The midday sun hurt Harry's eyes, even when he refused to open them. He rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head. This wasn't a hangover; there was something upsetting him. Something that made him want to stay in bed and never leave. If he could only remember...

Draco.

Harry's eyes snapped open, and he stared into the darkness beneath his blanket. Outside was a world full of glaring sunlight and—if he didn't show up for lunch, today—an annoyed Hermione. It was also a world without Draco, apparently. Harry didn't know how that had become such a dealbreaker for him, but the ship had long since sailed, and all he could do now was accept it.

Maybe Draco had owled him.

It was a vaguely pathetic thought, tinged with desperation, but it got him out of bed. Padding around the house in tracksuit pants and an old black henley, he eventually determined no one had owled him. He was alone.

Harry dropped into the kitchen chair and stared at the crystal ball he'd left on the table last night. The storm within it had calmed down; the dog was no longer cowering. But it didn't feel happy. It felt moody and incomplete. It could have been because there was one constellation left to find, but Harry knew better.

It was because of him. Because the magic had needed to find him trustworthy and safe, and it hadn't.

He drummed his fingers on the table, glaring at the wooden surface as he contemplated sticking five metal fruit bowls on it with a permanent Sticking Charm. It wasn't like it mattered. None of it mattered.

He'd lost Sirius. He'd lost Draco.

Whatever he'd been trying to prove by winning this quest and saving the magic had failed dismally.

And worse, still, Draco was right. Despite the initial lack of knowledge about Will quests in general, Harry hadn't needed him. The magic had responded to Harry without even a second glance at Draco. And if he really hadn't been able to work out how to find the constellations, he could have gone to Andromeda.

Why had Draco been there? Why had Sirius told Harry he needed him?

Apart from the fact that Harry did, but that wasn't something Sirius could have known.

But as he sat there, stewing in his own failure, he slowly became aware of a slow drumming sound.

He turned in his chair, looking behind him, but the kitchen was empty. Even the sun streaming in the window was eerily still. He turned back to the room, looked under the table, beneath his seat.

With a slowly dawning sense of apprehension, he realised the sound was coming from the crystal ball.

Harry leaned on the table and stared into the depths. The dog uncurled from among the crystal dust storm, lightning flashing around it. The drumming stilled, and the dog lifted its head back in a soundless howl.

Compelled by something he couldn't name, Harry reached for the letter Sirius had written him, at the top of their pile of research on the table. He'd read the letter a thousand times, front to back. Memorised each word.

He turned the letter over and found there was more.

Heart hammering in his chest, he looked around the room—half expecting to find it was a prank. But no one was there, no one was watching. He'd been right from the beginning; the house had concealed things from him, and it was revealing more piece by piece.

Mouth dry, he began to read.

Harry, I'm sure at this point you've probably realised the little white lie I told you. Or, rather, implied, and hoped you would tell yourself.

I'm sure you're wondering why I directed you to Malfoy, when the magic has been responding to you alone. It's true, the magic requires someone from 'the Noble House of Black Inheritance'; and that is you, Harry. As the person named in my Will, it has only ever been you. And I'm sure you're wondering why I made you think otherwise.

But if you stop and ask yourself, I think you'll realise—you know why.

You were two scared boys on opposite sides of a war. I might not have been a very good adult. I was never there for you, never made the right decisions. Never grew up. I know this and it's my biggest regret.

But I am an adult, Harry. I can see things in ways I never did at the time. I can see you kids for what you are—kids.

There are mistakes I made that I'm only now realising were foolish. Wrong. People whose cruelty I used as an excuse to be cruel in return. Don't misunderstand me, Harry; Severus and I were never going to be bosom buddies. But he helped me when no one else did, and if I'd got my head out of my arse sooner and seen how things had changed, it would have saved a world of hurt for a number of people.

He showed me how to see through the fear to what is waiting beyond, just out of reach. He showed me how to see the fear that rests in others, and how the fear only exists because you want something so badly you can't bear the thought of losing it, so you never try to take it.

If Grimmauld Place has allowed you to read this far, it must have decided you're ready to know all my secrets. I know you've pieced together some of my history by now. Severus told me never to let fear stop you from holding onto what you wanted most. And without his guidance, I might have let Remus's fear of losing me again win.

