“He Mourns for the Change that has Come Upon Him and His Beloved, and Longs for the End of the World” by William Butler Yeats

Do you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns?
I have been changed to a hound with one red ear;
I have been in the Path of Stones and the Wood of Thorns,
For somebody hid hatred and hope and desire and fear
Under my feet that they follow you night and day.
A man with a hazel wand came without sound;
He changed me suddenly; I was looking another way;
And now my calling is but the calling of a hound;
And Time and Birth and Change are hurrying by.
I would that the Boar without bristles had come from the West
And had rooted the sun and moon and stars out of the sky
And lay in the darkness, grunting, and turning to his rest.

Prologue

From the Journal of Fred Weasley
May 2001

It’s been three years since I’ve arrived in this wonderful locus amoenus, and while it really is a paradise as it claims to be, it’s also very monotonous. So monotonous, that I’ve decided to start a journal on a semi-regular basis.

Every day, I watch Mr and Mrs Potter — they keep on trying to get me to call them James and Lily, but it still feels weird — fretting over Harry about this or that issue, and when they are not combusting over their son, Mr Potter and Professor Snape are exchanging heated words while poor Mrs Potter plays referee between them. Then there’s Sirius helping Mr Potter torment Professor Snape, too, while Remus and Tonks try to mediate between them as well. The other Mr Black — whom I call Reggie — just rolls his eyes at this fiasco and keeps to himself.

Then there’s little old, lovable me. The first of the Weasleys from my family to arrive here. Half the time, I plot ways to prank others since that’s what I do best. With this place being boring at times, someone needs to bring some craziness here, and who’s a better choice than me? With my pranks, I receive input from Sirius, Remus, and Mr Potter; really, I was quite surprised to find out that they were the Marauders! I only wish I could have known this titbit when I was alive and still kicking.

When I’m not busy talking to those blokes, I am running away from my horrendous Aunt Rachel, who likes to reminiscence all one-hundred plus years of her life history to me. With my speed and my cunning intelligence, I usually escape her and manage to find a quiet area to get away from all the hustle and bustle around here.

This is when I brood for a while. This is when I realise just how much I miss George. My twin. My other half. My better half.

And it pains me to say that I know he misses me, too.

Maybe this is why I’m keeping a journal. I want to write and share some entries with him, and when he does arrive here, I can tell him some hilarious events that have happened here. Such events like Mr Potter spelling Professor Snape’s hair pink for one is something I know he’d crack up at.

But for now, I need to figure out a way to make him happy.

He’s miserable, and as his one and only twin, I want to somehow help him leap over that self-destructive slump he’s in. I need to prove that he’s capable of finding happiness without me there to hold his hand like some ninny!

While, I cannot interact with the real world, I can influence the people there to a certain degree by visiting them in dreams. I suppose that’s kind of an invasion of privacy, but with my twin, I’ll have to do something. I’ve been given permission to do this three times, and I’ll have to think this through carefully, lest I make a big mistake. I already have a plan . . .

Oops. Aunt Rachel’s coming. Bugger it! Time to fly!

Part I: In the Darkness

With a dull, almost lifeless expression etched on his face, Draco lounged back into his favourite armchair. A tumbler of brandy and a newspaper had been placed next to him on a small table beside his chair, and the fireplace glittered wildly as the warm colours reflected his grey eyes. He gazed at the flames, wondering if he could somehow spell it to cooler shades of blues and greys to match the emptiness he felt inside of him. Slowly, almost as if he were in a trance, he reached for the brandy, taking a long sip as he savoured the rich flavour. He twirled the liquid in the tumbler, studying how the colour of the fire and the brandy blended into one.

He tilted his head to look at the newspaper. Its front page headline blared, Harry Potter’s Testimony Clears All Charges Against Narcissa and Draco Malfoy!. Sighing, he took another long drain of his drink, and he closed his eyes as he tried to forget the article, but that was easier said than done.

Draco Malfoy felt lost.

All the plans he had for himself, all of his purpose in life, and all his motivation and determination had disappeared once this verdict against him and his mother came through. He knew he should be thankful that the sodding saviour’s words had saved him and his mother from the fate of imprisonment, but he couldn’t feel anything remotely resembling gratitude. He wished that his father had been included in the pardon, but that didn’t come through; his father would have to face fifteen years of imprisonment at Azkaban. At least it was no longer guarded by Dementors, but Draco couldn’t help but feel bitter at his father’s outcome.

However, his feelings of confusion and the lack of purpose in his life overwhelmed all feelings of hatred he felt towards Potter and his group of do-gooders.

He simply didn’t care.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Come in,” Draco said, his voice devoid of any emotions. Without turning his head, he heard the door open and shut, and he heard his mother’s soft steps. She appeared in his line of sight. She sat down in another armchair next to his occupied one, looking elegant and proper. Her robes were immaculate as usual, but the red rims of her eyes and her ragged fingernails told him that she wasn’t as collected as she normally was. He could see the subtle signs of his mother’s exhausted state, and he knew he probably looked the same — if not worse.

“Draco, darling. Have you stayed in here all day?”

He looked closely at his mother’s face, which appeared passive and calm, but her eyes held a hint of worry. Before he answered her, he took another long drink. The brandy burned as it slid down his throat. Draco closed his eyes and leaned backwards in his chair. “Yes.”

She sighed. “Draco, you . . . you can’t be doing this to yourself.”

“Doing what, Mother?” Draco now glanced away from her. He knew what she was going to say. He knew her too well.

“This!” She raised her voice a bit, sounding firmer than usual. “Just staying here, in this one room, barely eating and only drinking alcohol! I do not want to see you like this. You’re throwing your life away!”

He gritted his teeth to prevent himself from saying something rude and nasty to her. “I’m not throwing my life away.”

“Then do something. You’ve been pardoned. You have a chance to do something other than brooding around here. I know you’re upset about your father not receiving a pardon, but at least not all of us were thrown into that horrible place.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair. “Do what? Go out and find a job?”

“Yes. You did take your NEWTs after the war and did well on them. It’d be a shame for you to not use your skills and intelligence.”

He sneered and snapped at her. “Who would hire me? Who would hire a former Death Eater right now?”

Draco saw his mother’s eyes narrowing as her lips thinned. Her voice came out tight and formal. “You will not speak to me in that manner. You’re an adult now, but I’m still your mother.”

“I apologise, Mother.” He ducked his head and let out a soft, weary sigh.

A moment of silence passed before she spoke again. “Now, I want you to get out and do something that’s productive for you. Starting tomorrow.”

He didn’t say anything. He had no intention of doing anything tomorrow, but he knew better than to state his current thoughts out loud.

It was his mother’s turn to sigh, but it was an exasperated one unlike his. “If you don’t do anything tomorrow, I will start my search for a wife and force you into a marriage.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Draco hissed out, feeling panicky and angry all at the same time. “You know I don’t–”

“I know you prefer men over women, but if you’re not going to take the initiative to direct your life in a better direction, I will do it for you!” He saw the determined glint in her eyes, which frightened him since he knew she wasn’t playing with her threat.

Grudgingly, he nodded.

“Thank you.” She stood up and leaned over to kiss his forehead. She brushed his fringe out of his eyes and said, “I’ve taken the liberty to have the house elves hide all the alcohol in the manor. They’ve been instructed to not give you any until you shape up your life. Enjoy that last tumbler.”

Draco glared at her, but it had no effects on her as she straightened up. With a composed expression on her face, she smoothed her silvery robes with her hands, and she gracefully walked out of the room, leaving Draco to glower at the fireplace at his mother’s unwelcome meddling.

“George? Oi, George!”

George looked up at the closed door, hearing the pounding that followed after whoever called him. “What? Is that you, Lee?” He waved his wand and the door swung open.

Lee walked in and gave George a glare. George stared back nonchalantly. Surrounding him were all sorts of equipment and plans for new prank ideas he’d been coming up with. Lee looked at the mess and asked, “Have you been in here all night?”

George didn’t answer. He avoided looking at his friend, and he fiddled around with the item he’d been fighting with for hours.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes.”

George still didn’t respond. He put down the item and pulled out a fag and lit it. The room, already reeking of cigarettes, became smoky.

Lee exhaled noisily and took a seat next to George. “You need to stop this, mate.”

“What?” George asked, smoke coming out of his mouth. “I’m just working.”

“There’s a difference between working and trying to kill yourself. You’re going to die early if you keep this up.”

“So?” George grinned sardonically. “Maybe that would be the best.”

Lee scowled. “I don’t mean to sound like a prick, but you’ve been my mate since our very first day at Hogwarts. So was Fred, and he wouldn’t be happy seeing you like this.”

“Shut up,” George answered in a low voice. “Don’t talk about Fred like that.”

“I will if it gets you to stop acting like this! And I only say this because I care about you, George! So does Angelina! Your family, too! But your actions are worrying us! Fred–”

“Shut up!” George shouted. “You and everyone else can piss off! Nobody can understand this! Nobody!”

Both of them looked at each other fiercely. George’s red face matched his hair, and Lee’s dark eyes glowered in anger. A few minutes of silence passed before Lee broke it. “Look. I may not be a twin, and while you’re right on us not being able to understand what you feel, but we all lost somebody in this war. That we can relate to, but . . . blimey, George. You need to move on.

“Besides, I miss the goofy George.” Lee let out a dejected sigh. “I dunno, mate. You still pull pranks and stuff, but . . . somehow you’re not the same as before. It . . . it feels forced. As if your heart’s not in it anymore.”

“We all change,” George grumbled.

“Yes, you’re right. But your change is not helping you. Just . . . don’t overwork yourself. When’s the last time you got laid?” Lee joked.

George shrugged; he didn’t have time to go looking for willing guys to be his bed partner.

“Okay, if I have to hire a rent boy for you, I will.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” George was horrified.

Lee smirked. “You know me. I can’t turn down a challenge or a dare. Why do you think I got in so much trouble with Filch over the years with you two always daring me?”

George didn’t answer that. He only lit another fag, which hung precariously at the edge of his lips, and he went back to fiddling around with the newest invention of his.

“Fine. I’m not giving up, though. I’ve got you some food. It’s fish and chips. Eat it. I’ll be around. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Lee set the food down in front of George and left the room.

With his friend gone, George put the joke item down, some new sweets — he was thinking of calling them Tortoise Shell — that would slow a person’s movement down. He had to admit, Lee was right. Everything that loudmouth said was true. He was overworking, and he had changed into a person he would have never considered years ago. But he missed Fred so much. With Fred gone, he really felt like the world had ended. He even wanted to close Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes down, but he only kept the store opened as a legacy towards Fred. Yet it was hard running it without his partner-in-crime.

As he sat alone in the small room, he lit another fag and stared off into space.

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Lolasangel.

Draco scowled at all the rejection letters he received from each workplace he had applied for. While he had predicted this, he still hated how his assumption turned out correct. He was being discriminated with his former Death Eater status, and he hated it. While he’d never admit it out loud, he now knew what it meant to be a victim of discrimination.

All those years of him being prejudiced towards Muggle-borns and half-bloods came back to bite him in the arse.

He threw the last of the rejection letter from St Mungo’s into the fire, and he paced around his private chambers. He stewed and ached for some alcohol, but he remembered his mother’s sneaky plans, and he instead decided to eat some chocolate to soothe his anger.

But even the few pieces of the most expensive chocolate didn’t help him as he imagined the coolness of the brandy in his mouth, the burning sensation that followed when he swallowed. He imagined the smell, the taste, and the aftertaste. He couldn’t stop thinking about the brandy as he mentally listed the names of his favourite brand.

Figuring that he needed to get out, he Apparated to Diagon Alley.

He walked around the crowds, ignoring the stares and the jeers from other wizards and witches. Despite being pardoned by the almighty Potter, he and his mother were still seen as evil incarnates. He held his head high, though, and went to Flourish and Blotts. There, he looked around for any new books that caught his interest, but he didn’t see anything worthwhile. Instead, he bumped into Theodore Nott.

“Nott,” he said, nodding towards his former housemate.

“Malfoy,” Theodore replied. “It’s been a while.”

Although he wasn’t that close of a friend with him, Draco never really had any problems with him. Not even when Theodore had declared neutrality along with Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode in their seventh year. The Carrows and whoever harassed them — not as harsh as they did to the others like Neville Longbottom and his posse — but it was still enough to have a divided house in Slytherin.

“How’ve you been?” Draco asked stiffly.

“I’ve been well. I’m on my lunch break from my job at the Ministry. I’m going to grab something at the Leaky. Care to join me?”

Draco nodded. It was a change seeing a friendly face compared to all the sneers he’d been receiving from everyone else.

The two headed to the Leaky Cauldron, and they sat at a dark corner where nobody would bother them. When their food and drinks came, the conversation started.

“So how’s your job at the Ministry? What are you doing there, anyway?”

Theodore chewed and swallowed before answering. “I’m an office assistant for one of the departments. Are you working right now?”

“No,” Draco said, trying not to sound resentful and bitter.

“It’s a bit difficult trying to find a place that will hire you. I’ve been there myself. The war really brought a bad reputation to all of us Slytherins.”

“Even for you? But you weren’t a Death Eater.” Draco was surprised by Theodore’s revelation.

Theodore gave a wry smile. “Yes, but I was a Slytherin. It’s horrible the way they judge all of us based on our houses. Yet I still applied for many places, hoping someone will not see Slytherin and think I’m an evil bastard. I must say that it was rough. And though this was not a job I really preferred, it’s still a job to start with.”

Draco nodded.

“At any rate, while I may be a Slytherin, I’m proud to be a member of the house. I will not hide and lie about my background. I figure that if those employers only see me as an evil Slytherin, they’re not someone I will want to work for.”

Draco and Theodore quietly continued to eat. Draco wondered why he didn’t try to be better friends with Theodore, who always was one of the more logical ones from his housemates, but he’d been too busy hanging out with Crabbe and Goyle.

Towards the end of the meal, Theodore and Draco talked about the Muggles. Draco was surprised to find out that Theodore was actually a half-blood. He never knew that. He always thought Theodore was a pureblood like himself.

“I didn’t know,” Draco said, feeling a bit like a fool.

Theodore gave a knowing smile. “I never advertised it. My mother, who’s a witch, warned me that if I were to be sorted into Slytherin to hide my Muggle background.”

“I see.”

Theodore shrugged. “That’s what finally landed me a job, though. I think I was eventually hired because I put down half-blood on the applications.”

Draco sighed. “That isn’t right.”

“It isn’t, but it’s what helped, I think.”

When they were done, Theodore looked at Draco sympathetically. “Don’t give up, Draco. You’ll find someone who will give you a chance and look beyond your name and your past affiliation.”

The two promised to keep in touch, and Theodore went back to his workplace, and Draco mulled over what Theodore told him.

“Hey, Mr Weasley!”

Verity’s loud voice broke George’s concentration, and he looked up at his assistant. “What is it? And how many times must I tell you to call me ‘George’?”

“I’ll call you whatever I want! In the meantime, you gotta hire another person to help me out in the front, or I’ll quit.” Through her threat, she grinned. “Well, I won’t, but I do admit it’s a bit crazy down there all by myself while you’re up here doing whatever you genius do in a stuffy room.”

George backed away from his worktable and stood up. “Is business that good for you to feel overwhelmed by it?”

Verity rolled her eyes. “Sir? Where have you been this entire time? Of course business is great! You do come up with more and more great products. Have you not checked the books lately?”

He lit up a fag and shook his head. “Sorry, I guess I’ve been too busy being an inventor rather than a businessman.”

“Well, don’t lose that thinking cap yet! You will needta conjure up a new assistant fast, or I’ll collapse from overwork, and you will owe me some huge medical payment.”

George gave her a faint smile. “No, I wouldn’t want you to collapse and pay for it either. That would make me look like a sod. Let’s go. I’ll help you in the front until I can find a suitable helper.

“Thanks! She grabbed his wrist and dragged them down to the front.

At the front, George and Verity worked hard to please their customers, organised the shelves, and changed the decorations of the store whenever the place quieted down a bit. He worked and put up a fake, cheerful front. He didn’t want to scare his customers away with his brooding, after all.

While he worked, he remembered the excitement when he and Fred had first bought this space with Harry’s generous contribution. He reminisced fondly of the nights they stayed up late to plan and organise their store. That was the best time of his life, aside from all their previous adventures of pranking and joking at Hogwarts, and George wished he could go back to those days before things exploded to hell.

But he knew that no matter how much he wished and hoped for it, Fred would not come back.

When the store closed, and when he was back in his workroom, he had some firewhiskey and his pack of fags next to him, and he drank and smoked his unfulfilled wants away.

He woke up next morning with a headache and a dry mouth, and he reeked of cigarettes.

He quickly showered, not wanting Verity to gripe about his unpleasant odour, and he planned out a job advertisement in his head.

Hiring a new assistant would not be the same as having Fred back, but it would help Verity and him with their job. With three people back in the store, he figured it would feel less empty.

Draco flipped through The Daily Prophet. He saw the same jobs he’d already tried to apply with no luck. He skimmed through the meaningless words and was about to throw the paper aside when something caught his eyes. He read closely and saw an opening for an assistant position for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. The ad also said that they wanted someone to do the bookkeeping and the accounting. That interested him some more. The advertisement stated for all interested applicants to come to the store.

He grimaced. He didn’t have fond memories of the horrible Weasley twins, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but think that the twins did have some clever pranks, even if they were a waste of time. He grabbed his cup of tea, sipped on it, and thought about this prospect. While he didn’t particularly want to work for someone like George Weasley, what other offers were there? All the good jobs he was qualified for were being given to the “good” people, unlike someone tainted like him, and it really wouldn’t hurt to try.

Glancing at the time, Draco saw that the store would close in another hour or so. He decided to try his luck.

He bid his mother farewell, telling her that he was going out job hunting, and then he Apparated into Diagon Alley. He approached the store with some trepidation, and when he saw the garish, bright, and outlandish decorations outside the store, he almost lost what little determination he had. But he forced himself to continue walking into the store. He strolled down the aisles, looking at the various products that nearly screamed for Draco to use on poor, unsuspecting blokes like Goyle. He bit back a smile as he remembered the days of pulling his own pranks on Goyle, Crabbe, and those idiotic first year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

He glanced around the rest of the store, and he didn’t see that many other customers. He stepped towards the till. There he saw George, in magenta robes, working with a woman he didn’t know, and he steeled himself for the inevitable meeting.

Draco didn’t miss George’s surprised expression. He watched the expression turn grim, almost suspicious.

“Malfoy.”

Draco nodded. “Weasley.”

The woman looked up. Draco saw the multiple piercings on the woman’s ears, and he studied the neon orange streaks in her short blue hair. He eyed the magenta robes and back to the hair, and he briefly wondered if the woman was colour-blind. “You know him, Mr Weasley?” she asked.

“Yeah, we went to Hogwarts together.”

She looked at him curiously, but a customer came up, and she scurried away to help.

Draco looked back at George. Their eyes met, and Draco looked into George’s brown eyes. George quickly averted his gaze, and this allowed Draco to study George’s appearance. When they were in Hogwarts, Draco remembered George always smiling or smirking. He recalled how Fred and George always looked so vibrant and upbeat. Now a tired man with only one ear greeted him. Draco could see the bleary eyes, the slumped posture, and the place where the ear used to be. This was not the same jokester he knew in school, and he briefly recalled Professor Snape talking about hexing a Weasley twin’s ear off with the same spell Potter used on Draco before. He did not want to remember that incident.

George cleared his throat. “How can I help you?” Draco heard the cautious edge in George’s deep voice.

Draco answered, “I’m here because I saw your job advertisement.”

“Oh?” George lifted an eyebrow.

Draco refused to cower under a Weasley of all people. After Voldemort, nothing could really scare him — except maybe his mother, who could be quite frightening when she turned angry. Hell really had no fury compared to a woman’s scorn. He continued, “I’m interested in the job.”

“Hmm,” George stepped around from the counter. “Are you?”

Draco nodded. “I enjoy bookkeeping, and I can help with the finances and the accounting.”

“Oh, yes. You’re a Malfoy, after all. You’ve had plenty of finances to balance out over the years.”

Draco nearly lashed out at the insult, but he stopped himself since talking back would surely lose his opportunity. Plus, he didn’t hear any malice in George’s voice, but he only heard a voice that sounded familiar. It sounded like a voice of a lost person. Draco pondered over that revelation. Did he sound like that?

“Weas — I mean, Mr Weasley, I do wish to work for your establishment. I would really like to help out with the books and whatever else you need.” Draco stood still; he refused to fidget. He might have been nervous, but Malfoys didn’t fidget.

“You do realise,” George began, “that this job’s starting salary is very low and that there will not be any benefits until I deem appropriate?”

“Yes, I did read all that in the advertisement.” And Draco surprisingly didn’t care. Right now, all he wanted was a job to get his mother off his back and to move on with his life.

“You took your NEWTs?”

“Yes, I did. I received ‘O’s in Charms, Potions, Transfigurations, and Arithmancy and ‘E’s in Herbology and Ancient Runes,” Draco tried to sound neutral about it. He didn’t want George to think he was bragging.

“Well, those are good results,” George mumbled.

Draco didn’t say anything.

George led the way to what looked like a workroom, and he made a gesture for Draco to come inside. “This is my workroom. This is where I usually come up with new products. I’m working on one right now. They’re ‘Belching Beans’,” George told him with a fond look at the beans. Then his face fell. “Or at least they’re supposed to be. There’s been a slight hitch. Anybody who takes it is supposed to belch for at least an hour, but from the tests . . . well . . . they become quite ‘excited’.”

“Excited?”

“Randy.”

Draco frowned at that, but he still remained quiet. He saw an open notebook with messy scrawls, and he tried to decipher the handwriting.

George continued, “Any idea on how I should fix this?”

For a minute or two, Draco studied the notes, and then the answer hit him. “Replace the cinnamon with ginger.”

“Why?”

“Cinnamon’s an aphrodisiac. Ginger will help with the digestion instead, and it will aid the person into belching.”

George looked thoughtful and took down notes. “That makes sense.” He set the notebook down and started to smoke a cigarette. “Well, I’ll think about it, and I’ll let you know of my decision on your employment.”

Draco felt dismayed at this odd job interview, but he only nodded and said, “Thank you.” He turned and left the room. In the front, he bumped into the woman.

“Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to bump into you”

“Quite all right,” Draco said, giving her a small smile.

“By the way, what’s your name? Other than Malfoy?”

Draco gave her an incredulous look. Everyone in the wizarding world knew him by now, no thanks to all that publicity on his father trial and his and his mother’s pardon. But the woman maybe didn’t really follow all that. “Draco.”

“Draco Malfoy, eh? A pleasure. I’m Verity. Did the interview go okay?”

“Yeah,” he lied.

“Great! I do hope George hires somebody soon. It’s mad crazy here with just the two of us. I had to pull overtime lately, and my guy complains he doesn’t see me much.”

“Er, I see.”

“Whoops! I better go help that poor customer over there. Later, Draco!”

Verity cheerfully bounded off, and Draco only stared after her, wondering if all colour-blind women were that cheerful.

Draco left the store, and he sighed disappointedly. “Back to scouring that damn paper,” he muttered to himself. He Apparated home since he didn’t have anywhere else to go. When in his room, his first instinct was to request some alcohol, but since he couldn’t get any, he decided to out for a broom ride.

As he flew around the darkening sky, he cursed himself for even bothering the interview. He was glad George hadn’t kicked him out of the store at least, but he felt that it was a waste of his time, and he was back to where he was since he’d started his job hunt.

If only his mother would let him stay lost. Being lost and half-drunk was better than feeling shame and disappointment in himself and hating the bigots who wouldn’t give him a chance.

With a sigh, Draco flew into the night. It wasn’t a particularly good night for a broom ride, but he needed to distract himself from the long day.

“Are you gonna hire that Draco bloke?”

George was about to light up another fag in the front before he remembered that Verity hated when he smoked there. “I dunno.”

“Why not? He seemed like he’d be good for this place.”

“Yeah, but I remember him as a prick back in Hogwarts.”

“That was in the past, Mr Weasley. You don’t strike me as the type to hold a grudge.”

“Mmm.”

“Well, it’ll be up to you.” Verity quickly finished the rest of her tasks. “I’m done! I’ll see you on Monday!”

“Have a good weekend.” He watched Verity flipped the Come in if you dare sign to the We’re snoozing and boozing sign, and George was alone in the store.

He went back to the workroom to try the ginger Draco had suggested, and when he decided to quit for the night, he saw that it was very late. Luckily, he could sleep in tomorrow, so it wasn’t a huge deal for him.

He went to his bedroom, passing by Fred’s room, which he adamantly refused to change or get rid of despite his family and friends’ protests. Once in his room, he grabbed his fags and his firewhiskey, and he drank and smoked until he passed out.

Before he slept, he expected that night to be like any other night. He had no idea he was going to have a visitor in his dream.

“George?”

He ignored the voice.

“George?”

He batted his hand out. “Leave me alone, Lee.”

“I’m not Lee!” the voice said indignantly.

“Oh, for fuck–!” He opened his eyes, and he saw he was back in his workroom, and right next to him was Fred.

George’s mouth dropped opened.

“Didn’t know you went all fish-like on me,” Fred said with his customary smirk. “What? Surprised?”

“How the . . . you should be . . . ”

“Yes, I’m truly dead, but I figured a visit here and there won’t hurt.”

George stared longingly at his twin. Slowly, he reached out to touch Fred, but his hand went through. “So you really are . . . ”

“Oh, stop being such a ninny,” Fred grumbled, rolling his eyes. “It doesn’t suit you. Look, I can’t stay long, but I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What?”

“About Malfoy.”

George wrinkled his nose. “What about him?”

“Are you going to hire him?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.”

Fred let out a sigh and drawled out George’s hated nickname. “Georgie.”

“Don’t call me that, Freddie!”

“Okay, fine.” Fred grinned. “Look. Hire Malfoy. Of all the applicants who came to you so far, none of them could figure out your problem. Plus, he was the only one who could read your awful handwriting.”

“That’s true,” George said slowly. “But have you forgotten what a wanker he was, especially when he became a prefect and sided with that ghastly Umbitch woman?”

“I haven’t forgotten! How could I ever forget that? Sure, he was a fucking prick, but he’s changed.” Fred paused and gave George a sad smile. “And you did, too.”

George shrugged and reached out for his fags before remembering this was a dream. “So you’re saying I should give him a chance. Why?”

“Because it’ll be good for you.”

“Excuse me?” George exclaimed. “How’s hiring Malfoy supposed to be good for me?”

“That you have to figure out on your own.”

George scowled. “Since when have you turned into a cryptic bastard?”

“I reckon since we were born.”

“Oh, piss off,” George said, feeling a pang of remorse inside of him. “You know I really do . . . ”

“I know. I feel the same way. No need to turn into a woman on me.”

“Prat.”

“I love you, too. Now, you hire Malfoy, or I’ll make you regret it when you get your arse up here.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I just want the best for you. As your older–”

“Only by two damn minutes–” George interrupted.

“As I was saying, I’m the older twin, and I do have to look out for you. Whether dead or alive.”

“Okay. You’ve gone not only cryptic, but you’ve also went quite morbid up there, haven’t you?”

“Sure, but at least you don’t have to constantly run away from Aunt Rachel.”

George gave Fred a puzzled look. “What?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Fred said, winking. “Now, I’ve gotta run. Hire him . . . and for Merlin’s sake, quit your smoking and drinking before you kill yourself!” Fred’s brown eyes twinkled, and he disappeared.

A few minutes later, George sat up gasping in his bed. He looked around and saw the empty pack of fags and the bottle of firewhiskey. He glanced around the room where nothing had changed. Lying back on his bed, he stared at the ceiling, wondering why he had that kind of dream. A dream of Fred telling him to hire Draco.

George sighed and stifled back a sob. When Fred had died, he hadn’t cried. In fact, he had yet to grieve and cry for the death of his twin. But he didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to face the fact that Fred was really gone.

But now with that dream, he finally saw reality. Fred was gone.

Alone in his room, he cried until he could cry no more.

During all of Saturday and most of Sunday, Draco moped around the manor. He ignored his mother’s attempt to offer advice, and he only went out once to do his weekly visit to see his father. He hated how stifling Azkaban was, and he hated how everything there was so depressing. Both he and his mother could not wait until his father was released.

Despite being in the miserable place, Draco was surprised to see that his father looked at peace. It was almost as if Lucius had accepted his consequences and was not going to dwell on his past.

Oh, his father was still arrogant and smug, especially when they bought him good food and wine, but Lucius looked as if he tried not to let his current living condition bother him. Then again, that was what Slytherins were good at. Adapting.

Yet Draco felt like he couldn’t adapt to his own life. He didn’t feel like he’d ever get out of this slump he found himself in.

Draco left before his mother did, giving his parents some of the privacy they wanted.

He Apparated back to the manor, and there he was nearly assaulted by a very impatient looking owl.

He saw the magenta envelope in the owl’s claw, and he scowled as it reminded him of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Really, what was so great about that colour? What was wrong with green? Or blue? Or just plain red?

He took the envelope and sent the owl to the owlery to rest and get some treat. Before it flew off, it gave him an owlish frown, and Draco glared back at the impertinent creature.

In his room, he opened the dreadful envelope and read the letter. It was written in a familiar messy scrawl, and it said:

Malfoy,

— George Weasley

Draco blinked at the letter. Magenta. Again, what was with that bloody colour? But if this was a job offer, he could live with it. It was the only job offer he received anyway. If it was one thing Draco learned during the war, it was to take what he could get.

He perused the short letter again. He mused over the “Get ready for it” sentence and wondered just what George meant by that. Get ready? For what? To be a test subject? Would George make him eat some horrible sweet that would turn him into a ferret? He hoped not. That wasn’t included in the job description, right?

He felt apprehensive, and he greeted Monday morning with a mixture of nervousness, wariness, and hesitance.

He Apparated to the store at 7:59, and he entered it at 8 o’clock sharp. He looked and saw Verity, who was sweeping, and she grinned at him.

“Morning, Draco! I’m so glad George chose you to work with us.” Her neon orange and blue hair clashed with her magenta robes as usual, and Draco wondered if he could spell himself colour-blind to not look at that all day.

After a pause, he answered, “Good morning, Verity.” He searched for George. “Where’s Weasley?”

“Mr Weasley will come down soon. He’s prob’ly hungover, so he’ll take his sweet time.” She rolled her eyes, but he saw affection in them. She stopped her sweeping and went to the backroom and came out with a magenta robes. “In the meantime, here.” She handed him a magenta robes. “Uniform.”

He sniffed at the robes unpleasantly and sullenly grabbed it. “Where do I change?”

She pointed towards the loo, and he went there and changed into the ugly thing.

When he stepped out, Verity exclaimed, “Hey! Magenta does look good on ya!”

Draco was taken aback by that compliment. “I doubt it.”

“It does!”

Draco still didn’t believe her. How could he when she herself was quite challenged with colour coordination?

But before he could say anything, he heard someone clearing their throat. It was George, and he was looking at Draco with an unreadable expression.

“You’ve come,” George said.

“Of course. I’d like to start off right,” Draco lightly retorted.

An awkward silence surrounded all of them as George still gave Draco an enigmatic look.

“Right. Then let’s start,” George announced.

All day long, George paid attention to Draco. While George explained how the business worked, how they stocked items, how the bookkeeping worked, and how to deal with temperamental customers, George watched for Draco’s reaction. While they did all that, he waited for the moment where Draco would explode in anger.

George still wasn’t convinced that Draco would be a suitable employee in his store. Because of his uncertainties, he had set up tricks and pranks for it to activate when Draco touched them. For an example, when George led Draco to the office where they keep all the books, he had Draco sit in a chair that farted out loud as soon as Draco’s arse hit the seat. Whatever writing utensils Draco used would explode ink on him. One time, Draco was even given a cold shower as a bucket of freezing water covered him when he entered a room.

With jokes and pranks like that, George was waiting for Draco to resign in anger, but Draco surprised him. Draco gave a tight-lipped smile and clenched his fists, but that was all he did.

When Ron had helped out before, he would explode after the second prank, but Draco maintained his temper, and George figured that was good. After all, in order to work here, one needed to have some sense of humour!

As he thought about Draco throughout the day, he recalled Draco in the magenta robes earlier. He heard Verity’s comment on Draco looking good in magenta, and he secretly had to agree. Draco had looked quite fitting in that colour, and George felt something inside of him awaken at the sight. Despite the pointy face and the haughty expression, Draco looked dashing. He was slim and lithe, and with that blond hair and steely grey eyes, George came to the conclusion that Draco was his type.

He was glad he’d been able to hide that reaction though. While he did prefer the blokes, he didn’t think Draco would appreciate his thoughts like that. He wasn’t sure if Draco even looked at blokes like that.

By the end of the day, George called Draco into his workroom. With his usual fag, he turned to Draco and said, “You passed all my tests.”

“Pardon?” Draco asked with a confused frown. “What tests?”

“All those pranks. You reined in your temper. I think you’re suited to work here.”

Draco continued to look perplexed. “You mean when you said ‘Get ready for it’ . . . ”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” George inhaled and exhaled the smoke, watching it create patterns in the room. “Hope you didn’t mind.”

Draco shook his head. “I’ve pulled a few pranks of my own in the past.”

“Oh?” George lifted an eyebrow. “Really? And here I thought you were just a rich, spoilt brat who had a stick up his arse like Percy.”

“I am not a stiff.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Then I guess I should also say that you’re not the buffoon I thought you’d be.”

“A buffoon?” George blinked at that instead of getting angry as he should. “That’s a new one on me.”

“Oh, I can think of more suitable descriptors for you, but I’ll save them for another time.”

George chuckled at that, but then he sobered up. “That’s the kind of stuff Fred would say to me . . . ”

A minute passed before Draco simply said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Good job today. Tomorrow you can organise that mess in the bookkeeping room.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m looking forward to that,” Draco said sarcastically.

“Well, I hope you’re more organised than myself or Verity. And Ron. He can’t organise worth shite. Fred was always the one better at paperwork and filing.” George waved a hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Draco nodded and said, “Good night.” He left the room, and George was left alone to his thoughts.

Draco left after saying good night to Verity. Grumbling to himself at George’s so-called tests, he opened the door and stepped outside to bump into a child.

“Owie!” the child exclaimed. He looked up at Draco with a smile. “Sorry I bumped into you mister.” He backed up to grab his guardian’s, an older woman, hand.

“Quite all right,” Draco said. He glanced at a familiar looking woman. He nodded politely to her. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she answered in a crisp voice that Draco recognised as one belonging to the wealthy wizarding class. She looked at him closely. “Are you Draco Malfoy?”

He stiffened, wondering if this woman would sprout out unpleasant statements of him belonging in Azkaban. That already had happened to him before, and Draco didn’t really want to face that. “Yes, I am.”

She gave him a hesitant smile. “I’m Andromeda Tonks.” She gestured towards the child. “This is my grandson, Teddy Lupin.”

“I’m this many!” Teddy held up three fingers.

Draco looked at his aunt and his first cousin once removed in surprise. “Aunt Andromeda?” He looked at his disinherited aunt. She looked like a mixture between his mother and his aunt Bellatrix, but she had a friendly aura about her.

“Yes, Draco, it is I. How are you? How’s your mother?” She had a worried expression. “I do hope you’re all doing well with your father’s imprisonment.”

“We’re all right. Have you been in contact with Mother?”

She shook her head. “No, but if you could tell her . . . tell her that if she ever wants to meet, I wouldn’t be against the idea.”

He politely said, “I’ll pass on the message.”

“Grandmamma?” Teddy tugged on her hand. “D’you know him?”

Draco studied his cousin closely. He was a cute looking boy, with bright turquoise hair and happy brown eyes. He had a dimple in one cheek, and his Chudley Cannons t-shirt was a little too big on his small frame. Draco had to bite back a groan. Why were there so many colour-blind people around him?

Andromeda nodded. “Yes, dear. He’s your first cousin once removed.”

“Removed? Why’d he be removed? Did he hasta go somewhere?”

Draco couldn’t help it. A soft chuckle escaped him at the innocent question. Without thinking, he crouched down to be at the same height as Teddy. “No. Your grandmother and my mother are sisters. That means your mother is my cousin, and since you’re her child, you’re my first cousin removed.”

Teddy scrunched his face in confusion. “Then are we elated?”

“Elated?” Draco echoed in confusion. Then he figured out what Teddy was trying to ask. “Oh! Related? Yes, we’re related.”

“Then we’re family?” Teddy asked, his eyes huge and imploring.

He was taken aback by the child’s frankness and simple acceptance. Somehow, that lifted some gloom off of him, and he smirked as he poked Teddy’s soft cheek. “Yes, we’re family.”

“Yeah!” Before Draco could stop him, Teddy wrapped his small arms around Draco’s neck. Looking over Teddy’s shoulder, he looked at his aunt, who was trying not to look too amused, and he slowly hugged Teddy back.

After Teddy let go, Draco stood up. “I’ll tell Mother about our meeting. I’m sure she’d want to meet up with you one day.” Although his mother would never say it, he knew she was lonely since his father was in Azkaban. Maybe, just maybe it was time to renew relationships with each other.

“Thank you, Draco. Whenever you want, you’re more than welcome to visit Teddy and me. I think he took quite a liking to you.”

“Do you fly?” Teddy asked, after she finished.

“Yes, I ride a broom.” Draco looked at the way Teddy’s eyes lit up in happiness.

“I like to ride, too! But Grandmamma won’t let me ride it by myself,” he recited solemnly.

“How about if I take you up one day?” Draco asked.

“Promise?” Teddy looked hopeful and excited.

“Promise.”

Teddy launched onto Draco’s leg. “You’re my favourite cousin removed now!”

Draco and Andromeda laughed. Draco quickly added, “I’m your only cousin.”

“You’re still my favourite!”

“Well, Teddy, we have to go home now. I’ve got a surprise for you at home.”

“Okay!” Teddy tugged on her hand and waved at Draco. “Bye bye!”

“Goodbye, Teddy,” Draco responded. “Goodbye, Aunt Andromeda.”

Andromeda and Teddy walked away, and Draco went his way, feeling a bit lighter than he had in ages.

When he arrived home, he and his mother enjoyed a meal together. Draco talked about his job briefly before he mentioned his aunt and Teddy.

Narcissa took a long drain of her wine. “So you ran into my sister.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“And Teddy.” She had a faraway expression on her face. “You know, I did like her. She and I were close. When she opted to be disowned and marry that Mud — I mean Muggle-born, I had to stop all contacts with her because of my loyalties to my family and husband . . . ”

Draco sipped at his non-alcoholic drink. “Yes.”

“But perhaps it’s time to get reacquainted with her.” She smiled slightly. “I do miss my sister. She’s the only one left of my family from the Black’s side. I think I’ll contact her soon . . . and I’ll invite the two of them over here.”

Draco remembered something about Teddy. “Isn’t Potter his godfather?”

“I think so.”

Draco tried to not make a face. “Are you going to invite him, too?”

“I should. He did speak up for us.”

Draco stifled back a groan. His mother was right. He only hoped Potter would decline the invitation.

After dinner, Draco was in his room, trying to read, but he had so much on his mind. His job at the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, his run in with Andromeda and Teddy, and then there was George. Draco didn’t know why, but he felt like the two of them were in the same boat somehow. He felt like they were both suffering from existential angst of some sort, and then he wondered if it was a coincidence he got hired over there.

Whatever the case was, for the first time since the end of the war, Draco didn’t feel as lost as before.

Intermission

From the Journal of Fred Weasley
July 2001

Nothing’s changed up here.

I’m still escaping from Aunt Rachel. Mr Potter and Sirius are still tormenting Professor Snape. Remus and Lily still scold them, and Reggie and I are actually becoming quite friendly with one another. But he’s a bore, still. Too stiff. Almost makes me wonder if he’s somehow related to Percy. He probably is. After all, most of the wizarding pureblood families are related somehow. Reggie probably ended up with the Percy gene — never mind that Reggie was born before Percy. Poor Reggie. Wait. Did I just write that?

While that’s going on, I still keep a watch on George and Malfoy. Nothing’s happening. They’ve both established a working relationship. That’s all. How boring!

I have a feeling I’ll have to make my appearance to George again one of these days. I don’t mind. After all, if I don’t knock some sense into George, who else will do it? Lee tries, but he isn’t very successful. Verity’s too wrapped up with her own life to help George any more than she can. And Malfoy is just as clueless about what his mission in life is supposed to be.

Oi. There are far too many dunderheads down there.

Great. I’m starting to sound like Professor Snape. That’s not good, I think.

Oh, well, time to fly! I think I hear Aunt Rachel’s annoying voice! Poor me! Can’t she find someone else to torture?!

Part II: Follow You Night and Day

George looked up from his newest invention. He saw Draco at the doorway of his workroom. “What’s up?”

“I finished the books. Do you need anything else?”

George raised his eyebrows. Over the last couple of months, he was impressed by Draco’s work ethic. True, he believed Draco to be a snot-nosed brat who was incredibly lazy and self-centred, but Draco proved to be quite a good worker. Ever since Draco came on board, their files were meticulously organised, and everything ran smoothly. He’d discovered that Draco did have a sense of humour, one that was drier compared to his and Verity, but they all balanced each other out.

Draco never complained about the work George made him do. Sometimes, Draco even seemed to anticipate George’s requests before he made them. One morning George came in and was about to ask Draco to clean the loos when he realised that they were already sparkling. Since Verity would never touch them, he could only assume it was Draco.

Plus, Draco even managed to make a few useful suggestions regarding his new line of inventions.

“How about creating a snack in the shape of a taco? Make it taste like one, too. Except when someone eats it, they will have some awkward consequences,” Draco offhandedly said one day.

“Hm. So when they eat it, the snack will make them rip out a roaring fart?”

Draco sniffed. “How crude, but that does fit the definition of awkward, doesn’t it?”

“And embarrassing.” George sniggered. “That’s a good idea! I’ll call it ‘Awkward Taco’.”

And that was what George had been working on. It would be a fun prank item once it was all perfected.

George glanced at the clock and saw it was almost closing time. “Want to order some fish and chips from the Leaky and share some firewhiskey?”

“What?” Draco stared at George.

George was quite astonished by his own invitation. He’d just invited Draco to have some food and drinks together, and he wasn’t sure where that idea came from. However, the more he thought about it, the more he decided he didn’t mind. After all, despite Draco being Draco, George did want to get to know his employee better.

“Let’s get some food and drinks,” George said, trying to sound suave.

“Well, I, er,” Draco stuttered and his cheeks turned slightly red. “Thanks. I’ll finish closing up the shop with Verity and go get the food.”

After Draco left hastily, George had to bite back a laugh. Calm, composed, and collected Draco Malfoy had transformed into a not so calm, composed, and collected Draco Malfoy. George found that amusing. Especially the blush. Briefly, he wondered if Draco could blush in other situations.

Realising what he was thinking, George banished those thoughts far away and muttered, “I will not think of Malfoy like that. I will not think of him like that!” He contemplated summoning a blackboard just so he could write it down a hundred times but then decided that it wouldn’t be helpful.

He busied himself with his work while his mind kept thinking of Draco in some compromising position. George groaned. He really needed to get laid, especially when he thought about shagging Draco. Not that it would be bad, but he really didn’t need to scare off a good worker like that. Also, he figured Draco, being a Malfoy, probably already had some nice witch in line to marry soon. As a rich, pureblood male, Draco would need to produce an heir to the Malfoy line. George knew that was how the rich wizarding families operated. His mind knew Draco was out of his reach, but his libido didn’t.

George groaned again. He really needed to get some. Soon. He made a mental note go out with Lee and Angelina one evening. After all, he was thinking of Draco in a sexual context. It was wrong. Terribly wrong. He needed to think of worse things. Thinking of Hagrid in a pink tutu, prancing around with Fang in a purple tutu worked.

Just in time, too, since Draco eventually returned with the food. They ate and drank. And then George tried to make small talk. He was never particularly good at it, but he wanted to talk. The silence was a bit stifling.

“Have you been flying lately?”

Draco nodded. “Have you?”

“Naw. Haven’t felt like it.” It was true. Since Fred died, George didn’t want to fly.

Draco probably figured out the reasons for his lack of flying since he changed the subject. “How’s the taco prank coming along?”

“Great. Need to figure out some kinks, and it will be a seller.”

“What’s the problem?” Draco asked curiously.

“The fart’s not loud enough,” George said with a straight face.

Draco gave him an incredulous look. “Just how loud you want it to be?”

“Pretty loud. Loud enough that the people in the next room can hear it.”

“What’s with you and loud noises?”

George shrugged. “I like them. Makes a better impact, dontcha think?”

“I guess we can’t all be polite.”

“You mean a prude?”

“Are you implying I’m a prude?” Draco knocked back a shot, looking like someone who hadn’t had alcohol in ages, and George found Draco’s throat interesting all of the sudden.

“You said it. Not me,” George grinned. He blinked at that proclamation. This bantering . . . this conversation with Draco felt like he was talking with Fred. Almost. Draco was more sarcastic than Fred ever was. Fred was always the more sarcastic one compared to George, though, and George missed the snarky comments from his brother.

Plus, talking with Draco made him feel light-hearted. It was almost as if Draco filled this big gaping hole in his life.

“George? Are you all right?” Draco’s voice broke his thought, and he realised he’d been staring at Draco.

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking of something.”

“What?”

“Nothing important.” He refilled their shot glasses. “Let’s drink.”

Draco so far enjoyed working here. Once he got used to the pranks and Verity’s awful colour scheme. He came to the conclusion that he liked Verity; she was easy-going and fun to be around. Working with George was pleasant. He just needed to watch out for all the tricks that were in the store, but after a while, Draco figured out what was tampered with and what wasn’t.

He enjoyed working with numbers, and he didn’t mind the paperwork. He’d rather do that then deal with some of the customers, but if things were busy, he’d help with no complaint. Then again, complaining wouldn’t really take him anywhere, and it wasn’t as if George demanded his presence in the front. And since George didn’t order him, Draco found himself willingly helping out when he was needed.

Sometimes, when he was alone in the filing room, which sort of became his private office of some sort, he’d pause to look at something on the wall, to give his eyes a break. His mind would then wander towards George, and Draco noticed that George looked a bit happier than before. He wasn’t sure when George looked less gloomy, but he preferred a more cheerful George than a George with a dark cloud over his head.

Draco even realised he was slowly starting to see George in a different light. He was sort of attracted to George, and that was a bit shocking and embarrassing to admit even to himself. After all, George was his employer, his boss. Draco thought of George’s red hair, the brown eyes that held a mixture of sadness and mirth, and George’s stocky body.

He turned red in the face. He really shouldn’t think like that in the middle of his work. He didn’t need this kind of distraction!

Returning back to his work, Draco wrote and filed necessary information for another half an hour. His stomach growled to let him know he needed food, and Draco went out to the front to see if George or Verity wanted anything from the Leaky.

“Hey, Weasley! Verity! Do you want–” he cut himself off as he stared at another red-headed person there. It was Ron. Draco’s eyes narrowed, and Ron glowered at him. Draco looked around and saw it was a slow day. There were no customers at the moment. Which was probably what prompted Ron to say what he said next.

“What are you doing here?” Ron asked in a disgusted tone.

“I work here,” Draco answered coldly. “Why are you here?”

“I came to visit my brother.” Ron turned his attention to George. “Is he for real? Did you hire this prick?”

George nodded, and Draco tried to decipher George’s facial expression. It looked odd. “I did hire him, little bro, and he’s turning out to be a pretty good worker.”

“That’s a load of dung! Malfoys, especially this one, are too rich to work in a place like this,” Ron retorted nastily.

Draco was tempted, so tempted to insult Ron, but he held his tongue. It really wouldn’t bode well for him to insult his boss’ brother. He ignored Ron and turned to George and Verity. “Do you two want anything from the Leaky?”

“Oh, please! Here let me write down my order for ya!” Verity looked relieved that Draco suggested this. She found a piece of parchment and quickly wrote down her order.

“What about you, Weasley?”

Ron exploded before George could answer. “Why the fuck are you letting him call you ‘Weasley’ and letting him get away with it?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Ron. Will you take it easy? I call him ‘Malfoy’, so let’s just leave it that.” George rolled his eyes at his brother before looking at Draco. “Just get me some fish and chips.”

“Will do.” Draco avoided looking at Ron, grabbed Verity’s order, and left the store. Just as he closed the door, he heard the beginning of Ron’s new rant.

Muttering to himself, Draco said, “That Granger sure has a lot of work cut out for herself with Weasel’s anger problem.”

When he reached the Leaky, he ordered the food through Hannah Abbott, and then he waited in a quiet corner. He ignored everyone’s stares and whispers by mentally going through a checklist of chores and errands he needed to do later in the afternoon. His checklist was rudely interrupted, though, when Ron stalked over to his corner and came into his private space.

Draco looked Ron up and down before drawling, “May I help, you, Weasel?”

He watched the way Ron’s eyebrow twitched in anger, and he instinctively backed away when he saw Ron’s face looming in closer to him.

“I don’t know what you did to my brother,” Ron started, his voice low and dripping with disdain. “But I saw that look he gave you. I’ve never seen him give anyone that look, except maybe towards Fred, but I don’t like it. If you do something to him, I swear I’ll cut your bollocks off and feed them to one of Hagrid’s pets.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Draco said, unimpressed by Ron’s threat. “I don’t know what you’re thinking in that puny brain of yours, but I’m not doing anything to your brother.”

“Don’t give me that shite. You had a similar expression, too. You stay the fuck away from George.”

Draco grew perplexed. He had no idea what Ron was alluding to about their facial expressions. “Then, perhaps, do you want me to look at you the way I looked him?”

“Merlin! You’re . . . disgusting! I don’t . . . no! Ugh!”

Whatever reaction Draco expected, this was not it. He scowled, “Oh, piss off, Weasel. You’re making no sense!”

Ron grabbed his wrist, and Draco winced at the harsh grip. “Do you even know what I’m talking about?”

Draco tried to wrench his arm out of Ron’s hand. “No! Let go of me, you fucking peon!”

Ron released Draco, and Draco’s glare grew bigger. “Now, either tell me what you’re thinking in that hapless mind of yours or I’m leaving!”

“You do know . . . ” Ron trailed off, looking a bit sick. He tried again. “You do know he’s gay, right?”

“Gay?” Draco echoed, unsure if he heard Ron correctly.

“Yes. You know a poof? Fairy? Dumble–”

“I know what you mean by that word!” Now Draco felt sick as images of Dumbledore came quickly in his mind, the same wizard he almost tried to kill. A move he’d regretted.

“Yeah. George’s like that.”

“I knew,” Draco lied through his teeth. “Surely you’re not implying that he and I . . . ” George was gay? How did Draco not realise that sooner? He was gay himself, and he considered his “gaydar” to be quite accurate, but maybe it just didn’t work on George.

“That’s why I said if you do anything to him, I’ll kill you.” Obviously, Ron didn’t feel sick any more. But rather, he looked like he was ready to pounce on Draco in an effort to protect George.

“I don’t know what you’re smoking, Weasel, but there is nothing going on between us.”

“I don’t believe you. And I know George.”

Draco scowled and pushed Ron aside. “Whatever. My order’s done. Piss. Off.” Leaving Ron, Draco quickly thanked Hannah for the food, and he went back to the store, his mind whirling with thousands of different things. His mind stayed on one thing, and that was George’s sexual orientation.

Somehow, that made Draco feel uncomfortable. It was strange. It wasn’t as if he was against George being a poof, no. He just never really thought of George as gay, and with Draco being physically attracted to George, that opened up plenty of new opportunities he’d never considered. He wasn’t even sure if he’d consider them, anyway. Fraternising with the boss? Not a good idea. Would George even consider him? Probably not. Ron was a dim-witted and daft fool, so whatever expression he claimed to see on George could be wrong. So the chance of him getting together with George? Zero.

That was what Draco convinced himself as he entered the store. He assured himself that he and George would only maintain a professional relationship.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Draco was now unable to look at George directly in the eyes. Instead, Draco started to avoid George whenever he could.

A few days later, George frowned at the way Draco quickly left his workroom. He noticed a change in Draco, and George finally realised that Draco was avoiding him. Whenever they saw each other, Draco didn’t look directly at him. Whenever they were in the same room, Draco only concentrated on business and would leave right after they finished. Whenever Verity left the two alone in the front for a loo break, Draco didn’t talk unless George talked first.

He puzzled over Draco’s bizarre behaviour, trying to figure out if he’d said something or done something to make Draco act like this.

He couldn’t figure it out. He even asked Verity about it when Draco was off doing the books.

“Hey, Verity,” he asked, trying to look casual. “What’s up with Draco?”

She looked at him innocently. “Nothing as far I can see.”

“He’s acting strange lately.”

“Strange?”

“He’s, er, avoiding me.”

“Then it’s probably all your fault, Mr Weasley,” she said in a disappointed voice.

He gaped at her. “How, in Godric’s name, is it my fault?!”

She gave him an are-you-kidding-me-look. “You must have pulled a prank on him, and it must have upset him lots.”

” . . . He should be used to that.”

“Well, we all got our limits, you know. Though . . . ” She looked thoughtful. “He did start to act funny since Ron’s visit here.”

“You know . . . ” He thought about her theory. “You don’t suppose he was upset about that, was he? I got the impression he didn’t particularly care what my brother said.”

“But maybe Ron’s attitude did upset him?”

“Maybe . . . Ron does need to work on his manners. Maybe I’ll suggest that to Hermione one of these days. Though, she might get upset and hex me instead!” he joked, despite feeling quite upset at Ron himself. He could not deny Malfoy’s rich and spoilt attitude, but he knew Draco was a hard worker. Draco had proven himself to be an asset to the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, and George respected Draco.

George respected Draco enough to defend him against Ron’s complaints, who had left the store in a huff.

“Maybe you should talk with him?” Verity suggested, and George snapped his attention back at her.

He nodded. “I will. If he keeps this up.”

Just then the door opened and in walked Lee and Angelina.

“Oi, George!” Lee greeted. “You’re looking less dreadful compared to my last visit.” He turned towards Verity. “He’s not overworking and getting drunk up in that workroom, is he?”

“Oh,” Verity said dryly. “He still is. Just a wee bit less than before.”

“Good, because we’re going to kidnap him after you all close the store. He’s coming to a party with us,” Angelina announced.

“A fun party,” Lee affirmed. “And we’re also going to make sure he gets laid one way or another.”

“Lee!” George exclaimed, turning bright red. “Let’s keep my love life private, shall we?”

“What love life, mate? You got none!” Lee cracked up.

“I’ll close with Draco. We can handle things around here,” Verity cheerfully offered.

At that point, Draco walked out, looking surprised. “A Gryffindor gathering, I see.” He waved a hand, an indifferent expression on his face, and continued towards the storage room. “Don’t mind me. Carry on. I’ll have to check the stock in the back.”

“I’ll help,” Verity volunteered.

George tried to look Draco in the eye, but Draco walked away too fast, and George stared at Draco’s retreating figure.

“You, er, hired him?” Lee asked, looking aghast.

“Yeah,” George replied, still staring at the door Draco disappeared behind.

“Why? Have you gone barmy?” Lee persisted.

“No, I haven’t. Now about that party. Count me in.”

Angelina looked at him in surprise, and Lee quickly grinned and looked at her. Lee gleefully said, “Pay up!”

George pretended to look really angry. “So I’m now an object to gamble on?”

“Naw. You’re just a friend we all worry about,” Angelina said.

“Whatever,” George muttered, rolling his eyes.

Verity walked back out. “Still here? You can go, Mr Weasley. We’ll make sure this place doesn’t burn down.”

“Thanks, Verity,” Angelina exclaimed. She grabbed George’s arm and dragged him up to his room. “Let’s go spiff you up.”

As Draco worked out in the front, his mind wandered to what Lee had said earlier. George was going to go to a party of some sort, and he had plans to get laid.

Somehow that idea made Draco feel jealous, and he forced himself to not look disgruntled about it. After all, why should he be jealous? What George did in his private life was none of Draco’s business, so he really had no reason to feel unhappy at the prospect of his boss getting some.

Really, he didn’t, but Draco still felt unsettled by the images of George making out with some random guy at the party.

“Ya all right there?” Verity asked.

Draco smirked, pretending nothing was wrong. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“O~kay,” she said in a singsong voice, obviously not believing him. She didn’t push the issue, and they both cleaned up and closed the store.

Outside, after making sure the entrance was locked, she slapped his shoulder. “Have a good night and don’t be so moody!” She flounced off to the direction of the Leaky.

He shook his head at her antics, chuckling slightly to himself. He was about to Apparate home, but he stopped himself. He really didn’t want to head home just yet. He felt too tense to go home, so he opted to Apparate to this nearby park he discovered a couple of weeks ago.

He came into a hidden clearing with a loud pop, and he walked out into the open, enjoying the tree-filled lanes and the peacefulness of the park. He walked past Muggle couples, youths on some sort of rolling contraptions, and children who were running around with their parents. Slowly, he strolled over to an unoccupied bench. He sat and breathed in deeply to smell the scent of nature. He was glad it wasn’t that warm out, and with the nice breeze around him, he relaxed his posture and lazily watched the scenery.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, he heard a familiar voice saying, “Higher, Grandmamma, higher!”

The voice came from behind him, so he turned around and saw Teddy riding the swing with Andromeda pushing him. Teddy let out a squeal of delight as he soared high in the sky, but since he hadn’t mastered the art of leg pumping, he didn’t go as high as he could. Draco watched the way Teddy acted, so happy and innocent. Watching his little cousin enjoying a more carefree childhood than his own, Draco felt warmed by it.

Draco turned to look at Andromeda, and he noticed that while she looked happy, there was a bit of wistfulness lingering on her pretty, aged face, especially when she briefly looked at the happy couples and families around her. Draco knew that his aunt was most likely thinking about her husband and her daughter.

He wasn’t sure why, but he stood up and headed towards them. Maybe it was loneliness. Or maybe it was the prospect of trying to strengthen his relationship with them, but Draco waved as he neared them and said, “Hello, Aunt Andromeda. Hello, Teddy.”

“Draco!” Teddy joyfully said. With his short leg, he reached out to stop his swinging, and he jumped off the seat.

On instinct, Draco knelt down on the ground, and Teddy ran straight into his chest. “Oof!” Draco pretended to almost fall over from the impact, which made Teddy giggle more.

Andromeda came towards them. “Hello, Draco. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

“Oh, I just decided to stop by here after work to unwind.” Draco stood up, with Teddy in his arms. “What brings you two here? Other than the swing?”

“We live nearby. This is the park Nymphadora used to play in when she was little, and it’s not surprising that Teddy here loves it.”

“Yeah! I love this place. Grandmamma always push me on the swings! She tells me to pump my legs.”

Draco chuckled. “I see you’re having fun.” He tousled up Teddy’s red hair, which reminded him of George, and he tried not to think of his boss right now.

“Yeah! But I wanna go home. D’you wanna come? I wanna show you my toys!”

Draco and Andromeda shared a look. Andromeda spoke up first. “We would love for you to come over for tea or something. Did you have supper?”

Draco hesitated. While it was true his mother and his aunt had made contacts with one another by owl correspondences, it was unfortunate they hadn’t met up yet. He wasn’t sure if he should go to their house before his mother, but he figured his mother had plenty of chances to visit Andromeda, so he decided to accept the invitation. Moreover, it wasn’t as if he had plans.

“I’d love to. And I’d love to see your toys, Teddy.”

Draco nearly lost all hearing in his ear as Teddy screamed in it. He didn’t care, though, and he carried his cousin all the way to the house.

For the rest of the evening, he played with Teddy after supper. Teddy had plenty of Muggle action figures and stuffed animals to play with, and they acted out various scenes. At one point, Teddy played Albus Dumbledore and Draco played Gellert Grindelwald, and the two of them pretended to fight each other until they were both too busy laughing. Soon, after Teddy was tucked in, he and his aunt talked for a while over tea. It was a pleasant evening. Draco felt happy to be reconnecting with this branch of the family. Yet he couldn’t help but think of George and think that something was missing.

“Angelina? M’not wearing those leather trousers,” George deadpanned.

“Why not? You’ll look great in them!”

“No.”

“Lee!” Angelina whinged. “Help me convince him.”

Lee backed away with his hands up. “Don’t involve me with fashion. If he wants to wear them, he’ll wear them. Otherwise, let him wear what he wants!”

Angelina pouted. “Oh, fine! Wear something boring. See if I care if you don’t have guys lined up for you!”

