Call it godricshollow futurefic, I guess.
The big old house has nine windows in front, and a green door that opens onto a brick walkway leading to the winding country road. Poppies hide in the waist-high grass, once carefully tended by some long-ago gardener, now gone as wild as the Bittersweet vines creeping up the pine trees in the side yard. An old, broken-down barn lies to the left of the house, its rough rock foundation standing strong under the powdering clapboard shingles. The back yard is a tangle of windblown grasses; the spring air is honey-scented.
Harry stands in front of the house. His face is lifted toward the afternoon sun;his eyes are closed. He knows without a shred of doubt that he's come home. His home, their home, finally and completely. After all this time, a place to grow up and grow old and live and laugh and fill with all the love in the world.
It's perfect, he thinks. Perfectly wild, perfectly wonderful.
He can't wait to show Draco.