All I Ever Wanted

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write...are dominated by gay themes and characters. That's how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.

All I Ever Wanted.......chap. 50 'Coming To Terms'

The boys wished Remus a good evening, some three pleasant hours after he had arrived. After the door had shut and the Silencing Spell was in place, Harry rounded on Draco.

"I can't believe you did that! What the hell were you thinking?"

"Oh, come on, Harry! The tension was killing me...and you! I had to do something to lighten the mood."

"Having the house-elves serve dinner and loading his plate with a huge rubber bone was your way of lightening the mood? You insensitive prat! Being a werewolf has been a constant trial for him, how could you mock that?"

"Harry! Come off it! He laughed so hard he almost hurt himself! You told me the Marauders were all pranksters, and after he played you at the door, I knew he still had a sense of humor. Trust me, he just laughed more than he probably has all year."

"Okay, okay, he did like it, but you couldn't have told me in advance, could you?"

"Love, you couldn't keep a straight face if you tried. Someday, I absolutely must play poker with your friends from Gryffindor. If they're anything like you, I'll double the Malfoy fortune overnight."

Draco unwrapped two large parcels while he chuckled. He spread the two outfits across the bed, satisfied by Harry's look of awe.

"Merlin! How much did those cost, Draco? They're bloody incredible!" Harry touched the fabric of their garments, noticing the difference in quality between them and anything else he had ever owned.

"Slightly more than your Firebolt, but worth every penny. These are some of Malkin's finest. Appropriate house colors, spelled to fit, and the most current wizarding style. No skimping on the materials either. The gold on yours is real gold, Transfigured into cloth."

They weren't exceptionally difficult to get into either. Perhaps ten minutes later, they were admiring themselves in the mirror. Draco looked like the epitome of Slytherin, since his features lent themselves easily to chill arrogance and aristocratic aloofness.

Harry looked a king in more than name. The outfit brought to mind the occasional images of Godric Gryffindor from Hogwarts: A History. The glasses and the absence of a beard distinguished Harry as himself, but the faint impression of royalty was there none the less.

"We need to get out of these and put them away until the weekend," Draco muttered softly.

"Why the rush? These are perfect. I love them. A few more minutes won't hurt."

"Because I have another hundred exams to prepare for tomorrow, and if I look at you in that outfit for more than another minute, I won't get them finished tonight and McGonagall will skin me alive."

"Awww. Alright. Have it your way, love. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not really. No offense, Harry. Potions aren't your strong suit, and if I even sort these wrong, it'll bite me in the arse tomorrow. Go ahead and study for your NEWTS. I'll be fine."

They changed back into their school clothes and settled into their studies. Draco was still at it when Harry called it quits for the night. After trying to tempt his lover into bed with a long goodnight kiss, Harry finally surrendered and let slumber take him, with the sound of Draco's quill scratching away furiously following him into unconsciousness.

Their last week of studies lingered in memory as the hardest of their lives. They were up before sunrise each day without exception, and rarely made it to bed before midnight.

Draco managed to oversee Snape's classes and exams with only modest difficulty, but that was owed to his crazed drive to meet a standard that would have been expected of a real professor.

For Harry, it was a blur of practice sessions sandwiched between panicked study and grueling exams. Ron and Hermione were at the brink of exhaustion as well, since helping Harry prepare for battle took a certain precedence, no matter how critical their grades were.

In the midst of this, Dumbledore's Army was quietly reassembled, and drills were held, coaching the various students on how best to cooperate with the staff in protecting the rest of the children in the event of attack.

Supplies were laid up long in advance, sufficient to meet the needs of the entire school for several months, and these were stored in the 'safe' chambers that had been marked as places to which students would retreat. A series of Portkeys had been spelled to allow flight from the school if needed, with Dumbledore's Army departing last, while the professors held the position secure as long as possible.

Blaise and Pansy joined the Army proper, and made fairly good organizers. Vincent and Greg, however, insisted on fighting. Once they learned that Draco would be actively involved in any battle, they wouldn't relent until they were guaranteed a chance to Portkey into Hogsmeade. Draco's team was still intact, and they weren't going to be part of Harry's squad, but at least they had a role flanking one of the wizards from town.

Neville Longbottom became a site keeper and healer for one of the hastily altered Hogsmeade teams and, despite a certain apprehension, was glad of the chance to honor his parents. He may not have been Auror material, or even particularly handy with combat spells, but he was a fair hand at most lower order Healing Charms, and that was enough to make him of use.