“My charming wit will bring the guys in, anyway,” George said, giving her a cheeky grin.

As George changed into a nice pair of khakis and a button-down shirt — leaving the top buttons alone to expose his pale and freckled skin — Lee cocked his head and stared at George, who noticed the look and became uneasy. “Do I have something growing on my face? Why are you staring at me like I’m your next conquest? Never mind that I’m not a girl!”

“Nothing.” Lee made a face. “Even if you were a girl, I’d never shag you. You’re not my type full-stop.”

“Thanks a lot!” George exclaimed as Angelina sniggered.

“Anyway,” Lee continued. “You seem happier than before,”

“Excuse me?” George asked incredulously.

“No, really. You changed . . . makes me wonder if a certain someone did the trick.” Lee and Angelina shared a conspiratorial glance.

“What are you mumbling about?” George now sounded exasperated.

“Nothing!” the two chimed.

“Whatever!” George shook his head. “Are we going or what?”

The three Apparated to the club. They were greeted by Seamus Finnigan, who was hosting the party with his wizarding and non-wizarding friends and their friends and so forth so on. George looked around the crowded and noisy place. Music — or at least some sort of music — blared from the speakers, and he saw many couples gyrating and dancing with each other. Apparently sexual orientation didn’t matter here as he saw gay and straight couples.

One gay couple passed by him, and he saw a red-haired bloke with his blond-haired partner, and George felt something squeeze inside of him. He shoved that weird feeling aside, and he went up to the bar to get a drink. Since it was a Muggle establishment, they didn’t have firewhiskey, so he settled for some scotch on the rocks — the brandy selection was utter crap — and he drank it, letting the burning liquid go down his throat.

As he sipped on his drink, he watched Lee and Angelina with their respective dates. They looked like they were having fun, and George felt envious of his friends. His eyes scoped out the crowds, and he saw one pair meeting his. The grey eyes belonged to a stranger with brown hair. George smiled, and the stranger smiled back. The stranger walked towards George, while smoking a fag, and he said, “Hello there, handsome.”

George laughed, feeling at ease with the man. “You flatterer.”

“Oh? I only speak the truth. The name’s Dylan. You?” Dylan’s hand rested on George’s shoulder, and George felt its warmth and its strength in that large hand.

“George,” he managed to croak out.

“Are you by yourself?”

“Yeah. Are you alone as well?” George asked, trying to sound smooth.

“Oh, yeah.” Dylan leaned in closer, and George could feel the hardness of Dylan’s body at his side. “I fancy coming to places like this alone. It’s an adventure to meet new people.”

George let out a gasp when he felt Dylan’s hands on both sides of his hip. Really, it had been too long for George. He already could feel aroused by Dylan’s touches and his sultry voice. George tried to maintain his dignity, though. “It sure is. Do you fancy somewhere a bit more private?”

“Sure. I’ve got a hotel room not far from here. Want to go?”

George hesitated. While he didn’t mind frolicking around with random blokes, he still couldn’t get rid of this unusual sensation inside of him. It felt almost as if his subconscious disagreed with what he was doing right then and now. Yet when Dylan began to nip at his neck, he shuddered and escaped from his momentary chasteness. “Let’s go.”

The walk to the hotel room was a blur as George only remembered wanting to go there as fast as he could. Once in the room, Dylan climbed on the bed first, dragging George up with him. They kissed roughly, teeth clashing and tongues fighting and seeking for dominance, to which Dylan finally gave in. Hands were everywhere. George’s fingers found Dylan’s nipple through his clothing. He teased it while Dylan’s hand disappeared into George’s trousers.

Things started to escalate as George dipped his finger in the oil on the nightstand next to the bed, where it soon began to pleasure Dylan in ways that made him scream and writhe in pleasure. Soon, George was the one gasping and moaning, and when they both reached the climax together, George called out Draco’s name. Dylan’s body was replaced with Draco’s own blond-hair and lithe form, and George only saw Draco,

As he slumped over Dylan’s body, he felt dazed and confused. Instead of feeling the post-orgasmic feeling he sought for, he only could think of one word. Fuck. It repeated throughout his mind as he realised that somehow, somewhere in the past couple of months, he had begun to fancy Draco Malfoy more than he ever expected to.

With Dylan now asleep, George fixed himself up and made his escape. For the rest of the night, he walked all over London and chain-smoked his lungs out as he thought about his newest predicament.

Draco stared at George discreetly from behind one of the cabinets in the store. A couple days ago, he’d been the one who avoided and ignored George because of his unexplainable feelings towards his boss, but now he noticed George doing the same thing. Or at least he thought George was avoiding him. Before, George had tried to talk to him, tried to make their eyes meet, but now George did neither.

It unsettled Draco. He couldn’t help but feel he did something to offend George. If that was the case, what did he do wrong? Was George upset that Draco had been ignoring him? Or did something happen at the party? That was the only logical conclusion Draco could come up with, but even if that party did have something to do with George’s current attitude, it didn’t really explain why George was acting that way towards him!

Despite all that, though, Draco still avoided George. Yet there were times when they had to work together when Verity went on her breaks. When alone, Draco often found himself staring at George’s large hands. He studied the freckles on the back — even seeing two that were attached to each other to form a shape of a peanut — and he studied the long, sturdy-looking fingers. He thought of those hands touching him in ways that should be inappropriate, and he tried to hide his blush.

However, the more he tried to avoid those thoughts, the more aroused he became. At one point, during his break, he even Apparated back to the manor to take a cold shower. A freezing shower that had him shivering at work for the next hour or so even with all the warming spells he cast!

It grew worse, though. His feelings towards George. Though, he wasn’t sure what was worse. His growing attractions or George avoiding him. Unable to determine the lesser of the two evils, Draco grew more and more distracted. Every time they bumped into each other, George’s robes would brush against his, their hands would grazed each other, and Draco even began to have nightly dreams of him and George doing some interesting activities in positions he wasn’t sure actually existed. He really wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this.

A week after that day George went to the party, George reached out to grab something that was next to Draco’s hands. Their hands met for the umpteenth time, and Draco suppressed the urge to grab that hand he constantly dreamed of.

George mumbled something like “I’ll be in the workroom,” and he quickly walked away, leaving Draco alone with his lust-filled imagination.

Alone in the front, Draco allowed his forehead to bang onto the counter. He muttered, “This is going to kill me. I’ll die from obsessive wanking, and the wizarding world will have fun over that news. What a way to die.”

Verity, in her newest hair colour of green with gold tips, walked in, and Draco quickly straightened up. His eyes narrowed at the new hair colour and then eyed the magenta robes. She noticed him staring and beamed. “Like my new hair colour?”

He nodded. “It’s . . . different.”

“I decided on a symbolic look of combining Slytherin and Gryffindor colours.”

“A symbolic look?” He repeated.

“Yeah. I always think it’s neat how those two houses are polar opposites from one another, you know. One house is headstrong and brave; the other is more crafty and plotty.”

“I, er . . . ” He paused as he tried to follow her train of logic. “I see? But why combine them?”

She made a face at him, put her hands on her hips, and declared, “If you can’t figure it out, then I’m not telling!”

“What?” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

“And I thought you were smarter than that . . . ” She muttered.

“Why are you insulting me?”

“Because I can.”

“Whatever.” Draco walked off to the loo, and inside he muttered, “I’m never going to understand how a woman’s brain works! Especially one strange as Verity’s!”

In the workroom, George let out a relieved sigh. Ever since his epiphany dealing with Draco, George felt like he’d been walking on a bunch of thorns. Really, he felt like a nervous teenager around Draco, and he forced himself to appear normal, but it was a bloody challenge!

Just the mere encounter of their hands about nearly made him want to pounce on Draco, and George couldn’t recall feeling like this since his days of having the world’s biggest crush on Oliver Wood.

Alone in the workroom, George lit a fag, and he tried to focus on his work. But that proved to be futile as every little thing reminded him of Draco. The grey letters on the parchment made him think of Draco’s grey eyes. The strawberry-cream filled biscuits he had were Draco’s favourite. The paleness of the parchment brought images of Draco’s pale skin in his mind. Even the magenta robes he wore reminded him of just how Draco looked good in that colour!

“Blast it!” George smashed the cigarette out, and he began to pace around the small room. He felt trapped and nervous. He felt like his skin was tight with tension.

He needed a good wank. That was what he desperately needed.

But he was not about to do it in his workroom.

Yanking the door open, he went downstairs to where Draco and Verity were. He was going to tell them that he was going to take a nap in his personal quarters, an excuse for him to take a long needed wank, but before he could open his mouth, Verity said, “Good timing, Mr Weasley!”

George blinked. “What’s up?”

“I’ll need your help to help with something,” she said, beaming at him and Draco. “I have something you two will need to do. Oh! It’s not here, though.”

At that moment, Angelina and Lee appeared. Verity continued with her instructions. “They volunteered to watch the store while we do this.”

George looked at his friend, and his eyes narrowed. He recognised the scheming look on Lee’s face. “Why are you two here all of the sudden?”

“We’re here to help with an important mission,” Lee announced with a grin. “Go ahead, Verity. We’ll be good!”

George knew he’d regret whatever was coming up, but he still followed Verity outside. Draco walked in front of him, and George couldn’t help but stare at the way Draco’s body moved under the robes. He dragged his eyes away and sighed at how he wished he was back in his personal quarters, jerking off to get rid of these sexual frustrations and fantasies he had about Draco.

The trio marched down the streets of Diagon Alley, and George felt conspicuous due to the strange looks and mutterings he received from the spectators, but he ignored them as he only followed his two employees.

Verity entered the Leaky, and she nodded towards Hannah, and then she led them upstairs to a room. Once they were in there, she swiftly walked out and charmed the door to lock.

Both George and Draco exclaimed, “Hey!”

From behind the closed door George heard her say, “Now, you two stay in there until you snog each other senseless or something more I will not dare say in public!”

“What?” Draco now stared at the door, looking quite horrified.

“Verity! This is ridiculous!” George growled out, pounding on the door. “Let us outta here!” He remembered his wand in his pocket, and he whipped it out and tried to cast a spell to open the door, but it didn’t budge. He looked at Draco helplessly, who tried a different spell to no avail.

“I can hear you two casting spells! Sorry, boys, but it won’t work. And I am not letting you two out. If I go another day with you two dancing around each other from sexual frustrations, I’m gonna be the one to go nuts. Have fun in there! Lee and Angelina will help me with the store. I told Hannah to let you out after she hears some interesting noises from this room. Ta!”

Draco and George awkwardly looked at each other. When their eyes met, George quickly looked elsewhere. He cursed himself, wondering if he was that obvious to the others with his strange attitude towards Draco He also cursed Verity, Lee, Angelina, and hell even Hannah for conspiring this sodding plan to . . . to what? To snog Draco? To shag Draco? What in the world were his friends thinking?

Feeling quite dazed from this turn of events, George walked over to the lone bed and sat on it hard. He covered his eyes with one hand, and through his fingers, he peeked at Draco, who was still standing near the door, appearing quite embarrassed and out of place at the moment. Draco also looked quite annoyed — if his thin lips pressing together were of any indication. George studied the slightly reddened cheeks, pondering on just how much redder Draco could get.

He pulled his hands away from his face. He avoided looking at Draco and cleared his throat. “So . . . er . . . ”

Apparently Draco decided to be blunt. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

George raised his eyebrows at the haughty tone. “What about you? Seems like you’re hiding something as well.”

“Humph.” Draco remained tight-lipped.

Since it looked like Draco wasn’t going to really make the initiative, George decided to be the mature one for once by being honest. “Fine, fine. I . . . er . . . ” Even though he’d planned to say it, it still wasn’t an easy thing to say that he fancied his employee. “I . . . erm.”

“You erm?” Draco repeated mockingly.

George rolled his eyes. “I fancy you! Though I doubt you’ll ever feel the same way!” He felt his cheeks warm up, and he knew — without a mirror — that his face was red. He avoided looking at Draco, and although it was too late to take back his words, as he waited, he desperately wished for some hole he could fall into and hide until Draco became senile.

“And here I thought Ron was the one who blurts things out without thinking,” was Draco’s dry response.

“Eh?” George looked up, and he saw a frown on Draco’s face.

“Well . . . ” Draco finally walked over and sat next to him on the bed. An ample amount of space was between them, though. “I guess we ride the same boat.”

“Huh?” George felt like an idiot asking for clarification.

“I . . . I prefer blokes, too,” Draco admitted.

“Oh!” Realisation dawned on George as he sputtered, “I thought you were supposed to do that pureblood duty thing. You know, the whole ‘get married and have an heir’ thing.”

“What about you?” Disdain dripped from Draco’s voice. “You’re a pureblood, too! Where’s your wife and heir?”

“Hey! Bill, Percy, and Ron can do that crap! I’ll just be the loving uncle who spoils his nieces and nephews.” George noticed they were drifting off topic. “But, er, yeah. I’ve been seeing you in a different light lately. I must say that being around you makes me rather hard.”

“Don’t be so crude!”

“I’m not!” George grinned cheekily. “I’m being honest.” He sobered and said, “And you . . . do you feel the same way?”

A long pause arose as Draco took his time to answer. “I . . . yes. However, I do not think it’s a good idea to fraternise with the boss . . . ”

George reached out to cup one of Draco’s still blushing cheeks. “Yeah, it’s not good idea . . . but what if you considered us to be friends first and then move on up from there? If you want, that is.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah. Friends. We haven’t been enemies, and we’ve already established a working relationship . . . let’s up that to friends, eh?”

Draco let out a huge sigh before he grabbed George’s hand, the one still on Draco’s cheek. “Fine, fine.”

George eyed the firewhiskey and two shot glasses on the nightstand. “Now, let’s drink and talk like friends, Draco.” He liked it. He liked the way the name sounded off his tongue. It sounded much better than Malfoy.

“But, Wea — George . . . ” Draco made a face. “Didn’t Verity say something about Hannah won’t release us until she hears ‘interesting noises’ from here?”

George shrugged. “I know of a good moaning spell. Let’s cast that later, after we get a few drinks in us and talk our arses off.”

“Does that also include a so-called snog or shag as well?” Draco quipped back, his grey eyes looking quite smouldering.

“If you want.” George eyed the thin lips, watching the tongue slipping out to wet them. “But I refuse to do it under these circumstances.” Honestly, he really did want to snog Draco right then and now, but not when both were tricked into doing it! George could see the humour in this — and yet he wanted to smack his friends — but he didn’t want to take advantage of this situation at all. No, George would do whatever he wanted to Draco at a different time and place.

“My, my. I didn’t know there was a gentleman amongst you Weasleys.”

“Oh, I can be more than that,” George said. He lit up a fag and started to pour them some drinks. “But for now, let’s drink. I think we deserve it.”

For the next hour or two they drank and conversed on everything regarding from Quidditch to joke items to their days in Hogwarts and even their likes and dislikes. Every once in a while, they’d cast the moaning spell, and in semi-drunken stupor, they sniggered and even called out each other’s name in exaggeration.

George at one point asked, “Think we’re loud and convincing enough?”

“Nah. Let’s make the bed move, too!”

More muffled laughter came out as they spelled the bed to creak and bang against the wall, disturbing the poor soul in the next room. They made plenty of noises, giving anybody an earful of their so-called shag. Eventually, they sprawled out on the bed, their hands touching against each other, and George stared up at the ceiling. He was happy. Draco felt the same way, and he couldn’t wait until they really did get together as a couple so he could snog and shag and do whatever he pleased.

It was evening, when Hannah let them out. She gave them an apologetic look. Her blush didn’t get past George, and that was when he knew that Draco and he had succeeded in making the entire Leaky believe they were having mad, animalistic sex!

As they walked back to the shop, George leaned over to whisper in Draco’s ears, “Help me plan a good revenge on those three.”

Even in the darkness, George saw the smirk on Draco’s face, and that stirred up his suppressed arousal in his groin. “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll do something to get back at them.” Draco’s voice sounded silky; unfortunately for George, that only made him feel more lust towards his new friend and potential lover.

A few days after the Leaky events, Draco Apparated home feeling content. Another good work day came to an end. Now that Draco and George’s feelings were out in the open, Draco no longer felt uncomfortable working at the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. In fact, they both would joke around, and whenever Verity wasn’t nearby, they whispered and tried to come up with the joke of the century to pay back Verity, Lee, and Angelina. They didn’t come up with anything unique or special, though, so they continued to plot for the prank.

In between all that, Draco and George continued to talk more about themselves, ate their meals together whenever they could, and helped each other come up with more products for the store. Working and being friends with George felt a bit odd for Draco at first. He never really had a friend like this. In the past, Crabbe and Goyle were more of his bodyguards than friends. Pansy was too possessive and clingy for his liking. And he never really got to know his other housemates because of the impending war and the sides they all took. So Draco never really had the chance to have a friend he could consider in a deeper sense. With George, things just happened naturally, and Draco went with the flow.

As he freshened up in his room, he hummed a song George had been singing earlier, some new Weird Sisters’ song, and he quickly went to the dining room and greeted his mother with a kiss.

They ate, and his mother asked him about how his day went, and Draco did the same. It was around dessert when his mother said, “I’ve invited my sister and little Teddy for dinner here in two days.”

“Oh?” Draco nodded with a stoic expression, but inside he felt glad that his mother finally made the next step. Though he wondered why his mother took so long. What was she doing? Counting all her expensive china so she could show them to his aunt? “That’s great, Mother.”

“I also invited Mr Potter, who accepted the invitation.”

Draco forced himself to maintain his neutral face. Great. Potter would be in his home soon. He only hoped Potter wouldn’t bring any of his wild adventures — like the ones he went through in Hogwarts — here. “That’s nice.”

“Also, do invite Mr George Weasley as well.”

At that moment, Draco had taken a sip of his wine. It took every upbringing in him to not spit it out. “Mother!”

“What’s the matter?” she asked, giving him an innocent look. Draco didn’t fall for it. He knew his mother was up to something. “He’s your boss. He gave you an employment opportunity, so I think it’s only fair to invite him, yes?”

Draco coughed before answering. “I suppose.”

“Besides, I want to meet the man who my son has fallen for.”

Draco’s mouth dropped opened. “Mother!”

“Am I wrong? I’ve seen the way you’ve been acting these past weeks. I know when your heart’s been taken by someone.”

“I . . . ” Draco blushed. He knew that arguing against her would lead him nowhere. Yes, his mother was definitely craftier than Voldemort ever would be. He let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, Mother. I’ll invite him.”

Therefore, Draco found himself inviting George, and to Draco’s surprise, George accepted easily. However, he still warned George about his mother. “I should let you know . . . she figured out that I like you.”

“Oh.” George paled a bit. “Then I guess I shouldn’t bring any samples of my products to her.”

“Right. I don’t think she’ll appreciate them.”

George brightened up at his next words. “However, I can say they are for Teddy!”

“Don’t spoil him now.”

“Aw, come off that high horse. You were probably more spoiled than Teddy is!”

Draco sniffed. “Oh, shut up.”

George smiled and placed his hand on top of Draco’s. “Don’t worry. I’ll woo your mother into thinking I’m an absolute angel.”

Draco responded with a strange look. “I’d love to see that.”

Although George would never admit it to Draco, he felt very nervous Apparating to Malfoy Manor the night of the dinner. Before he did, he checked himself out in the mirror, making sure nothing was out of place. He made sure he had his gifts, and he reluctantly even opted to not bring any of his fags with him. When he found himself in the elegant waiting room, he regretted his decision as his worries made him chew on his gum rather hard. But then he remembered that gum was also considered rude, so he quickly spat it onto a piece of parchment before Andromeda, Teddy, and Harry Flooed in.

“Hey, George!” Harry greeted him. “It’s been a while!”

“Uncle George!” Teddy rushed over, throwing his arms around George’s waist. He eyed the bag Teddy was carrying. “What’s that?”

“Now, now, dear,” Andromeda said. “Let’s not be rude.”

“Okay, Grandmamma.” Still, Teddy eyed the bag.

George greeted Andromeda, and Narcissa and Draco walked in then.

“Welcome!” Narcissa said, going up to her sister. The two kissed each other on the cheeks, and Narcissa bent down to greet Teddy. “And you must be Teddy. My, aren’t you a big boy.”

“Yeah!” Teddy beamed. “I’m three!”

George watched the way Harry and Draco eyed each other warily.

“Potter, welcome,” Draco said stiffly.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Harry replied with equal amount of stiffness.

“Oh, Mr Potter. Thank you so much for coming,” Narcissa said smoothly.

Harry smiled at her. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

Narcissa then turned toward George. Their eyes met. Her cool blue eyes contrasted with his brown ones, and he suppressed a shiver that wanted to overcome him. Quickly, he reached into his bag, and he brought out a bouquet of dark pink roses — fresh from Neville Longbottom’s nursery. “Mrs Malfoy. I wanted to thank you so much for this lovely invitation.” He handed the flowers to her, who gave him a surprised look.

“Oh, thank you! But you didn’t need to do this.” She accepted the flowers and gave him a pleased look. She snapped her fingers and a house elf appeared. The house elf wordlessly took the flowers, and Narcissa said, “Please put it in my personal chambers.”

“Yes, my mistress! Libby will do so!” With a crack, she disappeared with the flowers.

Draco walked over to George. Draco’s slender fingers grabbed his hand, squeezing it. George looked into Draco’s eyes, and George came to the conclusion that he had jumped over the first step without any problems.

Harry saw their exchange and said, “I guess the rumours are true? Especially the . . . ah . . . the Leaky rumour?”

George and Draco both glared at Harry who shrank back a bit.

Teddy spoke up, his large eyes looking between Draco and George. “Are you two boyfriend and boyfriend?”

“Teddy!” Andromeda gave an apologetic look towards them. “That’s not polite.”

“But Grandmamma . . . they are acting like Ron and Herminny and Harry and Nev and Bill and Flower. It’s just means they really like each other, right? Right, Grandmamma?” Teddy’s simple acceptance brought smiles to everyone’s faces. Even Draco’s face softened at Teddy’s questioning. It was funny how Teddy, only three, seemed to know more compared to other children his age. George and Draco later talked about Teddy’s maturity, and they both wondered if it stemmed from Teddy’s werewolf genes or not. Or maybe, they thought, Teddy was just a smart child.

In the meantime, George watched Draco kneeling down in front of the young boy. “Right, Teddy,” Draco said. “We do like each other.”

“Then do you still like me?”

Draco chuckled. “Of course I like you. We’re family.”

“Okay!” Teddy grinned, and everyone relaxed.

George remembered his bag, and he handed it over to Teddy. “For you.”

“Yeah!” Teddy looked inside and saw all the sweets and the joke items. “All for me?”

“Well, sort of. Share the sweets with your grandmother.”

“Okay!”

“And . . . ” George caught Andromeda’s warning stare. “Don’t use the joke items on your grandmother.”

“I won’t! I’ll use it on Harry! He likes them!”

“Now,” Narcissa interjected, “let’s all eat.”

The meal went better than Draco had expected. Narcissa and Andromeda conversed with each other. Harry, George, and Draco discussed some Quidditch news amicably. During all that, Teddy would pipe up and ask questions, making everyone laugh at the way he interpreted the answers like a child would.

At one point George whispered to Draco, “Did I win your mother over?”

Draco nodded. George definitely won some points with her with the flowers, and Draco really was pleased by George’s thoughtfulness. He was also impressed by George’s gifts to Teddy. “Yes. You did. She didn’t chew you out, so you made a good impression.”

“Great!”

Everyone was soon stuffed and satisfied. Narcissa and Andromeda excused themselves first and disappeared into the sitting room.

“Now,” Draco looked at the remaining guys and young Teddy. “We have extra brooms, and tonight’s weather is actually quite nice. I also owe Teddy a broom ride. Anybody want to join us?”

“Broom ride!” Teddy squealed. “I want to fly!”

Harry agreed in a calmer tone. George hesitated, his eyes showing the conflicted emotions. Draco remembered how George said he hadn’t flown for a while. Draco had suspected that it dealt with Fred’s death. Before he could say otherwise, though, George agreed. Draco gave George a comforting squeeze of the hand, and he led them outside. “This place is warded, so nobody will see us flying. He pointed at the brooms nearby. “Pick your choice.”

Teddy jumped up and down in excitement, and when Draco readied the broom, he helped Teddy to sit in front of him. “Hold on tight!”

“I will!” Teddy shouted.

Draco gave a strong kick, and they soon soared through the air, with George and Harry nearby. Teddy’s happy laughter and shouts punctuated the otherwise quiet area, and Draco grinned. He remembered when he first went up on the broom with his father, and he’d never forgotten that feeling of the wind rushing past him, remembering the adrenaline-filled ride and feeling like an eagle soaring majestically through the skies.

He knew this was what Teddy was feeling.

Later, Harry offered to have Teddy ride with him, and with Teddy not on his broom, Draco flew around with George.

“You know!” George shouted. “I never noticed it before, but you fly like Fred.”

Draco blinked. “I do?”

“Yeah. The way you hold the broom, that posture . . . it’s just like Fred.”

Draco felt something like dread inside of him. This wasn’t the first time he’d been compared to Fred. While it wasn’t a bad thing per se, it didn’t leave him screaming for joy either. However, he decided to just accept what George said. “Thanks!” He figured he’d deal with the Fred thing later.

“You know . . . seeing you interact with Teddy . . . you’re really good with kids.”

“I think it’s just with Teddy.”

“Whatever’s the case . . . ” George’s face lit up. “I just thought of an idea! I’ve thought of the perfect prank to get back at those three!”

“You did? Tell me!” Excitement filled inside of him, and they flew further away from Harry and Teddy to talk amongst themselves.

After Draco agreed to the brilliant idea, he whispered, “How do you feel flying?”

“Like coming home,” George said, looking a bit sad. “I did miss it, as much as I miss Fred, but flying is really a wonderful thing to experience. I . . . I don’t think I could ever play Quidditch again, though. At least not as a Beater.”

“I understand,” Draco softly affirmed, and he did.

George gave Draco grateful look. “Thanks, Draco. Thanks for reminding me how much I’ve missed flying.”

“Draco!” Teddy’s voice broke the serious mood they were in. “I want to ride with you! Harry’s gonna show me the ‘Wonky Fen’!”

George and Draco both laughed at the way Teddy butchered the name of Viktor Krum’s signature move, and they both flew back to where Teddy waved impatiently from Harry’s broom.

“Are you ready?” George asked. Today was the day. Today was the day he and Draco would play that prank on Lee, Angelina, and Verity. He felt excited. Just like all those times he and Fred conspired their finest pranks, he felt the thrill at the upcoming event. Really, doing this with Draco almost felt like Fred was back with him, and George felt happier than he had in months.

Draco nodded, looking quite unwell. “Yes.”

They entered the front from the workroom, greeting Verity.

She eyed Draco. “Are you all right?”

“I . . . ” Draco rubbed his stomach. “I think so . . . ”

She looked at him with doubt in her eyes. “I dunno. You look like you need to go back to bed.”

George put on a worried face. “You want to . . . ?” But before he could finish, Draco dashed off to the loo. George and Verity heard the muffled noises of retching and the toilet flushing. When Draco came out, looking very pale, George’s face tightened. “That does it. I’m taking you to St Mungo’s!”

“I’ll be fine,” Draco protested.

“No, you’re not fine!” George looked at Verity. “Can you call Lee and Angelina and ask if they can cover for us?”

“Of course!” Verity quickly had them come. Lee and Angelina soon came into the store, looking worried. It was a good thing both Lee and Angelina worked night jobs currently, so their mornings and afternoons were free.

“What’s up?” Lee immediately asked.

“Draco’s not well,” George said, with a grim expression. “I’m taking him to St Mungo’s.”

Angelina glanced over at the still pale Draco. “Right. We’ll stay as long as you need us.”

George grabbed Draco by the arm, and he slowly led them out of the store. When they were near a hidden alleyway near St Mungo’s, George quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm and a Silencing Charm on them. George burst out laughing.

Draco laughed as well. “I think we fooled them.”

“Oh, yeah. I can’t wait until we deliver the final scene.”

“I can already imagine their reaction. It will be great. I must say you are pretty sneaky . . . a very Slytherin trait for a Gryffindor like you.”

George smirked. “Well, the hat did tell both Fred and me that we’d be perfect for that house, but we both argued against that idea.”

“I’m glad you guys did! The Slytherin dungeons would not be standing if you two were there.”

Draco leaned against the wall of the building, letting out a satisfied sigh. George stepped closer to Draco, and with his hands, he trapped Draco against the wall. Putting on a fake glare, he declared, “The dungeons would still be standing even if we were there.”

“Promises, promises.”

George leaned in closer until there was barely any space between them. One of his hands reached out to stroke Draco’s pale cheek, which still looked a bit sickly from a spell Draco had cast earlier. “Here’s a promise I can fulfil right now.”

Draco’s voice hitched. In a hoarse voice, he asked, “What?”

“This.” George closed the remaining gap and started a slow, teasing kiss. He heard Draco’s soft moan of pleasure, and George grew more excited as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing Draco’s lips, which soon parted. Taking that as a permission, he slipped his tongue inside Draco’s mouth, and his tongue entwined with Draco’s. That made something in his groin come alive, and George soon was groaning into Draco’s mouth.

When they parted, Draco said breathlessly, “You kiss well.”

“Of course. Name something I’m not good at!” George said, his lips trailing down to suck on Draco’s neck.

“Mmm. Your handwriting is quite atrocious.” Draco tilted his neck, giving George more access to the delicious skin there. One of George’s legs slipped in between Draco’s, and it stayed there comfortably as he started to suck the skin on Draco’s sensitive and willing neck. He felt Draco’s strong grip on his shoulder, his robes being scrunched up in Draco’s hands, and that somehow turned him on more.

“Of course my handwriting is crap. I’m an inventor. Not a professional penmanship person.”

Draco’s groan excited George, so he dared to unbutton the robes a bit and allowed his hands to explore the chest and the torso there. “G-George! We’re in public!” Draco hissed, which didn’t sound as effective considering their current predicament.

“We’re blended into the wall.”

“But still . . . ah!” Draco cried out when George’s fingers found one of the nubs. George lightly pinched and twisted it, turning it into a hardened pebble.

“You like it?” George grinned and move onto the other nipple.

“Shut up . . . ” Draco shuddered out, his sensitive body writhing against George’s. “As much as I enjoy this . . . can we please not do it in public?”

“Not an exhibitionist, are you?” George teased before he gave Draco another kiss. Then he let go and stepped back with a sigh. “Fine, fine. But what are we going to do to make the time go by? We can’t return to the store this soon.”

Draco glared as he fixed his robes and his appearance. “I don’t know. But next time you do this, please do it in a private room!”

“Oooh! You didn’t want me to stop, right? That’s why you’re pouting.” George enjoyed this. Teasing Draco like this was quite exciting and amusing. It was as if nothing really fazed him, but now George knew just the way to break that icy exterior.

“Oh, piss off.” But Draco smiled a bit. “You know . . . you do overwork yourself too much at time. You should relax more.”

“You can help me with that!” Draco’s reaction to that was to whack George on the head. “Ow!”

Draco continued as if he hadn’t hit him. “Let’s go on a date. For all this trouble you put me through, you owe me a dinner at that new, ritzy restaurant in Hogsmeade.”

Now, George pretended to pout. “Spoiled brat.”

“Yes, and I’m your spoiled brat.”

George sniggered. “Okay. It’s a date. Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight.”

“Excellent.”

Draco gave George a devious smirk. “Do I still look as if I’ll need to spend my time in the loo?”

“No, you look quite ‘pleased’ with that glow.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco opened the door to the store, and they entered and saw three worried faces behind the counter. Verity spoke up first. “Are you all right? What they say? You got a bug of some sort?”

“Well,” Draco drawled out, clutching his stomach. “Not a bug per se, but I do have something.” He took a peek at George, nearly smirking at the proud look at George’s face.

“What?” both Lee and Angelina asked.

Draco and George looked at each other before Draco answered, “We’re expecting a child.”

For the next minute or so, nobody said anything. In fact, it was so quiet, that Draco could literally hear the store’s clock ticking away. When the three finally overcame their shock, they all started exclaiming various statements.

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?!” This was Verity. Her mouth was opened so wide, that Draco wondered if he should start throwing stuff in there to practice his aim.

“No way!” Angelina’s eyes bugged out from her face. Draco couldn’t help but think this was a good look on her.

“That’s bloody impossible!” Lee’s antics were the most amusing. With his hands on his head, he started to pace back and forth.

Draco retorted at the last comment. “That’s not impossible at all.” He gave them a scowl. “We’re wizards! Anything is possible.”

“Yeah, but a man getting pregnant is not one of them!” Lee said, looking quite ill, probably at the idea of a man carrying a baby. He stopped pacing and looked warily at Draco’s stomach. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Oh, it’s a girl,” George piped out. He grinned in a silly manner and reached out to rest a hand on Draco’s tummy.

“Right, so we’re going to have to go shopping for baby paraphernalia soon . . . ” Draco turned joyfully towards George. “Instead of pink, I want our daughter to have purple. I really can’t stand pink.”

“No way!” George disagreed. “I want red and gold to be her colours.”

“I am not going to let our daughter be in those hideous colours.”

“Well, she’s not wearing green and silver.”

Oh, for Slytherin’s sake. I said purple! Not green and silver.” Draco clucked his teeth at him. “Has the excitement destroyed some of your hearing?”

“I think pregnancy is already making you quite bitchy. Doesn’t that mood swing issue start later on?” George asked, looking thoughtful.

“Uh, guys,” Lee interrupted, his eyes now gazing at Draco’s stomach. “Did you tell your . . . families yet?”

By now, Draco really had to bite his lips to prevent the laughter that was threatening to escape him. Really, their reactions were better than he’d expected. He and George shared a knowing look, and they both started to laugh.

“Whoah,” Lee muttered. “If having a baby makes the parents insane, then I don’t think I’ll ever have children myself.”

Draco laughed harder, which prompted a glare from Lee. Gasping, Draco tried to compose himself. However, one look at a disgruntled Lee had him starting again. “You tell them, George!”

“Tell us what?” Verity asked, a confused look gracing her face.

George quickly recovered and said, “We fooled you! Draco isn’t pregnant! You guys fell for it!”

“The fuck?!” This time Lee, Angelina, and Verity said this together.

Draco finally stopped laughing. “Consider this payback from before where you guys plotted us to be locked in that room at the Leaky.”

Verity gave them a dirty look, but it disappeared as she started to giggle herself. “I can’t believe we fell for it. I mean, really. Men can’t get pregnant!”

“Not yet, anyway,” Angelina said. “I guess we deserved that joke. I must say . . . it was quite brilliant.”

Draco pointed his thumb at George. “Meet the mastermind of the prank.”

Lee sighed. “I should have known. Actually, I should have expected this.” He cocked his head to the side. “This was definitely something you and Fred would have come up with. Though the idea of you and Fred shagging like rabbits is very, very frightening.”

A disgusted look came on George’s face. “I know where your mind is all the time now. I mean . . . ew! Lee! I knew you were perverted, but this is beyond gross!”

They all laughed, and Draco, feeling funny at being compared to Fred, stopped laughing first. He looked at his new “friends” around him, and he felt happiness lingering in him. But something was off. Something he knew he had to confront sooner or later.

He decided it would be later. Right now, he had a date to look forward to.

Intermission

From the Journal of Fred Weasley
August 2001

Well, well, well. Things are finally moving around down there while things remain the same up here. I’m glad my twin and Malfoy are finally together . . . sort of. I have to say they are a better match than I expected. The prank they pulled off against the three had me laughing. When I told that story to the Marauders, Mrs Potter, Professor Snape, and Reggie, we all had a good laugh. Well, I should say that the Marauders and Mrs Potter did. Professor Snape and Reggie just looked rather sour at the whole male pregnancy thing.

I’m pleased by how happy my twin seems to be lately. Malfoy, too. As long as that Ferret doesn’t hurt Georgie.

The only thing left now is for them to really come together and do the mating ritual that they’ve managed to bypass before. But before that happens, I sense some kind of trouble brewing between them. A problem that I might have to help resolve by verbally smacking some sense into George. I think that time to finally use up my second visitation right will be here soon.

In the meantime, though, Reggie wants to play a round of Exploding Snap. I shall fulfil that request . . . only so I can beat him. Who knew a guy like Reggie would be an excellent player? Oh well. Better him than Aunt Rachel!

Part III: Looking Another Way

“Hey, Draco.”

“Hm?”

George grinned at how hard Draco concentrated on his work. Then again, he could not fault Draco’s work ethics. Things at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had never been more organised like before. The books were all in order, and since Draco had taken over writing the orders, businesses had stopped complaining about his horrible handwriting. Draco had the neatest copperplate. Everything was running smoothly with his business.

George was pleased, of course. He was also feeling less morose than before. Sure, he still missed Fred, but somehow the stabbing pain in his heart had lessened. He had Draco to thank for that. His family, especially his parents noticed, which led to what George had to ask Draco next.

“My mum’s been asking for you to come over to the Burrow. Would you like to come tonight? For dinner?”

Draco looked up from the books, a wary expression gracing his pointy features. “Well, I reckon it would be impolite to turn down your mother’s hospitality.”

“Is that your way of saying yes?” George teased.

“Oui, ja, si, hai, nae . . . ” Draco raised an eyebrow. “I’ve said yes in French, German, Spanish, Japanese, and Korean. Is that sufficient?”

“You’re a wanker, you know that?” George wrapped his arms around Draco and planted an affectionate kiss on one of his cheeks.

“I try to be. But yes, I’ll go tonight.”

“Great!” George let go and was about to tell Draco one other thing before he heard Verity hollering from the front. “Whoops. The banshee’s calling me.”

Draco sniggered, and George walked out of the room to help Verity with whatever she needed. He figured he’d tell Draco later.

But he never had the chance. At least not until they were outside the Burrow. He turned to Draco and said, “Just to let you know, everyone’s here.”

Draco clutched at the bouquet of flowers he’d somehow managed to buy before they closed the store. “What do you mean ‘everyone’s here’?”

George began to count off on his fingers. “Bill’s family’s here, Charlie and his boyfriend’s here, Percy and his girlfriend, Ron and Hermione, Harry and Neville, Ginny and Dean, and my parents. Oh, and I think Teddy’s here, too. Andromeda’s busy with something, so I think Harry and Neville have been watching him.” At each names, Draco’s pale face turned paler, though it brightened considerably when he mentioned Teddy.

“That many people?” Draco looked very uncomfortable.

“Well, you know I have a rather large family.”

“Yes, but I just thought it’d be us and your parents . . . ”

“Not at the weekly gathering.”

“You just had to invite me to the gathering, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I want them to meet the man I’m dating.”

“I had no idea you were such a sentimentalist,” Draco said dryly, his cheeks taking on a pink hue.

“Now you know!” George cheerfully led them inside. In the dining room, he saw that they were the last to show up, but nobody noticed them at first.

Teddy’s happy “Draco!” halted all conversations, and all eyes were turned towards them. George saw several different expressions. He saw a few surprised faces, a couple of wary ones, a happy face, a neutral face, and one full out glare.

“What is this git doing here?” Ron gritted out.

“Ron!” Both Hermione and their mum exclaimed. His mum quickly stood and walked around the long table bulging with food. She stopped and gave George a hug. Then she turned to look at Draco.

“I’m happy you’ve decided to come over, Draco.”

George had to bite back laughter at the suave look on Draco’s face. In a silky voice, Draco brandished the flowers and said, “I thank you for the invite, Mrs Weasley.”

“Oh!” She accepted the flowers with sheer surprise and happiness, tears coming to her eyes. “Oh, dear! You didn’t have to do this.” Still holding onto the flowers, she crushed Draco and the flowers into a big embrace. Draco let out an “oof”, and slowly he hugged her back.

“Now, Mum. Let’s not hold up dinner any longer than necessary,” George said, helping her let go of Draco before he suffocated. “I’m starved!”

“Yes, yes! Have a seat!” She hurried off to the kitchen, most likely to put the flowers into a vase.

George squeezed in next to Bill, and Draco sat next to him. On Draco’s other side, Teddy sat there.

“Draco! I got a new toy today. Can I show you after we eat?”

“Of course,” Draco ruffled Teddy’s hair, making Teddy giggle. “I hear you’re staying with Po — I mean Harry and . . . Neville. Are you making them rip their hair out yet?”

“No! But they take forever to find me when we play Hide n’ Seek! I’m good at that game.”

His mum came back to the table then, and she said, “Eat up before the food gets cold!”

As he ate, he watched Draco. He’d expected Draco to look tense, but Draco looked rather relaxed as he chatted with Teddy about new toys. He looked at the others, and they all acted as if having a Malfoy at the table was a usual occurrence. Well. Almost. Ron still glowered angrily, but he and the rest of the family ignored the death glares directed at Draco.

At one point, it was Bill who asked, “So how’s the store?”

“Oh, it’s great!” George said. “Draco here is a big help. The other businesses . . . ”

” . . . don’t complain about his handwriting anymore,” Draco finished up.

“And with Verity still there . . . ”

” . . . who has some interesting colour choices . . . ” Draco interjected.

” . . . things are running smoothly.” George smiled as they shared a knowing look.

Everyone at the table stared at them. Ron spoke up first, “Why are you two finishing up sentences like Fred . . . Ow!”

“Ignore him,” Hermione said crisply. “Please pass the salt.”

George saw the slight frown on Draco’s face, but it was only there briefly. Quick as a Snitch, it disappeared, and Draco turned towards Harry and talked about Quidditch.

After that, aside from Ron constantly muttering under his breath, dinner went without a hitch. Draco and everyone acted civil. George considered it a success. He was pleased, and he wanted to show Draco just how happy he was by doing something more than just snogging, but he decided to wait. He wanted to do it when it was more special.

He smiled sardonically to himself when he was alone in his room later that night. Since when did he become such a sentimental sod? If Fred was still here, he’d surely tease George endlessly. Then George would find something to tease Fred about until both then turned to tease someone like Ron.

As George thought about all this, he felt a tug on his heart. He fell into a dreamless sleep, with Fred and Draco the last thing on his mind.

Draco was glad he survived that massive gathering last week. Although he knew things were still shaky — especially with Ron and maybe even Dean and Ginny, he knew that George’s family and friends were getting used to the idea of George dating a Malfoy. He was surprised that they were able to put the past behind and accept things as mature people. He was expecting the worse, actually, but the Weasley clan acted otherwise. Had it been a gathering of Slytherins to which he had brought George, he knew things would have turned rather unpleasant.

Thankfully, he survived that dinner, but something about it left him feeling unsettled. That one comment Ron almost blurted out gave him a revelation. He’d been trying to ignore and deny his gut instincts on the matter, but now he really couldn’t avoid it. He really wondered if George liked him or was only replacing him as Fred.

His stomach clenched at that realisation, and he knew he’d have to confront George one of these days. His only problem was how he should approach it.

The day came sooner than he expected.

Both Draco and George were working on a new invention, a project that made them stay up really late. In fact, they both had fallen asleep at the table in the workroom. Draco woke up first, groaning at the stiffness in his neck and shoulders. He glanced at George, who sat next to him, and Draco sniggered since George was drooling on the table. He shook the George awake, who woke up startled.

“Who, wha–?” George rubbed his eyes. “Oh. I guess we both knocked ourselves out here for the night. Good thing we’re closed today.” He leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Draco’s cheek.

“Yeah. My neck’s killing me.” Draco grimaced as he turned his head back and forth. The kiss was nice, but Draco wished for something more. George really wasn’t taking the relationship much further. Draco wondered if he’d have to start the next step. He didn’t mind, but he decided he’d try something after he made his soreness go away. “Mind if I borrow your bath? I think I’ll need to soak in some hot water for a while.”

“Go ahead! Just don’t stay in there for three hours like before,” George said, reminding of their last all-nighter project. “You’re just like Fred. I swear, you two practically live in the bath until the water gets cold.”

Draco was about to ask George to join him, but that invitation all but disappeared as he stared at George. His stare slowly turned into a glare as he said, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” George looked perplexed.

“Stop,” Draco clenched his fists, “comparing me to him!”

“Who?”

“Fred!” Draco couldn’t believe how thick George was acting. “You’re comparing us. I . . . I don’t like it.”

George stood up quickly, and Draco followed, ignoring his muscles protesting his action. George gave Draco a hurt look and said, “Look. I dunno what you’re trying to say, but I don’t mean to compare you to Fred or to anybody.”

“You are, though. You . . . I . . . I feel like you’re only seeing me as a replacement for him.”

“What?!” Currently, George looked more upset as he lashed out with, “Why are you uttering crap like this? It’s . . . are you mad? Nobody can replace Fred! You’re fucking deluding yourself if you think your high and mighty self can replace my twin!”

“High and mighty?” Draco sneered out. “Is that how you see me? You prat!” He turned around and stalked off to the door. “Forget about your offer! I’ll just do it at my place.” Without waiting for a response, he left and Apparated to the manor in a huff.

As he paced around his room, his bath now long forgotten, he muttered, “How dare he say crap like that. Then again, I’m sick of him comparing me to Fred. Of course I can’t be Fred’s replacement! I’m not Fred! I don’t want him to see me as Fred. Why can’t he just see me as who I am?”

A knock on the door interrupted his tirade. “Come in,” he grumbled out.

The door opened, and Draco was taken by surprise at seeing Teddy. He then remembered that his aunt was busy with her work, so she asked if Teddy could stay at the manor starting last night.

Teddy stepped inside, looking around while he sucked on a finger and clutched onto a stuffed bear and a blanket. “Draco? Are you talking to a ghost?”

Draco wasn’t expecting that question. “Uh, no?”

“I heard you talking.”

“Oh. I was talking to myself.”

“Oh!” Teddy walked up closer, his blanket dragging on the floor. He eyed the sofa, and he climbed onto it, looking so small. “I do that, too. Talk to m’self. It’s fun, but it’s boring. It’s more funner if I talk with someone else other than m’self and ‘Harry Teddy’.”

Draco’s mind was probably still asleep since he had a hard time following what Teddy just said. Holding back a sigh, he sat next to Teddy, and he had to ask, “What’s ‘Harry Teddy’?”

“Oh? This!” Teddy stuck the bear in Draco’s face. “Grandmamma bought this for me. She called it ‘Harry Teddy’. She said both me and Harry’s name!”

Draco studied the bear. He still didn’t grasp why it would be called “Harry”. He touched the bear, feeling its fuzzy fur. It was certainly a furry bear, and Draco found it quite cute, but where did Harry Potter come into it? As he fingered the fur, he finally understood. Furry is equivalent to hairy. His aunt probably said the bear was hairy, and Teddy mistook “hairy” as “Harry”. Draco held in his laughter and said, “Well, I am very honoured to meet ‘Hairy Teddy’.”

“You want to talk to him? You can talk to me, too!” Teddy plunked the bear on Draco’s lap. “When you talked, you sounded like a lion. Are you angry?”

The lion reference reminded him of Gryffindor, which then reminded him of George, and Draco sighed. “I am a bit upset, yes.”

“At me?” Teddy’s wide eyes nearly melted him, and Draco couldn’t believe how a mere child could have such an effect on him.

“No! Not at you, Teddy.”

“Then Uncle George?”

“You’re only three. How did you know?” Draco teased, covering up his surprise at how astute a three-year old can be. Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised. He and George did discuss how Teddy seemed to understand adult concepts better than his peers.

“I’m almost four!” Teddy said indignantly. “But what did Uncle George do?”

“Oh . . . ” As Draco tried to think of a simple explanation, he figured out then just how stupid and how immature their argument had been. Actually, Draco wasn’t happy with the way he’d handled the argument, acting almost spiteful at the whole Fred thing. He chalked up his poor behaviour from the lack of sleep and his sore neck. Even then, he really shouldn’t have acted like that. He should have stayed and tried to talk to George about it, not blowing up like a hormonal teenager or something.

“Draco?”

“Oh, sorry, Teddy. Just thinking. George and I just had a silly fight.”

“Did he take your toys?”

Draco chuckled. “Nothing like that. We just had a misunderstanding. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Okay. You should! Grandmamma always says we should talk and use our words nicely. That’s why I talk with ‘Hairy Teddy’ and Grandmamma and Harry and Neville and you! I like talking to grown ups. With Mummy and Daddy gone far away . . . I have lots of other people to talk to.”

“That’s true.” Teddy’s innocent chatter hit him. Maybe he was too harsh to think he was being Fred’s replacement. Maybe he was just judging this wrongly and making stupid assumptions. It was obvious George missed Fred, just like Teddy was always missing his parents, and Draco wasn’t really thinking from their point of views. Then again, aside from Crabbe, nobody really close to Draco ever had died yet. How ironic that talking to a three-year old could open Draco eyes in ways he’d never considered before. It was also ironic that George Weasley and Teddy Lupin of all people were making him feel like he had a purpose in life again. He remembered just few months ago how empty his life had seemed, the endless black hole he thought he’d never come out of if it wasn’t for his mother giving him that push. Now, though, he had a lover, a little cousin he enjoyed being with, and a decent job that challenged him and brought him unexpected and fulfilling happiness.

“So now what?” Teddy asked.

Draco picked up the bear in his lap and rubbed Teddy’s face with it, making him giggle. “Now, how about some breakfast? Then a broom ride! Today will be your special day. We’ll have a lot of fun.”

“Yay!” Teddy hugged Draco. “You’re my favourite realtive.”

“Realtive? Oh! Relative?”

“Yeah! I’m glad we’re cousin one removed.”

As he burst out laughing, Draco ruffled Teddy’s hair. “Me too, Teddy. Me too.”

George scowled at the wall as he lit up a fag. Not only was he pissed off at Draco’s accusations, but he was tired as all hell as he walked out of the workroom and headed to his room, passing by Fred’s unchanged room. Upon reaching his bed, he threw himself on the mattress, and the bed squeaked and groaned from his impact. Still smoking, he now frowned deeply at the ceiling.

“Just what the fuck was that about?” George asked to the ceiling, expecting no response, of course. “Who does he think he is to think I’m mistaking him for Fred? Hasn’t anyone figured out that nobody, nobody can replace Fred? Fucking hell . . . ”

He stewed in anger for a little while before his eyes closed on him. He barely remembered to put his fag out as he allowed himself to get some kip.

A few minutes later, though, he was rudely “awakened” when a bucket of water was poured on his head.

“What the hell!” he spluttered, wiping his eyes as he looked his workroom for the person who was going to be his newest hex victim. When he saw it was Fred, he started to grin, which soon faded when he saw an unpleasant expression on his twin’s face. He transformed his face into a frown. “What was that for?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

Fred rolled his eyes. “You do. Stop being so thick.”

George let out a sigh. He felt happiness, sadness, and annoyance whirling inside of him. Happy to see his twin again, sad to know this was only a brief dream sequence, and annoyed at Fred’s cryptic attitude. “Fred, why are you here in my dreams? I mean you were here before telling me to hire Draco as the assistant. You wouldn’t tell me why before, but I’ve figured it out. You wanted us to get together, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, that was it. And it worked. Until both of you started to act like stubborn teenagers.”

“I didn’t act like that,” George retorted defensively.

“Okay,” Fred grinned. “Maybe not like that, but you should stop comparing Malfoy to me. I mean . . . come on. How can you even compare us without wondering how that’s possible?”

“I don’t compare him!”

“No, you do. Not all the time, but you do make comments that makes Malfoy feel like he’s my replacement.”

George looked away, his eyes flashing with emotion. He took a deep breath to calm himself down before he continued. “Do I really make it seem like I only see Draco as your replacement?”

Fred nodded. “But I know you don’t do it on purpose. It’s probably subconscious. After all, how can anyone not miss me?” He gave a cheeky grin, and George sadly smiled.

“Yeah. Only fools would.”

“Hey! Not nice! Then again, you’re calling yourself a fool!”

“Shut up!” George exclaimed, a grin appearing on his face.

“But really, Georgie. You need to move on. I think you’re doing pretty good so far, but you still need to jump over that invisible hurdle.” Fred reached a hand, which touched George’s cheek. It felt cool as George watched the fingers curved. “I hate how I can’t really touch you myself. Sucks that I can’t even pinch or punch you.” Fred casually put his hands on the back of his head while he toed the ground with his foot.

“Whatever you say, Freddie,” George said, trying to disguise the sadness at the fact that he couldn’t touch Fred either.

“Also, quit smoking! You’re lungs are probably black with all that inhaling you do! And one last thing? Stop treating my room as a shrine! That kind of weirds me out, you know? You treat me like I am some ancient deity of some sort. While I’d love for pretty birds to worship me as a sex god or something, I do not want you to enshrine my room like that!”

George rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. When are you gonna shag Malfoy?”

“Fred!” George now admonished Fred.

“What? You love the git, don’t you?”

“Love?” George sighed. What Fred said was the truth. Somewhere, somehow, he’d fallen in love with Draco. With the truth said out loud, George felt relieved. “How’d you figure it out before I did?”

“I’m your twin. I’m the older twin. That means I’m the smarter one.”

“Oh, for the love of Merlin . . . ” George rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Anyway, when are you planning on doing some shagging? And none of that fake crap show you put on earlier in the Leaky!”

“Are you always spying on me? Blimey, Fred! Are you gonna watch . . . never mind! Piss off! That’s none of your business!”

Fred sniggered. “Shag him soon! I think both of you are suffering from sexual withdrawal — hence that unnecessary argument you two had! Now, I’ve got to get going. Snog and make up with him, all right? Oh! One last thing. When you come up here, you owe Aunt Rachel ten hours of your marvellous company while I get to beat the pants off of Reggie at Exploding Snap!”

With that final statement, George jumped awake.

Groggily, he rubbed at his eyes, and out of habit, he reached out for the fags before he remembered Fred’s “request”. He snatched his hand away and instead just lay there, thinking about the dream he just had.

He felt bitter at the fact that Fred was dead. He felt bitter at the argument he had with Draco. But what he really felt deep inside of him was fear and dread. He didn’t want to lose Draco like he lost Fred. Of all the guys he’d been with, he felt the deepest connection with Draco. Maybe it was because they started off in a platonic relationship. Maybe it was because of Draco’s charming and sarcastic personality. Maybe, at the beginning, he had inadvertently seen Draco as a Fred substitute, but Draco was anything but Fred. Yes, he did see many similarities between Fred and Draco, but Draco had his differences, too. Draco was Draco, and George knew he’d be miserable if he and Draco were to separate. As Fred said, George loved Draco, so not having Draco would be pretty dismal.

A little while later, he left his room, and he stopped in front of Fred’s room.

After Fred’s death, George had only been in there once. He had cast a dust-free spell and other spells to ensure nothing went mouldy. Since then he hadn’t been in there because it was too painful for him to be in his twin’s room. In a way what Fred had said to him was true; he’d been keeping this room as homage, a shrine of some sort, but perhaps it was time to move on. He’d always grieve and miss Fred, but Fred didn’t want him to act like this.

Taking a deep breath, George opened the door and took tentative steps inside. He was greeted by the afternoon sun coming in through the window. The curtains there were in the deepest shade of navy blue, Fred’s favourite colour, and as the breeze wafted in, the curtains fluttered gently. He stared at the Falmouth Falcons poster on one of the walls. A smile crept on his face as he remembered how Fred had declared that if their joke shop ever failed, he’d take over the Falcons and rename it to “Fred Falcons”. George would always tease and say, “How about Freddie Falcons instead?” using Fred’s hated nickname. That would always cause Fred to throw a pillow or harder objects at him, and they both would start a fight that usually made the room turn into a huge clutter.

Just thinking about their fights made his chest hurt, but George ignored it and stepped up to the bed. He sat on the mattress and leaned against the headboard surrounded by pillows. Fred had loved pillows, and he always made sure there were at least five of different sizes, unlike George who’d rather have two and be happy. He gazed at the fake spider collection on the dresser. Both he and Fred liked all sorts of insects and spiders; it was a shame most of their family members didn’t share their enthusiasm, especially Ron. He smirked at the memory of how they had started Ron’s arachnophobia.

That then made him remember the beginnings of their plot to start up a joke shop. It was their second year in Hogwarts. They had created their first invention — a candy that changed anyone’s or any animal’s hair or fur into the brightest shade of pink. Mrs Norris had found a piece — which incidentally they left behind — and she had eaten it. They were thrilled to see Filch screeching his pretty head off at this one third year. But then the third year snitched on them, so Filch gave them a good chase. Luckily, they escaped into a hidden passageway in the castle, and once Filch was gone, they laughed and discussed about their future career.

Since then, they hatched jokes after jokes on unsuspecting victims. They were proud of their achievements. But the day he’d always remember and knew that Fred would always remember as well, was the day Harry Potter had given the Triwizard Tournament winning to them. Harry’s generosity was what allowed them to reach their dreams.

It was a shame Fred had died, though, leaving George alone with their dreams. George sighed as he felt tears in his eyes. He and Fred had always considered crying to be the antithesis of what they believed in. Laughing was what they always favoured. Crying was only allowed if they’d laughed too much. However, he decided to forget about their preferences, and he cried.

When he was done, he left Fred’s room. He planned to change the room into a guest room. He thought of Lee, thought of Angelina . . . and he thought of Draco. The room would no longer be Fred’s room. It would be just a room.

But first, he needed to send an owl.

By evening, Draco was exhausted. Entertaining Teddy all day long had been fun, but as someone who’d already didn’t sleep enough the night before, trying to keep up with a three-going-on-four-year old was enough to test anyone’s stamina! Draco was puzzled. He couldn’t comprehend on how someone so small can have enough energy for ten people.

As exhausted as he was, though, he still joined dinner with Teddy and his mother. Teddy chattered on about all the activities they did today, and Narcissa listened intently.

“Well, Teddy dear, I think you wore out Draco.”

“Wore out? He’s still wearing clothes, Auntie Cissa.” Teddy looked at her with a bewildered expression.

She giggled softly. “I mean I think you made him tired.”

“Really? Do all old people get tired quick?”

“No, dear. Just Draco.”

“Thanks a lot, Mother,” Draco huffed out, but he only pretended to sound annoyed.

“My pleasure, darling.” She took a sip of her wine.

Their meal was interrupted with a loud “Hoot”. Draco looked and saw a familiar owl landing next to him. He saw the letter and eyed the magenta envelope. George. He quickly gave a treat to the owl — ignoring the glare the owl gave him like last time — grabbed the letter, and said, “Please excuse me for a minute.”

Leaving the dining room, he stared at the letter for a minute or two before he opened it and read the very short letter in the barely legible writing.

Draco,

Thanks,
George

He clutched at the letter, trying to read in between the lines. It was succinct, and that made him nervous. Was George going to break it off? Was George going to fire him? Since when did he start to worry about such matters? If he broke up with George he could always get another guy, right? And another job, too, if someone hired him! But Draco knew he didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to lose George at all. Plus, he liked his current job. It was nowhere near what he envisioned when he was younger, but it was a fun job. Each day was different, what with George’s constant pranks and Verity’s new colour scheme, and he surprisingly liked how his routine would be mixed with spontaneity. Was he turning into a Gryffindor? Then again, he was in love with one.

Love. Yes, he was definitely in love with George Weasley, and he didn’t care about the fact that he was a Weasley. Strange, since just a few years ago, he’d have Crucioed whoever told him he’d be in love with George Weasley of all people, but now he couldn’t deny that fact.

Shoving his worries aside, he went back to the dining room and sat at his spot.

“Anything wrong?” his mother asked.

“No. George just wants me to come in earlier tomorrow.”

“I see.”

“Draco?” Teddy started. “Can Uncle George come tomorrow? I want to play with both of you.”

“We’ll see,” Draco promised absent-mindedly. “We’ll see.”

Next morning came too soon for Draco’s liking. Inside, his stomach was doing the its own dangerous Quidditch moves, his throat felt like he had a Galleon lodged there, and his hands felt clammy like he was near a Dementor. On the outside, though, he tried to stay calm and stoic. He met George in the front.

“Morning,” George said first.

“Good morning,” Draco answered stiffly.

“Do you want anything? Tea? Coffee? Juice?”

Draco wondered if this was how a break up happens, though he had no idea just how beverages correlated to a break up. He shook his head. “I don’t need anything.”

“Okay. Wanna go talk in my room?”

“Fine by me.” At this point Draco hadn’t really looked at George directly, but now he tried to meet George’s eyes, who unfortunately turned around too quick. Instead, he followed George to the room. Once in there, they both sat on the bed. Draco couldn’t help but sense the similarity of their current situation to the Leaky incident. He rested his hands in his lap and stared at them.

