A/N: Alright, people. We have come to the end of our tale. It was a rough road in getting here, and I hope that you all enjoyed the ride.

"—just five minutes, Ron. Please."

Ron braced his hand on the door and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Harry. He doesn't want to see you."

"All I'm asking is to talk to him. That's it."

Ron sighed. "It's been three months. If Draco hasn't owled you by now, then he's not ready to see you." He ran a hand over his face and regarded the vampire with a sad frown. "Look, you're my mate, but so is Draco, and this is putting me in a really shit place between you. If he says he doesn't want to see you, then he doesn't—"

"I love him!" Potter blurted. He braced himself on the door jamb, staring at the floor. "I—I love him, Ron."

Ron exhaled sharply with surprise. "Merlin, Harry—"

"It's alright, Ron," Draco said from the stairs. "Let him in."

"You sure?" Ron asked, turning to face him.

Draco nodded.

Ron held the door wide, allowing Potter to step through. "Come in, then." He scratched the back of his head and split his gaze between Draco and the vampire. "I'll leave you to it, shall I?"

Potter shot Ron a tentative smile. "Thanks."

"Sure thing," Ron muttered, shutting the door. He headed up the stairs, but paused when he reached Draco. The redhead leaned in and gave him an affectionate nudge to the shoulder. "Don't go easy on him, mate," Ron whispered. "He's been a miserable arse. Make him work for it, yeah?"

Draco nudged him back in silence and Ron continued up the stairs.

He took a second to compose himself and made sure his face showed nothing other than mild annoyance as he descended.

"Finally, a declaration of love and you give it to Weasley instead of me," Draco scoffed. "I should be insulted, Potter."

Relief bled from the line of Potter's shoulders to his scuffed trainers. "Draco," he said, breathless.

"Potter."

Draco stood at the bottom of the stairs, getting his first glimpse of Potter in three long months. He was unsure of what to expect, but one thing was certain: Potter looked good.

Whatever he'd been doing all this time, combined with the owled vials of Draco's blood every other day, was doing wonders for the vampire's health. All Potter's rough edges had smoothed out, leaving him polished, honed, with an inner glow that radiated from the bright green of his eyes. Even in standard Muggle wear, Potter looked fit. His skin, which still held the classic vampiric pallor, was smooth, tight, and toned. The dark shadows that had haunted his face had vanished, making him look oddly refreshed for an undead creature. Vibrant, even.

The difference was startling, and not marginally arousing.

Draco shoved that particular thought down and remembered himself. He gestured to the sofa. "Have a seat."

"Thanks," Potter murmured, moving quickly to the Weasley's floral-bedecked couch.

Draco seated himself at the far end. "You shouldn't be here," he said to Potter. The tone was crisp, and Draco wasn't even sure if he meant it or not.

"It was time, Draco." Potter replied. "I want to sort this out. I miss you."

Those last three words thrilled him more than they probably should have, but looking into Potter's eyes, he found an honesty and earnestness that was anything but false.

Draco turned into the corner of the sofa and rested his hand along the back, trying to adopt a casual pose. Potter tracked every movement with open interest.

"I can admit that I miss you, too, but—"

"—you can't live with me, I know," Potter finished. "But I'm hoping you might change your mind. Are you open to a discussion, at least?"

Three months gone and here was, from the outset at least, a rational and composed Potter. Far different from the cagey and volatile man he'd seen plenty of. Asking for a discussion, no less. Not pleading, not shouting, not demanding. Something had indeed happened to Potter, and frankly, Draco was inclined to hear him out.

"I'm not unreasonable. I suppose after three months, I can give you audience."

Potter smiled. "Audience? You would see it that way." He chuckled.

Draco's lips tightened with haughty affront. "I can still have Weasley throw you out."

"Alright, alright," Potter said, raising his hand. He shook his head with one last smile before his features grew serious. "After you left, I was a wreck. A total mess. I'm sure Hermione filled you in. Merlin knows she ripped me a new one." Another soft laugh. "And thank you for the owls, by the way. Perfectly timed, and always the perfect temperature. I appreciate you not letting me starve to death because of my own stupidity."

Draco's mouth curled. "Again, not unreasonable."

"Oh," he said, perking up, "I think you should know, I'm pretty sure our owls are involved in some sort of romantic relationship."

"What?" Draco's voice cracked. "What are you talking about?"

"Your owl—she's gorgeous, you know—and Ajax. I think they're—" Potter made a crude gesture with his hand.

"Potter, I seriously doubt my Hera would go anywhere near that brute of yours. He's a menace."

"Well, then he's got it bad. He sits by the front door and waits for her. Preens for hours. Puffs up before she arrives, that sort of thing. Brings her dead mice. There's an awful lot of cooing for it to be strictly platonic." Potter grinned. "It's kind of cute."

Draco's face scrunched up in horror. "I thought it was her bringing the dead mice back here. I tried to dispose of one, and the brat nearly took off my finger. I guess I know where the violent streak is coming from—your bloody owl."

"We should get them together."