And if I had, then we would never have had these past weeks together. Remus would have kept running in fear, and I would have kept turning to comfort in others' arms. We would never have healed, because healing is in equal parts about letting go, and about moving forward.

If I listened to fear, I might have lost all of this. If I ignored the wisdom of people it was easier to hate, if I'd let myself keep believing there was nothing beneath Severus's walls that was worth knowing...

It's strange to think how much sooner I might have had everything I wanted, if we weren't too blind—if we weren't kids.

You've won the war Harry. I don't need to have lived it to know that. You're not kids anymore.

Stop acting like it.

Don't make my mistakes.

Harry stared at the letter for a long, long time. He couldn't even feel the racing of his heart, the heaving of his breath. Couldn't feel anything—could barely even think.

Sirius had known. He'd seen something in the way he and Draco looked at each other, spoke to each other... seen something that could be more than the animosity they chose. The fear.

He'd realised how to forgive, and wanted Harry to do the same.

Harry turned to the dog in the centre of the storm, curled in on itself and sleeping peacefully. It was a piece of Sirius's magical core—a lingering glimmer of light from his soul, left behind on earth because there was too much love and joy here for him to journey on completely.

Sirius was offering that joy and love to Harry. He'd laid out the breadcrumbs of his life, of his lessons, for Harry to follow. And now Harry had to make a decision.

The choice swirled around inside him, churning in his stomach. Weighing him down and lifting him up in equal measure.

When this quest had begun, he'd thought he had something to prove, but that wasn't it. It wasn't it at all.

He was afraid—afraid that he had nothing to prove. Nothing of worth. And that fear was keeping him from everything he ever wanted, chaining him to old patterns and paths, ensuring he never broke free and went for that terrifying thing he wanted. The terrifying thing that waited on the other side of fear.

It had kept making him try to prove himself, when the one thing he wanted—the one person he wanted—didn't need him to.

Abruptly, Harry's fear poured away like water. He wasn't afraid anymore, because what was fear, except the unbearable anticipation that one might lose something of value?

And he already had.

He'd lost the thing he valued most, all because he was afraid of this magic finding him worthless. Afraid of the world finding him worthless.

A sound echoed through the room; Harry realised he was laughing. He pushed back in his chair, staring, wide-eyed at the crystal ball, and laughed, realisation sinking into place.

Because maybe he wasn't worthy of inheriting this magic. Maybe the magic needed someone else—someone better suited, someone stronger—to look after it. Maybe it needed a caretaker who didn't mix fear and need so strongly together. Who didn't love and hate with the same fierceness.

Maybe it needed someone different.

And with the sudden epiphany of a clear mind, not weighed down by fear or shame, Harry realised—he wanted the magic to have it. Whether it took another generation, or several, he wanted the magic—the souls—to be protected and safe from harm until someone who could truly care for them and look after them arrived. He wanted the magic to have what it needed.

And he wanted the same thing for himself too.

He wanted Draco.

*

The wind whipped against his face as he ran down the drive of Malfoy Manor. The Floo was closed to him, and the wards barely let him in, but he was done waiting. Done being afraid.

When he approached, the doors swung open of their own accord, creaking wide as if the magic of the Manor could sense his quest and contribute to it just as the magic of Grimmauld Place did.

Harry ran into the foyer, footsteps thundering, and yelled, "Draco!"

When no one appeared, he yelled again, and then closed his eyes and tried to feel. After a few seconds, that familiar scent washed over him—cornfields and rain. His eyes snapped open, and Draco was standing above him on the stairs, pale faced and scared.

Harry saw the fear for what it was now. This conflict was what the magic had always sensed in them. Had always mistrusted.

"What's in it for you?" Harry asked, taking another step into the foyer, then another. Draco stood very still on the stairs. "Why did you agree to help me?"

It was suddenly very important that he know the answer. He was going to tell Draco everything—every ridiculous hope and fear that churned through him. There was no danger of Harry chickening out now. But something told him it was vitally important for Draco to do so as well. For him to step, for just a second, beyond fear.

Draco stared at Harry with wide, frightened eyes. His pinched expression sharpened—all the wrong angles, harsh and cruel. Harry didn't flinch. Didn't turn away.

Draco wet his lips. "Why do you—"

"Answer me, Draco. What's in it for you?"

Draco's eyes cut to his, flint-grey and dark. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and finally he gritted out, "Time. With. You."