George cleared his throat. “I want to apologise. I, er, all these times had no idea I’d compared you to Fred. That was never my intention. You and Fred are alike at times, but you’re not Fred. I . . . I . . . ”

Draco looked up then to see a bright red blush on George’s cheeks. “Yes? You what?”

“I love you. I mean. I love Fred, too, but not like that!” George quickly amended. “Please don’t think like Lee. I’m not perverted like him! I mean, I’ll never think of Fred like that! I mean . . . Merlin forbid! I . . . fuck. I’m bollocksing this up.”

George looked so flustered. Draco couldn’t help but feel pity towards him. He reached out to grab the side of George’s face, and his other hand rested on George’s jean-covered thigh. He momentarily paused to study the red hair and the red cheeks. It was a good match, surprisingly, as images of George in a tomato costume ran in his mind. Mentally, he shook his head, bringing his attention back to George. “Are you done rambling? I understand what you mean, and I . . . I love you, too, okay? And because of that, I think I was more upset with the idea of you seeing me as Fred’s replacement. I want to be your partner, your lover. Not your twin. I, I . . . ” Apologising was not Draco’s strong point. But he wanted to say it because he did mean it. “I’m sorry for overreacting and not talking about this with you in a mature fashion.”

George’s face softened at Draco’s explanation and apology. “I think we were both idiots yesterday.”

With his hand still on George’s face, Draco’s thumb began to trace George’s lips. They were chapped, and he felt the uneven ridges. George grabbed that hand and stilled it. “Can . . . I want us to . . . make love.”

Despite himself, Draco smirked. “So polite and gentlemanly now, aren’t we?”

“Oh, you . . .” George grumbled. “Fine! Can we shag?”

“You, my good sir, have zero skills in the wooing department,” Draco deadpanned.

“Ah, but I do have good skills in other departments!” With that George leaned in and captured Draco’s lips with his.

“Mmmph!” Whatever Draco was going to say next was muffled by George’s passionate and eager lips. He felt George’s tongue seeking entrance, and he let it in, his own hands burying themselves in George’s hair. The kiss deepened, the tongue in his mouth caused electric sparks that made him grow excited in multiple ways. Soon, though, he needed oxygen, a very important necessity in his life, and Draco broke the kiss. “Well, you’ve proven you can kiss well.” Panting, he ran his hands all over George’s hair and face.

George smirked, and Draco smirked back, fully intending to wipe that off George’s face. This time, Draco initiated the kiss, and he kissed fervently, even pushing George down on the bed. To get comfortable, Draco straddled George, and that was when he had proof on just how much George wanted him.

The kiss broke a second time when George flipped them over, and Draco found himself on his back. “Someone’s excited . . . ” Draco panted out.

“Yeah, and so are you.” George began to unbutton the robes, revealing Draco’s pale skin. Upon each revealing, George kissed the area, the kisses soon turning into light nips. Moaning, Draco arched his back, his sensitive body seeking more of George’s ministrations, his hands grappling to grab onto George’s own robes.

Their lovemaking progressed from there. It wasn’t long until Draco was being prepped gently and lovingly by George. It was painful, but Draco didn’t mind. He knew the pain would subside and be replaced with pleasure soon. When George finally entered, Draco was bombarded by all sorts of senses. His hands were entwined with George’s, his hair was all out of place, and he was covered in a light sheen of sweat. He could taste George when they kissed again. And when George began to move, Draco joined him, feeling like he was flying, but in a different way. As they both soared through the imaginary sky, Draco and George reached the goal together.

It was over soon, but Draco knew this was only the beginning of a change.

They lay there, cuddling together, basking in the afterglow, and George said, “I’m finally going to change Fred’s room to just a room. Also, I’m going to quit smoking.”

“Oh? That’s good. At least you’ll smell better from now on. And you’re changing the room?” Draco quirked his eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a guest room or something. Will you help?”

Draco teased, “With the room and helping you quit that habit? Yes, of course. Will I get a bonus pay for dealing with a cranky boss who’s trying to quit?”

“If you want. Or better yet . . . bonus sex!”

“And you said Lee’s the perverted one? I wonder who’s really the perverted one.”

“Shut up.” George then glanced at the time. “Shite! We’re have fifteen minutes to open up the store!”

Right on cue, they heard Verity’s loud voice calling, “Are you two up there or what? Do I needta get a crowbar to separate you boys?!”

“Coming!” George shouted, looking around for his clothes. Draco followed, at a much slower pace. His lower body felt quite tender. George noticed. “Take your time.”

Draco grimaced. “Yes, Mother.” He then remembered something. “Can you come over today to the manor? Teddy, who’s staying with us for a couple of days, asked for you.”

“I’ll be glad to.”

“Excellent. You can take Teddy up for a broom ride, today.”

“Why? Oh . . . oh!”

“Yes, you can be thick at times,” Draco sniggered.

“Whatever. At least I’m not the one with a sore arse.” With that George escaped the room, and Draco let him go for now. He’d plan a revenge for later. Right now, he had to hurry up and dress up. He didn’t want Verity to see him naked. And though he’d never admit it out loud, he also grew quite fond of the magenta robes.

“George?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did Verity give me a scheming grin and thumbs up all day today?”

George took a sip of wine before answering. “What do you mean?” He kept his face straight, even though Draco could read him pretty accurately.

“What,” Draco’s eyes narrowed, “are you two hiding?”

“Hiding? Nothing!” George grinned.

“That grin says it all. Please, whatever you’re plotting, don’t do it here.”

Here was the fancy restaurant in Hogsmeade George had been manipulated into taking Draco to weeks ago. “But I have to! It’s part of my plan.”

“What plan?”

George smiled. He’d told Verity his plan, and she agreed it was perfect. He worried about one thing, though. He wasn’t sure how Draco would react. He took another sip of wine and he took a deep breath. “Draco Malfoy? Would you . . . ” he paused.

“This isn’t a marriage proposal, is it?” Draco asked curiously.

“Not really. Well, sort of?” George hurried on before Draco turned sarcastic. “I want to promote you, Draco. You deserve it. You do more than a regular shop assistant by doing the books, helping me with the invention, and promoting businesses with other companies. I want you to be my full-fledged partner in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.”

George was tempted to duck his head. He didn’t want to see any negative reaction on Draco, but he kept his head up. Draco’s face was neutral, and that nearly drove George mad as he waited for Draco to say something. Anything.

“Will the store name change to ‘Malfoy and Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’?”

Well, that wasn’t quite a reaction George had expected, but it was better than Draco throwing hexes around or something. “If you want,” he said as calmly as he could.

Draco laughed. “I’m just kidding. We’ll keep the name the same. I . . . you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure. Like I said, you deserve it.”

“Well, naturally,” Draco said smugly. “I’ll be happy to accept your business proposal. Though I don’t see how this is different from a marriage proposal.”

“Oh, stop being a wanker,” George bit out, though he now smiled widely. “Now, let’s celebrate for real!”

The celebration went well. Draco and George talked about new business ideas over a delicious meal. Lastly, they had what Verity would call “wild monkey humping adventures” in George’s room.

As they lay in bed, George thought about how much things had changed since Draco came in to his life. Had he not listened to his twin before, he’d probably still be smoking, still be depressed, and still be the overworking joke shop owner who put up a false face to pretend he was a cheerful prankster. He didn’t have to do that now, and it was all thanks to his twin and Draco.

That night, Fred visited in his dream one last time.

“Hey, you. I’m glad you finally fixed your life,” Fred said as his greeting.

“Yeah, yeah. You want me to grovel at you, right?”

“That’d be nice, but it’s not necessary. I’m glad you and Malfoy found each other.”

“Er, how do you feel about him being my new . . . ”

“Business partner?” Fred finished up. “Good choice. My last suggestion regarding business is to hire that Nott kid in the future. He’s got a good head on him. He’ll only waste away in his current job.”

“Since when have you turned into a Slytherin supporter?” George teased.

“Oh, since I’ve met Reggie. He’s an amusing Slytherin. Unlike Professor Snape who’s anything but amusing. But hire Nott, will you?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Oh, whatever.” Fred gave George a bittersweet smile. “This is my third and final visit to you in this manner. Next time we meet will be when you finally leave here. I’ll be waiting for you, okay, Georgie?”

“Yeah.” George’s throat constricted, and the words could barely come out. “Fred . . . thanks.”

“Not a problem.” Fred’s eyes twinkled like before. “Just don’t do anything stupid, okay? Be happy. Live your life to the fullest and all those fun philosophical quotes.”

“I will,” George said, and he woke up. He looked down in his arms and saw Draco in his embrace. With a soft smile on his face, he kissed Draco’s cheeks and repeated, “I will.”

Epilogue

From the Journal of Fred Weasley
September 2001

Finally. Now George can live without my interference. I can finally relax here without worrying my arse off about him.

Now, all I have to do is maintain this journal, figure out a way to find someone else to be Aunt Rachel’s victim for the next century or so, and beat Reggie at that bloody game!

Oh, and I’ll still keep an eye out for George and Malfoy. Looks like Nott’s a nice addition to their business down there. Too bad I’m not there. Things would really be hopping if I were still alive!

Then again, maybe when they all come here, we can create a joke shop here! Hey . . . now there’s an idea! Plus the Marauders are here! It’ll be perfect! And I have plenty of time to convince the authorities here to open up a joke shop! Ready or not, the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes will have a new branch soon!

Ending Notes

– The whole “Harry Teddy” thing stems from this drabble I wrote (which can be read here: http://snarky-slytherin.net/id/drabbles/hairyteddy.html) and this is the teddy bear I was thinking of when I pictured it in my mind: http://www.christiebears.co.uk/images-cb/gallery/large/124.jpg.
– I’m aware Verity’s a bit different from what little is portrayed of her in canon, and I felt like since she really didn’t have much exposure in the book, I decided to add a bit to her character. I still see her as “proper”, but I figure once she got used to working at the WWW, she’d be more outgoing. Also, her hair . . . yes, she’s blonde, but let’s just say she went through a life crisis of some sort, and instead of buying a sports car or something, she decided to experiment with her hair.

The final battle was over.

Through dragons, hexes, goblins, sword fighting, giants, and the unforgivables, Voldemort had finally been vanquished.

Through past experiences, Albus and Severus knew that the Avada Kedavra curse wouldn’t work against the Dark Lord, so Severus had researched and found an answer. The answer was that of an old spell – so ancient that even Voldemort himself hadn’t known about it. Despite Sirius’ complaint about the “greasy git” teaching him a “DARK spell”, Severus trained Harry and he succeeded.

After Voldemort’s fall, the remaining Death Eaters tried to escape, but the aurors and the members of the Order captured many. One of them was Peter Pettigrew. Arthur Weasley took over Cornelius Fudge’s position and became the new Minister of Magic. He pardoned Sirius and now the Animagus was able to know the joy of being a free man once again.

A few days after the final battle, Sirius, Severus, Remus, and several aurors went to scope out the Riddles’ manor. They were told to look for dark artefacts and other objects in the old house. During the assignment, the aurors had the honour of seeing another infamous Snape and Black dispute.

“Why the hell did you ever let Harry learn something like that?!” Sirius glared at Severus, still not forgiving him for what he had forced Harry to do or for his past treatment of the boy.

Severus rolled his eyes. “Please, Black. Spare me the melodrama of an idiotic Gryffindor.” He continued to make his way to the entrance of the manor. “We killed Voldemort and that’s all that matters in this ridiculous situation, isn’t it?”

Sirius fumed. “You greasy git, you are a good for nothing. Nothing at all.”

Severus ignored him and continued to make his way toward the front door. They all entered and started their search.

Sirius searched through several rooms of the house, finding nothing. Finally, he came to the last area he had been assigned to: Voldemort’s private rooms.

Sirius looked around. Like its predecessors, this room was also dark and gloomy. The space was large. In its centre stood an enormous four-post bed, covered with velvet and satin sheets, blankets and heavy bed curtains in dark Slytherin colours. An oriental rug was spread out beneath the bed. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the western wall, and a green armchair and small table were positioned in front of the fireplace. Lastly, on both sides of the bed were night tables, each with a single drawer.

After flipping through book after book, looking under the chairs and bed, and searching inside the fireplace, he paused at the night tables. The drawer on the right revealed nothing, but when he opened the one on the left, he discovered a pensieve.

“Unbelievable. Even he needed one?” Sirius raised his wand and checked for any curses. There weren’t any. He was about to leave the room to show the others what he had acquired when he paused in curiosity.

“Hm . . . if I look into the pensieve, I wonder if I’ll find proof that Snape truly was a traitor and that he joined Voldemort of his own free will to torture us Marauders, minus Peter. With his extensive knowledge in the Dark Arts, I think it’s appropriate that the others and I make sure he doesn’t become ambitious enough to be the next Dark Lord,” thought Sirius.

Sirius continued to stare at the pensieve in his hands. On its own, the object appeared innocent enough, but knowing whom it belonged to made him shudder, both with apprehension and intense curiosity.

He glanced around to make sure that no one was around to see him, and then shrunk the pensieve and pocketed it. He walked out with a smug expression on his face.

“I finally get to sack him with this pensieve as evidence.” With that thought in mind, he left, never knowing that Severus was hidden in the corner, with an expressionless look on his face.

As soon as he got to his rooms at Hogwarts, provided kindly by Albus, he slammed the door and spelled it locked. He walked up to the bed and fell back on it in exhaustion, sprawling out lazily. In that position, he dug through his robe’s pockets to find the mini-pensieve. After growing it back to its original size, Sirius once again stared at it.

After a while, he set the object down next to him on the bed and gazed around the room. His quarters weren’t very large, but they were big enough to accommodate Sirius, and it was cosy due to the warm, steadily burning fireplace. As for contents, the room itself was nearly bare. Sirius really didn’t have time to settle down – he’d only been a free man for a few days, and had been busy hunting down the Death Eaters and dark artefacts.

Sirius sighed to himself. While Arthur did pardon him, he knew that many still didn’t believe he was innocent. Especially Severus. He scowled. Severus would never believe him innocent, even if the truth were written on his beaky nose, for Merlin’s sake!

Grabbing the pensieve, he sat up quickly and decided to get this over with. As much as he wanted proof that Severus was guilty, he shuddered at the thought of going through Voldemort’s mind.

With a deep breath, he brought his wand to the pensieve and looked into the supposedly harmless bowl.

In the glassy surface of the pensieve, he saw trees. Looking closely, he noticed that those trees were part of the Forbidden Forest. The moon was full, but it was beginning its waning stages. He saw a figure hunched on the ground, its back against a tree. Gazing closely, he was surprised to see that the form was Severus.

Sirius grimaced and lowered his face to touch the contents of the pensieve so that he might get a closer look. He felt the expected pull, and then the sensation of passing through an icy cold vortex before eventually landing a few feet away from Severus.

He glanced around. The trees looked ominous in the dark night, making him shiver involuntarily. Strange. When he was in his Animagus form, he didn’t feel the fear, but as a human, he realised he was more vulnerable. He knew he wasn’t going to get hurt in this realm, at least he hoped he wouldn’t.

Sirius’ gaze went back to the slight form. With his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs, and his head bent as if he was crying, Sirius could tell he was off in his own world.

He was mumbling to himself.

Sirius couldn’t hear a word, so he walked up closer to the Slytherin.

“Damn, Dumbledore,” said Severus, breathing out in frustration. “He always favours the Gryffindorks. We Slytherins are always the bad ones. So if one of us is nearly murdered, he just makes us promise not to tell a soul, and gives the culprits detentions.”

The onlooker snorted. “So the prat is having a little self-pitying party. Funny. I suppose with an attitude like his, the only sympathy he’ll ever get is his own.” Sirius listened on.

“Black deserves more. Murderers like him ought to be sent to Azkaban. But no, he’s the kind-hearted boy everyone loves, Potter’s sidekick.”

Ironically, Sirius wondered whether or not Severus knew back then that his declaration was going to be fulfilled.

“Why was he able to get off so freely? I know if anyone from my house had tried to do what Black did, we’d be expelled and get sent to Azkaban at best. Other houses would have gotten off easily also. This whole predicament, and Dumbledore’s unfairness is an unjustifiable -”

” – act.” The pensieve Severus and the real Sirius both jumped at the sound, as a new voice interrupted Severus’ monologue. “I very much agree, Mr. Snape.”

Severus jumped up from his position on the ground and pulled his wand out. He snarled, “Who are you?! How dare you eavesdrop on me?”

A tall man came into view from behind the shelter of a cluster of trees not far away from where Severus stood. He had his hands spread out in front of him to indicate he meant no harm.

Severus put his arm down, his shoulders sagging in relief, yet his expression remained guarded. “Oh, good evening, Mr. Riddle.”

“Riddle?” Sirius whispered unbelievingly. “That’s Riddle? You mean Voldie, the ugly, was actually shaggable back then?” He gawked at the man who had to be Voldemort’s younger self. Sirius swallowed and studied the future Dark Lord. “Mr. Riddle” was dressed in an elegant forest green robe, and from the way it was shining in the moonlight, Sirius could tell that it was made of an expensive brand of silk. The man was taller than Severus by a few inches and was about the same height as himself. Sirius knew that he was closer to about fifty years old, but looked as if he wasn’t a day over thirty. His black hair was cut short and looked luxuriously healthy. His eyes, however, captured Sirius’ attention. He was so used to seeing the deformed Voldemort’s red eyes that discovering the brilliant and shadowy dark-green surprised him.

Voldemort, or in actuality, Tom Riddle, smiled at Severus and shook his head to get the bangs out of his eyes. “Haven’t seen you for a while, Severus. You were supposed to visit Lucius this winter holiday.”

Without looking at Tom, Severus answered coldly. “I was busy. I felt like staying back this year.” He sat back down on the ground and stared at the dirt.

“I see,” Tom nodded. “Shame though. We all missed you.”

Severus didn’t say anything.

Tom let out a sigh. “Okay, Severus, enough with this attempt at a conversation. What happened?”

“None of your business,” was the curt answer.

“Okay. You are right. This really isn’t any of my business. But I do care about you, Severus, and I’d like to see if I can help.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Right. He’s going to offer Snape a chance to get back at the Marauders and all he has to do is to join the Death Eaters.”

“What can you do? Dumbledore, that idiot of a Headmaster, has the final say in whatever happens here.”

Tom smiled. “True. But what I meant was that perhaps you’d like someone to talk this over with.” Stretching himself out, he sat down on the ground in front of Severus. “You can talk to me. I won’t bite. Last time I checked, I wasn’t a cannibal.”

Severus stiffened at the last comment. “I see.”

A round of silence passed before Severus asked, “What are you doing here? This place is far from the Malfoy’s manor.”

“I had some business to do in the Forbidden Forest. After doing so, I decided to walk around here and came upon you talking to yourself.” Tom paused. “So what happened?”

Severus muttered something that sounded like “persistent bastard” before going on, “Nothing. Just a prank that went a bit far.”

“Oh?” Tom raised an eyebrow. “How far?”

“Far enough that I nearly died last night,” Severus snarled. “Does that answer your question?”

Tom nodded slightly. “Pretty much.”

“Then kindly go away.”

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll do so.” Tom got up and dusted himself off. “But first, let me accompany you out of here. You are still a minor, so if you get hurt or something were to happen to you, it would be my responsibility.”

Glaring, Severus reluctantly stood up. They both started walking back toward the castle, and Sirius followed them. No one said anything until they reached the end of the forest. Severus was about to turn to make his way to the entrance when Tom called out something.

“You are free to owl me sometimes, Severus. I’ll be willing to listen and talk with you. You are truly an interesting person.”

Severus stopped and turned around. “Thank you.”

Tom smiled handsomely and walked off.

“Thank you for saying I’m interesting . . . you are the first to say so to me, ever,” Severus said this so softly that Sirius almost didn’t catch it.

Blinking, Sirius gazed at his new surroundings. He glanced around the room and immediately noticed the elaborate decorations and designs. This must’ve been a guest room in the Malfoy manor. He saw Tom sitting at a desk. Moving in to get a closer look, he discovered that there were two sheets of parchment on the desk. Sirius quickly read over the one nearest him.

Mr. Riddle,

Remember your generous request of lending an ear? If you aren’t busy this upcoming weekend, could you come up to Hogsmeade? It is Hogsmeade weekend for us students, and I figured this would be the best time to meet outside of Hogwarts. If you’ve got other business to attend to, then I understand.

Cordially,
Severus Snape

After reading that, Sirius briefly remembered Severus receiving an owl at the Slytherin’s table. He thought quickly and noted that Severus did indeed get that particular owl a couple of days before the Hogsmeade weekend, and it shocked those that were paying attention to see him get an owl. Of their six years together, that was the first time Sirius and the other Marauders witnessed such an incident.

After pulling himself back from memory lane, he glanced at the other parchment and saw that Tom had finished his letter and was now reading what he had written. Mystified, Sirius read along.

Severus,

Of course it wouldn’t be a hassle for me to meet you this weekend. I always can make time for someone like you. Now how about meeting me at Hog’s Head, about four o’ clock. That shall give you plenty of time to do your excursions. I’ll be waiting.

Tom

PS – Don’t call me “Mr. Riddle”. Tom will do.

The settings changed again immediately. Sirius recognised the place as Hog’s Head, the familiar grimy, murky bar that attracted strange folks

He saw Severus entered and look around for Tom. When Severus finally located him, he walked into the darkest corner of the room and sat across from the older man. Sirius stalked over to the area and eavesdropped.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rid -, I mean Tom.”

Tom let out a great big smile before answering, “Good afternoon to you, Severus. What would you like to drink?”

“Butterbeer, please.”

Tom signalled a man over to their table and asked for one butterbeer and firewhiskey for himself. After they got their drinks, and Tom made sure they were in clean glasses, he initiated the conversation.

“So what do I have the pleasure of your company today, Severus?”

Uncomfortably he shifted his posture, but never once his bland expression wavering. “I just wanted to talk to someone. Someone who would listen. I hope you don’t mind me for making you come out for no particular reasons . . . ”

With a wave of his hand, he brushed off Severus’ subtle apology. “No reason to be sorry. I told you that I am available for you anytime, and being with you is most certainly not a waste at all. But honestly, don’t you have any other people to talk to? Like a fellow Slytherin?”

“I am not open with many people my age. The other Slytherins view me ask a weak figure, just because I can’t defend myself from the Marauder’s pranks. And of course we all know I am not friends with the students from the other houses -” Sirius chortled in the background.” – so I have no one else really. I am a loner by nature.”

“What about your parents?” Tom asked, leaning forward with his hands in front of his face, clutched together. “Aren’t you close with your father? From what I’ve seen and heard, he seems to value you.”

A bitter look came upon Severus’ face. “When we are in public, he acts so proud of me, but really, at home, he despises me. He says I am nothing but a disgrace to the Snapes.”

“How so?”

“Because of my skills.”

“What of your skills?”

Severus glared at Tom. “With all due respect, sir, you never relent, do you?”

Tom smirked. “No, I don’t.” His smirk disappeared and a serious look replaced his face. “I don’t care if I have to tell you this a hundred of times, but I really do care and even if I have to force you to say something to prove I do, I will.”

Still scowling, Severus didn’t say anything.

“So, what of your skills, Severus?”

” . . . He just doesn’t like my interest in potion making . . . ”

“Why not? Potion making is an art. A skill that requires more than just mixing up ingredients together.”

Severus relaxed his posture a bit, glad that he found someone who understood the precise meaning of potions. “My father doesn’t see it that way. He prefers me to delve into the Dark Arts. Ever since I was young, he made me read books on the subject and when I finally got my wand the summer before going to Hogwarts, he made me practise the spells constantly.”

“I see. So you aren’t into the Dark Arts, then?”

Severus shook his head. “I like learning about them. It’s an interesting concept. But I prefer potions, a procedure that I can be infallible with. Potion allows me to do that.”

“So does the Dark Arts,” Tom interjected.

“Yes. They do. But the subject just isn’t . . . me.”

Nodding understandingly, he reached over to touch Severus’ shoulder. “I understand. No offence to you, but potion never was fascinating to me as it is to you.”

“Potion really isn’t for anybody, just like the Dark Arts not being for everyone either,” Severus said this wisely.

“So your father would rather see you do something like Dark Arts because he’s into it?”

He nodded. “He’d rather see me be into anything but potions. He claims that anyone can brew something simple as a calming potion. He’d rather see me interested in something as Transfigurations.” He sipped his butterbeer and scowled. “Something he claims that Black is excellent at.”

Sirius jumped at the sudden mention of his name.

“Black . . . ? You mean Sirius? The great-great-grandson of Phineas Nigellus?”

Severus nodded. “I believe so, yes. You know they are related?”

Tom laughed heartily. “I read Hogwarts: A History enough to remember he was the least popular headmaster. And I do keep updates on pureblood families. Families like yours, Severus.”

“Unfortunately for me, my father and Black’s mother are real good friends. I hear so many things about him from father, even though his mother seems to be rather edgy with him these days. But my father seems to respect him enough.”

Tom studied him intently. “So are you jealous of that respect?”

He didn’t say anything. Instead he stared down into his drink.

“There are so many reasons why I’m jealous of Black, but . . . ” Severus hesitated, “I guess that’s one of the reasons why.”

Neither of the men said anything. Both sipping their drinks and staring off into space peacefully. As the evening drew near, more and more people, who looked dodgier than the two sitting in the corner, came in. Severus glanced at the clock above Tom’s head and realised it was already six-thirty. Tom saw where his companion was looking at and smiled.

“I guess you should be heading back now.” He stood up, and Severus followed his actions. “This has been an enjoyable time for me, Severus. I do hope we do this more often. Remember, I am free whenever you need me. Oh and don’t bother about the drinks. They are my treats.”

A small smile played on Severus’ lips. “Thank you for the drinks, Tom. And I really did appreciate the time we spent together as well.”

Tom walked Severus to the exit of the bar, “Feel free to owl me to schedule another time, alright?”

Severus nodded and walked off. After watching him stride away to Hogwarts, Tom turned and went back into Hog’s Head. Walking back into the corner, Sirius saw that a new person was occupying the space, Lucius Malfoy.

Sirius growled to himself. Turmoil of emotion was going through him once again. He wasn’t very happy at seeing Malfoy at all. He was also confused by Tom’s actions and by Severus’ enigmatic words.

“What in the bloody name does he mean by being jealous of me? I bet you he has no reasons. In fact, I probably have more reasons to be jealous and resentful of him! Not surprising the way my mum would always gush about Mr. Snape’s only son!” Sirius muttered under his breath.

His reverie was cut off by Tom’s laughter.

“Yes, Lucius. Severus does show potential. He will be a great asset to our circle of Death Eaters. His potion expertise will come in handy and so will his curses. After hearing about what his father made him do, I can see that the rumours about him knowing more curses and hexes than any other first years is true.”

Lucius bowed his head. “Yes, my Lord. I was rather surprised to see him be so intimate with his wand and the spells. Surprised me immensely.”

“Yes, yes. I’ve got my work to cut out for me though. Apparently that boy needs a friend and a father figure that will treat him with respect. I will give him that.” Tom’s eyes became shadowed. “In fact, I think that even if I didn’t have an ulterior motive in this whole event, I’d still try to be a friend to him. He reminds me of myself when I was younger . . . ”

“You are too kind, my Lord.”

Tom smiled not so benevolently. “I am, Lucius. I am.”

Before Sirius had enough time to contemplate on what he had just heard, the scenery changed once again. He found himself back at the Malfoy’s manor once again, in Tom’s room. In front of him, was the fireplace with two comfortable looking armchairs. The fire wasn’t lit, and the chairs were occupied. Tom sat on the right, while Severus was in the left.

“I am glad you accepted the Malfoy’s invitation to come here for the summer holidays,” Tom sipped his tea and set it back down on the small tea table in front of him.

Severus had a cup of tea also, sipped his and held it in his hand, concentrating on the warm colour of the milky brown substance. “I’m glad as well.”

“Are you looking forward to going back to Hogwarts for your last year?”

“I guess . . . ” He trailed off and shrugged. “School is no longer a place I consider a blissful sanctuary anymore.”

Tom nodded supportively. “Simply amazing how someone who’s supposedly a good person can ruin his students, whom he supposedly cares.”

Sirius noticed that Severus looked uncomfortable about the subject of Albus, and Tom changed the subjects quickly.

“Anyways, Severus, I have something that might interest you.” Reaching over on the other side of the armchair, furthest away from Severus, he picked up a book that Sirius had somehow missed seeing. He handed it over to Severus. “Here. I think you will enjoy making experimental potions, and since Professor Singh highly favours your skills and allows you to use the spare lab near the dorm, you will have no problem doing this project.”

Severus’ mouth dropped open and that eased away his “permanent” scowl and made him look more human. He was so shocked that he didn’t accept the book. “That’s . . . that’s . . . ” He swallowed and found his tongue again. “That’s the fifteenth century book about rare potions from everything to love potions to distress potions!”

Smiling, Tom shoved the book into the offered hands. “Use it well. I found this book during my travels in the earlier days and kept it. But since I lack the skills you have, I figured that passing this book along to you will be more beneficial.”

Severus’ fingers closed over the books, holding them without any ounce of pressure, for the fear that it will get damaged if handled not so gently. “Thank you . . .  I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t thank me, Severus.” Tom had a peaceful look on his face. “This gesture is the same one I would have done if my son, which I haven’t had yet, was dedicated to potions, just like you.”

Feeling the proverbial shift, Sirius found himself at a new place. A place he doesn’t recognised. He looked around and saw that he was at some sort of a graveyard. He looked straight ahead and saw many robed bodies. Their backs were to Sirius and they were bent as if they were bowing to someone. Walking up to the front, he saw Tom as Voldemort and two people that were dressed as Muggles.

Sirius winced as he heard the well-known demonic, cold voice spoken coolly. Strange how after seeing the “nice” Voldemort, hearing the melodic, husky voice, he couldn’t help but see why people were drawn to him. Apparently there were two sides to that man. The decent side was probably used to recruit followers and then the immoral side was used during Death Eater’s businesses. He couldn’t help but remember Lily talking about Hitler and how his speeches and his voice drew people to him. Similar things seemed to apply to Voldemort as well.

“Walden and Lucius, show me your loyalty to me. Torture these good for nothing, Muggles.”

The two spoken men came up from the group and bowed even lower. “Yes, my lord,” they both replied. They sneered at the trembling Muggles and each went to their jobs.

Walden took the female and immediately cast the Cruciatus Curse. Lucius used Imperio on the remaining Muggle and ordered the man to start ripping off the clothes of the female. He then ordered the man to pick up the knife that Lucius threw on the ground and start slashing the woman, after Walden petrified the woman. She couldn’t move or scream, but Sirius saw that she was struggling against the Petrificus Totalus spell and was draining of her energy.

Sirius felt sick. The other Death Eaters around him and Voldemort looked amused. The Death Eaters were laughing and screaming in delight. Occasional shouts of encouragement cheered out.

The woman slowly bled to death, her own blood seeping out from the many wounds was blending into the dark soil. Walden neutralised the petrifying spell and the woman took her last breath and died. Lucius stopped the Imperio curse and the man fell to his knees, sobbing and muttering incoherently about how he killed his own wife. At this point, Voldemort stepped up and said the two most feared words.

With a bored expression, he waved his wand and said “Avada Kedavra.” The man slumped to the ground and was dead on the spot.

Voldemort motioned for the bodies to be moved somewhere else. He spoke up again. “Now that’s one ways to get rid of Muggles.”

All the Death Eaters laughed and bowed their head.

“We are slowly gaining more followers. But we still aren’t enough to take on larger attacks. And with that miserable fool Dumbledore around, the Muggle-loving bastard, we can’t do much yet.”

One extremely stupid Death Eater piped up. “So it is true? The only person you are afraid of confronting right now is Dumbeldore? The same renowned wizard that defeated Grindenwald over thirty years ago?”

Voldemort’s eyes blazed with anger as he walked to the front of the doomed Death Eater who said that. “Are you comparing me to that disgusting wizard who has no right to be called a wizard with such outlandish beliefs?”

Realising his mistake, the Death Eater swallowed and cowered. “No, my Lord. That’s not what I meant. It was a slip of the tongue, sir!”

His eyes narrowing, he hissed, “Didn’t sound like a slip of the tongue, you miserable wretch. CRUCIO!”

The new victim screamed as Voldemort repeatedly cast the Crucio spell. Screaming till his throat was raw, Voldemort gave him one last look before walking back to his place at the front.

“Anyone else dare to question my abilities and compare me to Dumbeldore?” The remaining Death Eaters were as silent as the night surrounding them and Voldemort smirked. “Then the meeting is adjourned till next time.” He apparated and Sirius went with him to another memory.

Snow was gently falling on the ground. Sirius looked and saw that they were back in Hogsmeade and the place looked like a Winter Wonderland. There were younger students having snowballs fights and making snowmen. In fact, he saw himself with James throwing snowballs at each other. He was surprised to see how young he looked, how carefree both of them were.

He forced himself not to look and followed Tom, who was his other self again, was heading toward Hog’s Head.

Severus was already waiting for Tom at the entrance. The young Slytherin had a pleased look on his face. Sirius noticed that Tom had a hood over him, so no one could really tell who it was. “Trying to be careful . . . ” Sirius briefly remembered that during October of his seventh year, Albus had announced at Halloween that they were to watch out for Voldemort and the Death Eaters. James was making fun of the name, calling him “Voldie and the Death Eaters”. Sirius remembered that the rest of the Gryffindor table members who overheard the statement, were laughing. Lily had mentioned that James’ rendition of the name sounded like a Rock band, rather than some group of people attacking and causing havoc.

Sirius’ memories were cut off short when he saw that Tom had ushered Severus into the Hog’s Head rather quickly. Once settled in the area that they claimed as their own corner earlier in the year, Tom took his hood off.

“Hello, Severus. You seem well and happy.”

Severus smiled an actual smile. “Yes.”

“I’m glad we’ve been regularly keeping in contact via owls. Each time I get a letter, it brightens my day.”

“Same here.”

Tom pulled out a package and from somewhere in his robe, enlarged it and handed it to him. “I know that Christmas isn’t until another week and a half, but I figure that you can use this before then.”

Severus accepted the package, which was roughly the size of a medium telly. He opened it and gasped. Tom had gotten him the cauldron he’d wanted to have ever since his first year. The cauldron was a simple, silver cauldron, but whatever he brewed would always come out pure, never diluted, unless he just made a big mistake while making the batch. Silver cauldrons were very expensive and rare. The price was what had prevented Severus from getting one, and now he had one.

“Salazar’s Serpent . . . this is wonderful!” Severus handled the cauldron carefully and bought it to the front of his face, a mere millilitres away. “I can’t believe it. I asked my father for one of those during the winter holidays of my first year and he said such supplies are rubbish and waste of money. I never had imagined I’d be an owner of this . . . ”

Tom chuckled at Severus’ oblivious happiness. “You deserve it.”

“Oh my. Forgive me. I can’t believe I forgot my manners.” Severus put it down and looked at Tom, straight in the eyes. “Thank you so much for this wonderful gift. This is the best Christmas gift. Ever.”

“You’re wel -” Severus cut him off.

“And I value you deeply. You are like the father I never had. Thank you for being there for me and showing me you care.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrapped vial and handed it to Tom. “Here’s your Christmas gift,” he rambled on. “It’s my rendition of Dreamless Sleep potion. Only I think that it should be named Sweet Dreams potion, considering its effects.”

Tom was surprised. He knew Severus was a good potion maker, but most people his age wasn’t that good to make their own version of certain potions. He unwrapped it and stared at the clear liquid in the container. Severus animatedly continued on. “I’ve even enhanced the taste. It should taste sweeter.”

Tom held up the vial and carefully put it in the inner pocket of his robe. “Thank you, Severus. This truly is the nicest gift I’ve ever received. And considering how I do get plagued by nightmares on occasion, this is wonderful.”

Sirius could not believe it. Tom aka Voldemort had nightmares? When he was the bloody cause of many people’s nightmares, especially Harry?

Severus’ sallow skin flushed slightly at the compliment and went even pinker at what Tom said next.

“I think you should try to become a Potion master. I hear that it’s rather gruelling, but it’s worth it. You will be one of the few Potion master here in Britain, and will be sought after a lot.”

Severus didn’t say anything, but his eyes were calm and had a pleasing note to them.

“Like I said, Severus, this really is a nice gift, but I think the best gift was the part you telling me that I am like a father to you. For a bachelor like me, that really warms me up.” Tom smiled and before Severus could say anything, he stood up and walked Severus to the door.

“Go back now. It’s already dark. I’ll see you at the Malfoy’s Manor during the holidays.” Tom had pulled up his hood before leaving the corner and quickly gave Severus a hug before shooing him back toward the direction of the castle.

“My loyal followers, this is a grand day for us.” Sirius jumped about ten feet in the air when he heard Voldemort’s voice instead of Tom’s. “Hogwarts completed its last term a few days ago, and thus new members have joined our circle. We have a total of thirty new followers and three-fourths of them are Hogwarts’ previous students.”

Sirius looked around and saw Severus, Bellatrix, LeStrange himself, Regulus, and then he didn’t recognised the rest. He didn’t see Peter, so he guessed that he came to the Dark Lord’s side much later. That bloody bastard . . .

His attention was diverted as he watched Voldemort cast “Morsmorde” on Bellatrix. His cousin, who he knew was a tough bitch, couldn’t even stand the obvious pain from getting the Dark Mark. He heard the awful screams and nearly threw up as he saw the skin surrounding the Dark Mark. It was twitching and soon the entire arm looked as if there were worms crawling right beneath the skin. He saw that soon the area burst and blood gushed out. With an invisible hand, it looked as if someone was using her blood to trace the pattern of the Dark Mark on the arm.

Sirius knew that he was curious about how one got the Dark Mark, but now he wished he didn’t have to see the vivid detailed process of it.

Severus was the last one to receive the treatment. Amazingly, he was the only one who hadn’t screamed. Sure, his facial expression was in the form of pain, but scream, no. Then again, Sirius recalled Severus not screaming in fright during the Shrieking Shack incident, so this really shouldn’t have been a surprise.

He looked up and saw that Voldemort had a proud expression on his face. The beaming was directed toward Severus.

Sirius blinked as the pensieve world shifted again and this time he was in Tom’s private room at Malfoy’s manor. Tom was speaking seriously to Severus.

“Well tomorrow is the big initiation day and I want you to join. You will be a great asset to us. Your potions will help us and you can train for your Potion master degree, just come when I summon you. And I’ll fund your apprenticeship.”

Severus looked hesitant. “The whole point of this is to make the other wizards and witches understand that Muggles are useless people that should be destroyed?”

“Yes. Purebloods, which means you and I, and other followers, are the true rulers of the wizarding world. We don’t want to be overrun by Muggles-coddler, Mudbloods, and so on.”

Severus didn’t say anything for a long moment. He sipped his tea and was frowning as he contemplated on what had just been given to him.

“I . . . I’ll follow you, Tom. I trust you.”

Looking around at his new surroundings, Sirius saw that he was in a lab of some sort. He saw cauldrons on the table with potion ingredients next to it. There were other supplies, such as the cutter. There were shelves and Sirius saw vials and bottles of many potions, labelled neatly. Surprisingly, he didn’t see any of the cauldrons in use. No potions were being brewed.

Tom walked in and saw that Severus wasn’t doing anything, but rather was sitting there, doing nothing but staring into space.

“Something wrong, Severus? I know you are enjoying the apprenticeship and Master Connelly tells me that you are moving along well beyond most apprentices’ level.”

There wasn’t a reply from the other man.

“Severus, get your act together. I need those potions I’ve requested of you, and then after that we have a mission to go on.”

Hoarsely, Severus asked, “Why am I expected to do this?”

“This is your destiny and you chose to follow this road,” Tom said not so kindly.

“But why are we also using these on our own people? Some of the ones who joined us?”

“Because sacrifices are necessary within our group and the wizards and witches need discipline. They need to be shown who’s in charge.”

Severus didn’t say thing, but he looked thoughtful. Sirius wondered if Severus had began to suspect Voldemort’s true nature.

“Tom . . .”

“Don’t call me that anymore. Refer to me as ‘my Lord’ or ‘Lord Voldemort,” snapped Tom.

“Even when it’s just the two of us?” His eyes held a pleading note to them. Tom might not have seen it, but Sirius saw confusion in his eyes.

Coldy, he asked, “Are you questioning my orders?” He pulled out his wand. “Crucio.”

Severus screamed at the unexpected attack and collapsed off the chair onto the floor, twitching madly. After a minute of the curse, Tom stopped it. “Now. You have given your life to me, and you have said you will follow me wherever I go, so start on the potions, Snape. And after that, I’ve got a new assignment for you. You are to become a spy for me and spy on Dumbledore.” Severus’ name was sneered out and he majestically turned around, robes flowing behind him, walking toward the exit. Before he walked out, he said one last thing.

“We are Slytherins, and I am the heir of Slytherin. We are known for our cunningness and ambition. Only a lovesick fool of a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor would put their feelings before their ambitions. Slytherins don’t. Never forget that.”

Sirius briefly wondered if that’s where Severus had gotten the dramatic exit from, before the memory ended.

“You are back to join us, I see.”

Sirius recoiled back at seeing the ugly figure he was used to seeing in more recent times. He still can’t believe that the monster in front of him right now was such a handsome brute back then. He swallowed back the nausea as he forced himself to look. The red eyes really freaked him out. “How did I get so used to the green eyes so quickly? The transition of Tom to Voldemort was too huge and different. I bet his old followers were shocked to see the great, charismatic man reduced to skins and bones.”

Severus bowed. “Yes, master, I live to only serve you.”

“If you lived to serve me, Snape, then why didn’t you come when I summoned you the night I came back fully?”

“I am a professor at Hogwarts, Sir, my strange disappearance would raise the suspicions of many people, since it coincided with the same time that Potter was portkeyed. I have an image to protect. A professor, in the middle of chaos, is known to stay around and help, Sir. He looked up. “I did show up this time, haven’t I? Please allow me to resume my old job back. I will be of an asset for you.”

“Hm. Well, you are going to be useful. You are at the place where Dumbledore resides and that will give you the perfect opportunity to spy on him and his upcoming moves.”

Severus nodded and kissed Voldemort’s hems. “Thank you, Master. Thank you for allowing me to prove myself to you and to serve you.”

He smirked. “Yes, Snape. But still I am going to punish you. Crucio!” He laughed maniacally while Severus screamed. “Yes, like I told you many years before, discipline is needed, even amongst my most loyal followers.” Voldemort looked down at his side and looked at a cowering Peter. “Isn’t that right, Wormtail?”

Sirius gagged as he saw Peter kissing the hems of the robe and praised his lord. “Disgusting bastard.”

Severus stopped screaming when Voldemort stopped the Cruciatus Curse. “Get up, now. And go brew the torture potions for me at your labs in Hogwarts now.”

“Dammit!” Voldemort threw the bottle of firewhiskey into his fireplace. Watching the glass break and the alcohol making the flames dance around excitedly, he rubbed his forehead and sighed. “How did I let something so obvious slip past me?”

He motioned Wormtail over, who was as usual shivering and wincing at his master’s actions. “Yes, my Lord?” His voice had a shrill edge to it.

“Get out of my sight. Go socialise with Lucius or something.”

“But, my Lord -”

“NOW!” Wormtail wasted no time and got out of the room on his short, stubby legs.

Nagini slithered over.

“Why was I so stupid?” he asked Nagini, in Parseltongue. Sirius was surprised that he understood what Voldemort was saying. Then again this was a memory from the pensieve, so Sirius figured it was some kind of an enhanced side effect. However he didn’t understand what the snake was saying at all.

Sirius listened to the snake hiss in a language far beyond him and realised that he could follow along the conversation.

“How did I find out?” Voldemort petted his beloved serpent. “Tonight’s mission, which you weren’t there for, proved it. I had Harry Potter right in my grasp again, and I knew that in my bones, this was the chance for me to kill him. However, HE, interfered and ruined everything.

“No, I don’t blame the boy. I was the one who pushed him away. I treated him like I treated all my other followers. I guess that showed that I was no different from his father or Dumbledore. And I guess after he realised that I was just the same as everyone else he learned to respect, he decided that the bumbling headmaster was more trustworthy than me.

“Sad. Doesn’t he know that the renowned headmaster is no different than any true evil person out there? That man manipulates people just as much as a true Slytherin does. He claims he’s doing the best of his judgement, but he’s wrong. His judgement is not as good as mine.

“Strange, how that boy is connected with all our lives. It’s as if he makes a greater impact than Dumbledore and I put together. He really is special, but once someone betrays him, he holds grudges strongly. The only person he doesn’t seem to view this way is that damn Black. It’s so bloody obvious that he had some sort of an infatuation with that boy back then. It’s been dampened down, but those two have a history that surpassed even the one I share with Severus.

“But knowing him, he probably wants to confront that idiotic Black about his feelings, but he never will do that. His grudge is stronger than his love.”

Sirius’ mouth dropped in astonishment. “No bloody way . . . ”

“He mastered Occlumency. He secretly did that, somehow. That would explain why I could never get the information I wanted from him. And that’s why he was able to hide his true loyalties so long.”

He summoned another bottle of firewhiskey and chugged down on it. “Ambitions . . . I love mine. But it made me lose someone precious, someone who was like a son to me. I really am an idiot.” His eyes darkened, and he gripped the bottleneck of his drink and stared into the fireplace. “And those who make such a fool of me will die.”

Sirius felt someone grabbing his arm, and pulling him out. He was back in his room, on the floor, and he was surprised to see Severus standing there.

“How . . . what . . . ?”

Severus glared at him. “You are truly an moron. Only a typical Gryffindor like you would take a Dark Lord’s pensieve and go into it to see proof that your worst enemy is truly evil.” He crossed his arms. “And before you ask, I saw you sneak that into you robes. I wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but I guessed, and was apparently correct. And subtleness was never your forte, Black. You let all your emotions show outwardly and seeing that triumphant look on your face made me put two and two together that you wanted to sack me somehow.”

“So, do I want to know what memories you saw?” He sneered. “Did you get any proof of my allegiance?”

Sirius numbly nodded, still in shock to know what he found out. Struggling to speak, in a raspy voice he asked, “You liked me?”

Severus went pale. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you liked me back then.”

Eyes burning with fury, he turned around and Sirius saw the dramatic exit. “Running away? So unlike you, Severus.”

Severus stopped and didn’t turn around. His arms were by his sides and his fists were clenched. “Obviously pensieve don’t lie, so I’ll tell you this. Whatever I felt then has now been deteriorated.”

“Bullshite.” Sirius stood up and used the wall for support. “Not according to Voldemort and that memory was probably one of the most recent ones.”

“Believe whatever the hell you want, Black.” He started walking again. “You had better take that damn pensieve to Albus or the Ministry. And Black, don’t call me Severus. You have no right to do so.”

Sirius called out desperately, slowly understanding the memories and putting them together bits by bit. “You went to Voldemort because of me, right?” He walked closer to Severus, whom had stopped walking again. “If I hadn’t been such a prat back then, and just left you alone, you probably wouldn’t have met Voldemort the night after the Shrieking Shack incident.” He swallowed hard. “But I did and that started everything . . . ”

Sirius stopped an arm length behind Severus. “I’m sorry . . . ”

Severus turned around quickly in a furious manner. He was so angry that his breathing was hard and fast, causing his chest to move rapidly. “Don’t you dare apologise! I don’t want your pity, dammit!”

“But I truly am!”

He hissed out, “You think saying ‘sorry’ will solve every single thing in this world? If you think that, Black, you are seriously demented.”

Sirius opened his mouth to say something and than noticed that Severus had a point. When he was younger and even now at occasions, he’d automatically ask for forgiveness and think all was well.

“Besides, Black, not everything revolves around you. Even if you hadn’t played that damn prank, I might have still be lured to Voldemort in one way or another, so do me a favour, and keep your apologies to yourself!” He turned around and this time left the room for good.

Sirius asked Remus to return the pensieve for him at the Ministry. Remus had a questioning look, but he forced himself not to ask anything and figured that Sirius would tell him what happened later.

With the arrest of the last Death Eater, they were free to celebrate. And celebrate the wizarding world did for the next week. Sirius went to so many festivities that he lost count. However he did notice that one person never showed up to any, and that was Severus.

Thoughts of Severus would not leave his mind. He told himself that he was only thinking of him out of pity. But then he had wet dreams about the infuriating man. Sirius tried to convince himself that this was all lust. He tried thinking of Severus in a French Maid outfit with a polka-dotted apron, but that just made his feelings more intense. When he pictured that outfit on Severus, he actually thought that he looked sexy.

So after another week of telling himself that he’s not falling for Severus, and those two always avoiding each other, Sirius came to a conclusion.

He recalled Voldemort’s comment about how members of Gryffindor and other houses but Slytherin, put their feelings before their ambitions. He slowly came to a conclusion that when he was younger, he did act upon his feelings, but they were the wrong feelings. He acted petty toward Severus because his parents favoured him instead of their own sons. And since he hated everything about his family, he started to treat Severus the way he did, all because he was sorted into Slytherin. And then him teasing Severus became so much part of his daily routine that he didn’t bother to note that he actually did like the boy. He respected the boy whom he had known since childhood, but hated everything Severus represented when they got into Hogwarts.

Sirius determinedly walked towards Severus’ dungeon rooms.

“I did follow the wrong feelings then, and now, just to prove ole’ Voldie’s point, I will follow my feelings once again. But this time, I’ll follow the right ones,” he muttered to himself.

He knocked on Severus doors and waited.

Severus opened the door with an annoyed look on his face. “Black, what do you want. And it better be good.”

Sirius quickly manoeuvred around Severus and got into his private rooms. He spelled the door shut and locked it. Before Severus could say anything, Sirius went up to him, grabbed him and kissed him.

The tense, thin lips that were pressed against his didn’t move. However the object of his affection wasn’t making any move to push him off. Sirius started caressing Severus’ back and gently pushed the shorter man against the wall. He felt Severus’ hand against his hips. That gave Sirius the initiative to go further and he did so by licking Severus’ lips, which opened in shock, and Sirius took the advantage and started exploring the sweet yet snarky mouth. He felt Severus kissing him back hesitantly. Sirius moaned against Severus’ mouth, and that awoke Severus from his shocked stupor.

Severus shoved Sirius away, whom at that moment was dazed. Severus looked murderous. “Get out, Black. You’ve had your fun, now get the hell out of my rooms.”

Sirius became clear-headed and smiled softly. “I will. You wouldn’t be the man I know if you suddenly accepted me.” He walked to the door, unspelled it and opened it. He turned before leaving. “I know what I want, Severus, and I have Voldemort to thank for that.”

He walked off. On the outside he was calm, but inside he was giddy. “He kissed me back!” He thought. “And I sound like an hormonal teenager. But fuck that. I have a man to conquer with the first stages of love . . . ” Sirius let out a smile. “I am ready for this challenge. I am a Gryffindor, after all.”

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Chibi Toaster.

If you stare into the Abyss long enough the Abyss stares back at you. — Friedrich Nietzsche

The Muggles didn’t start the war; the magical folk of England didn’t either. It was inevitable. The bloodshed, tears, pain and death; the tears of parents who had lost children drowned the streets of Hogsmeade. When the truce was declared, it was already too late. Everybody had already lost too much, and childhood innocence couldn’t be bought back.

Ron Weasley stood there and watched as they signed the Magi-Muggle Peace Accords. He saw the Minister of Magic shaking hands with the Muggle Prime Minister in the midst of flashes from cameras and cheers from the crowd.

But he didn’t cheer.

He couldn’t.

And, standing beside him, Draco didn’t cheer either. Together, they stood silently and watched as the aura of peace settled over their world, and Ron wondered how long it would be until the next war.

— from Peace is Just a Facade by Ayla Pascal

He can’t move.

All around him, he sees dead bodies. Bodies that have been so brutally mutilated that he can’t even tell if they’re male or female. He sees so much red, so much blood on the dead and on the ground around them.

Clutching his gun and knife, he tries to move back. All around him, he hears screams and yells. He hears begging and pleading. He hears threats, gunshots, and shouts that fade as the victims die.

He’s finally able to move, and when he does, he trips over an unidentifiable item. With a loud thud, he lands into something warm and sticky. He looks and sees that he has landed on a pile of freshly killed Muggles, wizards, and witches. He sees the wide-open eyes, the gaping mouths where blood has gushed out, and he smells the dying, rotting flesh. He fights to keep the bile down and tries to breathe through his mouth.

Dread and horror overcomes him, and he attempts to push himself off these corpses, but then a heavy, boot-clad leg crushes into his chest, and he looks up at the owner of the foot. The sun is directly above the unknown man, and with the sun’s bright glare, he cannot see the man’s face. The only thing he does see is an evil smile and a gun being pointed at him.

Ron shouts just as the gun goes off, and that’s when he wakes up in his bed.

Gasping, he covers his sweaty face with his hands, and he fights back waves of nausea. He pants and blinks away the tears that have come to his eyes and struggles to calm his racing heart down.

The bed shifts, and he hears a sleepy voice say, “Ron? Are you all right? What happened?”

Feeling Draco’s nimble hands touching him through his soaked pyjamas, Ron manages to rasp out, “I’m fine. Just a bad dream.”

Even though it’s dark, Ron senses Draco’s frown. “You’ve been having way too many of these.”

“I’ll be fine,” he nervously laughs out. “It’ll pass eventually.”

“It’s been over six months.”

Ron feels better at hearing Draco’s scorn-filled voice. “Don’t be such a worried git. I’ll be fine.”

He knows Draco has stiffened, and he forces himself not to laugh at the mental image of Draco ruffling out his imaginary peacock feathers. He lies back on the bed and pulls Draco into an embrace. He hears Draco sigh. “Fine, if you say so. Let’s get some more kip.”

Ron agrees, and with his arms still around Draco, he listens to Draco’s breathing. Eventually, Draco has fallen back into a deep sleep, but Ron is unable to snooze. Instead, he listens to Draco snoring, which gives him comfort at least. Ron stays awake because he knows that if he returns back to his slumber, a new nightmare about the war will pop up.

He does not want to be in that hell again.

“Ron? Ron? Ron!”

Harry Potter’s voice makes him nearly jump out of his chair at Dean and Ginny’s small dining table.

“Oh, for Merlin — I mean — never mind! What is it, Harry?” Ron has nearly spouted out the wizarding curse he has grown up with, the curse he has forced himself not to say anymore.

He watches the way Harry, Ginny, and Dean exchange worried looks. Harry asks, “Are you all right?”

Ron nods, despite feeling the opposite. He feels exhausted and very tense, but he blames it on his sleepless night.

Ginny doesn’t look convinced. “Are you–”

“Yes, Gin, I’m sure!” Ron responds tersely back at her. Ignoring a dirty look from Dean, Ron forces a smile at his sister and his friends. He picks up the serviette he’s been doodling and writing on, hastily stuffs it into his pockets, and absently looks at his watch. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the food.”

As Ron stands up, he pats his side, glad that his wand is in its holster, but then he almost panics when he doesn’t feel his gun or knife. A wild look comes on his face as he searches himself for the missing items.

“Ron?” Harry slowly gets to his feet, walks closer, and reaches out a hand.

“Don’t touch me!” he snarls, clutching onto his wand.

Harry backs away with both hands up in defence. Dean and Ginny rise up as well.

“Ron?” Ginny says in a gentle voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I . . . I can’t find my stuff.”

“What stuff?” Harry asks softly. “Your weapons?”

Ron nods frantically. The weapons must be at home. They protect him, and he needs them. Preferably now. He’ll be defenceless without them in case an attack arises. He feels absolutely incomplete without them. “I’m going home. Maybe I left them there.”

Before anyone can stop him, Ron Apparates away.

The rest of the day passes as Ron spends all day looking for the gun and the knife. They are nowhere to be found in the flat. As he searches, he tries to recall the last time he has had them and where he may have placed them. But he cannot find them. Instead, he ransacks the entire flat; clothes are strewn everywhere, books and papers are carelessly tossed on the ground, and there are even a couple of broken glasses that have slipped out of his shaky hands in the kitchen. He finally gives up, feeling tired and numb, and he sits on the sofa.

Later, when Draco Apparates with a loud crack, Ron is still on that sofa in the sitting room, changing the channels on the telly, his eyes blank as they watch the blur on the screen.

“Ron?” Draco’s voice sounds worried.

Ron doesn’t respond at first. He changes channels a few more times before he drops the remote. He knows Draco’s standing in front of him, and he glances up. He half expects Draco to have an evil smile like that faceless man in his nightmare, but he doesn’t see that. He doesn’t even see Draco’s customary smirk. All he sees is Draco’s anxious expression. He looks deep into the grey eyes, and he then remembers the mess he has made. He jumps up quickly, startling Draco.

“The mess. I meant to clean it before you come back.” Ron tries to laugh lightly, trying to get Draco to not question him of anything. “I’ll clean up and make us some sandwiches or something. You can take one of those long showers you love taking!”

He starts to walk away, but he feels Draco’s strong hand grabbing his wrist. “Wait. I’ll help you clean.”

Ron shakes himself out of the powerful grip. He faces Draco with a tight expression. “It’s fine, I tell you. I’ll do it. Just tell me one thing. Where’d you put my gun and knife?”

“Your stuff? It’s . . . you’re the one who hid them. You wouldn’t tell me where you were going to hide them.”

“I . . . I did?” Ron doesn’t remember doing that. He narrows his eyes and studies Draco intently. Is Draco lying to him? Perhaps he’s a spy working for the Muggles?

Draco nods.

“Oh, well, er, it’s okay. It’s not a big deal.”

A long silence passes before Draco breaks it. “I received a Floo-call from Harry earlier today at work.” Draco now works as the head liaison officer for the Muggle and Wizarding Alliance Organisation.

Ron fidgets with his wand. “And?”

“I think we’ll need to have a talk.”

“About what?” he asks unpleasantly. He’s aware something uncomfortable is inside of him, especially since Draco is being rather cryptic.

“You. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine. I’m just a bit exhausted from last night!”

Ron watches Draco step closer. “You didn’t sleep after that nightmare, did you?”

“I did. I slept,” he fibs through his teeth, watching Draco take another step towards him. Ron backs himself several steps until he finds himself against a wall.

“Stop lying,” Draco angrily spits out. “Just tell me the truth.”

“Look,” Ron declares, stepping sideways past Draco. “Let me clean the mess up. Please!”

He hears a heavy sigh. “Fine, but we’ll talk later after supper.”

“Okay.” Draco stalks off to the bath, and Ron begins to wave his wand around, cleaning up his mess from earlier. While he does that, he can’t help but be alert for any Muggles who might blast their way into the flat with those dreadful guns, bombs, and whatever else that cause death.

In the end, Ron somehow convinces Draco he is fine, so after supper, they don’t talk about whatever’s supposedly wrong with him. They instead have fun watching some DVDs; Ron’s current favourite series is SpongeBob SquarePants. He enjoys watching this show, but he feels bad since he knows Draco hates this show, who at the moment is currently muttering about how it has no aesthetic appeal.

Ron grins. “You know you like him.”

“I do not!” Draco answers haughtily. “He’s so ugly! And honestly, who lives in a bloody pineapple under the sea?”

“SpongeBob does.”

Ron receives a patented Draco Malfoy glare. “After this episode, we are watching a show of mine.”

“What show?”

When Ron sees the smirk, he has a feeling he is going to be in for a long night. “South Park.”

It’s Ron’s turn to groan and glare. He absolutely despises that series, much like Draco’s dislike for SpongeBob. “Fine, fine. But I’ll watch it only because I love you. And so I can review this for The Quibbler.”

After the war, Ron has decided to do something about his love for television shows and films by writing reviews about them in the The Quibbler, which still publishes unusual news, but Xenophilius Lovegood has decided to incorporate some additional sections about the Muggle lifestyle. Thus, through his connection and friendship with Luna, he has started his own review column. He loves this job since the best part is when he can watch the DVDs with Draco.

So they settle on the sofa happily, and the rest of the night passes with no problems.

A few days later, Ron doesn’t really feel any better. His nightmares constantly plague him, making him seek solace by staying up late, watching episodes after episodes of SpongeBob and other shows on the telly. Draco tries to stay up with Ron, but Ron, knowing Draco’s work schedule, convinces him to sleep early, and that he will sleep later, but he never does that. At least not for more than an hour at a time.

As the days fly by, Ron becomes more and more exhausted, becomes edgier and tenser, and becomes more withdrawn as he tries to pretend everything’s normal.