Draco levelled him with a glare. "We're not discussing avian hook-ups. Go on with what you were saying."

"What? Oh, yes," Potter said, shaking an errant hand in the air. "Total mess. Me." He relaxed against the cushions and took a deep breath, composing himself. "For two weeks, I could barely get out of bed. And when I did, I exploded. I cursed you, I cursed myself, life in general. I think I destroyed the sitting room at least three times. I spent two days holed up in your lab, screaming at the top of my lungs. It didn't make me feel any better, but it annoyed Snape to no end, so that was something."

Draco laughed in spite of himself, imagining his godfather's face at Potter's outburst.

"I went into your room," Potter said, suddenly more subdued, as if the memories were all catching up with him, "just to see if I could still smell you in there. Hear your heartbeat. But there was nothing. You were gone." He snapped his fingers, and Draco startled in surprise. "Like that."

The change in tone urged Draco to speak. "I won't apologize for leaving. I had to go."

Potter nodded. "I know. It took me a fair few tantrums and quite a bit of alcohol to realize that. That you were right about me. About everything. It was," he paused, "a distasteful realization." He sucked in a breath and ran his hands along denim-covered thighs. "I didn't want to feel that anymore." He pursed his lips. "I'm seeing someone."

Draco spluttered. "Ex—excuse me? What?"

"Someone to help me cope with all of this. A mind healer. Of sorts, anyway. A psychiatrist."

Draco's brows knitted in confusion. "You're seeing a mind healer?"

"Muggle one," Potter affirmed. "Well, she's a squib, actually, but takes on the odd wizard or so. I needed someone who would look past two major things—Boy-Who-Lived, and these," he said, pointing at his fangs. "Dr. Marbury has been wonderful. She has a working knowledge of wizarding society, and couples her therapy with Muggle technique."

"And it's helping, you say?" Draco asked. As if he really needed to ask the question at all—it was all written there on Potter's face. Potter was in a far better place than when Draco had left.

"It is. I'm not suddenly cured or anything, I've still got a lot of work to do, but I'm getting there," the vampire said. "She believes I am suffering from something called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Apparently, it's quite common in soldiers and victims of war. I was both, I guess." Potter's eyes softened and he sighed. "You were right about the guilt. I did want to die. I didn't feel like I deserved to live, not after losing so many people I love. Survivor's guilt, is what Dr. Marbury says. And then you add the insult of practical immortality onto a man who wants to die, and well, you can see how well I coped with all of that."

"Utter shite," Draco said flatly.

Potter tapped the side of his nose. "Got it in one."

"What's changed, then? Why are you here now?" Draco swallowed, knowing where Potter was going with his confession, but unsure of whether or not he wanted the answer.

Potter leaned forward, and fixed Draco with a stare he felt down to his soul. "I haven't changed," he said. "I'm still me. Fucked up, faults, and all. I still feel the way I did before. The difference is that I'm learning how to deal with those feelings and make different choices because of them. I didn't come earlier because I knew you really didn't want to see me, and also because I wasn't ready."

"You're ready now, then? Three months of counseling to erase both our pain?" Draco knew his voice sounded pinched and whiny, but he didn't care.

Potter shook his head firmly. "No. It doesn't erase anything, and I don't expect you to just forget the way I treated you. I have good days and bad days. More good days now than anything. But I want you in my life, Draco. Every day, present, real. Not owl post every other day."

"I can't go back to the way things were," Draco said, closing his eyes. "I—I can't be a survival technique for you." He opened his eyes to see Potter's face, understanding yet withdrawn. "I want more. I'm worth more."

"I know." Potter's voice was subdued. "I kept my distance to hold onto the moment, but I've learned the tighter I hold onto what is, I lose my grip on what could be. And in hanging onto that, I lost everything entirely. The past, the present, the future. You." Draco watched a fine tremor work its way over Potter's body. "I didn't want to love you because I didn't want to have something precious and then lose it. I had lost so much, Draco. I couldn't afford to lose anymore."

"But you did anyway, you realize?"

"Yeah."

"Are you still seeing this Dr. Marbury? Will you continue to see her?" Draco didn't think Potter's confession was lip service; the man had been far more insightful and less histrionic than he supposed. Honestly, when he thought about Potter coming to his senses and demanding Draco come back, he thought there would be some dramatic showing, complete with hysterical crying and possibly a good bout of begging. But this, Draco had to admit he hadn't expected. Potter was trying to do better. And making progress, at that.

Potter snorted. "Of course. I've come a long way, but I'm nowhere near where I want to be."

Where I want to be. Potter was doing this for himself, not just for Draco. His heart pounded.

"Where do you want to be, Potter?" Draco's mouth went dry as he asked the question.

Potter reached out and tentatively grasped Draco's hand on the back of the sofa. "Wherever you are, getting better, taking it one day at a time. Together." Potter's touch was cool and familiar, his thumb idly stroking the back of Draco's hand. "I can do this without you, Draco. I think we've both proven that we can love each other and live apart. But," Potter's eyes flicked upward to meet his, "I don't want to. The question is—do you?"