Harry let out a soft breath, the sound echoing between them. In that moment, Draco looked so vulnerable, so raw. Like he was stripped bare.

Draco had always wanted this. Had wanted it so much he couldn't bear to take it, even when it was right in front of him.

Without meaning to, Harry begin to grin, the emotion overwhelming him. He took one step up the stairs. Almost unconsciously, Draco took a step down to meet him. There were only two steps between them.

"Ask me again," Harry said.

Draco's brow furrowed. "Ask you what? Why you're breaking and entering a ghost-ridden house full of Dark Magic, like a lunatic?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ask me why you're here. Why you."

Draco's breath hitched. He wet his lips. "Why me, Harry?" he asked quietly. "Why am I here?"

"Because I want you here," Harry said, and he took the final steps between them one by one, until they were facing each other. "Because Sirius knew I was mad for you before even I did."

Two spots of pink appeared on Draco's cheeks. The magic in the crystal ball, tucked into Harry's pocket, churned wildly. Dangerously.

"Is that all right?" Harry asked quietly.

Barely moving, eyes glinting with emotion, Draco nodded.

The smile on Harry's face widened, and he reached out, curling his fingers around the back of Draco's neck. He leaned in, pausing when they were only an inch apart. "Good," he breathed.

Draco made a soft, broken sound. But when Harry brushed their lips together, thunder cracked through the Manor, and the foyer lit up with lightning.

Draco pulled back, eyes wide and frantic. "The magic," he hissed, face open with regret.

"Fuck the magic," Harry said, and crashed their lips together in a kiss.

It was everything he'd waited for and so much more. Draco met him fiercely, his hesitation gone as he reeled Harry in and consumed him. Hands clenched at Harry's shirt, slipping beneath the fabric, and pressing—feverishly hot—against Harry's skin.

It wasn't enough; he needed more. Except that all around them magic swirled in a violent storm. Shattering and crashing against the windows, against the two of them, clutched together on the staircase.

It felt like going against everything he'd been working for, these past days, but Harry wanted the magic to see this. He needed the magic to make a decision, so it would know what it was getting into, and it could rush back to its little hidey holes and wait for someone better.

And knowing that, for the first time, Harry was at peace—with who he was, with what he wanted, with who he wanted to be. He didn't need to prove anything. He didn't need to be anything more than who he was, and if that wasn't enough for the magic to feel safe with him, then so be it.

As that thought settled within his bones, he felt something shift. The storm around them grew still, the air becoming poised.

They broke the kiss reluctantly, looking around them, hands stilling as they took in the change.

"What is it?" Draco asked quietly. "What's it doing?"

"I assume it's running back to its hidden places," Harry said slowly. "Except... it doesn't look like it."

Then, he saw the light. One pinprick, then another, then another...

"Andromeda," Harry breathed softly. "The final constellation."

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense, but as the word left Harry's mouth, a sigh rippled through the foyer. There was a settling, a gentle release, and then—Harry was filled with lightning.

And before him, lit up like a star, Draco was too.

They stared at one another, hair rising and swirling in the glittering storm, magic crashing through them. Through the haze, Harry caught a glimpse of Narcissa standing in a doorway, staring wide-eyed at the two of them. But it didn't matter, none of it mattered, because the magic had sensed the change come over them. Had sensed that the two of them would care for it, would protect it.

And it had chosen them—together.

The power ebbed away, settling like silt at the bottom of a river. Harry could still feel it, could smell it in the cornfields and the rain. In the hint of marshland, and wet dog, and the cheap vodka of a dingy club.

The touch of fingers against his cheek brought him back, and he opened his eyes to find Draco looking at him—an expression there he'd never seen before. Gentle. Open.

Unafraid.

Draco kissed him, and Harry melted into it, the two of them taking what was theirs, what they wanted—what they deserved.

Lost and then found.

*

Harry rested the crystal ball above the mantel, protected by a dozen charms, where it could be part of a family once more. As it slotted into place, he stared into the depths of the crystal ball, and then froze.

His eyes widened, and something in him softened with an aching, beautiful sadness. All the glimmers of light now swirled in tandem, peaceful and joyful, part of the earth once more. And they'd been joined by one more—a glimmer that had found its way to what it had waited for. What it had stayed behind for.

Around the sleeping dog was curled a wolf.

* * *