Yet something’s terribly wrong, and Ron refuses to acknowledge it.

He starts to not even care about his beloved shows. He’ll have them on, but then he’ll stop paying attention to them and only stares at the screen emptily. That isn’t the only thing he loses interest in, though.

“Want to play chess?” Draco offers one day.

“Chess?” Ron sees the game he has always loved, a game Draco has never appreciated. Shaking his head, Ron continues, “No. I don’t like chess anymore.”

He turns to look the other way, so he can avoid the shocked, confused, and hurt expression on his lover’s face.

After Draco leaves for work, Ron tries to write a review for one of the films he has recently seen, but he doesn’t want to. All he wants to do is crawl back into their bed and huddle under the covers.

He does that, and he stares into the darkness.

Later, he hears the phone ringing, but he ignores it.

It rings again and again, and Ron just stays in his bed, shutting out the ringtone that sounds like bombs going off in their flat.

Draco and Ron are eating breakfast. Like all the other nights before, Ron hasn’t slept for more than an hour. He tries to act as if he’s fine. But those tense and jumpy feelings make him more aware of all the noises and sights in their flat, and he tries to conceal his problem by sipping on his morning tea.

Draco clears his throat, and that small sound makes Ron jerk up, spilling some tea all over the table.

“Bugger!” Ron curses, wiping up the mess.

When he finishes, Draco continues in a calm voice. “I think you should consider going to a mind healer.”

Ron forces himself to respond in a composed manner. His grip on his teacup tightens as he say, “I don’t need a mind healer.”

“I think you do.”

His hold on the teacup goes tighter. “Are you saying I’ve gone insane? Crazy? Mad?” Ron sneers out the last word, but Draco remains unfazed.

“I never said you were any of those. I just think you, and perhaps even myself, should seek out some help that we aren’t fully capable of diagnosing and curing ourselves.”

In a flash, Ron stands and hurls the teacup past Draco, hearing the loud crash. He grabs onto the edge of the table and stares down at his still sitting partner. Ron’s eyes take on a crazed look, and he snarls, “Is this your way of telling me to fuck off? Do you want to break up that badly?”

He watches as Draco quickly rise, who then slowly comes around the table, his hands outstretching to touch Ron.

Ron stumbles away from the treacherous hands, ignoring the pained expression on Draco’s face. “Ron, please, I’m not trying to do anything but get us help. I don’t want to break up! That is not my inten–”

“Shut up!” Ron bypasses Draco and reaches for the door. “Leave me alone! Go find a fucking mind healer, one who you may find more suitable as your fucktoy!”

Ron leaves the flat with nothing but his wand. No coat, no hat, no robe, just his wand.

He jogs down the stairs, skipping the clunky lift, and he runs out into the crowded, noisy street. With no destination in mind, he sprints down the road. All he wants to do is to forget all the hurtful words he has said to Draco, and he truly wishes to forget that wounded look on Draco’s face — the same face that has almost made his heart rip in two.

Ron doesn’t return until two days later. When he finally does so, he finds Draco looking very haggard on their sofa. Despite his obvious fatigue, Draco still glowers at Ron. At the front door, Ron squirms uncomfortably at Draco’s intense look. As the scowl deepens, he expects Draco to scream at him, to throw things at him, and to kick him out and officially separate.

Draco refrains from doing any of that. He only opens his arms, and Ron has never felt more love for him as he runs into them. He stays in Draco’s protective arms, and he pushes back a sob and apologises.

“Shhh. It’s all right, Ron. I’m sorry I brought that up to you so callously. We’ll . . . we’ll only do it when you’re ready,” Draco comforts him, planting soft kisses on the freckled cheeks.

Ron enfolds his own arms around Draco’s waist, and he just apologises until he finally pulls Draco into a rough kiss. He feels Draco accepting the kiss, and Ron whispers the spell that will remove all their clothes. Right on that sofa, Ron caresses, kisses, and pleasures Draco. Hearing the soft cries of lust and desire, Ron strokes Draco’s hard-on, and his other hand prepares Draco for the next step.

When he and Draco move together, Ron feels a burst of panic deep inside of him, and that makes their love-making frantic, wild, and different from any of their previous activities together. When they come together, Ron experiences the sexual gratification he seeks, but he then feels barren, wasted, and unworthy. But most of all, he’s afraid. He’s afraid of himself.

The nightmares grow worse. Even the one hour sleep he is able to get at a time is bombarded by the evil abysses in his mind.

“I’ll get you some Dreamless Sleep Potion,” Draco suggests.

“No. I hate that crap.” Ron smiles weakly. “I think the nightmares will lessen up soon.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will,” Ron lies. “It will.”

Ron’s on the sofa, a thick blanket is wrapped around him, and he gazes at a spot on the table. It’s an interesting spot — roundish, with ragged edges, and it’s in the shade of a brownish-red. Its colour reminds Ron of something, but he isn’t sure what.

He continues to study that spot, and that’s when it hits him. The colour. It reminds him of dried up blood. There’s blood on the table. Still clutching onto the blanket with one hand, he leans over and cast a spell on it to make it disappear. It stays unchanged.

He summons a bottle of furniture cleaner and a scrubber. He still holds onto the blanket, and he scrubs the spot as hard as he can.

The spot doesn’t change. It refuses to change.

Just as Ron’s about to throw the scrubber at the wall, he hears Draco’s arrival.

Rising from the sofa, Ron still hangs onto the blanket, and he gestures towards the spot with the scrubber. “That spot. That bloody spot. It won’t go away no matter how much I clean it.”

Ron sees the concerned look on Draco, who at the moment takes his coat off and uncharacteristically throws it onto an armchair along with a bag. Draco walks over to the table and studies the spot. “It’s always been there. When we first moved in here, the place was furnished for us, and that spot has always been there. You didn’t mind it since it reminded you of a freckle.”

“Lies,” Ron whispers. “It wasn’t there before. This . . . it’s a bloodstain! Whose blood is it?!”

“Ron! It’s not a bloodstain!” Draco grabs him, and Ron tries to get out of the mighty grip. “Get a hold of yourself.”

He looks into Draco’s eyes and sees the truth in them. “I-it’s always been there?”

Draco nods and relaxes his hold.

Ron lets out a shaky sigh. “Sorry. I . . . I guess I must have had momentary amnesia.”

“Did you also forget you had a lunch meeting with Ginny and Dean?”

Frowning, Ron tries to remember making arrangement with his sister to meet or not. “I don’t remember. Was I really supposed to meet them?”

“Yes, and they tried calling the phone, but nobody answered.” Draco gives Ron a questioning look. “Did you hear the phone ring?”

“Yes, but it was so ruddy loud and annoying. I unplugged it.”

“I see.” Draco runs a hand through his mussed up hair. “Well, I guess you can meet them some other time. They did meet me briefly, and Ginny asked me to give you some of these new DVDs she bought.”

“Really?” Ron tries to smile. Even though he hasn’t felt like watching anything lately, he’s grateful for his sister sending him new DVDs every so often.

Draco walks over to the armchair to grab the bag, and Ron sits back on the sofa. Feeling Draco’s warmth sagging next to him on the sofa, Ron takes the bag and sorts through the DVDs. He takes out the bunch and studies the covers and reads the back. However, when he comes upon a cover that simply showcases a man holding a gun he freezes.

A flashback. No, a nightmare. No, no! It’s real. It’s happening again. The war has begun, and Ron’s in the middle of it once more.

He’s trapped against a tall wall; he sees about five Muggles who are members of the Special Forces judging by their uniform. They all carry guns, those frightening machine guns, and they are pointed at him. Ron glares at them, but all the men do is smirk. They say to him, “Surrender. Surrender to us, tell us all your magical secrets, and we’ll let you live.”

Ron spits at them. “Never, you sods.”

“Then you leave us with no choice.”

He tenses up, but he tries to find that secret portkey he keeps in his pocket. The portkey that will only activate when he’s in deep trouble like this. However, he can’t reach into his pocket without making it look like he’ll pull out a bomb or something.

Suddenly, a loud explosion goes off, and the men are all thrown off balance, including Ron.

Landing on the hard cement ground, Ron throws the blanket off of him, and he rolls over. He quickly stands up and tries to grab his gun and knife, but they aren’t with him. “Fuck! Wand! Where’s my wand then?” He sees his wand nearby, and he grabs it and points it at one of the men. A man who’s now actually trying to plead with him.

“Put it down, Ron. Put that down!”

Ron? How did this guy know his name? Pointing his wand at the man, he cries, “Stay back!” With his wand still out, he reaches into his pocket for the portkey, but it isn’t there.

“Shite!” He sees that the man was in front of him. The gun isn’t there anymore, so he decides to just stun the man and escape.

But before he can do anything, the man acts first. He hears “Stupefy”, and he falls into blackness.

Ron slowly opens his eyes and turns his head, which feels quite heavy. He tries to sit up, but he realises he has no energy in him to do so. He stares at the ceiling instead. An unnaturally white ceiling.

He hears voices, several voices filled with concern and apprehension. He can barely make out the owners of the voices, but his haze-filled brains prevent him from to fully concentrate. So he listens to the conversation half-heartedly.

” . . . He’s been suffering from nightmares . . . ”

” . . . He’s so withdrawn . . . ”

” . . . And panic-stricken. He freaks out over the littlest things lately . . . ”

” . . . Worried about him . . . ”

” . . . He’ll hurt himself . . . ”

” . . . You say flashbacks are normal, but what about hallucinations . . . ”

Ron has difficulties sorting out the words. To do that is a bother, so he decides to return back to sleep, hoping no nightmares will invade his mind.

The next time Ron wakes up, he sees Draco sitting next to him, who’s holding one of his hands. On his other side, he sees Luna Lovegood with a faraway expression on her face.

Draco squeezes his hand lightly. “Good afternoon, love. Sleep well?”

Ron nods. This time his head doesn’t feel quite funny, and he’s able to sit up. As he leans back into the plush pillow, he sees he’s in a private room. A private hospital room. When he speaks, his voice comes out gruff. “St Mungo’s?”

“Yes.”

He gestures towards Luna. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been assigned to be your mind healer, Ron,” she answers in her dreamy voice. “How are you feeling?”

When he hears “mind healer”, something akin to anger bubbles deep inside of him as he yanks his hand out of Draco’s. “What’s this? A bloody mind healer? I don’t need a sodding mind healer!”

“Ron–” Draco begins, but Ron doesn’t let him finish.

“Get out. You . . . you think I’m really insane, don’t you? Then leave me!”

Draco jolts back as if he’s been slapped.

Luna chooses to interrupt then. “Draco. Perhaps you should step out for a minute.”

“But–”

“Please,” Luna says in a firm voice.

Draco gives Ron a tense look, and he whispers, “I don’t think you are mad, but you are hurting and I want you to get better. That’s all I want.”

Draco leaves the room like a defeated Quidditch player, and Ron feels guilt and shame at his outburst. He buries his face in his hands and exhales loudly like he’s trying to get rid of all those emotions inside of him.

Luna lets him recover for a few minutes. In a calm voice, she asks, “Will you tell me what you think of all this?”

Ron glances away and stares at the wall that’s so white and sanitised. “I . . . I don’t know. I know I’ve been off lately, but . . . ”

She waits. She doesn’t force him to speak quickly. She allows him to think and talk at his own pace.

“Did . . . did something happen?” he pleads. “I don’t remember coming here. Last I remember was me being caught at a dead end by these Special Forces guys. There was an explosion, and we were all thrown off balance. One of the guys knew my name, and I was going to attack . . . ”

He stops and gives her a horrified look. “Was that Draco I nearly attacked?”

When she nods, he becomes so unnerved that he starts babbling. “I nearly hurt him? I . . . I thought . . . it was a flashback . . . no it was real . . . I can’t believe I nearly . . . ”

A soft, cool hand rests on top of his, and that brings him back to reality. “It’s okay, Ron. It’s okay.”

He swallows before answering, “It’s not okay, Luna. I nearly hurt him. I . . . I might have killed him.”

“Draco’s not that careless or stupid. He’s capable of taking care of himself. You know he does remind me of a peacock. Though I cannot imagine him to be that bright or colourful in appearance.”

He lets out a nervous smile. “As always, your outlandish comments amuse and comfort me. I do admit that I’ve imagined Draco as a peacock at times, too.”

She beams but quickly sobers. “So what do you think? Or should I say, what do you want to do?”

He sighs and tilts his head at the ceiling. “If my . . . problems are going to make me hurt those who I love, then I want to fix it. No. I have to fix it.”

“We’ll do this all together. We’ll all help you. Just keep in mind that it will not be something that can be healed in a day or two. It will be a long road.”

He shuts his eyes hard. Her words are correct, and it proves the facts he’s been dreading. Softly, he says, “Yes. It will be a long and difficult road for . . . all of us.” Grabbing her hand, he clasps it gently. “Will you call Draco in? I want to apologise to him.”

Ron decides to start this battle correctly, and he’ll need Draco to help him.

“Did you take the potions?” Draco asks.

“Can’t you tell? Those potions make me so tired,” Ron snaps.

“And cranky. Must be a horrid side-effect.” Draco sees that Ron isn’t moving. “Come on. Let’s not keep Luna waiting. Last time we were late, she gave me a long lecture on why I should eat raw garlics to get me to move faster! I mean, does she think I’m going to be attracting vampires or what?”

Ron chortles.

“Ah, I’m making progress! You laughed.” Draco squeezes Ron’s hands and kisses it. “Let’s go. I don’t want ‘her loonyness’ to give me another long talk about garlic or anything bizarre!”

“Have you visited you parents’ graves ever since they were buried?”

“No,” Ron admits with shame. “I . . . I can’t seem to return there. It just gives me bad memories.”

Luna gives him a cup of tea and settles on the sofa next to him. Her office is airy and friendly, with flowers and other plants lingering around the room. These plants have been given to her by Neville, who runs a successful nursery. Ron always feels at peace when he’s in here.

Taking a sip of her tea, she nibbles on a digestive biscuit, and she then says, “Try to think of only good memories of them.”

“It’s hard.” He sighs as he attempts to block out the memories of his childhood home being bombed by the Muggles. His parents were victims of the bombing, and what frightens him more is the timing of the bombing. It happened an hour prior to his weekly visit to the Burrow.

“It will take time, but that’s what we need to do. Take small steps here and there.”

He knows that. She has told him to slowly accept the past and try to move away from it to achieve a sense of normalcy he hasn’t had for years. “I’ll . . . I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll get Gin and my brothers to go in a couple of weeks.”

She gives him an encouraging smile. “That’s a start.” She points at the biscuits. “Here, have some. Harry bought these for me.”

Ron moans and groans, tossing and turning. He’s just returned from a battle. He’s in the hospital ward, and he sees many in pain, and he even sees a guy with both legs damaged from a bomb. He shudders at the missing limbs, and he remembers the smell of injured flesh, the medicines, and the potions. It’s enough to nearly make him want to vomit.

“Ron!” Draco’s loud voice wakes him up. “It’s only a nightmare. Get a hold of yourself.”

His eyes fly open, and he sits up gasping. He automatically leans into Draco’s caring embrace, and he tries to fight back a sob that’s threatening to escape him.

“It’s okay, Ron. It’s okay,” Draco’s voice soothes him, and Ron shudders against the warm torso.

When Ron’s finally calm, he smiles shakily at Draco. “S-sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Draco’s hand smoothes away his fringe, the cool hand a contrast against Ron’s hot forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He doesn’t say anything for a long while. Luna has told him to talk to Draco about these nightmares, and so far Ron has yet to tell Draco any of them. Ron realises that he needs to. He needs to overcome them, and he wants to defeat them, but he still can’t help but think he’ll only burden Draco. “I don’t want to bother you with these.”

“You will not be bothering me with this. You will be helping both of us by telling me. You shouldn’t try to go through this by yourself. I want to help you, but you won’t let me,” Draco bitterly complains. “I’ve been through the same thing as you; I have no problems, so let me help you with yours!”

“I . . . I know.” Ron feels slight resentment at that last hurtful sentence. Draco’s lucky, and Ron can’t help but wonder why Draco’s not suffering in a similar manner. Then again, Draco is affected by all this in a different way. Draco has to watch Ron become like this, and Ron realises that all of this will be rough for anyone — including Draco.

Draco groans. “I don’t mean to sound so selfish. Just . . . I won’t force you. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

“Thanks.” Ron tentatively leans up and softly kisses Draco’s lips. “Thank you. I’ll tell you, but I’m warning you; my nightmares are pretty gruesome.”

“Ron,” he says dryly. “I was your partner in the war. We saw many things together, so please don’t paint me as some ignorant sod who sees things through rose-coloured glasses.”

“Okay.” Ron takes a deep breath and tells Draco the latest nightmare, and when he finishes, he feels as if a huge weight has been lifted off of his soul.

“Hey, mate,” Harry says cheerfully as he enters the flat with a bag. “I’ve bought us fish and chips, some butterbeer, and Exploding Snaps!”

Ron comes out from his cocoon of blankets. He’s been feeling a bit anti-social that day. Draco’s still at work, so Harry must’ve decided to check up on him and to hang out. “Hey.”

Harry sits in the armchair while Ron remains on the sofa. “Are you all right?”

Ron nods. “I . . . it’s just . . . ”

“I know,” Harry says understandingly. “We don’t have to do the games, but I reckon you might want to eat the fish and chips. It’s from your favourite place.”

“Really?” He perks up a bit at that. “Thanks, Harry.”

By the time they finish eating, Ron’s in the mood to play some Exploding Snaps with Harry.

The game goes on forever, and when Draco finally comes home, Ron looks up with a smile. Draco stares with a surprised expression, and he grins back, too.

Harry sees Draco. “Malfoy.”

“Potter. I see you’ve bought fish and chips. Where’s mine?”

“Sorry, but Ron and I both cleaned it up.”

Draco gives Ron a phony hurtful pout. “You didn’t save me any?”

Ron rolls his eyes. “Stop being a git. You can go buy your own.”

“Oh, your words stab me. Remind me not to give you your favourite sweets later on,” Draco grumps out.

“I’ll survive,” Ron jokes, and all of them burst out laughing.

Ron realises that this feels almost normal, and he’s surprised at how he doesn’t flee from it.

“Will you tell me what happened a couple of days ago?” Luna fingers one of her bracelets as she looks at Ron in a serene manner.

He awkwardly avoids looking at her, and he stares at the plush oriental carpet on the floor, studying its intricate designs.

“I . . . Draco and I had arranged with Ginny and Dean on an outing. We were going to go have a picnic . . . Ginny’s great at making food, you know.” He plays with a loose thread at the edge of his shirt.

“Yes?” she prompts.

“But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it. I locked myself in the bedroom, and I just crawled under the blankets,” he whispers, looking ashamed.

“Was Draco upset?”

He shakes his head. “That surprises me.”

“Why would it surprise you?”

“Because we had planned on this for a while, and at the last minute, I couldn’t do it.”

“Draco is Hermes.”

He blinks at the cryptic words.

She smiles and gives him some chocolate. “I’m just saying he’s like Hermes and those flying shoes. He’ll go with the flow, especially when it comes to you.”

He doesn’t respond, and she says, “You’re bothered by something else.”

It isn’t a question but rather a statement. “Yes. I am. I . . . I thought I was getting better, but then this incident proves otherwise.”

She looks at him with a thoughtful expression. “Do you know Aesop’s Fables?”

“No.”

“It’s a Muggle thing. Aesop is this Ancient Greek slave who has created a lot of fables, which uses animals in a human setting. These tales are supposed to teach young children morals. One of the more famous story is ‘The Tortoise and the Hare’. In that story, the hare mocks the tortoise for being slow, and it comes to a point where they have a race. The hare, of course, dashes off and is far ahead of the tortoise. He’s so cocky, so he decides to take a nap, thinking he’d wake up in time to make it to the finish line. But in the end, the hare sleeps too long, and the tortoise wins the race.”

He’s confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Most people say that the moral of this story is that overconfidence gets you nowhere. But I like to think there’s a second moral to the fable.”

“And . . . ?”

“It takes time and perseverance for results to come up. See the tortoise took his time, and he plodded on even though he knew he had a handicap.”

She reaches out and pats his hand. “So you see, the same thing will happen to you, too.”

For the first time in months, Ron finds himself at a nice restaurant. He’s there with Draco, the two of them doubling up with Harry and Luna. It’s a quiet restaurant, and it has plenty of space, which gives Ron some comfort since it isn’t small, packed, and loud with other people.

Still, he feels a slight sense of dread when the waiter comes to take their orders. Yet by the time their main course has arrived, Ron doesn’t want to bolt anymore. Instead, he enjoys his meal, the quiet conversations, and the good vintage wine.

Ron gives smiles hesitantly at Draco. Under the table, Draco’s hand rests on his thigh, and Ron covers the hand with his. “This is a great place, Draco.”

“Of course. We Malfoys are known for our good tastes.”

“In what?” Harry asks wryly. “In hair care products?”

Draco scowls at Harry, and Ron sniggers. “Good one, mate.”

“So you’re on his side?” Draco pouts at Ron. “Don’t tell me I have to compete with Scarhead here.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely name for Harry, Draco,” Luna pipes up, giving Ron a conspiratorial wink.

“Luna . . . ” Harry pretends to look offended, and it is Draco’s turn to laugh. They start to banter with each other, and Ron and Luna just roll their eyes.

In a loud voice, Luna announces, “I have a plan I’d like to suggest to Ron and Draco.”

That silences the arguing pair, and all the men look at her curiously.

“Ron, you’ve come a long way, and you’re improving at a good pace. Why don’t you and Draco take a trip somewhere for a couple of weeks? It will do you both some good. Granted, I do want Ron to achieve that feeling of normalcy, and I think taking trips here and there can be considered ‘normal’.”

Ron and Draco speak with their eyes. Before one of them can answer, Luna says, “Oh, you don’t have to decide now. Remember the tortoise, Ron.”

Draco and Harry both give Luna a “what on earth are you talking about” looks, and they both shrug in unison. That amuses Ron since, in some ways, Harry and Draco have similar mannerisms.

She beams. “Who’s ready for dessert?”

In the end, they decide to go on a trip. They choose to visit Hermione and her family in New Zealand.

At the Portkey Station, they meet Hermione, and she nearly assaults Ron with a warm hug.

“Ron!” She joyfully greets him. “Oh, you look great!”

He returns the hug. “You look way better than I do.” He steps back to admire her, and she did indeed look happy and healthy, her cheeks were fuller and redder, and her hair has been tamed into a slightly-less bushy ponytail. She’s dressed conservatively in her blouse and skirt. She turns to Draco and extends out a hand.

Draco shakes it. “Hello, Granger — I mean . . . ”

“Call me Hermione,” she interrupts.

“All right. Good to see you, Hermione. Let me thank you on both our behalf for your invitation and hospitality.”

She waves a hand. “Not a problem. I’ve been telling Ron to visit me for years, and I’m glad he came with you.”

As Draco and Hermione talk, they all walk outside. As Ron looks around the surrounding, he notices that the air in Wellington feels different compared to England, and the new senses that bombard him don’t make him feel jumpy like he’s expected. Instead, it soothes him.

Of course, the warmer climate might have had something to do with it. After all, it is winter back on the Isle, and here it’s summer.

“Ron?” Hermione’s voice brings him back to reality. “Ready? The girls and Tony cannot wait to meet you and Draco.”

He nods. “All right.”

The days pass by, and Ron’s surprised by how much fun he’s having. Yes, he does have days where he wants to lock himself up and be alone, but he discovers that Hermione’s twin daughters, Josephine and Anne, unwittingly pull him out of that slump, and he realises he actually enjoys being around children.

“Uncle Ron! Toss me on the bed! Like a cannonball!”

“Uncle Ron, come play house with us! You can be the daddy and Uncle Draco can be the mummy!”

“Uncle Ron! Come jump on the trampoline with us!”

At their every request, Ron sees their large blue eyes, and he cannot resist them.

Draco enjoys their company, too, and he even plays house with them. Though he does snark on why he has to be the mother.

Ron only grins and says, “Aw, come on. You make the perfect mother-figure.”

Draco glares at him. “If you dare compare me to that Angelina woman again, I will permanently spell a cock ring on you.”

Thankfully, they are in the guest room when he says that, away from certain twin’s ears and Hermione’s “prudish” nature.”

Ron lifts an eyebrow. “If you do that, I will castrate you.”

“I dare you to try.” Draco’s scowl softens. “I miss our bickering, you know?”

Swallowing an unexpected lump in his throat, Ron softly agrees, “Me too.”

Ron pulls Draco into a hug, and he kisses Draco’s pouty lips. He nips and sucks until they are swollen, and Draco lets out a groan of pleasure.

Guiding them onto the bed, Ron climbs on top and covers Draco’s slim and lithe body with his own body that’s more muscular and bulkier than Draco’s. As his hands and mouth wanders, he feels his own arousal stirring inside of him.

They barely remember to cast a silencing charm as they, for the first time in months, make love to one another. It’s poignant and fulfilling, unlike the last time he has done it with Draco, where he recalls feeling unworthy and empty. This time he feels grateful and lucky to have a man like Draco to help him through the abyss of hell. This time, when he comes with Draco, he allows himself to cry out in bliss.

When they cuddle next to each other, Ron feels sleepy. Before he sleeps, though, he whispers, “I remember where I put my gun and knife.”

“Where?”

“I buried them in the Forbidden Forest. When the Magi-Muggle Peace Accords happened, I buried them somewhere. I just wanted to forget.”

“Are you going to retrieve them?”

Ron kisses him, and as he feels his eyes closing, he says. “No. They can stay there. I just hope I’ll never need them again.”

“Me, too.”

Like their love making, for the first time in ages, Ron looks forward to sleeping, and he knows he won’t suffer from nightmares that night.

“Checkmate,” Ron says, moving his piece to claim victory.

Tony beams at him. “That, my friend, was the best and the most intense chess game I’ve ever had the privilege of playing against anyone.”

“You’re telling me,” Draco announces in a bored voice, yet his eyes twinkle with amusement. “That’s the longest chess game I’ve ever watched. Even the girls went to sleep, and Hermione had to put them to bed.”

“Oh,” Ron rubs his head sheepishly. “Well, Tony here is an excellent chess player. He’s–”

“Wait, wait. Don’t say it. Better than me right?”

“You said it. Not me.”

Draco rolls his eyes as Tony laughs.

Hermione comes into the room and exclaims, “They are finally done!” She sits on the armrest of her husband’s chair. While she rests her hands on his shoulders, she looks at Ron and Draco.

“Tomorrow is your last day here with us. What do you two want to do on your final day?”

Ron and Draco looks at each other. They both exchange grins as Hermione’s eyes narrow. “I know that look, Ronald Weasley. You will not plan anything that deals with George and his pranks!”

“Who me?” Ron asks innocently. “Never.”

“Mmm,” she doesn’t believe him.

“Okay, fine, we are going to give the girls some of his pranks items as gifts, but we also want to treat you all to a nice outing at the local wizarding amusement park and then a nice dinner at a ritzy place.”

Hermione smiles softly. “Oh, you don’t need to . . . ”

“We want to,” Ron says. “You’ve been great towards us.” He gives her a pleading yet a playful look, one he knows that always gets to her.

She concedes. “All right, you two. Thank you so much.”

Ron and Draco return to England, and they more or less go back to their routines. Draco still works as the head liaison officer, and Ron still writes for The Quibbler; although he also works as a part-time football coach at Hogwarts now, a sport he has grown to like despite his initial favour for Quidditch, which he still likes. Football has become as popular as Quidditch at Hogwarts, mostly due to the Muggle-borns’ influences, and Ron volunteers his time there, enjoying his interactions with the young youths.

At first, Ron’s hesitant to take the position, but through Draco, his friends, and his family’s support, he decides to try it. Luckily, he has grown to love it.

Now his life feels a bit more secure. Along with his jobs, he still sees Luna on a weekly basis, and he still takes those potions. Though the nightmares still hit him, they aren’t as serious or concurrent as before.

He knows that it will take a while for him to be fully healed and “normal”. However, he also knows that, like the tortoise, he will press on and never give up. As long as Draco’s with him, and he has his friends and family, that’s all he needs to move on with his life.

Ron Weasley has survived more wars than he’s ever imagined himself to be in.

He has survived Voldemort and the Death Eaters, he has survived the Muggles, and he has survived himself.

Of all the battles he’s been through, battling himself has been proven to be the most difficult and challenging. Yet he has miraculously survived it.

No cheering’s been done when the war has ended with the Magi-Muggle Peace Accords.

But now, with the battle truly over, Ron finally feels like cheering. They finally have peace.

Ending Notes

-The fic’s title comes from a line in “Anthem for Doomed Youth” by Wilfred Owen. (http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen2.html)

Two days went by after the death of the Potters and the downfall of Voldemort. Despite the good weather and the merry celebration of wizards and witches, it was a dark, bleak time for several people. Sirius Black was now under the custody of the Ministry officials for killing Peter Pettigrew and for betraying the Potters. Relatives of Pettigrew were all in despair for him being dead, yet they knew he had died with honour due to the receiving of the Order of Merlin. The Dursleys were furious about having to raise Lily’s strange, unusual child.

There was one other person who didn’t get into the spirit of gaiety. Remus Lupin apparated into the Shrieking Shack with a heavy heart. There was a loud pop, and he looked around the old, familiar place. The first thing he noticed was that the place had not changed since he had left Hogwarts. The scratches on the floor from his claws remained the same; the room was still dark with all the boarding on the windows; the chair in the middle was ripped up; the bed in the centre was the only thing in the room still intact and not damaged. Nothing had changed. Within seconds, memories clashed in his mind, and he started a lengthy monologue, talking to no one in particular, but to himself.

“James and Lily…dead. I can’t believe it. Sirius betrayed them. Then again, Sirius was never good with keeping secrets, was he?” Remus paced around the room with a tense expression.

“Sirius and I had our differences, but why would he join Voldemort and betray his best friend? After doing that damage, he killed Peter. Why? What went wrong? Wait. I’m fooling myself. The whole prank was what went wrong. Because of that, our friendship was strained, and everything since changed. Including the relationship between James and myself…”

Without realising his actions, Remus had walked over to the bed and sat on it. Tenderly he stroked the sheets. Memories flooded into him. “James…”

“Remy?” James poked his head into the dorm room and looked around. He only saw Sirius sitting glumly on his bed. Sirius attempted to do his Potions assignment but couldn’t concentrate. Glancing toward the door, Sirius said, “He’s not here.”

James let out a huge sigh of frustration. He then stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it. “Bugger.” James paused before asking, “Any idea where he might be? I mean I checked every possible location such as the library, main hall, classrooms after classrooms, even Hagrid’s hut, and he’s nowhere to be found.”

Sirius didn’t say anything.

“Damn, Filch. Why did he have to take our map? That’d be so helpful now.”

Another round of silence elapsed. James glared at Sirius. “Don’t you care about Remus at all?”

“Of course I care,” Sirius looked up with a surprised look. “But after trying to convince him for weeks that I am truly sorry about all this Snape crap and receiving the cold shoulder, I’ve left him alone.”

“You’ve left him alone? That’s nice, Padfoot. Real nice.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do, Prongs?” Sirius got up from his bed and paced around the room. “I’ve tried, okay?”

James closed his eyes as he remembered how awful Remus had felt about the whole incident the day after. “Yes, you tried. While you may be giving up, I’m not.” James turned around and opened the door. He was surprised to see Peter outside. “Hey, Peter. Any idea where Moony is?”

Peter looked unsure. “I don’t know, James. He hardly has been around since that day. It’s been three weeks since it happened. I guess this hit him harder than we expected.”

Shrewdly, Peter looked hard at James and Sirius. “I have to admit it was scary. I never thought Remus would really lose control like that. He really seemed like a beast then…”

With a glare, James shoved him not so lightly. “He’s not a beast! He can’t help what he is!”

Peter whimpered pathetically and said, “I know. I’m not offending Remus, James. It’s just that … it was scary.”

“I guess so.” James walked around him and was about the descend the stairs when Peter piped up, “Maybe he’s at the shack. Maybe that’s a sanctuary for him.”

Stopping in his stride, James contemplated the last line. “Yes. Why didn’t we see this before? Peter, you are a genius for once.” Without another word, James dashed off to the shack.

Remus was on the floor, and he threw his Arithmancy book. He’d been working on his schoolwork all day in the shack. He was unable to really be with the other Marauders after all that had happened. He felt like a failure. Remus tried to talk with Severus about the whole incident, but Severus refused to listen or even be in the same proximity with him. Sirius was the cause of all this. During the first couple days, Remus felt anger toward one of his best friend. However as time passed by, the anger turned into something more of weariness. He couldn’t see Sirius, James, or Peter the same way anymore. In fact, he couldn’t view himself the previous way either.

“Remus,” he thought to himself, “you are nothing but a beast. You almost killed someone that day. Why can’t you have more control over yourself? The Ministry is right. All werewolves are killers with no concerns over their actions. I should be locked up, or maybe I should be killed instead.

“This shack is an excellent place to be locked up in. I should have done this sooner. Confine myself in this place and be a loner. Then I wouldn’t have been able to hurt anyone with my curse. Sirius… I was a fool to trust him. That means I’m a fool to trust the others too. Severus hates my guts now. Just when we were about to become friends.

“I can’t believe I almost killed him…and James. Thank goodness for James. If it wasn’t for him…James. How does he feel about me now that he has seen what I am capable of? Disgust? Most likely. I know Peter is frightened of me now. I can see it in his eyes. Sirius just wants to be forgiven, but he doesn’t realise the full circumstance of what he has done. James. I can’t figure him out. I don’t know if I want to know what he thinks of me. If he does think of me in a disgusting way, I don’t blame him. But to think that someone I love thinks of me that way. I’d rather not know.

“Who am I kidding? James Potter falling in love with a werewolf? I am just deluding myself. James, the star of our school wouldn’t want me. I am not worthy of him.”

Without realising it, out loud he said, “I am nothing.”

James paused at the opening to the shack when he heard Remus say the last statement. With a sudden surge of rage, he opened the door with a loud bang. Remus looked up in surprise, and then his eyes became shadowed. “What are you doing here, James?”

James gritted his teeth, and retorted, “What are you doing here, Remus?”

“I belong here.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Remus asked calmly, not looking up to meet James’ eyes.

“You do not belong here, Remus Lupin. Don’t you think like that.”

“Oh, but I do, James. Don’t deny it.”

Glaring, James walked up to him and yanked him off the floor. “I deny nothing. I’m speaking the bloody truth, and that means you Remus Lupin, belong with the rest of us. Not here.”

Remus let out a gasp when James forced himself to stand up. Now they were face to face, and Remus felt James’ hot breath on his cheek. “James…”

“I heard you before I came in, Remus. You are not a nothing. You are Remus Lupin.”

Remus shook his head. “No, James. No. I am not Remus Lupin. I’m an accursed, good for nothing beast.”

James stepped backward, and Remus felt disappointed from the loss of the warm body. “Remus. You may be a werewolf, but you didn’t ask to be one. If you had asked to be one, then that would make you a beast.”

Sighing, James stepped over to the bed and sat on it. “Quit belittling yourself, Remus. I want you to realise that confining yourself here isn’t going to change who or what you are. Sure the werewolf is a part of you, but I never see the werewolf in you. I just see Remus Lupin, fellow marauder in all the pranks we did, an excellent student who strives to learn knowledge, a wonderful friend who is always there for others, and a sensitive, young man.”

Remus didn’t say anything to James’ lengthy speech.

“Remus, don’t push us away. Don’t lock yourself up as a punishment. It’s not your fault. Sirius is really sorry.”

“I know.”

“Then why do you avoid all of us to avoid him?” James looked up at Remus’ face, wishing he’d make eye contact.

Remus stared off into space. “He may be sorry, but I don’t think I could ever trust him the way I did before. Nothing is the same anymore. That one night changed everything.”

“Including the relationship between you and me?” Remus startled and stared at James trying to decipher what James meant by that.

Looking away he answered, “Yes.”

James frowned at the answer. He walked up close to him once more, and he gently, but firmly, tilted Remus’ head up with his finger. “Then look at me and tell me that. Tell me we have changed.”

The energy between the two men was tense. Electrical current crackled in the small space between them, and all around them. James had a passionate expression on his face, totally opposite from Remus’ weary one. Remus opened his slightly to say something, but nothing came out. James suddenly felt dizzy, and well aware how close they were.

With James’ hand controlling his head, Remus looked into James’ spectacled eyes. “Yes.” And he leaned over the space and gently kissed James’ lip.

James let out a surprised gasp, and felt slightly disappointed when Remus quickly parted away from him. “Now everything has changed. Leave, James.”

“Remus…”

“Go.” This was said neutrally with no emotion behind it.

“You’re not going to give me a chance to tell you how I feel?” James refused to leave just yet.

“I know how you feel, James. This is not what you want.”

“You can’t know that. You could be wrong,” said James, stubbornly.

Remus turned his back to him. “Go. There is someone else out there for you.”

James began to plead, “Will nothing I say will change your mind?”

“Nothing. Go.”

James sighed heavily and left Remus alone. Before he left he said, “Just come back to us, okay? Quit staying in here.”

“Okay.”

James left.

Remus heard James’ footsteps dying away. Once he knew James was out of bound, he went over to the bed and sat on it.

“I did the right thing. He will go to Lily one day. Those two are destined to be together. If James and I were to be lovers, it wouldn’t work out. Yet, just kissing him gives me some pleasure. It satisfied my curiosity on how it feels to kiss him. But we can’t be together, and now our relationship is forever changed.”

He continued to sit on the bed, and he remained that way for a long time.

Remus jolted himself from the memories.

“James…” He curled himself up in a foetal position on the bed and began to weep. He cried for James and Lily, for Sirius and Peter, for Harry, and lastly for himself.

Christmas, the fifth one after the war, lingers around the corner.

For the longest time, I couldn’t enjoy it. All the gaiety and festivity, displayed by others, crushed me.

In a twisted way, Christmas marks as the anniversary of the day where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named finally died, along with many others.

The others include my two best mates, Harry and Hermione with many of our classmates and acquaintances.

Unlike the first time, this one ended with no cheers of joy. Everyone, including the Death Eaters, had many losses. Too many to even think about celebrating the day we all waited for.

The rest of the year went on, and the wizarding world started to heal. As the first anniversary approached, Diagon Alley seemed so fake, though, with all the people trying so hard to make it feel like Christmas. I felt numb, walking through it, the bright colours nearly blinding me.

I left there quickly, through the Leaky Cauldron, and stepped into the Muggle world. I looked around at the fascinating ecletric lights blubs, blinking everywhere, and tears came to my eyes. The Muggle’s technology reminded me of my dead father. Along with him, everyone, except for Percy, was dead. Percy will forever be at St. Mungo’s, just like Neville’s parents. He may as well be dead.

I feel like I’m the only Weasley left. And as being the only survivor among the trio, I’m treated as a hero.

Back in my first year at Hogwarts, when Harry showed me the Mirror of Erised, I saw myself standing alone with the Head Boy Badge, posing as the Quidditch captain, and holding the Quidditch cup. I wanted glory, I wanted to break away from my older brothers’ shadows, and I admit, I did want to be like Harry, getting all the attention.

I don’t want that now. I know that if I were to look in that forsaken mirror, I’d see something close to what Harry had seen instead.

Then, there’s Draco Malfoy. The bane of my existence since we were young enough to understand the concept of the whole feud our families went through several generations. I never thought I’d say this, but this whole war made us be similar in one aspect: that we are pretty much the sole survivors of our families. And of course, I never would have thought he and I would become lovers.

Yes, hell has frozen over. To think I’d be with a pompous arse who only cares about himself is simply bizarre.

For two years, I hadn’t seen him. He just disappeared after the war ended, despite the fact that he fought on our side. Then, by chance, I saw him at the cemetery where our families and friends were buried.

As I entered, he was on his way out. We stopped in front of each other, a few feet apart. He said to me, “Weasley, I guess no matter how much fame and money you have, you will always look like a pauper.”

I felt the old spark of anger in me when he said that. The first real emotion I felt in the last couple of years that wasn’t numbness. With reflex, I glared at him. The old me would have snapped something along the lines of “Eat dung, Malfoy,” but I didn’t say that. Instead, I noticed that Draco was just as lost as I was, for his usual air of arrogance and the lack of his trademark smirk were replaced with an exhausted look a lot of us carried.

My glare lessened as I sighed and said, “What I look like doesn’t really matter, Malfoy. ‘Sides, you don’t look any better than me.”

He waved a hand of indifference at me, walked past me, and stopped next to me. “Weasley, as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I have other business to attend.” He apparated away, leaving me to wonder why that soft, warm whisper lingering on my ears sent shivers down my spine.

After that encounter, I saw him more, always unintentionally. Usually in the Leaky Cauldron, when I didn’t want to go to my flat after work, I’d sit there with some firewhiskey, drinking the night way. He would join me, usually once every couple weeks, and then it increased to once a week to almost every other day.

The first several times we were together, we just sat at the bar in silence, each nursing our drinks. The hushed moments between us were comfortable. We had plenty to talk about, but neither of us wanted to hurry into them since they required going into the past, our memories of happier days. Days with our families, friends, and heck, even days of our hostility-filled quarrel between my friends and his.

As time went on, though, we’d talk. From banal subjects about the weather to work, we tentatively would talk about more personal stuff. Our talks would get into heated discussions sometimes, sometimes to the point we’d be sniping at each other like in our schooldays. Whenever we did get into those moments, I couldn’t help but revel in the fact that I can at least still be hot-tempered, and he can still be a pretentious prick.

That fateful day occurred about a year later. We both had a bad day at work for various reasons. Unwisely, we both had gotten drunk. Thankfully, we were coherent enough to avoid apparating. We flooed into his place, a fancy flat that he moved into after he sold the Malfoy manor to whoever wanted it.

We arrived at his place, but without our usual balance and coordination, we landed on the floor, with me on top of him. Both of us stared at each other with silly looks at first, but then we realised how close we were. The warmth from his body coursed through me. Being celibate since the war ended, I felt intoxicated with needs. I had the urge to kiss Draco Malfoy, something I never would have considered.

Till this day, I do not know who moved first. It could have been me, could have been him, or could have been both of us. All I know is that our lips met with urgent needs, with my stubbles scraping against his, our lower bodies grinding for that pleasurable friction, our hands finding the warm skins to soothe our repressed emotions away.

Whether it was all alcohol-induced or not, I do know it felt good. I can give myself credit for remembering that.

To say that the morning after was awkward was an understatement. He woke up before me, telling me that he had already showered and was on his way to work. He acted like nothing happened and so did I.

But I was afraid. Afraid that somehow that night screwed up our slowly built comradeship. I had thoughts that he would never come to the Leaky Cauldron anymore. For the next couple days, I cursed to myself, cursed at the alcohol, and cursed at my other head for taking over. When he didn’t show up the first day, I told myself to be patient and that he needed time to recover from this. Couple more days passed as well. By then I was a basket case inside.

He did show up though. I had to almost cast a body binding spell on myself from going up to him and…do what? Punch him? Hug him? Shove him against the wall with my tongue in his mouth? I didn’t do anything, and we didn’t talk about it. Still, we had more nights where we’d end up at one of our places and have sex, frottage, or whatnot. First couple times, we had to be drunk to get into it, and like the first time, we never discussed it. Then, as it became more regular, we did it without alcohol. We would actually make love instead of going at it like two desperate people who needed a way to cope with the post-war syndromes.

Love. Our love for each other pulled us out of that wall we had put up around ourselves like medicine. Both of us had come a long way.

Now the fifth anniversary is today. I have gone through Diagon Alley and out to London. Instead of feeling what I have felt previously, I feel at peace with myself. I have bought presents for Draco…and even for Percy. Draco and I will go see Percy tonight and hope that someday he will come out of that catatonic state.

I hear the familiar “pop” as I see Draco apparating to my place. I set the presents I have been holding down, and we embrace each other. After softly kissing him, I smile and says, “It finally feels like Christmas, Draco. Happy Christmas, love.”

We do not write because we want to; we write because we have to. — W. Somerset Maugham

February 14, 2005

I hate my life. And I hate the colour pink — and maroon — representing this repulsive holiday. Red and white I can tolerate, but not those other colours. End of story.

February 25, 2005

Okay. I got bitched out by my counsellor.

If you can call Luna giving me a long lecture on Nargles bitching. I shudder to think of receiving another three hour talk on the existence of those things, so I may as well try this so-called therapy of writing down my feelings in a book nobody else reads but me.

Bloody hell. This writing stuff down thing is more difficult than I’ve guessed. I mean . . . fuck. How do I write down the fact that I hate being the only survivor from my family? How do I write down my true feelings on how I feel about losing my two best friends in that awful war? Sometimes I wonder why I’m the one who survived. It’s not like it’s a great feeling to have.

I don’t understand why Luna’s making me do this. I mean I already express my emotions by singing in bars and playing the piano. How much more does she want to me do? Not to mention, I do talk to her twice a week and put up with her ramblings which are random and not-very-helpful to me. Also, it’s really painful leaving her office which is at Hogwarts. She’s a counsellor for the school, and she also accepts non-Hogwarts patients. So to go there on a regular basis and see students in uniforms . . . it brings back too many painful memories of my own Hogwarts days where I’ve had many adventures with Harry and Hermione.

Maybe I’ll introduce a hag to Seamus next time as payback. He keeps wanting me to set him up with girls, and since he’s introduced me to Luna . . .

Not that she’s bad or anything, but she does drive me nuts.

Anyway, this sucks. And my hand hurts. I haven’t written this much in ages.

March 1, 2005

Happy fucking birthday to me. I’m a quarter-of-a-century old. My eyes are red, and they look as if I poked them thousands times. I’d drunk half a bottle of firewhiskey, and I’m still not drunk.

Okay, ‘m slightly pished — if this awful writin of mine is of any indication. Plus things are a bit fuzy, but I don’t know whether that’s because of the alcohol or because I’ve been crying here and there. I can’tt remember how many shots I’ve had. I think it’s five . . . or maybe twenny?

I haven’t work today. My boss insisted, but I wish I had. The distraction would have been welcomed, but no! My boss just had to threatened to fire me if I didn’t take the day off. I wish I never listened to him! It’s not fun celebrating a day like today by myself in my messy flat and with my piano plus music sheets all over the place. Also, the chess pieces are annoyyed with me. The white king’s threatened to get umbrellas for his troops if I don’t stop crying. What a meanie.

Really, this writing down my feeling thing is crud. It’s not helping. Alcohol works a lot better, if you ask me. If Hermione were alive, she’d probably slap me for drinking so much. As well as Harry. And Ginny. And my mum. Especially Mum. She never liked alcohol much. Dad driven her nuts by sneaking in some alcohol . . . but that was not going to happen again. Ever.

Whatever. Maybe I’ll just start singing at the top of my lungs and annoy my neighboors.

Again, happy birthday to me. Not.

Three hours later . . .

Crap. There’s a saliva stain here. I must have fallen asleep.

March 15, 2005

Luna’s evil. She still tells me to write in this thing even after I’ve told her that it’s not helping. She’s told me to keep doing it. She’s even told me to give this book a name.

Why do I have to name a book? It’s just a ruddy inanimate object. I don’t need to give it human characteristics, right? But Luna’s quite adamant that I do. She’s even told me to think of a name in front of her. I’ve finally uttered a name, and I guess this book is now called “Kemp”.

So hullo, Kemp. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

Man. Luna’s something else. She’s the one who needs a counsellor, I think.

March 20, 2005

Kemp, remind me to throw dungbombs into Seamus’ mouth one day.

He’s being such an almighty prick now that he’s got him a pretty girl by his side. I think he’s worse than Draco Malfoy times ten.

Last thing I want to hear is of him and that girl doing some BDSM activity in a hotel room. Or about her boob size. Or about him and her doing anything.

Just no. I don’t need these images in my head. Though they are a form of distraction, I suppose.

April 1, 2005

I walked through Diagon Alley today, and I passed by the twins’ old place. Then when I was going through some of my stuff, I found one of their Extendable Ears. I tried it out against my flat’s wall. It was still in a good working condition, surprisingly. I could hear everything my neighbours talked about. Doing this brought back memories of us trying it out in Grimmauld Place. Fred and George really were brilliant with their ideas. The creations they came up with were ingenious. I honestly hated being their test subjects back then, but now I really wouldn’t mind one of them giving me some sweets that would have some nasty side-effects.

At work, someone requested me to play a Weird Sisters’ song. It just had to be one of Ginny’s favourites. I wanted to politely decline that person, but in the end I played it. Playing the song on the piano was a challenge. I had to force my fingers to hit the keys, and when I had to sing, my voice cracked a bit at the beginning, but I didn’t stop. I just sang that ruddy song, and towards the end, I had to fight back tears. When I finished, I took a break. I hid myself in one of the back rooms, and I spelled the door locked and cast a silencing charm. I needed that moment of privacy as I broke down.

I . . . I know crying is something we have to do once in a while as a human, but I hate it. I hate it when I can’t control my emotions.

You would think seven years would be a long time to get over your losses.

Whoever said time heals all wounds are liars. Time doesn’t heal wounds, dammit. It just doesn’t.

April 8, 2005

Do you know how weird it is to call you Kemp? Well, whatever her loonyness wishes of me to do, I better do it.

Speaking of weird, I had a mind-boggling dream.

In this strange dream, I saw myself sporting a vulture-sized nose, and my arms had transformed into huge bat wings.

What’s this supposed to mean, I have no idea. I know dreams are part of our subconscious, but why must we dream things that make no sense? At least this dream has made no sense to me.

I’ve told Luna about the dream. She thinks that I’ll end up meeting a deformed-looking Nargle.

Seamus, on the other hand, thinks I’ll turn into something called Pinokio and some Batman thing.

So if I’m not wallowing in my angst, am I surrounded by people who cannot interpret dreams in a serious manner?

I guess it’s a good thing I’m not dreaming about that maroon-coloured dress robes.

April 20, 2005

I’m going to fucking kill Seamus.

In his drunken form, he slipped me this weird concoction into my drink at the bar tonight. At first nothing happened. It just tasted a bit bitter. But then when someone asked me something about ten minutes later, I opened my mouth and discovered a terrible thing.

Thanks to that bloody bastard, I’ve lost my voice!

Fucking hell! If Seamus doesn’t find the antidote for this, I’m going to do more than just kill him! I’ll hang him by his balls, get a woodpecker to peck his family jewels, and make sure he cannot get it up for the rest of his miserable life!

April 22, 2005

I still don’t have my voice. My career has come to an end at the moment. My boss understands and has given me some time off, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.

Seamus still hasn’t found the antidote.

Kemp, if I go to Azkaban for murder, you know why.

April 30, 2005

St Mungo’s got the worse healers on the Isle. They don’t know anything about regaining lost voices. They’re so fucking hopeless.

They made me take these disgusting potions. One of them made me breathe out fire like some Hungarian Horntail. Another potion made me lose sight for about ten minutes. The last one they made me take gave me hives.

Why is my life such a pain?

And as much as I’ve got used to writing in here, it’s not fun carrying a notebook and a pen everywhere I go to communicate with people.

Neville offered me some herbal remedies — something with an unpronounceable name. I had hoped it would work, but they didn’t. Instead, it just gave me pimples and turned my hair maroon. I stared at my reflection for a good thirty minutes. My mouth dropped open, and I looked absolutely horrified. I kept my temper, though. No need to lash out to him when he was just trying to help. Thankfully, those ghastly effects disappeared in a couple of hours.

Seamus, after claiming he couldn’t find the antidote, had disappeared to France with his girlfriend for a while. I guess for his sake that was a good thing. He would be dead otherwise.

The next time he shows his face around here, I’ll do the following:

1. Punch him until he’s unrecognisable.
2. Kick him in the balls.
3. Give him a potion that renders him impotent for the rest of his life.
4. Steal his expensive, top of the line broom and break it. Preferably over his noggin.
5. Send out word that his cock is the size of a peanut.

Well, I won’t be that violent, but these are ideas, right? I feel a bit better writing that short list, at least.

May 2, 2005

Still no voice.

I almost didn’t want to write today, but I figured I should. Today happened to be the seventh anniversary of the battle that ended that war. There was going to be a remembrance ceremony of some sort — they’ve had one every year — but I didn’t see any point in attending it. It was not something I really wanted to participate.

I honestly don’t know what to write or what to say, though. All I can say is that I miss my family and I miss Harry and Hermione. I hate being a survivor, but I know they wouldn’t want me to become some drunk and die in a ditch somewhere, but at times it’s tempting. Like today.

Luna has suggested I get a pet. I still have Pig, but she’s suggested I get a crup or something. After having Scabbers, though, I’m a bit wary on keeping a pet . . .

I hate this. I hate this feeling of loneliness. It’s such a suffocating feeling that all I want to do is scream. But I can’t. All I can do right now is just write and just think by myself.

May 6, 2005

Luna referred me to a Potions master. She didn’t tell me who it was, but she just gave me an address to the person’s residence.

I hope whoever this Potions master is can help me regain my voice. Hopefully tomorrow will give me a much better chance than what I’ve been given lately. I’ll keep my fingers crossed, Kemp.

May 7, 2005

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

I’m never listening to Luna ever again!

May 8, 2005

Okay, now that I’m a bit calmer, let me see if I can write something more than just “fuck”.

I went to the Potions master’s house — well it was more like a cottage — and guess who greeted me at the door?

Severus Snape.

Yes, the Severus Snape. He looked rather surprised and put off at seeing me, and I probably didn’t look any better since I had the most disgusted expression on my face when I saw him.

Ugh, just ugh! Why him?! Luna’s seriously demented! How can she trust him to get my voice back?

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to go past his front door. After the initial shock, he just slammed the door in my face, and I ended up Apparating back to my own flat. All day long, I stomped around my place and pounded on my piano. I probably aggravated my neighbours, but screw them! Why did she refer me to that overgrown bat?!

Earlier today, I stormed into Luna’s office, and I wrote my anger out to her. My pen ended up breaking since I used so much force, but I think she understood my message to her. She didn’t get upset, but she only looked at me with that serene look of hers and said, “Everything will work out, Ron. Just work with Severus. He’ll find a cure for your vocal problems.”

She thinks everything will work out. Maybe in her world, but it’s not going to work out in real life. And she’s called him Severus. Since when has she turned all buddy-buddy with Snape? And why are they on a first-name basis? Then again, I can’t fathom anybody calling that greasy git “Severus”, even if that’s his given name.

Anyway, regardless of what she says, I’m not going back to that git’s place. I’ll find some other way to get my voice back.

May 13, 2005

!@#$!@#$!@#$!@#$

Nobody else can help me. I’ve tried other specialists in the wizarding world and even asked some Muggle doctors. They can’t do anything.

I give up.

Looks like I’ll have to go see that git after all. Why me?! Kemp, what have I done wrong in my life to deserve this?

May 14, 2005

I went back to Snape’s cottage, and like before, he greeted me at the door with his scowling face. We stared at each other for a few minutes, and I studied his face. His nose, which had always been crooked, looked more crooked than before. Maybe in the war, someone gave him a good punch? Served the git right. Aside from that ghastly nose, I noticed a few more wrinkles on his thin face than years ago. Or at least I didn’t remember them. I’d never really had the chance nor the desire to look at him closely in the past.

His black hair was still greasy as ever. What did he do? Cleaned his hair with oil instead of water? I didn’t know his exact hair washing procedure, but it really was grimy looking . . . but I’d also noticed a few strands of grey sprinkling the shiny blackness here and there.

It’s strange seeing that considering he really isn’t that old. He’s only about twenty or so years older than me, making him to be forty-five at least. I guess the ageing process hasn’t been that kind to him.

Anyway, his lips were turned up into his customary sneer, and I had to fight back my own look of revulsion towards him. I kept my face neutral as possible, and I gave him a challenging look. Our standoff went on for a few more seconds, and that was when I saw that his eyes were different. They looked softer. Well, no. Not softer, but they appeared more tired and weary.

It’s an interesting contrast when I stop to think about it.

Well, back to our staring contest. I wasn’t sure who broke the contact first, but he stepped aside and let me in. Before I could take my first step, he said, “Try not to bring in mud, Weasley, and do keep your hands to yourself once inside!”

I rolled my eyes, made sure there was no mud on my shoes, and kept my hands to my sides. He gestured towards a sofa. A black leather sofa that looked really uninviting and cold. When my arse touched the sofa, I could feel the iciness of the furniture spreading all over my body, and I had to suppress my shiver of discomfort.

As I cursed inside my head, I looked at the table in front of me and saw a long piece of parchment and some quill and ink arranged neatly there.

I raised my eyebrow at Snape, and he said in biting tones, “I’m going to ask you a few questions about your current condition, and you will write down the question and the answer for me. Understand?”

A few questions? Hah! Try thousands of questions! By the time I’d finished writing down details after details of how I lost my voice and whatnot, it looked like I wrote a sodding symphony or two for Beethoven or Wagner. I mean I did want my voice back, but what did it matter what brand of beer I had drank that day? I wanted to throw the quill in his face, but I didn’t since he was probably the only person who could help me gain my voice at this point.

I handed over the parchment when he finally asked the last question, and my fingers and my wrist were throbbing. He then dismissed me in a bored drawl, telling me to come back tomorrow for more questioning. I couldn’t believe it. What he asked me today wasn’t enough?!

Standing up, I forced myself to not throw anything onto the table. With a stiff nod towards Snape, who wasn’t even looking at me now, I started to head for the door when he stopped me by saying, “Weasley? Do be on time tomorrow. And if you can try to get a sample of Mr Finnigan’s concoction that would make you less useless.”

Anger bubbled inside of me as I stalked off to the door. I reached it and was about to slam it when I heard him call, “Don’t slam my door like an uncivilised gorilla, Weasley.”

How the hell did he know that? Did he gain some power that Trelawney seemed to have missed out on?

Now . . . just how am I supposed to get a hold of that Seamus? He doesn’t answer to owl correspondence, he’s somewhere in France, and he knows I’m pissed off at him. He’ll be in hiding — that bugger. Perhaps Luna will have an idea . . .

May 15, 2005

Luna said she’d take care of Seamus. Then she practically shoved me out the door of her office and told me, “Don’t keep Severus waiting, Ron! He’ll never admit it, but he likes the company I send him.”

I gaped at her closed door, and then I went my way to Snape’s cottage. His grumpiness made me feel just as angry as I walked back and sat on that freezing sofa. He first asked, “Did you bring the concoction?”

I shook my head and wrote on a new piece of parchment, Luna will take care of it.

He snorted and muttered, “You can’t do it yourself?”

That made me furious as I scribbled on the parchment, It was her idea! And besides, I can find Seamus if I want to!

“Spare me your exaggerations,” Snape said unkindly.

Spare me your sermon and just hurry up and ask me the questions you need to ask me!

“Someone seems to be in a hurry. You must have an important date to keep.”

I blushed at that, even though I had no reasons to. I quickly wrote down, Will you just ask me the sodding questions already?

An unreadable expression came on his face, and he said, “Please refrain from using obscenities in my cottage.”

I couldn’t believe he was lecturing me about using obscenities. Actually since when did “sodding” become an obscenity? I stifled back a sigh and wrote, Fine. Now, what are the questions?

The next hour or so passed slowly as he asked me a million questions. It was boring, but at the same time, it wasn’t horrible either. I was just glad to finally stop writing when he asked the last one. I handed over the parchment to Snape, and he read it closely. A look of distaste came on his face, and he grumbled, “Your penmanship hasn’t changed since you were a student, but at least this one’s a tiny bit easier to read compared to yesterday’s writing.”

As I fumed to myself, thinking he was such an arse who was incapable of being nice even a bit, I sat and waited for him to tell me what to do next. A few minutes passed before he looked up at me. “Still here?” he asked in a curt voice. “We’re done for today. Come back in two days . . . with your medical files from St Mungo’s.”

He waved a dismissive hand at me, and I walked out. Before I reached the door, I turned around and watched him scribble a note here and there on what I had written. His head was bowed, and his greasy hair framed his face, which I couldn’t see, but I could see that his body was stiff except for his moving hand. It moved quite elegantly.

Ever so slightly, he looked up, and before he could yell at me, I left the cottage, cursing at myself for staring at Snape like that and for getting caught. Why had I stared at him? Why didn’t I just quickly leave? Just what was the matter with me?