Draco's breath left his body in a slow exhalation down to his toes. Did he want Potter? There were a thousand reasons to say no flitting about in his head, and a thousand reasons to say yes hammering away in his heart.

"I—I suppose I've overstayed my welcome here."

Potter took the statement in stride, tilting his head to the side and smiling. "Do you really think Molly's going to kick you out? I'm surprised she hasn't given you your own wing."

The deflection was intentional, and Draco wondered exactly how much wiser Potter had gotten in the last three months.

"Yes, Arthur's been kind enough to squeeze some more space out of the Burrow to give me a makeshift lab. In return, I've been helping him with some of his Muggle exploits. The past month, I've been elbows deep in something called an 'internal combustion engine'."

Potter laughed, throwing his head back. "Arthur's teaching you about cars? I think I'd pay good Galleons to see you covered in engine grease and liking it."

Draco sniffed in defiance. "Well, I have been making an effort. Arthur's been downright fatherly to me, and it seems only fitting to assist him in his endeavours, no matter how strange they are. Do you know how hard it is to keep a straight and interested face while he goes on and on about 'pistons' and 'cam shafts'? It's almost obscene."

Potter stared at him, wide-eyed, no doubt imagining the scene in his mind. He burst out laughing again. "Oh, Draco. This is why I love you."

Draco froze at Potter's easy assertion, directed toward him for the first time. Potter lowered his lashes and reached out to touch Draco's knee.

"I do, you know," he said softly. "Love you, that is." Potter reached into his back pocket and produced a small velvet-covered box. "Which is why I would like for you to come home with me. Permanently."

Time stopped as Draco stared at the little box, knowing instantly what was inside. Potter flipped the lid and the ring winked back at Draco, the single, flawless emerald in the center of the platinum band sparkling like the hope in Potter's eyes.

He swallowed hard, fighting against the lump in his throat. "Potter, getting married won't—"

"I know it won't fix anything, that's not why I'm asking," Potter interrupted. "I love you," he insisted, pushing the box into Draco's hands. "I know it. I feel it. I want to love you. I'm not afraid to love you. Not anymore. I'm committed to loving you. And loving you means that I have to work on myself and get through my issues." He brushed the back of his hand across Draco's face. "I'd like for you to stand by me while I do that. I need to do it for myself, but Draco, I want to do it for you."

Draco looked at Potter, unable to move as Potter plucked the ring from the box and slid it on Draco's left hand.

"Marry me, Draco. You wanted me to take a risk and allow myself to love you. So I jumped in with both feet. It took losing you to do it, and I don't ever want to make that mistake again. It's your turn to jump."

He was right. Potter had taken the risk, knowing that he could have come here and had the door slammed in his face. He took it knowing that his survival for the rest of his life could be in owl-delivered vials. He took it knowing that Draco might say no. Because Draco saying yes was worth the risk. Because Draco was worth the risk. Finally.

Draco's newly-ringed finger glinted as his left hand hauled Potter in for a kiss. Potter sighed against his mouth, and Draco let everything he'd been holding back bleed out between them in a slick press of lips. Of its own volition, Draco's right hand pressed to Potter's chest and tapped.

Thump-thump.

I accept you.

Thump-thump.

I forgive you.

Thump-thump.

I need you.

Thump-thump.

I love you.

Potter groaned and the kiss quickly turned heated, and Draco found himself being unceremoniously pressed down into the sofa cushions. Draco pushed at Potter, turning his head to the side, breaking the kiss. "As much as I would love to continue," he gasped, "I think you should take me home and shag me properly, in a bed, as I have no intention of being buggered on Weasley upholstery."

Potter dropped his head to Draco's chest and snickered furiously. Draco pushed him back to look him in the eye.

"I mean it, who in their right mind wants to end up bare-arsed on this tragic excuse for fabric? It's an affront to everything I hold dear," Draco protested. Potter hauled him up with a gleam of fond exasperation.

"Yes, Draco."

Draco stared him down. "We'll have a spring wedding. With those flowers of Mother's sprouting everywhere."

"Yes, Draco."

"You'll wear decent robes if I have to get Ron to Spello-tape you into them."

"Yes, Draco."

"And we'll honeymoon in Provence. I love Provence. It's the French I can't stand, but I love Provence."

"Yes, Draco."

"Harry?"

"Yes, Draco?"

"Let's go home."

Potter's smile was as wide and endless as the sky.

"Yes, Draco."

Strong arms wrapped around him and Draco felt the familiar pull of Apparition.

Home. With Harry.

Ron and Hermione peeked down from their vantage point on the stairs.

"I think they're going to be okay, don't you?" she asked.

Ron snorted. "If they don't kill each other, you mean. In the beginning, neither of them wanted this. And now…" His voice trailed.

She leaned into his side and sighed. "They love each other. They need each other. That outweighs all the bad. "'The art of our necessities is strange, that can make vile things precious.'"

Ron peered down at her. "Wow, 'Mione, that's—you should write that down."

Hermione wound her arms around her husband's neck and chuckled against his lips. "Oh, Ron."

END.