---

The Ministry atrium was packed. Every department head, even typically uninvolved officials, had gathered. Hermione stood elevated, voice magically amplified.

"...Given the severity, with the Minister's approval, we'll publicly examine evidence against Theodore Nott for murder and corruption."

Nott feigned confusion nearby. "Preposterous! Hermione, I've always respected you, but clearly Potter's misled you!"

Harry stepped up, projecting memories overhead for all to see—Nott conspiring with the Norwegian official, with the hooded assassin. The crowd murmured.

"Fabrications!" Nott shrieked. "These memories are altered! Potter's under Malfoy's Imperius!"

Harry calmly produced Draco's files. "Four years of records documenting Dark artifact neutralizations, plus Nott's black-market dealings. Every transaction traceable."

Nott turned livid. "A dead Death Eater's files? Ridiculous!"

"And this," Elise stepped forward. "Elise Frost, Norwegian Anti-Dark Force. Draco Malfoy was our key informant—Undersecretary Nott sabotaged international efforts."

The tide turned visibly. Nott scanned the room, seeing supporters retreat. His face twisted from anger to fury.

"You fools!" His wand appeared. "Avada Kedavra!"

Green light shot at Harry. Instantly, the silver watch flew from his pocket, bursting open. The nebula erupted into a massive, silvery creature—a dragon Patronus, wings spread wide, absorbing the Killing Curse harmlessly.

The atrium froze.

Nott turned ashen. "Impossible... that's... Malfoy's..."

The Patronus turned—its eyes unmistakably Draco's grey. It nodded at Harry before dissolving back into the watch, which snapped shut in Harry's palm.

Nott collapsed, bound instantly by Ron and Aurors. Hermione declared proceedings adjourned for formal trial. But Harry barely heard, his fingers clenched around the watch—its nebula now formed a new shape: Draco Malfoy's smiling face.

---

One month later, Troms? cabin.

Harry stood alone by the window, watching the Northern Lights. Nott had received life in Azkaban; his accomplices were being rounded up. Elise now officially led Draco's network, partnering with the Ministry against Dark Arts.

It was over. Justice served.

Yet the hollow ache remained.

At the desk, he withdrew that preserved Daily Prophet clipping—Draco's treasured image of Harry smiling. Tracing the faint lip mark, Harry finally let go.

Tears fell silently onto the photo. If he'd known Draco was watching... if he'd recognized that the sneering blond's gaze held more than disdain...

"I could have..." Harry whispered to the empty room.

The watch pulsed warmly. Harry opened it—the nebula formed one word: "Always."

It shattered him. He remembered Snape's memories, that story of "always." Now he understood—some loved their whole lives without ever speaking it.

"Me too," Harry told the silence, as if Draco could hear. "In all possible worlds, me too."

Outside, the auroras blazed brighter, like silent applause. Harry wiped his tears, carefully storing the clipping and watch. Tomorrow, he'd return to London, continue Draco's work against the darkness.

But tonight—tonight he allowed himself to imagine, in some parallel world, Draco Malfoy pushing open this door, grey eyes alight, saying, "Ready for our next adventure, Potter?"

And himself answering, "Always."

[THE END]