May 16, 2005

Kemp, I’m so fucking bored. Without my job, I have all the free time in the world. But I’m sick of playing the piano, sick of trying to write new songs, sick of meeting friends whom I have to write to communicate with, and am just sick of lounging around with alcohol!

I want my voice back so my life can return to normal!

I’ll repeat myself since I have nothing better to do. I’m so fucking B-O-R-D. No, wait. That doesn’t look right. It’s B-O-R-E-D. Damn alcohol!

May 17, 2005

I must be crazy. Let me explain my realisation.

Today, I brought my medical files to Snape. He went through it and asked me more questions. Then, he even had me open my mouth so he could inspect the back of throat or something. He had one of those sticks to hold my tongue down. I thought he’d be rough and everything, but he was surprisingly gentle with that stick. Too bad his expression didn’t look gentle. He looked as if he wanted to stab me with that stick, but luckily for me, he didn’t.

But anyway, after he finished everything, he told me that he’d try to figure out an antidote, but it would be much easier if he had a sample of that liquid I consumed. I hope Luna can find that damned bastard.

Then Snape told me to go. Instead of leaving, I wrote on a different parchment, Can I stay and help you with anything?

I watched him as he stared at the question. His scowl actually disappeared, and he looked at me in disbelief and asked, “Why would I want your help when you couldn’t handle my class?”

I shrugged before writing, That was years ago. I might be better at it now.

I wasn’t, really, but I didn’t want to leave yet. There was nothing for me to do, and if I left now, I’d just go bonkers at my flat. I really needed something to do and helping Snape out with minor stuff was better than nothing. Well. It was either that or go and listen to Luna prattle on about Nargles or something. Between Snape and her, I decided Snape was the lesser of two evils — as strange as that might sound. Also, if he did get my voice back, I didn’t want to be in his debt for the rest of my life, so I figured I’d help him out here and there as a form of payment to get out of his debt.

We both looked at each other. Both of us were standing, and we were both the same height, so our eyes met easily. I stared into his dark eyes, and if possible, I saw it darken. In a low, guttural voice, he responded, “Fine. Make yourself useful by organising those piles of parchment into my files in that cabinet. It’s in alphabetical order. When you finish, I’ll need you to clean and sanitise all those glass containers in the sink.”

I nodded. I could do all that. Snape stalked off first, and then I began to organise the parchments as he requested. As I did that, I noticed a chess set hiding off in a corner of the room. Seeing that surprised me. I didn’t think he’d like chess. An idea came to me as I pondered on getting him to play a game with me.

If he’s a good player, as good as me, then it will be a fun challenge to play him. If he sucks . . . then it’s one thing I can be better at than him!

But first, I better prove to him that I’m not that incapable of helping him out a bit.

May 24, 2005

Luna still hasn’t got a hold of Seamus yet. Where the fuck is he? Is he under the Fidelius Charm for some bizarre reason?

In the meantime, Snape got me hunting down some rare herbs with Neville in the Forbidden Forest. It was one of those herbs that only appear on the night of the full moon. So last night I had the privilege of hunting down a plant with Neville.

We did find it, but it took all night.

At least Snape got that herb. He didn’t break out into a grin or anything, but it looked as if his face went a bit soft when we handed that herb over.

It wasn’t a bad look on him. Too bad he quickly started scowling again.

Gosh, it’s difficult trying to please some people. Whatever. I’m ready for some kip.

June 1, 2005

Snape’s been keeping me busy with stuff. He also lets me run errands; I deliver his potions for some of the older folks living on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, which aren’t far from where Snape lives. I’ve found out that while he charges for business that requires his potions, for the elder wizards and witches, he gladly does it for free.

I’m surprised by his generosity. But then again, Snape, despite his “wonderful” personality as I’ve learned, can be quite unpredictable and shocking by the way he acts.

After the war, he survived Nagini’s bite. The truth of his true allegiance came out, and he was named one of the many heroes of this war . . . along with me, Neville, and others. I didn’t like the attention, but I think Snape hated it more since he’d resigned from Hogwarts and threatened the press that if they didn’t back off, he’d curse the “bumbling fools at the Prophet who disregards privacy of those who wants it”.

His threat worked, and the press began to leave him alone. Snape disappeared away from public view after that. A few years went with no words of him, but then he reappeared and started his freelancing work with potions.

During that time, he and Luna started to work with each other. This was when he apparently moved on with his life.

I find it weird that someone like Snape can move on with his life. Whereas I’m still stuck in a rut. I’m still unable to really let go of the past, let go of all those death . . .

It’s strange, Kemp. It’s funny how Snape, of all people, is capable of moving on. I want to ask how he did it, but I’ve a feeling he’ll blast me to Saturn before telling me anything. It’s good to see that he’s predictable in some ways, at least!

By the way . . . Snape didn’t tell me any of this. Luna did.

And why am I defending myself to a book?

June 13, 2005

With the full moon coming, Snape was going to work on the Wolfsbane Potion for a couple of people. He’d banned me from his workroom, saying he needed his full concentration. So I was out in the sitting room, organising some files as usual.

The afternoon passed, and it was nearing supper time when he came out of his workroom. He actually looked astonished to see me still here. Before he could say anything, though, Luna came in carrying a vial.

“Here,” she said cheerfully. “I finally tracked down Seamus in a Mona Lisa painting in Paris. Apparently his girlfriend didn’t like his philandering ways, so she punished him by spelling him trapped in the painting. I got him out and asked him to re-create the concoction, so here it is!”

Both Snape and I stared at her owlishly, and we exchanged a look. We weren’t sure if she was joking or not, but I figured it’d probably be safer to not ask. Snape probably thought the same way since he silently took the vial from her hand.

“Hopefully this will help you, Severus!” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to go! I promised Neville a good meal and some good sex! Good thing he likes to do it rough at times.”

I grimaced. She only grinned at me and then dreamily walked off, closing the door behind her.

Snape shook his head and grumbled too softly for me to hear, still holding the vial. I watched his dark eyes studying its content, some green-coloured liquid. He told me, “As it’s getting late, I’ll look at this tomorrow.”

I agreed. I could see that he looked rather exhausted from working all day. A shame since I was going to offer to cook us some supper.

Sort of. I can’t cook that well, but I can cook a few dishes decently. At least Neville has found them decent, and he’s quite a picky eater . . .

But I want to cook for Snape as another way to help him out. He’s too thin. He needs some meat on his bones.

Oh, fuck. I’m acting like my mother, aren’t I? Not that it’s a bad thing, but something about this doesn’t quite add up.

June 14, 2005

Snape looked quite horrid when I came to his place today. It seemed as if he’d stayed up all night long.

He answered my questioning glance by thrusting a steamy vial of some purple potion at me. “Here,” he said crisply, “is the antidote.”

I couldn’t believe it, Kemp. Even though he was tired the night before, he still stayed up to create my antidote? Wow. I was really thankful about that.

My momentary shock and gratefulness disappeared when I took the potion and sniffed at it. It smelled quite foul. I grimaced, and I looked at him. I really didn’t want to drink it up since I had a bad feeling it’d taste just the way it smelled. Pinching my nose and throwing my head back, I gulped down the content.

How disgusting was it? Terribly revolting. Imagine twenty dungbombs mixed with garlic and ginger. It was that awful. I wanted to puke up what I swallowed, but I forced myself to keep it down.

I had let out a loud “Yuuuuuuuuuuck!”. Can you imagine it? I’d lost my voice for a long time, and that was the first thing I said after regaining it back?

Snape gave me what passed as an amused look on him.

I coughed and spluttered before I told him thanks. My voice sounded scratchy and unused. “T-tha . . . thanks.”

I felt Snape’s eyes sweeping over me, and he told me, “I must return to the Wolfsbane Potion.”

That was my cue to leave, and I did.

My voice was back, but I felt empty. Why?

June 16, 2005

Well, fuck me. I miss that greasy git. I actually miss his surly personality. Have I lost my bloody mind?

June 23, 2005

I went back to singing and playing for the regulars at my job. They cheered when they saw me. Apparently my temporary replacement was Millicent Bulstrode, and I knew for a fact that her voice was terrible. Horribly off-key. I wonder what my boss was smoking when he decided to let her take my spot.

Oh, well. It’s done with.

I’ve just come back from my meeting with Luna. She still encourages me to write in here, and she has congratulated me on my voice coming back. But now I’m craving McDonald’s. Especially their milkshakes. But I don’t want to eat alone. I think I’ll buy some and take it with me to Snape. I wonder if he’s ever had them. Can’t hurt to try. At worse, he’ll just kick me out after throwing a hex at me.

June 24, 2005

Amazing. Snape just accepted the food without giving me a hard time. He didn’t hex me, nor did he kick me out. He did scowl at me and asked why I brought over “such indedible pieces of rubbish that are passed as food” though.

He still tried the burgers and the fries, complaining it was too greasy (irony, Kemp?), and then we settled for a game of chess. I met my lifelong chess partner; he was that bloody good at it. It was a tough match, but in the end, I somehow won, and he gave me a murderous look.

I’m not surprised he’s a sore loser. Sore loser or not, that match has completely exhausted me mentally and physically. I need sleep.

June 26, 2005

An interesting conversation took place between Snape and me at his cottage today. I had nothing to do until work started, so I decided to visit him. I decided to write this in the following format since I couldn’t be arsed to add in descriptions and stuff. And besides, it’s faster.

S: Why do you keep coming back here, Weasley?
R: To help you with whatever you need help with. Is that a problem?
S: You have your voice. I’m sure you have other stuff to do now.
R: As weird as this’ll sound, I find myself . . .
S: Just say it. Otherwise you’re wasting my time!
R: I like being around you.
S: I beg your pardon?
R: I . . . I got used to your snarky attitude.
S: Snarky? Is that even an actual word?
R: I think so. I mean that word does fit you. Somehow.
S: I have a feeling I shouldn’t accept that as a compliment.
R: Well . . . well . . . er, you want to beat me at chess one day?
S: You said I’m snarky. Now you’re assuming I want to beat you in a game?
R: You did have a very sour look on your face when I defeated you.
S: Impertinent brat.
R: I think cheeky sounds better than that.
S: . . . Well, you’re here. Might as well make yourself useful.

In the end, he had me do filing, labelling, and chopping. Only he had to remind me to not chop so sloppily. Some things just never change.

But now I can’t help but wonder just why I want to be with him. I mean . . . he’s snarky and cantankerous, yet I feel some sort of a strange connection between us. It’s as if I feel like he understands my pain of being alone. Of course, I think his is a choice for the most part, but for me, it’s not a choice. Yet I’m also aware of some sort of weariness about him that I also have.

Bah. It’s three in the morning. I don’t think I make sense this late. Or early. Whatever.

June 30, 2005

I had a revelation today.

And it was all thanks to Luna.

According to her, I like Snape.

. . . Kemp, I think she’s right. And I think I need a drink.

July 4, 2005

I still haven’t gotten over my shock at the simple fact of me liking Snape. I haven’t gone back to his place yet since I’ve discovered my attraction to him. It’s fucked up. I mean, I’ve had my share of one night stands and lovers of both genders, but to like someone like him? When I lost my voice, have I also lost my brain?

Maybe this is a phase. Maybe this’ll disappear in a few days.

July 7, 2005

I visited Snape, and he actually asked me why I hadn’t come by lately. A blush nearly ruined it all for me, but I kept it at bay, and I just told him that I was busy with work. I don’t think he believed me, but he didn’t try to do Leglimency on me — which I appreciate!

We worked quietly together, and I found myself studying him discreetly as possible. He was brewing something that required all of his concentration. His eyebrows were closely knitted together, and his thin lips kept moving as he muttered to himself. His stained fingers gripped the stirrer tightly as his arms moved quite gracefully in counter-clockwise direction. The steam from the cauldron obscured his face a bit, but I could see it was red and wet from the heat. His lank hair was tied back for once, which gave me a good view of his high cheekbones and his hairless face.

I was really glad I wore robes. They hid my body’s reaction from him.

Later, he sent me away to do some delivery. As I walked towards Hogsmeade, I tried to come up with a list of reasons why I like Snape. My list is a bit . . . illogical.

1. He’s tall and slim, though a bit too thin, I think.
2. He’s no Lockhart, but he’s handsome in his own way. I mean, aside from his too big nose and his greasy hair . . . at least he has these intense eyes. Looking in them sends shiver down my spine. I think it’s a combination of fear and lust.
3. He’s intelligent. His chess and potions skills say a lot about him. Plus, he did create some spells, too. Albeit, dangerous ones.
4. His personality is strangely enticing. Okay, I don’t exactly enjoy his bitching when he’s in a PMS-y mood, but at least he’s not fake like Fudge or Skeeter.
5. I just find him attractive, somehow. Somehow.

ARGH. That whole saying about how love isn’t easy to understand? Multiply that about a hundred, and that will explain my feelings towards Snape.

Or maybe a thousand.

July 9, 2005

I might not understand my feelings towards Snape, but I’m certain of one thing: I have to make the first move in this whole thing.

Therefore, I have plans tonight that involve cooking a homemade meal and providing alcohol.

We’ll see how this goes.

July 11, 2005

Oh, Merlin.

I think I bollocksed it up terribly.

And just when everything was going well, too! I just had to go and fuck it all up!

After I helped him with his work, I told him I was going to cook us some bangers and mash. I knew that was a favourite dish of his, so it was a good thing I can cook that decently! Well, dinner passed with us talking about random subjects about potions, music (he apparently likes Muggle classical music and is fond of Chopin), the Ministry, and chess. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Just us two bantering and conversing like normal.

After we finished our meal, we cleaned up and went to his sitting room for some scotch. We were on that freezing sofa together. I ended up drinking a bit too much, and now I deeply regretted that.

In my slightly pissed state, I leaned over and kissed him. His lips were chapped, but they felt so good against mine. So warm. I backed away first with a silly grin on my face, but that quickly disappeared when I saw a stormy look in his eyes. The lips that I had just kissed seconds ago parted, and he hissed, “This is not funny, Weasley.”

That was when I realised I had fucked up. When I stood, the room spun around me. My mouth had gone dry, but I still managed to say “Sorry”, and then I hightailed out of his cottage.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I don’t even know if he fancies blokes! I’ve snogged him without thinking! It’s obvious he hates it! Shite, I’m a dunderhead!

July 15, 2005

Since the day I became an idiot, I didn’t leave my flat, and I purposely didn’t go to my appointment with Luna today. My truancy must have given her the idea to come to my flat and pound my door down.

She found me in my bed, the covers all thrown around me. I would have never guessed it with her slight build, but she managed to yank me out of bed and told me to come have tea with her in my sitting room.

She just took over my flat like she owned it.

I’ve decided that if she ever gets mad, I don’t want to be around her when it happens.

Anyway, as I nursed over my cup of tea, she dragged the story out of me. When I finished, she and I talked.

L: Severus came to me, asking if you’d drown yourself in the Thames. He sent me a message saying “If that Weasley killed himself without giving me any explanation for that indecent act, I will personally bring him back alive and kill him myself.” Why didn’t you just tell him what you felt, Ron?
R: He’s the one who said, “This is not funny, Weasley”! With that statement, do you think I’d really tell him how I feel? I mean, it’s obvious he didn’t like it!
L: Ron, he was just trying to figure out if that was a joke or not. You know how sensitive his kinds are.
R: I wasn’t aware he was part of a “kind”.
L: Of course he is! He’s like a dangerous beast who, once tamed, can be the most loyal person ever.
R: Say what?
L: I’m just saying that he’s a bit too uptight and protective of himself, so he’ll come off quite standoffish, but that was not his intention.
R: You’re confusing me.
L: I’m just trying to tell you that I think he fancies you, too. Just less openly so.
R: Wait, wait, wait. He likes me?
L: I would imagine so. Why else would he come to my office to inquire about you?
R: But, but, but . . .
L: Oh! I think there might be Nargles near here. You’re repeating stuff in triplets . . . that’s a guaranteed sign that Nargles are nearby!
R: Luna . . .
L: I shall go look for them. Go see Severus, okay?

Just like that she left me as I stared after her incredulously.

If what she’s said is true — not about the Nargles, but about Snape — then I think I have plenty to think about.

July 18, 2005

I finally found the courage to go visit Snape — er, Severus. Since I like him, I realised I should start calling him that instead of “Snape”.

When I reached the door, I hesitated. I was so tempted to just go back to my flat and forget about this, but I knocked on the door instead of barging in like I had the last few weeks. I held my breath as I waited for him to answer. It felt like ages before he came to the door, and when he did, I saw a magnificent scowl etched on his face. I nearly lost my nerves before blurting, “I like you, Severus Snape! There, I admit it!”

Right after I said that, I wanted to really die and sink into a hole. Of all the things to say, I had to say something that probably made me look like a nincompoop.

I wasn’t sure what Severus would do after my pitiful declaration. To be honest, I had expected him to throw something sharp at me, but to his credit, he only stepped aside and said, “Let’s talk inside.” His scowl had transformed into a blank expression; even his eyes were shuttered, and I wasn’t able to guess what he was thinking then.

We sat at his cold sofa, but there was a gigantic space between us. I waited for him to start, and after what felt like long, agonising hours, he gave me a bloody speech along the lines of:

If you are really telling the truth here about your infatuation with me, then say your blessing since I would have tortured you until you lost your voice permanently, and this time I would have not bothered to help you get it back. Honestly, Weasley, just what are you thinking? I can see that you are not under the Imperius, so I know you are in charge of your own words and actions. You say you like me, but I am having trouble deciphering a logical reason for all this. You are a former student of mine — not to mention I am also two decades older than you at least — so I cannot fathom why you have developed these insane claims. Although you are quite idiotic and are a dunderhead, I know you are capable of finding someone better out there for you. Please spare me your foolish babbling and just get straight to the point.

I’m not sure if that’s exactly what he’s said, but that’s definitely the gist of it. A lot of underhanded compliments with underlying insults. How’s it possible that he can manage to compliment and insult me? I mean, seriously, I think that’s a gift of his along with his potions skill.

Another long moment of silence passed between us before I said my own statement.

Look, I’m not quite sure why this suddenly came to this, but I do like you. I’m well aware that you were my teacher and the whole age gap thing. But I like you. You’re temperamental, but you’re blunt, and I respect that. You don’t mince words, but I know you’re actually a decent person . . . you just express it in your own way. Also, I’m attracted to you, yes. I like your intelligence. Your personality has grown on me, and I really have enjoyed your company these past couple of months.

When the war ended, I had lost my family and my two best friends. For these seven long years, I’ve felt empty and miserable. But then when I started to be with you and Kemp, I found myself changing somehow. I feel less depressed, and I found myself liking you.

I don’t know whether you feel the same or not, but if you do . . . I’d like to . . . to . . . date you. Court you. Whatever the term you prefer.

When I finished, I kind of expected him to give me a declaration of love back at me. You know what he said instead? He asked, “Who’s Kemp?”

I was about to bang my head on the table when I glanced into his eyes. I saw something that looked like jealousy. Let’s just say that gave me some hope as I responded, “Oh, just a book I write in.”

“I’m being compared to a diary?” I rolled my eyes. I didn’t think Snape could sound so childish, but he sounded put off right then and there.

“It was Luna’s suggestion, okay?”

Once I said that, he nodded soberly. “That explains it all.”

“Yes,” I said.

By then, I was unsure of what to do or say next, but he heaved a huge sigh and said, “You know I am not going to change into a sentimental fool, right?”

I had to prevent a grin from escaping me. Hearing that Snapeish statement just made me want to burst out laughing. I didn’t, though. I reached out the touch his face, my fingers touching the flyaway strands from his loose ponytail (which were greasy, but it didn’t feel as bad as I’d imagined), and I gently stroked his cheeks. In a soft voice, I muttered, “I wouldn’t expect anything like that from you. Though I can’t help but wonder if you’ll be this cantankerous in bed.”

He smirked at me. That smirk gives me much to look forward to, and even more so after he proclaimed, “You’ll have to see for yourself.”

After that, he had to go back to his work, and I felt like I had come back home when I started my usual routine of helping him out.

Kemp, this . . . this has turned out much better than I expected. I know being with him is not going to be easy than being with a more cheerful person, but I really couldn’t be arsed to be with anyone that’s not Severus.

I’ve been smitten by him.

July 28, 2005

You know, Kemp. Writing in you has helped me a lot. But I don’t think I’ll write all the wonderful and steamy details of my night with Severus in here. I don’t see the point. It will take more than mere words to describe my feelings and emotions on what I’ve experienced as the most intense and passionate love-making session in my life.

It was that fucking good, Kemp.

Though I think I’ve nearly pulled my back out from all that exertion. At least with that excuse, I can get more kisses from Severus. He’s such a great kisser. One snog from him will heal me from any ailments!

On a second thought, I think I will jot down some details of that fantastic sex I’ve had. If I ever have amnesia or go senile, this entry will at least allow me to remember some bits of it!

Let me start from the beginning. First, we had dinner, and then we retired to his sitting room. We were back on that freezing sofa, but this time I remembered to cast a warming charm on it, which my arse and back thanked considerably. Anyway, we were lounging there, and we were both unsure what to do next. I knew I was nervous and uncertain; I really didn’t want to fuck anything up.

But then I wrapped an arm around his thin shoulders, and I could feel him stiffen. Just as I was about to take my arm back, he turned his head slightly to look at me. His face had a hard look to it, but his eyes told another story. They were lit with desires and wants, and I felt like I was being smouldered by its depth.

Severus kissed me first, and I had to admit it was a bit awkward . . . we both had to adjust our angles since his nose was in the way, but once that was figured out . . .

I know I’m repeating myself, Kemp, but Severus is a GREAT kisser. The way he used that tongue — swirling and rubbing against mine, tasting the peppermint tea he had minutes ago — it was bloody brilliant.

When we broke the kiss — well, when I had to since I was about to die from oxygen deprivation — he told me in his velvety voice to move this to the bedroom. I was not about to disagree to that proposition, so we both resumed another round of snogging on top of his bed. Severus was on his back, and I was on top of him, my body fitting perfectly against his. The more we snogged, the more I had turned hard, and I could feel his own hardness against mine, and when he moved his hips against mine, I nearly fainted from the pleasure.

Together, we stripped our clothes off — fine, we ripped our clothes off — and when we were naked from heads to toes, Severus insisted to stop wallowing in doubt and take the next step. I wasn’t quite expecting that. See, I thought he would naturally want to be on the top, what with his forceful personality and whatnot, but I guess that wasn’t the case in sex. I didn’t question it; I couldn’t question it since I was too eager to take the next step.

There was a small vial of lubricant on his nightstand — one he made naturally — and when I poured some on my finger, I had to force myself to not rush this. I didn’t want to hurt him any more than necessary. I knew from experience that being on the bottom was not always pleasant no matter how many times one went through it.

But Merlin, it was really difficult to hold back when I prepared him, and it was really a challenge to not thrust quickly when I finally went inside. It was so intense and powerful that I nearly blacked out again. However, I kept my head clear. I looked down at him, looked down at the way his hair was sprawled out on the pillow, the way his pale fingers clenched at the sheets, and the way his chest heaved as he relaxed himself.

It was a sight to behold. I couldn’t stop staring at him. It was just beautiful.

Severus broke that spell by urging me to continue, and I complied. As I moved, I kissed him again and again, and he kissed back, his hands grabbing and holding onto my back. His moans and mine combined together until it was one. When we reached our climaxes, he came first with me following him few seconds later.

If anything ever happens to us in the future, I don’t think I can ever forget this experience. I never want to forget, but just in case I do, I have this to remember with.

But I think it’s time for me to stop writing for now. As embarrassing as this might sound, I’ve got turned on by writing these recollections. That pain in my back is now replaced with arousal in my stomach. I’ve got to go find Severus now to see if we can do a repeat of all I’ve just written!

July 31, 2005

Today was Harry’s birthday. After seven years of avoiding the depressing place, I decided to finally pay my visit to his grave. Despite his grumblings, Severus came with me to the cemetery. I bought flowers and some Chocolate Frogs for Harry. Severus went off to visit Dumbledore’s grave to give me privacy. I sat in front of the grave and eyed the 1980 to 1998 on the tombstone. Eighteen years. Those two numbers sadden me, and I felt tears in my eyes, but I busied myself pulling out weeds and making his grave look nicer. Then I talked to him.

I told him about Severus. I told him about my adventures of losing my voice. I told him everything about how miserable I was these seven years. But now that I have Severus . . . I could stop living and clinging to the past that would never come back. I told him all that, and I told him that I hoped he was happy wherever he was now. And of course, I wished him a happy birthday.

When I finished, I visited everybody else. I pretty much talked with all of them, told them pretty much the same thing I told Harry. As I talked with each member of my family, I felt lightness in my heart, which slowly spread all over me.

I’ll always miss my friends and family, but at least now I have Severus with me. And Luna and Neville. And even Seamus. I have great friends, a good job, and a wonderful lover.

I can finally move on, Kemp. Luna’s right about writing down my feelings, and I think I’ll keep doing this whenever I can.

But for now, I think I shall go see if Severus wants to go for a round of chess. He still has yet to beat me, but we’ve got time. We’re wizards, and we still have a hundred or so years left in our lives. He’ll beat me one day.

Part I: The Months of Ambiguity

Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you. — Carl Sandburg

November 1997

I stared at him. More specifically, I stared at the bruises and the cuts visible on his face. I knew where they came from. Everyone did. Now that Potter and half the school disappeared, those of us left here were either on the Dark Lord’s side or were there because they felt like they had to be here. Some people, like Longbottom, were here because they carried on Potter’s legacy. Without anybody brave enough to defy against the Carrows and Snape, Longbottom took on that task willingly.

I ran my hands over my scars from earlier this year when Potter cast that spell on me. Mine were all pale, blending into my natural skin to the point of invisibility.

Again, my eyes drifted over the new red cuts. I looked over the week-old yellow bruises, the new dark purple bruises, and the faint scars that covered his face and neck. His injuries decorated his face like a war hero, seen for the whole school to see his purpose in life. Mine? Hidden like the Slytherin I was.

Our eyes met. I cursed myself for letting myself get caught this way. I tried to look away, but his dark brown eyes held my grey ones. At that moment, I felt something passed between us. A scream broke whatever spell that held me, and I looked up to see one of the Carrows yelling.

Oh. Hell.

Luckily breakfast ended then, so we all made a run for our classes. Myself included. I ran to my first class, and the rest of the day passed in a blur. That was how my days passed since September the first. The war, hanging over our heads, had some strange effects on us. That day, though, felt different. Amidst the blur, I kept seeing Longbottom’s bruised up face.

December 1997

I needed to get away. Needed to get away from the Carrows. Needed to get away from Crabbe and Goyle. Those two actually enjoyed inflicting punishments on the ones who fought back — Crabbe more so than Goyle, but still. I had to escape from their cruelty. Plus, my arm flared up in pain. Some dunderheads with the Dark Lord probably did something to upset him. I was not in great shape when I finally located the Room of Requirement.

After that long day of misery, seeing Longbottom nursing one of his fresh bruises was the last thing I wanted to see.

I almost snarled at him, but he was holding up a piece of meat. Raw meat. Up on his bruised up cheek. I was left in mid-yell with my mouth opened as I stared confoundedly at him instead.

“Catching Cornish Pixies, Malfoy?” Longbottom asked. I was surprised his voice held no contempt.

I regained my composure, and in my coldest voice, I inquired, “What are you doing with that meat?”

“Healing my injuries.”

“Did all those bruises damage your brain so much that you can’t even perform a simple healing spell on yourself?”

To my annoyance, he didn’t rise to my bait and only shrugged. “I’m capable. I discovered that this was the best healing method to my injuries because I didn’t want to build up immunity to the healing spells.”

“It’s a very primitive way of doing so.”

He shrugged. That single movement captured my eyes as I stared at those broad shoulders. Just when did he develop those muscles?

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his deep voice waking me up from my stupor.

“Nothing,” I answered neutrally. I averted my gaze to a spot on one of the walls.

I felt his eyes probing me, studying me, before he said, “You’re not really enjoying this, are you?”

“Don’t presume anything about me! You don’t have that right!” I glared at him.

I watched Longbottom put down that disgusting raw flesh on the table. His face turned calm, but I could see a glint in his eyes. A determined kind.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t presume you of anything. However, the fact that you haven’t run out to get the Carrows or come here with Crabbe and Goyle made me think otherwise.”

“I could go get them now.” It was an idle threat, and the bastard knew it.

“You won’t.”

I nearly yelled at him, but I grew distracted. My arm throbbed again, and I gritted my teeth in pain as my right hand automatically clutched at my left arm. I felt beads of sweat coming down my face and my breathing turning ragged. My eyes closed on their own accord, and it wasn’t until I felt a pair of warm, gentle hands on my shoulders, guiding me to sit in a chair that wasn’t there before, did I open them to stare at a concerned Longbottom.

Something was horribly wrong with this picture.

Or so my malfunctioning brain said. While my brain proceeded to turn into slush, I found myself staring into those brown eyes again. Just like that one time in the Great Hall weeks ago. Only, this time, the owner of the eyes stood in front of me, hovering over me protectively with that worried expression I desperately wanted to erase. I wanted to make it go away because . . . it was genuine. It was the first genuine expression — the kind that wasn’t a death glare like what the Dark Lord’s famous for — I remembered receiving in the longest time.

It unnerved me. Inside, I could feel something churning. Logically, I should push him and hex him. But I couldn’t move.

Instead, he broke the moment. I wasn’t sure how long we stared at each other, but he moved first by asking, “All right, Malfoy?”

I nodded stiffly. The pain had subsided, so I dropped my arms to my sides, my fingers brushing against the velvet material of the chair the room gave upon his request. My entire arms, hands, and fingers went numb. Good thing they were. Otherwise, I might have actually tried to trace one of those bruises or scars on his face.

Suddenly, he stepped back. I watched him brush his hands through his dark blond hair. I always thought that he had brown hair. Instead, they were dark blond. Much darker than my own.

“I’ll let you be, Malfoy. We all need time to ourselves.” I heard the unsaid words. Yes, we needed time for ourselves, but they were hard to come by in this time and age. Especially if you were a constant target like Longbottom.

I remained silent as he left the room. I heard the door click behind me, and I was alone. Alone like I wanted to be. Or maybe that was not my original desire in the first place. Maybe I wanted someone — like Longbottom — to confide with.

Bloody hell.

I choked back a sob as I realised that I must be desperate enough to go looking for company with the enemy. But that was not why I wanted to scream. I had wanted Longbottom to fucking stay.

January 1998

“How were your holidays?”

I looked up from the book in my lap to see Longbottom entering the room. “Did I say you were invited here?”

He laughed out loud. That git had the nerve to laugh at me. I scowled at him.

Still chuckling, he said, “I thought you were filled with manners, Malfoy.”

“I am.”

“Then you should know that it’s rude to answer with a question.” I caught the twinkle in his eyes.

“There’s always an exception to the rule where I’m concerned.” I set the book aside and sighed. So much for some time to myself. Then again, even five minutes proved to be a blessing. “It was all right. What about you?”

“It was all right.” Longbottom sat down on the sofa next to me and looked over at me. “Let’s not play this game. I’ll tell the truth if you tell the truth.”

I gave him a guarded look. He returned it with that peaceful look of his. Somehow, something in that gentle but bruised up face of his broke all the barriers I had shielded myself with the general public.

“It was rotten. Downright rotten. With the Dark Lord hanging around the manor, all festivities left our place,” I admitted, staring at my hands. As the words came out, it surprised me how easy it was to share my thoughts and feelings with someone who was willing to listen. “I’m just glad I’m back here, away from his unnerving presence.”

“Ah, brilliant. Glad to hear that, actually. My holidays were quite the same as yours, with the Carrows breathing down our backs every hour by the hour.”

I cocked my head towards him. “Heard your grandmother did an excellent job of fighting off Dawlish.”

Something changed in him. Something akin to hope ignited deep inside his eyes, and I saw it, and for that moment, I was mesmerised by that small display of emotion.

“She did?” A slow smile came to his face. “I’m not surprised. She’s pretty tough. I can vouch for that. Where’s she now?”

“I don’t know. She banged Dawlish up, sent him to St. Mungo’s, and disappeared.”

“I see.” He leaned back into the sofa and sighed. “So many people are disappearing. Gran’s off somewhere. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are wherever. Dean’s off on the run. And now Luna’s missing as well.”

Not expecting the last name, I flinched upon hearing it, and that movement didn’t escape Longbottom. “You know where she is, don’t you?”

I frowned at him instead of answering like I wanted to. “That’s none of your business.”

“Can you at least tell me if she’s alive?” His eyes gave off an imploring aura. I felt myself weakening by them.

Slowly, I nodded and watched a relieved look come to his face. “Thank you.”

Instead of ending the conversation right there, I found myself asking, “Why do you do it? Why do you lead that group of yours — the DAs? — to defy the Dark Lord’s minions here?”

He gave me an unreadable expression, and I found myself unable to look away as I listened to his answer. “To survive. Just like you and everyone else. I just choose to go a different way about it. Your way. My way. It’s all the same. In the end, we will live through it in one form or another.”

My throat was suddenly dry; I lost all voice control. I nodded and looked down to see that his hand and my hand were situated next to each other on the sofa, side by side, touching slightly. His were larger and darker than mine. I saw dirt under his nail. They were herbologist’s hands. Mine were pale, slender, and would have been stained with potion ingredients if we came right out of that class. They were so close that the contrast was apparent. So close that one of us could have moved and covered one of our hands. He might have had the same thoughts. He had to. But neither of us moved as we sat there contemplatively.

I decided to leave first, but then I turned around and said, “You’ve changed. You’re not who you were when we were in first year.”

With that, I left, but not before I heard a soft, “So did you.”

February 1998

I entered the room and bumped into something solid and warm. It was Longbottom’s chest. Wait. Chest? Did he really grow that much taller than me? I looked up to confirm it was him, and indeed Longbottom stood there giving me another one of his calm and impassive expression.

“All right there?”

I nodded and stepped around him. I walked to the sofa and sat on it. “I assume you’re leaving?”

“I can stay.”

I sneered. “I don’t need a guardian.”

“I never said you needed one. I just offered to stay.”

I lazily waved my hand and drawled, “Do whatever you please.” While I did that, I studied Longbottom’s new injuries. I saw him moving as if he were sore all over. Upon closer inspection, it looked like his back hurt him more than anything else. “Cruciatus?”

His entire body stiffened at my question, but he nevertheless nodded. I quickly asked the room to conjure up a floor mat of some sort, and it appeared. I pointed to the new item. “Take your robes and shirt off and lie there on your stomach.”

Longbottom raised his eyebrows at me. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Okay.” He gave me a small smile. “I trust you.”

“Oh, shut your trap! Don’t say crap like that! I’m your enemy. We’re ene–”

Even though I told him to shut up, he ended up silencing me. Like I requested, he stripped his robes and shirt off with difficulties. While I had expected him to be naked from the waist up, to actually see the bare chest and torso displayed right in front made me feel something I never wanted to feel towards another man.

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Chibi Toaster.

Lust. And something else I wasn’t able to identify.

I felt something changing in my groins as I stared at the expanse of his upper body. Like I thought, his shoulders are broad, as well as his chest. His weren’t well-sculpted like Zabini’s, but it was defined enough. My eyes travelled and took in the nipples, the chest hairs, and that inviting trail that started from his navel and disappeared at the edge of his trousers.

Realising my inappropriate thoughts, I forced myself back to reality, hoping he didn’t notice where my eyes had wandered to. He lay down, with his face resting on his folded arms, and I pulled out a jar of some homemade relief cream from my bag. As I opened the lid, I knelt beside him, the lavender scent filling the room. I scooped some of the cold cream up onto my hand, and I rubbed it on his back. He let out a soft hitch.

“Cold?” I asked, slowly massaging the cream onto his skin.

“Yeah, but it’s getting warmer.”

“Hn.”

I felt Longbottom shifting beneath my hands. “When this blasted war ends, what do you plan to do?”

“Do?” I repeated with a mirthless laugh. “If I live through it, I can see myself obtaining my mastery in potions. Then from there, find a job in that field, find a nice bird to be married to, and have the Malfoy heir I’m supposed to have.”

“Is that what you really want to do?”

“It’s what’s expected of me. Well, not the Potions master part, but everything else is what I have to do.”

By then my hands had stopped moving. I looked at his curious face while he stared back at mine. “I see. I guess, in a way, I’m in a similar state. See, I think my gran expected me to follow my father’s footsteps, in becoming an Auror, especially after my fifth year, when we discovered why my magic wasn’t at its true potential. Now, though, I know for sure I want to study herbology and attain my mastery in that subject. Gran won’t be happy about it, but that’s what I want. Only time will tell.”

We stopped talking as I applied dollops of cream all over his back. I worked from the shoulders down to the small of his back. I massaged the cream in some places that were knotted tightly. I listened to Longbottom’s breathing pattern, which sounded soothing to me for some unexplained reasons. Soon, I was done.

“Feel better?”

“Very. Thanks. I think I’ll take a nap now.”

I slipped the closed jar back into my bag and stood up. Quietly, I walked to the door, but before I opened it, I heard him say, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Malfoy.”

I left. I just hope he didn’t hear my very soft, “You too.”

March 1998

Fuck! I hated him. I hated that — that thing we called the Dark Lord!

As soon as I arrived at Hogwarts, I stormed down the corridors to reach the only place I considered a sanctuary. My entire body shook from the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse. Every step I took just about made me want to die. I forced myself to continue to my destination, and soon I entered the Room of Requirement. I almost allowed myself to collapse from the pain, but I stopped when I saw Longbottom there.

He had been lounging on a comfortable looking sofa when I entered, but he stood up as soon as he saw me and came towards me. As my body racked with pain, I leaned heavily against the closed door and watched him stop in front of me.

“Malfoy? What happened?”

A concerned look came on his face. All I could say was “Cruciatus” before I fell forward, but a strong pair of arms caught me by the waist and led me to that sofa he was on mere minutes ago. I sat hard on the sofa, and those arms that helped me didn’t leave me as one remained around my shoulders as the other fed me a potion that I recognised as one that dampened the Cruciatus’ effects. Immediately, my pain turned numb and that feeling of lethargy took over me. My head began to throb, so I rested it on his shoulders, and I felt his fingers on my shoulders tightened. Despite my pain, that tighter grip left me feeling better than I ever did after receiving the curse.

In a quiet voice — he had to have known my head hurt — he asked, “Voldemort?”

“Yeah,” I sighed and then managed a smirk. “You will like what I tell you. My parents and I were subjected to gross punishment from the Dark Lord. They are under house arrest now, but because of my schooling, I was allowed to return. Thank Salazar. But guess who escaped from the Malfoy Manor last night?”

I watched the way Longbottom’s face changed expressively — the most I’ve seen since last year — from his usual calm and concerned façade to something like excitement. His voice cracked when he asked, “Harry?”

I smiled sardonically. “Yes. Potter, Granger, and Weasley escaped along with Lovegood, Thomas, Ollivander, and a goblin. They were rescued by a house-elf.”

He let out a relieved sigh. “They’re alive! Thank Merlin!”

I nodded and closed my eyes. But they flew open when he said, “You’re leaving something out.”

How the hell did he see past me? Actually, when did he become so bloody perceptive? I lifted my head off from his shoulder and stared into those brown depths. “I lied. I lied to the Dark Lord. When he asked me to identify the “famous” trio, I gave him a vague confirmation.”

Honestly? I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be. The last thing I expected, though, was for his lips to be pressed against my forehead. I blinked in surprise as I felt contentment course through my sore body. I watched as he moved back, his cheeks stained in pink and red. Wordlessly, I reach up and traced a fresh bruise under his right eye. I let my finger take in the swollen injury and remained silent when he grabbed my hand and laced our fingers together. I felt calluses from his hands — so different from my callus-free hand — yet another contrast between us. They felt rough unlike my smooth ones, but at the same time, they felt so gentle.

In an even more tender voice, he leaned and whispered into my ears. “I knew it, you know? Knew you weren’t really what you claimed to be all these years.”

Before I could retort his trite words, I gasped and shivered when he kissed my ear. Without meaning to, I allowed a sound of pleasure to escape from my mouth and leaned closer into his solid, warm body. The touches from his hands and his lips felt so good, filled with love and affection — something so foreign to me now but so inviting.

When he pulled me into his lap — where I settled down comfortably — I rested my hands on his shoulders. Under his robes, I could feel the muscles there, and they felt strong and hard. We gazed into each other’s eyes, and before I knew it, he grabbed me by the back of my head and pulled me closer and closer to him. We both automatically tilted our heads, and when our lips met, I forgot all about my pain, all about the war going on around us, and even forgot about Voldemort.

At first our lips stayed still, but it wasn’t long until our emotions and the stress made us kiss each other hungrily. Like starved animals, we kissed, licked, and sucked each other until we grew breathless. Breaking apart, our breathing came out unevenly, and we rested our foreheads against each other. I closed my eyes and stayed like that. He didn’t move either, and we both remained in that position as long as we could.

Within such a short period of time, I realised that I had fallen for this Gryffindor, for the enemy, and I didn’t bloody care that he was a man. That didn’t matter one bit.

April 1998

We were back in the Room of Requirement. A month had gone by since we were last together. The war was escalating around us. Many of the older students against the Dark Lord had disappeared somewhere around the castle. Those of us on the dark side didn’t know where they disappeared to; I suspected this very room had something to do with their disappearances, though, and I kept my suspicions to myself. Longbottom was one of them, but he sent words out and asked me to meet him here clandestinely. Against my better judgement, I agreed and now we were together for as long as we could hide from the world. We sat on the sofa, his arms wrapped around me, and I leaned against him, feeling protected and loved.

“It’s in the air,” he said, mysteriously.

I knew what he meant, but I feigned ignorance. “What is?”

“It won’t be long until the final battle. The battle to end this war.”

I waited quietly for a bit, and then I forced out my next words. “We will both do what are expected of us.” I straightened up and looked into his face. “We may fight each other.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute. I didn’t need words to know what he thought. They were clearly etched on his face. I sensed his troubled eyes looking over me. “Just be careful, Draco.”

Draco. That was the first time he said my given name. To hear it roll off his tongue like that, I felt something inside me waking up from its slumber. All I could manage was a soft “Neville” before I closed all gaps between us with an unhurried kiss.

May 1998

Chaos and destruction.

That was the best way to describe the hell that unleashed all over Hogwarts. Half-heartedly, I went and did what I had to do. Crabbe, Goyle, and I fought against Potter and his crew in the Room of Requirement. To my relief, I saw that Neville was nowhere in sight. I didn’t want to fight him. I could fight Potter, but not him.

When Crabbe cast that stupid spell, though, I thought that I was surely going to die. I watched Goyle being saved by Ron, and with me being distracted, I didn’t see who pulled me out of the inferno until I saw that it was him. We were out in one of the many corridors, and I looked at him. I wanted to thank him, but my pride prevented me. He knew, though. I could tell he knew when he squeezed my shoulder and then disappeared.

After he left, it took me several minutes to realise that I was in his debt, but I knew he wasn’t going to demand anything of it from me. I only had to fulfil it when that moment came.

That moment arrived sooner than I expected. I ran outside. I made out far too many bodies on the ground, all lifeless. I nearly faltered and lost my sanity, but I looked up and observed that Neville was in trouble. He was duelling with one unknown Death Eater and then I watched him lose his footing, and he fell down to one knee. My heart lurched as I ran towards them. Without warning, I cast Petrificus Totalus and the enemy froze in the spot.

He saw me. Our eyes connected for one brief moment as he gave me a small smile. Then he ran off somewhere, and I did, too.

As I threw hexes and curses left and right, I mumbled, “He will live.” I knew deep inside, some unknown instincts told me that.

It was over. The moment we all waited for — whether the Dark Lord won or Potter won — that moment came. I looked around all of us. We were all filthy, covered with blood and grime, and we looked exhausted but happy that the end had finally come.

My eyes flickered over to where I knew he stood. Our eyes met, and we acknowledged each other. I wanted to go over there with him, but I stayed in between my parents. I told myself that we would get the chance to meet later.

I should have known that “later” meant two weeks later.

We accidentally bumped into each other in a dark corridor that led up to where the Room of Requirement used to be.

Not knowing who I bumped into at first, I let out a loud, “Fuck!” I almost snapped at the person to watch where they were going until I realised it was him.

“Draco. I — let’s go somewhere to talk.” Beneath the darkness I looked at his face. I took in the tender smile he gave me. I could see that the majority of his injuries were healed, but I could see scars that criss-crossed his face. I wanted to touch them, wanted to trace them, but I kept my hands down.

I cleared my throat, which went scratchy on me. “Is the room . . . ?”

“It’s not working. I think it’s no longer functional.”

Damn Crabbe. While I grieved for him, I didn’t grieve for the fact that he was a git. A stupid git who damaged and ruined that room and ended his own life that way. Ironic, really.

“There’s an empty classroom near here. Let’s go there.” I led the way and heard his footsteps behind me.

Once inside, I waved my wand as I cast a silencing charm and a locking charm for privacy. I looked up at him, and suddenly I felt unsure of myself. Before I could dwell on my uncertainties, he kissed me. I found myself kissing back, his arms embracing me tightly against his firm body. We kissed until we were both breathless, and when we separated, I caught the serious expression on his face.

“I wanted to talk to you. About . . . ” He paused. “Us, Draco. I wanted to ask you about–”

I held up my hand to stop him. He did. I took a deep breath. In my coldest voice, I said, “There is no us, Longbottom.” He didn’t say anything. I felt something inside of me sinking. “Really, now that the war is over, Longbottom, there’s no us. In fact, there never really was an ‘us’. This war affected all of us strangely.”

I felt his penetrating gaze on me, but I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t dare to look. “You will do what you’re required to do. I’ll do what I’ve always known to do. I will get married to a pureblood witch, and I will continue the Malfoy line.”

No! I don’t want to do that! I want to stay with you. Sod my obligations! I don’t care about them any more! I mentally screamed all that deep inside of me. My emotions were a mess. I had spent these last two weeks fighting myself with what I wanted to do and what I was required to do.

I forced myself to look at him. To my surprise, he didn’t look upset or anything of that nature. In fact, his face took on that tranquil look he always had this past year. In fact, there was almost a calculating feel to it.

What he said next made my heart sink so low that I almost did lose my cold composure. “You’re right. The war has ended. Now we’ll move on and do what we all need to do.”

I nearly panicked then. I hadn’t envisioned this. In fact, I didn’t expect this at all. I anticipated him to tell me otherwise. I thought he’d tell me to forget about my commitments and just be with him. I wanted him to do something to make me stay with him!

Before I could do anything outwardly, he reached out and patted my shoulder. “I wish you the best, Draco. Good luck.” With that, he gave me a one last smile. He turned around, undid the spells I had cast, and left. I watched him leave, and it was all I could do to prevent myself from chasing after him.

Once I was sure he was long gone, I collapsed to my knees and stifled back something that was a mixture of a sob and laughter. Bitterness coursed through me as I realised that he didn’t care about me. If he did, he would have stopped me. He would have shut me up and snogged me. But none of that happened. Instead, all that was left was my regret and distress as he walked out of my life.

Part II: The Decades of Remorse

Time does not change us. It just unfolds us. — Max Frisch

February 1999

It was Saint Valentine’s Day. I escaped the manor and went out into Muggle London because anonymity came easier there than any wizarding places like Diagon Alley. I slipped into a club called “Ziggy”. A strange name, but it was a gay club, and a place to pick up blokes; that was my goal for the night.

With a drink in my hand, I sauntered around the club, giving young and old men my usual smirk. I didn’t see the point in being seductive. My looks alone — including my smirk — would draw in the type of bloke I preferred.

Soon, one came up behind me and whispered mundane praises and awful pick-up lines into my ear. I rolled my eyes before I turned around. I looked him over. He was tall, stocky, with dark blond hair, and brown eyes. Perfect.

I smiled at him as I talked back to him, to let him know I was interested. Eventually, he led me into one of the more private rooms tucked away in the back of the establishment. I allowed him to do whatever he wanted — which was basically a quick shag — nothing more and nothing less. We did snog a bit, to which I couldn’t help but think it sucked compared to his kisses.

I shoved that thought aside as the club bloke pleasured me with his mouth. A while later, he entered me, and to be honest, it hurt more than I expected, but the pain quickly transformed into pleasure, and when I came, I called out his name.

Bloody hell.

Luckily, that nameless bloke didn’t hear it; he was too lost in his own throes of passion to hear anything around him.

As I left the establishment, I felt satiated and sore, but despite the physical pleasure, my thoughts were strangely barren. I wasn’t sure why. Instead, I decided to repress them.

August 2000

Oh, for Salazar’s sake! This man really needed to shut up. Master Jurgenson was the Potions master who took me in as his apprentice. The only other Potions master I had the privilege of studying under was Professor Snape. Master Jurgenson’s personality turned out to be on the other end of the spectrum from Professor Snape’s.

Professor Snape was always blunt and quick to the point.

Master Jurgenson tended to go off tangent all the time and become hyperactive as that one Creevey git — the camera crazy one. Or maybe as Aunt Bellatrix. I hadn’t quite decided on the lesser of two evils.

Why did fate have to be cruel and kill off Professor Snape?

I sighed as I forced myself to follow my teacher’s explanation about how aconitum had many different species — a common one being wolfsbane. But how it was relevant to making Pepper-up was beyond me. Half of the species weren’t even used as ingredients for potions!

“Now, Draco, could you go retrieve that plant from the greenhouse? It’s the big blue one. Hard to miss that, lad.”

Finally. From all the talking he did for three hours, I was surprised his tongue hadn’t died from overuse. I quickly left before he could start on another long lecture, and I found the “big blue” plant he requested — which, unfortunately for me, were behind these hideous looking pink flowers that always tried to bite me. With ease, I grabbed the plant and gave it to him back in the lab.

“Thank you.” He handed me a parchment filled with barely legible writing. “Look over the ingredients and bring me the ones that aren’t on the table yet.”

“Yes, sir.” I looked at the list and saw that some of the ingredients were plants that only Herbology masters knew how to cultivate and breed.

That thought made me pause in my search. Briefly, I wondered if he was studying his mastery in herbology. That thought then segued into my memory of his hands. He had those hands that looked perfect when working with the earth. I recalled those hands touching me, comforting me, and protecting me. I looked at my own and remembered how we held hands together, remembered how his were darker compared to mine.

“Draco, lad! Let’s go! Hup-hup! We haven’t gotten all day!” Master Jurgenson’s loud voice interrupted my train of thoughts, and I breathed out in relief for the distraction.

“In a minute, sir!” I finished my errands in fear of having him lecture me for another ten hours.

November 2001

For my final task in my mastery programme, I flew to Japan and visited Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka. Master Jurgenson insisted that I learn about potions from a different culture. He hinted me to do India, but I subtly rebelled against his wishes and chose Japan. He was disappointed at first, but eventually he changed his mind. He would never admit it outright, but he loved Japanese potions making, and so did I. The Asian potion making was a different kind of art all together. In particular, I was drawn to the way the Japanese infused most of their potions into green tea. Quite fascinating, really.

I was in the old wizarding section of Kyoto where I found some seeds of a rare native plant called Ranzania japonica, also known as Togakushisgouma. I looked at the picture of its flower. It was lilac in colour, and it looked terribly fragile.

“This plant is extremely rare and very difficult to cultivate since its natural habitats are in the high mountainous regions. But once it grows and blooms, it will remain alive for many years,” the Japanese Potions master explained. Master Toriyama was an associate of Master Jurgenson and our guide during our duration here.

I stared at the picture; my eyes would not leave it. “Is it for sale?”

There was a short pause. “It’s very expensive.”

“Money’s not an issue.” I broke my gaze from the picture and faced him with a determined expression. “I know someone who’d be able to cultivate this without any problems.”

A few hours later, I found myself sending off an anonymous owl — with insurance — a package that contained the seeds and a very detailed explanation on how to cultivate the Togakushisgouma. I even had Master Toriyama type up the instructions on one of the Muggle’s contraptions — something called a computer. I wasn’t sure how the insurance worked, but I figured it had better be worth the extra money I spent!

Regardless, I knew he would cultivate it. As a lover of herbology, I knew he wouldn’t turn down a challenge like this.

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Jenken.

June 2002

Fighting through the crowds, I went directly to the aisle that held magical objects. I perused the shelves until the item I came for greeted me. I grabbed the newest model of a Remembrall, which told what the user forgot along with the fact they forgot something. I wasn’t sure how it actually worked, but I figured it probably picked up the user’s aura and magically interpreted it.

An absolutely perfect gift for Goyle.

I purchased it and walked out of the crowded shop.

Clutching the bag to me, I recalled my first year — more specifically our first flying lesson. I winced at that memory. I was such a prat. Taking his Remembrall, only to have Potter come chasing me after it, and Potter becoming the youngest seeker for Gryffindor was not a memory I cherished.

Ugh. Sometimes, like I said, I was a prat.

I considered buying one for him, but decided against it. Goyle needed it more.

I found out later that this brand of Remembrall hexed its user if they forgot to use it. Brilliant. Then I realised it was a good thing I didn’t buy this for him. The idea of an object hexing him sounded awful. If anybody were to hex him, I wanted to be the one to do so. After all, I was still pissed at him.

September 2003

My father let out a sound of displeasure during dinner.

Mother and I gave him a curious look.

“I received news from the school board about Professor Sprout’s replacement.” Even though he wasn’t on the board any more, he still kept in contact with a few of the members.

Mother took a sip of some French wine before she asked, “What did Mr Armstrong say, dear?”

“The new replacement is none other than Professor Neville Longbottom. He will also become the new Head of Hufflepuff.”

I nearly spat out my own mouthful of brandy when I heard the news. “Longbottom?” Once my initial shock passed, I concluded that he would be a great professor. He had that calm authority about him. He was an excellent choice.

Later, I decided to send a congratulatory note to him. Only, I remembered that I hadn’t talked to him since the end of our seventh year. Sending it would lead to something unwanted, so I threw the unsigned note into the fire, and instead toasted to his new position with my tumbler of brandy.

April 2004

This day needed to end. Aside from all those times with the Dark Lord, I never expected my own wedding day to be just as bad.

Astoria Greengrass was sweet and caring. I didn’t blame her for my awful mood. In fact, there was nobody I could blame my mood for. Except for myself. This was not what I wanted, but I had to go along with it.

Astoria and I consummated our love for the first time that night at one of our summer homes in France. As I hovered above her and entered her, I desperately wished for the hard and muscular body of men — in particular one man. I wanted to be the one lying on my back. I wanted to be the one taken.

After it was all over, I stared at the ceiling. Despite what we had just done, I still felt empty. Emptier than I had ever felt in my life.

November 2005

“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.” I looked at the sleeping bundle in my arms and gave him a smile. He was perfect — simply perfect. I bent my head to give him a soft kiss.

“He looks just like you,” Astoria said, looking up at us with a gentle smile. I could see she was still exhausted from the labour.

“Sleep, dear. I’ll make sure our parents and your sister do not bother us until tomorrow.”

“All right.” I watched her fall into a deep sleep. As she slept, I felt the bundle in my arm squirm. He was awake.

Softly, I whispered to him, “You’re now the Malfoy heir. As your father, I will make sure you grow up without any unnecessary obligations placed upon all previous heirs before you. That I promise you as your father.”

I held him closely to me. It was strange. All my life, I was expected to uphold all the traditions and expectations that were mandated to me. As I stared at Scorpius, I found my resentment fading a bit. Not a lot, but a bit. I still felt empty in my life, but that emptiness shrank with my son’s arrival to this world.

December 2006

I stopped by the Leaky Cauldron. I had just finished brewing some potions for St. Mungo’s where I currently worked as a freelancing Potions master. Instead of seeing Tom at the bar, I saw Hannah Abbott, who I assumed was with him, considering how they are always seen together in public.

I greeted her courteously, before I walked over to the table where Master Jurgenson was waiting for our dinner meeting. The entire evening passed in a haze as I tried to concentrate on Master Jurgenson’s ramblings about his newest research.

Seeing his girlfriend had thrown me off for a loop. I hadn’t really thought of him until just now, and I felt confusion whirl through me.

“Draco? Are you with me, lad?”

I gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry. I had a long day. You were saying . . . ?”

I gave a sigh of relief when Master Jurgenson continued his theory instead of launching onto a lecture on how it was dangerous for a Potions master to space out. I already went through it with him once. Twice was not an option. Besides, the longer I stayed, the less time I had to go home and play with my son.

May 2007

“Go to Daddy!” Astoria said, letting go of Scorpius’ small body.

“Da-da!” Scorpius gave me a big grin as he took slow but steady steps towards me. I extended my arms a short distance away. It was amazing. Here was my son, barely two years old, and already he walked and talked. Soon, he would be running around, and next thing I knew, he’d be going to Hogwarts!

“Da-da!” He came closer to me, and I reached out and grabbed him, raising him up in the air. He squealed happily.

“Watch out, Scorpius! Daddy’s a Tickle Monster!”

“No-no! No Ticko Mona!” he shrieked and laughed loudly as my fingers flew around his ticklish spots.

I stopped and sat on an armchair with him standing in my lap. I looked into his bright eyes. He was an exact copy of me, except for his eyes. Instead of inheriting my grey eyes, he gained Astoria’s hazel eyes. As I looked into my son’s eyes, I saw that they were more brown than usual because of his happy mood.

I froze for a second, realising what the brown colour reminded me of. It reminded me of his eyes. The eyes that reminded me of melted chocolate. The same eyes that had looked at me gently in that now destroyed room.

I hid my unsettledness from my family. I kissed Scorpius on the forehead and then took him back to Astoria, who had sat down on the sofa across from me. “Okay, Daddy’s going to do some work. Play with Mummy for a while.”

“Wok, Da-da?” Scorpius looked up with those eyes of his.

I ruffled his blond hair. “That’s right. Later, Daddy will read you a story by Beedle the Bard.”

“Beed Bad!” I left the room filled with my son’s excited babbling as well as the unexpected and unwanted memories.

At least I thought they were unwanted. I wasn’t so sure when that man with those brown eyes appeared in my dreams for the first time in years that night.

March 2008

Loud music pulsated through the entire club donned in green. This time, the club was called the “Mercury”, and it was decorated for Saint Patrick’s Day. A holiday I didn’t really care for since he did drive the snakes out of Ireland! And all those leprechauns and the pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow were all balderdashes. I was glad to say at least the colour green was associated with it.

I sipped at my drink as I watched all the blokes around me. My eyes caught a chap across the bar from me. I saw him leave and come over to me.

“Alone?”

“No, I’m here with my drink.” I resisted rolling my eyes.

He raised his eyebrows. “Then may I join you and your drink for some company?”

I took in his shaggy brown hair and his slate-blue eyes. He would do. I nodded and followed him to one of those rooms in the back. The door barely closed as I found myself against it with his body trapping me. He planted a hard but passionate kiss, and I lost myself into the welcomed distraction.

It had been a while since I was with another man — my first since I had been with Astoria — and it felt intense. I moaned into the kiss, grinding my hip against his and feeling both of our hardness. His tongue explored my mouth, and his hands disappeared inside my shirt.

When he pinched my nipples, a face came into my dazed mind. It was his face, and it looked at me disappointedly and with a hint of sadness. That destroyed my desires and made me crash back down to earth. I pushed the guy off of me.

“Sorry, so sorry, but I must run.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I opened the door and ran out of the place. Once in the dark, deserted alleyway, I Apparated and found myself in the backyard of Malfoy Manor.

I fell to my knees and my hand gripped the grass. I felt sick to my stomach. First of all, I had nearly cheated on my wife. That guilt gnawed me. Yet what really made me feel disgusted was the fact that I felt like I almost cheated on him again. The first time I was with a man, nine years ago, I wasn’t sure why I felt barren. Now I knew. Huge amounts of guilt and remorse surged through me.

Nine years ago. That meant a decade had passed since he and I first kissed. I found myself aching for that touch that I could barely remember.

I wanted to scream out all my frustrations, but I didn’t. Instead, I summoned my broom, the best one in the market — Speed Buster 100 — and I rode the broom all night long.

January 2009

I sat in my father’s office. No, not my father’s any longer. Now, it was mine. My father passed away last week. With his death, I became the official head of the Malfoy family.

Taking my tumbler of brandy in one hand, I fingered a plain looking card. A sympathy card. Even though I had already memorised its contents, I opened the card up to read the message.

Dear Draco,

I heard about your father’s passing. I wanted to let you know that I’m sorry for your loss and that if you ever wanted to meet up and talk, just send me an owl.