Remus Lupin wasn't around the castle that week, since the short handed guardians of Hogsmeade needed every able bodied person present, and to his regret, he would be locked in the Shrieking Shack on the night of the Leaving Ball. Most Hogwarts events were timed to the full moon, and like always, the former professor would be alone and in a slightly pacified wolf form while others celebrated.

As the week ground slowly to its end, Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomas dropped by and wished Harry and Draco well. They were both members of Dumbledore's Army, and had exams and drills of their own to worry about, but still made a little time to visit.

No word came from Severus Snape, and despite the best efforts of the Aurors, no new information was unearthed regarding the whereabouts of Albus Dumbledore.

The Aurors did manage to capture a pair of Death Eaters who were traveling discreetly. Unfortunately, the pair of brutes quickly spelled themselves before capture, and showed signs under examination of multiple memory alterations. It was nearly impossible to sort fact from fiction in their permanently addled brains.

Harry saw the end of his NEWT examinations and felt a relief that penetrated through the gloom of war worries. Even his rampant libido had almost collapsed under the strain of the past week, and Draco had been little better. Not that the sex they had been able to have was bad, but it could have been accurately said that it lacked luster compared to their usual trysts.

As near as he could tell, his marks would be well above average in most of his classes. No door would be closed to him after graduation, but Harry still hadn't any idea what he really wanted to do with his life. He wanted Draco in it, to be sure, but what would he labor over once school and the war were over? There were no guarantees. Harry admitted the possibility that they might be killed before the rest of his life became an issue. He had confidence, though, and he knew that someday decisions would have to be made.

Quidditch held some appeal, but he didn't love the game quite the way he once did. He'd never lost his love of flight, and his Firebolt was still among the most beloved of his few possessions, but the notion of playing for money and being considered a gifted amateur with a saleable name just rankled.

Being an Auror had seemed like such a fine thing, until Rufus Scrimgeour had proven that even organizations that fought Dark Wizards were prey to politics and pride. It was impossible to imagine taking orders from a man whose only interest was furthering his career.

With his new powers, almost anything was possible. Maybe Hermione could scheme up some new uses for old spells that might be worth something. Or perhaps St. Mungo's could use another registered Occlumens from time to time. Healing people's minds would be a pretty fine way to make a living.

Harry let his worries slide away. They could be gnawed at another time. He still had a promise to fulfill for Draco. Taking a year to travel the world would give him a chance to see what else was possible. They had enough combined wealth that there would never be any question of having to work. When they returned to England, there would be a world of opportunities waiting for him, and that was good enough.

In the meantime, Grimmauld Place had been restored by the Order, and would serve as the Order's headquarters again...if an attack did not manifest before the Leaving Feast. Rooms had already been prepared for Harry and Draco, as well for many others. They would have a safe place to rest after school no matter what passed.

Draco had made the best of his workload, and even Hermione was grudgingly impressed. Jealous, but grudgingly impressed. The only bone of contention between them was Draco's way of adding comments to his graded exams. Hermione insisted that it wasn't necessary to include scathing, acid commentary about the incorrect answers, while Draco insisted that, if it worked for Snape, then that was what he meant to do as well.

It was enough that he didn't take daily points from Gryffindor or any other house without serious cause, and that was sufficient to win him some support even from people who still held him to be slightly suspect.

A couple of discreet visits were made to the Manor, and Draco packed a few supplies in advance, knowing that Grimmauld Place would likely be his next residence if the war remained unresolved.

It was entirely possible that Dumbledore's supposition had been incorrect, or that, having assessed the level of protection around Harry and Hogsmeade, the Dark Lord had chosen to wait.

Draco stowed away several magical trunks that were shrunk to easy storage size. These contained enough to keep him comfortable for months if needed, as well keeping his most personal possessions from home near him.

The morning of the Leaving Ball came upon them before they were even remotely rested from the week behind them. Owled well wishes had piled up on their desks and table, and they sent more than a few of their own out to their friends.

Someday a festive gathering outside of Hogwarts was called for, but they'd have to settle for scribbled notes for a while. The last night had been they're first one in weeks with no duties awaiting them in the morning, and it had been well spent.

Neither of them had any desire to leave the bed before noon, but it wouldn't do to spend their entire day in isolation before the Ball. Besides, the return of their respective libidos meant that Draco was actually bracingly sore from their activities of that past night. Harry had been at his very best, and the afterglow was nearly unbearable. They'd even had to settle for something slightly less vigorous in the shower, since Draco wasn't to going to risk limping his way through the Leaving Ceremony and the Ball.

