draco is like the king of repression in this story and yes, he was basically like numb at the time, going through the motions and trying not to explode thinking about it all - and I think they had to see Blaise before they could move on, for both their sakes and I think Blaise would totally come and kick Draco's ass if ever hurt Harry. Hope you liked the epilogue (I was going to do it way in the future but alas, this seemed to work out better)! Thank you so much for all your reviews, I always enjoy reading them so immensely.
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The Art of Shadow Boxing