Sincerely,
Neville

I looked at his surprisingly neat handwriting. I studied the way he crossed his Ts, dotted his Is and Js, and even analysed the way he wrote my name. Seeing his handwriting bought me unforeseen comfort.

He used our given names, and that startled me as well. I thought we were back to using our surnames, but I guessed it was only one-sided on my part.

I felt a small smile on my face. I took the card, handling it like a vial of volatile potion, and put it in my desk drawer. I knew I’d make no reply, but I still intended to keep the card.

A month passed before I realised how sickening and sentimental I acted that night. I chalked it up as a brief moment of weakness due to my father’s death.

May 2010

I glared at the space in the card. I tapped my quill in annoyance as I tried to think of the right words. I almost wished for the quill to write by itself. Then I wouldn’t have to bother trying to think of these elusive words!

Augusta Longbottom had passed away a few days ago. I wasn’t sure how close the two were, but I knew they had to be fairly close since she did raise him.

Frustrated, I ran my hand through my hair and gave a huge sigh. I forced my hand to write a formal but short message.

Dear Professor Longbottom,

I have heard about your grandmother’s passing. My wife and I send you our condolences. She was a well-respected witch in the wizarding world. She will be missed. We also hope you are doing well.

Sincerely,
Astoria and Draco Malfoy

That proved to be a really difficult note to write. After I sent it off, I decided to go look for Scorpius. I needed distractions and what was better than taking my son up for a broom ride?

A few days passed before it dawned on me that he hadn’t responded to my note. Then again, I never replied back to his, so it really wasn’t astounding.

October 2011

Drumming my fingers against the table, I stared at my notes. I was at a conference — a big potions and herbology conference. Right now, I had difficulties concentrating on the current speaker who was none other than Professor Neville Longbottom.

I had forgotten completely that he would be one of the attendants. Bloody hell.

Nonchalantly as possible, I studied the confident professor behind the podium. Last time I saw him, we had been boys. Now, a man greeted my vision. I couldn’t tell from where I sat, but it looked like he had grown taller and become broader. I took in his dark blond hair, where lighter-coloured strands sprinkled here and there — most likely from his times spent outside. His brown eyes took on a serious look, but I could see energy and passion deep inside them. My gaze travelled and took in his upper body, wishing I could undress him there and now to see and feel his muscles I remembered from years ago.

Oh, for Merlin’s sake! I mentally slapped myself to get rid of that image. I had to concentrate, not daydream about someone else’s body like that!

Luckily, though, his turn ended soon, and another speaker took his spot. I focussed easier than I had in the last half hour.

For the remainder of the conference, I made sure to stay far away from him. I didn’t want to face him. I had no idea what I would say to him if we were to talk, afraid that I’d blurt something stupid and regretful to him. Luck stayed with me until the last day.

I should have known that luck wouldn’t stay with me entirely. It only did for Gryffindors — never for us Slytherins!

I was returning to my room when it happened. I turned at a corner, and there he stood, with two other Herbology masters. Our eyes connected for the briefest of seconds. I watched his mouth opened — most likely to say something — but I beat him to it.

“Good day, Masters Longbottom, Flanagan, and Mays,” I said cordially but with aloofness.

I nodded towards them and then continued down the corridor to the lift, the short walk feeling long and torturous. Once inside, I clenched my fists and stared at the ground. I began to berate myself for letting him affect me this way. I hated myself, hated my mixed up feelings towards him. It had been over a decade since I laid eyes on him, and this was all I could do?! I felt so much self-hatred that when I walked into my hotel room, I punched the pillow repeatedly until it tore.

At that time, I didn’t know who I hated more. Myself or him. The answer eluded me as I forced myself to think of other things while returning home.

June 2012

“Daddy! Dad!”

“Hey, Scorpius.” I reached out to ruffle his hair. “Had a nice day?”

“The best! Mummy took me to Diagon Alley, and I saw the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!” Scorpius pulled out some joke products and showed them to me.

I raised my eyebrows at Astoria and smirked. She returned the smirk, making me look upwards. While I didn’t care for the WWW products, I nevertheless wanted my son to be happy, and if these products made him happy, then so be it. With certain conditions, of course.

“Now, remember, do not use these on us and your grandmother, and do not slack off from your studies. Otherwise, you will lose them.”

“I understand, Daddy.” I saw him put the joke items back in the bag reluctantly. He turned to look back at me and asked, “Did you figure out that wolfsbane problem, Daddy?”

I put a smile on my face. “I did. I mean, it wasn’t really a problem per se, but I did make some new discovery with that new hybrid of wolfsbane.”

“Congratulations, Draco! This discovery will surely put your name further up amongst the Potions masters,” Astoria reached over and kissed me softly on my cheeks.

“What kind of discovery is it, Daddy?” I saw Scorpius’ curious expression.

“Basically, this new wolfsbane, when made into the Wolfsbane Potion, will actually halt a werewolf’s transformation entirely and allow the werewolf to keep their human minds.”

“Brilliant! That means these werewolves will not hurt anyone and their change won’t hurt them either!”

“That’s the basic gist of it. Now, I have to figure out the right formula and test it out on willing participants. It looks like the potion might have the best results if I infuse it into green tea, a Japanese potion making technique I learned about years ago.” I crouched down to my son’s height. “Now, you will go practise your penmanship, and Daddy will go do his own assignment.”

“Okay!” He gave me a hug and walked off to his destination.

“Don’t overwork yourself to death, Draco.” Astoria reached out to squeeze my hand before leaving as well.

I headed to my laboratory, and I took in its familiar scent, atmosphere, and surroundings. I went to the table and fingered the wolfsbane. What I didn’t mention to my family was the person who cultivated this new plant.

“Only you could have done it. I’m sure you did this in Professor Lupin’s memory.”

Deciding that I didn’t want his hard work to go down the drain, I set off to do what I decided was my part of the unspoken deal.

February 2013

Blast it all! Damn that Gryffindor’s selflessness attitude of his!

I resisted throwing a glass vial at the ground. Instead, I crumbled up the parchment that read, You do not need to credit me for your new Wolfsbane Potion. You were the one who discovered the properties of the plant, not I. Sincerely, Neville Longbottom.

I stormed out of my lab and went into my study, where I practically threw myself into the armchair by the fireplace. I glared so hard at the flames that I nearly expected them to go out. They didn’t.

The new Wolfsbane Potion turned out to be a success. My theory on infusing it with the green tea worked, but it took a while to find the right formula. With the help of Masters Jurgenson and Toriyama, I published my findings and research in an article for the Prestigious Potions Publications. I credited him for the hybrid he cultivated. I had to. I mean, bloody hell, it was the right thing to do!

Instead, though, he sent me that ridiculous note and even said in an interview that he didn’t deserve the credit, saying that I did it all instead of him contributing anything useful.

Useful my bloody arse! He ended up cultivating the very plant that I needed for the potions, and he claimed he didn’t do anything useful?!

If there ever was another reason to hate him, it would be for this! But how could I hate him for that? And for all the other reasons? I couldn’t.

That fact alone made me more perturbed.

April 2014

“What are you talking about, Astoria?” I wearily brought up my hand and rested them on my forehead as my elbow remained on the armrest. My other hand remained on the other armrest where my fingers tapped the soft material. I looked at my wife sitting across from me, with her pale hands folded in her laps.

“I think we should divorce, Draco.”

“Why? What’s your reason to come to this drastic conclusion?” My voice came out flat.

“Draco, I . . . I know, Draco. You don’t love me. I’ve known for a while now that your heart’s taken by someone other than me.” She looked at me peacefully. Her hazel eyes were clear, instead of looking emotional or like she wanted to cry. She looked as if she was telling me something mundane like Scorpius’ morning events.

Still, I flinched at her words. I couldn’t believe it. I never thought her as vapid or brainless, but I didn’t think she’d figure out my jumbled up emotions and my inner-self that well. Now that she said it, her words proved to be true. She spoke the truth I had tried to deny and hide even from myself, but my secrets slowly came out as it became exposed.

“Astoria . . . ”

“No, don’t deny it. It would be best to separate. It isn’t fair to me to be in this one-sided relationship. It’s not fair for Scorpius. And,” she paused as she reached over and grabbed my hand, the one against my face, “it isn’t fair for you.”

“Astoria, you’ve jumped to the wrong–”

She cut me off and continued. “I’m not stupid, Draco! I’m not upset with you. I come from a rich pureblood family, too. I grew up in a similar situation like yours, where we had expectations and obligations thrown upon us before we were even born. We are in the same shoes, and I understand it better than you take me for! You never loved me . . . and I never really loved you, either. You and I both came to care for each other, but we never loved each other. That’s the simple truth.”

I couldn’t argue with her. What she said was all accurate. Instead of saying anything, I knelt on the floor in front of her, and I cupped her face in my hands. I took in her elegant beauty, stroking her pink cheeks and running my fingers over her full lips. I leant in and kissed her one last time. Like all the kisses we had exchanged, this kiss felt no different. Passion and love never existed between us. The only difference was that I sensed the finality between us in this kiss.

After we separated, it took several months for our divorce papers to go through. Unlike the Muggle world, the divorce process took less time and hassle if both parties were willing to mutually part. Even if divorces weren’t common in the wizarding world compared to the Muggle world, they were still a much easier process. It just involved a lot of paperwork.

Then we had to explain to Scorpius our parting to him. Luckily, he took it well. Well, not so well in the first few weeks. He was a bit sullen and stayed away from us, but eventually he adapted to the news after we assured the divorce was not his fault and that we’d always love him. I suspected he always could sense that gap between us. He followed after his mother; he was naturally more perceptive than he led on.

Scorpius came into my custody with visitation rights to Astoria. Normally, the child in a divorced couple would be given to the mother, but with her parents living in France and her working full-time, Scorpius remained with me at the manor where my mother could still take care of him. It worked out well, surprisingly.

It wasn’t until I tucked Scorpius to bed one night that I felt something inside me awaken. I sat alone in my study, taking in a nightcap before bed, and I felt liberated. It felt like a whole new world had opened up, and that realisation hit me more when I stared at my ring-free finger.

Of course, I didn’t show my new emotions to anybody. No point, really. I was known as that stoic Potions master, and I intended to keep up that reputation.

July 2015

After the divorce, my recent liberation went out the window. A couple of months since Astoria left the manor, I read a document Master Toriyama had sent me, a document about Traditional Chinese Medicines. In the document, there was an entire section dedicated to Chinese Herbology. More specifically, there was a list that caught my attention, a list of “Fifty Fundamental Herbs” used in TCM.

Normally, that kind of studies suited herbologists, but when I saw Gentiana loureiroi on the list, I began to read about Gentiana in general. This was a genus of flowering plants, with more than 400 species available around the world. One species caught my eye because of its rarity. Called Gentiana verna or Spring Gentian, it was a plant that used to flourish all over central and south-eastern Europe along with western Ireland. Now, it was only confined in one location at Teesdale, England. Its rarity marvelled us wizards and witches along with the Muggles.

Luckily, we didn’t share the same superstitions about the Spring Gentian like the Muggles did. Muggles believed that bringing in this plant to their homes would cause a lightning to strike them. They also presumed that picking the flower will bring immediate death to the victim. These tales of warning were nothing but rubbish. The only thing we agreed on was that the plant had some healing properties that would be beneficial to both the wizarding and the non-wizarding folks.

With that fact in mind, I began my research on the plant. I went to every major library in Europe and visited botanists and herbologists who were old enough to remember when the plant was readily available. Their information proved to be helpful and interesting. However, it wasn’t until I found the esteemed but reclusive Master Albach in the hidden valley of the Alps Mountain that I finally established something tangible about the plant I could work with.

Apparently, this plant had the curative effects on the nervous system, or it could at least alleviate some symptoms of mental illnesses.

My next step took me to the botanists in Teesdale. I requested some Spring Gentian seeds, but they told me there was a long waiting list.

Sighing, I asked, “How long will I have to wait?”

I didn’t like their response at all. “A few years. Maybe three years? Four?”

“Is there anyone else I could go to? How about a previous customer of yours that bought these seeds?”

“That’s the thing, sir, most of the customers fail in growing the plant. We haven’t heard any success stories from our past customers — unless they’re holding out on us.”

My teeth ground in frustration, but I gave in. After all, I could wait. In the meantime, I would work on the theory. Then I would need to have someone cultivate them and continue to do so until I had enough to work and experiment with.

“All right. Put me on the list.”

Now all I had to do was wait while I researched the plant’s properties and how it would affect mental illnesses, more specifically the long exposure to the Cruciatus Curse.

November 2016

When Scorpius turned eleven this month, I knew this would be the last birthday I’d celebrate with him before he went off to Hogwarts next year. As his present, I asked him what he’d like to do.

He requested a trip to Italy.

I accepted his choice with no qualms. Later, I changed my mind when we arrived there.

Looking at those Roman statutes had some unexpected effects on me. The chiselled chest, the strong looking jaws, and the muscular build of the statues reminded me of the person I’d been trying to not think of in a sexual way. These statues did a fantastic job on reminding me of him. I hated it.

When Scorpius told me that coming here made him happy, I felt love towards him because I wanted my son to be happy, and if coming here made him happy, then so be it.

But I vowed never to visit to Italy again in any foreseeable future.

September 2017

Astoria and I had made an appearance together at King’s Cross. Both of us came to say goodbye to Scorpius, who was on his way to Hogwarts. There, at the platform, I saw the Potter and the Weasley families. I nodded curtly towards Potter when our eyes met, but then I turned my attention to my son.

“Remember, Scorpius, owl me with Pegasus if there’s any trouble. Do well with your studies. And most of all, be happy.”

“Yes, Dad.” He and I hugged. When I let go, I stepped back to look at him. He had grown so fast. I took in the hair he inherited from me and his eyes that Astoria’s genes gave him. He really did take after me, but I knew he was nothing like the brat I used to be at his age.

Soon, Astoria hugged and kissed him goodbye, and we waved farewell until the train could be seen no more.

I looked at my former wife and said, “How about dinner? You can also spend the night at the manor. Mother would be delighted for the company.”

She gave me her warm, familiar smile. “That sounds lovely. I would also love to catch up with you for old time’s sake.”

That night, we did that. Mother, Astoria, and I had a wonderful dinner, and we drank the best wine as we talked and reminisced about our days at Hogwarts briefly before we talked about what had been going on with our lives. Now that Scorpius wasn’t going to be here, Mother decided that she’d go visit relatives in France. Astoria told us about her career. She mentioned that Terry Boot had developed a crush on her, and she also found him to be quite endearing. While mother gushed about that news, I gave her a supportive smile — though I didn’t quite think Boot would have been good for her. I might have never loved her, but I still wanted her to be happy and held her best interests to my heart!

Next morning, I received a letter from Scorpius. Pegasus practically assaulted me at breakfast, before I had my first cup of coffee. I shoved the damned bird aside and opened up the letter to read its message. Astoria was at the table with me — Mother still asleep — and she saw my pale face paling more and my fingers gripping at the edge of the parchment.

“Draco?” I saw a concerned look on her face. “What is it? Did something happen to him?”

My voice came out hoarse — probably from the shock. “He’s . . . he’s been sorted into Hufflepuff!”

Her worried looks melted into a bewildered one. “So? We have never exactly enforced him that he had to be in Slytherin. In fact, we told him that it didn’t matter which house he belonged to since he’ll do well in any of them.”

I set the letter down and glared at Astoria. “That’s not the problem. The problem lies with the person in charge of the Hufflepuff House!”

“What’s wrong with Professor Long–” she cut off her own sentence, a knowing expression came onto her pretty face. “I get it. So that’s who you’ve been yearning for all these years.”

“Astoria!” I exclaimed, shocked at her frankness.

“I don’t see you denying it, so I guess it’s reality.”

I stared at her with my mouth wide opened. I knew it wasn’t an attractive look, but she had really dropped the bombshell on me. “H-how did you come to that conclusion?”

As soon as that question left my mouth, I knew it was a stupid thing to ask. She agreed by saying, “Honey? Have you lost a few knuts in your brain from all that potion fumes? Give me some credit here! I’ve been your wife and your live-in companion for a decade, so it’s only natural I’d figure this out from that single reaction of yours.”

Before I could retort with an icy remark, she walked over to me and kissed me on the cheeks. “Now, I have to run. I forgot that I need to meet an important client this early in the morning. Just do me a favour?”

“What is it, dear?”

“Be happy. Stop torturing yourself. Go after what you want to go after. Be a Gryffindor for a change.”

“Uh, Astoria? Have you forgotten? He’s dating that Abbott woman.”

“No, they’re not. They are just business partners. That’s all they’ve been for years.” She hugged me.

“What?!” How could that had slipped my mind? I always thought the two were together! I just thought they didn’t want to get married until he decided to quit his job as a professor or something along that line.

“Most people assume they are together, but I know the truth. I don’t work at the Department of Marriage for nothing, you know.” With a final smirk, she Apparated on the spot, leaving me to stare owlishly at where she stood. It wasn’t until I heard a hoot from Pegasus did I regain my composure.

“Well, bugger me . . . ” I summoned a blank parchment and a quill and began to write a note back to Scorpius, congratulating him on the sorting. When Pegasus flew off, I was left alone to my thoughts.

May 2018

An entire school year nearly passed. Scorpius was doing well at school. His hard work ethics made him a good student, and he became best friends with Albus Severus Potter and Rose Weasley. That fact alone became ironic. A Malfoy in Hufflepuff, a Potter in Slytherin, and a Weasley in Ravenclaw. Despite being in three different houses, the three of them had become known as the “Three Musketeers”, replacing Potter, Granger, and Weasley. Only difference was that they didn’t get into as much trouble as the latter did. Instead, they rather fancied the idea of coming up with tricks and methods to break down the house barriers and to create a school newspaper with the help of older students.

I was pleased by Scorpius’ happiness.

This month was also special. It marked the twentieth anniversary of the final battle, of many people’s death, and of Lord Voldemort’s death and defeat.

On a more personal level, it was the twentieth anniversary of the day I lost him due to my pride and my mixed up priorities. I regretted what I had done back then, yet I had slowly accepted the consequences of my decisions. I became the way I was now due to choices I made in my past.

I felt pangs in my heart as I sat in my favourite chair, with a brandy in my hand. I sipped the drink, allowing the flavour to seep into my mouth. I wanted to be with him. I didn’t exactly want to deny that fact any more. I supposed the news of him being single boosted something in me, but I didn’t know for sure. Even if I did know, could I do it? Could I go back to him? Would he accept me? How would I react? How would he react? I was sure he had changed a lot in the past two decades; I knew I did. I was no longer that boy in our seventh year and neither was he. We were now both men. I was convinced that getting together with him wouldn’t be an easy task.

Of course, my incorrigible personality and pride would not make it easy to get back together.

That was the only thing I was certain about, along with the fact that only time would tell and unfold what would happen in the future.

Like I did that one time almost fifteen years ago, I made a silent toast to him and to myself. I wished us luck for another two decades.

Part III: The Year of Predestination

I don’t think of the past. The only thing that matters is the everlasting present. — W. Somerset Maugham

June 2020

I received three things this month, all in the same day. First I met and picked my son up from King’s Cross. He had finished his third year. After our greetings, he dragged me towards Potter and his wife and Weasley and his now ex-wife. All five of us acted curt — the male Weasel still giving me a death glare. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I did feel something strained between Potter and Potterette.

All five of us briefly talked and arranged some dates for Scorpius, Albus Severus, and Rose to meet each other this summer. The three became closer over their second and third years. I didn’t mind. It made me happy to see Scorpius getting along with his friends — even if they were Potter’s and Weasel’s offspring. However, I did sense some hint of rivalry or discontentment between Scorpius and the oldest Potter child, James.

Soon, Scorpius and I left them. I shrunk his trunk, ordered Pegasus to go to the manor, and shrunk his cage as well. I took Scorpius to Diagon Alley. I had promised him a trip there when he came back. Besides, he had grown taller over the school year, and he needed some new summer robes. We walked towards The Leaky Cauldron. It was crowded in there, and I didn’t think to look for Hannah or anything of that nature. We soon reached our destination.

During our mini-trip, Scorpius talked about his year. Even though he sent me posts on a regular basis, I still preferred hearing his accounts directly from him. He told me all of his adventures and his studies. He told me about how the house division turned out to be a bit better than the two previous years. He even told me about his Quidditch practices and how he and Albus Severus had a friendly rivalry as Chasers.

Throughout his tales, we accomplished our mission at Diagon Alley. We flooed home from the Leaky Cauldron, and when we arrived in the sitting room, Astoria greeted us.

“Scorpius!” She reached out and hugged him, examined him, exclaimed how much he had changed, and hugged him tightly again.

“Mum! You’re suffocating me!”

We all laughed as she let him go. “Oh, Draco, there are two letters here for you.” She pointed an elegant finger at two envelopes. One was a wizard post; the other was a Muggle post.

“Why don’t I let you two catch up on things while I attend to some quick business?”

They agreed, and I took the envelopes into my study. I opened the Muggle one first. It was from the botanist at Teesdale. Excited, I read through the letter quickly.

Dear Mr Malfoy,

The Spring Gentian you requested will be available for you this autumn. We wanted to apologise for the long wait and thank you for being so patient. This October, we will send you another message to let you know when you can pick up the seeds.

We thank you again for your patronage.

Sincerely,
The Teesdale Botany Organisation

Finally! After years of waiting, the seeds would finally come in my possession!

Feeling giddy and ecstatic at this unexpected message, I unsealed the other message. It was from Hogwarts. More specifically, it was from the Headmistress.

Dear Master Malfoy,

I am sending this message to you in hopes of seeing if you are interested in a proposition. I am unsure if you have heard the news, but Professor Slughorn announced his retirement at the end of this school year. Since you have risen in the ranks of being one of the most esteemed Potions masters in the British Isle, I wonder if you would be interested in taking over the teaching post.

If you are interested in this offer, please send me a message as soon as possible. Your expertise in the subject and as a former Hogwarts graduate would be an asset to the school as a whole.

By the way, your son is doing wonderfully — just thought I’d let you know.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Thank you,
Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

I thought about this new prospect. Right now, I worked at the Ministry as one of their consultant on potions. Originally, I took this job because I thought it would give me more time to do my personal research and experiment. That desire proved to be futile. I spent more time doing paperwork and answering questions belonging to the stupid bureaucratic idiots there.

I quickly surmised my situation and compared it to the idea of becoming a Hogwarts professor. Granted, I would be replacing ministry dunderheads with those of the students, but the idea of teaching these brats something where they can think outside of the box unlike Professor Slughorn also tempted me. Scorpius informed me that Professor Slughorn taught them the basics, but the man was so old-schooled in his teaching that he really was no better than Binns.

Even though becoming a professor was never in my wildest dreams, I found myself intrigued by it. I would like to try it, at least for one year, and see how it goes. I wanted a new challenge, and I wanted to be near my son. Of course, I wouldn’t stalk him or keep my eyes on him all the time, but I realised that with him gone for most of the year, I missed him and became rather lonely.

I decided to take the job. Then again, the news of the seeds had put me in an extremely joyful mood, along with Scorpius visit back home. So even if someone had said to go take care of a hippogriff with Hagrid, I would have done it with no complaint and whinging on the side.

I found a parchment and quickly jotted down a short reply to tell the headmistress that I accepted her proposal.

When I sent the note off, I walked out of the room with an uncharacteristic grin on my face. My son and my former wife received my new job with enthusiasm, and we ended the evening with one of the best dinner celebrations I ever had.

September 2020

Bugger it all.

I wanted to bang my head on the High Table in the Great Hall. Three months ago, I had been deliriously happy with the seed and the job proposal — so happy to the point that I accepted the job like an unthinking Gryffindor.

That was the first and hopefully the last time I’d act like one of the lions again!

In my delight, I suffered temporary amnesia. I had forgotten who else worked at Hogwarts. The fact that Herbology master and Professor Neville Longbottom worked there slipped my mind.

I did want to go back to him but not so soon! I wasn’t prepared to face my confused feelings for him yet.

Like I said, bugger, damn, shite, bollocks, and etcetera flew inside my head.

Some sadistic deities up in heaven or down in hell hated me and wanted to torture me. Or I lacked luck.

Sighing and clenching my fists, I looked around the staff table. I saw the familiar faces of the staff who were here when I was a student. That oaf Hagrid had returned to being the groundskeeper and gamekeeper, and Filch still haunted the corridors, muttering about the good for nothing cretins. Professor Sinistra and Professor Vector still taught Astronomy and Arithmancy respectively. Professor Binns still taught History of Magic, still probably putting the students to a good snooze. Madame Pince carried a sour expression like always. Madame Pomfrey, not present, probably was puttering around in the hospital wing.

Amongst the newer staff members, Luna Lovegood-Scamander took over as the professor of Care of Magical Creatures. Theodore Nott, my old housemate, took over as the Charms professor when Flitwick retired ten years ago; he was also the Head of Slytherin — Professor Slughorn turned it over to him five years ago — and was the Deputy Headmaster, making him currently absent from the table. The Ancient Runes professor was replaced by Padma Patil who acted as the head of Ravenclaw. Oliver Wood, retiring from Quidditch, replaced Madame Hooch as the Flying Instructor and the Quidditch Coach for all houses. Lavender Brown succeeded over Divination, and Penelope Clearwater had been the Muggle Studies professor for at least fifteen years.

Although he’d been an assistant Transfiguration professor, Teddy Lupin finally took over this year as the actual professor and Head of Gryffindor. This didn’t bother me. What bothered me was the man next to him. The new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Harry Potter himself.

I felt myself turning ill — especially since he sat next to me.

My eyes left the staff table and looked at the rest of the Great Hall. I glimpsed my son at the Hufflepuff table, chattering away with his friends. Probably about some new Muggle board games he and Albus Severus recently found fascinating. Clue or something was their current obsession.

I looked over at the Ravenclaws and targeted Rose. She took after her mother to the extreme. While the rest of her housemates talked, she buried her face in a massive book. I briefly wondered if it was a seventh year text instead of a fourth year one.

My stare lingered the longest at my former house. Albus Severus’ green eyes twinkled as he talked animatedly with his housemates — probably the same thing Scorpius talked about on the other side of the hall. I had heard how Nott acted like the head, and the result could be seen just by looking at the long table filled with Slytherins. I actually saw several of them waving to their friends in other houses. Then again, maybe Scorpius, Albus Severus, and Rose’s campaign of breaking down house division really did its job.

Lastly, I turned my gaze at the Gryffindor’s table. I found Rose’s brother, Hugo, there. It looked like he had something hidden in his lap while showing it to his friends. I had a funny feeling it was one of his uncle’s joke products. Filch definitely had some work cut out for him.

I looked at the remaining two of Potter’s children, James and Lily. I sensed resentment from their body language. Their face didn’t betray that feeling, though. They looked happy on the surface, but on the inside, it was a different story. A couple of times, they had given a look of bitterness to the staff table. It didn’t take me long to figure out that their father was the receiving end of the looks.

The golden couple, Harry and Ginevra, divorced just a couple months ago. That explained the strange interaction between them at King’s Cross last year or so. Apparently, Albus Severus accepted the change, but not his brother and sister, and they both channelled their feelings towards their father.

For once, I felt a bit of sympathy towards Potter. Just a smidgen.

At that moment, Deputy Headmaster Nott came in with the first years. The hall quieted down for the sorting, and when that was over, Headmistress McGonagall tapped her glass to attract everyone’s attention.

“Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It’s wonderful seeing familiar and new faces. Before I announce some news that pertains to your well-being, I’d like to introduce some new staff members. Joining us finally as a full-fledged Transfigurations professor is Professor Lupin.”

We all clapped as the blue-haired metamorphmagus blushed as he stood up and waved.

“Next, as many of you know, Professor Slughorn went back to his retirement. Taking his place is Professor Malfoy, the esteemed Potions master. We are quite honoured for him to come teach here.”

I stood up, tall and proud, keeping my stoic expression in place. The hall clapped, even though I saw some knowing looks being passed amongst them. I ignored it and sat down.

“Finally, please welcome Professor Potter, who took over Professor Timms, as your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He had retired from his Auror career and took this position.”

The whole hall clapped, but I heard hushed whispers as the awestruck students stared at Potter. Taking a closer look at Potter, I saw that he had grown his wild hair out, but somehow had tamed it into a small ponytail. He still wore that horrid looking glasses, but they did fit him, somehow. His fringes partially covered his famous scar, and that reminded me of my own scar on my left arm. He gave the whole hall a shy smile as he sat back down.

Headmistress McGonagall continued on her traditional speech about the Forbidden Forest, the Whomping Willow, and the banned products and other contraband on Filch’s list. Then food appeared on the table, and we all ate and conversed around us.

Professor Nott came and sat on my other side, and we talked. I asked him for an update on the student’s life and their level of potions skills. He asked me about some of my research and experiments. While that went on, I avoided looking at Professor Longbottom. I wanted to avoid him all night, but once again, those deities didn’t take my wishes into consideration.

The inevitable happened later that evening. I went to my office, to make some last minute lesson plan changes. Engrossed in my work, I heard a knock on the door. With my mind already elsewhere, I drawled, “Come in.”

The door closed as I quickly jotted down the last item on my lesson plan. Looking up, I said, “What can I–” My sentence ended right there as my mouth froze upon seeing my guest.

“Did I come at a bad time?” He made a gesture at the door. “I can leave.”

“No, no. I was just about finished.” I stood up hastily, walked around my desk, and leaned against it. Unprepared, my usual biting sarcasm had left me.

“How have you been? All right, Draco?”

We were still on that first name basis? “I’ve been fine, Professor Longbottom. And yourself?”

A hint of a smile came on his face. “Neville, if you please. We are co-workers now. No need to be this formal around each other.” He retreated from the door and came to stop a few feet away from me.

I reacted by grabbing the desk behind me with a strong grip. “I’m still upset that you declined any credits to that Wolfsbane Potion.” I mentally winced at my cold words, but it was true. His refusal to receive recognition stung me, even until this day. To me, it was a form of rejection.

“Ah, yes, that.” I watched the way he shoved his hands in his robe pockets. “Please, don’t be upset. You were the one who brilliantly discovered its properties and made it work. I only bred the plant.”

Flatly, I retorted with, “But if you hadn’t bred that plant, I would have never discovered its hidden properties! Don’t be so modest!”

“Well, I’m sorry if my actions upset you.” He bowed his head.

He really did grow taller and broader. I actually had to tilt my head to look up and his head was already bent! That simple action, though, made some of my anger disappear. I wanted to forgive him. Holding a grudge this long really wasn’t worth it. “Fine. Next time, though, theoretically speaking, if we ever do come into a similar situation, you will get credits, or I will make sure to have the Bloody Baron order Peeves to make you miserable.”

He lifted his head up, and I saw the amused twinkle in his eyes. “Deal. I would hate to have Peeves bother me every day.”

“I was thinking every minute.”

His laughter escaped from him, and I found myself chuckling, too. My own tenor surprisingly matched his baritone ones. I tried to remember if his voice was this deep years ago when we were at the conference, where he came as one of the speakers. I couldn’t really remember. I only remembered his height, his upper body, his hair — they still carried the lighter-coloured highlights — and his eyes. I found myself looking into them, the warmth in his eyes soothing me.

“By the way.” His voice brought me out of my reverie. “I never did thank you for that note you sent me when Gran passed away.”

“No worries. I didn’t send you my gratitude when my father passed away. I think we’re even in that aspect.” I waved my hand around to emphasise my words.

I didn’t expect him to grab it, and grab it he did. Without me noticing, he had stepped closer to me. He stood so near and with his hand holding mine, I felt dizzy. I stared at our joined hands — his were much darker than I remembered. I let my eyes travel upwards, and soon they gazed at his face. I saw faint scars still littering here and there, paler than the rest of his tanned face. I recalled my desires to touch them when we were boys, and that desire grew inside of me again.

“And I’m sorry to hear about your divorce.”

That broke whatever spell that held us together, and I snatched my hand out of his and replaced whatever expression on my face with my usual stoic one. “It’s fine. We were just not meant to be.” I stepped around him, and with my hands behind my back, I stared at the closed doors.

“What about you and Hannah Abbott?” Even though I knew the answer, I still asked the question, needing to hear the answer from him.

“Hannah?” I heard confusion in his questioning tone. I turned around to see a frown on his face. “We were just friends. I mean, yes, we did try dating, but that proved to be, er, a nightmare.”

“I see.” I gave him a cool look as I tried to fix my messed up emotions inside of me. Seeing him, being this close with him, and talking to him made me feel strange. I knew that deep inside of me, I still fancied him, but at the same time, I had small doubts on pursuing this. Then again, I didn’t want this fragile chance to be muddled either.

He smiled at me — looking as if he understood my predicament. Did he study Divination or was he psychic?!

“Anyway, I just stopped by to tell you welcome and that if you need help with anything, feel free to ask. I’ve got to go now. I have a bunch of first year Hufflepuffs to talk to and the older students as well.”

“Good night and thank you,” I automatically said.

He nodded, patted my shoulders in a comradely manner, and left me.

As soon as I heard the door click shut, I closed my eyes and muttered, “This is going to be a long year.”

October 2020

More than a month passed since my last conversation with him. I buried myself into my job, keeping my mind distracted from the issues I didn’t want to face.

I discovered just how Professor Snape felt all those years as a teacher. A lot of people said he was an impatient bastard. Well, I begged to differ. Teaching dunderheads an intricate art like potions required a lot of patience, and he had a lot of it to put up with the brainless gits. I didn’t know how he did it.

Sure, there were students here and there who were good at potions, but most blew theirs up like Longbottom used to. All these explosions made me wonder just how much my classroom could sustain.

Along with their failures at making a simple potion, their essays appalled me. Reading their barely legible writings made me realise that teaching Scorpius penmanship was a necessity. Not only was the handwriting generally awful, most of them didn’t know how to structure an essay. Exactly how hard was it to have an introduction, the main body, and the conclusion?

Deciding that I needed a break from these horrid experiences, I went out to the Three Broomsticks on the first Hogsmeade outing. After I made sure my son had enough galleons to spend, I watched him sprint off with his friends to Honedyukes.

I greeted Rosmerta, who still looked beautiful all these years. I ended up at a table with Nott, and we exchanged our teaching horror stories. I allowed myself to relax and have fun, but then I had to go back to do something.

I had to start on my project. It was going to be a difficult project. Last weekend, I finally picked up the Spring Gentian seeds from Teesdale. They gave me concise instructions on how to raise it, and reading over the steps made my head hurt. For once, I wished I was an expert at herbology — magical or non-magical!

I excused myself from Nott. Patil had joined him, so I knew my presence wasn’t going to be missed. Exiting, I breathed in the crisp autumn air and headed back to Hogwarts at a leisurely pace.

When I saw the greenhouses, I stopped to look if anything had changed. Because of the hectic first month, I hadn’t been able to explore my old school to see any alterations.

I stepped into the first one with an open door. I glanced around, taking in the various plants that greeted me. After looking around a few minutes, I came to the conclusion that this was not the usual student greenhouses. It had to be Longbottom’s personal one. I started to turn around, to leave before he came, but then something caught my eyes. Something vaguely familiar.

I moved closer to the plant. I stared at the lilac flowers and bent down to smell its scent. It was a pleasant scent. Reminded me of jasmine and lavender. I racked my head for the plant’s name, and then it hit me.

“The Ranzania japonica!” I softly exclaimed. I reached out to touch a soft petal and withdrew my hand away from it. Now that I realised what it was, it mesmerised me. Actually, the whole fact that he had managed to cultivate it made me speechless. I knew he could do it. I had no doubts. But to see it in front of me, to see it many years after I sent it to him secretly, made me strangely happy.

A noise interrupted me, and I spun around with my hand on my wand. When I saw who it was, I relaxed my stance and stared at the owner of the greenhouse.

“Hello, Draco.” He gave me a friendly look as he walked up to an empty table. He set down a pot of plant and turned his attention to me. “You like my greenhouse?”

I nodded. “Sorry for intruding. I didn’t realise it was yours — thought it was one of the student greenhouses.”

He waved a hand, and I saw the dirt under his nails. “No need to apologise. If I really didn’t want anybody in here, I could have easily locked the door.”

“Ah.”

He came up next to me and looked at the plant I was looking at.

“Oh, yes, the Ranzania japonica, also known as the Togakushisgouma.” I gave him a sideway glance and saw that his smile grew wider. “This plant is my favourite. My pride and joy, really. Somebody anonymously sent it to me and told me to try raising it, telling me it was really tough to do so.”

“Mm.” I didn’t know what else to say, especially since I was the mystery benefactor.

I nearly jumped when I felt one of his large hands on my shoulder. I looked at the hand and then my eyes went up to his face. I stared at his knowing face. “Thank you, Draco, for sending me such a rare and beautiful plant. Although, I don’t know why you’d send me something so expensive.”

My mouth dropped open at his words. How unappealing of me! “What? How — you knew — what?!”

“Ah. My hunches were correct.”

A scowl came into my face. “Wait, are you saying that if I had denied this entirely, you wouldn’t have known it was me?”

“Perhaps. But my instincts told me it had to be you.” He leaned closer towards me, and I suppressed a shiver that nearly overcame me. I wondered if it was from the cold or from something entirely different.

Before I could do or say anything, his hand left me, stepping away from me. My body nearly betrayed me as I almost chased after that disappearing warmth. Instead, I quickly composed myself and stiffly said, “Well, I’m glad you cultivated this plant. It really is beautiful, more so than seeing an old picture.”

“It was a challenge, but a very enjoyable challenge.” Longbottom gestured towards a closed door. “Would you like something to drink? My office’s there, and we can talk with a drink.”

I hesitated. I already had plans to do the first stage of the planting, but his offer tempted me. “As much as I would like to accept your offer, Professor Longbottom, I have things to attend to.”

“Ah.” He stepped aside and said cheerfully, “Some other time, then?”

Nodding, I said, “Of course.” I bowed my head. “I’ll take my leave.”

I left his sanctuary and headed towards my own office, feeling confused and distant. Once in the safety of my private space, I rested against the closed door and breathed out heavily. He made me feel like a lovesick teenager. He made me feel like a prat.

Argh! I mentally screamed out my frustration and ran a hand through my hair, messing it all up. Fuck. I don’t need this. I don’t need this distraction!

I stomped over to my desk, throwing my notebook open. I stared at the notes I made about the new potion I planned to develop, and I could not get past that first page.

This wasn’t going to work. I felt too irritated. I felt like something inside me needed to escape.

Slamming my stuff away, I stalked to my personal quarters. Once in there, I stripped myself of my robes, drew a warm bubble bath, and stepped into the suds. Immediately, my body and mind came to a peaceful state. Sighing, I began to clean myself. I ran a wash-cloth over my arms, my chest, and my stomach.

When I grazed over one of my nipples, I gasped as I imagined his hands on me, his hands teasing and pinching one of my sensitive nubs. His thick fingers came into my head, and I remembered the dirt beneath his nails. I pretended they scraped along my sides, could feel one of the large hands clutching at my slim waist while the other went lower and lower until it touched me.

Instead of his hands, though, it was my hand that began to slowly stroke my hardness. I still visualised it to be him, wanted his hand to be the one stroking me. My lips parted as I envisioned his mouth on mine, his tongue entering in my mouth, like he did those many years ago. My strokes became faster and ragged, as well my breathing. When I came, I came hard, my voice screaming raw with emotions.

I had lost my mind.

But not entirely. I knew a great wank session when I went through one, and this ended up being one of my best masturbatory moments of my life.

Then again, perhaps I did lose my mind.

November 2020

Oh, for Morgana’s sake! I threw down the parchment. I received news from Master Wallis, and he wrote saying that he couldn’t cultivate the Spring Gentian. He was the fifth person to tell me that. Very disappointing.

I massaged my temple as I tried to think of my other alternatives. Honestly, my first choice happened to be Professor Longbottom, but something compelled me to not ask him. I didn’t know what it was. Maybe, I just didn’t want to find an excuse to go see him like that. Maybe, I simply didn’t want to bother him.

Whatever the case was, my situation looked pretty dismal. I was at my wit’s end. I needed this plant to be planted and blooming if I want to get anywhere with this potion.

I grabbed the seeds and the instructions on how to cultivate the seeds, and I went to his office. Since it was a Friday night, many of the students weren’t in the corridors. As I walked, my mind wandered to my son. He’d been acting a bit strange lately; not exactly strange per se, but more like he seemed a bit different. Withdrawn. Sure, he still obsessed over those board games with Albus Severus, but something was different about him, and I couldn’t quite place my finger on what it was.

I shoved those thoughts aside as I knocked on his greenhouse. I waited outside, pulling my robes closer around me. As expected in late November, it was rather cold.

The door opened, and he looked over me, smiling. “Come in! You look chilled to the bones.”

Stepping inside, I savoured the warmth before I turned towards him. “May I talk with you?”

He nodded. “Sure. I’ve wanted to have a chat with you, too.” He led us into his office, and I sat down in the chair at the front of his desk. His very messy desk.

“Sorry about the mess.” He gave me an apologetic smile as he sat down on the other side. “I’ve been marking the students’ essays. Jolly times.”

“I can imagine.” I briefly wondered if he really wasn’t sarcastic and enjoyed marking their essays but then remembered something. “You said you needed a word with me?”

“Not a single word, but I did need to talk with you.” His eyes, those dark brown eyes, twinkled unabashedly at me.

I tried not to roll my eyes. “What’s the occasion, Professor?”

“Neville.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Call me Neville, please.”

I gave him a wary look, almost expecting him to offer those awful sherbet lemons Headmaster Dumbeldore used to be fond of. “Fine. Neville, what is going on?”

He rested his elbows on the desk and laced those sturdy fingers of his together. I stared at them, nearly blushing as I remembered those nights where I would imagine them on me, pleasuring myself until I came. He began to talk, his deep voice washing over me. “I’m a bit worried about your son.”

“My son?”

“Yes, he seems reserved around his housemates. He acts quite normally around Al and Rose, but he doesn’t have this same aura about him lately.”

“I kind of noticed it, too, but I’m sure you see it more since you’re his house’s head.”

“The only other time I notice him being his usual self — well I should say his provoked self — is when James Potter and he argue with one another.”

I frowned. Something was being insinuated there, but I wasn’t sure what. “Why James Potter?”

“Despite the one year difference between them and their house affiliations, they have always been quite competitive with each other–”

“I sensed that.”

“But,” he paused. “Something between them has changed. Very subtly, but I can see it.”

“Hm.” This was news. I had better pay closer attention to my son and that oldest Potter child whenever they are together. “They aren’t hurting each other, are they? Is he hurting Scorpius?”

“I don’t think so.” A small smirk came to his full lips. “It seems like the two of them enjoy their bantering — more than they’d ever admit.”

“Well, thank you for notifying the situation to me.” While I said that, I thought about what he said and tried to think what could be the problem between the two. I wondered what had changed about Scorpius that even I could miss.

“Not a problem. I’m just doing my duty as the house’s head.”

I decided to think about Scorpius and Potter child number one later. Right now, I had other things to do. “Have you heard of the Spring Gentian?”

I saw a mystified and curious look on his face. “Yes, yes. I have. Though, I have never seen one since they are extremely rare.”

“If you were given the opportunity to cultivate it, would you?”

“I would,” he said, nodding firmly. “I would love to try to cultivate that once in my lifetime. However, the seeds are really hard to come by.”

I smirked at him. “I have them. Those seeds that ‘are really hard to come by’.”

His eyebrows went up so high that they nearly disappeared beneath his fringes. “I must say, I’m impressed, but why this sudden interest for this particular plant?”

Briefly, I summarised my findings about the Spring Gentian after receiving those documents from Master Toriyama five years ago. I talked about how I found that the plant has a way to becoming a healing agents in potions if brewed correctly, and I talked about how those healing properties focussed on the nervous system and mental illnesses. When I mentioned mental illness, I looked at him closely to see how he would react. I strongly hoped that he wouldn’t turn upset.

He didn’t. He was too level-headed for his own good, as he had proven to me all those years ago in our seventh year. How he was in the same house as Potter and Weasel was beyond me.

“Mental illnesses? Like what, Draco?” He sat back in his chair, seeping his fingers together as he looked at me with interest.

I took a deep breath before answering. “I am currently trying to create a potion that will alleviate the after-effects that are seen commonly in Cruciatus victims. That’s my objective, so that’s why I need the Spring Gentian.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, taking in my plans. “And how are you going to get the test subjects for this potion? These Cruciatus victims are not in the right state of mind to give permissions to be test subjects, and trying to convince their relatives will not be easy.”

“Well, I already have one test subject lined up,” I said, giving him steady look, despite feeling quite the opposite inside. “Goyle’s cousin is in a catatonic state from the Cruciatus, and Goyle’s family has given me the permission to try the potions out on him. I haven’t really gone around asking for people to be test subjects yet. I figure I’d brew the potions first before I instil false hopes to people.”

“Wise move.” An indecipherable look came upon his face and he unlaced his fingers and rested them on the desk. “May I make a proposal?”

“You may.”

“If I allow you to test that potion on my parents, will you let me cultivate the plant for free of charge?”

I looked at him quite astoundedly, not expecting a proposal like this. Yes, when I thought of this potion, I thought of his parents, but to actually test it on them? I never really thought he’d give me the permission, but here he was, giving me his consent, and surprising me of his easy acceptance. “I . . . I can’t let you do this for free.”

“I’m letting you test that potion on my parents. I think it’s a fair trade.”

I scowled as I tried to think through the logistics of this, and I had to grudgingly agree that this was probably a fair trade. A very risky fair trade, since who knew how this potion would turn out.

“There will be a lot of risks, Neville. Are you willing to accept that?”

He nodded. “Nothing else was ever done for them since they were admitted into that ward, so I am willing to try this out.”

“All right.” I handed him the seeds and the instructions. “I have extras back in my office, so if you need more . . . ”

“I’m confident that I can cultivate it on my first try. If not, at least by the third.”

Confidence. Something he lacked in our early days of Hogwarts and something he gained as we grew older. “I’m guessing you cultivated the Ranzania japonica on your first try?”

“Second.”

“You are indeed a great herbologist,” I said softly, unaware why I was suddenly complimenting him.

“And you’re an excellent Potions master. While I try to raise this plant, is there anything else you need while we wait?”

“Ah, yes,” I said glad he followed that compliment up with the question, thus distracting me from flushing like a teenager. “Could I get a copy of your parents’ medical records from St. Mungo’s? I am trying to see if there are any correlations between them and Goyle’s cousin, physiologically speaking that is.

“All right. I’ll bring it to you in a day or two.”

“Thank you. And thank you for telling me about Scorpius.”

He waved a hand and stood up. “Do you want something to drink? I know I offered you some before, so I am asking again since you are here in my office.”

I hesitated as I stared into my lap. I wanted to stay longer, wanted to stay for that drink. I felt conflicted by my emotions with him. How was it possible that I hated him but yet I lusted and desired after him? The nightly memories of where I wanked off while thinking of him ambushed me, and that flush I was able to avoid before came back, my cheeks feeling quite warm and most likely quite pink, too!

“Draco?”

I lifted my head up at his deep voice calling me, and I saw him looking at me with a soft smile. Without warning, he walked around his desk and came to stop behind me. A whirl of emotions struggled inside of me as I stood up, and I slowly turned around to face him. If it weren’t for that damned chair I was in moments ago, we probably would have been standing much closer to each other, but a large gap remained between us, and with my head tilted, I stared into his warm brown eyes.

Someone had cast a spell on me. Or the both of us. I wasn’t sure if Neville felt the same as I did, but I couldn’t move. It felt like some unknown force had me stuck in that spot, and all I could do was lift my hands up and rested them on his broad shoulders. His warmth emanated from his shoulders into my hands, and I felt something else of mine grew warm, which made me glad I chose to wear robes over my shirt and trousers.

Time had stopped. It had to. Nothing moved and no sounds could be heard. I heard Neville’s deep breathing, and I watched as his own hand moved slowly. It came up to grasp my chin, and all I could do was watch his face come closer towards mine. Instinctively, my lips parted and when I felt his hot breath against my face, I closed my eyes.

Knock, knock, knock!

The intruding noise made me drop my hands from his shoulder. My eyes flew opened as he stepped back, letting me go, and I struggled for a second to regain my composure. When I did, I said, “I have to leave. Thank you, Professor Longbottom.”

Hastily, I walked around him and made my escape, nearly running into a third year Hufflepuff outside the door.

I made it back to my private chambers in a record time, and once inside, I banged my forehead against the closed door and cursed myself at my embarrassing behaviour in his office. I really needed to stop acting like a damned hormonal teenager!

A couple of days went by as I lost myself into the hellish world of marking parchments after parchments of poor penmanship. I stayed late in my office, at my very shambolic desk looking like Peter Pan and Tinkerhell did some speed flying ballet moves on top of it. Amidst all the unruly looking piles of essays and quizzes, I easily found my tumbler of brandy and took a long drain from it. This gave my eyes a break from reading over a ten foot essay written by this generation’s Hermione Granger, who unfortunately wrote really tiny texts — whose penmanship was so tiny that only a mouse would be able to read it. As I squinted to read the horridly small words, I heard someone knocking on my door.

“Come in.” The door opened and closed, but I didn’t look up because I was determined to read the last paragraph of this torturous essay.

“Let me guess. You’re reading — or at least struggling to read — Marianne Goldstein’s essay?” asked a familiar voice, just as I finished deciphering the last sentence.

My head snapped up in surprise, and I saw Neville standing in front of the desk with an amused smile. “Yes, this is Miss Goldstein’s essay.”

“She writes well, but she’s very long-winded and writes awfully small. Her essays made me invest in a magnifying glass.”

I smirked. “I agree with your points, and I think I will find a magnifying glass, too, just so I don’t go blind in the next two months.”

He let out a soft chuckle. While he laughed, I quickly jotted down the mark at the top of the essay, and I set my quill down. Standing up, I asked professionally, “Is there something I can do for you?”

Neville revealed a rather heavy looking folder from behind him, and he handed it towards me. “My parents’ medical records from St. Mungo’s.”

“Ah,” I said, accepting them. “Thank you for remembering.”

“Not a problem. I did find a rather decent Remembrall, though I disabled its hexing feature.”

“I . . . I see,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. I recalled a Remembrall I bought for Goyle that hexed its user, and I remembered how I thought about getting it for Neville. It really was a good thing I didn’t get that for him. What would he do with two hexing Remembralls?

“Draco?”

Oh, bugger. I’d drifted off with my thoughts. How embarrassing. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“I was just saying that if you needed anything else, please let me know.”

“Ah, yes, I will.” Setting the folder down on top of the finished piles, I remembered my manners. “Would you like a drink?”

“Sure, if you promise to have a drink in my office one day.” He gave me a . . . was that a teasing smile? Well, he gave me some kind of a smile.

In a light tone, I responded, “Yes. One day.”

With the brandy already on my desk, I summoned another tumbler with my wand. Handing that to him, I poured him a generous amount. Then I gestured towards the sofa against the wall on the far side of the room.

“Have a seat.”

He did, and I followed and sat next to him with my own tumbler. I sat there, unsure of what to do next. Luckily, he clinked my glass with his.

“To our new partnership.”

I wasn’t expecting that. Sure, over the years, I had toasted my drinks to him by myself, but to be right here and next to him, toasting our unpredicted partnership, was not something I had envisioned. It felt . . . good. Being around him like this might have made me confused, but his laid back attitude calmed me in many other ways.

I smiled and raised my glass. “To our new partnership.”

We both took a sip, and for the next hour or so, we talked about the different theories about how this plant and the potion will affect Cruciatus victims. Our discussion led me to mentally note many different angles and theories that were heavily based on the herbology aspects. We both brought each other’s strengths and weaknesses out, and I found myself really energised by our discussion. It had been a while since I found someone to have intellectual conversations about potions or herbology.

Eventually, we came upon a lull in our discussion, and that was when I saw that our glasses were empty.

“Do you want more?” While I asked that, I reached over to grab his empty tumbler, but before my hand reached it, his other hand grabbed me by the wrist. He set his tumbler down on the table, and then he gently took my empty glass and set it next to his. With our hands free of the tumblers, he laced those two hands together, his other one still holding onto my wrist. Softly, his fingers rubbed my thin wrist in a circular motion, and he tugged me closer to him. Without thinking, I moved nearer to him, our legs meeting each other. I stared at him through half-lidded eyes, and I saw his face coming closer towards me, much like that time in his office. I parted my lips and felt my body tingle in anticipation. I fully closed my eyes when our lips finally touched each other, and I thought, So this is what coming back home feels like.

December 2020

Fucking hell. My nickname should be “Twat”, “Prick”, or “Idiot”. Why? Why did I push him away that night?! When we kissed, wasn’t that what I wanted? Wasn’t that exactly what I’ve been aching for these past months? No, years?

After I had shoved him away, I had ducked my head down, unable to see whatever expression that came on his face. He had sighed, a very heavy sigh, and quietly said, “I’ll let you know the progress of the plant.” Then he had left, and I was alone with my muddled emotions and his lingering warmth on my lips, hand, wrist, and legs.

I had spent an hour in the shower after he left — a very cold shower.

A couple of weeks passed, and I found myself brooding like some angst-driven teenager over this incident. I tried to distract myself with my job and my research, but it proved to be naught as his image kept coming into my mind.

I needed someone to talk to about this, but to whom? Goyle? He wouldn’t understand anything except why I had given up a gorgeous “bird” like Astoria. Astoria would be a good choice since she always listened well and always provided advice that was straight to the point. However, even I knew better than to go talk to my ex-wife about the man I’d been longing for all these years. I didn’t fancy myself to be that heartless.

Nott would have been an option, but I didn’t feel comfortable to discuss this with him. Patil, Brown, and Potter? Sure we were all in the same year, but I’d rather gorge my eyes out than to talk to them, especially Potter!

I looked up over my tea to see Luna walking into the staff lounge. Since I started working here, Luna and I slowly became friends. I found out that she wasn’t really that “loony” as rumours made her to be. She was quite intelligent and well-versed in obscure information, even in potions. The more I talked with her, the more I found her inputs to be rather unconventional, but they were welcomed. I was glad there was someone in this castle I could talk to about potions instead of receiving a blank expression from most of its inhabitants.

Taking a sip of my lukewarm tea, I debated on whether I should try to get some advice from her. I wanted to tell her that a “friend” was having issues. I didn’t really want her to know that the “friend” was me, of course! But before I could say anything, she came over and sat next to me on the sofa.

“Hello, Draco,” she said, in her usual absent-minded style. “How are things?”

“Mm. It could be better. How about you?”

“I’m fine, but I’m trying to figure out what might be bothering Neville.”

Just as she said that, I had been taking a sip of my tea, and her saying “Neville” made me choke. I coughed, feeling the tears coming into my eyes.

“And I noticed you’ve been unhappy about something, too.”

When I didn’t respond, she looked at me with huge questioning eyes. “I’m right, yes?”

“You spoke the truth. About me that is.”

“I see.” She shifted on her seat, crossing her legs and resting her pale hands on her lap. “You know, I do remember something.”

“What?” I finally recovered from my coughing fit, and I gave her a questioning look.

“My father told me to always chew gum before sleeping. Said it’s the best way to prevent morning breath when you wake up.”

“Excuse me?” As always, Luna’s randomness threw me off for a loop.

She continued, looking as if she never heard my outburst. “When Headmistress McGonagall announced the new teaching staff, I recalled Neville looking really happy when she said your name. Normally he never really cared about the new staff joining us, but this time he showed keen interest.”

I didn’t say anything as I studied my tea, not wanting to look at her knowing expression.

“And you started to look miserable about the same time he did. That’s why I’m asking if perhaps something is happening to the men around here I am not aware of.”

Her statement made me ask, “What do you mean ‘something is happening to the men’?”

“Let’s see. Theodore is pining after Padma, Harry and Teddy are pining for each other, Oliver is going through a male PMS session, Hagrid is forgetful, Filch suffers from existential angst, and Binns is a ghost, so he doesn’t necessarily counts,” Luna listed out, pausing as she looked closely at me. “Then there are you and Neville, who are acting quite like Harry and Teddy — if not more ridiculously so. My father always said Cupid shoots his arrows at wizards than anyone else.”

As my mouth dropped opened, she fingered one of her gaudy bracelets. Her eyes sparkled as she asked, “Have you ran into Cupid’s arrows?”

Shaking my head, I closed my mouth and laughed at how surreal this conversation was. “I’m not sure if you’re astute or you’re blessed with divination skills that are better than Brown’s and Trelawney’s.”

“Well, I do think divination has its usage, but I don’t really believe in it. Therefore, I must be astute as you said.”

“Mixed with unusual information.” Sighing, I turned serious and explained to her briefly as I could about my mixed up feelings towards Neville. I didn’t give too much details about what happened in my seventh year, but I did give her a condensed version, and I told her about that kiss from that night. Throughout my explanation, she didn’t say anything, only listened intently to what I said. When I was done, she didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she sat there and looked at me with a thoughtful expression.

“Sounds like you really do like him and care for him. Since your seventh year, from what I gather.”

I nodded.

“And it also sounds like you’re running away from what you really want.”

Bristling at that comment, I snapped, “I am not running away.”

“It’s okay to keep running! The Earth is a sphere, after all. There’s no dead end on the other side of the plane. But really, why are you under the impression that this is wrong? Is it because these are not expected of you? You have to run your own life, Draco. Trying to fulfil other’s impressions of you will never make you happy. Do what makes you happy. Don’t let other people run your life.

“One last thing. It also sounds like you’re rather upset at Neville for his ‘casual’ acceptance of your choice in your seventh year. Are you?”

I didn’t say anything for a while. What she said was true. I was upset at how he didn’t contradict me back then. I was upset because I had felt like he hadn’t really cared about us to stop me from that choice. I sighed and looked at her with a tired expression. “You’re spot on, Luna. Well done.”

She gave me a serene smile and stood up. With one last pat on my shoulder, she said, “Remember, crups are very affectionate like us wizards and witches.” Then she left me with my own thoughts — wondering how crups related to this situation.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. “This” was me leaving the warm surroundings of Hogwarts and me heading towards the greenhouses. A week had passed since my conversation with Luna. A long week that had left me to think about everything that had happened and to determine what I needed to do. I finally came to a decision, and I decided to seek him out, making the initiative this time.

Shivering, I pulled my robes tightly around me, wondering why I was stupid and forgot my outer cloak. Apparently stress and nervousness combined had some strange effects on my cognitive skills.

Arriving at his personal greenhouse, I stood outside the door, trying to find some of that blasted Gryffindor courage that didn’t quite exist in me. As I mentally tried to get my hand to open the door, I suddenly thought that maybe this was a stupid move, a move I shouldn’t be making. I decided to leave quietly, but my body betrayed me as I let out a loud sneeze.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

My mouth grew dry upon hearing his voice, and I froze when the door opened. With that barrier gone, I saw his surprised face blinking back at me.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t realise it was you standing out here.”

Inwardly, I flinched at how formal and professional his voice sounded. Not wanting to let him get the best of me, I raised my head up, and in my haughtiest voice, I said, “May I have a word with you?”

“Of course.” He stepped aside. Glad to get away from the cold, I walked into the well-heated greenhouse.

“Shall we go to my office?” Again, he spoke in that distant tone.

“Please.”

Silently, we went into his private office. With the door closed, we sat down — he at his spot and me across from him. He waved his hand and two steaming cups of tea appeared on his clean desk.

“Have some. You look rather frozen.”

“Thanks.” I gladly accepted the hot cup and ook a sip, sighing as the warm liquid took effect on me.

“I’ve been meaning to find you one of these days, so it’s a good thing you came.”

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“I need more seeds. The first batch didn’t go so well.” I saw him shift, looking remorseful at me.

I waved a hand at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll send you more.”

“Thank you.”

A long pause came between us. Discreetly, I studied his appearance. That relaxed stature of his from our previous meetings wasn’t there. Instead, it was replaced with a very stiff looking posture. I saw his dark under-eye circles, and his brown eyes were dull, not warm and inviting. Knowing that this was all caused by me, I felt guilty and — strangely enough — powerful at the same time.

Clearing my throat, I looked straight at him and said, “I’m sorry.”

He frowned. “For what?”

“For . . . ” I trailed off. I had planned a speech for this, and my brain refused to function at the most crucial moment. Sod the speech. “For pushing you away that night.”

He quickly shook his head. “No. I should be the one apologising. I shouldn’t have done that. Not when you didn’t want it.”

