Chapter Text
The sky above the Ministry of Magic was the same soft grey it always seemed to be in March. Rain threatened but didn’t fall.
Harry stood in the foyer of the Department of Magical Reform, straightening the cuffs of his robes. He wasn’t here on Auror business. Not today.
Today, he was a speaker.
The Unity House Project had become something larger—replicated in magical schools across Europe, studied by Healers and historians alike. And Harry, against all expectations, had become its ambassador. Not because he was The Boy Who Lived, but because he had stayed. And listened. And helped build something that mattered.
He stepped into the chamber a few minutes before his scheduled panel and immediately stilled.
Draco.
Across the room.
Standing by the refreshments table, dressed in charcoal-grey robes, reading a parchment with half-lidded focus and a glass of water in his hand. His hair was longer now, tied loosely at the nape of his neck. There was a soft line at the edge of his mouth that hadn’t been there before.
Harry’s chest didn’t ache like it used to.
But it did tighten.
Draco looked up—like he’d felt him looking—and their eyes met.
There was no shock. No panic.
Just… stillness.
Recognition.
Then: the smallest nod.
And Harry walked toward him.
⸻
They didn’t hug. That wasn’t who they were anymore.
But they smiled.
Real smiles.
“You’ve spoken already?” Harry asked, voice low, careful.
Draco nodded. “Yesterday. A panel on restorative justice in curriculum. Surprisingly civil.”
Harry chuckled. “Surprisingly civil is the highest compliment a Ministry panel can get.”
They stood in silence for a moment. Not awkward. Just… full.
“Did you ever go back to France?” Harry asked.
Draco shook his head. “No. Stayed in London. There’s work here. Good work. And… fewer ghosts than I expected.”
Harry nodded. “Yeah.”
A beat.
“I read your article,” Draco said finally. “The one about trauma being a magical signature.”
“You read that?”
“I read all of them.”
Harry swallowed. “I never said thank you.”
Draco looked at him. “You did.”
Another silence.
Then, slowly, Draco reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A small silver coin, etched with runes. Harry recognized it immediately. A Unity House token. Each 8th-year student had been given one when the program ended. Most had tossed them.
Not Draco.
He handed it to Harry.
“You said it once,” Draco said, “that none of us made it out whole. That the point wasn’t wholeness, it was living anyway.”
Harry nodded, voice caught in his throat.
Draco stepped back, just slightly.
“Take care of yourself, Potter.”
“You too,” Harry whispered.