The atmosphere in Hogwarts was finally cheerful again, the absence of the Headmaster and the grind of exams had dragged many students down, but today was a day of celebration, and it showed in every face.

In every hall and room, students were chatting amiably and mulling over future plans. Giddy smiles seemed to be the order of the day, which was fine by Draco, since that was a great deal more dignified than admitting that he'd been shagged into a cheerful stupor by Harry.

Test results were announced mid-day, and lunch in the Great Hall was a muted affair, with an ever-present buzz of conversation that was completely dominated by talk of next year's classes and summer plans.

The Great Hall was closed after lunch while the house-elves redecorated for the ball, and for a few pleasant hours, Harry and Draco had no responsibilities upon them and simply relaxed in an unused classroom with a handful of their friends.

Blaise was the most pensive of the lot. Wry to the core, his question to them all left them thinking hard. "Who would have thought we'd all be here, like this, seven years ago?"

Draco, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Pansy, Greg and Vincent all pondered that in poignant silence for a moment.

To everyone's surprise, Vincent Crabbe spoke first. "Humph. No complaints, though." Ever the wordsmith, our Vince.

There was a lot comfortable chatter after that, despite the enormity of leaving behind Hogwarts for good. There was no longer any doubt that they'd see each other again. Everyone in the room was in some way bound to Harry or Draco by ties of friendship, and if they might not have chosen one another as companions voluntarily, once the matter had been taken from their hands, they had all coped admirably. It wouldn't be long before they were truly free adults of the wizarding world, and the weird alliance they had carved from an unforgettable seventh year would indelibly mark the rest of their lives.

Eventually, they wound their way to their respective rooms, giving themselves plenty of time to prepare for the evening's affairs. Especially Draco, who had no intention of setting foot in the Great Hall looking one whit less than perfect. His vast supply of styling products would be overtaxed tonight, but the results would be legendary. He even fussed over Harry's hair until something artfully tousled emerged from the dark pile of tangles and cowlicks that usually graced his head.

At the last, they emerged from their suite with enough time for a fashionable entrance, and made their way down the stairs toward the Great Hall. They were already getting slack jawed stares of amazement as they walked arm in arm through the busy halls of Hogwarts, and Draco quietly chuckled under his breath with obvious pleasure.

"I suppose I could get used to this, Queen or no. You were right, you know? I loathe admitting it, and I will lie outrageously if you breath a word of this to another living soul, but I'm starting to think that this is going to be one of the happiest moments of my entire life, and I thank Merlin you talked me into this, Harry." His words were whispered low enough that no one but Harry could hear him as they approached the Great Hall's doors, but the quiet intensity of them was not missed.

"Wait, before we go in, I've got something for you." Harry broke away from Draco's arm and fumbled in his pocket a moment. He held out a fine jewelry case and waited for Draco to take it.

"For you, because tonight, I wanted us both to wear something that symbolized how we feel about each other." With that, Harry ducked one hand beneath his fine tabard and pulled out the silver necklace Draco had given him months ago. He let it rest, bright and visible, in the center of chest. He always wore it, but he had never worn it so openly before.

"Harry! Please don't tell me that this is something that will make me cry. You ass! We're right outside the bloody Great Hall doors! Oh, Salazar's breath!"

Draco opened the small case, and within it lay his own jewel, the very same one that Harry had enchanted. Now, however, it was secured as an amulet, suspended on a slender chain of platinum. The images in it still flickered back and forth, from their first, awkward kiss, to Harry's first statement of love.

Draco pinched his face and tried very hard to stay in control while he placed the amulet carefully around his neck. Then he settled for softly punching Harry in the arm.

"I. Love. You. You. Total. Prat." It was an effort to speak while trying to keep his face from reddening or letting tears come unchecked, but Draco did allow himself to hug the stuffing out his lover, bad timing irregardless.

Fortunately, their finery was spelled to self-correct in the event of wrinkles, and Draco's hair couldn't have been mussed by anything less than a tornado, so no real harm was done by their last desperate snog in the hall.

When they were done with whispered affection, energetic kisses, and attempts to restore Draco's complexion to its normal pale splendor, it was time to go. Arm in arm, a few last steps, and they crossed the threshold as the doors opened for them, and entered the Leaving Ball.