“I–”

“I don’t know what overcame me that night. I apologise to you for pressuring you into that situation.”

“Neville–”

“I overstepped the boundaries of our professional relationship–”

“Professor Longbottom! Will you shut up and let me speak?!” Right then I knew I was projecting Professor Snape, and I knew he could see and feel it, too. Nodding with wide eyes, he clamped up.

Finally. I never did peg him as the babbling type, but I guess he was buckling under his own “self-inflicted” guilt.

Sighing in exasperation, I looked straight at him and said, “I like you, okay? I’ve always liked you. I just couldn’t get over the whole Malfoy image I needed to put up, and for the longest time, I was angry at you for not stopping me when I declared that we needed to separate. I felt that way because I thought you didn’t care about our relationship. However, I was wrong. The person I should have been upset at the most was myself. I should . . . I should have been more honest with who I am and what I really wanted.”

Well, bugger me. I did remember the speech — though I hadn’t planned on saying the entire thing in one breath. I quickly inhaled some oxygen into my lungs, deciding that fainting from oxygen deprivation would have been the most mortifying thing at the moment, and I waited for his reaction.

A slow smile appeared and the corners of his eyes crinkled. Small dimples showed in his cheeks, and I was reminded of that time Neville had nursed his facial injuries with that raw meat. I felt my own lips turn up into a smirk as I recalled that memory with fondness.

“Draco? I . . . I’ve been waiting for you to say something like this for a long time.”

I gaped at him, looking very much like an idiot, no doubt. “You have?”

Nodding, he reached out to cup my cheek in his large hands, and I found myself leaning into that gentle touch. “Yes, I have. When you told me that we should forget about ‘us’ and go back to our lives like nothing happened, I didn’t really want that. I knew you didn’t want it, too, but . . . ”

“But . . . ?”

He sighed before answering. “I didn’t want to force you into something you might have regretted in the future. However, you misinterpreted my actions into thinking I didn’t care for you, which was far from the case.”

“And you still . . . ?”

“Yes, I do. I still want you. I’ve wanted only you all these years, Draco. You don’t know how much I’ve held back over the years and these last few weeks.”

Once again, I looked like an idiot. This time a silly grin replaced my smirk. In a teasing voice, I said, “Then show me. Show me how much you’ve been holding back all these time.”

The hand against my cheek moved to the back of my head while he leaned over his desk and kissed me fully on the lips. I accepted the kiss with no remorse and hesitance, and I returned the kiss back, my hands burying into his hair and his robes. His tongue traced my lips, and I parted them willingly, allowing his tongue to meet mine, and I tasted him. It felt familiar and comforting as I tasted the sweet flavour of his tea and of himself. The kiss grew more passionate, and I wasn’t sure how long we kissed, but I found myself panting and out of breath when we broke apart.

I gazed at him through lidded eyes. His eyes were dark, no longer dull from before, and I saw many emotions in them. I studied the flushed cheeks and the swollen lips. I licked my own lips before I said, “I think you’ve proven it . . . ”

“And I’ll prove more soon. I don’t want to rush this,” he said with an uncertain expression.

My own heart jumped at that declaration. That simple statement showed me just how much he cared for me, for us. He didn’t want to rush this, and I agreed. I wanted to savour this new beginning. I’d been granted this new opportunity, and I didn’t want to ruin it. He didn’t either, and all I could do was to kiss him again, showing my gratitude and affection through actions instead of words.

When he wrapped his arms around me, I knew that he understood my unspoken emotions.

“Are you done with your Christmas shopping?” Astoria asked, looking at me over her tea cup.

“Almost. I have yours, a two-week trip to a resort in Jamaica with Terry–”

“Which I thank you once more!”

“A new Monopoly game for Scorpius along with a bunch of new books and broom he requested, some Japanese pottery for Mother, a yearly subscription to The Strangest Wizarding Mysteries for Luna, and some gourmet coffee mix for Goyle.”

“Mm.” She gave me a knowing look. “And what about Professor Longbottom?”

My face darkened in embarrassment. “That’s where I’m in a bit of a dilemma.”

“Darling? It’s two days before Christmas. It’s unlike you to be a procrastinator. I’m surprised at you!”

I scowled at her and grumbled, “Well, I want to get him something special, and I am out of good ideas.”

“A plant?”

“He has a lot of those considering his area of expertise and occupation.”

“A book?”

“He’s not a bibliophile like that Granger woman.”

She made a face at me. “So negative.”

“I try to be.”

“I still don’t see why you can’t get him a plant.”

“Because he already has a lot of those.”

“Then give him something that would have a deep meaning between the two of you.”

“Like . . . ?”

“Draco, you know him better than I do! Don’t ask me. Ask your obviously failing brain.”

“You love to insult me, don’t you?”

“Of course. If I don’t, who will?” She smiled prettily and kissed my cheeks. “Thank you again for the gift.”

“And I will enjoy yours, too,” I said dryly, pointing at the book titled The Joy of Safe Gay Sex and Kama Sutra for Wizards. “I can’t believe you gave me that.”

“At least it will be useful. Much like the trip to Jamaica.”

I briefly pondered on exactly how that analogy worked in my ex-wife’s mind before deciding it was probably a dangerous area to tread. Just as I was about to retort back a witty response, she said, “Scorpius will be down here any minute now. I’d hide the book if I were you.”

Hearing Scorpius coming down the stairs, I quickly concealed the book. Scorpius would spend the day with Astoria, and I would be left alone to my dilemma. They left, and I sat back in my seat, struggling to come up with a gift.

It was the morning of Christmas Eve. Scorpius was with Albus and Rose — the three of them hanging out at the Burrows. Scorpius would come back in the evening, and we’d spend Christmas morning with Astoria and my mother. Where was I? I was at Hogwarts, standing in front of Neville’s private chambers, clutching a bag that contained his gift, and I was staring at a blank portrait. Apparently Garth the Great had decided to go visit one of his friends elsewhere in the castle.

And yes, I was nervous, but I would never admit that thought out aloud!

I took a deep breath and knocked on the empty portrait. Within second, the door flew opened, and Neville stood there with a smile on his face.

“Hello, Draco. I wasn’t expecting you.”

I held up the bag and said, “Christmas gift.”

“You must have read my mind. I have a gift for you, too, but I wasn’t sure when I’d give it to you. Come in.”

I stepped inside a warm and cosy looking room. I had imagined the room to be adorned in Gryffindor colours. Instead, the room spoke of earthly colours of browns and dark greens, very fitting for someone like Neville. I sat down on a very comfortable sofa in the deepest shade of evergreen. Neville sat next to me, and he handed me a wrapped box.

“Happy Christmas, Draco.”

I accepted the gift and handed him the bag. “Happy Christmas, Neville.”

We stared at each other before he gestured me to open the gift first. I obliged him, and I unwrapped the gift. I opened the box, only to stare at him with a look of disbelief. “Where did you get this?”

I couldn’t believe it. In my hands was an extremely rare book, The Subtle Art of Brewing. Only five of these books were ever published in the early 1900s, and it was something I had always dreamed of having.

“I found it when I was going through some belongings at the Longbottom estate. Apparently, I had a great-uncle who was a potions fanatic, but he had no talent of a Potions master to brew them properly. I figured someone like you deserved this rather than let it collect dust.”

“I . . . I can’t believe I’m holding an actual copy.”

Neville grinned at me. “Use it well, Draco.”

I nodded, covered the box back up, and set it down on the table like it was something very fragile. Then I remembered that Neville hadn’t opened his gift yet, and suddenly I was seized with panic. My gift to him was nothing special like what he gave me. What if he found it silly? Would he really like it?

I displayed nothing on my expressionless face as I watched him take out a large wrapped jar. He took the wrappings off, and he looked at its content. Before he could ask what it was, I told him.

“It’s lavender-scented relief cream. It should last you for a while.”

A quizzical expression came on his face before realisation dawned on him. “You remember.”

I couldn’t keep the blush from contaminating my face as I barked out, “Of course, I remember! It was my idea that day!” Not to mention it was the first time I’d felt love and lust towards him.

Without warning, he set the jar down on the table, and he grabbed me into a fierce hug. “Thank you, Draco.”

I had stiffened at the unexpected hug, but eventually I found myself relaxing in his embrace, wrapping my arms around him. A question floated in my mind as I finally whispered it to him. “Would you like a massage now?”

Honestly, I didn’t think he’d hear me, but he did and I heard him say “yes”.

We let go of each other. Instead of requesting a mat like all those years ago, we decided the sofa would be sufficient. I opened the jar, and I watched him strip his upper body. I felt my groin stir to life as I took in Neville’s form, which was larger than what I’d seen before, with its same nipples, the same trail of hair that tantalised me still. When he lay on his stomach on the sofa, I straddled his hips instead of kneeling next to him. I coated his shoulder and back with the cream. Like before, he hissed at its initial coldness, but he relaxed under my hands’ warmth. The familiar scent filled the room as I massaged his back.

When I had finished, I felt him shift to lie on his back, me still straddling him. Instead of feeling his hard bum, now I felt his hard cock, which made mine respond as well. The air between us was thick, filled with such intimacy. He pulled me down, and our lips met as our bodies aligned with each other. We moved against each other — each movement sending much pleasure through my body.

So this is how it feels to spend Christmas with someone you truly love, I thought to myself after the massage, lying and cuddling in his loving arms.

January 2021

“You look rather frustrated this evening. You can’t be suffering from sexual withdrawal, are you?”

“Luna!” I exclaimed, throwing down the medical records I’d been pouring over for what felt like hours. I looked at the time and saw that it was past dinnertime — meaning I’d been in the staff lounge for a while now. “Why are you saying something like that?”

“Well, I just saw Neville, and he looked content and well. Then I walk in here and you look like you’re ready to pounce on something or someone. Therefore, I wondered if you were feeling something that’s only one-sided.” She took a seat next to me and took one of the chocolate pockys. She had become rather fond of these treats from Japan. I, too, had succumbed to these sinfully delicious snacks, requesting Master Toriyama to send these to me often.

“While we assume things of others, I may as well say that you have a rather perverted mind to think of me in this manner.”

She gave me one of her serene looks. “Of course. Rolf likes the way I think.”

“Too much information!”

“Anyway,” she continued, picking up one of the medical records on the table. “What are these?”

“Medical records belonging to Goyle’s cousin and Neville’s parents.”

“Ah, yes, that experiment you’re planning on doing. Running into some obstacles?”

I exhaled noisily. “Neville hasn’t cultivated the plant yet, saying ‘it’s very stubborn’, but that’s not the problem. Right now, I am comparing and contrasting Goyle’s cousin and Neville’s parents for any medical similarities I could work on. Aside from them being in a catatonic state and them being exposed to long-term Cruciatus, I don’t know what else to look at.”

“Hm. Have you considered looking at this problem from a physical point of view?”

I blinked. “I can list their symptoms, which are very physical.”

“Well, what I mean is to go beyond what you can see and look at things you can’t see.”

“Like?”

“I had a lovely discussion with Hermione a few times about Muggle anatomy and physiology, a field she’s been studying ever since she started dating that Muggle doctor. They don’t have magic like us, so they look at the world through a different perspective. You remember that story about the wizard who decided to travel the world in eighty days? He rode that Muggle hot air balloon instead of riding a broom. I think what he did was amazing. My father wishes that wizard was alive when he started The Quibbler. He talks about how he wanted to interview him.”

“Luna–”

“You’re smart, Draco. You’ll figure it out.”

I remembered talking about the central nervous system with Master Toriyama, who was more integrated into the Muggle world, but I never really paid heed to it since I never really thought I’d need to know about Muggle’s sciences. I knew about the brain, how it was in two halves and how it was connected to the spinal cord. He also mentioned something about the nerve endings.

“The nerve endings.”

“Hm?” She blinked at me confusedly.

“I could look into that.”

“See! You have a new angle. See how easy that was?”

“If it was that easy, then why didn’t the staff at St. Mungo’s do anything about it?”

“Well, it does fall under Muggle sciences more than anything, and St. Mungo’s isn’t really a research facility, is it?”

I shook my head. “You’re right. It isn’t, and it’s filled with bumbling idiots who cannot do their jobs.”

A far away expression showed up on her face. “Well said. You project Professor Snape well when you say something like that. I remember being told that men with big noses have very useful skills, and I think sarcasm is one they inherit naturally.”

An unwanted image of Professor Snape in compromising position came into my mind when Luna voiced the big nose association, which made me feel very peculiar. I quickly recomposed myself and gave her a mocking bow. “Why thank you, darling. I appreciate the compliment.”

“Who said it was a compliment?” With that, she took the last of my pockys and ran out of the staff lounge.

Shaking my head at her antics, I began brainstorming about the nerve endings.

February 2021

“I did it! The plant’s finally cultivated, Draco!”

Neville rushed into my private office, and I greeted him with an excited smile. “You did? That’s stupendous news!”

“It took longer than I would have liked, but I finally figured out the right procedures.”

“Well, now, we wouldn’t want a plant to be more intelligent than you, do we?” I teased, wrapping my arms around him. I had only intended to hug him, but he captured my lips into a deep kiss. I felt myself melting into the kiss, loving the way he kissed. When we separated, I wanted to protest, but he continued on before I could say anything.

“I will never let a plant beat me. I like to think I can dominate them.” He gave me an intense stare.

Breathlessly, I asked, “Anything else?”

“I’d like to think I could dominate you, but you wouldn’t want that and neither would I. I like us being equal.”

“So do I. Though, I wouldn’t mind you being dominating at times.” I smirked and nipped at his lips. “Today would be a great day to show me, too.”

“Today?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot what today is,” I said, looking at him with a bewildered expression and dropping my arms to my sides. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, right. That holiday. It’s today?” He said it so seriously, that I almost snapped at him, but then I saw the mischievous glint in his eyes, and I knew what game he was playing. Well, two can play the game!

“Yes, and it seems like you have other plans while I look into this research some more.”

“That’s right. I did plan something. And if it pleases you, I would very much like you to join me.”

“And exactly what have you planned, Professor Longbottom?”

“I have two requests for you, Professor Malfoy. One, forget about the research for today. Two, join me for some dinner in my private chambers.”

My heart began to beat wildly as I understood the implication of his words. Until now, we had only kissed and touched each other. We hadn’t had sex yet, both of us wanting to take things slow. But the time had finally come, and I anticipated the events that were to happen later.

When I spoke up, I was glad my voice came out steady. “I’ll be glad to fulfil those requests.”

Side by side, we walked out of my office and walked through the dark corridors. He leaned closed to me and whispered into my ears. “I’m only sorry Valentine’s Day fell on a Sunday this year. I wished it had fallen on a Friday or a Saturday, so I could have the whole weekend to make love to you.”

I was relieved the corridors were dark. Really relieved. I didn’t want Neville to see just how red my face had gone! “Really, Neville, you don’t need to say such rubbish!”

“You love it, though.”

“Oh, piss off–” I cut off my own words as I sensed something odd about the empty classroom we just passed. Well, it should be empty, but my instincts said otherwise. I motioned at Neville to stay silent, and wordlessly I waved my hand to cast a see-through spell on the door.

Oh. Fuck. Somebody pinch me awake.

The image that greeted me made me regret casting that spell. I quickly ended the spell and began a very quick stroll towards Neville’s chambers. Once inside there, I turned to look at my lover.

“Did I just see my son with James Potter of all people cuddling in that classroom?!”

“Uh, yes.”

“Bloody hell.” I sank into the sofa as I tried to think through this without going into a hysteric. “So then that time when you were telling me something was off about my son . . . it was because he was — wait! Did you know about this?”

I knew that I shouldn’t be upset at him, but I glared at him, and he unflinchingly looked back at me. “I have suspected, but until just now, I had no concrete evidence to confront him or tell you about it.”

Once again, I said, “Bloody hell.”

He sat next to me and wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulders. Automatically, I leaned against him. “Are you that upset about this revelation regarding Scorpius?”

I didn’t say anything at first. I had to gather my thoughts because I didn’t want to say anything I might regret. “When Scorpius was born, I promised I wouldn’t put him into any of the situations that I was put into. I didn’t want him to grow up with any obligations placed on him. Before he went to Hogwarts, Astoria and I told him that we’d love him the same if he ended up in a different house from Slytherin. I just want him to be happy. The idea of him being gay like me never really occurred to me, but who am I to judge or tell him what to do? I do admit that I am shocked, but I think I am more shocked by his choice of lover. Not to mention, I wonder why I didn’t see this coming in the first place.”

“I think what you’re feeling as a father is quite natural. You are a good father, though. You and Astoria have raised him well.”

“Still,” I shuddered. “My son’s with a Potter.”

“When Harry finds out, I’m sure he’ll think the same way — except he’ll think ‘My son’s with a Malfoy’.”

I rolled my eyes at that. “Well, he better be thankful that a Malfoy is even looking at a Potter like that! He should realise what an honour that is.”

Neville’s laugh was warm and soothing. “Sometimes I think the Malfoy ego will overfill even the largest hat in the world.”

“Shut up.” I poked him in his side, knowing that was a ticklish spot for him. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I really don’t want to think about my son with anybody right now. Let’s eat that dinner and help me forget what I saw.”

“Your wish is my command.”

He kissed me, and I welcomed the much needed distraction. Dinner was pretty much forgotten as we moved our activities to the bedroom. We explored each other in ways we hadn’t before. I memorised his body, found his weak spots, and took advantage of it. He did the same, which soon made me beg and plead for more of his sweet touches. When he entered me, he left me wanting more as I grew addicted to everything about him. We came together, both of us crying each other’s names out in bliss, and I had never felt more complete than I had that night.

It wasn’t until the next morning I realised that I would have to confront my son about this new chain of events. Bugger. Normally I wasn’t the procrastinating type, but this time I decided to wait on the inevitable confrontation.

March 2021

“So what’s the good news, Mum?” Scorpius asked, slipping in a piece of chicken in his mouth.

It was a Saturday evening. Scorpius and I had left Hogwarts and went to the manor for the occasional dinner with Mother and Astoria. This time, though, Astoria wanted us together with Boot because she wanted to tell us some news. Some good news. I had my suspicions on what the news might be, but I decided to humour my ex-wife.

“I wanted to tell you all, in person, a life-altering news,” she said calmly, dabbing her lips with the cloth napkin.

“Spare me the suspense, Astoria. Do tell us what it is,” said my mother.

She smiled and held up her left hand while her other hand embraced Boot. “Terry and I decided to become engaged! We plan on marrying this autumn.”

“Astoria, darling! Congratulations!” my mother exclaimed. “I am truly happy for you. He’s a good man.” She gave Boot a smile, a smile that held some threatening undertone. I had to cough into my napkin to disguise a laugh. I knew my mother. Once loyal, she knew how to stay loyal. If Boot did anything, Mother would probably poison the poor sod.

So would Scorpius. Though, I think he’d punch the man to a pulp than resorting to poison. Still, I saw him reach out to shake Boot’s hands in a congratulatory manner, and he walked around the table to hug his mother. “I agree, Mum. This is great news! Congratulations Mr Boot.”

“You can call me Terry and thank you.” Boot — er, Terry — gave Scorpius a beaming smile.

Astoria looked over at me. A strange feeling had overcome me, and I tried to figure out what this meant. I was happy for Astoria. She deserved someone wonderful as Terry. However, it was odd hearing from an ex-wife on her new engagement. I’d better say something, though. Otherwise, her shrewdness would think something was wrong.

“Astoria. Terry. You have my heartfelt congratulations and best wishes.”

Now Astoria beamed at me, and I walked over to her, kissed her cheek, and shook Boot’s hands as well.

We all took our seats again, and Mother started to chatter on about wedding plans, jotting them down on a parchment; her actions reminded me of Granger’s anal note-taking skills. I tuned her voice out, not wanting to be reminded of the horrors of my own wedding preparations. Terry and Scorpius talked about those infernal board games. Astoria turned her attentions to me.

“How are things going with your partner?”

That question quieted everyone else down, and they turned to look at me. “It’s . . . ”

I hadn’t told Mother or Scorpius — and I definitely didn’t tell Terry — about my relationship with Neville. I had talked with Astoria about it briefly, and she kept telling me to tell Mother and Scorpius, but I hadn’t done so. I knew this was her way of forcing me out in the open. Sometimes I wondered if female Slytherins were craftier and more dangerous than anyone else. It made me wonder how the war would have turned out if Voldemort had been a female. I shuddered at that mental image and brought myself back to reality.

“It’s fine.”

Scorpius looked at me warily. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone, too, Dad.”

“Who is it? Do tell, Draco. I don’t want to be in any more suspense than necessary. Once is enough!” Mother put down her parchment, giving me an enquiring look.

I kept my face neutral and said, “Neville Longbottom.”

Terry stayed silent, knowing this wasn’t any of his business to get in to.

Mother simply nodded. “I see. Well, I do hope he treats you well and keeps you happy. Otherwise, he will know how dangerous a mother’s wrath is.”

Astoria gave me a knowing look that said, “Now was that hard?”

I returned a look that said, “Our son has yet to respond to this!”

We all turned to look at Scorpius, and I saw him unmoving. “Scorpius?”

The ice broke, and he became a fish incapable of closing its mouth. “You’re with the head of my house?”

“Yes.”

“But . . . you two are men!”

It took every ounce of my will to not turn into an owl at that contradictory and hypocritical statement. I unclenched my teeth to respond. “Considering who you’re seeing, I don’t see why our sexual orientation should matter.”

I wished I had a camera. The look on his face and the deep blush that came all over his face and neck would have been a priceless image. Luckily that was now ingrained in my memory for as long as I lived.

“Scorpius is seeing someone?” Mother asked. “Who?”

Astoria already knew about this impending confrontation because I told her about my unexpected encounter of Scorpius and that Potter boy. However, she decided to wait until Scorpius told us himself before talking to him. Well, now she had a chance after this situation cleared up.

“Someone.” Of course he’d be vague.

“A boy? Well, it must be since your father hinted at it.” Mother looked at Astoria and me. “It’s a good thing Lucius isn’t around. I don’t think he’d have taken these two news very well.”

That was an understatement of the year. My father was probably turning, kicking, and screaming in whatever afterlife existed at the moment.

“Wait, you mean you knew all these times, Dad?!” Scorpius looked very flustered, and while I felt sympathy towards him, I couldn’t help but tease him a bit longer.

“Next time, Scorpius, remember that there are something called see-through spells in our magic repertoire. I saw you two in an empty classroom last month.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was waiting for you to tell me when you were ready.”

“Then,” Scorpius paused and quickly asked, “you approve?”

I didn’t care for his choice, but I didn’t really want to tell him that either. Last thing I wanted to do was to crush his feelings, and if a Potter made him happy, then so be it. I had a month to get over the initial shock, anyway.

“As long as that boy makes you happy, that’s all I care for. Just . . . go about this in a safe route.”

“Dad!” Scorpius looked mortified at my indirect “do safe sex” talk.

Mother and Astoria both let out a giggle, which they disguised by clearing their throats, and Terry looked at us like we had lost our minds.

Mother recovered to interrogate again. “But who is the boy you’re seeing Scorpius?”

A long moment of silence passed before Scorpius sighed in defeat. “James Potter.”

“Oh? You’re seeing him? Well, fancy that. And here I was thinking of the wrong Potter.”

“Grandmother!”

She blinked innocently. “Yes? I thought you were going to say Albus Severus Potter.”

“He’s only a friend!” Scorpius quickly finished the rest of his dessert. “May I please be excused now?”

“Yes, you may,” Mother said.

Scorpius made a very hasty escape. Once he was out of earshot, all of us burst out laughing. My mother definitely knew how to be devious. I could only hope that my son wasn’t traumatised by tonight’s dinner.

Mother calmed down first, and she wore an expectant expression. When that look came in my direction, I knew I was in trouble.

“I want you to invite Professor Longbottom for dinner one day, Draco. Understand?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Bugger. Now I felt only five centimetres tall. I wondered if this was my just punishment for teasing Scorpius earlier.

Dinner came to an end. Scorpius stayed in his room, I talked with Terry about wizarding business and politics, and Mother and Astoria talked about wedding plans. I couldn’t wait until Scorpius and I went back to Hogwarts. I hoped Neville would still be awake when I went back. I needed to transfer my discomfort to him as I tried to forget about the impending dinner with Mother!

April 2021

“I think I’ve got it!” I exclaimed, stirring the potion one more time.

Neville glanced up from his huge pile of notes. “Excellent! I knew that if anybody could do it, you would.”

I gave him a smug smile. “Of course I figured it out! I’m a Potions master, after all.” I bottled the finished potion and placed it in a cool, safe place. “Healer Finnigan will come the day after to check this out.”

“All right. I’m sure Seamus will give his approval soon,”

It was Saturday, and we were in my classroom. After weeks of wrong combinations and potions that came out as failure, with Healer Finnigan’s input, I had finally come up with the right mixture of the healing potion to use on the nerve endings. All that was left was to administer the potions to the patients, but that would have to wait a bit.

Healer Finnigan needed to look over a few more things. A mind healer, he had also studied Muggle’s neurology, combining that and wizarding neurology and psychology. Through St. Mungo’s, he had started his job as a mind healer, but eventually he grew tired of the bureaucratic rubbish and started his own private practice. Over the years, he had made a name for himself, which quite surprised me. When I recalled him from our school days, I never thought of Finnigan as a healer type of person, but in a way, his talkative — and charming — nature had its usages, including him being a good listener aside from flapping his mouth.

Well, he came highly recommended, and he became interested in our project. He came to us and offered his services, and he’d help us oversee and note any signs that might turn into problems.

I started to clean and organise my classroom up, and while cleaning, I sighed and grimaced. “And we have a dinner promise to keep.”

Neville came over and embraced me from behind. “It’ll be fine.”

I leaned back into his broad chest and grumbled, “You don’t know my mother.”

“Is she the type to chop me up into pieces and turn me into a stew?”

Making a face at that gruesome descriptions, I said, “Well, no, but she might metaphorically.”

Neville chuckled deeply. “How about this. If she approves of me and nothing goes wrong, you can get me that new magical fertiliser in the market.”

I twisted in his arms to face him. “Gambling now, are we? Funny. You never struck me as that type.”

He grinned at me. “I only gamble when I know for sure I’ll win.”

“Cocky, aren’t you?”

“I won’t deny that, especially to you.”

I rolled my eyes and planted a soft kiss. “Let’s go, then.”

Hours later, as we cuddled on the bed together, I realised that I had lost the bet. Damn. Now I owed him that bloody fertiliser.

Oh well. At least he had Mother’s approval.

May 2021

For the umpteenth time in the last few weeks, I found myself in Mr and Mrs Longbottom’s room, located in Healer Finnigan’s — no, Seamus’, as he insisted on being called — private practice, with Goyle’s cousin in the room right next door. With St. Mungo’s permissions, we had them moved over here for more privacy and for Healer Finnigan to have easier access checking on their conditions. Two weeks had passed since we began administering the potions to them. With the use of a wizarding biopsy detecting machine — some fancy “microscope” or whatever it was called — we slowly saw progress in the healing of their nerve endings. At first Neville and I were a bit wary of that results, both of us thinking the nerve endings would heal faster, but Seamus assured us that the speed of the healing was normal.

“When they went through Cruciatus, their nerves took quite a beating. When it comes to the brain and spinal cord, these are difficult to heal, but with nerves, they are regenerative if repaired quickly. For your parents and Goyle’s cousin, there was a huge gap of when they were inflicted and of their present healing process. So please, do not expect any sudden changes. The nerve endings are healing nicely, and I predict that things will start looking up soon.”

Seamus’ explanation made sense, but it still didn’t put me at ease. I was sure Neville was even more nervous about this procedure, but he didn’t let his discomfort show. I admired that about him, so I tried to maintain a calm presence, helping Seamus monitor for any signs, adjusting the dosages when needed.

A couple of more weeks passed, and by then, Seamus declared that the biopsy showed most of the nerves being healed, but the three patients didn’t change from their mental state.

By then, even Seamus displayed signs of concern, and that didn’t put me at ease at all. Neville only said, “We’ll figure it out. I keep my hopes.”

“You’re so optimistic,” I commented.

He gave me a soft smile and said, “Well, between the two of us, someone needs to be the more optimistic one.”

I quipped, “Then I’ll keep being pessimistic for the both of us.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

June 2021

I was in a bad mood. A foolish student had nearly blown up my classroom, Peeves had messed up the pile of papers I needed to mark on my desk, making me sic the Bloody Baron on him, and I had run out of my favourite tea. Plus, Neville’s parents and Goyle’s cousin conditions had remained the same. We were at a dead end, and I was miserable about that. I felt like I had failed Neville and Goyle, and it made me even more upset when Neville continued to be optimistic about this experiment.

It was evening, after dinnertime. Neville had to monitor a detention. Scorpius and James were studying in the library with Albus Severus, Lysander, Rose, and Hugo. I found myself alone and bored, so I wandered over to the lake. There, unexpectedly, I ran into Luna.

“Hello. What are you doing?” Luna gave me her customary wide-eyed stare, brushing her fringes out of her face.

“Walking, thinking, and passing time. How about you?”

“I thought I saw a new species of hamster running around here — they have wings! — and I cannot find them any more.”

A flying hamster? I mentally shrugged and said, “Well, if you find it again, do show it to me.”

“Of course!” She stared off dreamily and continued to speak, not looking at me. “Is the experiment not going well?”

“The nerve endings are healed, but they are still in their catatonic state.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She looked at me when she said that.

“At least I know this potion heals nerve endings, though, especially those that have remained damaged for years.”

She patted my shoulder. “Yes, and you and Neville can publish this new potion and the new usage of the Spring Gentian. The publication will surely bring interested individuals to cultivate it more, making it not so rare any longer.”

I nodded, not really listening to her. I racked my brains of new and untried solutions to try to break that stubborn state the three were trapped in.

“Though, I am much more interested in the Muggles’ superstitions of the plant . . . ” Luna continued, “. . . the lightning one interests me.”

Her words, quite literally, zapped me out of my thoughts. “Lightning?”

“Yes. You told me that the Muggles believed that if they brought the plant in their homes, lightning will strike them.”

“Well, yes . . . ” I trailed off into a pause. Her words, even if they were paraphrases of what I already knew, were trying to tell me something. “Maybe that’s what we need to do. Maybe we need to give them a shock to their system . . . ”

Right then, I heard Neville’s frantic voice calling me. “Draco! We have to go to Seamus’ clinic! A lightning struck that place!”

Luna and I looked at each other for a brief moment before she started shoving me towards the direction of Neville’s voice. “Perhaps there is a grain of truth to that superstition. Go, Draco.”

With a nod, I dashed off, and I met Neville by crashing into him. Luckily, he kept his balance and kept us upright. Quickly, I recovered and asked, “A lightning struck the clinic?”

In a rushed voice, Neville explained, “Yes. Well, no. Seamus’ words were more of a ‘Come quick! Lightning struck the three of them and put them into coma-like state!’, so–”

“Let’s go! Let’s go to Hogsmeade and Apparate!” I cut him off, and we both ran towards our destination.

Seamus greeted us at the entrance of the clinic. I spoke up first. “Are you kidding me? A lightning struck them?!” Neville stood behind me, his hand on my back in a comforting manner.

“Let’s go to them,” Seamus said, leading the way. “It was rather surprising. The lightning just . . . came out of the blue. I was in your parents’ room, Neville. Your parents were in their beds, but they were awake. I looked up, and I saw thunderclouds above them, and within seconds, two lightning bolts struck them. The same thing happened to Goyle’s cousin, only my assistant saw it happening. Both incidents happened at the same time.”

“Are they okay? Are they hurt in anyway?” Neville asked. I heard the anxiousness in his voice, and I sought out his hand and grabbed them, giving him comfort this time.

“They didn’t suffer from any injuries, but like I said earlier, they are now in a coma.”

That didn’t make me feel reassured at all. A coma? I wasn’t sure what was worse. That or being catatonic.

Seamus continued. “We are monitoring them 24/7 — my staff volunteered to work over-time.” We came to Neville’s parent’s room. “We’ll let you know immediately of any changes.” He knocked on the door, and we all trooped in, and I saw a member of his staff there, keeping watch. True to Seamus’ words, Neville’s parents were in a coma. They looked as if they were sleeping, but who knew when they’d wake up now.

Then I remembered my discussion with Luna. “You know, I was just thinking that maybe their systems needed a shock, but I’d never imagined a real lightning to appear and . . . strike them.”

Neville, Seamus, and the assistant looked at me in surprise.

Briefly, I told them my new theory, and they all looked thoughtful as they processed it.

Seamus muttered, “That might do something, but we’ll have to wait and see. I’m going to go check up on Goyle’s cousin, and then go look up some information about electric shocks on the nervous system.” He looked at his assistant. “Alert me of any changes. Even the tiniest thing!”

He left, and I stifled a sigh. Neville sat down at his mother’s side, and he took her hand into his. Still standing myself, I rested my own hands on his shoulders and massaged them soothingly.

“It will be okay,” I heard Neville say softly, and all I could do was hug him from behind, my head on his shoulder. In order to do that, I had to kneel to the ground, dirtying my robes up in the process, but I didn’t care. I’d rather have dirt on my robes than to have Neville be unhappy.

A week had passed. One long, agonising week. Neville and I had no choice but to return back to Hogwarts. Finals were approaching, and we needed to do our jobs. We did them, but both of us constantly thought of his parents. All week, there were no changes. The three of them remained in their coma, and the more time passed, the more it made all of us uneasy.

I had just released my last class of the day when Neville walked in, looking steady. “Ready to go to Seamus’ clinic?”

I nodded. “Let’s floo there.”

Silently, we walked towards my private chambers. There we flooed to Seamus’ clinic. We greeted the staff there, and we headed directly to Mr and Mrs Longbottom’s room. I passed by Goyle, who had stepped out of his cousin’s room, and we both nodded in greetings. Once in the room, we said hello to the assistant, who left to go on a bathroom break. We sat next to their bedsides, and we looked for any signs of them waking up.

There were none, and I felt discouraged. “I wished there were something we could do.”

“Me too,” Neville gave me a smile. How could he still smile during a situation like this? How could he be so . . . positive?

I looked down at Neville’s mother, stared at how her grey hair were sprawled out on the pillow. My gaze moved over to his father, and I studied his peaceful looking face. Asleep, for who knew how long, I wished for them to wake up — if only to give Neville some peace.

I stilled and held my breath. Something moved. I watched closely, and I saw one of Mrs Longbottom’s hands moving. “Neville.”

“I know,” he said, in hushed tones.

Now I searched for any signs of movement from his father. I saw a twitch, a very slight twitch of his head. “Alert Seamus!”

I heard the buzzer go off, and Seamus came running inside. “What’s going–”

Right at that moment, Neville’s mother’s eyes opened. We all froze in our spot as we watched Mrs Longbottom slowly moved her head towards Neville. I looked into her deep brown eyes, the same eyes that Neville inherited, and I saw something different about them. They held coherency. They also held tears. In a very soft, raspy voice, she said, “Neville?”

“M-mum?” His voice, so filled with emotion, wavered, and I didn’t blame him.

Just then, I saw that his father had regained consciousness, and he, too, slowly moved his head to greet his son. His voice sounded rough, but it all sounded music to my ears. “Hello. Butterbeer?”

“Dad!”

“Dad?” Neville’s father looked confused. “I . . . ”

“It’s me, Dad. It’s me Neville!”

Neville’s mother responded this time. “Neville? You have . . . ” A frown came on her face. “You has . . . grew up. My son . . . grew up. You I give Drooble’s gum?”

“Y-yes. Yes, you did,” Neville choked out the words.

The next several minutes turned chaotic. Neville actually started to sob. Seamus’ assistant ran inside, alerting Seamus about Goyle’s cousin waking up, too. Other assistants rushed in, and Seamus began to instruct them excitedly. I stood in shock for a few minutes before I finally moved to hug Neville. I repeated, “It’s all right, it’s all right.”

As I eased Neville to calm down, I smiled widely. Neville was right. He kept up the positive attitude, always declaring things would turn out well, and he was correct.

Things were really looking up now.

July 2021

A month passed, and a lot had happened. I survived my first year of being a Hogwarts professor, and I had decided to renew my contract for another year. This teaching jig really wasn’t that bad, except for the idiots I ran into in the classroom, but that cannot be helped.

Now that I was on holiday, I spent time with Scorpius, grudgingly helped Astoria with the wedding preparations, and edited the article I had written on the Spring Gentian potion, so I could eventually submit it for publication. Amidst all that, I spent my time with Neville, and we helped his parents go through their recovery. Seamus counselled them as their personal psychologist, and they went to other therapy sessions that would help them try to fit back into the life they’d missed out all these decades. They were both making good progress, with some hurdles here and there, which were to be expected. But Neville took good care of them, and I helped him whenever I could.

Cautiously, Neville and Seamus updated them about all that had happened until now. They knew how they got into this situation, but Neville and Seamus both agreed not to really talk about it with them since mentioning the Lestranges would have some negative impact on them. Neville told them how his grandmother raised him, told them about his years in Hogwarts. He briefly mentioned his seventh year and about the Second Battle of Hogwarts, but he didn’t go fully into detail about all the tortures and hell he went through that year.

July passed with no problems.

August 2021

One of the things Neville did want to tell them upfront was about our relationship. He and I had a bit of a disagreement — okay, okay, a yelling match — about this. I adamantly argued that we should wait a bit on it, that we shouldn’t rush into telling them about this. He opposed my logic, saying that he didn’t want to hide something like this from them too long.

“Neville, I don’t think you should tell them that their only son is gay.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Draco, why not?”

I scowled at him. “They might be homophobic for all we know.”

“What if they aren’t? I know some of their friends from back in the days were homosexuals, so I’m sure they were pretty open-minded.”

“But I don’t think they should be told so soon!”

“But it would be a lie if I didn’t tell them, either!”

Our discussion grew rather loud, and when we realised that his parents had actually walked into the room, we both winced and knew that they had heard everything.

Neville straightened himself up before saying, “Mum. Dad. Please don’t get upset.”

I held my breath as I watched the two sat down on the sofa in the sitting room. I looked at their stoic and blank faces. Neville and I both sat down in separate chairs, and Neville again prompted them, “Mum? Dad?”

“Neville, it okay,” Neville’s mother finally said, her speech coming out haltingly. “We still love. Always will. You too, Drake. Just treat happy Neville.”

I exhaled in relief. “I will.”

Neville smiled at his mother. “Thank you, Mum.” He then looked at his father. “Dad?”

Neville’s dad wordlessly stood up, and with a walker, he slowly stepped his way over to Neville, his legs still very weak. Once within arm’s reach of Neville, he stopped and spread his arms wide opened. Understanding the significance of this, Neville stood up and hugged his father.

So they accepted us, and most importantly, they accepted Neville unconditionally.

Apparently, I really should stop misjudging and miscalculating situations like that. Then again, I think Neville was the variable which always made these equations tricky, so whenever I tried to think like a Slytherin with him, it never quite worked out well! I was glad my prediction proved to be incorrect. I wouldn’t have wanted his parents and him to be upset over all this!

Right now, though, his parents were resting upstairs. We were at the Longbottom estate, and we were having dinner with Astoria, Terry, Seamus, Luna, Rolf, and Hermione. Unfortunately, Potter and Lupin were there as well, but Neville invited them, and I put up with it just for him. I did tell him that if I saw them being lovey-dovey, I would kick them out. Neville only laughed and said that they wouldn’t be displaying their affections that blatantly.

“So that plant, when used in a magical way, really does trigger thunderclouds to appear and strike lightning on those who consumes the potion?” Hermione asked, with pure interest. “I must say, I am not fond of superstitions in general, but I guess some of these have a basis of truth.”

I nodded. “After the nerve endings are healed, the patient will go into a coma, and then the lightning incident occurs eventually. We’ve tried it on several more patients, and the results were all consistently the same.”

“You will publish this, right?” Hermione continued, always interrogating until she receives all the answers.

I resisted from rolling my eyes. “Yes, and in fact, I was wondering if you could look it over.”

“I’d love to!”

I quickly turned towards Luna before Hermione could ask me anything else more. Luckily, she began to talk to Potter, asking how the three Potterlings were doing. I heard something about James and Lily finally accepting the divorce, and that they were all probably playing Quidditch at the Malfoy manor. Mother and I had allowed Scorpius to invite his friends over for a week at the manor, and I couldn’t wait until that week ended. My manor was overrun by teenagers. Along with my son and the three Potterlings, there were Rose and Hugo Weasley and Lysander and Lorcan Scamander. Being around all those teenagers drove me crazy. Mother, feeling pity for me most likely, volunteered to keep an eye on them for today, and I was eternally grateful to her.

Speaking of Scamander, I remembered my question for Luna. “Luna? I’d like to publish the article in The Quibbler first if you don’t mind.”

Her demeanour became as bright as the sun. “My father would be delighted! This will be the best article ever!”

“Really, Draco and Neville. This is a wonderful discovery that will help more people out there.” Astoria raised her wine glass. “I call a cheer for Neville’s great green thumbs for cultivating this plant, and I cheer Draco for relentlessly creating the potions.”

Everyone cheered to that, and we all enjoyed this jovial gathering.

Neville and I shared a look, and I saw love and gratitude shining in his eyes, and I knew mine were about the same. Under the table, we held hands, and I knew then that we were going to be doing our own special things that night.

My prediction came true. In his bedroom upstairs, we cast silencing charms. The last time we made love in his home, we forgot the spell, and when we had breakfast the next morning, his father had said, “Please, cast the spell. The silencing spell.” Since then, needlessly to say, Neville and I made sure the spell was always enforced.

After the spell was cast, we slowly undressed each other, and we kissed and licked each new area we bared like we were two new lovers exploring each other all over again. All night long, we pleasured each other, opting the slower route instead of the faster paced sexual activities we only had time to sneak in through our busy schedules. I didn’t care. I liked this better. It reminded me of all the times I could have had with him had I not been stubborn, and I wanted to always savour our love-making, as I grew to crave and want his touches, his smells, and his tastes.

Life couldn’t have been better.

Epilogue

This time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but know what to do with it. — Ralph Waldo Emerson

December 2021

Mother and I shared a knowing look. We had decided to hold a Christmas dinner gathering here at the manor, and the long dining room table was packed with people. Potter and his children, Lupin and Aunt Andromeda, Astoria and Terry, Hermione and her children, Luna and her family, and Neville and his parents were here with us. This was the most we had over since after the war, and she and I were not used to the crowds. Well, I was a bit more used to it since I worked at Hogwarts, but I knew Mother was probably overwhelmed by this gathering.

Otherwise, though, it was quite an experience. I watched the children all chattering away, watched how happy Scorpius looked with James. I saw Rolf and Luna talking about some new creature they were hunting down. A flying pig, I believe, was their new objective. Potter and Lupin were talking about going to India for a week. Astoria, Terry, and Hermione were in some deep discussion about the politics at the Ministry. Lastly, Mr and Mrs Longbottom were quietly eating. They didn’t speak much, but I saw their eyes shining in happiness.

They still attended therapy. Mr Longbottom would always have a limp when he walked. Mrs Longbottom still had trouble with her speech, but she could make herself be understood with determination. In fact, both persevered, and they improved little by little every day.

I looked over at my lover. Over two decades had passed before we finally reunited with each other. All those years, I had been regretting what I did with my relationship to Neville, but now? I no longer had to regret anything. I decided I no longer needed to live in the past. The only thing left now was the present and the future.

Neville turned to meet my gaze, and he leaned close to me. In a soft voice, he whispered, “I love you, Draco.”

I smiled and I whispered, “I love you, too, Neville.”

Thus, dinner came to end as all of us wished each other a warm, safe, and loving Happy Christmases.

Ending Notes

The following are links to websites I used as resources for this fic:
– Ranzania pictures — Link
– Chinese Herbology — Link
– Gentian — Link
– Gentiana verna — Link
– Information about peripheral nerves — Link

Remus grimaced at the foul smell of cigarette smoke. After working at a gay strip club for a few months, he still hadn’t gotten used to the smell. The night was crowded, as usual, since it was one of the few Muggle gay strip club’s available in London. He looked around and saw many different types of men. Fat men, skinny men, ugly men, handsome men, young men, old men, they were all there, raging with pheromones and a healthy appetite to be shagged. Loud, blaring music was heard from the speakers. This was not Remus’ idea of a night out.

Three years had passed since the Second War Against Darkness, otherwise known as SWAD. Despite many contributions he made toward the war effort, the Ministry refused to acknowledge werewolves as average citizens. The restrictions that had been made on his race had increased. The situations had worsened to the point where many werewolves couldn’t find regular full-time jobs. Remus was one of them. He had turned to prostitution. Something he would have never glanced at when he was younger.

But he had no choice in this matter. He needed money, and this was all he could do for now. At least until the situation improved. He last heard that Hermione Granger was starting a movement similar to that of SPEW, but this time it was known as WUR, Werewolves United Rights. He hoped that Hermione would be able to change something, but so far things looked grim.

The job wasn’t too bad in his opinion. He just didn’t like the boss. He had told beforehand that he needed certain days off each month, and the boss at first didn’t want to let him have days off. But since Remus drew in a lot of customers, his boss gave in grudgingly, saying he deserved some time off. Remus graciously thanked him, but he still did not like his boss. The change did not take a toll on him too much since he worked at night. The Ministry provided him Wolfsbane potion every month. That was about the only good thing to come out of this. They started to provide every werewolf the potion, but the catch was not pleasant.

He sighed as his boss, Neil, called him over. “Yes, Neil?”

The boss was a midget. He was short and stumpy, reminding Remus of Peter Pettigrew. Unfortunately, he had a personality of Lucius Malfoy. Not a good combination for Remus’ part.

“You look nice today. Now go and please some of my customers.” Neil looked over him approvingly. Remus had on leather trousers with a very sheer, black button up shirt. Remus did not like this outfit, but he found out in the earlier days that this was the way to make money.

Remus nodded and walked off toward the crowds, smiling suggestively at any men that looked at him. He knew he wasn’t the most handsome prostitute there, but people still drew to him. His honey-brown hair, flecked with grey, complimented his amber coloured eyes beautifully. To him, those were the only best features he had other than his slim, slender build. He knew his face looked exhausted; he was always tired, thanks to the side effects of lycanthropy. He had a feeling that his charismatic nature was what drew the men to him, especially the dominant ones. He was certainly the submissive type when it came to sex. His inner beast was not an alpha.

Remus glanced at a group of men and was taken aback. He saw one man who looked very familiar. He stopped breathing for a few seconds, shocked.

Oh, Godric… James? Is my past haunting me now? Remus mused to himself as he looked at the young man with messy hair and glasses. It can’t be. He’s dead. Been dead for twenty years now. He slightly staggered and stumbled as wave of emotions came over him.

“Professor Lupin?” Remus’ head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed. Instead of James, he saw Harry Potter. As the figure came closer to him, he saw the unmistakable lightning-shaped scar and the bright green eyes that were the colour of jade and emeralds.

Remus calmed himself down and put his emotions on hold, but he didn’t relax his posture. He then realised that his former student was seeing him in a predicament he didn’t want anyone else to see.

“Harry. Hello.” Remus smiled uncomfortably. “Fancy meeting you here of all places.”

Harry blushed and said, “Ah, well. I’ve been dragged out here by my Quidditch mates here…” He gestured to the group of people he was with.

“I see.” Remus nodded and looked everywhere but at Harry.

“Professor, what are you doing here?”

“I work here.”

Harry raised a surprised eyebrow. “Work? Like serving drinks or something?”

Remus shook his head. “I…” He couldn’t get the words to come out. “Harry, you know the situation with the werewolves now, right?”

“I’ve heard –” Harry’s eyes opened wide. “You mean you’re prostituting?”

“I…” Remus felt shame as his cheeks reddened. What an example he was setting for his best friend’s son, he thought. “This gives me my cheque and allows me to live adequately. I’m satisfied.”

Shaking his head, Harry glared at the floor. “This isn’t right. You and the other werewolves have helped us during the war. You deserve more than this.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “When Hermione mentioned something about the WUR, I had not noticed how bad the circumstances were.”

“Well, it isn’t too bad,” said Remus, lying through his teeth. “I’m happy.”

“As long as you are happy,” Harry trailed off, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

One of the young men suddenly called Harry’s attention. “Hey, Harry! Come on. Let’s go to the dance floor.”

Harry turned to Remus. “I’ll see you around, Professor. It’s been good seeing you.”

Remus nodded and looked on as Harry walked away. Harry sure has become a handsome young man now. After thinking that, he jerked back to reality. He had a job to do.

Remus slowly got up from the bed of a grimy inn and quietly groaned to himself. His arse was numb; his new client hadn’t had any lubricant, so all he had was spit and come for preparation. The client had fallen asleep while Remus remained wide-awake. He was allowed to leave whenever he wanted, so he chose to leave now.

He dressed himself and walked out into the street. It was about four in the morning, and the neighbourhood he was in was silent as a mouse. He decided to walk home, and alone he was, he only had his thoughts to himself.

Seeing Harry after such a long time had impacted him hard. It was as if Harry was the key that unlocked his soul. Oblivious to everything around him while walking, memories poured out of him, and he saw it all in front of him. The first day he came to Hogwarts; James and Sirius befriended him and protected him from the Slytherins such as Lucius Malfoy. The Sorting Hat telling him he was to be with the Gryffindors. The days when the four of them became the Marauders. The times they ransacked almost all of Hogwarts and the areas around it. The surprise and joy he felt when his friends became Animagi for him. The moments where he and James would make love and how much love he received and gave. Then the betrayals of Sirius, the loss of James as his lover…the hurt still resided until this day.

He sighed and closed his eyes tightly as he came into the dingy neighbourhoods. He walked numbly into the building where he lived and climbed the stairs to his flat. With the door being spelled to acknowledge his aura, he lightly touched the door and it opened on its own. He went in, shut the door, and slumped to the floor against it.

He tiredly looked around his small living quarters. It was a single room. The bedroom, sitting room, kitchen and dining room were all in it. There was one other room, and behind the door, there was the toilet and the washroom.

He was thankful that he at least had a fireplace. He dug out his wand out from his coat pocket, and waved it, watching the warm flame come bursting to life. He welcomed the warmth, but he still felt cold all over. He got up from the floor and walked over to his lumpy bed. He took off his jacket, put his wand under his pillow, and fell on the bed causing it to creak loudly. He curled up in a foetal position and continued to think of the good days and the bad days it came with.

Remus didn’t know when he fell asleep. He woke up several hours later. Feeling sore all over, he stretched out and looked out the small window. He guessed it must have been about noon now. Suddenly, something darkened his window, and he instinctively grabbed his wand. Seeing that it was only an owl delivering the newspaper, he relaxed a notch and went to obtain it. He paid the owl and watched it fly off.

Clutching the paper in his hand, he walked over to a worn out armchair. As he unfolded the paper, he sat down and got in a comfortable position. He looked at the front cover, and he kept on staring at it.

On the cover was Harry Potter on his broomstick catching a Snitch. Whoever took the picture must have been one of those fans that wanted to shag him because the movements of his muscles were visible through his Quidditch uniform, there were beads of sweat around his forehead, and his long slim figure stood out magnificently in this picture. The angles and the shots were perfect.

As Remus stared at the picture, he glanced at the headline news that read “Potter Caught the Snitch!! The Championship is Near!!” He couldn’t help but envision the young man there to be James had he gone into Quidditch instead of becoming an Auror. His hand gently caressed the photograph, and Remus looked at it for a long time.

A few weeks passed. Remus did his daily and nightly routines. The moon came and went with no hassle, though it left him exhausted as usual. Every night, the club seemed to get new business, so he steadily gained more customers and as well as the regulars. He became so busy that almost all thoughts of James and Harry left his mind. With that fact in mind, he was surprised to see Harry back at the club. This time by himself.

Harry was the one who alerted his presence first. Remus was standing in front of the bar sipping his whisky. “Hello again, Professor.”

Recognising the voice, Remus looked up, concealing his astonishment. “Good evening, Harry.” With hesitation he said, “I…I wasn’t expecting to see you here again.”

“Well,” Harry shrugged, “the season’s over now, and I’m going mad just staying home, so I figured I could stop by here.”

“The season is over already?” The information surprised Remus. With everything going on, he wasn’t keeping up with the news.

“For my team, yes it’s over. On our last match, the entire team was having an off day. The Chasers kept missing the Quaffle, the Beaters kept missing their target, and so forth so on. I had a mild headache that day as well, so my concentration was weak.”

Remus nodded sympathetically. “And you were so close to getting the championship.”

“Yeah. Bugger it. It’s nothing though. As much as I love flying, I couldn’t wait for the season to be over with. It is rather exhausting, professional Quidditch is at least.”

A peaceful silence surrounded the two men. Remus looked around and saw a lot of action going on in the crowds. He wondered if he should go find a client or not, but he didn’t want to be rude and leave Harry behind. Harry got comfortable on the bar stool and asked for a drink. As soon as Harry got his beverage, he drank it.

“Professor–”

“Remus. Call me Remus, Harry. I am not your teacher and haven’t been your teacher since your third year,” said Remus, gently correcting him.

“Remus…” The way his named rolled off of Harry’s tongue gave him the shivers down his back. “Could we go somewhere else?”

Remus’ eyes went wide open at the question. “Pardon?”

“Like…I mean…could we go somewhere to talk?”

“Harry…”

“Please? Just that I haven’t seen you around so long, although I just couldn’t find you, and I was wondering where you were, what you were doing. Now that I’ve found you, I want to remain in contact with you.”

Remus smiled slowly. “Well, good to see I was missed. However, I’m afraid I am going to have to pass the offer. I have work to do tonight, Harry.”

Harry’s green eyes blazed with anger. In a hushed voice he said, “This isn’t a job, Remus. You don’t deserve this.”

“Harry…”

“No! Listen to me. You’re a well-respected person. With everything you’ve done for us, you should be fighting for your rights instead of giving in to those bloody Ministry bastards!”

Remus didn’t reply. He knew Harry was right to an extent, but he also knew he wasn’t going to win. The fact that if he did rebel against the Ministry, it might land him in more troubles than he ever wished.

Looking down at his amber-coloured drink, Harry swirled it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk to you like that. It’s just that…” Harry sighed. “This whole situation just bollocks.”

Remus smiled kindly at him. “Don’t I know that.”

Another moment of silence passed between them before Remus broke it. “Give me your address. I’ll come around on Sunday. That’s my day off.”

Harry brightened at the turn of event. “Okay.” Getting a card and a pen from the bartender, he wrote it down and handed it to Remus. “Here.” Their hands met for the first time, and Remus pushed away the sudden feeling of not wanting to let go.

“Thanks, Harry. I’ll be there around two o’clock.”

“Sure. Do come. I’ll even cook dinner for us.” Harry jumped off the stool and looked at him. “Great seeing you again, Remus. Good night.”

“Good night to you as well, Harry,” said Remus. He watched Harry leave and proceeded to get some work done.

Sunday came, and Remus was going nuts getting ready to go to Harry’s. He went through the small collection he had as his wardrobe and kept saying no to every single garment he owned.

Finally, he chose a simple khaki trousers with a white button-up shirt. “Why do I even care what I wear? This isn’t a date or anything. Get over it, Remus Lupin,” he chided to himself.

Debating on wearing a robe or not, he decided to just wear a green sweater over the shirt. “It’s not like I’m going to walk over there, so I might as well not wear anything too warm.”

Remus sighed and saw that it was only noon. “And here I am getting ready two hours beforehand. Sometimes I hate my punctual-ness.

“Why did I accept this invitation? I just do not feel comfortable about this. Every time I see him, I see James. I just have this urge to do stuff with Harry like I did with James.”

Getting up from his bed, he went to his bookcase and selected a random book. Remus must have been really out of it for he chose a potion text. “Might as well use this to entertain myself for the next two hours.” So he got comfortable and attempted to read the book.

Harry looked up expectantly when he heard the familiar sound that followed Apparating. Smiling, he said, “Hello, Remus. Glad you could come. I’ve looked forward to this.” And had he ever! Like Remus, Harry fiddled his thumb since noon and couldn’t get content. The last time he felt this nervous was the day he had the Sorting Hat on.

Standing up, Harry spread his hands around. “Have a seat, Remus. Get comfortable.”

With a smile toward to Harry, Remus sat down in one of the chairs and looked around. It was a cosy flat. Along with the sitting room, where they were at now, the place was accommodated with two bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen, and a dining room.

“This is a nice flat,” Remus lamely said.

“Thanks. I chose it myself. Probably the first thing I ever did to live on my own.” Still standing, Harry then asked, “Would you like some tea? Or anything else to drink?”

“Tea sounds excellent. Thank you.”

Harry left the room, and Remus looked around again closely. The area above the fireplace in the room was decorated with picture frames. Remus stood up and looked. There were pictures of Ron, Hermione, and the three of them together, his ex-dorm mates, and the wedding picture. Remus gasped. James’ and Lily’s wedding. The day he knew James was lost from him forever.

How young we looked then…James so happy, carefree, with no worries in the world. All he wanted to do was have a family and support them, he thought to himself. He raised his hand and gently caressed the picture. I wonder how Harry acquired this photograph.

Harry walked in the room, carrying a tray with the teacups, sugar, and cream. He noticed Remus staring at the picture, and a sad smile came on his face. “It hurts doesn’t it?” He set the tray down on a table and stood next to Remus.

“Yes. How did you get this?” Remus asked softly.

“Hagrid gave it to me. He sent me an album full of pictures of dad and mum. I love this picture. So I retook it with a Muggle’s camera and had it enlarged.”

“Sirius, James, Lily…” Remus looked at Harry.

“Tell me. Tell me about the wedding. You were there, right?”

Remus hesitated. “I…”

Noticing Remus’ uncertain movement, Harry replied, “It’s okay if you do not want to talk about it.”

“No,” said Remus, shaking his head. “You deserve to know.” Again, Remus looked at the photograph, and he reached out to touch the frame. “They, your parents, were so happy that day. Their joy was so blatantly obvious to even the blindest person. A lot of friends and family members came to the wedding. Lily wanted a Muggle style wedding, and James didn’t complain. In a way, he had the same fascination that Arthur Weasley has of the Muggles.

“Of course, Sirius was the best man, and boy did he have a blast flirting with Lily’s bridesmaids. Being the charmer he was, though, the ladies didn’t mind.” Remus smiled softly at the memory.

“I’m curious, but who caught my mother’s bouquet?” Harry asked with a silly grin on his face. Without knowing it, he leaned closer to Remus.

“Believe it or not,” said Remus who chose to ignore Harry’s action, “it was Peter.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. That sodding bastard doesn’t deserve anyone but Riddle.”

Remus didn’t say anything.

“Cat got your tongue?” Harry teased lightly.

“No, you just gave me a disgusting mental image I could have done without.”

Harry blinked. “Wha-?” Sudden realisation passed him through, and he turned tomato red. “That is a frightening image.”

“Shall we change the subject?” Remus walked away from the fireplace, not wanting to bring back any more memories.

Nodding, Harry followed Remus who sat down on the couch. Harry sat next to Remus and sighed. “Well, it will be a while till dinner. I’m making roast beef as the main course tonight followed by either tea or alcohol. Hope you like it.”

“That is one of my favourite dishes, and I know you have great culinary skills.” Remus looked over and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Well, so far no one has keeled over, so I’ll take that as a good sign.”

The two men burst out laughing. The atmosphere between them turned to a comfortable one, and they continued to talk for the next several hours.

Feeling the light sensation of the alcohol, Remus happily hummed to himself as he flooed into his fireplace. He could have easily Apparated, but he didn’t want to risk it after remembering how Sirius nearly splinched himself after a little drinking binge.

He crashed into his armchair and stared at the wall in front of him with a goofy smile on his face. Dinner was quite an experience. It was probably the first decent meal Remus had had in ages. He was pleased to see that Harry’s cooking skills hadn’t declined in the last several years. After the meal, both of them had some whiskey. They both drank enough to be tipsy.

While sipping on their drinks, they both talked about a lot of random stuff. Remus found out that Ron and Hermione had gotten married. He remembered Harry telling him that Ginny had chased after him, but after a public announcement of Harry being gay, Ginny was heartbroken for a while. After getting over the fact that Harry was not interested in woman, she and Harry became good friends. They would still sometimes meet and go guy hunting.

Remus sat up quickly as something came to him. He vaguely recalled gently stroking Harry’s cheek. While doing so, he also told Harry that he had become a handsome young man. Handsome like his father, but Remus hadn’t said that part.

“Shite!” Remus jumped out of the armchair and started a frenzied walk around his small flat. “Fuck.”

Remus covered his face with his hands, feeling the heat, the effect of the alcohol still swarming through his body. “I can’t believe I told Harry that. What was I thinking?” Remus continued his monologue with himself. “Bloody hell…I hope Harry doesn’t remember that part of the conversation later.”

He stopped walking and leaned against the wall on his back for support. He recalled how Harry’s cheek felt. It felt warm. He could still feel Harry’s hot breath on his fingers when they had gotten close to Harry’s mouth. The happy expression on Harry’s face, the sound Harry laughing with such joy.

Remus briefly wondered if Harry’s cheeks were flushed due to the alcohol or his touch. A small voice in the back of his head was hoping for the latter. Harry did look incredibly shaggable tonight though. Throughout the night, Remus noticed that Harry had the tendency to bite his lips while talking, so they were red themselves and very kissable looking.

Remus’ reverie was interrupted by a stirring down in his groin. “Fuck!” Remus decided that it was time for a shower. A cold shower. Anything to get rid of these thoughts of wanting to fuck his ex-lover’s son.

“I’m going mad, and I must be drunk. That’s the only reason why I am suddenly lusting after Prongs’ boy,” Remus muttered, ignoring the voice in his head, which at that moment was yelling that Harry wasn’t a boy, but a man now.

“Definitely cold. Ice cold.”

After a refreshing, icy shower, Remus changed into some pyjamas and fell on the bed. While on his back, he stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out why all these strange thoughts were in his head. Strange and very wrong thoughts.

Am I just getting James and Harry confused now, he wondered to himself. I mean…lately all these memories have been coming back to me. Even after all these years, James is the only one I’ve ever loved. Maybe my heart cannot distinguish between the two people unlike my brain can.

Remus sighed and hugged the pillow to himself. He slowly drifted off into a troubled sleep, hoping to get Harry out of his mind. Wondering if he’ll just forget about all of this tomorrow. That’s what he wanted. To just go back to his life before Harry had entered it.

Over the next few days, Remus grew more and more disgusted with himself. He threw himself into work, wanting to get rid of all his lusty thoughts. It did not work much to Remus’ disappointment. While working, instead of seeing his clients’ faces, images of Harry straddling him, pleasuring him replaced who he was really with at the moment.

When he was off of work, he tried to distract himself. Nothing worked; it was like everything was against him. No matter how hard he tried, he could not stop thinking about Harry.

Hell, even the weather was against him. It was only May, and it was so bloody hot. Hot to the point that he walked around shirtless in his flat. Just as he was about charm some cooling spell, his wards went off, alerting him that someone was at his door. He clutched his wand as he opened the door slightly. He was so surprised to see Harry that he opened it all the way, forgetting that he was shirtless, forgetting all the troubles he had trying to get Harry out of his mind.

He swallowed hard before he said, “Harry. What a nice surprise. And…how did you find this place?”

Harry wanted Remus.

Ever since that Sunday they had spent together, he wanted Remus. Blimey, even before that, he had some kind of feelings for the other man that were beyond friendship! He could still feel Remus’ soft touch grazing his cheeks. And he’d never forget how, in a husky voice, Remus told him that he was handsome. A soft blush came to Harry whenever he thought of that comment. Sure, he was used to getting such compliments about his looks, but from Remus, it sounded more genuine. It affected him strongly.

He could not get Remus out of his mind, and he was happy about it. He wanted to get to know the older man. Ever since Harry’s third year, Remus was always kind to him. He was one of the few people who looked past his scar to see who he really was. Every time the two of them talk, it gave Harry the impression of coming home. It was as if Remus had his arms wide open for Harry to come into.

After the horrible encounter with Cho in his fifth year, he really didn’t think about entering a serious relationship. After the defeat of Voldemort and completion of his studies at Hogwarts, he had plenty of flings with other young men. Until Remus came into the picture, Harry was content with his lifestyle. Now, he only wanted Remus.

Not wanting to rush headstrong into this new situation like a Gryffindor, he decided to keep himself busy with other stuff. He went out and met up with Ginny, along with Ron and Hermione. They all had some catching up to do. Harry didn’t tell them about his feelings for Remus, but he did ask Hermione about the WUR movement and its status.

“Oh, Harry. It’s going quite well. At the rate we are going now, coupled that my position at the Ministry, we may see some significant changes soon. Maybe in a few months at the least.”

“That’s good to hear,” Harry said. “Things really need to improve for the werewolves.”

“Would you like to provide a statement in regarding the WUR?” Hermione suddenly asked enthusiastically. “With your status, and name, it will go much faster.”

For once, Harry had no hesitation in wanting to use his fame in such a manner. “Why not? I do think this is unfair.”

Aside from a personal statement, Hermione also took out a petition. There were already a few names on it. Names such as Arthur Weasley, Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks, Neville Longbottom, and etc. A lot of these names had titles such as “Order of Merlin, First Class, Second Class, etc.”

Harry made sure to sign his name legibly, and put down Order of Merlin, First Class and any other titles that would put him on a higher status.

“Thanks, Harry!” Hermione put the petition away, and they soon talked about something more cheery.

He wasn’t able to really concentrate on the conversations afterward. Ginny noticed the far away look on Harry face but didn’t say anything. Later, when the quartet broke up, it was just him and Ginny. They were heading toward the same direction, so they ended up walking together.

Ginny took the opportunity to tease him. “So the famous Harry Potter actually fell in love, eh?”

“Wha–?” Harry feeling himself blushing deeply.

“After the whole thing dealing with the WUR, you went quiet. You looked like you were daydreaming about something or someone.”

“Well,” Harry sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, “I wouldn’t say love yet. But it seems pretty close to it.”

“Anyone I know?”

Harry nodded.

“Hrm. I think I can guess who it is.” Ginny smiled and patted Harry on the shoulders. “It’s Professor Lupin, isn’t it?”

“Blimey, am I that transparent?”

“Nah,” Ginny sniggered. “But I do remember you telling me that you ran into him in a club that one night with your Quidditch team. And your sudden interest in the WUR…”

Harry sighed. “Well, we did meet several nights ago at my place. He did tell me that I was handsome, and touched my cheeks…”

“Well, I reckon you’re the one who’s gonna enforce it. And I wish you luck!” Ginny slapped him playfully on the shoulder. They had come to a fork in the street that made them go separate ways. “Keep me posted.”

“Sure. Cheerio.” He waved and watched her disappear amongst the crowd before he started down his street.

As he walked down the street, he dug out a piece of paper from his pocket. It was the address of Remus’ flat. Harry was quite surprised and pleased when Remus told him its location when both were tipsy.

I wonder if he realised that he was giving this to me, Harry asked himself as he passed the different people in the street. When I first asked him, he didn’t want to tell me his address. But after getting a few drinks in him, he was willing to share it with me. Is it because he lives in one of the poorer sections? He should know that I don’t give a rat’s arse about that. I guess it’s pride.

Harry was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t notice he had passed his area and was closer to Remus’ flat. He didn’t even notice that the weather was particularly hot today. He shrugged to himself and decided to go pay Remus a visit. He located the building and walked up several flights of stairs. Even before he reached the front door, he could tell that Remus had warded it.

Instead of knocking, Harry stood in front of the door, waiting for Remus to open it. Soon he heard the audible click of the lock and saw Remus through partially opened door. He then had a hard time controlling himself from pouncing on a shirtless Remus.

He tried not stare, but it was quite difficult. He could see that the heat was getting to Remus. Remus’ skin was glistening with sweat, some of it slowly dripped off of his lower jaw. Harry wanted to lick the salty liquid, wanted to feel the taste of Remus. His gaze went a bit lower, and he saw scars here and there on Remus’ slender shoulders, arms, and chest. He just noticed that he was actually broader and taller than the older man.

“Harry. What a nice surprise. And…how did you find this place?”

Harry mentally slapped himself and proceeded to answer the question. “Oh, hello, Remus. I was in the area and decided to drop by. You gave me the address the other night. Not sure if you remember it.”

Remus frowned as he motioned Harry to come in. “Did I? I guess I was too tipsy to bear that in mind.”

“Ah, well, if you’re currently busy, I can leave.”

“No, I’m not occupied at the moment. Have a seat. I was about to do some cooling charms. The weather is burning me up.”

Harry stepped in and noticed that Remus’ flat was smaller than his place. He saw an armchair and a small couch. He took a seat at the couch and watched Remus wave his wand. “Really? I hadn’t realised that we are having a sudden heat wave or anything like that.”

“Ah, that feels so much better,” Remus said after he had cast the cooling charms. He walked to the kitchen and asked, “Want anything to drink, Harry?”

“Tea’s fine with me, Remus.” Harry waited until Remus came back with a tray which he set on the small table between the armchair and the couch. They each prepared their cups, and both started to drink it. “Hermione gave me some news about the WUR movement. She said it’s doing pretty well.”

“Really.” Remus took an apathetic approach to it. Harry saw Remus suddenly flushing. He wondered if the heat got to Remus again or not. He followed Remus’ gaze to the shirt on the floor, next to Remus’ armchair. He watched as Remus set his cup of tea down to retrieve the shirt. Before the shirt went on Remus, Harry grabbed his wrist with his larger hand with callused fingers.

“Don’t. You look nice the way you are,” Harry whispered, nearly forcing the sound to be audible. “I like seeing you shirtless.”

Remus grew flustered. “Harry, no. This isn’t right.”

Harry grew cheeky. “Honestly, Remus, I’m just telling you how I feel.”

“And I feel that this is not right.”

That didn’t discourage Harry as he guided both of them to stand up. While getting up, Harry grabbed Remus’ other wrist causing the shirt to fall out of the grip. They stood in front of each other, with only a couple of inches of space separating them. “I really, really like you, Remus. I couldn’t get you out of my mind for the past few days.”

“Harry. We can’t do this.” Harry saw the dazed and confused expression on Remus’ exhausted face.

“Give me a reason why we can’t.”

“Well.” At this point, Harry leaned over and started to lick his earlobes. “Er, I’m way older than you.”

“Twenty years is not that much of a difference. It won’t even be noticeable in another five years or so.”

“You deserve someone younger, someone…who’s not a cursed beast like me.”

Harry actually stopped teasing Remus and grabbed him a bit harshly by the shoulders. “Don’t you ever say that, Remus. You are not a cursed beast! I do not know anyone else that’s this sensitive and kind as you. That label is not for you or for any other good werewolves out there.” Harry rested his forehead against Remus’ and breathed in deeply while smelling the other’s man woodsy scent. He lessened his hold on Remus a bit.

“Harry, also, I did go to school with your parents. Bloody hell! I even changed your nappies as a baby!”

“That’s not stopping me.” And really, it didn’t. Harry leaned in ever so slowly, tilted his head a bit and closed his eyes. His lips gently grazed Remus’, and Harry felt Remus giving into temptation. Emboldened by Remus’ still action, he kissed again, this time with a bit more zeal. After a few seconds, Harry traced Remus’ lips with his tongue, wanting to seek entrance. He could feel that Remus didn’t want to grant permission. In the end, Harry felt Remus’ mouth part open, giving him the consent.

Harry deepened the kiss with gentle yet heated strokes. He delved into the crevices and other nooks and crannies in Remus’ mouth. He was surprised to see that Remus was quite the submissive type. The notions slipped past him as he continued the kiss. One of his hands went to the back of Remus’ head to support the kiss. The other hand slipped past the shoulder and brushed against one of the sensitive nipples.

Harry felt like he was lost in heaven. If this is heaven, I’d like to stay here for eternity.

Remus deemed himself to be in purgatory, a place slammed between heaven and hell. After he had invited Harry in, he felt the temperature in his flat rising another twenty degrees or so.

Remus grabbed his shirt, but when Harry’s hand had grabbed his wrist, he felt the warmth tingling down his arm to his groin. The calluses on Harry’s hand gave such texture to the grip, that he felt even more affected than usual.

When he was pulled to stand close to Harry, he thought he would almost stop breathing from the extreme closeness. He felt dizzy. The last time he felt anything of this was when he was with James. Strangely though, it felt different. It was like James’ aura, but different.

Remus could feel all his coherent thoughts disappearing when Harry started to lick his earlobes. He slowly melted under Harry’s teasing ministration but was jolted back to reality when Harry had grabbed his shoulders with anger, after he had truthfully tried to tell Harry he was a beast.

With the subject of the nappies, Remus tried to bring a little humour into his reasoning on why they shouldn’t be doing this, but that failed as well. He wanted this to stop, but at the same time, he didn’t want it to end. He wanted it to continue, despite his rational side screaming at him.

When their lips finally met, he gave into the temptation. He closed his eyes as he allowed the slight pressure on his lips to fulfil his desires. The second kiss overwhelmed him even more. Just this kiss, he could feel Harry’s love flowing between them. When he felt Harry’s tongue tracing at the entrance of his mouth, he hesitated to comply, but his desires won him over as he succumbed to Harry’s wishes. He parted his lips, and the delicious sensation of Harry exploring his mouth went beyond his expectations.

It wasn’t until Harry brushed one of his nipples that woke Remus up from his stupor. His eyes opened wide, and he shoved Harry back hard, wanting to quell down the attraction he felt toward the younger man. “Harry. No. We cannot do this.”

“Rem–” Remus cut him off.

“Just leave. Please!” Remus’ voice took on a desperate note.

He had figured that Harry heard the franticness behind the voice. He was grateful when Harry decided not to push anything further today.

Harry sighed and said, “Thank you for the tea. And I’m sorry if I upset you. I’m going now.”

Remus leaned against the wall, and when he was sure Harry was out of the flat, he sank down on the floor. He accioed a pillow and muffled his screams of frustration. After screaming till he was hoarse, he sat in that position for a long time.

The next few days passed like a slow, hazy mist. Remus was at the club. One of his regular clients was talking to him, but for Remus, the client might as well been talking in Spanish. Remus could barely make out the words, let alone remember what the other man was talking about.

Remus smiled, nodded, sipped his drink, and tried to pretend that his mind was in the club. Anything to rid his mind of Harry. James, Harry. Before, Remus had almost considered them the same person. Somewhere along the way, they became the two separate people they were. Sure, the two Potters looked a lot alike, but Remus noticed that Harry was gentler, more sensitive than James ever was.

Instead of seeing just James, he saw in Harry both spirits of Lily and James. Lily was a very special person as well as James. But she was different from James. Almost like balancing the two out. That was what Harry was. A mixture of two people who made a big impact in his life.

Remus’ client, Patrick, leaned close and was breathing on Remus’ exposed neck. He said something, but Remus didn’t catch it. Afterward, Patrick stood up and left. In his place, Harry came up to Remus.

That startled Remus out of his daze.

Harry leaned in to whisper in Remus’ ear. “We need to talk.”

Remus sighed and closed his eyes tightly. “Good. I need to tell you something.” He put his drink down at the bar and then lightly grabbed Harry’s arm, leading them towards the backdoor. Beyond the door was a small lounge, a quieter place. Remus sat down in one of the couches, and Harry followed suit.

“Look,” Harry spread his hands out in front of him. “I’m sorry about the other day, but I truly do like you. I just want to know how you–”

“Your father and I, we used to be lovers.”

A calm, soft voice delivered that line, and it seemed as if Harry almost didn’t catch it. “What?”

Remus knew there was no turning back. Harry needed to know the truth even if it ended up hurting Remus himself. “Before your father was with your mother, he was with me. Our relationship ended when he realised that he wanted to be with Lily.”

“Wait, so you loved my dad?”

“Yes, and I still do.”

Harry’s eyes hardened. “You’re saying that I’m just a…replacement for him? Because I look a lot like him? Merlin, do I even act like him?!”

Remus averted his gaze before he answered. “Yes,” he lied through his teeth. “You are a replacement for him, and you do act like him.” No. You don’t. You’re not him! Remus wanted to say that instead but couldn’t.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Then look at me and say the whole bloody thing to my face.”

Remus stiffened right on the spot. He raised his face to look at Harry. “We just can’t be together. It’s not right.”

“You haven’t answered my question. Can you really tell me the same answer while looking at me?” Harry looked like he was about to lash out at Remus in frustration.

Remus didn’t reply for a good while. He continued to look at the man in front of him. He tried to memorise the way Harry’s messy hair fell onto his forehead. Tried to remember how Harry, when he frowned, looked even more desirable than ever. It was almost as if Remus wanted to remember everything before removing Harry out of his life permanently.

“Remus?” Harry asked softly.

“Harry,” Remus began, clenching his hands into tight fists. “James and I, we were together for a good year and a half. Even after we separated, I never stopped loving him. And yes, I do see you in him. But I also see your mother. You are not the exact mirror image of your father in neither appearance nor personality.”

Harry stood up and didn’t say anything. He was deep in his thoughts.

“So Harry, even though you are not a replacement for your father, we still cannot do this. Your parents will be rolling in their graves by now with what we are doing. Just leave.” With Harry hovering over him, Remus felt like he didn’t have the upper-hand as he should’ve, but he didn’t really care at that moment. He just wanted Harry to disappear, so things could go back to the way they were.

Harry moved and stopped in front of Remus. He trapped Remus on the couch by placing his hands on both sides of Remus’ face, and then he leaned over until their faces were very near one another.

“I left once before, I am not leaving again. And as for my parents, they would have wanted me to be happy. For me to be happy is to be with you. They would have understood and accepted it.”

“Harry.” Remus felt that same dizzy feelings he felt the last time he and Harry were this close to each other. “I–”

Someone cleared their voice from nearby, interrupting the mood and the moment. Both Harry and Remus turned to the direction of the sound and saw Remus’ boss standing there, looking at the two of them with a pinched expression.

“I’m sorry to interrupt such a –” a sneer, “–interesting conversation, but one of your clients is demanding to see you tonight, Remus.”

Harry stepped away from Remus and walked a bit closer to the boss. “I’m his client tonight.”

Neil eyed Harry suspiciously. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as a regular of Remus’. If you were a regular, I’d allow it, but a more important customer is waiting for him.”

“Not tonight. Tell him to go find another sodding man for pleasure,” Harry said in a dangerous, low voice.

Before things could turn ugly, Remus hastily got up from the couch and touched Harry on the shoulders. “Sorry, Neil. Don’t mind him. Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll be out.”

“Hn. Three minutes.” Neil gave one last appraisal of Harry before he turned and left the two of them alone.

Remus sighed and turned Harry around so they could face each other. A silence hung between them for a moment before Harry broke it. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“It’s currently my job, and I intend to do it.” Remus stepped back and went on, hoping what he said next would placate Harry a bit. “Look, as soon as I finish, we’ll talk more.”

“Then come to my place when you’re done.”

Remus hesitantly nodded. Before he could walk further, Harry reached and gave Remus’ hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll be waiting.”

Without another word, Remus went to see his customer, leaving Harry behind to stare after the retreating figure.

Remus sighed as he left Patrick behind at the hotel room. Apparently, Patrick had fought with someone, and he needed a way to vent his frustration. He decided to do so by having sex with Remus. And it was a rough one. While waiting for the lift to come up, Remus randomly thought, Patrick must’ve been really upset. Not like this was bad or anything…just a bit forceful for my tastes. Of course I’ve had worse.

Remus exited the lift and felt the cool air. The streets were empty. Remus checked his watch and saw that it was past two in the morning. As he walked in the direction of Harry’s flat, he wondered if Harry was still up. He could Apparate to Harry’s place, but his mind was not in the right state. He needed to walk to let his mind wander loose, by having a silent battle with himself.

Do I dare go? I did tell him I’d come. But if I go, it may not be a good idea. Things might happen. Things that I really do not want to confront. Yet if I don’t go, he’ll get mad, and he’ll be hurt. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t know what to do anymore. I really wonder what James would say if he was still alive. Before, I could imagine what James would say in all the situations I’ve come upon, but this one is just leaving my mind blank. It’s as if his presence is no longer in my mind.

Remus sighed heavily as he continued down the streets, hearing his footstep echo through the night.

Soon, Remus arrived at the building Harry lived in. He stood there, looking at a lone window, its lights showing dimly through the curtains. Harry indeed was waiting for Remus. Someone cared enough to be waiting for him despite how late it was. Cared enough to the point of telling Remus that he deserved a better job than the one he currently occupied. Cared enough to look past Remus’ curse, his shame. It was as if Remus had been given a second chance. Only his second chance was with his first love’s son.

Rain started to fall, and it covered the sudden tears that escaped his eyes. The overwhelming realisation that someone really cared for him confused Remus, made his heart ache. With a heavy heart, he turned and faced the way he had come. He couldn’t face Harry now. No, he was not himself. He began to walk off, forcing his legs to walk. He couldn’t walk fast enough; it was as if his legs were made of lead.

The rain fell harder. The sounds of the water hitting the pavement, windows on cars, and the roof of the houses all covered the sounds of someone’s feet pounding the ground. Remus felt a presence behind him. Before he could turn around, arms came from behind and brought him into a broad chest. A warm breath fluttered his cheek.

Remus then realised it was raining, as well as he was crying. He noticed that he and whoever was embracing him were both wet to their skins. “Let go.” His voice was hoarse, the sounds barely above a whisper.

“No. I won’t. I’m not letting you,” said a voice just as faint as his. “I saw you from the window. You were just standing there. Then it looked like something came over you, and you were going to leave.”

“I have to go.” Remus tried to get out of the embrace, but he didn’t have much energy to fight against Harry’s strong grip. Instead, he had turned himself and was facing Harry.

After seeing Harry’s face, he quickly looked somewhere else. The way the green eyes, the softness of them, stared back at him with such compassion and love jabbed him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me that way.”

Harry cocked his head in confusion. “In what way?”

“Like…like…” Remus wearily rested his forehead on Harry’s shoulder. “You can see through me.”

“Ah.” Remus felt Harry take a breath to speak, and he shivered. Apparently, Harry realised how cold Remus was, how wet they both were, and decided against having this conversation in the pouring rain. “Let’s go in. You need a hot shower.” He then put an arm around Remus’ thin shoulders and led both of them back into his flat. Remus, feeling exhausted, didn’t bother to try struggle or argue. He decided to let Harry take care of everything at that moment.

After a warm shower, Remus borrowed a fluffy bathrobe from Harry and sat on the couch. Soon, Harry, clad only in a pair of shorts, joined him, making sure that there was enough space between them, so Remus wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. The two sat in peace for a long time. The drumming sounds from the rain outside and the crackling from the flames in the fireplace were the only sounds around them.

Harry glanced at Remus and saw that the other man was staring at the fire while holding onto the front of the robes.

Harry jumped when Remus started to say something.

“You know, if it’s sex you want, then we can just do it and go our separate ways,” Remus said, still staring at the fireplace.

“What?!” Harry exclaimed in anger and shock. “How can you say such a thing!”

“That’s what I am, Harry. A prostitute. A whore. A fucking slut.”

Without warning, Harry slapped Remus. By instinct, Remus immediately covered the throbbing cheek and stared at Harry in disbelief.

“You are not a fucking slut, whore, or whatever you think you are. And you are not a beast either! You’re Remus Lupin, a great, law-abiding citizen who deserves the same right as everyone else in this sodding world!” Harry shouted, his eyes bright with anger. “Quit degrading yourself!”

Remus ducked his head down, unable to meet Harry’s eyes. “Harry…”

“Remus…” Harry sighed, feeling the anger slowly leaving him. He reached out and grabbed Remus by the chin and gently lifted it up. “Look at me. You are Remus Lupin, and I…” He leaned in closer till their lips were only mere centimetres apart. “I love you.”

Remus was tired. Tired of fighting against his desires to be with Harry. Tired of escaping from all of this. Tired of being alone, not being with someone he loved. He wanted Harry; he loved Harry for who he was, not because he was James’ son. He loved Harry Potter, too.

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Rana.

He stayed still, looking deep into the passion-driven, green eyes. He parted his lips by instinct as Harry came closer and closed the gap between them. He closed his eyes tight to prevent the tears from coming out as he leaned into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Harry.

Like before, Harry was kissing him with such tenderness. He was exploring Remus’ mouth again, and as the kissing progressed, so did the intensity of Harry’s movement. Remus moaned softly into the kiss and then almost whimpered when he felt the lips leaving him. All thoughts of abandonment left Remus as he felt Harry moving downward onto his exposed neck. He could feel Harry lightly nipping and sucking on his soft flesh. When Harry stopped to look at him, Remus nearly whimpered at the loss of the pleasant feelings.

“Harry…” Remus ran his hands through Harry’s uncontrollable trusses.

“Remus. I want to make love to you…” Harry gave him a determined look.

Remus nodded and smiled a bit unsurely. He then cocked his head curiously as he saw Harry standing up. Harry extended a hand out towards him and Remus took it. “Bedroom. I don’t think the couch will be very comfortable.”

“I’ve had worse,” Remus tried to joke to lighten the situation.

“Well, not with me are you going to have some third rate sex session,” Harry dryly said. He led them to the bedroom and then turned off the light on the switch and then waved a hand to light up candles around the bedroom.

Remus blushed at Harry’s comment. He then stared at the candles. “Prepared, eh?”

Now Harry turned crimson. “Well…er…”

“Hush…” Remus put a finger against Harry’s lips. “Thank you…for preparing this for me.”

Harry smiled and ran his tongue across Remus’ fingers. He manoeuvred them to the bed. Sitting on the edge, with Remus lying on his back, Harry kissed Remus again and with one hand, he undid the front of Remus’ robes. Once opened, Remus felt like he did that hot day when Harry had come over, the time he was shirtless. He soon felt Harry planting light kisses all over his chest and torso.

“I like your scars…they are a part of you, and scars are sexy.” Harry gave Remus a grin while Remus blushed at the compliments.

“Harry…” Remus squirmed under the ministrations from Harry, getting more and more aroused as time went on. “Let me pleasure you…”

“No. I’m going to do this. You just relax. I want you to enjoy this for a change.” Harry continued his explorations on Remus’ torso as he went lower. Remus couldn’t help but gasped in delights, panted in wants, and moaned with sultriness.

The creaking of the bed, the rustle of the sheets, the sound of clothes, as few there were, falling on the ground, the moans and groans from the two lovers calling out each others name went on through the night. Their silhouette on the walls flickered against the candlelight. The sounds of the rain slowly ceased as the night went on, a night where two souls finally found each other.

As the candles started to die, Remus felt thoroughly exhausted and satisfied. Warm arms were wrapped him in a protective manner. He heard Harry sighing. Just as he was about to drift off, Harry stroked his scratchy cheeks and ran his hands through Remus’ sweat-drenched locks. The last thing Remus recalled was Harry’s embrace tightening gently around him.

Remus woke up with the sun glaring in his eyes. He blinked to get them adjusted and then realised that he was not at home. He felt someone’s arms around him, and he shifted in them to see who they belonged to.

“Harry,” Remus mumbled softly, as the last few hours came rushing back to him.

Harry moved and opened his eyes to look into Remus’ face. With a smile, he said, “Good morning or afternoon if it’s past noon. Sleep alright?”

Remus nodded, realising this was the first time he had slept well in a long time. Harry leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his cheek as he brought Remus back into a tight embrace. “Harry…?”

“Hrm?”

“…Nothing.”

“What?” Harry frowned a bit at Remus’ reluctance. “You are alright, right? I tried not to hurt you last night…”

Remus let out a chuckle. “No…it was great…it was wonderful.”

“That’s good to hear… good to hear I’m good at something other than Quidditch,” Harry joked. Then he became serious. “You don’t regret it, do you?”

“No.” Remus let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “I don’t regret it at all.”

“Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you out of my life for a very long time now…I really do love you.”

Remus didn’t respond. Instead, he just hugged Harry back. The two of them lay like that for what seemed to have been a long time. Suddenly, the door bell rang.

“Oh, man… who could that be?” Harry quickly found the pair of shorts that were thrown off the bed last night and wore those. Remus followed suit and found the bathrobe on the floor and put that over himself. The two of them went to the sitting room, and Harry went to the door and opened it. Hermione and Ginny entered. They both stopped and stared at the two men who were practically half naked.

“Professor!” Both Hermione and Ginny exclaimed. Hermione got over her shock quickly and shook Remus’ hands and launched off on asking him question about his well being. Ginny took Harry aside and whispered into Harry’s ears.

“Score one for Potter, huh?” She gave him smile.

Harry flushed and said, softly. “I guess… but I really do…”

“Love him.” Ginny interjected. “I guess even the famous Harry Potter will find someone to love and be loved back.”

“It was hard trying to convince him…”

“But things will work out for him now…” Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand. “Hermione has some good news on the WUR status.”

Harry felt a surge of hope and squeezed Ginny’s hand. “Is that why you two barged in on a very special moment between me and Remus?”

“Yeah. Consider it your blessing,” Ginny teased.

The two of them joined Remus and Hermione to hear about the news. Only after Harry made tea and got some scones for all of them. When they were all comfortably sitting in their respective seats, sipping on their teas, and nibbling on the scones, Hermione cleared her throat to announce the news.

“I have some good news. Fudge may be forced to resign.”

“Resign?” Harry repeated. “Why? I mean, I’m glad hear this, but it just seems rather sudden…”

“Well, a lot of people do not like his reforms. They are making him lose all the popularity he had. I mean, yes, his popularity rating has been steadily decreasing over the years, but right now it’s at the all-time low. Last I heard, a few of his long-time supporters are even trying to convince him to resign to save what is left of his reputation.

“And what’s ironic is, guess which reforms are the ones that are really giving him a bad name?”

Hermione didn’t let anyone guess as she launched onward with her speech. “It’s the new werewolf laws that’s been implemented after SWAD. The petition I have seems to be working, and even the general public who don’t know about this petition are furious with these unfair laws.”

“That’s good to hear. The scumbag deserves to get out of office.” Harry reached over and gave Remus’ hand a supportive squeeze.

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. “Apparently, when the recent stories of the werewolves’ support on the Order’s side went out, the general public began to sympathise with the prejudice the werewolves are going through.”

“If Fudge does resigns,” Ginny continued when Hermione was done, “guess who may take over as the new Minister of Magic?”

Harry looked at the exultant expression on Ginny’s face and slyly said, “Hrm… Kingsley?”

“No.” Ginny scowled jokingly. Then her smile came back as she said, “My dad may become the next Minister of Magic!”

“Congratulations.” Harry reached over and shook Ginny’s hand. “Arthur most definitely deserves this position.”

Remus tried to be enthusiastic at the sudden news of all this, but he was having difficulty. While he was somewhat content to hear that things might become better for the werewolves, he tried not to be too optimistic since in the end, things still might change.

Harry noticed Remus not joining in their high spirited conversation and whispered, “You okay? I thought this would make you happy.”

“Well…” Remus looked at his lover’s face and forced a smile. “While I had always hoped for the werewolves situation to be better…I can’t say too much of this until things really do change for the better. I just don’t want to have strong hope and have them crushed later.”

“That’s understandable, Professor.” Hermione said. “But I do think things will change for the better.”

“Please, Hermione, I am no longer your professor. Call me, Remus.”

“Okay, Remus.” Hermione gave Remus a warm hug, which Remus reciprocated.

“Thank you, Hermione. For all that you’ve done for us.”

“No problem, Remus. I want things to be better for everyone.” She firmly said this and then the two parted from their hugs.

“Well,” Harry went on, grinning. “At this rate, our dear Hermione may end up being the Minister of Magic one day. She’s certainly stubborn enough to do anything when she puts her mind to it.”

All four of them laughed out loud at the possibility of that happening and then they settled down to talk about other things that have been happening in the Wizarding World.

After finally establishing a relationship, the next several weeks passed with no major problems. Well, almost. Remus was still working at the club to earn money, and Harry resented that. Harry could not convince Remus to stop working there. So in a form of compromise, Harry told Remus that he’d be Remus’ “customer” for the majority of the time. To that, Remus responded with:

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry. I can take care of myself. Please, don’t go out of your way to make my life easier. You heard Hermione. Things will get better. When things do get better, I will quit my job to look for another one.”

In the end, Harry gave in to Remus’ decision, but that did not mean he enjoyed it!

With the Quidditch season over, Harry had nothing else to do. He had plenty of money from this season, and he did not have a major need to work. He realised that this was such a contrast from Remus. To make himself feel useful, rather than just being a useless Quidditch player, he started to explore the world by volunteering at various places to see what else would interest him to do in the future.

He volunteered his time by helping Hermione with the WUR movement. He would ran errands for Fred and George Weasley at their store. Although, the first day he went there, he had to adamantly refuse to be one of their test subjects. Along with that, he’d also go to Hogwarts to help out Hagrid, and even help Hooch with the flying lessons with the first years and help with the Quidditch practices.

It was doing these volunteer works that made Harry realise that he needed to focus on his life more. He’d contemplate what he’d been doing up until now, contemplate his future and what it had to offer him.

Whenever not volunteering, and when Remus was not working, the two of them would spend time at Harry’s flat enjoying each other’s company. To unwind from their daily works, they’d sit on Harry’s couch and sip teas and talk to each other. It was during one of these talks that Harry decided to break important news to Remus.

“I’ve decided to quit professional Quidditch.”

Remus stopped drinking his tea and set his cup down as he stared at Harry. “Quit Quidditch? What made you decide that?”

“Well…” Harry clasped his hands together. “I love Quidditch… it is one thing I can say I enjoy and am good at. However, after doing this for almost two years, I don’t want to always be viewed as the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Quidditch-Star. I guess… I want to do something more. After spending time at Hogwarts again, it made me realise that I’d like to go back there and be on staff there. Of course, there is no opening, but if there ever is one, I’d like to try and apply.

“But at the same time, I don’t want to give up Quidditch. Coaching the teams at Hogwarts made me come to terms with the fact that I do not want to fully give it up. But…I do want to quit being a professional player. I guess, after being in the spotlight for most of my life, I want something quieter, a bit more private.”

Remus gave Harry an understanding look. “It makes sense…I guess I should be glad you are not going to become a vagabond like a pirate.”

“Oh, Remus!” Harry laughed. “Well, if you want me to dress like one, I wouldn’t mind. Although, I think you wearing an eye patch with that pirate shirt and the corny hat would fit you more.”

“So does that mean I’d be the captain, and you’d be my first mate?”

“Yes. A very, very close first mate.”

Remus laughed as Harry pounced on him and the two of them kissed deeply, forgetting about the pirate talks and of Harry quitting Quidditch for now.

The next several days were filled with many hysterical wizards and witches crying over the paper’s headline and the main articles about Harry Potter quitting professional Quidditch. To avoid public appearances, Harry hid out at Remus’ place or sometimes at Hermione’s place. Harry waited until the public had calmed down at the news before he dared to venture back out into the public.

Ron joked about this matter. “I thought your fans going mad over you being gay were bad, but this is even worse! It’s like the end of the world for them, obviously.”

Eventually, things calmed down and went back the way they were before. Harry could go back out without causing a poor sod breaking out into tears or causing them to start yelling and damning everything on why Harry Potter had to quit Quidditch.

It was several days before his birthday, and Harry was out walking around, enjoying the night air. He noticed that he was near the club where Remus worked. Had it already been a few months since he first came here and eventually fell in love? To Harry, seeing Remus at the club only felt like yesterday. With nothing else to do, he decided to drop by and see how Remus was doing. He entered and headed for the bar. He ordered himself a drink and asked the bartender if he knew where Remus was.

The bartender said he had last seen Remus go into one of the private lounges to talk. He pointed to one of the doors, and Harry thanked him. Harry, with his drink in hand went to the door and decided to wait for Remus to come out. Sipping on his drink, he leaned against the wall next to the door.

While waiting, he thought for a second he heard Remus calling out his name. He almost decided to brush that away, telling himself he was hearing things. But then he stopped and he heard another faint call from Remus. While in SWAD, he had learned to trust his intuition, and with Remus involved, he was not going to stop now.

He quickly reached for the knob and saw that it was locked. He whispered “Alohomora,” and opened the door so hard that it slammed against the wall. “Rem–!”

Harry felt all time stop as he saw Neil thrusting into Remus from behind. Without any warning, Harry pulled Neil off of Remus. Remus fell forward and then looked behind him and saw Harry. Harry saw tears threatening to come down Remus’ face. With his seeker’s skill, he quickly pulled Remus into his embrace. He wanted to protect his lover. He wanted Remus to know how much he loved him. He kissed and nuzzled into Remus’ neck, whispering words of comfort into Remus’ ear as he led them out of there.

After much consideration, Remus decided to quit his job at the club. Being with Harry, being with someone who cared for him made him consider Harry’s feelings. Harry didn’t like Remus doing his job at the club, and he had already proposed that Remus could stop for now since there was enough money to support the two of them. Remus had only continued to do this because he had not wanted to rely on Harry as a financial support. However, he truly did not like it, and knew deep inside, werewolf or not, he did not deserve this kind of job with his educational background.

Remus promised Harry that he would go talk to Neil by himself. Harry would not allow that. “I will not let you be in the same room with that prick again. At least let me come with you.”

“Harry…you don’t need to do this…I can handle it by myself.”

Giving a glare at Remus, Harry continued. “I’m coming with you when you go officially resign there. And if Neil, whatever his name is, lays a hand on you, I will personally transfigure something into a very long banana and stick it up in his arsehole!”

Luckily, Harry didn’t have to resort to that. In fact, Neil’s daytime secretary was there, and Remus handled all the resignation with him. However, when they were leaving the place, Neil came back and stopped them from leaving. Before he could say anything, though, Harry spoke first.

“Okay, Neil,” Harry sneered and imitated Severus Snape’s trademark glare. “Remus officially doesn’t work for you now. So there are no reasons for you to be contacting him anymore. If you do want to contact him, you will have to get through me first. And trust me, you don’t want to see me ticked off.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at how similar Harry and Severus could be, and he nearly had to stifle a laugh.

Neil, however, didn’t get the hint and said, “Look, who are you to barge in here, make me lose one of my best workers, and then tell me what I can or cannot do!?”

“You idiot…” Harry said. Remus could see Harry having to force himself not to reach for his wand. Remus put a reassuring hand on Harry’s arm and then stepped up to Neil.

“It’s done, Neil. I do thank you for letting me work here these past three years, but it’s my time to move on.” Remus paused a bit. “I doubt we’ll ever see each other again in the rest of our lifetime.” With that said, Remus, holding onto Harry’s hand, walked past Neil, ignoring the sputtering, angry cries from the short man. Once outside in an area out of view from straying eyes, Harry and Remus Apparated away from the place, never to go back there.

With Remus finally not working at that place, Harry happily awaited for his birthday. He was glad that he’d be able to finally celebrate it with his lover.

He sleepily woke up in his bed, arms extended to feel for Remus. He touched the cold spot where Remus should have been. He sat up and looked around, wondering where Remus was.

Remus then walked in with a tray, filled with Harry’s favourite breakfast food and tea.

“Remus…?” Harry was pleasantly surprised.

“Happy Birthday, Harry.” Remus set the tray down on the night table next to the bed and bent down to kiss him softly on the lips. He wasn’t surprised to see that Harry was naked with the exception of only a thin sheet covering his groin area. He was tempted to move the sheet as he breathed in sharply to tone down his desires.

As if reading his mind, Harry smirked. “See something you want?”

Remus backed away and shook his head. “After you eat…eat up while it’s warm.”

“There’s a handy heating charm I could use you know…” Harry trailed off seductively, as he picked the sheet up in his hand. Hard already, he wanted Remus. “I wouldn’t mind something else this morning. It is my birthday, after all.”

Feeling his hesitation dissolve, Remus approached Harry and wrapped his arms around him. He took a deep breath and said, “I love you.”

“Remus…” Harry eyes shot open at that simple statement. “That’s the best birthday present I could ever receive. It’s the first time you’ve said that.” Harry hugged Remus with all his might. “I love you, too.”

With that, the two shared a passionate kiss. Remus, only in his dressing gown, propped himself onto the bed and straddled Harry, not once breaking their kiss. Both of them felt each other’s desire pressing against them. Harry threaded a hand through Remus’ soft honey and grey coloured locks. He flipped them over until he was on top of Remus.

“How about –” Harry broke the kiss and panted for air, “– I get an early dessert?”

Smiling, Remus said, “Fine by me…fine by me, Birthday Boy.”

Hermione came close to bursting as she waited for the afternoon to come. Not only did she, Ginny, and Ron want to go give Harry his birthday present, but she had some great news to break to Harry and Remus. However, she rationally figured out what the two would be doing in the morning, so she wisely decided to be patient.

When the time came to go see Harry, the three of them Apparated to Harry’s place. Harry and Remus were in the sitting room, with drinks and food already served on the table. After everyone shared their greetings and gave Harry his presents and birthday wishes, Ginny held up a giant box.

“Here’s the cake that I promised you, Harry. Your favourite ‘Death by Chocolate’ cake.”

Harry grinned. “Awesome! Nobody else can bake that cake like you do, Ginny.”

Ron pointed at his sister, with a playful disgusted look on his face. “I agree, but can you believe that she refused to let me have a taste?!”

“Oh, Ron.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “If I’d let you have a taste, there wouldn’t even be crumbs left for Harry!”

Everyone laughed as they settled down into various armchairs and couches while Harry went to grab some plates, forks, and knives for the cake.

Ron lighted the candles and they all sang the mandatory birthday song.

“Harry, don’t forget to make a wish!” Ron exclaimed excitedly for his friend’s benefit.

“I don’t need to make a wish.” Harry stared into Remus’ eyes lovingly. “I already have what I want.” He blew the candles out and soon cut the cake for everyone to have.

With the cake and other snacks and drinks, they ate. Soon, Hermione said, “Guess what, Harry?”

“What?”

“Fudge resigned, and Mr. Weasley — Arthur — took over.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “No way! When did that happen?! How come we didn’t see this in the Daily Prophet?” He glanced at Remus to see how he’d take the news.

“Oh, it will be official tomorrow, but of course the whole Weasley family already knows the news.” Ginny smiled widely, happy for her father’s and Remus’ sake.

Remus smiled lightly, still hesitant to raise his hopes up. “That’s wonderful.”

“Yes!” Ron shouted. “I’m glad to see that sod out of the office now.”

“Oh, and also, the first thing my dad’s gonna do tomorrow is to reform the werewolf laws.”

“This is the best birthday ever.” Harry beamed at Remus. First my lover says he loves me, and now the news that he can get an actual job like everyone else…could my life get any better?

Ginny slyly said, “Oh…I’m sure there will be ways Remus can make it even better for you.”

Hermione blushed as she looked down into her cake, and Ron choked on his tea and said, “Ginny!”

Another round of laughter went through the happy group and they spent the rest of the afternoon talking and catching up on stuff.

The next few days passed by in a whirlwind. The news about Cornelius Fudge resigning and Arthur Weasley taking over was the only thing everyone talked about. Arthur made a speech over the wireless, apologising on the behalf of the Ministry and their unfair treatments to the werewolves.

The entire Wizarding World was enthusiastic about the change, with a few minorities saying that the werewolves obtaining equal rights like themselves was completely preposterous.

Several days after the hype went down, Harry and Remus had two surprise visitors. Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy.

Remus and Harry invited the two formidably dressed wizards into the sitting room. Harry went to get some tea while Severus and Remus remained in the sitting room to talk. Draco followed Harry to the kitchen so the two could chat, too.

“You seem happier, Remus.”

“Yes…I am, Severus. How’s your job as the headmaster of Hogwarts?”

“I’ve seen some better days. Honestly, I don’t know how Albus handled all the paperwork that comes with the job. At least disciplinary issues went down since I took over.”

Remus hid a grin, knowing that with Severus as the headmaster, that was to be expected. “I see.”

Harry and Draco came back with the drinks, the two talking about Quidditch. The two of them finally became friends during the war, with Draco defecting to their side.

When things settled down, Severus sat up straight in his chair. Before he could say anything, Draco said, “See, Severus? I knew Harry would like the gift I sent him.”

“Yes…Quidditch merchandise does seem to fit his small mind very well.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Good to see you haven’t changed much, Severus.”

“As much as I’d like to see you two get along famously with bantering, Severus, why don’t you get to the point?”

Draco received a raised eyebrow from Severus. “I would, if a certain Potions Master would not interrupt me.”

“Oh!” Harry flashed a grin at Draco. “Anybody blowing up your classroom, yet?”

“Sadly, I do have couple of brainless gits in my classes, but otherwise the classroom is still standing.”

Severus cleared his throat in annoyance. “May I continue?”

Nodding, Draco wisely remained silent. Behind Severus’ back, he rolled his eyes and winked at Harry.

“I’ve come on the basis to offer a job proposition to the both of you.”

Harry and Remus blinked at Severus. “A job?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Madame Hooch is retiring, and I know you are interested in that job.”

“That’s great! I would love to take that. Do I need to do anything, like get approvals?”

“No. With your status and your expertise, it won’t be necessary. And you have already proven to me and Madame Hooch that you are capable to teach by volunteering with us.”

“You said the both of us…?” Harry waved a hand to Remus. “What about Remus?”

“Ah, that. Well, a certain teaching position is opened, and yes, it’s the Defence Against Dark Arts teaching position. I would like you, Remus, to retake it and break the curse by staying more than a year. I am positive that you will be able to stay longer than a year.”

Remus stared at his hands. “I…I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt the children…”

“Draco or I will be responsible for brewing the Wolfsbane potion, and we will definitely make sure you take it at all times.”

Remus thought silently to himself. “I am honoured that you’d offer the position, Severus, and grateful, but I don’t want to bring any trouble into Hogwarts…many people will object to your choices on the matter.”

“Nobody has the guts to tell Severus he’s wrong. His presence alone makes them take their comments somewhere else. Besides, a lot of people know you are capable to teach the subject. With proper precautions, nothing will go wrong. And on days you need recuperation, one of us,” Draco waved a hand to indicate the three of them, “can take over for you.”

Harry grabbed Remus’ hand and squeezed soothingly. “They have a point there. You are capable, and you were the best DADA teacher I’ve ever had. I will be more than happy to help you in every way. Think of this as a new door opening to you for better chances in life. This is your time to shine, Remus.”

“Harry…” Remus looked and saw the tenderness in his eyes. He looked at Severus and Draco, both looking at him expectantly. Harry is right, he thought. I need to leave the past. I need to leave James, leave the idea that werewolves cannot be apart of the society like everyone else, and leave my insecurities aside.

“Thank you, Severus. I’ll accept the job.”

Severus and Draco stood up to leave. “Then I expect you two to come to Hogwarts the day after tomorrow, so we can resolve all loose ends. Come at nine in the morning, and don’t be late, Harry. Tardiness among teachers will not be tolerated as well.”

Harry and Remus hugged them before they Apparated back to Hogwarts. Alone, Harry sat back on the couch, with Remus in his embrace. “I’m glad you took the job…I was afraid you’d decline.”

“I was going to turn it down. But…” Remus sighed. “With you by my side, I feel like I could do anything now. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Remus.” Harry planted an affectionate kiss on his forehead and the two sat there, holding each other well into the night.

The Great Hall was filled with various cacophonic noises. Older students talked loudly with their friends, comparing their schedules with one another. Every once in a while, an adoring fan would stare at Harry at the head table. Everyone was present except for Professor Sprout, who was going to lead in the first years. In the middle of the hall, the stool was there, with the Sorting Hat on top. It already composed a new song for the year, ready to continue the tradition.

Harry and Remus sat next to each other, in their new teaching robes. They talked to each other in low voices and when others talked to them, like Hagrid, they would join in the conversations.

As the door opened, and the first years walked in, conversations slowly came to a halt as all the eyes went to the new generation of their future.

Underneath the table, Harry squeezed and held onto Remus’ hand. The two shared private smiles and they looked forward to their future.

Severus’ POV

I look around, in abhorrence at the new room I have received not so long ago. I hate how the sunlight creeps through those annoying windows. The curtains, heavy and velvety, are drawn apart so the light can brighten up the room and give colour to them. I can feel the warmness from the great ball of gas and I absolutely hate it. This new atmosphere disgusts me.

I miss my cold, dark rooms down in the dungeons. I feel like a prisoner here, being punished by all this indirect cheeriness and warmth.

Alas, this isn’t for me though. This is all for my lover, Harry.

Yes, Harry Potter. The-Boy-Who-Lived. The-Boy-Who-Defeated-Lord-Voldemort. The bane of my existence, other than Neville Longbottom. The person who I acted like an ass to, to cover up my position as a spy. And lastly, the person who changed me the most, and yet hasn’t changed me at all.

I glance over to my lover, whom I fell for during his seventh year. Three years has passed since then. He finally annihilated Voldemort and ever since that time a few months ago, he has changed.

Harry is sitting in front of that damnable window, his head tilted up to look at the sky, and not once moving. Not even blinking. I grab the eyedropper, with my own concocted potion and with gentle ease, I let go of three drops for each of his eyes. Instinctively, I know that I’ll have to do this again soon.

Harry, the ever once energetic brat, has been diagnosed with Paranoid and Catatonic Schizophrenia. Curse those Muggles for thinking up such strange names for their diseases. The mediwizards say that after going through so many traumatic experiences in his life, it’s not surprising that someone like Harry would acquire this.

I scowl at the thought of Albus pushing the boy too far, letting him endanger his own life repeatedly, and letting him return to those damn Muggle relatives of his. I wish I could bring Voldemort – no, Riddle, back from the dead and murder him with my own bare hands for bringing such misery and hardship into this young man’s life ever since the age of one. Those two men, each alike and different in their own ways, ruined the boy.

As much as I hate to admit, I think Black’s death was the start of all this. Then the youngest Weasley boy got himself killed, along with Hagrid in his sixth year, which added more anxiety to his already stressed mind. Other classmates of his, either on the light or dark side, have been killed as well. He thinks he’s the cause of all these deaths. No matter how many times Granger, Lupin (who took Black’s role as godfather), and I tell him otherwise. Stubborn little bugger.

The final straw happened when he defeated Riddle. The realisation of all the people he lost and the stress of it all got to him.

The first couple weeks, he became more paranoid than Moody. When eating in the Great Hall, he’d check his food and drinks for strange curses and hexes. He’d look around nervously, even while talking with Lupin and Granger. He would cringe away when others would try to touch him.

I didn’t see this as anything unusual. After my role as a spy for both leaders of each side, I tended to be paranoid myself. Considering what Harry has gone through, I didn’t think anything else was wrong with the situation.

Later on, he’d have bouts of moments when his body and mind would freeze entirely and he would not move, not even to blink. Whether he was standing up, sitting down, or laying in bed, he became immobile.

That caught my attention and made me realise that something was not right. I begrudgingly consulted Granger and she, still an insufferable know-it-all, had suspicions that Harry might be suffering from a mental illness.

After convincing him to get a check up, Granger’s hypothesis was proven correct, as usual. Harry didn’t acknowledge this fact when he was told. He simply stared with a blank expression. He still denies ever having those diseases.

But his freezing moments have become worse and his paranoia has gotten to the point where he claims he hears voices around him. He says Riddle is still alive and that Ron has never died.

That was the turning point for me. Before I hadn’t been able to accept his diagnosis. But after seeing Harry’s brilliant mind becoming torn, I decided to push the matter myself.

Sometimes I ask myself why he has to be so persevering and in denial of his ailments. There are some days when he’s easy to handle, and others where I practically force the medicine and potions down his throat. Yet, the remedies are taking forever to work. This fact frustrates me. I know that schizophrenia isn’t curable, but still seeing how much Harry has to take when it comes to medications, I sometimes ask, is it worth it?

Knowing that Harry is going through all this mental pain upsets me. I tell myself that at least he isn’t a true vegetable like Longbottom’s parents. His Gryffindor courage is keeping him from digressing further, despite his occasional denial. Whenever he comes back from his catatonic or paranoid moments, I see so many emotions in his face. I see disgust, probably at himself, frustration over not being able to control his brain, and wonderment at the fact that I am still here instead of leaving him.

Silly boy. I might not be as fiercely loyal as those brainless Hufflepuffs, but he’s my lover. I know that Harry’s ailments aren’t a trivial matter, but I am not about abandon him to Gryffindor’s care, and this gives me an excuse to research into making my own potions for schizophrenic patients.

But other than the time he’s sane, I love him the most when he comes back to me from the periods of his inner attacks. The fact that one day, he’ll get lost in himself, wholly, frightens me.

Since when did I allow him, Harry Potter, to wrap around his little finger on me? These new feelings, love being one of them, have changed me. I am still the snarky, sarcastic bastard, but inside, I feel love and hope for him. Sometimes I do want to just let everything go back the way it was. These feelings are so foreign, yet they fill me completely. Knowing that I’d do anything for the bloody, but loving, prat, puts me at ease.

And that brings me back to the subject of the rooms. I left my dungeons for Harry. He hadn’t moved in before, but we were thinking about it. I figure that if the sun is in the room and adds colour, it is a healthier environment for him. Reluctantly, I talk to Albus about the matter, and it’s settled.

I do notice the change in him. He seems more content with the sun, the heat. He did always like to go outside by himself to just stare up at the skies and feel the crisp breeze and let himself be washed away by the rays. So the rooms do have a positive effect and I tell myself that being in this room isn’t all for nothing after all.

Anything is worth seeing Harry content. Such sacrifices must be made. But I really hope I find a cure or a potion that keep his mind rational for longer periods of time. It’s not bloody likely, but for the first time in years, I feel hope. All thanks to the boy who made my life previously miserable and now is the pillar of everything.

“Snape!”

-What have I done?-

“Snape, you bastard, get out of there!”

-What have I condemned him to?-

The werewolf, driven by its hunger and madness, jumped onto the frightened victim. He howled once, and to James’ and Sirius’ horror, ripped right into the throat of Severus Snape. Blood was gushing and soon the red liquid covered the wooden floor.

“Remus! No! Stop!”

James transformed into Prongs, hoping to stabilise his friend and to save Snape. Sirius stood there, dumbstruck and already knowing that Snape was dead.

-Is this what I wanted, truly? To see my most-hated enemy killed by the hands of my best friend?-

Sirius looked up and saw Prongs trying to convince Moony to calm down. Moony looked different . . .  other nights he looked playful, yet strained at the same time. Tonight he looked murderous.

-I never knew he could be like this. I thought all of those stories about werewolves were myths. Remus doesn’t look like he’d harm a fly.-

Prongs gave up, realising that Moony was far too gone to even comprehend his usual company of friends. He ushered Sirius out and transformed back to his original self. He quickly turned around and bolted the door. He grabbed Sirius’ arm and ran out of the tunnel. They reached the other end in a record of time and James, with a wild look started to scream at his best friend.

“Do you realise what just happened?!”

Sirius numbly shook his head.

-What? Other than the fact that the greasy git is dead? No . . . –

“Remus just killed, in his werewolf form!”

Sirius continued to stare with a glazed look.

With a strangled yell, James grabbed the front of Sirius’ shirt and shook him hard. “You idiot! Remus will be punished for this!”

“No he won’t, the Headmaster will protect him . . . ”

James started crying, hard. “Nononono! He can’t! No one can protect him now! Sirius, why? Why did you send Snape?!”

-To keep that bastard away from MY Remus. To keep him away . . . because I love Remus and I don’t want anyone else near him.-

” . . . It . . . was a prank . . . ”

“Prank my fucking arse!” James let go of him and gave him a hard look through his tears. “You were jealous. You did this out of petty spites. You thought that once Snape saw who Remus really was, he’d be leaving Remus alone, but no! That didn’t turn out that way did it?”

” . . . ”

“Sirius, are you really that blind?”

“Maybe.” He clenched his fists. “Do tell me what I am NOT seeing.”

James shook his head and laughed bitterly.

-That laugh . . . it sounds so strange coming from James of all people.-

“You had no reasons to be jealous, Sirius. Remus . . . loved you. But you were blind to see that bloody fact. You thought that Remus and Snape were seeing each other when really Snape was tutoring Remus in Potions.”

Sirius paled. “I . . . ”

“Don’t deny it, Sirius. You screwed up big time . . . and now Remus will pay for it. Not you nor I, but Remus.”

Salvatore Malfoy looked at Dumbledore coolly.

“I knew you were eccentric, Albus, but allowing a dangerous, dark creature to come into Hogwarts? That’s out of the line for you.”

“Salvatore . . . ” Dumbledore was cut off.

“Enough. The School Board had unanimously decided to fire you. And the Ministry acknowledged that the Lupin boy is to be executed.”

“Surely you can give him a chance?”

The grey eyes stared into the non-twinkling blue ones. “Only God, if there is one, can save that damned boy now, Albus. He has killed and he will be punished for it. You have no say in it whatsoever.”

It was two hours before the execution. Remus was chained to the wall. He was beaten and tortured by the Ministry officials. Never mind that he was still a teen. He was now seen as a creature that should be banned from the face of the Earth.

The door opened and Sirius came in hesitantly.

-Merlin . . . what did they do to him? I can barely recognise him.-

Remus opened his eyes and saw a blurry figure. He could tell though by the smell that it was Sirius.

“Hey,” he croaked, his voice nearly gone from screaming so much.

“Hi Remus . . . ”

An uncomfortable silence passed between them.

“Well, yell at me, curse at me. Do something, Remus. Get angry. I deserve it.”

Remus said nothing.

-Why isn’t he yelling? This silence is so much worse than the admonishing I should be getting.-

“There is no point in being angry now, Sirius. No point. I’ll be dead soon, so there really is no point.”

Sirius felt even worse than before. “Remus . . . ”

“Don’t give me your pity. I always knew I’d kill someone one day and it finally happened. Being cursed with lycanthropy makes you realise that it’s inevitable that you will kill someone.”

“Remus . . . please . . . I’m sorry.”

The other boy looked up with sad eyes. “No I’m sorry. Perhaps, if I’d admitted my love for you sooner, this wouldn’t have happened. But maybe even after admitting it, it still would have happened. Who knows? Life works in a strange manner.”

“Please . . . I got James’ Invisibility Cloak, you can escape . . . ”

“And what? Live like a fugitive?” Remus glared at him. “Thanks, but no. I’d rather pay the consequences for my actions.”

Sirius looked down at his feet. Few minutes later he turned around and was about to exit when Remus said one last thing.

“I do love you, Sirius. I do. Please don’t do anything stupid. At least try not too okay? And tell James and Peter that I loved them like brothers.”

Sirius stifled a cry and turned back around and went to his lover. “I love you too.” With that, he kissed Remus softly. A few moments later, Remus kissed him back.

After kissing for what seemed like an eternity, Sirius broke the kiss and ran out the door.

Remus looked at the retreating figure and smiled sadly. “I do love you . . . and I forgive you . . . ”

The execution went on and it took place in Hogsmeade. The Ministry had decided, in their own cruel way, to use a silver knife on Remus. The executioner stabbed him through the heart and the silver slowly poisoned his system. The next fifteen minutes were the most painful Remus ever endured. What made it worse was that he was conscious throughout the whole procedure. The crowd of wizards and witches that came to view the execution were entertained and were deriving pleasure from his pains. Those that were close to Remus, didn’t show up.

It was two-thirty in the afternoon, when Remus Lupin took his final breath. He was officially dead.

Sirius couldn’t stand being at Hogwarts. He decided to take his motorbike, which he’d hidden in the Forbidden Forest, and ride off on it.

-What have I done? Why? Why couldn’t I get punished? Why him?-

His mind was screaming throughout the whole day. He couldn’t stop thinking about what they’d done to Remus. He couldn’t stop imagining what the pain must have been like. He was going insane.

He rode through the Scottish countryside. Everything looked so peaceful, but the man on the motorbike wasn’t.

-Why?! How could I ruin his life?!-

Sirius, too busy berating himself and being remorseful, didn’t see a truck coming in front of him. The last thing he recalled was bright light shining in his face and his world turning upside down. Everything slowly went black and he told himself that he’d see Remus now and be with him forever . . .

“Sirius? Sirius?! Sirius! Wake up!”

Remus shook his lover, trying to get him out of the nightmare. “Sirius, shhh.” He caressed Sirius’ forehead, feeling the sweat on there. “It’s okay, Sirius. I’m here. It’s only a nightmare. Please. Wake up.”

Slowly, he opened his eyes. They were unfocused.

“It was only a dream?” His voice so low that Remus almost didn’t catch it.

“Yes, Sirius. It was only a dream, well more like a nightmare.”

He shot up in the bed and stared at his mate. He touched him to make sure he wasn’t an apparition. “Thank Merlin . . . ” Sirius kissed him and started to cry.

Remus was comforting him. “Shh . . . Sirius. It’s okay. I’m here, I will not go anywhere.”

“Yes. Don’t go anywhere, never leave me.”

“I won’t, love. I won’t.”